#up next: chapter three or sake of convenience update

[manawari]

Count On Me

two.

            "Can't you heal a little faster?!"

            "I'm trying!"

            "Hurry up!"

            Ju-hee gritted her teeth as she pushed more of her mana into healing the hunter's severe wound on his leg. The others were already fighting the boss. She could see some of them had been wounded too, yet kept on fighting instead of seeking for her aid, which made her feel useless on her role as a healer. Most of the hunters were way too stubborn and viewed her as a hindrance, and only then to mmon her for help was when they got hurt in a vital part.

            Ju-hee never understood them. In her first raids, the hunters never treated her like she was a hindrance. At this point, she would've handed over her resignation to Baek Yoon-ho, but since her payroll was bigger than the ones she had received, Ju-hee decided to endure it for a little longer.

            And besides, her family was also satisfied with the amount she had sent them.

            Ju-hee drew her arm across her forehead as she got up while the hunter joined the battle for the finishing blow, judging how the monster had gotten less powerful than the first time she had seen it. This time, Hee-jin was the one who took the wheel and while the hunters were holding the monster down, she drew her staff in front of the face and blasted a deep hole through the skull.

            Green ichor splattered on the ground and even landed upon some of the hunters' bodies. Hee-jin panted. Ju-hee sighed in relief, yet held herself back from rushing to the hunters — the sight was a bit disturbing for her and a small part of her feared that it might get back up.

            *slash!*

            Or not.

            Kim Chul shouted in victory as he proped his foot on the decapitated head of the beast, raising his sword. The rest of the hunters, including the healer, just stared at him deadpanned.

            "Why is that lunatic not fired?" Ju-hee heard Hee-jin mutter.

            Once the dungeon was cleared, the hunting party left the mining team to bring the deceased monsters from the dungeon and returned to the building. The hunters celebrated with yet another successful raid as Ahn Sang-min began to hand each of them an envelope that contained today's payment. Baek Yoon-ho was off to spar with the other guild masters at the gym, thus leaving the chief of the 2nd Division Management Department in his stead.

            Ju-hee opened her envelope to take a peek on her salary. Her eyes lit up. Next to her, Hee-jin was giggling at the amount she got, along with the rest, who rejoiced at their money.

            "Hey, Ju-hee! Let's go somewhere!" Hee-jin beamed.

            "Go where?" Ju-hee raised an eyebrow.

            "Eat! I know a place around the block. It's been quite some time since I've last gone there." The mage tugged her arm. "Come on!"

            Ju-hee let out a chuckle. "Okay!"

            Despite the age difference, Hee-jin acted as if she was around Ju-hee's age, or Ju-hee acting like she was in the same age as Hee-jin. The B-Rank mage still remained the only person Ju-hee had gotten along in the guild other than Yoon-ho, who made sure to check on her as long as he was around.

            Ju-hee wondered if her skills as a healer were truly that effective to make the guild master want her officially recruited in his guild.

            However, she still hadn't made her decision. It had been a week since she made an agreement with Yoon-ho. If she got herself almost killed or found herself in an imminent danger, she'd retire for good — Ju-hee reminded herself of that every morning and every night.

            "Dear? How are you doing?"

            Ju-hee smiled at her mother's voice. "I'm doing great, mom! It feels relieving to hear your voice."

            "Well, you can always come home once you get the chance. I assume that everything is treating you well?"

            "Yes, mom. Guild Master Baek is very kind to me. He's not as intimidating as you see in the television, he is a great man."

            "If that's the case, I am happy that you're working in a healthy environment. I tried not to worry too much since I know you are working hard as a healer and still won't quit."

            Ju-hee bit her bottom lip. She hadn't told her mother that she was supposed to retire. "Y— yes. And I don't think I can quit yet. I like to help people and keep them alive as much as I can."

            Something inside of her pinched.

            Keep people alive? Many had already died in front of her eyes. . .

            "Alright. Take care, okay? Love you, sweetheart!"

            "I love you too, mom."

            Once the line was cut, Ju-hee let out a deep sigh. She tucked her phone to her chest. No one in her family knew about the most traumatic thing had happened to her, but it wasn't as if Ju-hee was going to tell them. They were already worried about her well-being. And she didn't wish to get them worry more, knowing that she almost lost her life.

            She promised them that she'd be fine.

            And besides, Ju-hee still wanted to help the hunters regardless of her desire to retire. She believed all of them had families to reach out to just like hers.

            The door clacked open.

            Hee-jin stepped out, now clad in her casual attire of a white blouse and black skinny jeans with a pair of leather brown boots. Her mage uniform was kept inside of the paper bag she held in her wrist. "Ready to go?" She asked the healer.

            Ju-hee nodded her head and smiled.

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            Byung-gyu shoved his hooded armor into his rucksack. Sirens blared in the background as some miners barked out commands to the others before entering the dungeon. The rest of the hunters had gotten out and were regaining their strength after a strenuous battle with the monsters. As he drank on his water bottle, a finger tapped his shoulder.

            "As promised, Min."

            Byung-gyu looked over and saw a brown envelope. His lips curled into a broad grin. "Thanks, hyung!"

            Choi Jong-in nudged his glasses on his temple with his finger and cleared his throat. "You know. . . If you joined my guild, you'll get a higher income since you're an S-Rank. The spot is always open." His lips was curved into a grin.

            "Is this about your goal on having two S-Ranks under your guild? Sorry, hyung, but you know that I don't like being officially involved in a guild." Byung-gyu shrugged.

            "But if you changed your mind—"

            "Nope!"

            "Oh, come on—"

            Byung-gyu laughed. "You really want to make things go in your way, huh? No wonder why you and Yoon-ho are always at each other's throats."

            "Not always," scoffed Jong-in. "Anyways, I'll call you again or tell me if you're free for our next raid."

            "Yes, sir!" 

            The hunter rolled his eyes and went away. Jong-in had been frequently asking him to join the Hunters Guild due to Byung-gyu's skills as an S-Rank healer, as well as the only one in the country, but Byung-gyu refused like he usually did when he got similar offers. Min Byung-gyu knew the risks if he pursued being a healer in a guild: the fame, the attention, the possibility of no longer taking a break, having to witness hunters die, and the potential call of death.

            He didn't want that.

            Sure, he wanted to help and protect people, but in his own way.

            Yoon-ho understood his reasons, which was why he was the only guild master who never offered him to join. Byung-gyu still wanted to live a normal life amidst getting himself involved with gates.

            Byung-gyu placed his money inside of his bag and zipped it closed. Several of the corpses had been brought out and miners carried out bags of diamonds taken from the inside of the gate. Such things always cost an immense fortune, not even an average person would be able to afford products from magical beasts. Byung-gyu threw his backpack over his shoulder and began to walk away.

            "H— Healer Min!"

            He stopped on his tracks. Byung-gyu diverted his gaze to his back and saw one of the Hunters Guild members running toward him. "Healer Han?" He said.

            Han Se-mi panted for a little before she fixed her posture and cleared her throat. "Are you, uh, going home already?"

            "I guess so," Byung-gyu shrugged. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

            "Uhm— no! Not really!" Se-mi's cheeks flushed. "It's just, uh. . . Are you free for today? I was hoping that you could join us for dinner."

            Byung-gyu let out a smile. "I'm afraid I can't. I have a show to catch up on and I can't miss another episode."

            "Oh, I see," Se-mi nodded. Though, she seemed she was trying to restrain her frown.

            "Maybe next time? I will try to allot some of my time for you guys." Byung-gyu suggested.

            It made the healer's eyes lit up. "Okay!"

            Byung-gyu nodded and continued his way, unaware of the wave Se-mi had given him when he had his back turned to her. Even though he only joined occasionally, the whole guild was fond of him as much as how Jong-in constantly asked him to be a healer in his guild.

            Turning on the ignition in his motorcycle, Byung-gyu placed his helmet over his head and drove away from the area. The lights reflected across the clear window of his helmet in a flickering speed. Unlike most riders, Byung-gyu preferred not to dash between two vehicles, only then if there was a wide space between them for him to come through. He was not in a hurry to come home anyway. Just because he was a healer and could heal himself didn't mean he must be reckless.

            The traffic light turned red and Byung-gyu pressed the clutch to reduce his motorcycle's speed and maneuvered his foot on the ground to halt the vehicle in the middle of the road. The car behind him stopped as well. As he waited for the pedestrians to cross the lane, he looked at the buildings on each side of the road.

            Seeing the vendors and restaurants reminded him that he hadn't bought any dinner yet. Byung-gyu knew he still had some ingredients in his fridge, but then he remembered that he had some money from the raid, he thought that he should treat himself.

            When the signal turned green, Byung-gyu activated the engines again and this time, he took a turn instead of going straight. He drove his motorcycle to the front of the ramen restaurant and parked it next to the pavement. He turned it off and removed his keys to walk toward the door, pushing it with extra strength to allow himself inside.

            Smells of fresh seafood and vegetables danced in the air. Customers dined in the tables around the area, each having indulging in various noodles from the menu. Byung-gyu made his way to one of the three lines and ended up standing behind a young woman, whom he suddenly sensed something about her. She looked rather familiar. Craning his head to the side, Byung-gyu received the sideview of the woman's face.

            "Ms. Lee?"

            She met his gaze with her blue eyes and instantly drew a sharp gasp in surprise. Byung-gyu laughed.

            "Nice to see you here," he said.

            "Er, same here? I mean—" Ju-hee cleared her throat to speak properly. "Likewise, Mr. Min. It's been quite a while since I've seen you in the guild."

            "I'm a freelancer, remember? I don't work in one guild for too long." Byung-gyu replied. "For instance, I just came from raiding a dungeon with the Hunters Guild. You know that guild, right?"

            She nodded. "It's known as the most powerful guild in the country."

            "Exactly. The guild master had already paid me for my service, so I thought I should buy something." Byung-gyu shrugged. "So, how are you doing at the White Tiger Guild?"

            "I'm fine, thank you," said Ju-hee. Then, she took a step forward when the customer in the front left the counter. "The hunters are still stubborn though. They refuse to be healed unless they feel like they're going to die from their wound."

            Byung-gyu scoffed. "They must be forgetting that you are a healer, not a necromancer. You won't be able to help them anymore if they die."

            Suddenly, Ju-hee fell silent. The S-Rank's heart clenched at his choice of words.

            "Oh, sorry! I must've said something bad." Byung-gyu apologized. "I just—"

            "Don't worry about it!" Ju-hee cut him off. "You are right, Mr. Min. A healer's job is to help someone as long as they're still alive."

            "Are you sure? My words might've hit a certain spot."

            She chuckled. "You don't have to be concerned any longer. If anything, you had just given me a reality check since I got too deep on the problem I have with some of the hunters."

            "Is it always like this? You know, I can just talk to hyu—"

            "No!" Ju-hee exclaimed. Then, she flushed at the volume of her voice. "Y— you don't have to. Really. I can just learn how to deal with them."

            Byung-gyu nodded. "If you say so. . . "

            "Next please!"

            Ju-hee noticed the other people in front of her had disappeared, which meant it was her turn. She took several steps forward and met the cashier, she looked down on the menu plastered on the counter and began to scroll through her options.

            "I'll have the crab and seaweed one but with less onions. And oh! The ramyeon too with tofu instead of kimchi." Ju-hee said as she moved her finger across the surface to point her desired food.

            Byung-gyu whistled in amusement. "Wow! Today's raid must've stressed you hard that made you order two noodles. I didn't know you have a large appetite, Ms. Lee."

            "I have someone with me."

            "Oh."

            The cashier snorted before clearing her throat. "Which drinks shall I add, ma'am?"

            "Just iced tea, please," Ju-hee nodded.

            Byung-gyu watched her walk away and his gaze followed her until he spotted her return to the table she shared with none other than Park Hee-jin, who was also a member in the White Tiger Guild. The two immediately got into a conversation which Byung-gyu was unable to make out of.

            It appeared that the B-Rank healer was not entirely alone after all.

            Hee-jin was one of the friendliest people he knew. She joked and bickered around her fellow hunters, yet was soft and kind to those whom she believed to deserve it. It was expected that the new healer would get along with her.

            "Sir?"

            "Hm? Ah, yes!" Byung-gyu snapped back to reality and glanced down on the menu. "I will have—"

            The next day, he showed up at the White Tiger Guild. Byung-gyu had received a call from Yoon-ho that his powers as an S-Rank healer was needed for the guild's raid in the A-Rank gate. It had exploded next to a hospital where the association sent a couple of healers to the check on the amount of people who got hurt, especially the patients. Fortunately, the dungeon hadn't wrecked half of the building, only a portion that destroyed six floors, but everyone were still told to leave.

            A few people had their lives taken away during the explosion. They were set down on the parking lot, covered in blankets. The sight was aching to the heart, it almost made him not want to continue joining the raid. Byung-gyu hated it when gates appeared in such populous places.

            It was the reason why he sent his family away from Seoul and bought a house in a safer location far from the city where dungeons wouldn't appear.

            He couldn't bear having them to become victims of a dungeon break.

            After parking his motorcycle in the corner of the lot, Byung-gyu rushed to the A-Rank gate where the hunters must've been waiting for him. This time, he wore his silver armor underneath a red hooded jacket, topped with a brown one for extra protection against whichever climate kept within the gate. His mace clung on the strap on his back. He also had on a pair of brown pants with black combat boots. The S-Rank healer pushed through the crowd, evading the urge to glance at the victims, until he saw Yoon-ho.

            "Byung-gyu! Just in time." The hunter said. "I apologize if I might have disturbed you."

            "No worries, hyung. You guys needed my help." Byung-gyu said. He glanced up to the gate, it was tremendous and had a thick black outline, radiating a strong mana. It sent shivers on his spine. "So. . . Shall we go in?"

            Yoon-ho nodded, and shouted at the hunters in front of him. "Let's move!"

            The guild began to step through the portal. Passing through it brought prinkles on his bare hands. A-Rank gates were different than other dungeons, Byung-gyu had encountered them a lot, but it didn't stop him from feeling a tinge of uneasiness in his veins.

            The portal disappeared the moment the last hunter set foot in the dungeon. The twigs crunched beneath their feet. Tall trees towered over them, branches whispering through the wind, and the atmosphere was subtly cold in their fingertips. Byung-gyu inhaled the air and smelled a petrichor scent, figuring it must've rained in the dungeon or they were perhaps in a rainforest.

            Forest.

            There could be many potential enemies the hunters might encounter. Gigantic lizards, hybrid serpents, furry beasts alike, and monsters that have wings. Usually, only S-Rank hunters and stronger guilds were able to take on A-Rank gates, and sometimes the Knights Guild too. It must take a lot of manpower to conquer the dungeon. And by this, many would summon the S-Rank healer, considering how his buff skills were needed more than anything.

            "Let's start walking. We don't have to wait for the enemies to attack us first." Yoon-ho commanded. He went forward and led his group deeper into the wilderness. His black clothing embraced his frame firmly, showing his built physique — it was suitable for someone like him to survive in such a place.

            "Be sure to watch out for the trees!" The guild master exclaimed. "Someone could shoot from any hiding places. Protect the healers too."

            "I'll be fine, hyung. I will just heal myself if anything." Byung-gyu shrugged.

            Yoon-ho flashed him a disapproving glare. "Real funny, Byung-gyu."

            "What? I'm just trying to ease the pressure here. You guys don't have to protect me!"

            "Ha ha," Yoon-ho rolled his eyes. "Anyways, I need two A-Ranks with me."

            "Me!"

            "I am, Mr. Baek!"

            "Pick me!"

            "Not you, Kim Chul. You'll be the one in charge here." Yoon-ho said. "Moon! Kim! You two are with me."

            Kim Chul frowned and grumbled under his breath. The chosen hunters stepped forward and made their way on each side of their guild leader.

            "We'll search for the boss monster while the rest of you can stay here, fight if the monsters attack, and once we found the boss, we'll alert you as possible as we can." Yoon-ho explained.

            "Good luck out there, hyung!" Byung-gyu said.

            Yoon-ho grinned. "You too, Healer Min."

            Byung-gyu rolled his eyes at the formality, yet nodded and watched them disappear into the woods.

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            Ju-hee was feeling anxious.

            It was her first time entering an A-Rank gate. Hee-jin had told her about her experiences with such a high-ranked gate; it was terrifying and dangerous, and nobody was able to get out unless the boss monster had been defeated. A lot of hunters, even healers, had died in A-Rank gates. Upon hearing the last statement, shivers clawed the underneath of Ju-hee's skin, not because of the climate in the dungeon.

After Yoon-ho declared his commands, the hunters were left in their circle. Kim Chul was in charge. And a few moments later, the assigned leader ordered the group to start walking instead of waiting for Yoon-ho's return. Ju-hee found herself close to Hee-jin as usual. The mage reassured her that she wouldn't be severely harmed, though Ju-hee reckoned otherwise.

Luck was never in her favor.

If fate was going to be cruel, she'd find herself in the midst of excruciating pain for not being careful. Or worse, having a lack of awareness in her surroundings. Ju-hee would have to spend her own mana into herself rather than others.

"Seems like we're not in the enemy's territory yet," said Hee-jin. "If the night falls, we'll have to find somewhere safe to rest. Time works differently in A-Rank gates than the real world."

"What if we take more than two days here?" Ju-hee asked.

Hee-jin huffed. "Trust our guild master! He can transform into his white tiger form and blend into the wild. It's like he's in his own environment. Mr. Baek will return soon."

"Okay," Ju-hee nodded. "But I do hope we—"

*thud!*

The group stopped their feet. The air collapsed in a deafening silence. Ju-hee glanced over and suddenly. . . Something gripped the air in her lungs tight. And her hands grew pale.

On the ground was a hunter. He was laying on his pool of blood and his arm was detached from his body.

She first let out a piercing shriek.

[puzzleglum]

I wrote a theory for the webcomic The Glass Scientists almost 2 weeks ago. Originally posted in the Disqus comment section underneath last week's update. Before another new page drops on Monday, I figured I might want to share it here on Tumblr, too! If only for my own satisfaction in archiving.

Some small parts aren't quite relevant anymore, I think, but we'll see whether the conclusions hold up, soon. My best guess would be within the next update or two. In the meantime, enjoy!

*******

THEORY TIME!!

I’ve stayed awake one night early last week thinking about what Jekyll could possibly be planning, thoughts swirling. And I think I figured out a solid possibility. Before I get to that, though, I first want to lay down ALL the pieces that brought me to my conclusion. Every piece of supporting evidence I could think of is here.

(Warning: this got pretty long.)

EXHIBIT A:

Whatever he’s planning has to deal with all of what he talked about here:

I want to pay particular attention here to Jekyll conflating his own reputation with that of the Society. In his mind, the two are inseparable. And for good reason, but I’m not about to summarize the whole comic’s events. My point is, his plan HAS to save his, and by extension, the Society’s reputation somehow.

And it doesn’t matter WHAT it takes. He was willing to lock Hyde away (for a few weeks, mind) to save the Exhibition and the Society, after all. SOMEONE had to take the fall for the street fire. He didn’t want to have to do this, but he was pushed into a corner.

Now, his first plan, when his form became unstable and the sudden transformations started, was to go to his office and search for a spare potion he missed. But that plan is right out the door, cause he scoured the entire place:

Now he’s pushed into a corner again, with the WHOLE Society at stake. If the public finds out Jekyll’s secret, they’re both ruined.

And now?

Only a matter of time until the world finds out his secret.

Time for EXHIBIT B:

Jekyll’s plan, I think, is unlikely to be an Un-Hyde potion of some sort. He didn’t even know how the original potion worked exactly! And since he doesn’t have any of the old potion left, he probably can’t make a modified version of that either. But, if he still had SOME of the ingredients left, but not all, perhaps he could make a different sort of potion. Perhaps.

But my main point is that I don’t think Jekyll’s plan is a potion to get rid of Hyde. I also think it would be too convenient if he suddenly figured out how to make an Un-Hyde potion that works. On a narrative level, it would be too easy. That’s not his plan. No easy outs for our dear Doctor.

EXHIBIT C:

We know there is going to be a moment that will reflect this chapter’s cover. Sage told us so!

Right here, at the last sentence:

Obviously, it’s not going to be a literal parallel. It’s more about intent, I think. Jekyll is going to do Something, and that Something is NOT going to be good for Hyde. But, and this is key here, it’s not going to be good for Jekyll, either.

They both go down together. I can’t stress this point enough. Jekyll is not planning on coming out of this unscathed. But, remember, his plan HAS to save the Society’s reputation somehow. The world can’t know the truth.

(EDIT: my thoughts on the details of the parallel have evolved since. Now I think it will end up being a lot more literal than I initially thought. See this reply I wrote for more details on that. The key point of this Exhibit remains the same, however.)

EXHIBIT D:

This page feels like Jekyll is saying goodbye, somehow. Not only is he not coming out of this unscathed, I get the strong sense that he’s not planning on coming back at all. Clearly, he doesn’t want to do this. But he feels like he HAS to, for the sake of the Society. He’s resigned to it.

Someone has to take the fall.

Now, you’ve all been reading my reasoning thus far, probably wondering where I’m going with all this. Don’t worry. I only have three exhibits left, and then I will try to bring it all together. Thank you for your patience. I mean it.

EXHIBIT E:

Remember this very interesting bit about how Jekyll and Hyde’s mindscape works?

And a moment later, Hyde’s inner monologue says this:

“Only, I have a funny feeling that, once I went all the way down, I wouldn’t be able to find my way back up again.”

You may or may not already see where I’m going with this. :)

EXHIBIT F:

Remember this tweet by Sage? Since I first saw it a year ago, I’ve never forgotten it.

Now, I’ve seen different people theorize whether this is Hyde or Jekyll in Hyde’s body. Well, I’m going to make THREE (hopefully reasonable) assumptions:

1: This is Hyde, not Jekyll in Hyde’s body.

2: This panel will take place in THIS chapter, the one we’re still in, or early in the next.

3: Hyde’s distraught, despairing expression is caused (at least in part) by whatever Jekyll did. His plan.

(There is one more assumption I could state here, but I’ll save it for later. Keep this panel in the back of your mind for a bit if you want.)

And for the FINAL, EXHIBIT G:

Remember the trick Hyde used to force Jekyll to take control again? Forcing a transformation?

And now, remember THIS PAGE?

It’s probably safe to assume that this, too, works both ways. :)))

And NOW? I’ve run out of exhibits! Well! Well well well!!

(This panel is not relevant, I just wanted to use it. :D for fun!)

(Also, thank you so much to anyone who’s read this far?? Seriously! This thing is way longer than I planned!!)

My theory is that, quite simply, Jekyll is going to sacrifice himself to save the Society. To save his reputation, and thus, the Society’s.

I don’t think he can get rid of Hyde. But he doesn’t have to. He just needs to preserve his secret, because nobody in the overall public can know that Jekyll and Hyde are the same.

And in order to do that, his form needs to be stable. Remember Exhibit A? The big secret is in danger because he keeps transforming back and forth with no volition. Well, he’s got a solution for that.

Jekyll just needs to let Hyde take control. Permanently.

How? By going into the deepest parts of their mindscape, forcing Hyde to be at the front. Never to be seen again, never to return. His secret will disappear with him.

In order to “stabilize” their form, their body, and stop the sudden transformations, Jekyll doesn’t have to get rid of Hyde. He most likely can’t. But he can get rid of himself. He can certainly try, at least.

If Hyde will never stop fighting Jekyll, then he just needs to let him "win."

More than that, he can let Hyde take the fall for his own disappearance. Remember the will Lanyon found?

Lanyon straight up thought Hyde was blackmailing Jekyll because of this!

Picture it. In the public eye, if Jekyll disappears, or thought to have been murdered, and it looks like Hyde’s fault, that’s just unfortunate! Jekyll would simply be an innocent victim! Hell, the public might be inclined to show the Society sympathy because of it.

No secrets revealed, no ruined reputations. Hyde goes to prison, and that’s that. The Society itself is saved. All at the cost of both Jekyll and Hyde. And a good leader would do whatever is necessary…right?

The End.

This is Jekyll’s final, desperate gambit. And that’s my theory.

One final bit. See it as an afterword!

Lanyon seems about to rush in and try to stop Jekyll from whatever he’s doing in the office. But me, I think it’s already too late.

When he runs in there, all he’ll see is Hyde, and, perhaps, a broken mirror.

(That’s the other assumption I’m making about the panel with what’s supposed to be Hyde picking up glass shards. Just picture the drama of it all!!)

AND THAT’S ALL, FOLKS!!! Thank you for reading!!! :DDDDD

I’d love to hear what others think! What did I miss? What do you agree, or disagree, with? Feel free to tell me all of it! I love discussing what might happen next!!

EDIT: There is now an Addendum to this theory where I clarify some things I plain forgot to when I first posted it. PLUS, there's an EXTRA Exhibit I came up with later! Link to the comment here, in case it might get lost in the replies.

*******

That's where the original post ends! I'd like to say one more thing. I already addressed this in the Addendum, but I'd like to state it here too: this is ONLY a theory for what Jekyll's plan is. That was my intent, anyway.

By that I mean, I think this plan would FAIL in reality, in several key ways. Mainly, I think Lanyon and the others are going to intervene before Hyde would actually get arrested. Together, they may work to find a solution to both bring Jekyll back (if he's already deep in the unconscious) AND to keep their secret safe. I have hope they'd figure it out!

I'm also planning to post a more general thematic analysis of the whole comic, soonish. With a particular focus on the character arcs of Jekyll and Hyde. Look out for that! I'm still working it out, but it should be done sometime next week.

After that's done, I'm going to share my theories for how I ACTUALLY think the comic might end. Cause I sure as heck don't think it will end as I described above.

That's all! Thanks for reading!! :DDDDD

[z-zonk]

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***Rating: 18+

***Warnings: Angst!, Hurt maybe Comfort, Mentions of mental health (reader is going through it), somewhat corrupt Hero society, implied tulmultuous relationship with family, Some violence involving the reader, (warnings may change/will be updated)

*** Chapter specific warnings: Aged up smut!, vanillia sex, minor body worship, minor size kink (if you squint), oral sex F!recieving, F!reader topping, Unprotected sex

***Pairing: Pro Hero! Izuku Midoriya X Fem!Reader

***Summary:

The man continued to twist and contort. A desperate trembling hand reached out for you, as if you hadn’t been the cause of his pain. You continued to jot down notes. Ignoring his incoherent pleas for help.

From the corner of your eye you saw the woman run past you. You were sure she was making a break for it with the bag her partner was holding previously. You expected her to get out of the store, but not far from the area.

What you weren’t expecting was the sudden flash of green light. It was followed by a violent rush of air. The woman flew across the room, her body crashing into the decorative wall panelling. She fell to the floor along with some debris.

Well, that wasn’t part of the plan.

In the doorway, standing at an inconceivable height was the Symbol of Hope. Number one hero Deku.

‘This definitely didn’t look good’ you thought to yourself as you stood over the nearly incapacitated man.

This didn’t look good at all.

***Word Count: 5.8k+

*** A/N: Y'all there's smut in this chapter. It makes up like half the word count lol. It's not particularly raunchy or anything as this is a plot with porn situation, but I still gave some warning here and above. If you want to skip it, it starts after the phrase "...Crawl into bed" then it's basically the rest of the chapter.

"Sake and Doodles"

Inko held onto everything Izuku didn’t want in his own home. She filled one of her guest rooms with it. Over time it became his unofficial room. It was a place he retreated to when his job got overwhelming, or hit an emotional low. Wherever Inko went, home followed and she made it a point to let Izuku know that her door was always open to him when he needed to recuperate emotionally. Aside from that it was just convenient. He was able to shower and change before dinner. 

He ruffled damp, green almost black, curls with a towel; Droplets fell to his plain t-shirt, dampening the fabric around his shoulders. His phone on the nearby dresser almost startled him. Then he remembered what he had been doing in the garden, aside from tending to the iris.

Message from Shoto

We’re having an issue with that background check

He was unsure of how to reply. He bit into his lower lip as he thought of what to say. He had to try and process what this could’ve meant.  

To Shoto

What kind of issue? 

He watched the bubbles on the screen pop up and then disappear over and over for almost three minutes. He wondered what kind of text message he would get and how long it would be. He had half a mind to skip dinner and head over the agency right at that moment. 

Message from Shoto 

We’ll have to talk later. In person. 

He rubbed at the back of his neck. His mind raced. What did Shoto mean? What would he be walking into come Monday morning and what about you could’ve caused an issue? 

He had made the quick, thoughtless, decision to include Shoto in his little investigation. He didn’t tell him about all of his suspicions, but told him enough. The agency had a branch that did intel, but Izuku didn’t want to alert either one of his business partners prior. So, he attempted to research you himself, but that turned up very little. Now that you weren’t much of a secret to his friends he decided to use the resources he had at his disposal. He felt like this was all some kind of cosmic mistake. More stress on top of their group's current issue. 

“Izuku, are you ready? Dinner is just about done,” his mom called up the stairs to him. Her voice snapped him out of his more pessimistic thoughts. He rationalized that Shoto could handle whatever the given situation was. Monday’s issue would have to be handled on Monday. 

.. ..

The original plan to make an intricate fruit platter for Izuku went out the window the moment you bumped into him at the farmers market. You settled on a simpler, less time consuming dessert. Strawberries and whipped cream on sweet bread. You insisted on making the dish yourself to Inko. While Izuku was perfectly fine just doing the dishes used to make the meal, Inko felt bad leaving you in the kitchen alone as a guest. You tried to tell her that dessert would be quick, but it still didn’t sit right with her.

So, she sent Izuku into the kitchen with you to get some of the dishes done. Any room with Izuku in it immediately felt cramped. He really was massive. Even as you stood at the cutting board making sure every berry was precise in size and thickness, you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. 

The sound of the knife hitting the board and running water was the only sound that filled the kitchen. Both of you thought about saying something, but neither had the courage. Without Inko to triangulate conversation off of, it was dead between you two. 

“I’m almost done setting the table,” Inko called from the dining room. 

The scene you were caught up in was so domestic. You hadn’t had moments like this in a while. As much as you were enjoying it, it filled you with something akin to grief. You probably wouldn’t get the opportunity to do it again. Occasionally you would look over your shoulder to steal a glance at him. You wondered if this is what he looked like that night he called you. 

The running water from the sink being turned off somewhat caught your attention. Izuku finished washing the first round of dishes. He loaded them into the sterilizing dish rack for one last cleaning measure. Before leaving the room he said, “Thank you for joining us tonight.” 

“It’s no problem,” your voice was soft and almost airy, “I’m enjoying the evening.” 

“Do you um, think we can talk later?” his voice was now also soft, as if he didn’t want Inko to overhear anything. You nodded in response. You returned to the strawberries, but struggled to cut them with the same level of consistency. These little dessert sandwiches wouldn’t be the prettiest. But you doubted either of your polite hosts would care very much.

.. ..

Another round of drinking with Midoriya, well Midoriyas. You should’ve known it would be trouble. But Inko was so polite and inviting it felt rude not to take her up on her offer of a sake pairing with dinner. Sake was vastly different from the drinks you had earlier in the week. Its taste was a little dull with a slight burn as you swallowed, but it was good with the katsudon. Soon after dinner ended and dishes were returned to the kitchen you three sat around the table sipping on the remainder of the warmed sake. The sandwiches and their tea pairing were forgotten about when everyone became invested in the conversation. 

Izuku watched as you managed to relax even more. His mom had gotten out a pen and paper and jovially you began sketching out ideas for his suit. You leaned over the table, practically spilling out of your seat to show Inko your ideas. Izuku sat with his head in his hands watching as you gushed over your designs. Inko was absolutely delighted to hear what you had to say. 

“Midoriya is a natural warm autumn, he’d look great with a green that had stronger yellow undertones. I was thinking about some color blocking as well.” 

You smiled as you sketched out your ideas. Izuku felt a slight pang of guilt. He hadn’t thought much about the job he was forcing you to do. Yet, here you were enthusiastically showing how much effort you had put into it, despite your true feelings. 

He rested his head in his hands and concentrated on your drawing explanations. His eyes felt slightly heavy as the sake began to take effect. 

“Is that a mock neck?” he asked carefully eyeing your work 

You stopped talking and for the first time in a while you looked at him with big (E/C) eyes. “Um yeah, why do you not like it?” you replied quietly. 

“This would be my first suit without the attached half mask.” 

“Well can you remember the last time you wore that mask?” 

The three of you were quiet as he thought about it. He couldn’t name a date, but he was sure there was still a purpose for it. Before he could answer your question you began to defend your choice. “You sort of leave it hanging to the wind in combat most times, but that’s a safety hazard, like capes.” 

He was also guilty of enjoying a good cape from time to time. Your explanation made sense. He could recall the amount of times Katsuki had tugged at the additional fabric in passing to be a jerk during training, but he had an emotional attachment to that part of his suit. 

“How about you try her version and if you absolutely cannot live without your mask you can have her alter the suit,” Inko suggested. 

Izuku wondered, if you were any other engineer would you have just given him his way? You were so comfortable telling him no. He found it a little endearing; you had a willingness to deny him anything you thought wasn’t good or harmful. So, he agreed. No half mask. 

“You know,” Inko began. 

You looked at her with an overjoyed smile. You seemed to enjoy your time off with his mother more than he did. 

“I made Izuku’s very first suit.” 

A very first suit? You thought about every era of the number one hero's suits, up until the one he currently wore. “Was that the one before the arm braces and metal steel shoes?” you asked. You had demonstrated a knowledge of heroes before, but it only now occurred to Izuku that that might also extend over to him. 

“No, there was one before that. I believe it took too much damage in a training session,” she looked to Izuku to confirm the memories that had become distant and fuzzy, due to time. He nodded that was more or less the truth. 

“So you’re a seamstress?” you asked. 

Inko took a moment to think. She smiled at some memory she seemed to be preparing to share. “No, Izuku’s grandmother was. I picked up a few things here and there.” 

You were sure that she was being modest, a few things here and there didn’t equate to being able to make a whole wearable suit. It was so apparent who Izuku took after. “Please Mom, a few things doesn’t cover her skill level. She followed my crudely drawn suit design precisely, somehow. She’s amazing!” They were both flushed. Izuku was likely flushed from the alcohol, but Inko’s was from the compliments. 

“Well, if I need an extra pair of hands on Midoriya’s suit I know who to turn to.” 

For what felt like the first time the whole night you checked your phone. It was late and your mind instantly went to work. You’d likely go into the office during the day and stay late. Getting sleep was ideal. Unfortunately, no one was able to keep track of time when faced with good conversation.

“Thank you for the meal, but I’ve got to get home,” you said standing up from your seat. You began collecting the used dishes, but you were stopped. 

“I don’t think anyone is in a reasonable state to take you home at the moment,” Izuku piped up.

“That’s okay, I’ll just call a cab,” you answered. Though you weren’t sure you’d be able to find a cabby who’d make the trip to almost nowhere at that time of night. 

Inko looked at you with maternal panic. “I couldn’t in good faith send you off into the night with some stranger driving you home sober or not,” she told you sternly. She had grown so fond of you in such a short period of time, the idea of letting you go off and something happening to you plagued her naturally anxious mind. 

“I have to get to work in the morning,” you told her so softly it was almost apologetic. She reached out for your hand and you gave it. She spoke carefully, yet forcefully.

“We can’t leave immediately, but you are welcome to stay the night. Izuku or myself are willing to take you home in the morning.” 

She sounded just like Izuku did when he tried to get you to put on your seatbelt. The tone, the expression, all the same. Inko Midoriya had unknowingly created one the greatest heroes through her own kindness and empathy alone. You conceded, you knew this song and dance. You were in no position, nor were you in the mood to stop a Midoriya from doing what they felt was right. 

So, you agreed to stay the night. Inko left you and Izuku to clean up the kitchen as she prepped the guest room for your stay. This left you and Izuku in almost complete silence. You decided to join him at the sink, taking freshly washed dishes and putting them in the sterilizing rack. Your fingers brushed over his as you took a plate from him. Both of you froze, then looked at the other.  This moment felt like an invitation for conversation. 

“I um, like your drawings,” he mumbled out as he continued to wash. 

“Thank you,” you replied, “I promise the concept art looks a lot better. I’ve been meaning to show it to you, but it seems our schedules haven’t been aligning lately.” 

“Except for tonight,” he smiled. 

“Yeah, except for tonight. The universe is funny like that.” 

The casual banter stifled the tension momentarily. It drifted naturally onto other topics, like favorite heroes and their costumes or gimmicks. It was nice for Izuku. You made doing a mundane task interesting. Your knowledge on popular heroes was almost up to par with his. He could listen to you go on about how you would change Hawks’ hero costume. Ways you thought it could be improved. Items you’d be capable of making for him. For once Izuku wasn’t dominating a conversation on this specific topic. He felt like he could listen to you for hours. It felt like maybe you would go on for hours, till Inko entered the room once again. 

“The guest room is ready. I’ve laid out clothes you can borrow, an extra tooth brush, and more than enough linen. Let me know if you need anything else,” Inko told you with a smile. 

After the dishes, Izuku showed you to the spare room. He dropped you off there for the night, the conversation you were supposed to have now long forgotten. That was fine by you. The excitement of the evening's festivities seemed to catch up to you. You were ready to crawl into bed.

.. ..

A gentle knock on your door echoed out into the darkroom. You turned on the dim bedside lamp and briskly walked to the door. You assumed it must be Izuku. Maybe he didn’t forget about the talk he asked for. 

When you opened the door you were met by a shirtless pro hero. Black and orange Dynamight branded sweat pants hung low on his hips, the drawstring loosely and lazily tied up. He drowsily leaned himself against the doorframe. His scarred arms were folded over one another. You caught yourself staring at him again. Taking mental pictures of him for “measurements later”, is what you told yourself. It was also what you settled on telling him if he mentioned it. But he wouldn’t mention it. He simply didn’t notice. He was too busy checking out your bare legs. The t-shirt you were given came down just below your mid thigh, but with every shift it would hike up just a little bit higher. It was one of his older ones that must’ve been randomly circulating through the laundry. He couldn’t deny that he liked the way you looked in his shirt. You looked better in it than he thought he did. 

You noticed the way he was looking at you first. The intense pointed gaze that raked over your form made your heart race once it came to your attention. You bit at your lower lip as the thought of reaching out to touch him crossed your mind briefly. Your fingertips burn with anticipation at the thought, then they tingled with the memory of having felt him previously. 

“Can we finally have that talk?” He asked in a hushed tone. His voice was low, a little groggy with an apparent need for sleep, likely from his long day in the sun and the several glasses of sake from dinner. You nodded and moved aside to let him in the room completely. He made sure to close the door behind him, so as to not disturb Inko. He came closer to you so that you two could hear each other as you two spoke solely in low whispers.  

“I just wanted to say sorry for, well everything. I didn’t know the toll all of this was taking on you.” He continued to speak quietly and quickly, but it remained genuine. “It’s okay, Midoriya. You couldn’t have known. I want to say sorry about being unprofessional previously.”

He gestured to both of you lacking some clothing and then said, “It’s okay Y/N, I think we’re way past the point of needing to be professional with one another anyways.” 

“Thanks again for cooking with my mom. She really liked your company…” 

The sound of his voice became almost inaudible as your focus dropped to his lips. You were fixated on them as he spoke. You loved the way they parted, the way his tongue quickly swiped over his full lower lip on occasion between words or sentences. You wondered what shade of pink his lips would turn when they were met with a little bit of friction. 

“Hey, Y/N are you okay?” 

His question broke you out of your thoughts. You nodded in response. 

“Are you su-”

He stopped when you stood on your tippy toes and cupped his warm flushed cheeks in your hands. He practically melted into your touch and allowed you to bring his face down to yours. His large hands instinctively found their way to your waist; the shirt’s fabric gathered and bunched up where he held you. Now you two stood in an embrace, nose to nose, forehead to forehead. The soft light from the bedside lamp emitted dim warm light around the room; It made every shadow on Izuku’s face soften his features. 

“Can I kiss you?” You asked, despite your lips so close they were practically brushing over his already. He didn’t respond verbally, instead he closed the small space between your lips. Your hands moved from his face. You wrapped an arm around his neck while your free hand found its way to the soft freshly conditioned curls at the nape of his neck. He deepened the kiss. One hand desperately held you close, but the other roamed. His hand pushed up your shirt and ran over your skin. He recalled the calloused feeling of your hands, but was delighted to find that the rest of you was soft. Your skin was practically silken to his rough calloused hands. He grabbed at the swell of your almost bare hip with some slight vigor. 

You let out a pleased hum, lips still moving against his. His teeth nipped at your swollen lower lip. There was an air of desperation to his actions. He pulled his lips from yours and began leaving quick slightly forceful kisses and love bites along your jaw to your neck. “Up,” he muttered, now buried in the crook of your neck. The command came out with a low rasp you hadn’t quite heard from him before. He practically lifted you like you weighed nothing, barely waiting for you to assist him and jump into his arms.

Your knees hinged over his hips. Two large hands pressed you into his torso, one gripped the underside of your thigh, the other supported you at the small of your back. You cupped his face, desperate yourself to feel him against your lips once again. But just before you reconnected your lips you leaned in close, just barely making contact with the shell of his ear and whispered, “I want you. All of you.” 

Your words had his semi erect cock  now straining against pants. He had been wanted before and by many. Wanted for protection and security, wanted for status and fame, wanted carnally. But no one had conveyed the same kind of desire you were. You wanted him, even the parts that frustrated you, that had made you a little crazy. Your desire was all encompassing, not flimsily dependent on the fact he was a hero. If you wanted him, all of him, he would give it. All of it. 

He carried you to the bed and lowered you to the mattress. After being placed down with a gentle yet hastened drop, he comfortably slotted himself between your parted legs. His hands returned beneath your shirt. This time with more intent than just mindless exploration. He gathered and guided the fabric up your torso, past your chest, and over your head. You were left almost completely bare to him. Nipples pert and pebbled from contact with the cool conditioned air. 

Izuku didn’t know where to start. He was spoiled for choice as you laid there looking up at him with pleading anticipation. He was sure you’d be pleased as long as you two were touching. “You’re gorgeous,” he breathed as if he were just thinking out loud. Heat pooled in the space between your legs, if Izuku wasn’t between them you’d squeeze your thighs together, desperate for the pressure and friction. Desperate for relief. 

“Please,” you whined, “just touch me.” 

How could he deny you? He dipped down between your legs. He came to eye level to your dampened panties. Thick curious prodding fingers met your clothed clit. You jerked away slightly, your own hand came to your mouth to stifle a whimper. You were so reactive and he had done almost nothing. He looked up at you with such determination it was almost intimidating. What had you gotten yourself into? 

He pulled you back down the mattress by the ankle, closer to him. His fingers hooked the waistband of your underwear. He gave you one last look as if asking for reassurance, for permission. Slowly, you nodded. He carefully guided the thin fabric down your bare legs and placed your legs carefully over each of his shoulders. His fingers traced light circles on the outside of your thighs, as he admired your slick glistening folds. He almost groaned at the sight of it. You really were gorgeous. Izuku maintained domineering eye contact as he lowered his mouth to your needy clit, leaving a trail of burning kisses to the inside of your thigh. A pleasurable heat spread throughout your body, it made your toes flex, your fingers threaded in his soft curls, you slightly shifted and arched off the mattress. 

The stimulation of long languid licks was nearly overwhelming, you jerked away, yet your eager walls constricted around nothing. His large hand came down on your lower tummy, keeping your hips as still as possible. In his mind he had made it a personal mission to see to it that you were satisfied and hell, he would absolutely be seeing it through. His free hand traced the length of your sex, collecting your damp arousal before teasing your entrance with a single thick finger. 

Your hands traveled down to the one that kept your pathetic still bucking hips pinned to the bed. You held onto his wrist and managed to grip fuel unmoving fingers, as if it provided emotional help. “M-Midoriya,” you cried out, knees attempting to come together despite the fact he was still between them, lapping at your sweet essence. His teasing finger slowly entered you. The constricting muscle fluttered around the finger that filled you, but he pulled his face away leaving your clit unattended. 

“Izuku,” he corrected. You could barely comprehend what he was saying as he added another finger. All you could manage was a quick confused hum that spilled into a quiet moan. Your nails dug into his lower wrist and palm. “My given name. Call me by my given name.” 

He loathed the fact that you had still called him by his last name, when you had made him comfortable enough to use your first. Now, he was going to make sure the impact of that name lingered in your memory. Anything, but his first name would feel wrong to you.

“Repeat it,” he commanded just before pressing his thumb to your flush swollen clit. All that managed to fall from your trembling lips was a series of incoherent moans. It wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted to hear his name, clearly. “Let me hear it. I want to hear who’s making you feel like this.” 

“It’s you, you Izuku,” you managed to breathe out between nearly melodic whimpers. 

He loved hearing that. It made his heavy leaky cock ache for you. He thought it possible to be able to cum almost nearly untouched. For now, he returned to his place between your thighs, as if he was stationed there by some divine force. Every one of Izuku’s actions was sped up slightly. Slick covered fingers that moved within you were followed by a gentle curling motion.  They hit a tender spongy spot inside you, that hastened your breathing and heart rate. Your hips still attempted to move as you were chasing your close release. 

Izuku provided more welcomed pressure with slow, more frequent licks, followed by toe curling light sucks. Your hand came over your mouth, teeth biting into the soft flesh of your palm as you held back screaming his name into the still of the night. Pleasure overtook your trembling body with a flood of endorphins. 

He moved above you, caging you in. Despite his much larger form eclipsing over you, you felt as if you were being bathed in his essence like the warm glow of sunlight. But to Izuku, the afterglow of your orgasm made you burn brighter than the heat of a thousand suns. You reached up above you, carefully taking his face in your hands again. He slipped his hand under your head. You both held each other so intimately. He expected you to kiss him again; he silently hoped for it. 

As your face neared his, he closed his eyes with anticipation. Instead of your lips meeting his own, he was caught off guard. You had managed to completely flip your positions. He was stunned as his back hit the mattress with a muffled thud. Had he been paying close attention you probably wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity. But as he looked at your naked form hovering over him, your face looking down at him with a playful expression, he decided to disregard the completely distracting thought. Basking in your beauty was his only motivation. 

Your hands steadied themselves on his firm chest. Your hips began to rock in a fluid motion against his. Quickly his hands gripped at the junction between your hips and thighs. He practically hissed at the sensation. 

Your voice was quiet and breathy as you spoke, “Relax. Let me take care of you.” 

Your words practically froze him in place. The way you had spoken, made his skin warm and burn with lust. The only thing he could manage to say was, “please.” 

Your fingers traced their way down his defined stomach. The muscles tensed at the light sensation. You tugged at the tied up drawstring at the top of his pants. The neat knot they were once done up in was no more. “I’m going to need a little help with these,” you said with a coquettish grin. Gladly, he obliged. 

His cock nearly stood at attention. It lay hardened against the inside of his thigh. Beads of pre cum leaked from the flushed tip. It looked so swollen and needy, it was so easy to forget how intimidating it appeared. The sheer size and girth was enough to make any sane person question their actions, but the high of your previous release was something you had yet to come down from and something you were eagerly seeking again. 

You took your previous place straddling his bare hips. You sat on top of him like you had owned his lap. Both comfortable and confident. You lifted your own hips inches above his and took hold of his shaft. “Wait.” He took you by the hips and began to sit up, halting any further actions. You knew what he was thinking from the momentary panic on his face. You hushed him with a gentle push to his chest. “It’s okay. I’ve been on birth control for a while now.” 

This seemed to calm any concerns he had. You were a smart woman, no man would be baby trapping you anytime soon, pro hero or otherwise. Without any further hesitations you guided the girthy underside of his member between your still wet folds. Both of you let out a breathy gasp as his tip caught your already sensitive clit. “F-fuck,” he studdered out under his breath. It was probably the first and only time you heard him cuss. You repeated the motion, allowing him to glide through your damped sex with ease. He bit down into his lower lip to keep from moaning aloud. His hands kneaded at the plush of your thighs, urging you for more. His eyes were glossy and apparently so as they caught the low lighting, his face was pink. With one hand on his chest for stability, you cupped his cheek. You could feel the warmth radiating off of him. He was borderline feverish.Poor baby. 

You lifted your hips once more. Your hand moved between your warm bodies and grabbed ahold of his throbbing length, giving it a quick experimental pump. His own hips thrusted upward into your fist, slightly throwing you off balance. “H-Hold on. Be patient,” you scolded. He obliged, but with a low dissatisfied mewl. You hovered over his leaky tip. “You’re being so good for me,” you managed to whisper out as his cock met your dripping entrance. You whimpered at the sensation, there was a slight burn as you stretched around him. Drinks with friends wasn’t the only fun activity you had desperately been missing out on because of work. 

You slowly allowed yourself to sink down on him. A sudden gasp left your lips as you felt him completely bottom out inside you. His girthy tip nestled against your eager willing cervix. You threw your head back slightly looking at the ceiling, “Give m-me, a minute please,” you breathed. “Sure.” He looked up at you in all your glory, hair wild, breasts practically in his face and pushed together as you still used his chest for stability. He thought seeing you out of work clothes was a sight to behold. He never thought things with you would escalate to seeing you outside of your clothes, skewered on his cock, preparing to ride him. 

He had also found you beautiful, but the way you regained composure and looked down at him through your lashes made him wonder if his inability to leave you alone came from his sense of justice or his attraction to you. He didn’t get to ponder the question long before you began slowly rocking your hips against his. The feeling of his veiny cock dragging against your inner walls, had the corner of your eyes pricking with tears. You leaned forward, your swollen sensitive clit was pressed against his pelvis. The pressure caused your walls to flutter around Izuku. 

His fingers and nails dug into your soft supple flesh, sure to decorate your hips and upper thighs with bruising later. Your movements slowed as your thighs began to ache. Everytime you bounced upward he slammed you back down onto him. The force knocked you forward. You reached out and caught yourself on the headboard in front of you. He couldn’t help himself. You were so warm and so tight wrapped around him. Your hastened fluttering walls had gotten him so dangerously close to his own release. He wanted it, he wanted you. He was desperate now. He thrusted up into you, but he needed to feel like he was filling you even more. In one swift motion he scooped you up, careful to make sure he still remained inside you.

Your knees were now pressed to your chest, back against the mattress, head comfortably placed in the crook of his elbow. Somehow in this new position he managed to sink deeper inside of you. You wrapped your arms around him, nails running down already scarred skin on his back. You pulled yourself up closer to him; chest to chest. The burning in your stretched out inner thighs almost matched the sting of being stretched out by him.

Every slow sensual movement and rut of his hips hit a divine spot inside you. Your legs trembled, had you remained on top they probably would’ve given out. A pleasurable scream threatened to rip from the back of your throat, the only solution you could think of was to bury your teeth into Izuku’s shoulder; The muscles flexed at the sudden pain. A groan left his lips. He could feel the way your warmth tightened and constricted around him. You both were so close to reaching your highs. He sped up his pace. He gripped the underside on your knees and pushed you deeper into a mating press. Heavy panting became louder as he continued to plunge himself within you. 

“I’m so close, Izuku,” your whines were muffled as you spoke into his shoulder. The slight gloss to your eyes had turned into full on tears. “I know. I can feel it,” he told you. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple. He reached down to where you both were joined together. He began rolling your clit between his fingers. 

You jolted, the sensation enough to throw you into your euphoric high. You clamped down around him. The tight restriction of you sucking him in further encouraged his own release. Your creamy inner walls were masterfully painted in his milky cum. Your heat still fluttered around his softening cock. Gently he pulled out. You whined at the lack of feeling full of him. He still held you close to him as you both shook from the endorphins flooding your sweaty bodies. 

You both kept in each other's embrace for a little longer. Your warm sticky flesh practically melded together. It was uncomfortable as Izuku pulled away from you. Out of the two of you, he seemed to retain more of this energy. Izuku got up, pulled up his boxers haphazardly and left the room. 

The action made your chest feel heavy. Heavier than you wanted to admit to yourself. Your tired mind raced with nagging thoughts. They told you that you were stupid, stupid enough to give into a carnal feeling. Stupid enough to let youself get used. You could only blame yourself for it. You sat up, you had to get yourself cleaned up. You were sticky.  A mess. Your body ached as you hung your legs over the side of the bed. “Stupid,” you whispered to yourself, quick to wipe your watery eyes on the back of your hands. 

“Oh, wait, don't get up too quickly.” 

Izuku’s soft voice came from behind you. In hand he had a damp cloth and bottled water. As he approached he located your discarded shirt and brought it along with him. He stood in front of you towering over your seated form. He pressed a large hand to your warm cheek, his thumb whipped away any remaining tears. “Do you need anything?” he asked gently. You shook your head then leaned into his touch. The only thing your tired mind and body wanted was him close to you. You hoped he wanted the same.

In the back of both of your minds you had concluded that this in fact complicated things. But in that moment the implications of your situation would be lost to sleep.

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Why is this chapter so long!!! ???

Oh yeah, does anyone want me to start a taglist for this story? I forget that tumblr readers don't get updates like on ao3.

[btsydtrash]

Promise [1]

Deaf hitman Park Jimin x vet YN; amnesia AU

YN has only ever dreamed of a world where she gets to care for her animals and sit by the beach, doing nothing but the things she wants.

Jimin has never allowed himself to dream of anything. He is owned. He is someone else's property. He can't dream of freedom because to dream is to yearn and to yearn is to be disappointed.

Still, what happens when a woman full of dreams and a man terrified of his own come together?

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 1.8k

(AU: While I enjoy writing realistic stories, this one has many ‘common sense’ holes that I would like you to ignore for the sake of the fantasy world creation. Future smut and gore. Jimin is a badass. He’s also deaf. This story will only be about 10 chapters long. Shorter than my other ones. I’ve already written up 6 so far. I’ll update once a month. Hope you like it!)

(yandere / angst / gore / fluff / smut / violence)

Chapter 1: ‘Discovery’

It was supposed to be a regular, normal, average day to add on to the already long line of regular, normal, average days that make up your regular, normal, average life. You didn’t expect anything different to happen because you weren’t the girl that thrilling things happened to.

 Sure, you had your moments of electrifying moments: graduating from university and getting so drunk in celebration, you woke up in a different city; moving to America to train as an assistant veterinarian for two years; moving into your own place without getting married first (much to your mom’s dissatisfaction).

 These were markers of your life that you looked back on in absolute fondness, but your heart couldn’t take the consistent exhilaration.

You liked your regular, normal, average job in the regular, normal, average fishing town that you moved into three years ago.

You have been working the same job since then, under the only veterinarian in a thirty-mile radius which meant you, your elderly boss and his middle-aged wife had to care for an innumerable amount of cats, dogs, pet fish, lizards, rabbits, and other domesticated animals. One time, you even got your hands on a red fox, but you had to hand it over to the next city’s wildlife clinic as it was considered a unique species and you didn’t have the facilities to care for it well enough (in their opinion).

Every day followed the same routine: waking up at five in the morning, showering, and watering your plants. You would forgo making breakfast for a cup of coffee and a ham kimbap from one of two convenience stores you had in your rural town and open the clinic at six-thirty. You would do your rounds, cleaning up and changing the beddings for your inmates (the animals you keep overnight for observation if they had been sick enough), topping up the food, water, and required minerals, adjusting the water or UV light temperature for the fish and reptiles and taking out the garbage.

At seven thirty, your boss would come in and go into the office, handing you a donut and a cup of coffee the way he knew you liked, and the two of you would spend the next eight hours in relative silence.

Considering his age, you did most of the physical work which worked just fine for you, as you enjoyed keeping on your feet. You groomed the animals, fed them at regular intervals, sterilized equipment, and swept the floors. If you had a drop-in for a vaccination or an examination, you stood off to the side in case you were needed while your boss took special care of the animals. If there were kids around, you spent a chunk of your time making sure they were calm so as to not stress out the animals who could scent their discomfort in the air or hear it in their heart rate.

You closed the clinic at seven after making sure the animals all had enough food in their overnight mechanical dispensers, your boss had gone home an hour earlier for dinner with his wife (a regular routine of theirs which you secretly envied) and you would go home to silence. 

Shower off the grit of the day, eat dinner alone with the TV in the background to trick you into thinking you weren’t painfully lonely, and go to bed, only to do the same thing over again the next day.

 For weeks, you would usually be able to track your day to the minute. However, this Saturday, some of your university friends had decided to force you out of the house for dinner and drinks to celebrate. You didn’t really think of it as a celebration, considering the only reason you were being given control of the clinic was because your boss had slipped a disc and couldn’t move around without hurting himself. His wife became his full-time carer and so he benevolently handed over the keys to his life’s work into your youthful hands and told you he had faith in your ability to do your best. 

You admit you cried a little after that. Even though you didn’t feel like you had earned all the bells and whistles but still, you were proud of yourself. 

Your parents weren’t overjoyed with the news, but they supported your career decisions, even when it kept you away from home for two years and when you moved away from Busan permanently to live in a rural fishing town that barely anybody had heard of.

“Yun-ji, I have to leave,” you tell the red-cheeked brunette who was lamenting you leaving.

 “Unni! You always go home first,” she complains, shaking your shoulders with a strength that someone of her stature shouldn’t have. You lock eyes with the other two, Ga-yeon and Eun-woo, and they stifle their giggles. “We’re celebrating you and you’re leaving at,” she glances blearily at her watch. “Nine!”

 “It’s actually almost ten,” you correct and adjust the drunk girl in her seat. “I’m usually asleep by eight.”

 “Unni, you’re 28, not 58,” Eun-woo says, kindly. “You should enjoy yourself a little.”

“I do enjoy myself,” you respond, a touch defensively. “I love my job, and now I’ve got a bunch more responsibility. I just want to do my best, and I can’t do that if I don’t wake up in the morning.”

“We understand,” Ga-yeon replies, moving to pay for the samgyeopsal and bottles of soju that the three other girls had demolished. As the eldest, you didn’t feel the compulsion to drink much of anything, and considering you were driving home, they were at least understanding. The city and your village were about half an hour’s drive apart, so it wouldn’t bode well if you were drunk, driving along those winding roads at this time of the night. “We’ll see you soon though, right, unni?”

You nod. “Of course.”

You grab your purse and hug each girl warmly, with Yun-ji grasping onto you a little tighter when you try to pull away. As the youngest the group, she was often babied by the three of you when you all lived together during your four years at university.

Pushing open the door, you take a deep breath and shift the gifts each girl had given you from one hand to the other when you move to open the door to your old van. It wasn’t the most stylish of vehicles but it was appropriate for the roads and it had a big enough backseat to carry cages, so it worked nicely for your needs. Besides, you didn’t pay for it - the boss did - and for that you were grateful.

You kick the truck into gear and wait for a moment for the rickety sounds to dissipate before you pull out of the underground parking lot and take off down the street - back home.

The winding roads back to the village were nearly empty, especially the closer to the village you drove. It wasn’t all that late, so even you were surprised with how quiet the streets were. At a cross-section, you wait for a moment, humming along to the sounds tinkling out of the radio. The light turns green and you pull off, however instantly, something rushes in front of the front of the van, stopping you in your tracks. 

Someone, covered in blood, standing on wobbly feet.

Your eyes widen and you let out a shriek of surprise.

“Oh my god!”

The person collapses, seemingly unable to keep themselves upright any longer and they lay, motionless, on the cement, blood pooling from their body.

You grab your phone, ready to call the police, the ambulance, anybody, but you know that from the looks of their injuries, waiting for someone to arrive may lead to their death. Although you weren’t a medical doctor, you still had a license to treat and assist in surgeries (on animals) and had taken a medical course in college on a whim to compare the experiences of animals and humans.

You slide out of the car and make your way over to him (it was a man, that was all you could make out from his height and size), wincing at the cold. You wonder how it was possible for him to survive with his injuries, and the closer you come, the worse they look.

You drop to your knees in front of the man and ask, “Sir, can you hear me?”

He groans as you try to carefully roll him onto his back. “Can you squeeze my hand?”

You grab his hand and give it a firm squeeze, which he returns with a weak one.

“My name’s YN. I’m not a doctor but I’m going to try and help you, okay?” 

He groans again, eyes rolling up in a strange moment of lucidity and locking with your own.

You hold his head up with a gentle hand to his jaw and you say, slowly, “I’m going to get you to the hospital, okay?”

He makes a loud sound then, seemingly pulling all of his energy into grabbing your collar and hoisting you down to eye level. He growls, but the sound is muffled, as if he were speaking underwater, “No. Hospitals.” 

You frown at him, not understanding his insistence. He needs help - proper medical help. You could patch up a nasty wound better than the average layman, sure, but this… This was a whole other level. “Sir, you’re bleeding everywhere. You have to seek medical assistance.”

He shakes his head, and you tut, disapprovingly, reaching to stabilize his neck. He could have a neck injury. The man squeezes your hand and in a final moment of strength, he pleads, voice still garbled, “Please…”

You bite your bottom lip and reply, “Can you sit up?”

The man wraps his arm around the back of your neck and you help him to his feet. He was heavy, and you know this was stupid. He could have been hit by a car, he could have a head injury - but you know if he was left on the side of the street, he could end up dying of blood loss and that would haunt you for the rest of your life. 

“I’ll help you into the car,” you tell him, kicking open the van door and nudging him inside. He hisses in pain but drags himself the rest of the way with his uninjured arm, sweat beading at his forehead. “Hold on. I’ll take you to the clinic.”

He grabs your hand and glares at you, a betrayed look on his face.

“Not a hospital,” you correct, lightly. “I’m a vet. I can take you to the animal hospital.”

He stares at you through unsteady eyes before he relaxes, slumping in the passenger seat of the car and drifting off into unconsciousness. You check his pulse and relax when you realize he was still breathing.

You don’t know why you didn’t just take him to the hospital, promise be damned, but you continue on your way to the clinic, heart rabbiting in your chest in fear the entire way.

- end -

(1)

[grumpygreenwitch]

The Fairy and the Prince #11 + #12 + #13 + #14 + #15 + #16

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

This is a far larger update than usual, not out of author’s generosity (I’m a horrible goblin and I have a reputation to uphold!) but because as I was doing the speed-editing two of the chapters ended up as four.

It was a close thing. Adam hardly had time to strip off his filthy clothing and put on a robe before Leminy began pounding on the door. Beli rubbed his face and hair with a damp cloth, but at least that only helped make it look like he was sleep-tousled, and the fact that Dane stumbled out behind him looking barely awake helped as well. They lined up like obedient soldiers before the Master of Scions and four unsmiling guards. Leminy could, of course, ask where Arditty was, but Culli was the lady's to command, and she could only admit that she'd been commanded to stay with the boys.

Leminy couldn't even be displeased that Adam was where he was supposed to be, though the young prince got himself a blistering earful about eschewing his studies for the sake of a nap, of all things. He did his best to look properly chastised. But in the end, Lemony-Leminy actually looked relieved. None of his charges were missing, a victory he counted well won when he'd already begun to realize his job might not end up with the choosing of a king, but with far too many funerals.

Culli said nothing. Adam tried to speak to her, but she merely lifted up a hand, her basket of mending tucked under an arm. "Do you know what you're doing, highness?"

"I know Linden's my friend," Adam admitted slowly. "And I know I'm never going to be king, Culli. There's too many others here that'll beat me to it, even if I wanted to be."

She caught his chin and gave him a deep, unreadable look. "'Never' is a very dangerous word, highness. Don't use it unless you mean it, unless you know for sure all that 'never' is and can be and will be. Particularly not with them involved."

"Linden's not like them."

"Maybe so. I don't know, I can't tell. I know you wouldn't call just anyone a friend, so I'm willing to believe, a little. But you can't blame me for telling you to be so, so careful."

"I am. I will be. Thank you, Culli."

She smiled wryly, shook her head at him, and left. Arditty was found playing ball-toss with her friends in an inner courtyard, and of course they all accounted for one another, so nothing came of that, either. The source of the screaming in the woods was not found.

***

It took three days until Boul found Adam.

Disheartened at Linden's absence from the woods, Adam spent his time trying his best to apply himself to the things he ought to be learning. It was no secret that the youngest prince had no ambition for the crown, and none of the others considered him competition so much as they thought of him as a convenient weathervane: as long as Adam were there, they knew they still had a fighting chance for the crown. He was left out of the dueling, the poisonings, and the general and vicious backstabbing that was beginning to escalate under the Queen Dowager's watchful and ruthless eye.

Prince Ather went into the woods at sunset on the second day, and he didn't come back.

Adam was helping Culli spin wool when the maid dropped her spindle. He snatched it out of midair instinctively, broken out of his dour haze by the unlikeliest of mishaps, and looked up at her from where he sat, bare feet kicking idly into a stone-lined pond while she sat on a graceful bench next to the water.

"Highness, your friends are here," she managed to inform him, her voice a little croaky.

Adam whipped around. Boul was hiding behind the plinth of a statue, a dancing lady wrapped in veils of gossamer granite.

"Boul!" he cried out gladly, rushing over. He slammed himself chest-first into the young troll, what he'd been taught was a proper troll greeting, and staggered back. "Boul, what are you wearing?" he asked after a moment, caught by surprise.

Boul rumbled. He didn't have the finesse of Linden, and he didn't belong, as Adam did. Knowing he was unlikely to make it far into the palace grounds without being discovered, he'd managed to wrangle himself into a pair of pants that barely fit his legs in width, but which he'd had to roll up nearly to the knee so he wouldn't trip on them. He'd snagged from somewhere a coat that dragged behind him but hardly covered his arms to just above the elbow, and he'd found a muddy, forgotten scarf that he'd bundled up around his face and head. "No good at hiding," he admitted at last, as usual the soft croak of his voice a startling contrast to the rough look of him. Then he looked up, and shrank warily behind the statue.

Adam turned. Culli clapped her hands to her mouth, her eyes going very wide.

"It's fine, Boul. This is Culli-maid, she's good. Culli, this is Boul. It's short for Boulders."

"F'r brains," Boul completed, rapping lightly on his skull with his knuckles and provoking a stone-on-stone sound.

Culli pressed her lips closed very, very tightly, because despite her shock and fear some part of her wanted to laugh at the name. And it was a startlingly large part. "How do you do," she greeted, curtsying.

Boul went very red behind his scarf, and retreated even further behind the plinth, and Culli found herself perhaps a little charmed.

"Boul, what's wrong? Is Linden in trouble?"

Boul shook his head and stretched out a long arm to point at the water mill in the Royal Gardens.

Adam looked that way, frowning. If that was all, why hadn't Linden come? Boul, however, spoke as slowly as water grinds stone down, and he still had his baby habit of falling asleep mid-sentence. That, again, was nothing against the troll; he was a troll, and that was his nature. But it did make it hard to get an abundance of news out of him. The prince turned, his steps growing hurried.

"Highness, your shoes!" Culli cried.

"It's fine, I won't need them!" Adam turned to look at her, running backwards briefly for a moment before turning and sprinting at full speed. Boul ran with him, but quickly fell behind, hampered by the clothing. Adam waited for him under the cover of the Garden hedge, and then helped him get out of every garment. "This was very clever, Boul."

"Itchy," the troll admitted, but he'd puffed up with pride. He carefully took the coat from Adam and set it aside. "Giving it back," he explained.

"Oh," Adam felt a little sheepish. "I didn't even think of that. You put me to shame sometimes, Boul." He bumped a fist to the young troll's shoulder, who rumbled low and bumped him back, very carefully. It still staggered the prince a step.

They ran through the gardens, where it was far easier to avoid being seen and heard, going around bushes and trees and statues, until they reached the shady corner where the water mill stood. It was actually a fully working mill, but it had been locked until such a time as a miller for it could be found. The wheel still moved outside, and there were benches and flowers all around it. The door was meant to be barred so wild animals could not come in from the woods, but the window shutters were easy enough to pry open. Inside, the floor was covered in wood shavings and it still smelled as if the whole thing had been newly finished the day before. Sunlight arrowed in through the gaps, both decorative and accidental, in the shutters.

"Linden?" Adam called out into the dappled dark, scrabbling not to fall as he climbed down from the window.

"Adam!" Linden crashed into him in a glad hug. "Where's Boul?"

"Outside. Help me unbar the door for him, he won't make the window." They moved to do just that, and Adam jerked in surprise when a third pair of hands joined them, but he didn't have the breath to spare for questions at the moment. With the door unbarred the young troll scuttled in... and immediately as far away from the newcomer as the airy space allowed.

"Maybe we should leave it unbarred. This would be a nice place for Boul," Linden mused, looking about them after they closed the door and rested the bar off to one side.

Adam examined the stranger. He was guessing the stranger was examining him, too, but he couldn't tell: they had such a wild mass of bright, curly red hair that the rough woolen cap on their head smushed it partially over their face, hiding most of their features under it. There were no eyes to see, there was only the curl over the lip that said there had to be a nose under there. Like Linden and Boul, they wore what looked like castoffs, clothes chance-found and stolen from a clothesline. Unlike his friends, the newcomer had made an effort to make them fit. The shirt sat comfortably on bony shoulders and fit the long, spindly arms. It wasn't tied or buttoned, though. Gray wrappings secured it around long, pointed fingers armed with blackened claws. The pants were bound around their -her, Adam realized, they were a her- her waist with a broad leather belt randomly studded with brass and copper bits, silver and even a single gold button. No iron, of course. It was impossible to tell if the ears were pointed or rounded, only that one of them had a wooden hoop threaded through with a single human knucklebone.

"Linden, won't ye introduce me to yuir friend?" Teeth, so many teeth, flashed in the dark when the stranger spoke, her mouth seeming to open nearly to her ears.

Adam spoke before Linden could. "Is that really your mouth?"

Linden gasped. The stranger's mouth widened in a smile, it widened and grew and curled at the corners, wider beyond what should have fit on her face. Teeth like glassy, broken needles, stuck too close together, filled that smile an gleamed at the young prince. "'Tis," she said with just a hint of malevolent glee. "Pretty, aye?"

"It's absolutely awesome!" Adam replied in naked awe.

She faltered. Visibly.

"Adam, this is Needlemaw." Linden chewed on their lip, a nervous habit they'd picked up from Adam.

Needlemaw didn't know what to say or do. Her life was short by her people's counting, it was one of the main reasons she was there: she was old enough to be a warrior, but young enough to relate to Linden and their friends; that, at least, was the hope of those who'd sent her. But in all her living she'd only ever dealt with the adults of Adam's world. When they faced her, they were of an age to have their beliefs set in stone - their beliefs, their mistakes, and their fears.

Adam had none of those. Teetering on the edge of his first brush with adulthood, and certainly saddled with grown-up concerns as he was, the prince was still only twelve years old. More, the foundations on which his response to Needlemaw were grounded were, though he didn't know it, half-truth and half-lie. On the one hand he believed Linden would keep him safe, always, no matter what.

In Needlemaw's case, that was absolutely a lie; she was the oldest of all the fairies present, powerful enough within her nature that she could have beaten them all, Boul included, without a second thought. Or even a first.

But Adam's admiration was utterly true, completely honest. He was twelve. The sight of Needlemaw's primary attribute was, to him, something to be admired, like the fine craftmanship of a sword. A wise person doesn't blame the sword for being sharp and lethal.

In all her life, Needlemaw had never been admired for what she was. Feared, yes. Shunned, often. Dismissed, disdained, distrusted, more times than even one of her kind will rightly tolerate. Called 'awesome'? Adam was the first. A frisson of an unknown emotion kindled and flowed through her. It would be a while before she'd be able to put the name of 'pride' to it. "Aye, all mine."

"I bet you could bite a sword in half!"

Needlemaw, who'd done exactly that in at least two separate occasions, chortled. "I can too!" she agreed gleefully. "But I prefer some nice crispy fish."

"Oh, the skin all charred and crackly," Adam agreed, immediately distracted. "And stuffed with mushrooms -"

"Drizzled with oil and some fresh wild herby-herbs -"

"With nice roasty taters on the side -"

Boul whined, made hungry by this talk, and it seemed only reasonably to go fishing after that.

***

Needlemaw, Linden told Adam, was to come with them at all times.

"This is because of the kelpie, isn't it," Adam said after a while. Across their small fire, they both watched as Needlemaw put a whole trout in her mouth, tail-first, and pulled out only the head and the skeleton without ever moving her jaws. Boul 'ooooh'd in awe. "She's your bodyguard, like."

Linden, sitting next to him, arms wrapped around their legs and fingers tangled around their muddy toes, nodded without looking at Adam.

"They don't seem terribly strict or anything," Adam suggested. "Are they the sort to forbid you to do things?"

"Needle? Never." Linden rested their head on their knees. "But she's, you know. People don't like her, they don't like her kind. They snarl and she snarls back. It's going to make everything complicated."

"My people or your people or them?" Adam asked pointedly. He had a guess as to what Linden's bodyguard was, but as with all things Linden, he didn't want to ask. For one thing, it felt as if it would be terribly rude and for another, to name things was to give them power.

"Nobody. Well, we don't care either way, but that's because we don't ever really come together with her people. But your people and the Court. The Court least of all."

"The Court only likes the Court," Needlemaw suddenly said from across the fire.

"Do you mean harm to Linden?" Adam asked bluntly.

The mass of wild curls shifted minutely, and a moment later Needlemaw laughed. "I'm here to protect the wee sapling, highness. Are ye going to ask after my intentions next? Who's taught ye to ask questions, Boulders-for-Brains here?"

"Don't call me that, please," Adam said stiffly. "I'm Adam, like Linden and I said. I'm not a prince."

Needlemaw went still and silent. "I beg yuir pardon, Adam."

"Thank you," the prince replied.

"Don't ye like being a prince?"

"No. I don't want to be king. It's just a reminder that I didn't even choose for it to happen to me."

"True enough," Needlemaw said evenly. "'Twill come for ye someday, though. Oblivion or not."

"Yes, but that's not today, and it's not tomorrow, and that's fine for now." Adam stretched his feet toward the fire. "So you're important," he turned to look at Linden.

"Ynoes," Linden hid their mouth behind their knees, arms curled tight, spine rigid.

Adam blew out an exasperated sigh at an uniquely Linden word. "Linden."

"I'm me," they snapped at him tartly. "I don't want to be important, I didn't ask to be important."

Adam closed his mouth and looked at Needlemaw, who shrugged lightly. "Well, I don't mind Needlemaw. And it could be worse," he pointed out.

"Worse than having a nanny?!" Linden exclaimed.

"Yes!" Adam flung an arm towards Needlemaw. "You can't make friends with a nanny, Linden! You could've got a nanny, you got a bodyguard instead!" He eyed Needlemaw. "Can you climb?"

"Uh, why?" The fairy was suddenly feeling very cautious.

Adam scoffed. "Well, you're not going to do your job very well if you can't climb."

***

Needlemaw, as it turned out, could climb. She was also dead afraid of heights.

"You must have climbed some before!" Adam shot at her when she stalled them yet again, pressed tight against a cornice, her limbs locked and trembling.

"Aye, when there was a point, a reason, a goal!" she snarled back at the prince. She had scrabbled over fortress walls with her kin on many occasions, to overrun the defenders and feast on the defeated. She had clambered over and through many sorts of structures and almost every type of home, both fairy and mortal, chasing whoever fled before the tide of her people. But she'd never had time to look down before.

On the roof above them Linden peeked down, expression as unreadable as the language of trees was to Adam.

Adam sighed. They couldn't keep doing this; it wasn't just that they weren't getting anything fun done, it was also dangerous. He wasn't sure if a fall from a good height would kill Needlemaw, but he would have wagered his desserts for the entire week that it wouldn't be harmless, and if she kept getting distracted and panicked she was absolutely going to fall at some point.

And, Adam suspected, Linden would make no effort to catch her. He didn't want to fault his friend, but it seemed mean all the same. Linden had not asked for a bodyguard, sure, but the prince didn't think Needlemaw had asked for the job, either. He had no idea what power could compel either of them to put up with an obligation they both hated; possibly they had a Queen Dowager to answer to, as well.

He stretched out from his own perch and offered a hand. First things first. "Alright, well, let's get you up here first, I guess. Give me your hand."

Needlemaw's head twitched around, and Adam almost thought for a moment that he could see eyes through the mass of her curls. She said nothing, and he twitched his fingers. "Come on, then! I have to leave when they call for supper and I'd like to get some fun in!"

"Oh, very important that is, supper," she muttered with utmost scorn, staring (or so he thought) between him and his hand.

"Hasn't anyone ever helped you climb?" Adam asked in exasperation.

Needlemaw didn't reply.

"Adam, no one likes her kind," Linden said very quietly from the roof. "No one ever helps them."

"I'm not helping her kind, I'm helping her!" Adam shot back at Linden before turning back to the girl. "Well?"

"There's sommat wrong with ye, I'm sure of it," she muttered. "I just can't tell what it would be, out of the muchness of ye." She uncoiled slowly, straightening up somewhat, which only made the spindly length of her limbs that much more obvious. There was a menacing grace in the way she moved, Adam thought, like watching a spider react to the fly struggling in her web. But then she froze again "I can't, I can't. Erry time I look down I -"

"Stop looking down," Adam commanded her. "Look at Linden. Look at me." He shifted. He was half in and half out of a narrow, decorative balcony, his arm outstretched, his hand open.

Needlemaw shook and cocked her head, and for a moment bright yellow eyes, as alien and predatory as the kelpie's, stared at Adam. She looked up at Linden, then back at him. "And yui're sure I'm to call ye Adam? Adam and nothing else?"

"What's that got to do with anything right now?"

"As much as the weight of yuir last fingerbone to ye, I guess," Needlemaw muttered, stretching out, gripping the offered hand at last.

***

She fit herself around the edges of their group; it helped that Adam welcomed her, though he and Linden had some spectacular fights over it, the sort they hadn't had since he'd mentioned the iron bits that went into each horse's mouth when the princes were learning jousting, or when he'd tried to carve his name into the linden tree. Needlemaw ended up yanking them apart on one of those occassions, dragging them off one another by the scruff of their shirts and lifting them in the air, shaking them roughly. "Oi!"

Adam heard his teeth rattle and hung limp, sullen and sore. Linden tried to scrabble free of Needlemaw's grip and got rattled some more. "Do ye really want what'll come to pass if we don't make this work?"

"Let go of me!" Needlemaw dropped them, and Linden stomped away.

Adam immediately felt shame at his outburst, never mind they'd both escalated things. "Linden, wait -"

"Wait ye should." The fairy maid's hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "Does crowding ever help yuir temper?"

Adam chewed restlessly on his lip, but he didn't follow, not until Needlemaw tipped her head. They walked side by side into the woods and the silence. "Ye do know, Linden's people wouldnae be the ones to be teaching 'em to kick and pinch and poke eyes." When she saw Adam flush, she blew out a slow, fluting breath. "That's what comes of ye mortals. Even when ye dinnae mean to, ye change everything ye touch."

"I really didn't mean to!" Adam rallied against an accusation he couldn't even fully understand. "Linden's fine the way they are, they're still Linden."

"I didnae mean it against Linden." At the prince's puzzled look, she smiled, teeth just barely glinting for a brief moment. "I mean me."

"What, I haven't changed anything in you! You're the same as you were when we met in the water-mill."

"Am I?" Needlemaw mused. "I'll have to make notes, to make sure and stay that way." She already knew something had radically changed from the very moment she'd met the prince and he'd not been afraid; even more so when he'd lent her a hand, when he'd risked his friendship for her sake. She just didn't know how vast those changes might come to be. Yet. "Adam, do ye know why I'm here? Do ye understand how special Linden is?"

"Of course! They're my best friend, my first friend. I had none back home and I wasn't going to make any here. There's always been just us."

She had to hold back a grin. "No, I mean to their people."

"Oh." In one single sound the prince made it absolutely clear how little he thought of Linden's people and their opinion compared to the weight of friendship between the two of them. "No. I've always thought it'd be rude to ask, you know, anything. And in the end it makes no difference anyway."

Needlemaw didn't even know what to say for a long time. Such utter acceptance was something she'd never experienced, something she was sure very few across all the Courts of her people had known, particularly from a mortal. She wondered if that was what she'd seen shine in Adam's eyes, the force of his heart, the immensity of the friendship and the loyalty he offered. "There's not been any like Linden in longer than most of the trees in these woods have memory, Adam. They're rare, rare as ye, I wager."

"I'm not rare. The palace is full of princes."

"And how many of them trying to get away from being king, rather than running neckybreaky to it?" When Adam didn't answer, Needlemaw went on. "Linden's drawn attention, they have. Worse when they started mucking about like wild things with ye."

Adam was quiet a long, long time. "They said... They said the Court called them silly for being my friend," he said at last, and the weary, lonely sadness in his voice startled her. "I suppose because they knew when I come of age I'll die. The Prince in the Woods will kill me like he's killing everyone else."

"He's not exactly killing 'em, he cannae. He's testing 'em. They're just tests he knows they're gauny fail."

Adam had learned enough about Linden and Needlemaw's people not to protest that it was no difference at all, because to the Folk in the Woods there absolutely was a difference. "He's still going to see me dead. All because a girl told him no."

She scoffed. "Is that what yui're taught? Some tripe of love and heartbreak?"

"It's not true?"

She laughed, mean and coarse. "The Court don't love! The Court don't hardly like. They're empty, gone brittle with age, stuck together with power. They've done all that can be done, played all the games, fought all the wars. They're bored, Adam, and 'tis the bad kind of bored." She shook her head. "'Twas a game. And like most games of the Court, 'twent bad. Very very badly bad."

"Everyone thinks a fairy prince fell in love with the Queen."

"Love? No, I don't think a one of 'em knows what love is anymore. They lost it and forgot it. They play at it, Conemara and Canemore," she hawked and spat disdainfully to one side, as if the names were foul in her mouth, "they're siblings. They made a bet. They made a game of it, when the High Queen sent them here, where their chaos couldnae do harm in Her Court. If he could make the princess fall in love with him, and leave everything behind, put his ring on her finger, then he'd get to rule. If he couldn't, then the ruling fell to her."

"She said no."

"Aye, that's the problem, Adam, she did say no." Needlemaw smiled her terrible smile. "And she meant it. Canemore was sure she loved him, was sure she'd do anything for him. He'd not reckoned that a mortal could love until her heart bled and still have sense, have wits. She did, yuir princesss then, yuir Queen now."

"She loved him?"

"Oh, the Court sings songs of her love. He hates them, so his sister has them sung aaaall the time."

"But then -"

Needlemaw stopped walking and leaned down. Where Adam was only beginning to hit the growth spurt of his youth, the fairy maid was what a mortal would call a teen, taller than the prince by a good foot or more. "He thinks she tricked him, yuir princess, because that's all they do in the Court, trick each other, and the crueler the trick the better. He, do ye see, Adam, he did everything right to make her fall in love with him, and she did. There was naught she loved more than him. But she were also smart enough to know, to really know that he didnae love her back. That he would destroy her if she let him." She straightened up.

"So she said no," Adam licked his lips. "And he lost."

"He lost. His sister rules. And 'tis her law that he is never to be allowed to forget why she rules, and not him."

"Oh, he's going to kill us all," Adam closed his eyes, feeling his heart hammering against his ribs as if it were a rabbit just become aware of the snare around its foot. "He'll never not be angry."

"No," Needlemaw agreed, waiting to see if the young prince could see the fathomless depth of the trap.

"Because... because it's entertaining. Because it's funny to the Court to see him murder us all without actually touching us."

Needlemaw touched her long, pale fingertips to her mouth, then pressed the kiss to Adam's forehead, acknowledging his wit and his intelligence. "This is him without a throne and crown, Adam. Can ye imagine what he'd do if he had both?"

"Can he?" Adam felt chilled to his marrow. "When he lost to his sister -"

"No. That bet was laid. 'Twas won and done. The Court is her Court, until she dies, or fades, or passes it on, and she'd as soon give it to the likes of me before she lets him have it. No, he had no way out, Adam. Until Linden came about."

Adam froze. He stopped walking, because if he took another step he feared his legs, gone nerveless, would dump him on his face. "No."

"I told ye, ye dinnae know how special yuir friend is." Needlemaw threw her arms out. "Out here 'tis all wild and passing, will'o'wisps and pixies, trundling things, fading as quick as they come." She snapped her fingers for good measure. "Kin to fireflies and butterflies and all the things that come up full of beauty and die the next day and no one there to mourn them, to remember them, or even miss them. Even the trees don't remember well, unless 'tis biggish to them. But Linden -"

"Linden's like them," Adam's voice was strangled with fear. He hadn't been afraid of his fate, he hadn't been afraid to die. He'd known he could only do the one thing to escape the fairy prince's fury, and if that didn't work, well, what else could he do? But he'd never thought of Linden being in danger, and the idea, the very hint of it roused in him things that were far too great for his twelve-year old heart.

"Aye," Needlemaw said quietly. "And with Linden comes all the power of the Wild Green. A court on its own, if only there were someone to name it that."

"Is that why you're here?" Adam's hands curled into fists and looked up to where he knew those fey, alien yellow eyes rested. "To take Linden away? To bring them to this monster?"

Needlemaw felt, for the third time since she'd met the young prince, as if something were turning on its axis, as if somewhere a page with 'Needlemaw' writ large at the top were being turned, made into something new, because once again there was no fear as the young mortal faced her. Her! So few things were more nightmarish than her and her kin, and yet here he was, this slender bone splinter of a mortal boy, with his eyes full of destiny and his heart already crowned, threatening to take her on with nothing but his dirty, tiny fists for the sake of his friend. "No, and no, and no again," she replied, and she was glad it was the truth. "He cannae force Linden to choose him, and thank be the blood on me cap for that. No. I'm here to make sure Linden's here to court, when the time comes for him to come courting."

Adam relaxed visibly, and snorted. "They'll never."

"I'm hoping yui're right, Adam. And I think ye might be. And I cannae imagine what his anger will be like, when he's balked twice because yuir bloodline went mucking with his affairs." She let him mull on that. "Come on. Let's go find yuir friend and see if there's any talking some sense into 'em. And I cannae believe ye two have me saying such things."

***

It still wasn't perfect, but they made it work. Linden tried to escape once or twice, outright lying to Needlemaw about their whereabouts. Adam wouldn't have it, and they both had the welts and scrapes and bruises to show for those disagreements.

"I hate this, I hate them! I hate them!" Linden had screamed from the rooftops, a shrill bird's cry of fury and outrage and impotence when it returns home and finds its nestlings stolen by a predator. They were both battered, filthy and bloody, clothes and skin scraped. Adam was going to be nursing a black eye for weeks; it was that, Linden's punch sending him crashing down to the slate and stone and clay, that had broken Linden's fury and turned it to grief and shame. "My woods were fine, my woods were wild and green and kind and they've turned them ugly, they've turned them hungry, and I hate them!"

"No. No, Linden." The young prince scrabbled back to his feet and rushed over to where his friend perched against the light, heaving with sobs they refused to cry, quickening all the emotions pent up in their sapling body into one. They tried to shake Adam off, but he persisted, until at last they were hugging, and Linden wept against his shoulder. "Don't," Adam pleaded quietly. "Don't hate, Linden, don't hate them. Hate's what made a muck-all of this to begin with. Don't hate."

They clung to each other in the bright morning sun, the young prince lean and sturdy and deeply human, the fairy child slender and brown and crowned in white hair that smelled of flowers, with their shattered many-colored eyes, both of them bearing burdens they had never wanted. In the end Linden pulled away a little, the storm of their emotions spent, and rubbed roughly at their face. "Well, can I be mad at them at least?"

"Oh, gods, yes," Adam agreed stoutly. "I don't even know them and I'm mad at them all the time."

That made his friend smile, if only a little bit. But it was enough.

"Besides, even if I could I wouldn't change anything."

"What!" Linden sounded aghast.

"Why would I?" Adam shrugged. "Without them I'd never have met you."

Linden had no answer to that for a long, long moment. "I guess they've done two good things, I suppose," they admitted, toeing angrily at a roof slate. "I wouldn't ever not want to be your friend, Adam."

Adam grinned, and rubbed at his face, leaving blood smeared all over his sleeve.

"Tch!" Linden turned and led the way. "I guess we best find Needlemaw. Maybe she'll know what to do about that eye."

Needlemaw's cure was to lick the wounds, which made them sting fiercely and briefly and then got rid of them before the day was over - all but Adam's black eye and Linden's split lip. It marked a change, that day and that fight, and by the time autumn's last leaves were blown out of the trees, the redcap was as much a part of their group as Boul.

[440mxs-wife]

The Hunter’s Princess - Chapter 4: Meeting New People

Pairing: Dean x OFC Kira (eventual), Prince!Dean x OFC Lady Kira. Other Characters: Sam Winchester, Prince!Sam Winchester, Castiel, Rowena, Gabriel, King!John, Queen!Mary, Lucifer and assorted minor characters.

Chapter 4 Word Count: 4020+

Warnings: Character crossover, accident with slight injury, fluff. Each chapter will have individual warnings as needed.

A/N: This is from some material that’s been rattling around in my head from another project that changed direction. Couldn’t let all this content go to waste, though, so here it is. It’s a work-in-progress, and I will try and update as regularly as I can. If you want to be tagged in this series, send me a message!

Thank you and happy reading!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Kira?" he whispered.

Lady Kira lifted her head from resting on top of her knees. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"It's me, Dean. Don't you recognize me?" he asked.

By this time, Sam and Castiel had reached the door and were peering inside. Both of them were stunned to see someone who looked like Kira, but at the same time, wasn't Kira.

Dean could feel the tension radiating from Kira as he glanced between her and the men standing at her door. "Whoa, sweetheart, it's okay. The tall, shaggy-haired man is my brother, Sam. The guy in the trenchcoat is Castiel. He's an.....Angel of the Lord," Dean mumbled.

Lady Kira looked at all three men and unexpectedly burst into laughter. "An angel?? A real, honest-to-goodness angel? Where are your wings then?" she asked.

Castiel tilted his head to the side in confusion at her question. "Only my soulmate can see my wings," he replied in his gravelly voice.

"Oh. I suppose that's convenient. That way, you know for sure who your soulmate is," she reasoned.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief. If Kira couldn't see Cas' wings, then she wasn't his soulmate. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

Lady Kira took a deep breath. "I was in my pub, getting ready to pour a beer for someone. Next thing I know, I'm waking up here. Speaking of which, where exactly is 'here'?" she inquired.

"That, I'm afraid, will take a bit of explanation. We should get some food, then we can fill you in on the situation," Dean replied.

Lady Kira nodded in agreement. "Very well," she said. As foreign as her surroundings and companions were, there was something familiar about the three men. For some reason, they seemed to put her at ease. She had a feeling that they wouldn't let any harm come to her, that they would protect her at all costs. Eventually she realized she would have to put her trust in someone, if she had any kind of hope of returning home.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Prince Samuel and Castiel followed behind Kira, who walked with Prince Dean to the castle's main hall. To say Kira felt a bit self-conscious was an understatement. Here she was, about to compete for the opportunity to become wife to one of the princes and eventually queen. The stakes couldn't be higher, which naturally set her nerves on edge.

From the outside, she wondered if it appeared to others as though she was trying to gain some sort of an advantage. Kira was concerned at the amount of time she had been spending lately with the princes. She didn't have a manipulative bone in her body, but the other competitors might not regard her behavior as innocent. They may view it as the princes showing favoritism towards her, and as such may even lead others to cause trouble for her. For these reasons and to safeguard the locket, she was going to have to be vigilant at all times.

As they entered the main hall, Prince Dean pulled them to a stop, because his mother, Queen Mary was approaching from the opposite direction. He bowed to his mother as Kira gave her a deep curtsy. "Mother? May I present Lady Kira of the Eastern province. Lady Kira, this is my mother, Queen Mary," Dean said.

"It is an honor to meet you, Your Majesty," Kira remarked, resuming a standing position but keeping her head tilted slightly downward.

"Pleased to meet you as well, Lady Kira," Queen Mary replied as a flicker of recognition crossed her face. "Oh! You met my sons recently, I believe? They stopped in your establishment for a drink on their way home?" she asked.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I had the pleasure of meeting your sons almost a week ago. Although, I must confess, I regret that I did not immediately recognize them. It had been a long day, and I deeply apologize if I offended them in any way," she explained.

Queen Mary leaned in and said softly, "On the contrary, my dear. I believe you made quite a favorable impression on them, and on Castiel as well," she grinned. "What brings you here? Are you competing in the Princes' Challenge?" she asked as she stepped back.

"I am, Your Majesty. I appreciate the opportunity, and promise to faithfully represent my province to the best of my ability," Kira replied.

"Well, I'm sure you'll perform admirably, and I'm looking forward to learning more about you, Lady Kira. It was lovely to have met you," she finished.

Kira gave the queen another deep curtsy as she continued on her path. With her free hand, Kira covered her face in embarrassment as she blushed furiously.

Prince Dean turned to look at her. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Kira shook her head, tears threatening. "I feel like I just made a huge fool of myself in front of your mother. Admitting to her I didn't recognize you when you came to my pub. You and your brother are the crown princes, everyone knows who you are, for goodness' sake! Oh, I've really made a grand impression on your mother. Unforgettable, so she'll remember why I should be shown the door. Why can't I just learn to keep my big mouth--" she was stopped by Prince Dean's index finger on her lips.

"You were going to say, 'closed', right?" he said, to which Kira nodded. "First of all, my brother and I didn't announce ourselves as the 'crown princes' for a reason. Probably for the same reason you don't announce yourself as 'Lady Kira'. You want people to know you by your character, not your title." More nodding from Kira.

"Second of all, I know my mother, and you're no closer to being shown the door than I am. She appreciates people who speak their mind and are not afraid to voice an opinion," Prince Dean explained. "Okay? Will I see you at dinner?" he asked.

Kira met his soft green eyes and all she could do at that moment was keep nodding her head. "Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness. I believe I'm in need of some rest before dinner. If I may take my leave from you now, I'll see you at dinner, Your Highness," she replied softly.

"By all means, Lady Kira. Until dinner," he remarked, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. Kira gave a small curtsy to the prince, a smile and nod to Castiel, then headed upstairs to her room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About an hour later, Sarah came in to wake Kira so that she could take a bath and wash her hair. Kira wanted to freshen up from her earlier tour of the gardens and marketplace. She relaxed into the warm water and allowed her concerns about meeting the queen slip below the surface.

Twenty minutes later, sufficiently cleaned and refreshed, Kira stepped out of the tub into a waiting towel held for her by Sarah. Kira asked her if she would please lay out the gown that had been previously chosen to wear at dinner, while she dried off and put on undergarments.

Kira was putting on her jewelry when there was a knock on her door. Sarah opened it, and Rowena entered, looking stunning as always. She had on a purple silk gown with delicate gold thread woven throughout the fabric. Her long red tresses cascaded down her back in waves, pinned up on the sides by clips encrusted with crystals.

"Rowena, you've outdone yourself, you look fantastic!" Kira gushed. She took note of Kira's appearance as well. She had on the pastel green silk gown that Rowena had provided. Kira's light chestnut hair was curled into ringlets and of course, she was wearing her mother's locket.

"Oh darlin', no one will be able to take their eyes off of you. You look beautiful, my dear. Come, let's head down to dinner. Don't want to be late, considering you've already made an impression with the queen," she smirked as Kira groaned. "Oh come now, it couldn't have been that bad. If it was, they would have asked you to leave by now. Let's go, dearie," she insisted.

Dinner was an interesting affair. The rest of the competitors showed up and attended the dinner meal. Kira had already "met" Serena, and learned at dinner that she was from the Northern province. Christina came from the West, while Adriana was from the South.

Kira already knew that Serena was not her biggest fan, and it appeared Christina was joining her camp instead of Kira's. Adriana seemed kind, or at least not outwardly hostile. She and Kira spent most of dinner talking about their respective homelands.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I'm telling you, Lucifer, I saw it at dinner tonight! That locket you're looking for, that allows you to move throughout multiple dimensions? It's hanging around Lady Kira's stupid neck," Serena insisted.

"Really? How interesting. I believe I also saw a certain witch named Rowena McLeod hanging around with her. I've dealt with her before, and she could present a problem," Lucifer made a tsking sound. "And here I'd hoped we could do this without things becoming complicated," Lucifer pouted.

"It doesn't have to be complicated, Lucifer. Lady Kira is participating in the Princes' Challenge. The events are not exactly for the faint of heart, I mean....accidents can happen," Serena remarked.

"Hmm. I suppose you're right. But for now, we'll bide our time, study Lady Kira a bit more before we strike. For your part, try not to completely alienate her, just keep your distance. Sooner or later, she'll let her guard down. When she does, we shall relieve her of that cumbersome piece of jewelry. Then there'll be no one to stop me," Lucifer finished darkly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Kira decided to go back to the marketplace and take a closer look at what the vendors had to offer. Her previous marketplace outing with Castiel was a little sidetracked by Prince Dean and his brother. By the time the princes had caught up to her and Castiel, she had grown a little tired and asked Prince Dean to continue the tour another time.

For her attire, Kira had chosen a pale blue cotton day dress. As she wandered among the carts, she observed the jewelry makers, food and drink vendors and even glassblowers. She marveled at the variety of offerings in the castle marketplace. She made her way toward the food vendors for some breakfast.

Kira purchased a fruit pastry and went on to the jewelry maker. She found gifts for her pub staff, necklaces with heart-shaped pendants. One was made of turquoise, one of rose quartz and one of black onyx. She found a hat for Alfred at the milliner's cart where yesterday, she and Castiel were trying on her hats. Kira still had other gifts to get for her house staff, but decided to come back another day.

On her way back to the castle, Kira saw a young girl standing next to the apple cart. She looked no more than about seven years old with blond hair and brown eyes. She gazed longingly at the apples, and Kira could only wonder if it had been a while since her last meal. Kira approached the young lady and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. The girl whipped her head around and when her eyes locked on Kira's, she could see they were full of fear.

Kira knelt down until she was at eye level with the child. "My name is Kira," she said gently. "Can you tell me your name, little one?" she asked.

She stared at Kira, bottom lip trembling. Kira could tell she was trying to decide whether to run or whether to stay and talk. "Danielle," she whispered.

Kira stuck out her hand in greeting. "That is a very beautiful name. I am so happy to meet you, Danielle," Kira replied as she shook hands and the young lady giggled.

From the bag in her left hand, Kira took out the pastry she was saving for her breakfast and handed it to Danielle. She looked at Kira in confusion, and she nodded to assure Danielle that it was okay.

In response, Danielle gave a slight curtsy. "Thank you, Lady Kira," she said shyly. Kira must have given her a confused look in return, because she giggled again. "I saw you yesterday with Prince Dean, Prince Samuel and Castiel, your ladyship," Danielle explained.

As the child ate the pastry, Kira bought six apples for Danielle to take home, along with a baguette of bread and a block of cheese. They started on their journey towards Danielle's house, then Kira remembered that she had briefly put down her other packages. The child had stopped in the middle of the street and looked around to see why Kira was no longer at her side.

Kira felt the hairs on her neck stand on end and heard the fast approaching hoofbeats. She shouted at Danielle to get out of the way, but knew Danielle had no time. Kira ran towards the child. Kira wrapped her arms around Danielle and rolled with her out of the way, narrowly missing the galloping horse herself. Danielle's belongings went flying and the sleeve of her dress was torn, but she was alive.

When Kira sat up, a sharp pain hit her on the side of her head. She felt something trickling down the side of her face and used her hand to wipe it away. When Kira looked at her fingers, she saw that it was blood, which caused a wave of dizziness to crash over her. "Danielle? Where are you, sweetie?" Kira croaked.

"Lady Kira! Are you all right?" Danielle exclaimed, tears running down her cheeks. Kira brought her hand up to wipe Danielle's tears away, then it fell limp and all she saw was black. "Oh no!! Somebody help us!!" Danielle cried.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kira awoke to the sound of hushed voices, standing in the corner of the room, deep in conversation. She turned to see an anxious blond-haired, seven-year-old sitting by her bedside. The child was holding Kira's hand while trying to keep her tears at bay. "Hello, Danielle," Kira said, smiling weakly.

She jumped up from her chair and ran towards the people in the corner. "She's all right! She's awake! Lady Kira is awake!" she exclaimed.

At hearing the child's announcement, everyone turned in Kira's direction. Castiel and Rowena came up behind Danielle, with Rowena placing her hands on Danielle's shoulders. "Calm yourself, sweet bairn," she soothed, trying to contain the child's excitement.

"Castiel, would you please take Danielle down to get something to eat?" Kira asked. "She's had quite a morning," she gave Castiel a small smile.

"Absolutely, Lady Kira. Please follow me, little one," Castiel said, smiling and holding out his hand for her. She took his hand and they left the room.

Rowena sat down next to the bed and took Kira's hand. "Are you all right, dearie? Danielle said you were almost hit by a runaway horse!"

Kira explained what happened in the marketplace, from picking up the trinkets, to seeing Danielle, to rolling with her out of the way from the horse.

Rowena's hand flew to cover her mouth. "My goodness, Kira....You saved Danielle's life," she said softly.

Kira closed her eyes. "Rowena, I did what anyone else would've done. I bought a hungry little girl and her family some food, and got her out of the path of that horse," she muttered.

"Och, so modest. You're doing exactly what you would've done at home, protecting the innocent," Rowena observed with a smile. "Your hunter instincts are serving you well here. That's why you'll win at the Princes' Challenge and get home to your Sam and Dean," she remarked with a wink.

"Let's hope so, Rowena," Kira replied as the door opened and Danielle ran in. She smiled as Danielle tried to wedge herself in between Rowena and the bed. Rowena chuckled as she got up from the chair so that the child could sit down next to her rescuer. "Hey there, little one. Are you okay?" Kira asked.

She nodded enthusiastically and looked up at Castiel. "I got to have a cup of hot chocolate, another pastry and I got to meet the queen," she giggled. "She's very pretty and so very nice."

"How did you....? Castiel? How did she get to meet the queen?" Kira wondered.

"I believe I can answer that," a familiar voice answered. Prince Dean said as he and Prince Samuel stepped into Kira's room. "Mother was with us in the dining room. We were having a snack, when Castiel brought this sweet young lady in. She told us what happened in the marketplace, that you saved her life. Are you all right?" Prince Dean asked softly.

Kira struggled to get up to a sitting position, so Prince Dean helped her as Prince Samuel put a pillow behind her back for support. "Thank you. I'm fine, I promise, except a really huge headache. That, and I wish everyone would not make such a fuss about what I did for Danielle," she said. Kira raised her hand to check where earlier she had felt the blood, and instead felt a bandage.

"We asked the royal physician to come and check on you to make sure there were no serious injuries. He said you'll be fine with some rest and a change of bandage now and then. And what you did for Danielle is a big deal, Lady Kira," Prince Dean insisted. "You saved her life." He held her hand in his, with his thumb drawing little circles on the back. As he did this, Kira felt a calming sensation wash over her. She started to feel a bit drowsy as she melted into his touch.

"Good news, as Dean suggested, I spoke to Father, and he agreed to postpone the first challenge for a day or two. That way, all participants will have a chance to compete at full health," Prince Samuel remarked.

"I appreciate that, thank you. Please thank His Majesty for that as well. After a day or two, I should be ready to take my place among the other competitors," Kira affirmed.

"Looking forward to it, Lady Kira," Prince Dean replied, smiling. "Well, we should probably leave you to rest," he said as he stood up from his chair. He gave a lingering kiss to Kira's forehead, winking before he stepped back.

To Rowena, he directed her to keep an eye on Kira and not let her overdo things. She acknowledged his request with a simple curtsy, something which would never have happened in her side of the multiverse. Kira covered her mouth with her hand to keep Rowena from seeing the laughter. Soon after the princes and Castiel departed, Kira felt her eyelids start to drift shut again, so she gave in to her need for sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lucifer was pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand, Serena. Lady Kira was knocked to the ground, unconscious while saving that little girl. You had the perfect opportunity to get that locket. So why don't I have it?!?" he shouted.

"There were too many people around, helping her. Otherwise, I would've snapped that locket right off her pretty little neck," Serena muttered.

"All anyone in the whole castle is talking about is how she saved that kid's life," he sneered. "That's going to make it 1000 times harder to steal the locket. We'll just have to take our time and plan carefully. When the moment is right, we'll reclaim what should rightfully be ours anyway," Lucifer said ominously.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Everyone took a seat at the map table. "So, you said my situation would take a bit of explanation," Lady Kira started. She waved her hand at Dean as a signal to begin.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Let's start with the basics. You know our names, so how about we get yours?" he asked.

Lady Kira finished chewing her bite of pizza before answering. "I am Lady Kira of the Eastern Province. Although I hold a title, it's pretty much in name only. I'm not a wealthy woman. My father left a mountain of debt when he died, and I've had to sell off parts of my land to survive.

"I own a pub, where I employ three women as servers. The pub provides me with enough of an income to run my household plus a little more. Keeps me from selling off more of my lands unless absolutely necessary. Without the pub, I also wouldn't be able to help take care of my townspeople in the ways that they need," she finished softly.

Dean studied the woman before him. She looked so like his Kira, but at the same time, he knew she was her own person. Lady Kira had the same fire, determination, beauty and generosity that he had loved about his Kira since the day they met.

"I'm sure you do an admirable job of it as well. My brother and I, along with this guy--" Dean gestured with his thumb towards Castiel--"we also help people. We hunt monsters, like werewolves, demons, vampires and vengeful spirits. We try to save as many people as we can, without attracting a lot of attention to ourselves," he replied.

The three men waited for some sort of a reaction from Lady Kira. "Gentlemen, I come from a long line of hunters. My father was a hunter, like you, and already told me about all of this. My mother used to hunt with him, but sort of retired when I came along. When I turned a certain age, she gave me this," she answered. From underneath her tunic, she pulled out a chain, to which was attached a locket.

"That's exactly like the one my--er--the Kira that belongs to this world has," Dean remarked. "It's what sent her to your world and brought you here," he explained.

"Hmm. I was afraid of that. See, this locket's magic works off of a lunar eclipse. There's only one way it can be activated without an eclipse. And that's if the wearer is in the presence of outside magical forces," Lady Kira pondered.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and frowned. Castiel picked up on their exchange and asked, "Rowena?", to which the brothers nodded.

"She was working on some kind of spell from the Book of the Damned. And since we won't let her keep it in her library, she had to come here," Sam explained.

"Cas, can you get word to Gabriel? He seems to be the only one who can move between dimensions without having to wait for a lunar eclipse. And if he can, you can bet that Lucifer can as well. Rowena has to make doubly sure that nothing happens to that locket," Dean said grimly.

"Lucifer? The Lucifer? As in Satan, Prince of Darkness, that Lucifer?" Lady Kira asked incredulously.

"The very same, sweetheart. He's been a major pain in the ass in this world, and I'll bet he's not much better in your world," Dean replied.

"I've obviously heard of him, but haven't had much, if any, occasion to interact with him. Something tells me that I don't want to, either," Lady Kira agreed.

"You're right about that, you don't want to have anything to do with him," Cas remarked. "I'll go see what Gabriel has in the way of information," he promised, then disappeared.

"We'll find out when the next lunar eclipse is. Hopefully it won't be too many days from today," Dean grumbled.

"Excuse me, is there somewhere that I can take a bath, get cleaned up? Perhaps a change of clothes?" Lady Kira asked.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. "Yeah sure, sweetheart. Follow me and I'll show you. We have a bathtub, or you can take a shower. As far as a change of clothes, there are some clean ones in your room. I'm sure my Kira won't mind," Dean replied softly.

Part 5 here!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags: @janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @babygurltt

The Hunter’s Princess Series tags: @flamencodiva

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 119

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle go house hunting.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @damalseer​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly​ @salempoe​ @wolfsmom1​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

‘What do you think?’ Tom asked as they pulled up to the house.

‘It’s a bit….big. What are we planning, a hundred and one dogs?’ Danielle looked at it. ‘It’s a bit fancy.’

‘Why not get something fancy if we are planning a home at all?’ Tom challenged.

‘Because I don’t want to have mortgage repayments of ten thousand pounds a month I suppose.’ Danielle commented in a bedpan tone. ‘I cannot afford to look at houses like this, Tom.’ She indicated to the house, how much is this even going for?’

‘Just shy of two.’

‘Two what?’ Tom did not look at her. ‘Million? Two million? Tom, what the hell are you thinking?’ She looked at him in shock.

‘That overall, this is a good house, it is big.’

‘I can see that.’ She looked at it again.

‘The front of it is like your parents.’ He pointed out. Danielle had to agree with him, it did. ‘Just look at it, please.’

‘Tom, I think it goes without saying, I cannot afford this.’ She stated. ‘I can’t.’

‘Please Elle, just take a look, we’ll talk more about that in a while.’

Danielle chewed her lip. ‘This is madness.’ she shook her head. ‘What made you even look at this?’

‘I want us to have a nice home.’

‘Nice does not have to equate to two fucking million.’ Danielle pointed out.

‘No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t mean it can’t either.’

‘Madness.’ Danielle shook her head as she got out of the car as the estate agent walked towards them.

Tom got out too and smiled. ‘Good afternoon, sorry for the delay.’

‘Not at all, was the drive out okay?’ He shook Tom’s hand. ‘Arthur Shrewsbury, by the way.’

‘Tom, and this is Danielle.’ He indicated to Danielle who had come up beside him, the estate agent shaking her hand too as she politely smiled at him. ‘The drive out was fine, bar the obvious delay we contacted you about.’ He smiled.

‘Well, let’s not delay any longer, I am sure you have a few places you wish to look at in the area, and we have a bit to go through here. It is a considerable 6,500 square foot property, and includes a car garage, several converted outhouses, a tennis court and a swimming pool.’ Tom refused to look at Danielle as she stared at him in disbelief. ‘It boasts six bedrooms, two studies, a living room, a dining room and a kitchen which of course, comes with all modern conveniences, but maintains a more classic look. It is, I should mention, a building that holds a Grade II restriction and cannot be altered externally in a manner that removes from the original design. That said, the roof does have solar panelling, though it is in accordance with the rules regarding its status.’

‘Wonderful.’ Tom smiled as he placed his hand on Danielle’s lower back, urging her inside.

Danielle, though slightly bothered, had to admit that the house was utterly divine. The house was beautifully done, beams exposed and airy. She could not believe the space it possessed as well as soon beautiful furniture.

‘What do you think?’ Tom asked, his eyes bright when the estate agent had left them to look around.

‘Six bedrooms? What would we ever need six bedrooms for?’

‘Mum, Sarah and Yakov, you and me, Emma and Jack, the Duchess, that is five rooms, Emma and Jack will probably have kids, not to mention, we might….’ He looked at her somewhat coyly, not wanting to make her feel like he was pressurizing her.

‘Planning for every eventuality?’ She smiled. ‘It’s huge, and so far from the city.’

‘I consider it a healthy distance from it.’ Danielle made a head gesture in agreement. ‘We don’t have to say yes, but I want us to look at homes like this.’

‘It is ridiculously expensive.’ Danielle commented. ‘I cannot afford half of this.’

‘Elle,’ Tom placed his arms around her. ‘Please, I know you are a very independent and proud woman, it is part of the reason I love you so much, you are strong, but if the reason we cannot get the perfect home for us, and I am not saying this is it, but in general, is because of your current income, I am going to insist on stepping in, because I can afford it, and I want us to be able to have exactly what we want, I think that if we are talking about making a home, it needs to be right.’

‘I would argue more, but considering the Ben and Sophie Hampstead debacle.’

‘Don’t even mention it. Honestly, it is over two years and they are still not in, he is withdrawing the application.’ Tom informed her.

Danielle looked out the window at the multitude of other buildings on the property. ‘That would not be an issue here.’

‘Definitely not.’

‘It’s too much, Tom. How would we ever even keep it clean?’

‘We’d need a cleaner.’ Tom agreed.

‘And a gardener.’ Danielle looked at the sheer amount of green area. ‘It’s a bit mad.’

The pair walked around the house more. When they came to the bedrooms, they stood in awe at the master bedroom. ‘Wow.’ Tom looked around the spacious room and en-suite. ‘This is bigger than I was expecting.’

‘That’s a bit of an understatement.’ Danielle agreed, looking around her. ‘It’s not very “farmhouse” here, is it?’

‘No.’ Tom opened a door. ‘I found a closet.’

‘I found another….wait this is….what is this?’

‘The nursery.’ Tom informed her, looking at the booklet in his hand. ‘It is smaller and off the main bedroom to ensure peace and tranquillity for any infants.’

‘Or a good room for people with weird sexual fetishes.’ Danielle stated calmly before looking at Tom and the pair laughed.

‘That too, I suppose.’ He grinned.

‘I love the name, by the way. Compton Bassett. This is not very Compton. Not the one N.W.A.rapped about anyway.’

Tom laughed again. ‘This is possibly the furthest thing from that Compton you could imagine.’

They looked around some more and assessed the house. ‘It is lovely.’

‘So you would consider it?’ Danielle made a non-committal noise. ‘What is bothering you, other than the price?’

‘The location from London, it is two hours each way, that is a serious amount of driving, I could go Dublin to Galway in two hours.’ She pointed out. ‘Also, I need to ask, but what is with a tennis court for one, we won’t be holding Wimbleton here next summer, and why, for the love of the divine Jesus, is there an outdoor pool, it is East England, it pisses rain three hundred and sixty days a year, the other five is a light mist. That is just madness to me.’

Tom laughed at her Irish turn of phrase and blatant exasperation at the idea of an outdoor swimming pool. ‘Think of the fun we could have in it?’ He winked at her.

‘What fun, your balls would ascend into your torso as a new pair of ovaries, the average temperature around here in summer is mid teens for fucks sake.’

He kissed her. ‘But is it along the lines of what you would like?’

‘I am a country mouse, I would be happy here, there is so much space, it is how I would want it if we have kids. Bobby and Mac would love it too, though I would insist on having some method of stopping them being able to get off the property, farmers tend to have a “shoot to kill” policy on wandering dogs near livestock.’

Tom paled as he looked at her in shock. ‘What?’

‘Farmers shoot straying dogs. You didn’t know this?’ Tom shook his head in horror. ‘Straying dogs chase livestock and can kill several ewes and lambs in a matter of minutes. It is legal for a farmer to shoot on sight, and rightly so. Honestly, people who don’t take control of their dogs need to stop this bullshit of “my dog is a sweetheart” I have seen the result of a “sweet” labrador left to its own devices, fourteen dead pregnant ewes, and several more wounded or with aborted lambs, two and a half thousand pounds old Irish money, that is about the same as here, maybe a little less, it was not pretty. The farmer was forced to sell a field as a result.’ She shook her head. ‘Dog was dead too, and it wasn’t a nice one, dad got him in, two rounds, but he was bleeding too badly, he suffered for about an hour after the shooting, so there were no winners. I don’t want that for our boys, they will be penned off outside or with us and no way to get into the farmland.’ She stated factually.

‘Yes, definitely.’ Tom agreed, shaken by what she had told him.

Seeing that he was still bothered, she put her hand in his and kissed him. ‘Did I upset you?’

‘No...I….I am not as strong stomached as you are.’

‘You never saw an animal give birth, did you?’ He grimaced and shook his head. ‘Oh boy, you need to toughen up. If they make a film adaptation of “All Creatures Great and Small” consider giving it a miss as a character. You shoving your hand up a mare to help pull out a foal would not do you any favours.’

‘Have you….?’

‘Shoved my hand up a cows or horses vagina, yes, several times. It’s all well and good until she shits on you.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Tom felt nauseous.

‘Town mouse.’ Danielle laughed in return.

[jadeile-writes]

Fanfic Progress Update 50

Hello, hello, hello, everyone, and good Saturday! It’s time for the Fanfic Progress Update! Stay tuned to the end of this post for a spoiler-y glimpse into the next chapter of Adventure Gone Mini AND the next chapter of Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife.

Current WIPs:

Adventure gone Mini

Fandom: Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild / The Minish Cap

Summary: Sidon is given his very own Sheikah Slate, the first replica Purah has managed to make, and sets out to travel with Link with the intention of registering warp points for convenient travel in the future. However, when a malfunction shrinks them down to the size of bugs, and they meet little people called the Minish, they have to change their plans from “fun adventuring” to “getting out of this mess”. Not that those two have to exclude one another. Link/Sidon.

Progress: Chapter 34 is the current latest chapter and was posted on 29th of January. Chapter 35 is about 3/4 done and the scheduled posting date is 19th of February.

I update this fic every three weeks on Wednesdays.

—–

Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: Husk is just your everyday demon, minding his own business and living his afterlife mostly in self-caused misery. He’s been at it for about ten years when he rather abruptly finds himself on the Radio Demon’s radar. Suddenly his life becomes a lot more interesting. For fuck’s sake, he did not ask for this bullshit. Alastor/Husk.

Progress: Chapter 15 is the current latest chapter, and was published on 7th of February. Chapter 16 will be published on 9th of February as in tomorrow! Chapter 17 aka the last chapter (gasp!) will be published on 13th of February.

This fic is almost over, you guise!

—–

Fine, be a part of my afterlife, jackass!

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary: This is not a stand-alone story! This is a compilation of additional “filler” chapters that go between the chapters of “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”, starting from chapter 7. Read the main story up to that point or further before bothering with this one.

Every chapter of Afterlife is vital to the story: they bring the plot forward, each introduces a new development, each has a reason for being included. The chapters in this, however, are the ideas that couldn’t fit in Afterlife, because they don’t bring the story forward. So, additional fun Husk and Alastor content for this universe, because I feel like it!

Progress: Chapter 7 (ch.16½) aka the last chapter will be published on 11th of February.

Now you might be wondering what happened to chapter 8, which had been kinda hanging there as a “maybe” for a good long while. I scrapped it. I had always been on fence about it, and chapter 7 is the absolute perfect ending for this, so that made the decision for me. Nothing about chapter 8 had actually been written down, so it had only ever existed in my head and that’s where it’s gonna stay. The concept might yet be used for another, better suited fic in the future.

—–

Valentine (workname)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary (temporary): There’s a Valentine’s Day gift exchange happening in the Radiohusk Discord server, and I’m participating in it. So, this fic is the secret gift that I’m writing<3 I can’t tell any details because that might give the recipient away, but I will tell you guys that it’s not Valentine’s Day themed. It’s just Radiohusk in general, and it’s a oneshot.

Progress: About half done. Will be published on 14th of February aka the Valentine’s Day.

—–

Experiment in Romance (previously known as Drunk Alastor)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Summary (temporary): Roles are reversed in many ways when a drunk Alastor knocks on Husk’s door and has no intention of going to his own room for the night. And it only gets weirder from there, leaving Husk with a most unexpected arrangement with the Radio Demon. Either it’ll be the best decision in his afterlife, or he’s simply out to break his own damn heart. Alastor/Husk.

Progress: Chapters 1 and 2 are done. Chapter 3 has been started. The plan is to start posting this once Afterlife is done with, assuming that I have this mostly written by then. No progress since the last time, as I’ve been busy with the Afterlife series.

—–

Other WIPs I’m not currently working on but intend to get back to someday:

PoE Drabbles (Pillars of Eternity)

DC Drabbles (Justice League)

Diaphanous Relations (Forgotten Realms, R.A. Salvatore’s books)

Rolling with it (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

Possibly worth staying for (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

—–

That’s it for the WIPs! Here are the promised sneak-peeks into Mini and Afterlife. (Note: the text may end up slightly different in the fics themselves due to more editing happening before publishing). Enjoy!

Mini

"-and then you showed up, and I was unable to tell you what was going on. You know the rest", Sidon finished translating Link's words to the guards. The guard Link had ran into had apologized profoundly for his inability to understand Link, and seemed to still think it was his fault the Vaatian got away. Link felt sorry for him, but there was little he could do to help. At least the other one still had her head in the game, and was taking notes. "I see. Thank you", she said as she finished writing. "Our apologies for letting things escalate like this. We were on the watchout for Vaatians, but we didn't know they wore disguises. They have never done that before, nor have they attempted a heist during the daytime. I'm sorry you got involved."

Afterlife

Husk leaned against Alastor and took a moment to enjoy the side-hug – possibly the last one he would ever get if things went south. Just one more moment before he would have to break the pureness of the gesture and potentially make Alastor regret every single of the hugs he had given him. After he had had his moment, he shrugged the hand off of his shoulder and looked at Alastor, bracing for the rejection. "Funny you should put it that way", he said, and tried not to read too much into Alastor's puzzled expression. "As I said earlier, that was just the recent shit, and the real problem lies deeper. We've actually been at this crossroad before, and back then you let me take the easy road, which I did. But I'm fucking tired of this bullshit." He sighed deeply, and leaned back to make use of the backrest of the couch. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke. "I'm awful at friendship. I always take it too far on my end and get burned sooner or later. You're no exception to that. I've been fighting this shit for decades, but it appears I'm cornered now. I've let it go too far and I can't ignore it anymore, no matter how much I fucking wish I could. So brace yourself for some shit you probably don't want to be any part of."

He forced himself to look at Alastor, who was giving him an attentive and a relatively serious look. It was clear he had no idea what to expect. Husk wasn't sure if that was for the better or for the worse.

That’s it this time. See you next Saturday!

AO3    FFnet    Purple Crayon    Ko-fi

[petersquips]

Stark Contrast [CHAPTER FOUR pt 1]

Masterlist | Introduction | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three || Chapter Four (pt 2)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word count: 3,473

Warnings: None for this half :)

Chapter Summary: As Y/N returns to school for the first time after her suspension, she finds herself stuck in a tricky web of rumors and gossip.

A/N: This chapter is SOOOOO dense that it was taking forever, and I want to keep it as one chapter for the flow of the content, but I also wanted to update finally, so I’ve split Chapter 4 into two parts. Part two should be posted next Thursday the 23rd.

If you want to be added to the tag list for this fic, Inbox me and I‘ll add your username. Members of the tag list MUST reblog. I look forward to your feedback, friends!

Chapter Four

Y/N was drenched in sweat as she wandered back to her room, the orange morning light flooding in through the plentiful windows and dancing across her glistening skin. She had asked JARVIS to wake her up extra early. 4:45 am was a ridiculous time to be waking up in the morning, but she did it anyway for the sake of running with Cap again. He seemed surprised to see her again when the teen walked out on the front walk and began stretching as though it wasn’t a skill she’d just been taught yesterday, but the man was supportive of it, and pushed her like a coach to run harder, faster, and further. By the time Y/N returned to the comfort of her shower her entire body was acidic with the burn from the morning workout. Her body had not been prepared for this sudden and intense regime. Her muscles ached and she felt the soreness in her joints as she tried to lather the parts of her body that were hard to reach. The water was soothing, but it did nothing for the pain. It made her feel crazy for wanting to continue to run with Steve Rogers and his super-soldier form. He was genetically engineered to run harder, faster, and further than any normal human could, and Y/N knew her joining him was cutting his workout into a mere speed walk for the man. There was a part of her that still thought she may be able to keep up one day if she worked hard enough, but she knew that wasn’t a realistic goal for a teenage girl who’s most impressive quality was her incessant determination. Even knowing that she could never improve enough to complete Cap’s full workout, she appreciated the bond she felt as the two wordlessly raced through the empty upstate streets.

The teen shut off the water in a hurried attempt to be on time. She hadn’t exactly thought about how this new morning ritual would fit into her schedule which of course meant she was running late for school. Normally it probably wouldn’t concern her too much, but Y/N had promised Peter a ride. In part, it was a thank you for taking her to the sister march. She was still running on the high that came from feeling like a part of a movement. It didn’t solve her problems with Amadeus and everything that had happened after, but it made her feel hopeful she could figure those things out and Y/N had Peter to thank for sharing his incessant optimism. He was a kind and caring friend and it made a warmth radiate in the girl's chest as she rushed over to her closet. Pressed for time she flipped through her closet and tore out her classic skinny jeans and stumbled into them, her tired limbs screaming at her for so much as using them. As she balanced on one sore leg, trying to pull the clothing over the other her muscles gave out and she crashed down onto the cold wood floor. The girl winced at the pain but took the opportunity to pull her jeans up around to her knees before pushing herself up with what little bicep she had. Y/N was so far past trying and mindlessly pulled a random t-shirt from the closet. She began jogging toward the bedroom door as she pulled the shirt over her head, not stopping to so much as look at it when she bounded down the steps to the mess hall.

“Good work this morning, kid,” Steve offered as he held up a high five that Y/N casually took, hiding the amount of pain that came with swinging her arm as she sat down on the stool to his right.

Just as usual, Tony and Steve had been chatting over coffee at the breakfast bar, but Pepper had left for Atlanta on an early flight that morning. She had a clean energy conference that she was hosting a panel for as the CEO of Stark Industries. The woman had been stressed out and relentlessly preparing for it all week, but Y/N knew if anyone could command a room it was Pepper Potts. So Y/N joined the men in her life, who had used this excuse to simply throw a box of bakery goods on the island counter and call it breakfast. Y/N eagerly snagged a breakfast doughnut from the box and she had just shoved her mouth full of the sweet treat when Tony humorously asked, “Where’d you get the shirt?”

Y/N glanced down at the graphic on her chest, completely unsure what she had placed on her aching body before carelessly answering, “Some stand outside the airport.” She took another bite of the doughnut, but her mouth was getting dry from trying to consume the bread so quickly, but she was going to do anything to catch up with time and pick up Peter.

Tony nodded with a smile teasing, “Spider-Man, huh?” as he circled around the island. He passed behind Steve and reached up to Y/N’s neck. “Tag’s still on it,” he commented as the man instinctively snapped the plastic piece holding the paper barcode to the fabric and moved to the trash can to throw it away.

The teen carelessly explained, “It’s just tourist crap.” Y/N hated tourist merchandise with crappy graphic designs like ‘I♥︎NY’. It was useless and ugly waste that no one would ever wear once they got home. She’d purchased the shirt when she first arrived in New York a month ago. Y/N had no intention of purchasing any overpriced goods when she’d landed, but something about the comic-y rendering of Spider-Man drew the girl’s attention. Maybe it had been the nerves of having to meet her biological father for the first time in her life, or maybe it was just the change of air. Either way, Y/N had impulsively handed cash over to the kind merchant and left with the shirt she was now wearing. It seemed so long ago already, and even if her life had been turbulent since moving into the Avengers Facility, she had at least gotten used to the fact that it was different. She no longer felt like she was in denial about who her biological father was or the fact that she was living among superheroes. It seemed normal to her as she elaborated, “Superheroes are as big of a staple of New York as the empire state building… or taxis. There were a million others just like it at the airport.”

“What? You didn’t want to get a shirt of your old man?” Tony teased smugly as he leaned onto his elbows on the counter across from his daughter. Y/N rolled her eyes at her obnoxious father and took another large bite of doughnut. The man continued to poke fun as he looked at Steve and dramatically assumed, “They were probably all out of Iron Man shirts."

“Or they were all rusted in the back,” Y/N quipped back over a dry mouth full of bread. Steve gave the teen a disapproving face, but simply shrugged at him and jumped off her stool. Tony paused for a moment, staring at his daughter with his jaw slightly agape and his brows furrowed in a mix of pride and offense as she walked behind him to fill a glass with water. His expression morphed to mischievous smile when he asked, “Aren’t you picking up Peter Parker this morning?”

“Yeah. Why?” Y/N responded carelessly as she sipped the cold water. She wanted to be grateful for the change of subject, but Tony’s humored mannerisms made the girl weary. Instead of saying a word Tony began to turn red in the face. She could see him trying to maintain his composure as he tensed so hard the vein began to pop out in his forehead. Y/N couldn’t so much as ask what was so funny before the man burst, letting out a long wheeze of hilarity. “What?” Y/N inquired impatiently. She was completely in the dark about what he was so clearly amused by. The girl began to feel insecure about the shirt. Clearly, there was something about Spider-Man in New York that she didn’t know, something that meant she shouldn’t be wearing that shirt. Y/N aggressively slammed down her glass and insisted, “You’re impossible!” Her father inhaled and began almost silently laughing hysterically. He moved his hands in an attempt to communicate but was unable to speak between fits of breathless chuckling. Obviously, she didn’t get the joke and she didn’t want to sit around and be the butt of it. She had to leave to get Peter anyway, so Y/N scooped up her backpack from the floor and hurried toward the exit, holding up a rebellious middle finger behind her on her way out.

“Language!” Steve yelled after the teen.

Y/N pulled down her hand and smiled, calling to the Captain over her shoulder, “Didn’t say anything.”

She did love getting the last word, so before anything more could be said Y/N broke into a shaky jog across the glossy floors of the building, hurrying out to the entryway where her Audi was just pulling up. Y/N sighed in relief as she began climbing into the driver’s door. When she attempted to sit her muscles gave way and she more collapsed conveniently into the seat. Without any hesitation, Y/N tossed her backpack into the backseat and slammed the door shut, instantly punching the gas. the sportswear loudly sped down the driveway and Y/N watched the needle on the speedometer as it climbed to rebellious highway speeds.

When she pulled up to the curb outside Peter’s apartment building the boy was already standing by the street with his heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. He carelessly pulled the earbuds from his ears one by one and opened the passenger door, stumbling as he attempted to climb into the low car. Peter fell into the seat and quickly readjusted, shoving his book bag under the dash at his feet. He turned to buckle in but paused as a cheeky grin slipped onto his face. Peter moved to click the seatbelt together as he mentioned, “I like your shirt.”

Y/N felt the embarrassment already setting back in from this morning. She instinctively rolled her eyes and begged, “Not you, too…” She moved the gear shift to drive and pulled away from the curb as she rambled on, “I just spent the whole morning being teased by Tony for it and I wish I hadn’t worn it. I was in a hurry-“

“No, no, no!” Peter trailed urgently over the girl’s maundering. “It’s cool,” he insisted. Smiling wider before trying to maintain a serious composure and wiping the joy from his face in a tough-guise.“Spider-Man… He’s cool,” The boy reiterated.

Y/N was hesitant to let her guard down and suspiciously asked, “You really think so? There’s not some big thing I don’t know about Spider-Man?”

Peter’s eyes grew wide and he smiled at the obvious flaw in Y/N’s phrasing and he pandered, “I mean, his identity, but—”

“You know what I meant!” Y/N aggressively argued. The boy threw his hands up in innocence as he pushed back into the passenger door. It made Y/N grow quiet in embarrassment. She hadn’t intended to be so reactive, and it wasn’t Peter’s fault she was feeling insecure. The girl could feel the blood flow down from her head, calming her to a normal composure as she swallowed her pride and admitted, “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just a little on edge about coming back from my suspension.” Peter slowly put his hands down and resumed his comfortable posture as he stared at Y/N. He was clearly listening intensely and it made the girl wonder how she ever could have snapped at him after everything he’d done for her in just under a month of knowing each other. Y/N sighed, knowing Peter was waiting for her to go on in her vulnerability, and continued. “I have to go in there and face Amadeus Cho. Now he’s had a week to establish his story in the population, and I’ve not been there to defend myself. At the end of the day, I hit him with the lunch tray because it was his word over mine. I didn’t stop the situation, I just made it worse.”

Peter nodded slowly as he took in what the girl was saying. She wanted to apologize at that moment for continuing to vent about the whole thing around him, but then she thought about how he helped her out of the party, how scared and protective he seemed in all of it, and she thought better of it. It seemed no wonder Peter was so good at having these conversations. He was a part of that experience. He’d seen her in that distress and he didn’t hesitate, but being a hero could take a toll too. They had just braked at a stop light when Peter honestly mentioned, “It’s probably not going to be great.” Y/N glanced at the boy, who looked tense. His brow was furrowed and his jaw was strained as he struggled with the hard honesty. “People have been talking, and they seem pretty set on their story. I don’t want to be right about this, but you’re probably going to be outcast.” The girl struggled with the cold truth as it froze her heart and shot ice through her veins. Though it was difficult to hear, she was thankful for Peter’s honesty. The light turned to green and Y/N faced the road again as she drove on. She was surprised when her friend continued in a new optimistic tone, “But you still have me. Ned and MJ know the real story. You probably have a few others on your side, too. We might not be the cool crowd, but that doesn’t seem to have bothered you yet.”

Y/N felt the warmth of his words calming her rigid fear. When he put it like that, it sounded better than what she had dealt with at Midtown before. The relaxation and twisted joy seemed to complex to put into words, so Y/N simply said, “You’re cool, Parker,” as a half smile met her lips.

Peter smiled and sat up in his seat in satisfaction, changing the subject as he asked, “So Spider-Man, huh?”

The return to the previous conversation made Y/N playfully roll her eyes and shake her head as they drove, catching a glimpse of the sunlight flickering through the trees behind Peter’s head. He held the expression of a middle schooler teasing their friend about a new secret crush, and it was as adorable as it was annoying. “What about him?” Y/N countered as the schoolyard came into view.

“You like him,” Peter stated smugly.

Y/N began to protest, challenging the boy, “Who said I liked him?”

Peter didn’t miss a beat to nonchalantly point out, “You’re wearing a Spider-Man shirt.”

Y/N glanced at the boy in the passenger seat as she braked at a stop sign and adjusted in her seat, grimacing at the soreness in her legs from the run. The girl tiredly shrugged and admitted, “Touché.”  Peter looked satisfied with himself, and Y/N wanted to banter but couldn’t find it in herself to do anything more than smile.

They finally pulled into the school parking lot, but instead of traveling down the rows, Y/N threw the gearshift into park directly in front of the main entrance. The girl leaned over her right shoulder and reached into the backseat, struggling to pull her backpack through the small space between her and Peter. It was heavy and her aching muscles struggled to manage it, losing control once it finally broke free and incidentally letting it hit the car horn. Y/N cringed as the eyes of all the students in the parking lot turned toward her Audi. Even worse was the staff member manning the parking lot who began hurrying across the entryway to tell her off for parking in the way. She figured it was now or never to flaunt the joys of being a Stark.

“Get out,” Y/N commanded to Peter, who hurriedly grabbed his backpack. He looked at his friend in frantic confusion as she opened her door, quickly turning to step out as well.

“HEY! YOU CAN’T PARK THERE!” the faculty member yelled as he broke into a run to berate the girl.

Peter spun around to look at his friend over the roof of the short car, wide-eyed and panicked. Y/N smiled mischievously back at the perplexed boy and began walking away from the vehicle. She felt the soreness in her legs but maintained her smug composure. Peter stared after her for a moment before jogging to catch up to her, striding by her side. The high-strung man who’d been yelling at her finally reached the two students, reprimanding, “Young lady, I don’t care how rich you are, you cannot park there—”

“I didn’t,” Y/N commented, not so much as hesitating as she passed by the staff member. The man looked past the girl he was scolding and gaped, causing Peter to spin around quick, walking backwards as he processed the missing sports car. A smirk popped onto his face when he finally spotted the Audi parking itself across the lot, understanding the obnoxious stunt Y/N had just pulled, much to the disdain of the uptight parking monitor. The boy swung around and jogged back to his friend’s side with a sense of mischievous pride for being a part of the stunt they’d just pulled, whether or not he know what was going on at the time.

The two made their way to Peter’s locker, where Ned was waiting as always. He looked up from his phone and grinned kindly when he saw Peter and Y/N walking up, shoving his phone into his pocket as Peter began spinning his combination into the steel wheel. “Hey,” Ned greeted with a beaming smile he always seemed to have. Forever the optimist, Ned balanced out the dynamic of Peter and MJ perfectly. Ned finally noticed Y/N’s shirt and burst out excitedly, “You like Spider-Man?”

Y/N hadn’t realized when she threw it on this morning what a talking point it would be, and it honestly made her regret it just a bit. Still, she smiled shyly at her friend and responded, “Yeah, I guess.” It seemed like no big deal to the girl, but Ned seemed thrilled as he nudged Peter amiably. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the interaction and make the assumption that “You two are pretty big Spider-Fans, aren’t you?” She was delighted by the adorable jolt of excitement they both seemed to get regarding the web-slinging hero.

“Well, Peter—“ Ned began as he turned to come face to face with Peter’s wide eyes and pursed lips. Y/N watched as they had yet another one of their silent conversations, in which Peter shook his head vigorously at whatever he suspected Ned was about to say. It made the girl smile at how easily he was embarrassed. Ned suddenly turned back to Y/N and insisted, “We’re big fans,” with a big smile. Y/N couldn’t help but giggle and shake her head at the strange behavior of her friends. She found it enduring that they would get so childishly giddy, at least Ned was. Peter looked like he wanted to bury his head in his locker.

Over Ned’s shoulder, Y/N suddenly noticed the cold air of Amadeus Cho appearing at the end of the hall. She felt her expression shift to concern and she was powerless to stop it. It felt like a weakness to reveal that she was still scared, but she wanted to be anywhere but in that hallway at that moment. “Well, hey,” the girl began quickly before excusing herself, “I’ve got to get to class, but I’ll see you two later, yeah?” The two boys nodded slowly and watched as the girl very suddenly took off down the hall to her AP Lit classroom. She knew it was weird, and she was ashamed she was letting Cho control her like this, but she really didn’t want to even see him. It was too much emotionally, and Y/N just wanted to go back to being a normal student.

Taglist

@ace-ingthroughlife-jk @just4muggles @i-alyssa @bravest-at-heart @bookgirlunicorn @really-lucas @loud-binch @alextheodd @avoirlu @tumbleerrtrash @amazingficsthatididnotwrite @superspideyparker @whatevsmels @royal-sunflower @spiderman-masterlists @goldenrose1099 @fav-fan-ficccs @iamburdened @justalittlecrazybutimok @takenbymyfandoms @elioelioeli0 @potterheadbbc @-thatgirloverthere- @tomshufflepuff @peter-spider-parker-man @maddie-laufeyson @jackiehollanderr @mariah-danielle-winchester @hortonhearsahoeblr @lokimercuri @loxbbg @justanothermarvelfanaccount @darkblueeyedperson @faloncarington @creativedogs @cosmicparkerr @grippleback-galaxy @littledaph @shallowshawn

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Houses With Teeth | Writing Update

Hey People of Earth!

What is this shiny new title--is she a short story, is she a... a new novel?? Or is she the seventh book of FOSTERED because apparently that series never ends!! Haha.

Ha.

So yes! This is the first update for--yes!--book 7 of FOSTERED! A few things you’ve probably already noticed:

The title is not a past tense verb and we STAN. If you haven’t noticed books 1-6 of the series follow a verb-ED structure, and I honestly became so over it by book four but kept up with it for consistency’s sake. I debated for probably two seconds before I settled that I am TIRED of these UGLY fostered titles, so we have made a CHANGE. Honestly, I kind of needed this change because this book is going to be kind of... different from the others (genre, tone, etc, etc), and I needed a more concrete separation from Old Fostered to New Fostered.

Originally, this title actually belonged to REWIRED for about 2 hours before I decided to give it to the new book. This was my thought process:

Me want new title for REWIRED, this title = trash

*comes up with new title*

nvm i’ll never be able to think of a title better than this for book 7

(I’d like to say my process was more thoughtful than this but this is literally how it happened oops)

While trying to come up with titles for the three sections of Rewired, I came up with houses for part 2. This is what sparked me to think of the title HOUSES WITH TEETH. I changed part two’s name because houses literally made no sense in conjunction with the chapters, and I’m happy about it since I looove this title. 

So without further ado, let’s get into it!

I honestly have been struggling with the idea of this book for a very long time. As I’ve mentioned, FOSTERED’s 5 year anniversary will be coming up this October--AKA I’ve been writing this series for a very long time! I grew up with this series and its characters and whilst it’s all been very special to me in my development as an adolescent, I’m also older now, and my tastes in both writing and books have changed immensely. I knew I still had a story kicking here with FOSTERED, so I could have ended the series I just had one thought that held me back: why end it when it feels like it’s only just begun?

For a very long time, I severely misunderstood MANY of my characters in Fostered. Is this because I don’t characterize and blindly pants all of my novels hahahah possibly. Keeping in mind that the FOSTERED novels on average usually only took me about 2-5 months to complete, despite writing with these babes for 5 years, I still failed to understand them as characters. I don’t think this is exactly wrong--I understood as much as I needed to get through the first five books. 

However, this idea that my characters were beyond what I’d made for them really confronted me when I started writing book six. I soon realized that literally 90% of the cast is made up of garbage people I absolutely love, and that in general, I really like writing about dark, strange, unsettling things. But this realization came as I was writing the sixth book in the series--very late! Though I acknowledge at some point FOSTERED will cease to be (rip), this idea of leaving it when there was, to say it simply, SO MUCH JUICY TEA, would feel like an injustice. 

This is where this book comes into play! Although this isn’t a chapter update (more of a preliminary intro, if you will), I’ve had some time to think about the novel itself. Though I still really don’t have solid footing on the plot, it’s got an aesthetic and that’s... enough??

I made a mini moodboard of all the things HOUSES WITH TEETH. Here it is:

Process:

I’ve been struggling a lottttt with this book lately because I honestly don’t know what it is?? So far I know a few major things like Reeve being 20 and living in NYC, Foster being a central character, etc etc, but the book hasn’t materialized beyond these things? I feel very headless working on this project, which I know means I need to do a lot more thinking/planning before diving in. Because it’s slightly different from the rest of the books, it’s taking a bit more elbow grease to work into.

I recently changed the tense from present to past, and I think this helped?? Possibly?? I don’t exactly know what the story is in past tense, but I also didn’t know what it was in the present so lol I think the experimentation is good for me. For now, I’ve kind of put this guy on the back burner while I work on other things, but I have drafted some of it, the first ‘present’ version in a writing sprint because girl needed a push, and the second ‘past’ version pretty recently. I do like both, though they kind of achieve different things. I was having trouble keeping momentum with the present version, hence the switch, but I am having trouble transferring Reeve’s cynicism into the past. 

I am not fully certain on plot yet because of these things, so I’m not confident enough to share a summary, but I do have some excerpts! With that said, there’s a lot that could change, so everything I share here is malleable/could change. 

Excerpts:

The first excerpts I’ll share are from the ‘present’ version of this story, which is how I initially started drafting! I do like a lot of it, I just don’t think I can keep up with the tense without running out of steam.

This is the opening. I’ll share both from the present and past tense versions so you can see how different they are (because oh boy are they!). For some context, Reeve is cleaning up some broken herb planter pots from her sink after she believes Ethel, the ghost in her apartment, has knocked them down:

The apartment is haunted but Joel won’t get a priest until he sees proof. You won’t see proof of the paranormal, I’ve explained, but Joel doesn’t care. Joel is atheist and my landlord. He thinks Christians are Satan worshippers, and I haven’t ever disagreed. But there’s a ghost. Her name is Ethel.

Ethel is twenty and was murdered in this apartment. A cold case. She hates New York City, too buzzy, too fluid, the traffic vulgar and boring. I intuit Ethel, which sounds like bullshit, because it is. I doubted her and she cut my hair in my sleep. Ethel hates this apartment.

idk what is up with the sentence structure here but:

Once I’ve cleared the first pot from the sink, I work on the next, a wilted clump of cilantro. Unrooting it from the splinters of terracotta and placing whatever I can salvage on a paper towel. The de-potted herbs intestinal, like webbings of medicinal veins. Ollie’s movie muttering. The motor of the refrigerator gruelling and wet. In my head I tick off the herbs I’ve saved so far: thyme, rosemary, parsley, dill. All the pots empty and bagged for the garbage. I grab the notepad from the fridge and make a note: buy better pots. 

In the middle of cleaning up the pots, Reeve gets a phone call and answers, assuming it’s her landlord/roommate/semi-boyfriend Joel. I wrote all of this during a writing sprint with my buddies and I haven’t looked at it since. There are parts I like and some parts I don’t lol: 

Static echoes through the speaker and it’s a telemarketer, a wrong number, a prank call from two teenage girls in Indiana, Ethel on the other line. But then there’s a clink and someone clearing their throat. “You’re in Manhattan?”

The familiar swell of his voice through the line is like the shaft of a finger tracing the notches of my spine. His voice crackles, bad connection, and I want to use it as an excuse to hang up, but don’t. I finger the leftover bits of terracotta in the sink, swirling the mud against the stainless steel.

“Who is this?” I say this because it’s easier. There are not explanations if I’m just from the city. The distant shimmer of music from his side fills the dead air, the melody gentle. Outside, Marty from the convenience store walks her golden retriever, bustling through the suburban neighborhood across the road. The woman who just started her shift at the apartment’s lobby smokes absently on the drive-up. I put the phone between my shoulder and my ear and gnaw at my fingernails.

“Your brother.” I picture him on the veranda of some Delaware beach house, playing lazy games of Parcheesi with Harrison, his hair long and unattractive to the girl he tries to impress at the public pool. Sharing a cigarette with his roommate-boyfriend-co-worker. The tobacco protruding into his lungs, feeding through his throat.

Marty and her dog have made it to the streetlamp outside of the complex; Marty on the phone, the dog sniffing at a fire hydrant. I lean over the sink and mix bits of plant fertilizer and water from the drain with my pinkie. It’s easy to imagine him by the ocean, the porch of his new place gritty with sand. The ice cream truck whirring lazily around the block.

Blowing smoke from the cigarette out the window, onto Marty and her dog, “How did you get this number?”    

“Your ad in the paper. I’m calling to fill that position.”

This is the last of ‘present’ HWT that I’ll share which I do rather like! This is the continuation of their conversation:

“I think you have the wrong number.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. I last saw Lonan nine, ten, eleven months ago, in an unmemorable daze. Sitting glumly in the shade of the cabin with a magazine and cigarette, staring sunward as we rolled out of the lot. Bristles of burr bushes, mosquitoes nipping at his elbows. His phone call feels criminal.

“Why Manhattan?” he asks.

“Better restaurants.”

“I want to fill that room you’re renting.”

“And what about Harrison?”

“He’ll come.”

“It’s an ad for a couch. You can’t both stay on the couch.”

These excerpts are from the ‘past’ version of HWT, again, the first page or so (unedited as well):

Three summers after my father died, he called the phone in my apartment and abruptly hung up. I’d heard his voice for only a second, a brief hello, and it was only when I considered the disconnect to be my fault—a clumsy fumble of the thumb, that I remembered he was dead. It was an easy write off. My father had been appearing in my dreams for six months before he first called. I told no one because I didn’t have to. I convinced myself I was going crazy. I lit a cigarette and smoked over the herb planter Joel and I had set up the week before. No matter how much I tried, every single one died. A half hour after the call, off the brim of a cornfield, a young woman named Ethel was fished out of a silo and pronounced dead. 

So we have a very different first sentence/conflict, idk what this even is lool.

The following is the rest of what I’ve written. We kind of see the present version strung through to this version. This excerpt also introduces a new idea that Reeve’s been following this story religiously since it broke (which isn’t in the original).

My father was dead, Ethel was dead, the herbs in the planter were dead. I didn’t make a connection because there wasn’t one. I just followed her story on my walks to work, the easy flight downstairs to the bakery Liu only hired me at because she pitied me. Flipping through the newspapers Liu had out front for five dollars a copy on my lunchbreak, stashed behind a bulk order of red bean paste in the back room when I wanted to finish it later. In headlines, from the first arrest, to the first release, to the first plea from her parents—Ethel was only twenty. With my hair up, down, my tennis shoes on, off, on break when I should’ve been rolling filo pastry, I followed her story. Until it went cold and everyone forgot about Ethel and she became unremembered, unmemorable, unsolved. It was that easy, that tragic. 

A week after her headlines ran out, she started turning the water in our shower on and off. She started turning on the TV and ejecting Ollie’s film noir rentals from the library. She started tugging on my necklaces and unscrewing the bolt of my sunglasses. The apartment was haunted I told Joel, but he didn’t believe me. He wanted proof—there would never be proof, and this is the only reason I called Foster back. 

(for context she’s calling Foster for ghost hunting troubles because she knows he’s concerned he too is being haunted why do I only write about ghosts is this becoming an issue)

I like both and I think I want to find a way to fuse both together? I think both achieve different things so this is very dependant on what I’m going for! I’m at a bit of a loss, so I’ve been letting it sit and also being inspired by @sarahkelsiwrites break through with her novel and the beautiful prose she’s been pumping out! Let me know: which version do you like better? I’m still going to keep the past tense for now, but we’ll see how it goes when I dive into edits (hopefully soon!). Who knows, maybe none of this writing will end up in the final thing--we’ll have to see! 

If you’re struggling with novel openings, I feel you! I’ll keep you updated as I trek through the first chapter/sort out my thoughts, but I hope you liked this post! I know it’s a bit different than usual as I’m having a visible crisis lol, but thank you for reading!

--Rachel

[colorofmymindposts]

The Deviance of Two English Gentlemen Chapter One

Chapter Title: A Most Troubling Domestic

Fandom: Sherlock Holmes (Ritchie films)/Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mary Morstan/John Watson Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Mary Morstan, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson Rating: Teen and Up  Status: Incomplete, will be updated on weekly/biweekly basis Word Count: 1520 Summary: Set post Game of Shadows. When Sherlock Holmes is given a case by none other than Mrs. Watson, he has no idea that he cannot fix the unsolvable for the couple. Intimate truths are exposed in the process, leaving all three irrevocably changed. Tags: Case Fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Secrets

Story: 

The signees of Spring and her benefactors were much appreciative of this day. The breeze was finally light and welcome, the sun did not deceive in her promise of warmth, and the creatures of Providence could once again roam the streets and fields without difficulty, a stride in their steps that did not exist a mere fortnight ago. Of course, with the synergy of ardour and envy, succeeded by keyed up tempers, it was the season of renewed energy towards crime of all kinds. If Sherlock Holmes were to leave his flat sometime within the next two days, he would most assuredly be met with the dastardly, delicious aftermath of criminal underworld antics. The case he was to be met with though was unlike any he would have anticipated. 

Nanny had ceased in providing him breakfasts in the morning as she had grown accustomed to his years’ absence when he was presumed dead after his nearly fatal confrontation with Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls. Still, Holmes considered himself fortunate that she had decided not to let out the rooms of 221B to anyone else in that time. He liked to imagine that his memory had haunted the flat from any prospective renters. It was more likely that she had felt his experiments had irrevocably made the place unlivable for anyone else, which suited his purposes just as well. In the time since his return, they had stopped seeing each other altogether except for the instances in which the woman needed to collect the rent or occasionally checked to see he was still alive. Her tread on the steps and tentative opening of the door in this instance did not seem to indicate either of those options however. “A visitor is here to see you, Mr. Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson announced without a greeting. Holmes stood facing the window. The scuttling of children playing in the street could faintly be heard through the glass though he preferred their prattling to Mrs. Hudson’s. “I don’t receive visitors, only clients and Watson, so which one is it?” “Both, I’m afraid.” Thoroughly startled, Holmes spun around ungracefully. Mrs. Watson stood in the doorframe of 221B, and he realized in that exact moment she had never once stepped foot in this flat. The woman had barely put up her hair, her face did not glow with her usual choice of cosmetics, and the azure dress she wore was plain, one she normally kept in the back of her armoire. Lines shown clearly under her eyes spoke of little sleep, and her mouth was set in an expression of grim unhappiness. “You are punishing yourself,” Holmes declared, though he was still attempting to parse out the reason. Mrs. Watson stood resolute. They’d engaged in battle for far too many years now to allow some remark like that crack through her facade. “I came here for your help, Mr. Holmes, and if you won’t give it to me I’ll be forced to go to Scotland Yard.” Mrs. Hudson looked positively alarmed at the always reserved Mrs. Watson. All Holmes had to do was bark “Out, Nanny!” and the flustered woman fled faster out of his rooms and past Mrs. Watson than an abominable horse free-ranging in the countryside. He had the almost irresistible urge to pick up his pipe and light it, knowing it would offend the woman’s sensibilities. Instead, Holmes’ temper simmered in an inexplicable instance at seeing the distress evident on her features, and so he treated her with the politeness customary for a client. “Would you care to enter my humble abode, madam?” She obliged him in this regard, stepping forward several paces until reaching the center of the room. Holmes idly picked up the bow to his violin, gesturing towards the client chair. “I’d prefer to stand, thank you,” she replied primly. Holmes smirked as he set the bow down. “Is this a consultation or a confrontation?” There was a sigh of exasperation not heard but felt. “Please, Mr. Holmes, I am well aware we do not see eye to eye on many matters, all excepting one.” He pointedly avoided her gaze. “I know of none.” She entreated once more. “My husband and your friend.”

Holmes huffed indignantly. “That is the very matter that divides us, you understand.”

Mrs. Watson took a sharp inhale of breath, and he admittedly felt a certain delight at trying her patience. Although he already knew of her irritation and exhaustion, he did not expect the woman to begin to weep openly in front of him.

“Please you have to find him!” She exclaimed desperately. “I’ve no idea where he is or what state he could be in. I’ll never forgive myself if something has happened to him.”

The distraught woman broke into further hysterics, clasping her face between her hands, muffling the strangled noises she emitted with terrible frequency. Holmes gently guided her into the client chair, an action to which she gave little protest, and offered her a handkerchief stained with the least number of chemical burns. Upon taking a seat in his own armchair, he rested his chin upon steepled fingers. Panic and alarm first gripped him once he processed her claim—how long had Watson been gone, where did he go and was this action voluntary, was he in any sort of danger, or was it...Heaven forbid, too late to take action. This performance of hers wouldn’t do, not if something had befallen his dear Watson.

“Mrs. Watson, take a moment to collect yourself. I’ll never be able to find your husband through that nonsensical blubbering if that’s all you have to provide me,” he snapped. His hands trembled, and so he sought the comfort of tobacco since he could not sink into the bliss of cocaine in that moment.

She sobered a little at his clipped and irritated tone, her cries subsiding into petite sniffles. At one time, when he was more vindictive, Holmes would have likely been most amused at the pathetic picture.

Her voice still wobbled over her words. “He left yesterday evening, and there’s been no word from him since.”

“What time?” He asked as he lit his pipe.

“Around eight thirty.”

“Did he give a reason for his...sudden departure? I am certain his going was not planned.” Holmes discerned there had been a reason, but the veracity of his suspicions was crucial to his work, or at least that was the most convenient excuse.

“He was...upset,” she finally confessed after a few seconds too long.

“As I suspected. Trouble in paradise, Mrs. Watson? These domestics do tend to sort themselves out from what I’m told,” he said derisively as he took a pull from the pipe and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the room.

She shook her head vehemently. “You don’t understand, and I am sure that smoking your pipe is not helping to clear your mind either.”

Holmes was stuck between laughing and ordering the woman out of his rooms. Since his return, he never knew how to behave around the woman Watson chose. Instead he idly turned the pipe over in his hands and emptied its contents onto the floor, dragging his foot against it for good measure.

“I thought—”

Brusquely, he cut her off, though this was not the sensible thing to do. “What?”

“I thought he might have...come here, to Baker Street.”

Holmes stiffened in his chair. Of course, that’s what Watson should have done, what Holmes would have wanted him to do. It came as a surprise to him that Mrs. Watson would concur.

“As you can see, madam, he has not retreated from domesticity within these rooms.”

“But you’ll find him nonetheless,” she insisted, certain already.

“I’ve already a few ideas where the old boy has gotten off to,” he reassured her as he disposed of his tattered dressing gown in favor of a jacket. “Watson is a great many things but being creative while inebriated is not one of them.”

Mrs. Watson rebutted him firmly. “John is not a drunk.”

“But any man can indulge himself too much when upset,” he contested, using her words. “I hope for both your sakes’ he has warned you he’s a reckless gambler when he drinks. Do you have his cheque book?

The woman looked down in lieu of a response.

“I see,” he said, unimpressed. The first time Watson had willingly lost his portion of the rent to complete strangers around a table, Holmes had begun hiding the man’s money (Watson had agreed begrudgingly when provided the clear evidence that this was the only way to ensure his half of the rent was paid) and would distribute it when he knew Watson would not blow it on the lure of dice and cards. At the very least, Watson was sensible enough not to bet on the horses.  

“A man’s money is not supposed to be his wife’s business,” she replied in a resigned manner.

“How utterly absurd.” With that, Holmes leapt from his chair and started in a rush towards his door, calling out behind him, “I’ll tell him that myself!”  

[the-uptake]

Faith in Higher Things

The Uptake, With Symbiotic Self-Indulgence. Book III, Chapter 8. Go to previous. Go to next. TWs: Stitches, metropolitan crisis onset. Count the questions on one hand...

________________________________

Augen nudged ‘Choly awake in the pitch dark.

“We should get going,” the vampire whispered.

The Lazarus Hall. Right. ‘Choly’s chest tightened, that the overly sweet aroma wasn’t an air freshener, and he struggled upright. ‘Choly had slept atop Augen’s clothes, and Augen retrieved them, but prioritized helping his friend dress first. The vampire turned on his reader flashlight, and handed ‘Choly’s orthotics to him one at a time. 'Choly permitted him to help only with the corset.

“Are you okay?” ‘Choly started. “Your ribs. You’re okay now?”

Met with a hush, his not-quite-lucid mind gurgled with the memory of the textures and structures that had filled his lap, though in the dark, he could not process how long ago. Augen’s reader light grazed insinuations of thick, clear slime in places, rucked up on the concrete floor like well-traversed urban snow. The vampire seemed himself again. ‘Choly pursed his lips tight as he got his muck-stiff shirt and sweater back on over his head. Winning an argument with his leg brace, he sat at last in his wheelchair, and Augen finally got dressed, and they took stock of their effects one last time. Then, the two slipped out of the once-parlor the same way they’d entered.

Barring the discomfort of the dried weighted crunch of their clothing, to onlookers stepping into the fluorescent lighting of the broad hallways only punctuated their disarray. Augen took ‘Choly to the public restrooms on that floor to freshen up, and also to refill his canteen. Augen fished a new hair tie from his apron, and re-added any jewelry he’d removed prior to his healing process. ‘Choly pinched at bit at his itching chin suture, then took his next dose of both medication with a few palmfuls of sink water. He grunted with a squint at still not having eyeglasses. By the time he sank back in his chair to recollect himself, someone was inching him aside to get at the sink for themselves, unable to wait his turn any longer. Augen stepped up to cart him onward before ‘Choly could knock out any of the stiffness in his shirt.

“Guess it’s a good thing I bought instead of rented,” ‘Choly commented of his wheelchair with a huff, on their way to the elevator. He checked the time on his reader, as well as the battery--10:02, 46%--and sneered as he spoke next. “You sure made a mess of, well, us. Not sure we can get whatever that was out of the upholstery.”

“You mean I can’t just take you through a car wash?” the vampire jeered, doing his very best to ignore the crustiness of his hair. He leaned near to his ear. “Nothing a few bottles of dish detergent won’t fix.”

“...Take it you’ve got experience with this...”

He almost asked Augen what the chemical at the parlor had been, but Augen propelled them both into the then-ready elevator car, placing themselves amid a group of office-dwelling folk. In an undesirable silence, they aimed for the top floor as they had before. He thought to text Cecil, but recalled that if April Fool’s had damaged his reader, it surely must have destroyed Cecil’s. On the way to ground level, no fewer than two people shied from the rank, chalky musk the two exuded.

They made their way back HP way. ‘Choly removed his sweater, Augen tucking it into the back pouch of the chair, and wore his dark tank with the salmon dress shirt unbuttoned over it. The orthotic corset crested over the neckline, but although partly his binding garment, he didn’t wholly consider it unmentionable.

The line for the optician’s department took no time. The optician examined ‘Choly, and when she annotated both his updated prescription and his metahuman cataracts as addenda to his serial file, he requested the prescription for personal reference as well. The eyewear specialist offered him two catalogues to pick from, but he immediately declined the ShipShop options in favor of restoring his vision promptly by picking options available in-house. He still knew very little of Leveler culture, especially the nuances of navigating medical provisions, but mostly anyone no matter their upbringing knew how to select their earpiece and frame combination from the catalogues. Billable or not, Though he had a pair from ShipShop, if a body had eyewear these days, they more than likely came from the optician’s edition of a BF Meehl catalogue. It had been since the last time he’d broken his glasses that he’d even bothered to update his prescription, let alone his frames, and he enjoyed the aesthetic refresh.

Within fifteen minutes of the exam, a pair of thick flat round black acetate frames sat on his face. Separate but built-in sunglasses lenses hinged independently at an upward diagonal. Everything had features again. Distinct, clear, and tangible. They made him feel a bit like a spider. Though he wished there were something more of substance to the impression, he didn’t mind feeling at all like a spider.

Augen’s only reaction to the acquisition was to casually flip down the sunglasses to their useful position. ‘Choly didn’t object until they started moving again.

“H-- hey, what now? We’re getting coffee and breakfast now, right? Wasn’t that the turn to go to the cafeteria? Isn’t this the way out of the hos--”

“--To the nearest Overflow.” Augen snipped out a halted breath, and kept pushing when ‘Choly gave no reply which would suggest diminished confusion. “Just how long ago was it, that you said you leveled up?”

“My serial’s just shy of three years old now.” His shoulders shrank as he gripped the armrests.

“And still don’t know how all this stuff works? How any of billing works? Tch! I don’t mind helping, but a little communication wouldn’t hurt. So glad I nicked the room slip from you. Knowing you, you’d have tossed it by now. I know you don’t carry a wallet, either, and--”

“--Just how do you know that?” He couldn’t understand how a slip of paper could carry any sense of irreplaceability, and his ears burned.

“I pay attention. Which you really should. It’s like you don’t even know what’s going on and you could hardly be more dead center of it without being in Cecil’s shoes.”

‘Choly frowned meaningfully.

“He says to the injured man full of opiates... and completely empty of caffeine.”

“Coffee. Right. Overflow first. One thing at a time.”

He supposed he could forgive that Augen wasn’t a morning person either.

They crossed the street to The Granfalloon Overflow, and entered the busy glass-front lobby with pewter carpeting, to find easily two hundred patrons stood in the check-in line. ‘Choly held their place while Augen stepped out to grab them both coffee. By the time the vampire returned, the dirt-black dark roast had dipped to a quaffable temperature, and only twenty almost-customers remained in front of the pair.

“Let me do the talking when we get up to the desk window. I got you a filled croissant. You like berry, right?”

“Anything but grape,” he appreciated. He shrugged at the instructions. “You’ve got the... room slip, or whatever it is.  Y’need my serial, too?”

“The slip has everything we need on it.”

Rather than ask what Cecil’s room had to do with anything, ‘Choly alternated between his caffeine and his fruit jelly and nearly gelatinous cheese pastry. He said nothing of the texture it had gained from growing cold, grateful simply to have something in his stomach.

When they got up to the window, ‘Choly watched as Augen spoke quietly to the clerk through the slotted glass, and scanned the carbon-paper slip the vampire produced. The clerk looked up to ‘Choly, then back to the computer terminal. Augen objected at one point, but resigned to whatever the clerk had either asked or insinuated, and scanned a second item Augen produced before pocketing again. A pair of cardkeys ejected under the counter, and Augen retrieved them with a mention of gratitude before they sped off to one end of the large, open lobby to let the next patron check in.

“I thought you said the slip was all--”

“--They think I’m going to be present enough to count as an occupant to your room, since I’m pushing your wheelchair. I had to give them a serial.”

“But you’re not...” The word ‘documented’ stayed in his lungs.

“You collect a great many useful things riverbed scavenging the Hudson.”

‘Choly’s mouth tightened and his eyes widened behind his myopic, dark glasses.

“The more important question is, I never stayed in a hotel in my whole life, but I know how slagging expensive it is to. Who’s paying for this!”

“How do I put this? Overflows are hotels sponsored by the hospital they’re affiliated with. Usually they’re either part of the same building, or are right next door attached by skybridges. We needed the slip because staying at an Overflow sponsored location can be tacked onto the billing package for most inpatient hospital stays. I didn’t want you to have to cash in on it, because you responded so poorly to the billing process at the start, but in your current state, and knowing how long Cecil will be here, you really don’t have much choice. Especially since Tri-City bound transportation is still down. Every other lodging option is going to cost you, out of pocket, up front, and I can guarantee that, in the current state of things, anywhere else would charge you ten to fifteen times more for sake of emergency-stimulated opportunism.”

“You mean... If Cecil has visitors, they can stay at specific hotels and the tab goes on his billing?” When Augen didn’t correct him, he let out a low whistle. “I don’t think we should order room service...”

Pale gold halls radiated off the lobby to both sides at several angles. Following the digital wall-projected signage Augen took ‘Choly down one crowded frontmost hall in pursuit of the cluster of indoor stores and eateries. They popped into the convenience store. Augen tucked a shopping basked in ‘Choly’s lap and tossed a few things in it as they navigated around other shoppers in the small tiled space. As an ice-breaker, the vampire picked out a few beverages including a travel size assortment of liquors, then made ‘Choly pick out some shelf-stable sandwiches and some toiletries. ‘Choly also nudged him to get some isopropyl alcohol, and a bleach kit bottle, the latter of which elicited a wry smirk. Just as he’d said nothing of Augen’s very obviously faked identification, Augen said nothing of the bleach. The two paid separately, and for each purchase, the clerk required they swipe their cardkey. As they left the store with their plastic bags of items, Augen mumbled with a smile.

“You’re not allowed to ruin my rum with that.”

“The vodk--” ‘Choly sputtered. “The rubbing alcohol’s not for drinking--”

“You don’t add either to good rum.”

“Says who!”

They returned to the lobby and took a different hall in search of an elevator, a sleek mirror-wainscoted thing which they then rode to the ninth floor. The halls snaked such that Augen jerked about ‘Choly’s chair on their way to the room which would be loaned out to those who had visited the patient in HP’s room ICB-3406 the day before. Augen slid one cardkey and held the door open so ‘Choly could wheel himself inside. Accessing just about any facet of the hotel required a swipe of a cardkey to prove tenancy, down to making a purchase at any of the establishments on the ground floor, ‘Choly supposed.

“You know I appreciate you going down there with me,” Augen said as they sized up the place. He stepped into the bathroom with the bags, but did not shut the door.

The walls were cream, the carpet deep blue. A single queen-size bed, dark red. Wall-mount television. Small fridge. Two nightstands, one with a lamp and the other a tabletop-surface kiosk. Inset lighting around the whole perimeter of the ceiling. The vague floral residue of recent cleaning. The far wall, with a pair of full-length windows to either side of the small table with two upholstered chairs. The windows, with light-blocking treatments the same blue as the carpeting.

“And you know I appreciate you taking me with you. What even was that stuff? You never told me if your rib healed.”

“To be entirely fair, I haven’t a clue. What’s important is, it did the trick.” The vampire returned empty-handed to ‘Choly, and handed him a cardkey to put in his bag. “We can talk later. Now that you’re situated, I really must go check on some things. You are situated, yet? You’ll be all right a few hours?”

“But--” Augen pecked him on the cheek and patted him on the head. The parting gesture boxed his rationality, and he nodded. “Yeah, I’ll text you if I hear anything new from Cecil.”

“I’m not going far. We can go visit him when I get back.” The door shut behind Augen.

‘Choly stared off into the room in ever-mounting exhaustion. He tried to stand, only to have to shoulder the wall to continue succeeding. He seethed, and groaned.

“I should have gotten him to help me into the bath.”

He made it into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. The leg brace came off, then so did everything else. He almost searched for the bags of things from the convenience store, only to see the vampire had gone in the bathroom before to set them out for him on the dark marbled counter. Toiletries to one side of the sink, food and drink at the other. A jar of instant coffee stood among the bottles, and he couldn’t help but laugh at Augen thinking it something of a priority for ‘Choly. He pulled a towel and washcloth off the acrylic bath shelving, set his glasses on the counter, and resigned to drawing a bath to keep his leg elevated.

While the water filled the tub, he retrieved the sewing kit from his diamond bag and hobbled back to set it at the sink. He ripped open the carton of bathtub cherry bombs and flicked one of the small spheres into the water. He hadn’t gotten a good look at his face stitches earlier, and took the time to scrutinize its integrity uninterrupted. He turned the water off. He punctured the safety film over the mouth of the rubbing alcohol and doused some toilet paper with it to dab at his chin. A hard pinch produced a drizzle of thin pus, and he winced as he sopped at it. He removed the dressing from his leg, and palpated it finding similar heat and tightness. With some nervousness as to the soundness of his unsupported leg bones, the brace went back on without replacing the gauze. Of what he’d read of the instructions e-mail he’d received from Dr. Thornton’s care, the brace was waterproof, but submerging it was not recommended. He slipped into the effervescent tub with his leg elevated, and let the aromatics permeate his aching body.

He sat on the toilet lid and towel dried his hair a bit, and used the clippers from the sewing kit to open the brush and comb pack. It had been five years since he last changed the color of his hair, but he’d maintained coloration of all kinds throughout his twenties, and he didn’t deem it necessary to re-read the instructions label on the bleach. So he took off the cap to remove the rigid safety stick that ran down the full depth of the bottle right down the center, and closed it up again. Through the soft squeezable plastic of the outer bottle, he felt around for the long brittle tube now floating loose, and he cracked it and shook the contents to incorporate them. Once the bottle felt warm, he parted his dark, damp bangtails down the middle, and flipped the squeeze-top, to bleach the right half only. A few bobby pins held the hair in place while the chemicals worked. He set an alarm on his reader for thirty minutes.

A seam ripper popped the stitches on his face, and tweezers picked out the fibers. He leaned over the sink and let the basin catch the alcohol he poured over his chin. Alcohol-sterilized needle and thread reaffixed the seven stitches, and he snipped the thread off close to the knot. Sitting on the toilet lid again, he inspected his leg injury as best he could for the angles he could twist himself. A lot of the swelling around the wound site had gone down, and he imagined the warmth of the bath had helped both its drainage and circulation. Drainage. Despite the wound depth, Thornton had not implemented any kind of tubing to permit the free expression of fluids. He grimaced at the oversight. His portable sewing kit only included what he needed to do touch-up maintenance, not full repairs. Until he got home and had access to his own scissors and surgical knives, he’d have to keep a closer eye on the healing progress than he did of most of his skin repairs in past years. He patted it with rubbing alcohol, and replaced the dressing. The alarm vibrated his reader. He rinsed his hair.

He gazed at his naked reflection for some time before he at least put his tank top back on. Were it not for the marbling of railroad scars all over his body, and the absence of the forearm tattoo he’d gotten when he’d started dating Cecil, he nearly would have thought it were ten years earlier. At a point where everything felt like it was falling apart, at least he could do this. Stalkers might not have placed a wholesome value in superficial alterations such as these, but Levelers embraced it with enthusiasm. He sniffed in detachment. For once, the split dye job made him feel more like he fit in, rather than stuck out.

Uncertain as to the next time he’d get a change of clothes, he rinsed out his socks and underwear with soap and water, and laid them on the edge of the tub.

‘Choly carried his then-cold coffee to the nightstand and sat back in the plush down comfort of the hotel room’s queen size bed. He turned on the television. He crinkled his nose to push up his new glasses, then crinkled his nose again. The extra weight would take some getting used to, but he’d wanted prescription sunglasses for years. Augen had made good on his promise, not to leave ‘Choly unattended until they could replace his eyeglasses, but he couldn’t tell how long he’d be alone in the hotel room. Or if Augen would return anytime soon. How hard would it be for him to get himself back over to the HP to see Cecil?

He scratched at his fresh leg dressing with an absent sneer, and sank into the most comfortable bedding he’d ever put his ass on. He felt like he hadn’t been able to just sit down and rest for entire days, and a long soak followed by an unfathomably soft bed had him drifting off already. For the time being, it was just him and the endless procession of webcasts covering and discussing the aftermath of the Central bombing. He slipped under the thick, lightweight down comforter and cream colored sheets. And he kept scratching.

Channel flipping felt like a game of roulette where every pocket was a black number. Speculation as to how the stalkers had managed such a feat. Avowal that the quarantine’s integrity would be both investigated and reinforced. Discussion as to how FEMA would reinstate structured emergency power, and the potential duration of the power and server outage. Insistence that the displacement of nearly twelve million people would not be permanent. Assuagement of the mounting hysteria in other fusion cities, that similar could happen to them. The disaster had laid bare a glaring vulnerability of the grid, and it was all the federal agencies could do to swear something like this could never happen again. A fluke. No one could come up with an answer as to how it could have possibly happened.

But no one seemed to want answers. They just wanted it fixed, and they wanted someone to blame. And yet, no one seemed to pinpoint that the hybrids had anything to gain in the aftermath. All ‘Choly could think of, staring down the collateral, was how the geek bar the day before had erupted with good will over what the bombing did to the servers, and the absolute rapture of the tiger host. Augen had been so distressed over the other hybrids’ elation. Augen was right, that ‘Choly had been out of it even before agreeing to an April Fool’s Day lunch. But how out of it had ‘Choly been? Had he missed something important in the chaos, that could explain it all? What other harmful data stored at Central had been negated in the act?

His head hurt. He pulled out his reader to look at the pictures he’d taken the day before. Pallet after pallet of eight drums each. Bright orange, with no designating marker besides the semicircle insignia of BF Meehl. Thinking on it more, was Meehl the owner, or just the manufacturer of the drum itself? Regardless of origin, the drums very clearly had been left there within the last year. He’d have to take it up with Augen later. Maybe Augen would be able to tell him all about what had happened at The Lazarus Hall yesterday. Lacking anything of substance to distract himself with researching the Meehl drums, he resumed paying attention to the television.

It had taken two days, but the media coverage had shifted away from visuals of the explosion itself and moved onto the current state of Tri-City. Automobiles no longer stippled the treadless avenues, instead replaced by the congestion of emergency vehicles. Projected advertisements no longer flooded every neobrutalist surface with light, the Wolfram concrete taking on a lifelessness it had never known for even a moment. Everything had come to a standstill, threatening societal necrosis. People couldn’t transit.

Supermarkets had been upturned by Levelers attempting to hoard all shelf-stable food supplies they could locate, but after a single day no one could even get to them, not even to clock in for work. One channel’s webcast had postulated that FEMA had paired up with ShipShop, and together in the coming week they would set up emergency relief kiosks at every major housing block. If people hadn’t made it out of their apartment buildings by day one, the government had issued a warning to shelter in place.

None of it had felt real until he came across a segment regarding ShipShop’s FEMA-issue thetic delivery drone fleet. He lost the remote in the sheets at this point and leaned forward, staring in dread at these nonliving agency employees. Most thetic personalities he’d experienced firsthand had been only waist-up, a humanoid shape installed on whatever vehicle or robotic vending to stand in where a clerk might have functioned in prior decades. These androids made no exception, and would engage the ShipShop kiosks in order to dispense the variety of goods available through the company that had been ordered by those inhabiting the block where the kiosk had been placed. Either ShipShop or FEMA knew in advance that this would be a long-term arrangement, for how much effort they were putting forth to erect these kiosks... and for how the kiosks themselves would be run by full-body thetics.

The chaos of it all, it hadn’t just been Cecil getting critically injured and losing his hearing, hadn’t just been ‘Choly getting his leg broken by gunshot wound, hadn’t just been ‘Choly and Augen tumbling headlong into a completely unprotected vehicle crash. The known casualties had since tallied in the thousands, and the longer Tri-City went without power, those numbers would only continue growing, ShipShop or no.

He stuttered, patting frantically in the sheets to relocate the remote. He couldn’t remember if he’d been sure to stay on non-decimal stations. Once he’d relocated it and double-checked it was on Channel 43, he pulled up the hotel’s terms of service on his reader to check what was complimentary versus what cost extra. Provided he only pulled up non-decimal channels on a television, and only pulled up decimal channels on any non-television, there’d be no charge. The thought of having to keep them straight worsened his headache, and he curled up in the bed as best he could with the leg brace still on.

His reader chirped and buzzed for an incoming phone call, and he wouldn’t have picked up, but his services identified the caller as Hillock Plaza.

“I, hello?”

“Good morning,” Cecil greeted in a playful, low affect. “I got word you settled into a room at the Granfalloon. Glad I didn’t have to ring through to your room, though. Means your reader survived.”

“Good morning? It’s almost one o’clock. Yeah, I’ve told you f’years, they don’t make ‘em like they used to.” He grinned tiredly, relieved just to hear his boyfriend’s voice. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too. I didn’t dream you visited me, if you’ve checked into Overflow. I was starting to worry if you were all right.”

“I’ll have some of whatever you’re having, if you can’t remember the conversations that have been happening in that hospital room. Wait, shit.” He shot up in the bed. “They haven’t had you sign anything without me there, right? Right!?”

“Not that I know of. Why? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Abandon help me, do you even know what day of the week it is?” He calmed himself a tic, and his face screwed up in a complicated grief. “What billing option did you take?”

“Alternative. What’s wrong?”

"...Are you worried that the HP will come find you down the line and do other truck to you?”

“What? No! That’s bogeyman talk. ‘Choly everything is all right. I’m just recovering from a bad injury. And can’t hear on my own anymore. It’s fine.”

“On what planet is what you described ‘fine’! ...Ben said he could have kept you from billing.” A long silence held. “Cecil?”

“I wouldn’t have wanted him to. I don’t want to talk about that.”

“So you’re happy with the thetic halo? With having that stuff installed in your head?”

“Completely. It’ll take getting used to. But it works. And I can sync with data protocols to make phone calls with it. It’s how I’m calling you right now.”

“...I took alternative for my broken leg, too. You don’t think...”

“I don’t know anyone who’s taken alternative, and a hospital made good on the thread. It’s literally just a legal loophole where people aren’t allowed to sue the hospital. What has Augen been telling you? Damn.”

A notification from Augen butted in, and ‘Choly flopped over in the bed after reading it. ||Shoe size?|| He sent along all his size information with an eye-roll, poorly containing his glee at the likelihood that such a question could mean fresh clothing would come along sooner than anticipated.

“Sorry about that. I think his ears were burning... Nothing’s gonna be the same after the other day. I’m just... worried about tomorrow. And the next day. And... and...”

“Focus on today, babe. It’s all we can do right now. I need to sleep more. I was just calling to check on you. I’ll see about texting you from the hospital room. Love you.”

“Talking later sounds very good. Love you.”

‘Choly shoved his reader under the pillow with a strange, empty frown and got more comfortable. He nearly thought he was hearing sirens going off outside, but chalked it up to feeling like he’d drifted off. He glanced up at the television in detachment, only halfway processing the ‘breaking news’ streamer that at some point had begun chasing the bottom of the screen. He didn’t recognize the plume of smoke as belonging to any of the footage he’d seen before. The bombing had occurred after nightfall, and this footage took place in broad daylight. He stifled a yelp when he bent his leg a way the brace wouldn’t let him, and scrambled through the sheets to find the remote again and turn up the sound.

“...Second series of explosions at Tri-City’s Central building just twenty minutes ago. Despite Tesla’s best efforts, damage to the nuclear generators still resulted in their overheating, and it began the process of meltdown just hours after the detonations which rocked much of Tri-City on April First. Radiation has been confirmed far in excess of safe levels. Emergency devices are on-site now both containing the heat and radiation, as well as assessing the best course for containment. This is not a test: If you are still stationed withing any five-kilometer radius of Central and can receive this broadcast, evacuate immediately to a nuclear shelter and await further instruction. Available buses from all adjacent sectors will be running nonstop for Tri-City for the next twelve hours to facilitate evacuation. Everyone else within a thirty-kilometer radius of Central is to shelter in place. I repeat--”

Was... the true goal of the bombing to perpetrate another maximum scale nuclear disaster? Had the terrorist only made it look like they’d gone after the servers, so no one would think of potential reactor damage until it was too late? Immediately, his mind drifted in a soup through other urban nuclear explosions. Middletown, Palo Verde, Okuma... Pripyat... At this very moment, Central’s fuel was melting through its containment and slipping nearer and nearer the Newark Bay. Imagery haunted him of the different shapes various known corium flows had adopted in their pursuit of final rest. Slag swaths pouring ironically from water coolant release valves... Stalactites from falling through floodwater... The largest diamond in the world, formed through the sheer heat and density of a completely dry meltdown... He no longer dreaded the proximity to the disaster, instead transfixed.

“Hey, now, sleeping is just about the last thing I’d expect you to be doing right now.” Augen threw down two very large shopping bags on the end of the bed and rooted through one. He went into the bathroom with an armful. “Sorry I took so long. The line at the ShipShop kiosk was godawful.”

“Good morning to you, too.” ‘Choly grunted upright and finished off his cold coffee. “I was wondering where the hell you went. I didn’t mean to drift off, for what it’s worth.”

“I see the TV’s on. You saw the news, right?”

“I, yeah.” He glanced up at the screen to see emergency alerts still flooded the broadcasts. “Yeah, I didn’t think I dreamed that.”

“Slept well, then, I’m guessing?”

“As well as to be expected. Why were you asking about my sizing?” he started, looking slyly to the bags.

“You can root around and see for yourself. I’m going to help myself to your shampoo and stuff. As unnatural as it feels, I’m going to bathe twice in one week. Last night justifies it.”

One of the bags contained several boxes including a pair of shoes, while the other was a bunch of garments. He pulled out a few, and took off his tank to try on a few. A black tee stated a simple but gaudy ‘Sorry I’m late, I was masturbating.’ He scoffed, but, drawn to it, put it on immediately. He’d have said something, but the shower was already going, so he kept fishing in the clothes. Augen had brought him lacy black underwear, in both thong and bikini cut, and flustering he favored the latter for lack of another option. With the shirt he paired vein-print leggings. The shoes were low-heeled black boots, with pointed toes accented with a metallic tip. He returned them to the shoe box to pull out the other boxes in the bag. Several of them were carefully wrapped but otherwise unlabeled. Of those he could discern, he couldn’t really identify what they were.

“Figured you’d like that one the best.”

Augen came out in a white button-down and a pair of straight-leg black jeans, drying his hair.

“What, the shirt? You sure you didn’t get that for you?”

“A mirror, darkly. In these trying times, I took it upon myself to devise a new fashion capsule for you.” Augen flopped onto the bed to recline beside ‘Choly. “Zahnsammlung. You tend to emulate metahumans you fancy. I figure you could emulate me for a change.”

“Awfully presumptuous of you, to think I would,” ‘Choly feigned, laying back beside him eye to eye. “It’s been years since I emulated anyone besides myself... Tell me, what qualifications can you cite? To justify that degree of fixation?”

“Just how many demonstrations must I provide you, before you understand I’m the real deal?” Heavy-lidded, Augen played with ‘Choly’s bleached hair. “I’ve always thought this was a good look for you.”

“Have you ever...?”

“Bleached? Once. I thought it was too much trouble to do upkeep. How do you think Cecil will react to seeing you did your hair again?”

“He’ll think, that I think I’m guilty of everything that’s going on. And to some extent, he’s right. My brain tends to cope, badly, by accepting some or all of the blame for things I can’t have possibly done. But no, I guess I did it because even little expressions of self-control can anchor the chaos around a person.”

“Speaking of the chaos...” At Augen’s prompting ‘Choly flipped to be spooned, the vampire cuddled up to him and petted his hair. “Tell me, how you think it’s all going down, down there...”

‘Choly’s eyes rolled back, knowing exactly what buttons Augen set out to push.

“...Well, Central’s energy series is a ring of nine reactors...”

Go to Next »»»

[jesatria]

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 4

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 3,026 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

I finally got this chapter done–it only took me over 6 months! I will try to not go so long without updating again.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

Chapter 4: The Triumph

         “That was some triumph!” Baudoin declared. He took a large gulp of wine. “Everything was perfect. I do believe I could get used to this.”

         I sipped my own wine. “That makes two of us. The entire scheme worked out perfectly.”

         “It was a good idea. We ought to do it again sometime.”

         “I’d be happy to assist you on your path to this throne,” I replied. That had been the reason for the entire scheme. I’d let the Skaldi through the passes at his suggestion, allowing him to conveniently swoop in and defeat them while visiting me at Aiglemort. Baudoin had always been ambitious and no longer bothered to hide his designs for the throne. The guilt I felt over betraying Camael’s sacred trust for his sake was quick to disappear in the aftermath of our victory. My father would never have approved, but he was dead. Baudoin becoming King would only be to my benefit.

         He put an arm around my shoulders. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend! Never could’ve done it without you.” No, you couldn’t have, I thought but declined to mention. He took another swig of wine. “How about we head to the Night Court to celebrate?”

         I started at my glass, considering his offer. It had indeed been some time since I’d visited the Night Court or bedded any woman at all. My duties, along with the fighting and subsequent triumph, made it impossible to visit Lombelon. I’d been too busy to dwell on it much, though in quieter moments I thought of Anne. Could word of my victories have reached her at Lombelon? I’d not had time to write her during the madness of the preparations for it. “All right,” I said, “a visit to the Night Court sounds like the perfect way to celebrate. Which house did you have in mind?”

         Baudoin smiled. “I’ll let you choose this time.”

         I pondered the choices for a moment. I had only visited half of the thirteen houses and didn’t have a particular favorite. After brief consideration, I elected to visit one of the houses I hadn’t been to before. “I believe I’m up for a visit to Jasmine,” I answered with a grin.

         Baudoin chortled and squeezed my arm. “An excellent choice. Let’s see if we can outlast a Jasmine adept, eh Izzy?”

         I frowned at the nickname—Baudoin had an extremely irritating tendency to call me that when drunk. He never seemed to remember it afterward, because I told him not to use that obnoxious nickname more than once. Eventually I just gave up and tolerated it. Baudoin wasn’t exactly the most considerate person. One grew used to it after spending a great deal of time around him.

         We were greeted quite enthusiastically in Jasmine House. The Prince and the Duc d’Aiglemort would’ve been welcome any day, but today the entire city was fairly buzzing with excitement over our triumph. The adepts flocked to us and tried their best to earn our attention. Baudoin positively basked in their attentions as he always did on these occasions. I wished I could get used to such treatment, but instead I sat stiffly on one of their couches while adepts paraded themselves before me. I ultimately selected a woman with a figure like Anne’s, though she didn’t resemble her at all otherwise. I was not at all sorry to leave Baudoin behind when she led me to her room. Lying on a sofa with his arms around two adepts while a third sat on his lap, he’d be well-occupied for a while.

         The night proved to be a very satisfying one. I soon learned that all the rumors about the stamina of Jasmine adepts were true. When we were done, I went looking for Baudoin. I found him in a well-appointed bedchamber, reclining on a bed with the same three adepts from earlier draped over him. A flagon of wine stood on the nightstand. “Izzy?” he slurred drunkenly. “Done already? Don’t you want another go?”

         “I’m well-satisfied. I thought I’d return to my chambers in the palace.”

         “Why not stay here?” Baudoin retorted. “The company’s so… pleasant.” He punctuated his statement by patting the arse of one of his companions.

         “I’d rather return to my own bed, by your leave.”

         Baudoin waved a hand. “Very well. You can take the carriage back. I’ll be spending the night here.”

         I smiled. “In that case, enjoy yourself.” With those words, I took my leave of him and returned to the palace. I collapsed into bed immediately after undressing, my mind filled with thoughts of glory. They had cheered me at the triumph, as much as they had Baudoin. That was a new experience, as most people immediately focused on Baudoin and paid me little mind, even after I became Duc d’Aiglemort. No, they noticed me now, and I liked it.

         The next few days only proved that point. Crowds of admirers clustered around me wherever I went in the palace. Many were filled with admiration, but quite a few of them were obviously interested in me for other reasons. All of that was still somewhat unfamiliar territory for me. I supposed I would never get used to it.

         “Oh, you’re so much more handsome up close,” cooed a Namarrese baroness I’d seen at court before.

         “Thank you,” I replied, giving her a polite smile.

         “It must’ve been so dangerous, facing all those savage Skaldi,” she continued, moving closer to me. “You and Prince Baudoin are so brave.”

         “I am a Camaeline. It is my duty to fight the Skaldi.”

         “Of course.” She laid a hand on my arm. “But surely war isn’t the only thing you’re skilled in.”

         I moved my arm out of her grasp. I had no particular desire to take any new lovers. “I’m afraid I’m not giving any demonstrations.” I’d never been one for playing the game of courtship and sleeping with a good portion of the court, and I was not inclined to start now. The Namarrese baroness took my meaning and pouted. It did nothing whatsoever to alter my decision.

         “There he is! The man of the hour!” Marmion Shahrizai’s voice cut through the crowd in the noisy salon. He made his way through my cluster of admirers, followed by several of his kin. The Shahrizai always moved in packs. Melisande was among them. I’d thought she’d be with Baudoin, but on second thought he was probably still sleeping off last night’s indulgences. Marmion put an arm around my shoulders. “Well done Isidore! We’re all proud of you.”

         “Thank you, Marmion,” I said with a small grin. “I’m beginning to get used to the attention.”

         He laughed. “Never thought I’d hear you say something like that. When you were fostering with us, you were always more content to stay in the background.”

         It was true—when I was sent off to the Shahrizai, I’d preferred to avoid attracting much attention to myself. It had been hard enough fitting in with them when I already stuck out like a sore thumb. But that had changed in the time since. Victory in war brought with it fame and glory and I was beginning to realize I had a taste for both. “I’ve changed since then,” I said to Marmion.

         He laughed. “Come back with us to the lodge tonight. We want to properly celebrate your victory.”

         I’d been around them long enough to know exactly how a Shahrizai party typically went—a night of debauchery culminating in an orgy at Valerian House. One visit with them had been enough for me. “What do you have in mind? Baudoin and I already celebrated in Jasmine House last night.”

         “Oh, just a nice, small fête at the lodge, you and the family only. Does that suit you?”

         That was somewhat of a relief. “It would suit me very well.”

         “Then I’ll see you there tonight.” Marmion clasped my arm briefly, then took his leave. Most of his kin followed after him, pausing to offer me brief congratulations before leaving.

         “At last you have the recognition you deserve,” Melisande purred after we exchanged the kiss of greeting.

**

         The Shahrizai fête was subdued, as far as Shahrizai fêtes went anyway. It was a pleasant evening of dining and drinking and passed without any of them heading to the pleasure chamber. When it started to wind down, I took my leave before any of them suggested a visit to the Night Court. The attention I was receiving was certainly appreciated, but I found myself longing to return to Lombelon and see Anne. Had she heard about the triumph? Lombelon wasn’t far from the City and word spread very quickly. I hoped she hadn’t so I might tell her myself. That I’d let the Skaldi in the passes deliberately was irrelevant. I resolved to keep that bit of information secret. Only Baudoin and I needed to know the truth.

         Another week passed before I was able to get away. Ganelon summoned me more than once to discuss shoring up the border defences. During the conversation I had the distinct impression that he knew exactly what Baudoin and I had done, though he said nothing openly. He dared not take action against Houses Aiglemort and Trevalion. Our houses were too powerful and Baudoin and I too popular right now. The realm thought us heroes. Besides that, I had my own personal army in the form of the Allies of Camlach. No, the King would not target me openly, no matter what his suspicions were.

         I was glad to finally leave the City. Though I had enjoyed some of the attention and praise I’d received, I found myself eager to be away. It was, in many ways, the complete opposite of the City. As we grew close to the estate, I sent a rider ahead to give them some warning that I’d be arriving shortly.

         Sure enough, Anne was waiting at the front door when I arrived, along with a handful of others. She wore a fawn-brown cloak, which covered her from head-to-toe. Her face brightened as I rode up to the door and dismounted. This time I didn’t bother exchanging pleasantries with Bargot or anyone else; I made straight for Anne.

         “Your Grace,” she breathed. I noticed then that her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. It was a very appealing effect. “You are most welcome to Lombelon.”

         “I am very glad to be here,” I replied. “I’ve been away too long. There has been increased activity on the border as of late.”

         Her eyes widened and she tensed. “The Skaldi?”

         I nodded. “They came through the passes of Camlach, but Prince Baudoin and I were able to drive them back.”

         “Thank Camael you were able to do so.”

         I smiled. “I’ll tell you all the details later, when we dine together.”

         A broad smile came across her face. “You’d like me to… dine with you? Actually sit at the table and eat instead of serving you?”

         “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t desire it. It feels somehow wrong for you to continue serving me at meals. I’d like you to eat with me.”

         “I would be honored to accept your request,” she replied with a smile, stepping forward to wrap her arms around me.

         Later, I seated myself in the dining room and waited for Anne to join me. It didn’t surprise me in the least that she was not already present when I arrived—it was unlikely she’d be excused from her usual duties to dine with me unless I specifically requested it. Even so, I did not have to wait long for her to appear. The doors opened and Anne entered, accompanied by our dinner. “What is this? Did you forget we’ll be dining together tonight?”

         “I didn’t forget,” she answered, “I simply insisted that I handle the serving.”

         “Why?” I honestly couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want some time away from her servant duties.

         “Well, there’s always jealousy directed at me from the others whenever you are here. They were hoping they might catch your eye,” she explained.

         “I see. I was unaware that I was the subject of such attention.” It was true—I’ve never been particularly good at noticing such things.

         “Oh, you were. Still are, in fact. A significant portion of the staff here are jealous of me for earning your attentions. I didn’t want to endure the stares from the other ladies any more than I already do every day, so I offered to do the serving myself.”

         I chuckled lightly. “Very well. We might as well begin then.”

         “So what was it like?” Anne asked after we began to eat. “The battle, I mean.”

         I had to pause for a moment and consider my response. How exactly to describe battle to someone who’d never even come close to experiencing it? I did not think Anne the sort of woman who’d want to hear all about the glories of war and less about its unpleasant realities. I’d dealt with plenty of the former in the City after my triumph and I’d had quite enough of them. The truth, then. “Bloody,” I answered earnestly. “War is an ugly, messy business. In this case there was little contest—my forces and Prince Baudoin’s fell upon the Skaldi after they broke through the passes. We were able to defeat them easily.”

         Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Skaldi are fierce fighters, are they not?”

         I nodded. “They’re barbarians who live for blood and battle. Fortunately, strategy is not a strength they possess. They lack cohesive leadership.”

         “What do you mean by that?”

         “I mean they aren’t ruled by a single king the way we are in Terre d’Ange. The Skaldi are a bunch of disorganized tribes, not a united people. Their loyalty is to their own chieftains. Sometimes one of the stronger chieftains will manage to unite a couple of tribes, but it never lasts long.”

         She watched me with wide, fascinated eyes. I suppose no one spoke of the dynamics of Skaldi society to L’Agnacite gardeners as a rule. “That’s all very fortunate for us if they are as fierce as you say, but what if they did find a leader who could unite them?”

         It took me a moment to decide how to answer her. Should I tell her that there were rumors of such a figure emerging? No, best not to trouble her unnecessarily. Here in L’Agnace any threat from the Skaldi seemed far away. “It is… unlikely that any single leader could unify the Skaldi for long. They are a fractious people who place loyalty to their tribe above all else.” She relaxed slightly at that. “As Camaelines, it is our sacred duty to protect Terre d’Ange. We are more than capable of dealing with the Skaldi,” I assured her. The role I played in deliberately letting them through the passes so Baudoin could play at being Prince Rolande I kept to myself. It was better that she not know these things.

         When the meal was over, we retired to my bedchamber. Both of us were quite hungry for each other, this being our first night together after some time apart. Later, after we were sated, Anne lay in my arms, her head resting on my chest. I pressed her body tightly against mine, savoring the feel of her. In that moment I found myself feeling more grateful for her than ever before. It was an entirely different life in Lombelon with her, as far as possible from the life I had in the City. It was more like to Camlach than to the City, but there were several key differences, the lack of warfare being the most significant one. Yet despite the differences, there was a certain similarity as well. When the border was quiet, life in Camlach could be a country idyll, perhaps even moreso than Lombelon due to its remoteness. Anne and I were alike in that we were both creatures of the countryside. Of course she’d never been to the City, despite living only a short distance from it. I couldn’t imagine her fitting in well at all there. It had been that way for me when my father brought me to the City as a child. I was overwhelmed by the crowds, the sights, the smells—but most of all the crowds. Camlach is sparsely-populated compared to the rest of Terre d’Ange and lacks any large cities. Aiglemort might’ve been the ducal seat, but the number of people there was small in comparison to the population of the palace. Time had helped me grow used to these differences, but my preferences remained the same.

         “Would you like to see the City, Anne?” I inquired, curious.

         She stirred and lifted her head from its resting place on my chest. “The City of Elua?”

         “Yes. Have you ever thought about it?”

         “A few times. My father told me about it—he’s been a handful of times. He always said it was a sight worth seeing, but he would never want to live there. I think I would likely feel the same if I ever visited it,” she answered.

         “I see you take after your father in that regard. Both of you are far more comfortable here among your country gardens.”

         “And are you not also a creature of the countryside, your grace?” she asked, almost as if she’d read my earlier thoughts. “Your words about Camlach indicate as much.”

         “Guilty as charged,” I replied. “I suppose this shared disposition makes us suitable for each other.”

         That marked the end of our conversation, as she soon fell asleep and I followed not long after.

**

         My visits to Lombelon took on a familiar routine after that. I went whenever my duties permitted, which never seemed to be often enough. You might say it was turning into something of an addiction for me. The entire thing had taken me somewhat by surprise, as I never thought I’d take such a liking to the place, or to a certain woman who lived there.

Note

I’m back! I’m sorry I took so long to update this fic. I never actually forgot about it--this chapter has been written for a while, but I was too lazy to type & edit it. I don’t intend to go so long between updates again. I’m in a Kushiel mood right now & feeling motivated to write fic in this fandom again.

[meetmeatthecoda]

Grifting with the Enemy: Chapter 4

Hey all! :D Here is the next chapter of GWTE! I know, I know, it’s been 84 years. I’m hoping there’s still some interest in this fic! In the coming days, I will splitting my writing time between this and Amethyst, which is Part 2 of Facets containing all my soulmate and AU prompts. Super pumped :) That said, this is a bit of a return to writing for me since it’s been a while since a substantial update cause of real life and it’s CERTAINLY been a while for an update on this fic, in particular. So, as usual, I would love any feedback you can give me, especially concerning continuity with previous chapters, flow, and pacing. I’m hoping I picked it up okay but, as always, I await your responses with baited breath :)) Anyhoo, please enjoy if you can and this will also be posted, as well as the previous 3 chapters, on my FF.net and AO3 profiles! :D Thanks guys! :) Much love! <3 

Liz walks into the restaurant, standing on her toes as she scans the room for Red. She sees many diners, all dressed in casual, mid-day finery, and paying her no mind. Liz purses her lips. Only Red would invite her to a restaurant like this knowing full well that she would be wearing a leather jacket and a blue beanie.

Typical.

Red had left a day in between their last meeting before calling again – Liz tried to ignore how happy she was that he didn’t wait a full three days like the last time – and inviting her to lunch to discuss the heist. In a public restaurant. In broad daylight.

Unbelievable.

She had assumed that he had reserved the whole stuffy restaurant or something ridiculous for the sake of privacy (that was something rich people did, right?), thinking there was no way he would discuss secret illegal plans surrounded by potentially eavesdropping diners.

She was wrong.

He apparently didn’t think anyone would care enough to listen to their heist plans or, if they did, he obviously didn’t care enough to do anything about it. He was happy to sit and enjoy what will probably be a delicious lunch – if the small portions and pristine table cloths are anything to go by – out in the open, where anyone can see him.

Except Liz, apparently.

She continues to crane her neck, struggling to find him in the busy restaurant. She sees the host spot her and start to make his way over to seat her. Great. She was hoping to slink in unnoticed, feeling very out of place in her current attire, every inch the careless, fresh-out-of-college, youth she pretended to be. She doesn’t even know what name Red gave when reserving his table and it could be anything. If she could just catch a glimpse of him –

“Hello, can I help you?”

The host interrupts her desperate search, looking at her with undisguised interest. Hm. Well, at least he’s not snobbish and rude. He is cute, after all, despite being several years younger than her, probably actually fresh out of college, as opposed to her. Oh well. Perhaps he can help.

“Um, maybe, I’m looking for a, well, he’s a, uh, he –”

But Liz is saved from struggling to describe the walking enigma that is Raymond Reddington by the sight of a fedora perched on a hat stand near the back of the restaurant. She swears it wasn’t there a second ago but, if it was, it’s no wonder she didn’t see it. He must have secured a private table if he’s all the way back there. She can’t see him but there’s no mistaking that hat, probably worth more than her monthly rent costs.

The host is still watching her hesitantly.

“Oh, never mind, I see him,” she says kindly, relieved, and flashes the young man a smile which seems to dazzle him a little. “I’ll just go and join him.”

She leaves the stuttering waiter behind, catching a quiet little “oh, okay” before she saunters out of earshot, not sorry to be going. He is sweet but much too young for her, even if an on-looker wouldn’t be able to tell. Besides, she’s not interested in a boy.

She is having lunch with a man.

(Oh, bad, Liz, bad thought.)

Liz weaves her way carefully through the tables, minding the messenger bag slung across her chest, catching a few stares from elegantly dressed man and woman with her bright blue beanie and wide rimmed glasses, as expected, before she finally rounds the corner to a table situated out of the way in a little alcove. It is still within sight and earshot of a few tables, all of which are suspiciously empty. Perhaps reserving the whole restaurant wasn’t such a far-fetched assumption, after all.

“Lizzie!”

His warm, welcoming voice washes over her, as it always does, making her feel much less out of place than she did in the open dining area. Amazing.

He sits in a fancy chair at the beautifully laid table, looking just like all the other elegant, rich diners in the outer area. She sighs.

(He’s so out of her league.)

There are only two places at the small table, all the dishes empty, save two goblets of water at each place. Both glasses contain the same amount, however, meaning that Red waited for her to arrive before eating or drinking. Somehow, she’s not surprised. He is an unfailingly polite criminal. She smothers a smile.

“Hi, Red,” she says happily, slinging her bag over the back of the vacant chair across from him. “Where’s Dembe today? Won’t he be joining us?”

Red smiles easily at her, taking a moment to watch her remove her beanie, stuff it a little self-consciously in her bag, and smooth a hand over her ponytail before answering.

“Dembe is rather a connoisseur of fine foods and he enjoys watching professionals at work. He’s in the kitchen observing.”

Liz raises her eyebrows, surprised and skeptical. She thinks it’s more likely that Dembe is watching over Red’s meal at all stages to make sure no one slips anything in it. That fits with her current profile of Red, appearing completely at ease while really going to all lengths to assuage his paranoia. Poor Dembe, being quarantined to the kitchen to watch his boss’s food, how unfair –

“I know what you’re thinking, Lizzie, and it’s nothing like that. Dembe is quite an enthusiastic chef. You should try his dishes, they’re exquisite. His mushroom ravioli with sun dried tomatoes and white wine sauce is to die for. And don’t even get me started on his desserts.”

Liz smiles, amused by Red’s gushing over Dembe. Perhaps their relationship is something deeper than it appears at first glance. She’ll be sure to observe them more closely from now on.

“I see. So, he is a willing student of the kitchen, is he?” she questions, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Very much so,” Red says happily. “I’ll tell him you were worried for him though, he’ll be touched. If you’re lucky, he may even make you his famous crème bruleé as a thank you.”

“Good, is it?”

“Positively indulgent,” Red hums, his voice deep and his eyes dark. Liz stares back at him, entranced. The air warms between them.

(Liz suddenly wonders what would happen if she took advantage of their seclusion at this private table, out of sight, alone, together –)

And then a male waiter materializes out of thin air – luckily a different young man than the one Liz talked to before – and the heated staring contest between Red and Liz comes to an abrupt end. Liz can’t help but feel both relieved and disappointed.

She reaches for her water goblet and takes a fortifying gulp.

“Are you and the young lady ready to order, Mr. Kershaw?” the man asks professionally, completely unaware of what he just interrupted. “Would you perhaps like some wine to get you started?”

“Yes, please, Walter,” Red says smoothly, turning away from Liz to address the waiter he is obviously familiar with. “I think we’ll share a bottle of ’76 Merlot, if that’s all right with you, of course, Lizzie?”

Liz, who hasn’t even glanced at the beautiful menu covered with curly writing, nods easily. “Sure, I’ll have a glass.”

“Very good, ma’am,” the waiter nods and disappears again.

Liz sighs, turning to the menu, on the hunt for something that looks good. She doesn’t even know where to begin. But she certainly doesn’t want to admit it to Red.

“If I may, Lizzie, I would recommend the chicken marsala with roasted potatoes and red wine sauce. It’s delicious, easily my favorite thing on the menu.”

Well. That sounds lovely. How convenient. But she doesn’t want to admit that either.

“Hmmm,” she hums noncommittally. “Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Liz pretends to read the rest of the menu thoroughly, already having settled on the chicken marsala. Then she thinks of a way to tease him more. She can’t resist.

“Red wine sauce, you said?”

“Yes. Why, are you not a fan of wine?”

“Oh, no, certainly, I am. I love a good glass of red before bed just as much as the next girl,” Liz smirks at him over the rim of her glasses. “I’m just sensing a theme with your suggestions here, Red. Not trying to get me drunk, are you?”

Red only grins at her, his eyes sparkling. “Perhaps I am,” he murmurs.

Another moment starts to grow between them but is quickly stopped once again by the return of their waiter with their ordered bottle of wine. Liz is starting to feel a distinct distaste for this poor server and his timing. But then he pours her a generous glass of wine and she feels a little more friendly.

“Are you perhaps ready to order?”

“Lizzie?”

“Yes, I am. But you first, please.”

“Of course,” Red agrees easily, wasting no time in ordering his preferred chicken dish.

The waiter simply nods, making no move to write the order down. Liz tries not to be impressed by that. This order will probably be the least complicated thing he serves all day. He turns to look at her expectantly.

“And I’ll have the same, please,” Liz says politely. The waiter just nods again before taking their menus and moving off.

“Well, well. You took my advice, after all,” Red says to her slyly, regaining her attention effortlessly.

“Well, you know, there’s a first time for everything,” Liz says cheekily, reaching for her wine glass.

Red smirks at her, picking up his own glass and clinking it gently with hers before she can bring it to her mouth. “Indeed,” he purrs, holding her eyes as he takes a sip from his glass.

She blushes.

(Oh, my.)

“Well, I was under the impression this was a working lunch. Am I mistaken?” Liz prompts after another long moment, struggling to break Red’s gaze long enough to form coherent words.

Red continues to stare at her for a second even after she looks away. She can feel his gaze on her, a warm, drugging thing, before he nods to himself and slips into his businessman persona.

(Liz can see the change in him easily, another person sliding into place as if a switch has been flipped.)

“No, you’re absolutely right. A working lunch it is,” Red confirms, straightening in his chair. “Details are coming together well for the heist.”

“Excellent,” Liz murmurs. “Any chance you want to fill me in on those details? I’m used to running solo on gigs like this. I feel quite left in the dark.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie, that’s not at all my intention,” Red frowns, leaning forward to convey his sincerity. “It’s only logistical things that I’ve been organizing. I invited you to lunch today for the very purpose of filling you in.”

“Oh, good,” Liz says easily. She doesn’t feel any animosity towards Red for the lack of information. She believes him when he says he was intending to tell her. She just wants to prod him along a little, with the heist date drawing closer every day. “So, what do I need to know?”

Red gives her a little smile of thanks for understanding and takes another sip of wine before answering her.

“We’ll rob AM&R Bank at two o’clock in the afternoon on September the twentieth.”

Liz almost chokes on her mouthful of wine.

“What? We’re robbing one of the most secure banks in D.C. in broad daylight? Are you crazy?”

“Quite possibly,” Red grins at her a little madly. “But this is a perfectly sane decision, I assure you, Lizzie.”

Liz puts down her glass and pushes it far away from her. Perhaps drinking wine at a working lunch with Raymond Reddington is not a good idea.

She crosses her arms. “Care to elaborate?” she asks primly.

“With pleasure,” Red answers happily. “As demonstrated beautifully by your response, the best time to commit any crime is when the ones who would stop you least expect it. This is especially true with a robbery. If the guards aren’t expecting a break-in, they won’t see one. The human mind is a remarkable thing, as I’m sure you’re aware, Lizzie.”

Liz purses her lips, mulling over his logic and the obvious reference to her psychology background. She has to admit he has a point. But that doesn’t mean she agrees with him.

“All right,” she says a little tersely.

Red frowns slightly. “You don’t sound completely on board.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Liz answers simply. “I admit that your logic is sound but only in theory. In reality, it simply can’t hold up.”

“And why is that?” Red challenges, seeming intrigued by her defiance and genuinely interested in her opinion.

Liz stares at him evenly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my studies of the human mind, it’s that people rarely do as they’re expected. There’s so many random variables that you’re not taking into account in this situation.”

“Like what?” he asks immediately, an odd sparkle in his eyes that pulls Liz forward in her seat, leaning towards him and lowering her voice into something more intimate.

“What if the guard on duty decides to have an extra espresso shot in his coffee that morning, making him more observant and on edge than he usually is? What if one of the cameras needs unscheduled maintenance and it’s left tilted two inches further to the left than you originally anticipated, at the perfect angle to catch our faces? What if Amos Rodfield himself decides to show up and inspect his bank that day and we’re caught? There are simply too many unknowns.”

Red nods seriously, leaning forward to match her posture, placing his forearms on the table, and looks earnestly into her eyes. “Absolutely. We need to be able to control as many factors in this situation as possible if we are to be successful in our operation.”

Liz nods, pleased. Good, she’s convinced him to see her side of things, excellent, perhaps now he’ll –

“Which is why I’ve planted a guard to be on duty that afternoon, a most trusted friend named Amilo, who, as it happens, abhors coffee. I’ll have one of my own men check the cameras and install fake feeds during the morning shift to avoid any unexpected technological mishaps. And, as far as Amos goes, I know his schedule. He’ll be on vacation with his young girlfriend Bridget in the Bahamas on the day of the heist.”

Liz blinks.

Oh.

“Do you agree with me now, Lizzie?” Red asks, a slight taunt in his voice as he leans closer conspiratorially, a dark twinkle in his eyes.

Liz stares back at him for a moment, mouth agape, entranced and in wonder at his brilliant mind, before looking down at her empty plate with a huffed little laugh. Impressive. But she can’t let him off the hook that easily.

“No,” she murmurs, looking up to catch his expression.

She sees his self-assured grin slips in an instant, the corners of his mouth pulling down in an unexpected frown.

How satisfying.

“You can only control so many factors, Red. And as impressive as all those things are, committing a robbery in the middle of the day is still a large and unnecessary risk.”

They stare at each other in silence, both sets of eyes flicking back and forth to watch the other.

(There is no anger or resentment between them, only good-natured tension and excitement, a friendly debate to see who wins. Liz loves the feeling.)

“But,” Liz suddenly breaks the silence with a careless shrug, moving abruptly to sit back in her seat, secretly lamenting the new distance between them. “It’s your heist, Red. So, I’ll show up whatever time you tell me to.”

She grins teasingly at him. She wants to make it clear that there are no hard feelings between them, at least not on her end.

Red seems to get the message, returning her smile after a searching look and a slow nod, easing back in his seat to copy her posture.

“That’s good to know,” he murmurs finally. “And, while I accept your reasons for thinking otherwise, I’d still like to perform the heist during the day.”

“All right,” Liz says easily, taking a sip of wine.

(She was right to save it. She needed her wits about her for that round.)

Red follows her lead, sipping his wine as well, observing her as he does so.

“So, you would never perform a heist during the day?” he asks, the teasing back in his voice, happy that they got through a mild disagreement without serious complications.

“Well,” Liz lilts, unable to resist playing with him a little. “Not by choice, no.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve found that I always perform best at night.”

She looks up at him coyly, making her innuendo clear, pleased to see his lips quirk and his gaze darken as he looks at her.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” he rumbles.

Liz lets out a breathy laugh and they watch each other in rapt fascination until suddenly their waiter reappears with their identical lunches.

(And she is sure that in that moment they were both contemplating a “night performance” and the thought alone heats her cheeks.)

Red turns to their waiter, making a show out of thanking him for the quick service, using no shortage of flattery as he does so. Liz, grateful for the personal moment, takes a deep breath and attempts to steady her heart rate. Who knew lunch with Raymond Reddington could be this exhilarating?

(Oh, but she is enjoying herself.)

Liz looks back up as the waiter moves off again, feeling a little more in control and ready to tackle whatever disarming looks Red may choose to throw at her next.

(And perhaps throw some of her own. She can’t let him have all the fun.)

“This smells amazing,” Liz says. And it’s true. The chicken looks perfectly done with just the right amount of sauce. Her stomach grumbles. She suddenly remembers that she’s only had some buttered toast to eat today and that was this morning.

Red smiles at her. “I hope you enjoy it,” he tells her sincerely, picking up his wine glass and holding it towards her. “Cheers.”

Liz quickly picks up her glass to clink it against his once again. “Cheers.”

They dig in, Liz starting with her potatoes and Red going right for the chicken, cutting it up into neat pieces before delicately dipping it in the sauce.

(He is a methodical eater, Liz notices, much like herself, further reinforcing her suspicion that they have similar minds, detail-oriented and organized. The thought that they have things in common thrills her.)

They eat in silence for a few comfortable minutes before Red speaks.

“So, Lizzie,” he begins.

Liz looks up from her half-empty plate with her eyebrows raised politely.

“Yes?”

“Now that work is out of the way for now, should we indulge in some pleasant meal-time conversation?”

“Certainly, if you like,” answers Liz with a grin, amused by his playfully formal attitude. “Or, we could continue to sit in companionable silence until it gets unbearably awkward from lack of speech and one of us excuses themselves to the bathroom in a desperate attempt to get away.”

Red chuckles warmly at her. “Yes, we could also do that, although I must admit I would prefer the former.”

Liz smiles back at him. “Yes, I would as well.”

(She can’t imagine even a hint of awkwardness permeating the air between them. She just suggested it to be funny. Red is simply too comfortable to be awkward. Too suave and confident and handsome –)

“So, what should we talk about?” asks Liz, out of both genuine curiosity and an effort to halt that line of thought in its tracks.

Red takes a moment to drink his wine, swishing the liquid around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing, clearly pondering her question. Then, having come to a decision, he looks up at her suddenly, his gaze direct and piercing.

“I’d like to talk about you.”

Liz blinks in surprise, her fork, chicken and all, stopping halfway to her mouth. “Me?”

Red’s mouth twitches. “Yes, Lizzie. You.”

Liz puts her fork down and takes a drink before answering, a little confused. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about that you don’t already know. I’m a professional grifter. I pick locks and do brush passes and steal things. That’s about it.”

“Those are your professional qualifications, Lizzie. I know all about those. I’m talking about more personal things.”

Liz frowns. “Personal things? Are you telling me you didn’t already have your henchman look up everything little thing about me?”

This time, Red’s eye twitches instead of his mouth. Hit. “Intel, for the purposes of the heist, mind you, only tell me so much,” Red murmurs. “I want to know more about you, Lizzie, as a person, not as a grifter, impressive though that side of you may be.”

“Oh,” Liz murmurs, feeling a little touched that Red would even be interested in her that way.

(She tries to tamp down the little flutters in her stomach at words “Red” and “interested in her”.)

“Well,” she says, feeling more at ease now. “What would you like to know?”

Red smiles a kind smile, his eyes warm and attentive. “Where did you grow up?” he asks softly.

Liz smiles back. “Nebraska.”

And it goes on from there, Red asking questions and Liz providing answers, opening up more as time passes. Red is an active participant, making it a true conversation, adding comments or occasionally sharing a related story of his own.

(He is a fantastic storyteller, engaging but not overpowering, and she thinks that she could listen to him all day, would like to, in fact. But, for some reason, he’s more interested in her right now and that creates a different but equally pleasant feeling inside her.)

Liz does most of the talking, the rest of her meal going cold on her plate while Red picks a little more at his own before abandoning it completely to give her his full attention. And Liz doesn’t mind not finishing her plate; she was getting full anyway and she can have the leftovers for dinner tonight.

(And the fact that Red values what she’s saying over their delicious lunch of chicken marsala – and he was right, it is fabulous – speaks volumes to her.)

Liz isn’t sure how long they talk but she knows she never wants it to end. She’s never enjoyed talking about herself very much but with Red, she doesn’t feel like something on display to be picked at and dissected, like she does with most people. She can feel his attention on her but it is polite and courteous and interested, a warm, flattering thing. It doesn’t suffocate her or pressure her like other people’s eyes do and instead gives her just the right amount of welcome to feel safe.

(It’s a lovely feeling.)

Liz isn’t sure how long they would have sat there talking and sharing and laughing if Dembe had not suddenly appeared by Red’s elbow, staring at him meaningfully until Red finished his current story (which left Liz holding a stitch in her side from laughing so hard) and managed to tear his openly adoring gaze from her.

“Yes, Dembe?”

“We must leave now if you are to make your three o’clock meeting, Raymond,” Dembe says quietly.

Liz’s mouth falls open in shock and she quickly turns to root around in her bag for her phone, needing to see the time for herself. She manages to extract it with minimal struggle and unlocks the screen. Dembe is right, of course. It is half past two. Her and Red have been eating and talking for just over two hours.

(Time flies when you’re…well.)

Red nods, gently dismissing Dembe, and takes a moment to shift back into his business man persona. Liz watches quietly, lamenting the return of Raymond Reddington and the departure of Red.

He turns to look at her. “Well, Lizzie, I’m truly sorry to say it but I do have to be going.”

“That’s all right,” Liz says, trying not to let disappointment bleed into her voice. “I didn’t realize how long it’s been. I can’t expect to steal any more of your time.”

Red shakes his head at her. “You of all people should know, Lizzie. The word ‘theft’ implies that you took something I wasn’t offering. And that was certainly not the case.”

Liz blushes lightly at his words, feeling quite light-headed at the clear insinuation.

(And perhaps it’s best that they part ways now; she’s not sure how much more overt flirting she can take without breaking out into childish giggles. How much wine has she had anyway?)

Red raises a hand to signal their waiter, who was apparently waiting nearby, unnoticed by Liz, and he hurries towards the table.

“Yes, Mr. Kershaw?”

“Walter, could we have the rest of the young lady’s meal to go, please?”

“Absolutely, Mr. Kershaw. I’ll be right back, sir.”

Red thanks the waiter who, to Liz’s surprise, whisks her plate out from in front of her and takes it away. Well, the service in this restaurant is certainly something. At the eateries Liz frequents, they usually just toss a flimsy box in her general direction. What a change.

Liz takes a breath. “Thank you for such a lovely afternoon, Red. The meal was delicious and the company was…better.” She smiles at him, trying to make her feelings clear.

“You’re very welcome, Lizzie. I assure you it was my pleasure. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

(And Liz thinks she might hear a bit of a tremble in Red’s voice as he says this, just a hint of uncertainty. It’s so unfounded that it’s almost laughable.)

“Oh, I think so, yes,” she says with a kind smile.

He smiles back at her gratefully and they just look at one another until the waiter re-appears, placing a small take-out bag on the table in front of her. She thanks him profusely and, once he’s gone, finally moves to stand. Red follows suit.

“Well, I expect I’ll be hearing from you?” Liz inquires cheerfully.

“Oh, yes,” Red hums, looking into her eyes. “I’ll give you a call.”

“Excellent,” chirps Liz, finding it hard to pull her gaze – and body – away from Red and his magnetic presence.

(Well, she has to leave sometime, doesn’t she?)

“I’ll talk to you soon then,” she says happily, and he simply nods at her. She turns to leave.

Liz makes her way back to the front of the restaurant, weaving through the tables in same way she came in. The only difference is that this time, she can feel Red’s eyes on her back until the door closes behind her.

Liz kicks the door of her apartment shut with a sigh, heading right for the kitchen to drop her bag of leftovers off in the fridge. As it happens, she’s not hungry, even after a full day of errands and shopping after leaving Red at the restaurant. It’s early evening now and she can always eat later.

She turns on some lights as she makes her way through her apartment, growing dim in the evening light, and tosses her bag on its usual chair, somehow managing not to stub her toe on any furniture as she goes. Amazing.

Liz enters the kitchen and sets the bag of leftovers on the counter, reaching in and feeling around for what should be a small box of chicken marsala, only to be confronted with what feels distinctly like two boxes.

She frowns.

Liz pulls out both boxes and sets them on the counter, squinting at them in confusion. After a moment’s deliberation, she opens the box on the left to reveal her entrée. So, then what is in the other box? Did the waiter perhaps give her Red’s leftovers as well? No, Red’s plate was still on the table when she left. So, what –

She carefully opens the mystery box and gasps aloud. A huge slice of tiramisu sits there, looking absolutely delicious. The scent of coffee meets her nose seconds later and her mouth waters. Liz loves tiramisu. How did Red –

Ring, ring.

Liz jumps, a little startled, and goes running for her discarded bag, her phone’s muffled ring tone luckily still audible from inside. After a brief struggle involving her car keys, a pair of earbuds, and her lockpicks, Liz finally manages to extract her phone and glance at the screen before pressing accept.

Unknown.

Her heart flips in her chest.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie.”

“Red,” she breathes, not realizing how she sighs his name until she’s already done it.

“Is this a good time?”

Liz can’t help but smile. Polite criminal. “Yes, perfect actually, I just got home.”

“Wonderful,” Red says and she’s sure she can hear a smile in his voice. “Did you, uh, get a chance to get settled?”

“If you mean look in my bag of leftovers and find the tiramisu, then yes, I did,” Liz can’t help but get straight to the point.

“Ah, yes, that’s rather what I meant,” he sounds a little hesitant, though Liz can’t imagine why. “Did you, uh, are you, well, do you –”

It takes a second for Liz to understand what he’s trying to ask. “Oh, yes, I love tiramisu!” she hurries to reassure him. “Yes, I could hardly believe it, it’s my favorite, how did you do it?”

Red gives a relieved chuckle, so deep she thinks that her phone might have warmed a little in her hand. “It was just a lucky guess. I know you’re a fan of coffee, at least in the morning, since I had some with you in your apartment last week, so I figured it was a safe bet that you’d like tiramisu. And I just slipped a note to Walter when you weren’t looking, that’s all. I’m surprised you didn’t catch me, to be honest.”

“So am I,” murmurs Liz, truly impressed that Red managed to perform what was basically a brush pass right in front of her without her noticing. “Well, thank you very much, I can’t wait to dig in.”

“You’re very welcome, Lizzie, and I’ll let you get to it in just a moment. I was just calling to see if you’d like to practice a little tomorrow.”

Liz frowns to herself. “Practice?”

“Yes, for the heist,” he answers, excitement now clear in his voice. “I was just thinking it might be a good idea to see how we work together under pressure before the big day. Just to be safe, you know.”

Liz has to admit it’s a good idea. She hasn’t done too many joint gigs – since she definitely prefers to work alone – but with the few partners she’s had, it’s never quite worked out.

(She has a funny feeling that Red is different though. In more ways than one.)

But, it can’t hurt to practice, as Red says.

“All right,” she agrees eagerly. “Do you have anywhere specific in mind?”

“Not really,” he says idly. “I figured I’d get your opinion on that since you’re no doubt more experienced in the field than I am. Of course, we could always meet at outside your apartment and wander until we find an appropriate location to steal a little something. Or is that too spur-of-the-moment for you?”

He sounds genuinely concerned that this won’t be to her liking, apparently oblivious to the fact that that’s exactly the sort of thing Liz had so much fun doing with her friends in high school. Besides, what better way to test themselves as a team than not planning a thing, all the while knowing that the actual heist will be planned down to the last detail?

“No, no, that’s fine,” Liz assures him. “Spontaneous crime is my favorite kind of crime, as it happens, however did you guess?” she quirks her mouth up in a teasing grin even though he can’t see her.

“I seem to be on a winning streak today,” he hums.

Liz presses her phone close to her ear. “One could almost say you’re getting lucky.”

Red’s delighted chuckle at her innuendo fills her whole body and she laughs breathily along with him.

“One can only hope,” he murmurs, making her smirk. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Yes,” Liz says, happy at the prospect of seeing him again so soon. “Does nine-ish sound okay?”

“It’s a date,” he murmurs.

“Excellent,” she hums. “I’ll see you then.”

“Good night, Lizzie. Enjoy your dessert.”

“Good night, Red, and thank you again.”

Liz hangs up, breathless and tingly, and does nothing but stand stupidly in her kitchen for a second, a ridiculous grin on her face.

Oh, Red.

Then she gets another whiff of the tiramisu and snaps out of it, turning to grab a fork from the drawer next to the sink. She wastes no more time digging into the tiramisu, spearing a generous forkful and putting it in her mouth, closing her eyes with a tiny moan as the coffee flavor explodes on her tongue. As she swallows, already helping herself to another bite, she catches herself having the oddest thought.

She wishes Red was here to share dessert with her.

Oh.

Oh, she’s got it bad.

[akechi-kikyou]

Long Goodbye: Chapter 3

AN: I meant to update this earlier, and in fact, I have a solid chunk of Chapter 4 done, so another update maybe soonish?  Also, I got a message about long text posts, but it was cut off and I never did find out what the sender was saying.  If that was you, I’m sorry for whatever I did.  I  always put these posts under a read more to avoid taking up a lot of room on the dash.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t show on mobile.  Sadly, there’s not much I can do about that.  I do post this on AO3 as well, so perhaps if my posts are horribly inconvenient, it’s better to follow me there?

The steakhouse that they were being treated to turned out to be in walking distance of their hotel. McCree took them in a back entrance, one arm slung around Genji as though they had been friends forever.  In the meantime, Hanzo felt like a third wheel who had been driven through salt.  He lagged behind the duo with Shuichi and the others following.  None of the Deadlock Gang came with the damn cowboy because, according to McCree, he was in good company and could “take cara myself”.  

In the restaurant, McCree took them up a set of stairs and into a closed off room with wide windows overlooking the patio.  Upon seeing it, Hanzo wondered why they couldn’t have met here instead of on a train, but decided to keep it to himself.  Genji sat next to the other young man, and Hanzo sat across from them while Shuichi decided to stay outside with the other men.

As soon as the other two boys sat down, their phones were pulled out while they babbled over whatever it was that they were mutually interested in.  Hanzo barely listened, and he kept his eyes on the menu in front of him instead of watching them exchange phone numbers.  When they were done, he overheard McCree saying, “I’ll get it to you before you leave, ‘specially if you call me so I don’t forget.”

Feeling done with this entire situation, Hanzo became so ready to get back to the hotel that by the time the waiter came in to fill their water glasses and take drink orders, he was already set to order his entree.  McCree was just rolling in the dough tonight, wasn’t he?  And so Hanzo had no qualms about ordering a $200 Kobe steak.  Hearing this order, the punk cowboy in fact remarked, “Well, that does sound mighty good.  Make mine medium-rare.”

“Oh yes.  Mine as well,” Genji chimed in.  

Once the menus had left those two’s hands, they were back at it again, with McCree describing some gory scene that had apparently happened in some trash that he had been reading.  At least Hanzo was sure that it was trash.  He didn’t take the cowboy to be any kind of connoisseur of fine literature.  

After a long sigh, Hanzo stared down into his water glass and began to daydream of places that weren’t here.  Home immediately came to mind.  He wished that he was back there with the cherry blossoms instead of seated across from two children who were playing gangster for fun.  Lost in his own thoughts, he barely heard McCree talking to him.  He would have gone right on ignoring him if he hadn’t heard his own name.

“My apologies.  What was the question?”

McCree’s smile was full of patience and amusement, “Said how bout you, Hanzo?  You like doin’ anything fun?”

Why was McCree asking him this?  Furthermore, why did Hanzo care that he couldn’t think of anything that the other two would call fun?  He shrugged as he picked up his water glass,  “I like to read.”

“It’s true,” Genji chimed in.  “He reads all of the time.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” McCree was still smiling at him, and there was something about it that couldn’t go ignored.  

It was perhaps too long that they sat there looking at each other, but the moment was interrupted by the waiter bringing in a bottle of honey colored liquor and three shot-glasses.  Once it was sat on the table, their host’s face lit up as he started to pour out three shots.  “Here we are!  Do a shot with me, fellas!  Let’s call it sealin’ the deal.  Ain’t a man you can trust like a man you had a drink with.  Someone or another said that before, I think.”

Hanzo started to say no, but of course Genji had already grabbed a glass, and McCree had one of his own.  He was too old for peer pressure, wasn’t he?  So why did he find himself picking up a glass and half heartedly joining in the toast?  

Hanzo downed the liquor quickly, grimacing at the way it burned his mouth and throat.  “It’s horrible,” he complained bitterly when he could speak.

“It’s an acquired taste,” McCree shrugged as he tossed the water out over his shoulder and then poured some of the liquor into the now empty glass.  “Been at it since I was 15, so it goes down like Koolaid.”

“What is Koolaid?”  Genji questioned.

Hanzo zoned out before he could hear the answer because he had a more important question.  Would their father approve of them drinking if it was for the sake of a business partnership?  He didn’t have to know did he?  Just like he didn’t have to know about the burger meal that Hanzo was still slightly full from eating.  Sojiro also didn’t have to know that his eldest son was about to waste a $200 steak because he had thought ordering it would take McCree down a peg.  That damn boy was just too confident and cocky.  He was just throwing around money like he did with that water on the floor, and he kept smiling...

When Hanzo looked up, the cowboy was looking right at him and had the audacity to wink.  Who did he think he was?  If it was Genji behaving this way, a lecture about behaving properly would surely happen.  But Hanzo couldn’t do that with McCree, could he?  And so he had to endure those little smiles, and he had to wonder what they were about.

One good thing did come of the night, and that was Hanzo learning of an American concept known as the “To Go Box”.  He only managed to finish a quarter of his steak and couldn’t even touch the accompanying vegetables.  American restaurants gave out entirely too much food, he had learned.  And now he was amazed to learn that the waiter would pack up the leftovers in a box that could be popped into a microwave to be reheated and eaten at a more convenient time.  Unfortunately, the only reason he learned this was because McCree saw his struggle to finish his meal and requested it from the waiter on his behalf.  Once the food was packed up, McCree scooted his chair over and used the handle of his fork to scratch letters into the lid of the styrofoam box.

“See?  Wrote your name so you can tell it from Genji’s,” he smiled again, and Hanzo felt his face turning red.  He also felt like stabbing McCree in the nose with a fork.  Instead of acting on either of those, he stood abruptly and headed for the door with his box.

“Genji, we are going.  It’s late.”

“Aww,” his younger brother complained.  But he stood obediently with his own box and started to follow the eldest out.  “Thanks for everything, McCree.  I will see you before we leave, right?”

“Promise,” McCree nodded.  “Cross my heart and hope to die and all that.  I’d walk you fellas back, but I think I’mma help myself to mor’a this…”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at the sight of the young cowboy pouring himself another drink.  It was proper to say goodnight, but at this point, all his tongue held were bitter words.  Only when they were in their car for the short drive back did he allow some of them freedom.

“A fucking kid,” he grumbled as he glared out of the window. “I should have known father wouldn’t trust me to handle anything serious.”

“Did you say something?”  When Hanzo turned to Genji, he found his brother using his finger to trace the letters that formed his name in the styrofoam box on the boy’s lap.  When had that happened?  Why did he even care?  The younger brother started to frown as he fidgeted with the box lid.  “Hanzo?  Brother?  Are you… angry with me?”

Was he?  Or was he angry with McCree?  Or was it their father?  Or was it himself?  Their car came to a stop, and Hanzo got out quickly before storming into the hotel to avoid giving his brother an answer that he didn’t have.

Once he was in their room, Hanzo immediately dropped his box in the trash.  Then he went into the bathroom to shower away some of the salt.  The water running all down his body from head to toe was soothing enough to wash away his anger, leaving him with guilt caused by how he had acted tonight, especially towards Genji.  His little brother was a nuisance, true, but the boy’s heart was mostly good.  Mostly.  Genji had his wicked ways every now and then, but he was much slower to anger and quicker to show love than his older brother.  With this in mind, by the time Hanzo stepped out of the shower an hour later, he had decided he would make it up to Genji.

By the time he returned from the bathroom, all of the lights were off and the TV was being watched by no one.  Genji was lying on his side in the second bed with both arms dangling off.  The clothes the younger brother had been wearing were thrown all over one of the chairs so that the former wearer was now clad only in his green boxers.  Smiling a little, Hanzo gently pulled the TV remote from one of his brother’s hands.  Then he covered him with a blanket and gave the other’s head a pat.  

Once he was sure that Genji was ok, Hanzo got into bed.  Tomorrow, he would make things up to him by having an entire brothers only day with him.  It would be a long time in the making and probably a lot of trouble.  Hanzo couldn’t wait.

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

Traveling and all of the excitement of yesterday must have taken its toll on Genji because the youngest Shimada brother didn’t wake up until a bit after noon.  Once he was awake, the first thing he did was start whining that he was hungry.  Hanzo had already gone down for the free continental breakfast, but he felt like he could eat again, and so he suggested that they go to the hotel restaurant.  This allowed him to take more pictures not only to fool his father, but also because he really loved the scenery and he did want to remember this time with his brother.  As Genji put it, “It’s rare that we get to spend time together that isn’t you watching over me while I’m being punished.”

Hanzo looked down, at first not knowing what to say.  He didn’t want to come across as overly sentimental, but his opinion on his brother coming along for this trip had changed.  How he felt about his sibling was also changing.

“You did well yesterday,” he spoke at length. Looking up, he found his brother’s smile to be as bright as the sunlight that lit the patio area.  This should have been encouragement to follow through with more kind words, but instead, he added, “But I was angry with you for not telling me beforehand that you knew McCree.”

Genji’s face fell, and he immediately protested, “But Hanzo, I didn’t know it was him!  At the arcade, he didn’t look like some cowboy.  Not really.”

“But he said that he knew he would be seeing you…”  Hanzo trailed off, and Genji picked up immediately.

“I haven’t seen many Japanese people around.  He must have known that way.  It was McCree to approach me first.  We didn’t talk about the meeting at all.  Just played Area 51 together.  He’s really good at it.  That makes sense now, knowing he’s the gunslinger…”

“Hm,” Hanzo steepled his fingers.  There was a lot going on in his head, but seeing that his brother was no longer smiling, he made the decision to try to put those things aside in favor of having a good day with his only sibling.  Getting the dessert card that was still left on the table, he pointed out the sundae that he’d had yesterday.  “Look at this dessert, Genji.  The chocolate isn’t like anything you’ve ever had before.”

“You ate this?”  Genji asked with slight disbelief showing on his face.

Hanzo nodded, “I did.  Today, I’ll eat it again.  You should try it.”

“I think I will,” the younger agreed.

Hanzo would wish that he was able to say that they had a lunch that was full of sharing and getting to know each other, but the truth was that he often found himself struggling to relate to this younger brother.  Though they had the same parents, they were raised differently.  As a result, Genji was outgoing and friendly while Hanzo was introverted and could seem abrasive.  Other than the trip they were currently on, what could they talk about?

He might have thought that the day was a waste, but going to the clothing store and a pair of black and white plaid shorts in particular saved it.  It was Genji’s idea for Hanzo to try them on.  The older brother protested at first, but then the youngest showed practicality by reminding him of the Santa Fe heat.  Besides, Hanzo rather liked the pattern and decided to pair the shorts with a black t-shirt with a white dragon on the front.  

“Wow,” he remarked upon looking at himself in the fitting room mirror.  He did like the casual clothing, particularly how they made him look like the teen that he sometimes forgot he was.  It was his legs that made him question if this was a good look.  “I didn’t realize that I am so pale…”

“Just your legs.  They don’t match the rest of your body,” Genji was cracking up at the moment, and this helped Hanzo to find the humor.

“What are you saying?”  He pointed as his brother’s own exposed legs, which were not quite as pale as Hanzo’s but they were definitely scrawny.  “Honestly, it appears we are both victims of skipping leg day.”

“My legs are well toned,” Genji crossed his arms, but continued to be amused.  “I’m shocked that you would confess to skipping leg day.”

Hanzo shook his head as he started to study his pale limbs, “It must be some Shimada curse to have pale bird legs.  Suddenly, father’s pet name for you makes sense.”

“That isn’t why,” Genji stuck out his tongue and then stood so that his legs could be easily compared to his brother’s in the mirror.  “And look at this.  How are you older, but your legs are even thinner than mine?”

“I’ve skipped more leg days than you,” Hanzo smirked as he started to look at his whole outfit.  Aside from the pale bird legs, he thought he looked pretty cool.

“So you DO skip it too,” his brother gasped.  

“No, I don’t, but now I know that you do.”  Though he was teasing his brother, he became suddenly worried that Genji would think the eldest was going to go tattling to their father.  To dispel this, he gathered up the clothes that they were wanting to buy and started out of the fitting room.  “I’m going to wear this today.  We have today and tomorrow for our legs to get some sun, don’t we?”

“That’s true,” Genji agreed as he grabbed what was left over and followed his brother.

“Good!  What do you want to do now?”

Genji replied without missing a beat, “Let’s go to the arcade.  I can show you Area 51!”

The younger brother worked in mysterious ways.  Hanzo didn’t know why Genji wanted him to play this game, but since he had vowed to make this day for his sibling, he didn’t protest.  Once they were finished shopping, their purchases were put into a car to be taken back to the hotel by some of their men.  Then they went to the arcade.

Hanzo wasn’t a complete stranger to fun.  As small children, he and Genji had a lot of it together; stepping into the arcade made him remember this.  The younger brother wanted to go right for Area 51 once they had two cups filled with tokens, but Hanzo grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Hold on.  Look.”

The game he was taking his brother to was skee ball, and it certainly brought back memories.  Hanzo stuck his token in and Genji immediately hit the button.  Then he grabbed a ball and held it out to his brother.

“Like when we were small.”

Hanzo felt all of the warmth in the world as he replied, “I was thinking about that too.”

Taking the ball, he turned and then bowled it up the lane, aiming for the 100 point cup, but just missing it narrowly.  When he turned, Genji had another ball for him.  Blushing slightly, he admitted, “I’m out of practice.”

“I know you can do it, Hanzo,” his brother looked at him in a way that was too much like when they were kids.  It made the eldest Shimada sibling both happy and sad.  After all the things said between them, the brotherly love was still there and they could have this moment of fun the way they used to as children.  It was bittersweet because Hanzo didn’t know when they might have another chance like this.

But for now, Genji was smiling and encouraging, “Maybe a few games to warm up.”

“No,” Hanzo shook his head as he rotated his arm.  “This time.”

So he promised and so he delivered.  

Earlier, he had worried that there was nothing for them to talk about, but this simple arcade game had taught him two things.  One, they didn’t need to talk for the sake of talking.  Just being together while doing things that they both loved was enough.  Two, they did have things they needed to talk about.  Hanzo just didn’t know when to start those conversations or how to begin.  

But the time passed quickly, seemingly measured by the increasing amount of tickets that Genji held onto while Hanzo continued to earn them.  Eventually, the younger suggested that they go cash in what they had, and Hanzo agreed with a nod, “My arm is a bit tired, anyway.  Use them to get something you like.”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Genji replied rubbing at his stomach with a slight frown.  “I don’t really like stuffed things anymore.”

“Well then, get something cute to give to your girlfriend.  The ramen shop owner’s granddaughter, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t really…” Genji started and then grimaced more.

This made the elder brother frown, “Are you feeling alright?  Your face is starting to look like my legs…”

“I feel strange,” the younger admitted.  “My stomach…”

“I’ll take you back,” Hanzo felt panic threatening to rise in him.  Sadly, the first thing he thought was that his father was going to blame him for letting his beloved Sparrow get sick.  Pushing that thought away, he put an arm around his brother and started to move him towards the door.  

“But the tickets,” Genji protested.  “And we have so many tokens left.  And I didn’t show you Area 51.”

“We’ll come back,” Hanzo promised him.  “For now, you should get in bed and I’ll...I’ll call father and find out what to do.”

Because he sadly didn’t know what to do when his brother got sick.  Hanzo was used to taking care of himself, which mostly meant powering through whatever was ailing him with the help of herbal remedies and over the counter medications as needed.  

It was just a short walk back to the hotel, but it felt so long with him worrying about Genji.  As soon as they were in their room, he laid his brother down and then moved the trash can within reach right on time.  The younger brother immediately grabbed it and emptied his stomach into it.  

Now Hanzo was feeling the panic.  Going to the bathroom, he wet a towel and brought it back to clean his brother’s face with.  While he did so, he used his freehand to pull up his father’s number.

“I think I’ll be alright now,” Genji spoke from bed.  “Don’t call him.”

“I have to tell him something,” now panic stricken, Hanzo closed his phone again and looked at his brother.  “We haven’t even checked in with him.”

Hanzo was only realizing this now, and it was not helping him to stay calm at all.  Covering his face with both hands, he slid them up and towards his hairline, pulling up his features and then letting them drop.  Sadly, he muttered, “I am the worst.”

“You are not the worst,” Genji argued.  “You do everything that he tells you exactly the way he tells you to do it.  You can’t even have fun because you worry about what he will think.”

“But you have plenty fun,” Hanzo shot at his brother.  “You are always doing things you aren’t supposed to do.  If anyone is punished for the things that you do, it is ME!”

“I’m sorry,” the younger brother looked down.  “I ruined today.  This was your chance to have fun, and I… ruined it.”

Sighing, Hanzo got onto the bed next to his brother and put an arm around him.  There were a lot of things that he could have and should have said, but he was at a loss for words.  At length, he sighed, “I have no right to complain about my responsibilities.  Try to rest now.”

Genji seemed as though he was going to protest, but Hanzo grabbed the remote and turned on the television, effectively ending their conversation.  

He knew very little of American TV, and so he flipped through, hoping to find something interesting.  After about fifteen minutes of this, he heard his brother’s breathing pattern change, and looked over to find that he was sleeping.  Good, he thought.  A little nap would be good for the both of them.

Just as he started to nod off, he heard his phone’s message chime and snapped awake.  His father!  That was the only person he could think of that would be messaging him.  Sojiro was probably demanding a phone call to find out how everything was going.  This meant that Hanzo would have to tell him what happened with his brother; he couldn’t bring himself to lie.  

Swallowing against a lump in his throat, he opened the phone, but then blinked at the unfamiliar number.  Confused, he read the message twice.  Then he looked at the face of his sleeping brother.  After a bit, he sighed and slipped away from him.  He covered Genji with a blanket and tucked his phone into his pocket.  Then he quietly left the room.

[raeyvies]

“Push and Pull” pt. 6 // VxMC fic (based on day 10)

Surprise double update!! Things better be getting good now right? And yes somewhere in this chapter you’ll start getting love triangle vibes /o/ Remember MC here is “MC Jeon”

By the way, how would you guys feel if I gave MC an actual name? I mean like it’ll still be MC but legit when I write this story, I accidentally write “you” instead of MC cuz well MC isn’t a name xD

I was thinking to choose from these names: Jeon Dayeon, Jeon Jinhee, Jeon Ji-An. Which would you pick?

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt.4 // Pt.5 // Pt. 6

Length: 3234

Part: 6/?

Pairing: VxMC

Warnings: None

Sorry for any grammatical mistakes ^^;;

“Jaehee…,” MC held her hand out to her, inviting her to sit next to her. Jaehee fought to swallow down her tears–she had always been one to show her feelings in private–but this was not as easy, despite having been fooled once already about Rika’s death. Accepting her invitation, the short haired girl sat next to MC, allowing herself to be comforted. “It must be hard but I'm here for you. I'm here for all of you. I know we just met but I can't thank you all enough for being by my side after all this. I’ll be with you if you need a shoulder to lean on, okay.”

It had been a tough day despite everyone’s efforts to remain optimistic. Jaehee let out her cries even in front of her boss but it really did serve a purpose. Because MC encouraged Jaehee to not hide her pain, Jumin realized that his assistant was more than just his worker and fellow member of the RFA. As he saw how selfless MC was, disregarding her own views on the situation and well, having her own dilemmas, Jumin could not help but think that MC came into their lives as a light. As a new sun. As a balance.

Jihyun had been gone for a while with Saeyoung and MC began to worry if something happened. What if Jihyun hurt himself? Saeyoung would have called without a doubt so maybe they were fine. Maybe they were having a long talk and Saeyoung could have been dropping the bomb (pun totally unintended) on him about Rika.

Too much was happening, and there was much more gloom than MC would like to admit she could handle for one day. She needed some refreshing or maybe a restart to the day, and well, she thought it could start by having a change of clothes.

“What city are we at? So much was happening I didn't notice what hospital this is. Then again it was nighttime and we were airlifted here,” MC said after a period of silence. She was surprised that after all this time it never occurred to her to ask where she was, though, it was normal because her mind with clouded with worries and fears.

“We're in Busan, MC. Inje University Haeundae Hospital,” Jumin answered, after all, he was the one who brought them there. MC was taken aback. She was far from home. At least three to four hours away, and Jumin noticed that, suddenly realizing that no one ever asked where she came from. ”I take it that you’re far from where you live.”

Scratching the back of her head and giving a soft chuckle, MC nodded, “Yeah it's pretty far at least by car. But I guess by train it's maybe an hour or two. I'm from Daejeon actually. I was going to say that maybe I could go with one of you to get a new set of clothes in the meantime.”

What MC did not mention was that she wanted to get rid of the clothes she was wearing because they were Rika’s. Little by little and step by step she wanted to strip herself of the terrible moments of these previous eleven days.

Jaehee volunteered to take MC to a retail store assuming that she could be discharged then and there, however, the nurse who had been monitoring her all this time came in. The nurse told them that she might be discharged at night and asked for Zen and Jaehee to give Jumin and MC privacy. Because Jumin passed as her guardian he was allowed to stay for the moment as the nurse discussed MC’s condition with them.

The nurse went over the medication she would have to take for the next week to help her gain back the nutrients her body was missing, and asked for MC to not strain herself for in the near future to prevent another incident like this one. MC was surprised to know she had anemia but she was aware that it was nothing that she would have to be worried about. Yes she would have to make sure she ate properly and that was nothing of a huge effort to begin with. Of course, it also explained why she was so tired recently.

In the meantime, Jaehee and Zen went out to buy MC a new set of clothes that was much more comfortable, both physically and mentally.

Jumin stayed with MC the entire time and was relieved when she was healthy enough to not need an IV anymore. She had definitely regained color in her skin compared to last night, and she looked so much brighter and stronger. Clearly showing that she was comfortable with him, MC talked more about herself and who she was. She had not gotten the chance to truly show the RFA who she was but she was ecstatic to finally show them one by one. And Jumin continued asking questions as he was intrigued in this girl. He found out that she was only two years younger than him so she was twenty five years old. He finally understood why MC was so mature despite everything she had gone through. It was something he really admired about her. However, knowing that she lived quite a distance away, Jumin dreaded the day that MC would return to her home if she ever decided to. He was about to ask her when she would leave when Jaehee and Zen returned with multiple bags of clothing.

“We have a special delivery for Miss Jeon from the fashion department,” Zen came in announcing as he placed the paper bags on MC’s bed. ”Oh! You don't have the IV anymore! Does that mean you get to leave today?”

She nodded as she looked through the contents in each bag. It was much more than she asked but then again she knew she would be staying for a while to be with Jihyun and she had no interest in returning to her home, and risk being followed by Saeran. Admittedly, she was terrified to go home because she would be alone and vulnerable. “Thank you so much! I'll make sure to pay you two back for this. I think I might relocate here in the next months but in the meantime these clothes are enough. So thanks again. And yes I can leave tonight, I don't know where I'll stay–”

“You'll be staying at my penthouse for now until you can settle down here in the city and adjust to the new cityscape,” Jumin interrupted, though it was not his intention. As MC stated she would consider moving to Busan, Jumin wanted to make sure she stayed but it seemed that he blurted it out instead, catching her off guard. She stuttered in agreement, but MC did not really have much of a choice, and she was not interested in blatantly turning down an offer that was so convenient for her.

On the other hand, Zen was somewhat annoyed with Jumin’s upfront interjection. It had been a miracle that the two had not instigated an argument sooner. “Jumin it's not for you to decide if she actually stays here permanently or where she’s going to live for the moment. You can't control everyone for God’s sake.”

MC rather decided to go ahead and take a shower but sadly there was not one in their room. Leaving the room with a set of clothes in her arms and her cell phone, she asked a nearby nurse where she could take a shower. On her way to the showers which were a decent stroll away, she checked her phone and had received multiple notifications from the same person. Although the ID tag said they came from Ray, it was Saeran.

Her heart dropped. All this time she had been distracted from this entire mess. She had forgotten about that phone call. She had forgotten her nightmares. And MC thought it was over with Rika’s death but there was still Saeran. Her palms began to sweat as she hurried on her way to the shower where she could open up the messages and voicemail in silence. MC could hear her heartbeat in her ears but remained composed.

Her shower came first to ease her tension and mentally prepare herself for whatever messages Saeran had left on her phone. The hot water relaxed her muscles and helped her reach a moment of peace, one that she did not think she needed until now. The clothes that Zen and Jaehee had picked out for MC were right in line with her preferred style. It felt great to wear leggings once again along with a large button up shirt.

She felt like she was in her own skin for once.

Towel wrapped over her hair, drops of water falling onto her brand new shirt, she a took seat on the bench in the bathroom and opened the text messages first.

You're the only person I've ever cared for. You must like me. I like you too.

Thank you for being here with me. I really wanted you to stay longer.

I thought I was being a good boy. I thought I was good enough for you to stay.

Without you I feel like I can't breathe. It's like I'm dying. I don't have a purpose anymore.

MC come back I miss you.

I have nowhere to go anymore MC. My savior has died therefore I am nothing anymore.

I have served my purpose.

I'll come back for you another day. I promise you that.

There were several more messages along those lines. MC wanted to pity him, she really did but that was something she could not do for him anymore. This man was sick and MC could decipher that he was more than just figuratively sick. He was not normal; it was as though he lacked any social interaction and that made him that way. But MC could not forget that he tried to drug her too. She could not forget that she had been essentially imprisoned in that room, only able to leave it when Saeran came for her. She had to think of herself before him even though she was the one mad enough to actually go to him, be blindfolded, and fooled by his lies. MC’s hand was balled up in a fist as she thought of everything that could have happened to her at Mint Eye. What if Saeran had lost his control on her like he had with Jihyun? What if he had refused to let her out of his sight? Where would MC be right now if Jihyun had not sent Saeyoung their coordinates?

No lighthearted possibilities came to mind unfortunately as she could only imagine herself being abused, violated, maybe even brainwashed like Saeran. However, MC could only replace those thoughts with memories of Jihyun’s cries through the phone; they were haunting her, so she let out a heavy sigh, closing her eyes and letting the memory play once again. There was no use in fighting it.

We should’ve escaped at the first chance we got, Jihyun. That didn't have to happen to you, MC mentally cried. Later on when Jihyun would fully recover, she was sure to ask him who Saeran was, or at least when the moment seemed appropriate. He seemed to know a lot more about him than even Saeyoung knew. MC felt that she needed some closure before moving on. After all, there would only remain questions for the rest of her life and it would haunt her then.

Shaking her head, she tried to stop thinking about Jihyun and Saeran that night, and listened in to the voicemail he had left.

“The weather was nice today so I wanted to talk to you. But looks like you're not picking up the phone. What a shame.. Listen, to be honest, when you were in that room MC, those were the happiest days of my life. Having you so close I mean. You never showed a spot of betrayal. Dammit it was because of Jihyun that you're not here. I won't ever forget how you trusted me and waited for me. I won't forget your voice. I miss you a lot. I know I've said it so many times already but in the end we couldn't see each other,” Saeran’s voice gradually became broken and lower, sending chills down MC’s spine. This voicemail was causing so much confusion and conflict within her because she knew both sides of him even though Saeran though she only saw the man named Ray. This was beginning to start more like a goodbye than another phone call.

“The last time we met was when I introduced you to the savior right? Now I'll never get to see you. It's all my fault. I dreamed of living happily ever after when this all ended. That won't happen anymore. Though it was brief, I never imagined myself loving someone like I loved you. I wanted to go on a date with you. Hold you hand. Eat ice cream with you. I'm dreaming too big aren't I? I think even now I made you hear how pathetic I am.”

However, his voice completely changed, now sounding sinister and threatening.  “But none of this is over, MC. I'll still find my way to you and make these dreams come true. You'll be with me again and we'll live happily ever after. We'll just have to see what the future brings but for now I think this is over. You won't be seeing Ray anymore,” after that, MC heard him cough and growl, struggling with some sort of pain. Once again the voice had changed and it sounded strained and bitter. ”Farewell my dear flower. I hope you’ll remember me like I remembered you.”

The last thing MC heard was the sound of rapid ticking and beeping before the silence was broken by an explosion. As the noise was extremely loud in her ear, she gasped, pulling the phone away quickly. Then the call was voicemail ended with the operator saying in its monotonous voice, “End of voicemail. To listen to this message again press two. To save this message press four.”

Why she decided to save the voicemail was still unknown. Saeran died and MC kept his last words recorded, but what use would she have of it? It seemed however, like the proper thing to do. But that sinister voice rang in her ears. What did he mean that they would see each other again? The man was dead. That would be impossible.

Rika died in an explosion in her apartment. Saeran died in explosion God knows where. The only conclusion MC could reach was that they were destroying evidence of their cult. No one could survive.

And she was an eyewitness of that cult so MC must be evidence of its existence, too.

A few minutes later, MC was able to gather herself after that shocking voicemail. She repeated to herself that she would be fine. That nothing would happen to her. Both Rika and Saeran were dead, and that had to be enough to put the RFA out of harm's way. With those two out of the picture, MC could focus on aiding Jihyun in his recovery. He was her priority for now undoubtedly and her heart ached at the idea of being unable to be by his side. There was no real reason to leave, for now.

Placing her dirty clothes in a bag and removing the towel from her head, MC left the shower room to find herself bumping into Saeyoung and Jihyun. They must have been done with their long walk then. MC assumed that Saeyoung had told him about Rika’s death as the mint haired man had a gloomy expression plastered onto his face. Before the two men noticed that MC was in front of them, they were talking about Saeran.

“...way to get Saeran out of there,” Jihyun was in the midst of explaining to Saeyoung that his brother was alive at Mint Eye. Neither of them must have known what MC knew then. However, why was this to be discussed with Saeyoung? Did he know who Saeran was?

Wait.

Similar names. Almost identical facial features. Different voices however. There was something MC did not know yet and she was beginning to puzzle it together. Saeran and Saeyoung have to be related without a doubt. Maybe it was not the moment to discuss his death with them yet. They already had to mourn the loss of Rika, and MC was not about to hurt them even more.

As the two men finally took note of MC, they immediately cut their conversation. She wanted to say something to them but she did not know what it was, so instead she gave them a small grin and walked by Jihyun’s side.

As Jihyun saw how healthy MC appeared to be, it instantly changed his expression. Despite the previous discussion he had with Saeyoung over Rika and Saeran, seeing MC again gave him the energy that was drawn away from him earlier.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into your conversation,” MC apologized for intruding in the midst of an important talk. Sadly, it still ate at her that she would have to wait to tell them about Saeran. But how would she tell them? Would she show them the voicemail? Would she just tell them? Would they even believe her?

The three walked together to their room and spent the rest of the day discussing things about the party, occasional moments about Rika, and mostly the RFA was getting to know MC. When night time fell, everyone was asked to leave the room and leave Jihyun to rest.

No one wanted to leave, but MC was the one who wanted to stay the most. Maybe she had grown accustomed to being by his side after all this time. It was a strange feeling to leave him alone now. Just as everyone was leaving, MC stayed could not fight the urge as she ran back to Jihyun to embrace him. He was caught off guard as he almost fell back onto his bed, but he was just as happy to have MC in his arms for one more moment again. She hugged him carefully, aware of his wound that was healing much quicker than expected. Unlike that night out in the mountains, Jihyun returned the embrace and wrapped his arms around her waist.

It felt so much warmer than that night. It was so pure and innocent.

“I’ll be back tomorrow after helping out with cleaning up the party venue,” MC mumbled against his chest. If anything, she wanted to stay there in his arms. It was very clear that her feelings for him were not going to disappear anytime soon. “Take care of yourself please.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Jihyun reassured her as he noticed that Jumin was glaring at him. “You give me so much strength, MC. But please don’t keep Jumin waiting, I think he wants to get home too.”

The two friends knew each other so well. Jumin did not need words to tell Jihyun to be cautious of his actions and choose his moves carefully. And Jihyun was completely aware of Jumin’s warning.

To be continued...

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt.4 // Pt.5 // Pt. 6