#we have to exit from point "A" too. Not matter how far we end up from it. Otherwise we are just lost! 10. The only places we never

[adorerdraco]

Not My Type (Like You) ✧ Draco x Reader

Request: you should like do a one shot or even another mini series about amortentia/love potions in general. i’d soooo read that

AU SEVENTH YEAR WHERE VOLDY NEVER CAME BACK <3 f**k that mf !

italics are for flashbacks <3 i love them if you couldn’t tell 

Warnings: mean!draco, cursing, more mature themes/ideas, little bit of spice towards the end teehee but not too much bc idk how to write smut to save my life

Words: 4.5K

A/N: I saw a tiktok that kinda inspired this and i couldn’t get the idea out of my heaaaad if anyone knows which one im talking ab send it my way so i can show !!!! ALSO I LOVE THIS ONESHOT I LOVE DRACO AND I AM IN MY FEELINGS this might be my new favoriteeeee

Draco Malfoy was insufferable.

The Prince of Slytherin was unbearable for many reasons, things you've been taking notice of since your first year at Hogwarts when you accidentally had the ”pleasure” of interacting with him when he called you stupid in a class for reciting a spell incorrectly. That day, a hostility blossomed. A hostility that ensued nothing but teasing, mocking, and criticizing that would sometimes go too far and you'd both have to be pulled away from each other by your friends’ before either of you said anything excessively harsh that had no return.

You often felt like Malfoy sought you out to bother you and only for that. You could be sitting in the Quad with friends, conversing and laughing like nothing in the world mattered, and a few minutes later you'd be hurling insults towards the blond across the courtyard after he would yell something infuriating to you with that smug smirk on his face and his goons laughing wildly beside him as if he just said the most hilarious thing they've ever heard. 

On the days you’d ignore him, not having the patience or the energy to deal with him, he would still somehow find a way to push your buttons. Little things here and there like passing you in the corridors and tugging at the ends of your hair gingerly like a child but enough to tick you off or sending you notes from across the class in the form a small fluttering bird with a lousy drawing of you usually with a message along the lines of, “Y/L/N, hopefully, this note finds itself in the nest of hair you have today xx DM.”

In all honesty, there wasn’t a day you didn’t encounter Draco and it’s been that way for seven long years. Neither of you ever gotten tired of mildly or spitefully bullying each other and neither of you ever dreamed of stopping. He was one of the few constants in your daily life, and you in his. It was like you both lived on annoying the other, and in the midst of all the chaos that you brought to one another; there was a small, teeny, tiny acquaintance - not that either of you would ever admit it. You may have noticed it the time you bet each other ten galleons for who would win in the Triwizard Tournament your fourth year and he bet on Viktor Krum while you on Cedric Diggory. (he’s very much alive i refuse to think otherwise.)

“So you’re telling me, your mother is the reason why you’re not at Durmstrang,” you scoffed. “This whole time I could have been saved four years of headaches.”

“You’re just jealous some of us have more opportunities than others,” he snarks back pompously. “Unlike you, I hardly believe you would be graceful enough to even be considered admission into Beauxbatons.”

You had gone to see the last task of the competition just like the rest of the schools, all packed tightly onto the stands and watching carefully the exit of the maze. Naturally, you had arrived with your own friend groups, but somewhere during the time of sitting there and even being a few rows behind the blond and his minions, the two of you had met in the middle bench after he was trying to prove something wrong to you. 

When Cedric appeared back in front of the stands with the glowing Triwizard cup held high over his head in victory and every Hogwarts student loudly celebrating, you had jumped up from your seat and shook wildly an irked Draco beside you. He roughly shrugged your hands off his stiff shoulder, looking up at you with a sneer that you met with a bright beaming smile.

“Pay up, Malfoy!” You held out your hand towards him, opening and closing your fingers to receive the bet money. “I believe it was ten galleons you owe me.”

He begrudgingly reached into his coat pocket and fished out the coins, counting them defeatedly before tossing them into your palm. “What a waste of galleons.”

“Hey, you made the bet,” you reminded him with a still very bright smile. You shoved the money into your pockets, keeping one of the gold coins in between your fingers, and gave him a small hair ruffle that he harshly recoiled from before you turned to jump back up towards the level of stands your friends were originally sitting at.

“Were you really sitting with Malfoy this whole time?” One of your friends questioned when you reached them, a goading smirk on his face.

“Ooooh, she definitely was,” another friend piped up, wiggling her eyebrows. “They’re obsessed with each other.”

“Shut up,” you smack her arm casually, showing the pair the one gold galleon you were holding. “We are not. I was only sitting with him to get my bet money.”

“Sure,” they drawled in unison, sniggering when you threw your head back in annoyance.

You looked down the rows to see the mop of white hair you just sent into disarray. He was slowly descending the stairs of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle following closely behind him. Almost as if he felt your eyes on his back, he turned back to look at you, his cold gray eyes gazing into yours. It was like everything around you went quiet, the only thing in your focus was him and all you could do was stare back. It wasn’t until your friends started stifling laughter and whispering “aww’s” that you snapped out of the short-lived and odd few second trance you were in. He waited for you to do something before he turned back around, and you did - by holding up both hands; the one golden galleon on your left and your middle finger on your right, grinning to yourself when he rolled his eyes throwing you the finger right back before he finally disappeared into the mob of people below.

You were briskly walking down the corridors, books held tightly to your chest with your friend at your side while you made your way to Advanced Potions with Slughorn after Snape finally made his way into the DADA position. It was an easy class, potions being something you had a knack for and it gave you enough leisure to mess with your “favorite” Slytherin who shared it with you. 

“Look there goes your boyfriend,” your friend teases, elbowing your upper arm roughly and nodding her head down towards the hall to the tall blond appearing around the corner and entering swiftly into the class.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you hiss. “I’m tired of everyone saying that. I hate him and he hates me, end of story.”

“You know when you say you hate him, it just sounds like the opposite,” she says tauntingly. “Besides, hate is a strong word and very misplaced. Maybe, it’s just years of built-up tension that both of you have been too nervous to do anything about.”

“Tension? Yeah, I want to strangle him,” you laugh to yourself at the thought.

“Not that tension, idiot,” she shakes her head, “I mean sexual tension...clearly.”

You gave her a horrified look mixed between being disgusted and being offended. You held your hand over your mouth and pretended to gag as dramatically as you could. “I am appalled that you would even say that. I would rather be locked in a room with Filch and Peeves and hear them argue and fight all day than to be with Malfoy like that.”

“Come on, think about it,” she encourages, stopping the two of you a little ways away from the classroom. “You guys 'hate' each other?” She finger quotes the hate, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “When you hate someone, you don’t go out of your way to talk to them every day.”

“It’s not like that,” you wave a hand dismissively. “Also, this isn’t a cliche, this is real life. We hate each other, that is all there is to it.”

You picked up the walk again, your friend to following behind you while letting out a deep and exhausted sigh. You couldn’t help but think about what she said, sure, perhaps at one point you thought Draco was attractive with his bright silver hair, his glittering gray eyes, his little button nose that he would crinkle up every other word he spoke in his charming haughty voice, or the way he’d tower over you in the middle of a conversation gone wrong and he’d be talking lowly to you but all you’d be able to focus on was the sweet scent of apples and cologne that radiated off of him.

“No,” you whispered almost silently to yourself, forcing yourself out of your thoughts and shaking your head from side to side as if it was going to get the image out of your head. He was mean, disrespectful, arrogant, and insulted you daily - even if you both laughed about it or gave props for the perfect jabs.

The first thing your eyes landed on when you walked into the dingy Potions classroom was Draco, his focus trained on the ceiling as if he was deep in thought. Just as his eyes were about to flicker down towards you, and sensing that he was about to, you quickly avoided his gaze and concentrated onto Slughorn who was waiting patiently by his desk with a bubbling cauldron for you and your friend to join the crowd in front of him.

“Great! Now that we’re all here,” Slughorn began excitedly, fixing the sleeves of his robes as he grabbed the ladle in the cauldron and began stirring it while continuing his lecture. 

You were trying to listen, capturing only the professor’s last sentence as he called on someone who raised their hand. All attention was thrown out the window when you realized Draco was standing near said classmate, a look of annoyance suddenly clouding his features when his pale eyes met yours.

“What?” He mouthed. You ignored him, trying to turn your concentration back onto Slughorn but nothing he was saying made sense, and right as you caught a word you did understand, a shuffling and an abrupt arm knocking into yours threw you right back out of the loop.

“Watch it,” you snap hushedly when you notice who it is. “Why are you over here?”

“I can’t say hello to my number one fan?” He whispers back, snickering slightly when you scoffed quietly.

“Fan? Says the one who shoved his way through the crowd to come over here,” you grumble, crossing your arms. 

“I hardly shoved,” he mutters. “I only moved because I couldn’t see Slughorn from where I was standing. Not everything’s about you.”

“Really? Because to me, it seemed like you came over here for my attention.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, a patronizing smile making its way onto his face. The type of typical boy smile where his mouth is half agape with his tongue smoothing over his teeth as he stared off across the room with his fingertips rubbing thoughtfully against his jawline as he thought of what to say. You stood still as he bent down, nearing his mouth towards your ear and whispering hotly, “you wish, darling.”

Slughorn sent everyone to their paired tables, and as everyone began moving and Draco sauntered off away from you, you stood stuck there, shocked with the lingering chills that were sent down your spine from your archnemesis’ comment.

“I told you, you’re into each other,” your friend sang expectantly from behind you, grabbing onto your sleeve and directing the two of you towards your table. 

You were working peacefully at your workspace, cutting up, peeling, and crushing the ingredients that your friend was sliding across the surface to you. In the table behind you was where Draco was working annoyingly quiet, tossing the stripped stems of the roses at you that you had to peel, tiny thorns pricking at your ankles through your socks since the bigger thorns had been taken off for the potion. As payback, you would throw back loose extra pearl dust you ground up, giggling tauntingly when he would frown at you for getting the coarse white powder all over his Italian leather shoes and most definitely inside of them as well.

When you, and seemingly the rest of the class, had finally thrown in all the ingredients and the potion promptly finished brewing, beautiful clouds of white and pink smoke began rising from the cauldrons, each one having a lovely scent of first; freshly pressed high-priced linens, then a faint smell of a brand new racing broom out of a box with a freshly polished wood handle that then quickly transformed into a sweet harvest of apples, green specifically, and finally...

“Ugh, gross,” you pinched your nostrils closed, turning your body around and sending a scowl towards Draco’s way. “Malfoy, we get it, your cologne is expensive, now stop spraying it. I was smelling all these wonderful things and you ruined it.”

He arched an eyebrow at you, looking at you as if you were crazy. “Are you mad? I didn’t spray anything, I think you’ve finally lost it.”

“Well you laid it on too heavy this morning then, it reeks in here.”

“You’re one to talk, Y/L/N. Did you bathe yourself in that dreadful perfume you wear just now? And that ghastly lip shiner thing you use,” He sneers, crinkling up his nose. “I can’t even think straight, I might vomit.”

“Lip shiner? It’s called lip balm, you prat,” you retort, crossing your arms angrily. “Either way, I haven’t used or sprayed anything either so-”

“For Merlin’s sake!” Your friend suddenly exasperated loudly from beside you making you briskly whirl around to look at her, a look of pure annoyance etched onto her face. “Are you two really that daft? Honestly? Have you been paying attention to anything other than each other? For instance, the potion we just made?”

This gained the attention of your classmates around you in the surrounding tables, turning their heads slightly but not obviously with small knowing smirks on their faces while they snickered quietly and listened. It was soundless as you reached towards the book in front of your friend, pulling it painstakingly slow towards you in fear of the words that were written on the open page.

“Amortentia,” you muttered glumly as you read the page, pushing it away from you dejectedly as everything began to click.

“The reason you’re both smelling each other is because you’re what the other desires and is attracted to. Wow, what a revelation! As if the whole school didn’t already know.”

You were afraid to turn around. You could feel the cold and hard pair of eyes burning holes onto your back and the immediate amount of whispers and giggles of the people around you. Luckily, Slughorn was busy at the other end of the room, working diligently with another pair of students who managed to mess up their potion. 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Draco announces finally.

“What’s so ridiculous about it?” You questioned, your heart falling to the pit of your stomach when you turned again and took notice of the way his lips were curling upwards as if it was the most disgusting thing he could have ever heard.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” he deadpans. “Why would I ever desire someone like you?”

There had been occasions over the years when you were in this situation. None as drastic and as revealing, but there would be times when friends and others would poke fun and say the exact same thing your friend told you earlier. The usual, “they got the hots for each other!” and you would always brush it off and joke about how you could never, and he’d do the same. It was always amongst laughs and jokes, but as you looked at the Slytherin in front of you - there wasn’t a hint of amusement on his hardened face.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you seethed, biting down hard on your lip to refrain from lashing out either in tears or in insults, you couldn’t decide. “If I’m so revolting, leave me alone from now on, I mean it.”

“I never said that,” he argues. “You’re just simply not my type.”

For some eerie, awful reason, the words tore into you like a sharpened knife going easily through butter. You were used to his insults, his mocking, his comments about your appearances - but this hurt, and you couldn’t explain why. You thought, for a second, possibly, that maybe your friend was right. Maybe there was a hidden attraction you had for the platinum blond that you buried deep away and one that he had for you. There was no way that was the case now, not at all. 

And for the first time in your life, you couldn’t be more sure of a simple little fact.

You hated him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

You don’t know how long you spent sitting in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, back against the cold tiled wall with your knees brought up to your chest. Your friends had tried to console you after the public rejection and humiliation, but their words only made you feel worse. You felt silly for being so bothered about being rejected by Malfoy, he wasn’t exactly someone you fancied, to begin with.

After dinner, you went off the grid and found yourself where you’re now sitting. The ghostly girl flew restlessly around you, popping out of her stall now and then to chat but then going back into her abyss of nothing when she learned you were still upset. You noticed it made her a little too pleased, considering the fact it was always her who was miserably wailing about her problems in the bathroom. She tried to hide it and let you talk to her about how you felt, but she gave terrible advice most of the time. 

“Well, if it was me, I would have never started fancying someone who was mean to me,” she mumbled. “Like when Paul Wighorn made fun of my hair for a whole year and laughed when I cried. I hated his guts then and I still do now.”

She had a point, but she was also Myrtle. Nothing about the overly dramatic ghost made sense.

“I don’t fancy him, It’s just weird,” you trail off. “I can’t imagine a day without him, even if he is a complete arse. We always joked about how we hated each other, but I didn’t think he actually meant it, I guess.”

“I think you do fancy him, though,” she whispers knowingly in your ear, making you flinch from her cold draft. “Stop denying it, it’ll only keep making you feel worse. Amortentia doesn’t lie, silly. Maybe when you drink it, but before that, all real feelings are there, whether you know it or not.”

You sat quietly, taking in her words before something came crashing down onto you like a wall of bricks.

“I suppose that means he’ll have to stop denying it too,” she adds thoughtfully. 

“Myrtle,” you rush to get up, smoothing your hair down profusely and fixing the wrinkles in your clothes. “You’re a genius.”

“I am?” She asks excitedly. “What did I say?”

You waved her off, giving her another thank you before rushing out of the bathroom and into the empty corridors. You were trying to go back to your dorm to sleep, hoping that when tomorrow came you would be bold enough to confront the Slytherin Prince but it was thirty minutes past curfew, something you didn’t notice until you were bustling down the steps in a rush and came face to face with the man of the hour himself doing his Prefect patrolling duties.

“Go to your dorm, Y/L/N,” he sneers. “I’ll take away house points, don’t test me,”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That I’ll take away house points? Watch me. Five-”

“No, you twat,” you groan, swatting his arm with your hand. “I don’t believe that I’m not your type.”

He stayed wordless for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks and clenching his jaw as he peered down at you from his lanky height. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think you were my type until the amortentia made me aware of it,” you answer quietly. “Actually, my friend had a hand in it, but it was mostly the potion.”

Silence, again. Still and deadly. You could hear the large clocks around the school tick and tock, the hundreds of paintings snoring peacefully or chattering quietly. You avoided looking up at the boy in front of you, all of a sudden feeling small under his gaze until you felt cold fingers brush against your cheekbone and then softly through your hair causing you to finally look up into the soft wandering almost blue eyes. 

“I didn’t find out with the amortentia,” he muttered almost reluctantly as if it was the most difficult thing he had to reveal. “I’ve known I’ve liked you for a while.”

“How long is a while?” You curiously wonder aloud.

“I’m not telling,” he smirks. “Perhaps you’ll figure it out one day.”

Both hands came up to rest on your cheeks, slightly cold but soft and tender. It sent chills throughout your body as he took a step closer to you and then closer, backing you carefully into the diagonally ascending stone wall that went in the direction of the stairs. Your breathing was getting uneven, you noticed the way you accidentally switched to manually forcing yourself to inhale and exhale normally when he leaned down with his face now being mere centimeters from yours. It was torture, having your eyes closed and feeling the way his nose was brushing against yours, minty breath warm against your lips as he ghosted over them with his. He was so close, you smelt everything that was in the damn potion that got you here. It sent flutters of warmth down your body, trickling down and seeping deeply into every bone in your body as if this is was the remedy its been needing. This is what you’ve been missing.

When you finally felt a soft pair of lips being pressed into yours, it felt almost unreal that you were there. It was awkward the first couple of seconds, both of you wondering how in the world had you gotten yourselves in this position, but after you relaxed and he found his Prince of Slytherin confidence - it was magic. His lips moved languidly against yours, affectionately and full of longing. He kept his hands on your cheeks, still timid to move anywhere else while you kept yours resting lightly on his sides. It scared you a little, how fast and how easily you melted into each other, like if this was something you’ve been doing with him for years rather than torment the other for laughs. 

You hated the feeling when he pulled away, a gust of freezing castle air passing through the space between you and cooling your lips and face from his contact. His hands dropped down to his sides and he looked down at you with a small smile, a teeny bit smug, but happy. You wanted to feel the same way, but a question still loomed over your head, overpowering the giddiness you were vividly feeling.

“Why did you lie earlier?” You question softly, directing your gaze to the floor. “In class, I mean.”

He thought about his answer for a second, sighing deeply when he realized he had to uncover more truths about himself to you. You took a mental observation at that, he didn’t like to talk about feelings. “You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at me. I thought I’d beat you to it and reject you before you could reject me.”

“What made you think I’d reject you?” You coaxed. “Other than the fact that I made you a sworn enemy at eleven.”

“Exactly that,” he laughed lightly. “You’re unpredictable, Y/N.”

You smiled to yourself at the realization that he finally used your first name. “So are you, Draco.”

“Not really,” he grins. “Like in just a few moments, for example, I’m going to start snogging you.”

You opened your mouth to encourage him but shut it quickly when he closed the space between the two of you again, this time much closer than he was before. He was flush against you, and when you say you could feel everything; you could feel everything. You were almost begging for him to lean down and kiss you again by the time you felt his hands on you again, running delicately around the exposed skin of your hips when your shirt hiked up an inch on accident. He leaned down again, and with the advantage of his lowered height, you let your hands slide up his arms, biceps, and ultimately the nape of his neck where your fingers continued up into his hair. The breathiest gasp escaped his throat as you tugged at the ends gently, smirking to yourself when he closed his eyes in delight at the touch.

His lips came down onto your fast this time and hastily, pressing himself impossibly closer into you. You could feel his grip tighten against your hips, his hold moving upwards onto your waist as he continued to kiss you fervently. His teeth bit down softly on your bottom lip and you wasted no time in parting them slightly for his tongue to meet yours. You tugged at the platinum strands of hair again, feeling triumphant when a low groaning sound emitted from his throat at the sensation as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.

You knew you were done for when one of his hands slowly slid up your upper body, stopping first at your collarbones with warm fingertips fluttering over the skin, before he moved it upwards completely and he now had his large hand wrapped comfortably around your neck. You gasped in delight into the kiss, a swarm of butterflies going directly to your lower stomach as he squeezed against the artery in your neck meticulously, the coldness from his Malfoy family crest ring only adding fuel to the fire. He tore his mouth away from yours with his hand still clutched firmly around your throat and you were almost sent into orbit with the look he was giving you. A look filled with desire, adoration, and intensity - his pale gray eyes were much darker, almost a dark blue that resembled the starry night sky on a summer night.

Lips reattached themselves roughly and feverishly against your jawline, peppering long and tender kisses all the way towards your ear and then down towards your collarbones where he was beginning to undo the rest of the top buttons of your school dress shirt. You felt him smile against your hot skin when you’d writhe underneath him, emitting weak whimpers that you couldn’t hold back that he ended up having to clasp a free hand over your mouth as he whispered into your ear to stay quiet.

It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of a poorly lit corridor where anyone could walk past and see the frenzy that was unfolding, nor did it matter to Draco that his Prefect duties were long forgotten. Your friend was right, and everyone else for that matter; it wasn’t hate you felt for the blond at all, it was years and years of a craving and a hidden yearning packed with displaced tension.

And now, you were both exactly where you wanted to be; together.

[suitsusboth]

I agree something weird happened behind the scenes in Bridgerton because who vilifies the heroine in a romance? Who doesn’t give the heroine a good monologue? Especially after she’s been told off and treated like she’s conniving when we all know she sacrificed years of her life and was willing to sacrifice her happiness for her sister’s sake and suffered all season? Who doesn’t let the heroine say anything about that? Who doesn’t put the heroine front and center in promo? There were so many bad decisions in s2. It’s like they didn’t understand the expectations for historical romance or the audience for it at all. Forever grateful for Simone and JB but the writers and showrunner…I have no words!

I really think there’s layers to it but also just bad management. I think the writing team should have worked together to write episodes and not divided them up. It’s not cohesive.

I think they did want to do something different that season 1 which okay sure but they took it too far and completely missed the mark for the romance genre like you said.

I think CVD had a realllllly weird obsession with Edwina. Again, which I don’t understand? Like okay flesh her out more but good god they changed her completely??? And then try and make her the main character for some reason? We!! Aren’t!! Here!! For!! Edwina!!!! I don’t!!! Care!!!! About!!! The Goddamn wedding!!!!!!!! Screw all your BTS, the obsession with the dress, etc on that one terrible, episode where you basically assassinate characters left and right. I tried. I tried so hard to understand. But I’m so over it. Everything I have learned or heard about that episode makes me mad. I am not hating on the actress but good god everything she says just makes it worse and makes herself look worse. Did she think she was the hero? Even my causal viewer friends did not like edwina. (Also, that one quote where it felt like her wedding, etc and how she’s can’t quite separate herself from the character…like maybe you’re in the wrong career that’s really not good for your mental health. I’d say the same if it was any other person on who said that instead. A character is always going to get hate no matter who they are. You have to accept criticism. Note: she is a good actress so pls no one try and kill me)

tldr: How did noooo one turn around and say….this is bad?

Also let’s just try and villainize your leads (like let’s be honest there were points where we just didn’t want to root for Anthony with his behaviour) and let everyone shit on them and then try to sell the sister soulmates tag line and the family love (Christ we didn’t even see that with the Bridgertons they were just MEAN).

I’m not one to make conspiracy theories but a part of me really feels like they felt they couldn’t promote a openly gay man and an a brown woman for a romance so they didn’t try. I think CC had a louder voice than SA (who maybe is just quiet generally) and things went her way a bit more promo wise (why do I also think she got babied a bit bc she’s relatively new to acting? That might be my imagination though). I think they scrambled after rege’s exit but for the life of me can’t imagine how that effected the scripts that much (except maybe adding more Featherington scenes?).

Part of me thinks there was alterer motives but honestly I think it comes down to a lack of leadership/direction or at least some people up top had conflicting ideas about the season and this was the garbage they produced

Simone Ashley & Jonathan Bailey you always be famous to me, thank you for your outstanding performances and you did the eldest siblings proud and you deserved so much better 💜

End of rant ❤️‍🩹

[takenyoomies]

Bonten Abbey: (mis)Aventures to the Arcade

Summary:

Sanzu Haruchiyo was known for many things...pill-popping, being late, and most importantly, wrecking the flow of the weekly Wednesday board meeting. What would this week hold? None of the other members of Bonten wanted to find out when he was once again late to the meeting which only spelled one thing for them. Disaster. Word Count: 8.7k Read on AO3

It was a Wednesday, and a Wednesday meant one thing for the Bonten gang. The weekly board meeting that nearly every single member in the top brass gang seemed to dread, loathe, and despise. It was often typical for each member to discuss their part for the designated five minutes. However,  going over time would cause extreme tension in the sardine-can-sized conference room that would rival being trapped in a room with a rabid badger. In addition, there were times when other off-topic conversations occurred that in Akashi Takeomi’s quoted words were “an absolute fucking mess.” All in all, the meetings tended to go through without a hitch. However, today was not one of those days as Sanzu Haruchiyo strolled into the conference room with a shit-eating grin that rivaled no one else,  fashionably late, of course.

“Hey, Sanzu!” An annoyed Mochi shouted at the man who entered, whipping his head around at the sound of the door closing, teeth barred and fists clenched in anger.

“Yo, Mochi.” Sanzu waved, trouncing over and sliding down into the uncomfortable and hard leather seat.

“We have a set meeting time, jackass.” Kokonoi hissed.

“Like he’d  ever  listen to that Koko….” Ran laughed, shaking his head.

“Important business called me.” The pink-haired man sighed blissfully, shrugging almost sarcastically to the platinum blond accountant’s dismay.

“I doubt that highly.” Rindou breathed.

“Oh, and what would that be?” Takeomi chimed in, a brow raised as he put out his cigarette.

“I’m  so  glad you asked!”

Reaching into his pocket with excited fingers, the pink-haired mullet sporting man pulled out a folded piece of paper. One would think this was some grandiose plan, some information regarding their competition, something important. But, no, Haruchiyo Sanzu unfolded the piece of colorful paper and slammed it onto the mahogany conference table, looking up at the group of men with a smirk.

“...Please tell me it’s actually important this time.” One of them said with a sigh. It didn’t matter which one.

“Oh, trust me, it’s of the utmost importance.” Sanzu assured, holding up his right hand, “Swear on Mucho’s grave.”

“The last time you used that, we ended up deserted at some movie theater that was showing a crappy porno...so that’s out the window, and you’re about to be too if this is something-” Mochi ranted, taking a glance at the piece of paper, “Are you fucking serious?” He asked in disbelief.

“What is it this time?” Kakucho finally spoke with an exasperated sigh, standing up from his seat and walking over to take a look at the piece of paper, “An arcade?” He asked with a raised brow as he looked over to the pink-haired man.

“Yeah, they’re running a deal where if eight people come as a group, you get 50% off.” He leaned back in the chair, putting his feet onto the table with a thud, “Therefore, I think we should take advantage of it and get off our depressed asses for a change.” Sanzu concluded with a nod.

There was a click in the background as Takeomi lit another cigarette. “I’m fine without having to babysit for the day.” Takeomi stated, then taking a heavy hit off of the cigarette, exhaling upward, “Interrupting a meeting for this is rather pointless, Haruchiyo Sanzu….”

“I think it sounds like a good time. Reminds me of when we were back in Tenjiku, right Rindou?” Ran turned to his brother, who sighed and shook his head.

“Yeah, I guess there’s some nostalgia there.” The younger Haitani agreed.

“2-1.” Sanzu stated, pointing to the others in the room, “Mochi, Kakucho, Koko….” He said to each as he pointed to each of them with his index finger, pausing as he hovered over the sleeping Mikey, not daring to wake him up.

“It’s a waste of our funds, and judging from the fact we recently recovered from the great  Bonten Has To Eat Instant Noodles For Two Months issue...It’s a no from me as well.” Kokonoi explained as he slid his hands together, “I’m sadly not in the mood for instant noodles again.”

Sanzu rolled his eyes, “Stop being a drama queen, and it wasn’t  that  bad.”

“It was fucking awful. What the fuck are you talking about?” Mochi argued, “Just for that, it’s a no from me too.”

“Bullshit, you’re voting based on emotions.” Sanzu cried out, swinging his feet off the table and slamming his fists onto it with a loud thud.

“What if I am?!” Mochi screamed, holding his fists up, dropping the flyer onto the floor for Kakucho to pick up.

“Oh god, here we go again…” The younger Haitani laughed, laying onto the surface in front of him as he watched the fight unfold.

“Zero days without incident at a Bonten Board Meeting….” Takeomi sighed, shaking his head in dismay.

“Did we ever have a positive count…” Kokonoi asked in confusion.

“Nope.” Ran snorted as he shook his head.

“I think it’d be interesting.” The normally quiet Kakucho spoke up, placing the flyer onto the table near the sleeping blond.

“See? I knew Kakucho was my favorite for a reason.” Sanzu pointed towards Kakucho, who blinked and pointed towards himself to ask ‘who, me?’.

“Didn’t you say Rindou was your favorite last week?” Ran questioned, an index finger on his cheek in sarcastic thought, “Oh right, it was for  ‘agreeing with you about how strawberry shortcake is better than strawberry cheesecake’  …” Pointing at Sanzu.

Rindou jabbed his brother in the stomach with an elbow, causing the taller of the two to emit a dull ‘ ow,’  “Don’t bring me into this.”

“That was an important conversation. Mochi was trying to say cheesecake was better than real cake,” Sanzu clarified, “I’m not going to rehash old beef, though.” He held up two hands as if to say he didn’t care. However, it only seemed to anger Mochi more as he drew back a fist. Kakucho began to get ready to hold the brawny man back for the umpteenth time.

However, a small yawn from the front of the table, causing every person to freeze. Mochi and Kakucho returned to their seats quickly as the blond who had once been asleep opened his dark, inky eyes.

“...All of you are unnaturally quiet,” He finally spoke, looking around at each of the men seated at the table. He then glanced down at the sheet of paper that was settled in front of him, “What’s this?”

Sanzu gulped. This was officially a make-or-break moment for his plan, “Ah, Mikey...it’s for an arcade that’s running a deal….” He trailed off nervously.

The blond’s obsidian eyes glanced over the information listed on the paper before pausing at the section relating to food and looking back up at the group of men, “We’re going.”

Sanzu smirked and looked directly at Takeomi, who looked as though he wanted to crawl into a ditch and die, “Sanzu - 1 Takeomi - 0.” He jousted.

“If we were keeping track history-wise, you’d be so far in the red you’d be begging for someone to come save you,” Takeomi shot back, shrugging his shoulders and standing from his seat. He walked towards the door of the conference room, turning his head to Sanzu, “but you do that enough already, huh?” Finishing with a dry laugh as he exited the conference room.

“What the fuck? I’m not Koko.”

“I’m right here…?” Kokonoi shook his head in disbelief, standing from his seat at the table with a huff and kicking the chair back into place, “If I have to eat instant noodles for two months again, I will  never  forgive any of you assholes….” Pointing a finger around the room, stopping before Mikey, turning on his designer heels, and walking out of the room. You could hear the faint echo of his heels trailing down the concrete hallway.

“And then there were….” Sanzu counted himself and the heads in the room, holding up one hand to count only to realize he didn’t have enough fingers, “Anyways, when are we going?”

“The flyer said the deal is only good until Sunday; therefore, we need to go before then.” Kakucho informed the group, “Since it’s Wednesday, and we each have jobs to do until early Saturday morning...I’d suggest Saturday afternoon.”

“Overall, that sounds like it would work with our current plans, Kakucho.” Mikey agreed, his obsidian gaze staring holes into the heterochromatic man’s soul.

Kakucho nodded his head, “I’ll be taking my leave now. I have some things I need to tie up.” Then, standing up from his chair, pushing the chair in, and silently walking out the door to the conference room.

“We’ll get going as well, then.” Ran suddenly spoke as he stood up lazily, a scuffling noise coming from the chair.

“You act as though we’re going to the same place….” The younger Haitani breathed, shaking his head and rolling his lavender eyes at his brother’s statement.

“I thought you said we’re going out for lunch?” Ran pouted, hands on his hips.

“I said I was going to get lunch, and you invited yourself again.”

“I don’t see what the problem is with that?”

“Everything, everything is the problem with that.” Rindou turned to his brother as he finally stood from his place at the table with a huff.

“Can I come wi-” Mochi started to ask, only to be interrupted.

“NO!” Both Ran and Rindou yelled simultaneously to Mochi.

“Tough crowd…” Sanzu snorted to Mochi.

“Listen-” Mochi started, cracking his knuckles, only to be shot a look by Mikey.

“I’d be careful Sanzu, Kakucho already left, and that makes the chances of your face getting smashed in about 8-2.” Ran pointed with some underlying amusement, almost hoping that there would be another fight.

“Wow! Is everyone Koko today?!” He asked incredulously, putting his head in his palm and looking at the older Haitani, “If I didn’t know better...you did our taxes, Ran!”

“...But, I do help with those?” He questioned in a confused tone, blinking.

“Leave him. He’s hopeless.” Rindou sighed, “Mochi, come with us to lunch before you get put on punishment duty by Mikey.”

“I wasn’t gonna do shit.” Mochi huffed, glaring at the pink-haired man, “What are you lookin’ at?”

“Nothing, nothing...it’s just-” Sanzu paused, leaning forward in his seat to get a closer look at Mochi.

“It’s just what?” Mochi spat.

“Your beard...you shaved it crooked this morning, and it’s the funniest fucking shit I’ve  ever  seen.”

Yes, it was at this moment that Mikey indeed questioned if he formed the deadliest gang in all of Tokyo...or if he formed the most immature band of toddlers in all the land of Japan.

---x---

“So, who's driving?” Sanzu asked lazily on that faithful Saturday afternoon.

“The last time Rindou drove, he floored it past an old lady because she was driving the speed limit and nearly crashed us into a gasoline tanker, so...I vote not Rind-OW what was that for?!” Kokonoi yelped, getting elbowed in the side by Rindou.

“She was going eight under the speed limit, number one, and number two. I drive fine compared to somebody!” The long-haired man glaring over to Mochi.

“Eat shit.” Mochi replied, flipping Rindou the bird, “Let Kakucho drive; he’s safe.”

Sanzu groaned loudly, “But Kakucho drives like a grandma.”

“And how is that a bad thing?” Kakucho sighed, shaking his head.

“We’re gonna get there at sundown if you drive.” Sanzu pointed out.

“Oh, true.” Ran chimed in with a thoughtful nod.

“I don’t drive  that  slow.”

“Yes, you do,” Sanzu breathed, “Next.” Kakucho held out his hand, only to put it down in defeat.

“Alright, since Sanzu is an absolute fuckwit about this, I’ll drive. One catch, though,” Takeomi spoke up as he threw his cigarette onto the pavement, crushing it under his shoe.

“Ooooh, Takeomi enters the chat.” Sanzu mooned.

“Shut up,” He shook his head, “I get full control of the radio.”

Everyone went silent, staring at one another in horror.

“Sanzu, let someone else drive,” Kokonoi spoke up finally.

“Yeah, please, let someone else drive.” Rindou shook.

“I don’t want to deal with this for 45 minutes.” Mochi looked over at Takeomi, lighting another cigarette, who had a sinister look in his eyes.

Mikey finally strolled down into the parking garage, noticing no one was in the bus, “Who’s driving.”

“Takeomi is,” Sanzu replied, a collective sigh from the group as Takeomi chuckled to himself.

As everyone began boarding the bus, Mikey clung behind with Kakucho, only to ask a singular question, “Does this mean he has control of the radio again?”

“We’re sadly going to be listening to Russian death metal for 45 minutes….”

Mikey stared ahead before reaching into his pocket and fishing out two pairs of earplugs and handing Kakucho a couple, “Tell no one.”

The dark-haired man blinked as the other walked onto the bus, Sanzu slamming on the horn while screaming at Kakucho to “get his ass on the bus,” much to Takeomi’s annoyance as he tried to shove the pink-haired idiot away. Inwardly, he wondered about the kindness as he embarked on the self-proclaimed Bonten prison bus, holding the earplugs in his fist.

The route navigation guidance will start…

“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up.” Mochi chided the navigation system.

“Don’t insult her. You’d get lost getting out of a paper bag.” Rindou snorted.

Takeomi turned his head around and glared, “I hear any more arguing, and all of you will wake up in a walk-in freezer.” He said with a sweet smile, putting the bus into gear and starting to drive out of their base.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Sanzu retorted after a moment, snickering to himself as Takeomi visibly winced in anger.

“Yeah, that’s the point, dumbass,” Kokonoi replied, slapping the back of Sanzu’s head with an open palm.

“Takeomiiii Koko hit meeee-”

Takeomi gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his knuckles on that hand turning white as his other hand skillfully reached for the pack of cigarettes and a lighter that laid on the center console. He plucked a stick out with his lips, throwing the pack back down and flicking the lighter to light the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in for a long while as if to contemplate his current life choices, such as why in the world he ever agreed to play babysitter to a group of overgrown idiots and be their chauffeur for the day. Finally, his eyes looked into the rear-view mirror, meeting Sanzu’s mischievous cerulean ones, “Good, you deserved it.”

“Fuck off, Takeomi.” Sanzu puffed, Takeomi only turning up the music louder in a petty act of revenge.

“Look what you made him do!” The blond man shrieked in horror, everyone else on the bus, minus Kakucho and Mikey, glaring at the pink-haired offender.

“I didn’t do anything! He turned it up himself!” Sanzu defended.

“I’m rating Takeomi 1 star on Uber,” The older of the Haitani brothers joked, “Worst music choices, worst attitude, smokes in the car-”

“You can walk if you want,” Takeomi called out, “But remember, I had to carry you home after that mission because you twisted your ankle because you decided to wear those new Gucci shoes...I think you’d be too far up shit creek to stand on your own.”

Ran blushed furiously, “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

Rindou snorting and holding his sides, “Bro, that’s why you were limping that week? You said you slipped on the ice...It was your shoes?!” He wheezed.

“Oh my god, you’re absolutely hopeless, Ran….” Kokonoi facepalmed, chuckling.

“I am not. I’m reporting you to HR!” The short-haired man pouted, crossing his arms.

Sanzu snorted, “Did you mean Kakucho?” Looking over to the dark-haired man who was staring out the window, “Oh shit, he’s brooding.”

Mochi sighed, “Someone get the tissues ready.”

“Earth to Kakucho, come in to Kakucho...Return to planet earth!!” Sanzu yelled, causing Takeomi to glare at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Sanzu, that walk-in freezer has your name on it...I know a place relatively close by.” Takeomi threatened.

Turn left at the next intersection, then turn right.

“Bullshit, that’s the long way.” Takeomi hissed, throwing his cigarette out the window angrily, “Who designed this.”

“Please do not take us on another scenic route again…” Sanzu whined painfully, “It’s on the GPS for a reason. We do not need to relive the Black Dragons glory days.”

Takeomi rolled his eyes, “For your information, my glory days have nothing to do with getting us there faster.”

“Mhm...keep telling yourself that.” Sanzu replied snarkily, “Are we there yet?”

“Mikey, do you still have the duct tape in the bus?” Kokonoi perked up suddenly, clapping his hands together, “I suddenly thought of a great project for us!”

“I don’t like the sound of this project.” Sanzu objected.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll just  love  it.” The light-haired man reassured Sanzu, brushing his hand against his arm gently, the other retreating with disgust. Kokonoi snorted with laughter, “What, scared?”

“No, I don’t want to catch your reverse sister complex.”

Kokonoi stared at the other with his mouth wide open, Sanzu rolling his eyes in return, “I was at the Kanto Incident, don’t act like people don’t have ears when you and what’s his face were out there screaming about it….”

“Yeah, you were screaming about it, Koko.” Mochi agreed, Sanzu blinking that the man had agreed with him.

“Oh yeah, I remember that!” Ran exclaimed.

“Survey says Tenjiku remembers it Koko.” Sanzu shrugged.

“Go to hell, and stay there.” Kokonoi huffed, blowing his bangs off his face.

Sanzu crossed his arms, smirking smugly, “You’re just mad because I won.”

“Oh god, he’s crying.” Mochi whispered, nodding his head toward Kakucho, “Sanzu, you just fucking  had  to bring up Tenjiku, didn’t you?”

“Nice going Sanzu, that’s the 3rd time this month you did it, too.” Rindou pointed out, “I don’t think we have tissues in the fucking bus anymore.”

“Why the fuck not?!” Mochi hissed, “Oh wait….” His eyes trailing over to the elder Haitani, who was looking to the side inconspicuously.

Rindou’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his brother, “Yeah, hm, perhaps because someone decided to hop in with a fresh bullet wound….”

“Listen, it was a bad night...week...month….” He attempted in defense, each increment of time making Rindou raise his brow higher and higher, “ Year?” Finally, causing the younger brother to nod in agreement.

“Wow, Ran...it’s almost as though you’re more useless than Sanzu,” Takeomi muttered sarcastically, offended gasps resonating from both Sanzu and Ran.

“At least I know how to cook without setting the fire alarms off,” Ran spoke incredulously.

“You forgot the sprinklers too.” Rindou chimed in.

“Hey,” Sanzu spoke, turning his head to them.

“Please, let us all not forget about the time he came to a meeting to discuss the fine intricacies of how orange juice makes you taste weird after you brush your teeth,” Mochi added, shaking his head in disproval.

“I’m right here!” Sanzu yelled in a huff.

You have arrived at your destination.

“Thank fucking god,” Takeomi sighed, putting the bus in park, “Someone wake Mikey up.”

---x---

Surprisingly, the arcade was located in a relatively remote part of town compared to where Bonten typically walked their regular routes. However, this did not stop several people from staring as the rag-tag crew disembarked the converted prison bus.

“Hey, hey...who are those people…”

“They look kinda scary.….”

“Alright, so game plan time.” Sanzu began as they walked towards the doors of the arcade.

“I’ll go in, so you get the deal. However, I’ll be standing outside to smoke otherwise.” Takeomi concluded.

“What?!” Sanzu shrieked in disbelief, “No, you have to participate.”

“No, I don’t.” The scar-faced man replied coldly.

“Let it go Sanzu, Takeomi can keep watch.” Kakuchou offered, “And he needs a break too. He just drove for almost an hour.”

Takeomi nodded his head in agreement, “Couldn’t have said it better.”

Sanzu clicked his tongue in annoyance, looking over to the blond for help, “Mikey….” He pleaded in a petulant manner.

“Let him rest.” Mikey stated, “He’s been pulling overnights, too.”

Takeomi smirked towards Sanzu, who only seemed to get more aggravated as he aggressively pulled open the doors to the arcade with a loud, “Fine!”

The arcade was anything you would expect, loud, smelled a bit musty, and was vibrant beyond compare. However, there was a slight scent of cheese for some strange reason. Heading towards the counter, the eight members of Bonten cashed in for several game cards that were quickly handed to none of than Hajime Kokonoi himself.

“Wait, why me?” He asked incredulously.

“Weren’t you the one who said,  oh, I don’t wanna eat instant noodles for a month ?” Sanzu mocked, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but we’re all adults here and can manage fine….” The platinum blond trailed off, looking around in a confused manner.

“Yeah, Koko, don’t be a hypocrite.”The older Haitani agreed, hands on his hips.

“Are you seriously agreeing with him?!” Koko cried in astonishment.

“Well, I think that settles it,” Sanzu said with a smirk, “You can go play like, one game or something like that.”

“Sanzu, is the word ‘nice’ in your dictionary, or did that get removed when you started your drug usage?” Kakucho asked, blinking.

Sanzu turned and looked at the other man, “I could say something right now, but it would amount to the fourth time this month.”

“Alright, let’s just get on with this shit.” Mochi finally said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, Yeah...I’m going….” Sanzu waved his hand as he walked in the other direction, likely off to find something that piqued his interest.

Ran turned to Rindou, “I wonder if they have DDR here….” He wondered aloud, his lavender eyes glancing around the area only to light up in amusement, “I see it!”

“Oh, it’s on.” Rindou smirked, “Ready for a revenge match, bro?”

“Like I’d ever miss it for the world.” Ran laughed as they both made a bee-line for the machine.

“What are you gonna, do Kakucho?” Mochi asked, turning to the jet-black-haired man.

“I’m not sure; I haven’t been to an arcade since….” He trailed off and looked to the floor.

“Get out of your head for once.” Mochi punched the other lightly in the shoulder with a grin, “Can’t stay in there forever, huh?”

Kakucho looked towards the other man and nodded, “You’re right.”

The two began walking around, attempting to find something to do in the vast array of games and activities, stopping now and then for Mochi to try something and only failing at it miserably, only to have Kakucho show Mochi how to do it properly. Eventually, both came upon a motorcycle racing game, their eyes lighting up as they used to long ago.

“Mochi?” Kakucho asked quietly, though loud enough to hear over the several kids screaming in the background.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“We’re playing this.” He declared.

“I mean, I figured when you stopped right there and were staring at it like it was some sexy chick at the strip club.” Mochi snorted, Kakucho staring at him as though he had two heads.

“Your disrespect for women is unimaginable.” He huffed as he hopped onto the motorcycle.

Mochi let out a hearty chuckle as he climbed onto the adjacent motorcycle, “Preaching respect women while in a gang that deals with prostitution,” He slid the card into the reader twice, “That’s some funny shit.”

“Oh screw, you.” Kakucho pouted as he swerved the motorcycles to select the rider, pausing over a white-haired rider and selecting them.

Mochi stared a moment, blinking at the fact Kakucho had chosen a character that looked like Izana. He shook his head and chose a random character, not exactly caring.

3...2...1...START!

“Oh fuck me, this ain’t nothin’ like the real shit.” Mochi cursed as he attempted to steer, crashing out several times with a string of curses.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about; this is pretty easy?” Kakucho replied, already in 1st place.

“How the fuck!” Mochi swore in anger, attempting to climb back into a semi-reputable position, only to realize he was in 9th place, closing in on 10th.

Kakucho tilted his body through a turn and smiled; he was having fun with this. He truly missed being able to go to the arcade with friends, with Izana. He wondered if they could do this more often...if Bonten could. He was drawn from his thoughts as Mochi swore loudly again, making him laugh, “Mochi, do you need help?”

“How the fuck are you gonna help me from there?!” The bulky man swore, now in 12th place—dead last.

“I...don’t know,” Kakucho admitted, crossing the finish line and setting a course record for the game.

“This is some ungodly level bullshit right here,” Mochi complained, trying to back himself out of an in-game ditch.

Kakucho continued watching for several minutes until Mochi finally crossed the finish line, “Well done.” He congratulated.

“Oh fuck off, enter your damn name.” The bearded man hissed in envy.

Kakucho entered his initials into the game, listed under 2nd place. He wondered who had set the 1st place record for the machine, though it was likely impossible to figure out.

His head turned when he heard a cry of frustration nearby, one that he knew...Koko?

---x---

When the group had split up earlier, Haruchiyo Sanzu had given him one rule. That was he was only allowed to play one game. Several ideas ran through his head, virtual poker, which allowed him to recoup the money they were blowing here, the weird slot machine game that looked rather promising, and then, of course, the game where you had a coin and slid it down a slot to push more coins off a ledge… All of those were lovely ideas, Kokonoi thought, that was until he landed upon a red stool in front of a screen that read Deal or No Deal. He’d heard of this reality television series before, and he knew the premise.

The blond pursed his lips as he sat down, assessing the machine. There were 16 buttons on the front labeled 1 through 16 in the shape of what looked to be briefcases. Kokonoi assumed they were to represent the motifs from the show. He sighed, figuring that, if anything, this was going to be the game for him. He slid the game card through the reader, slumping onto the stool.

Get ready to play: Deal or No Deal.

“Fuck me…” Kokonoi sighed in annoyance, watching as the said sixteen cases appeared on the screen with various ticket amounts ranging from one to five hundred. Large letters appearing stating to ‘follow the cases,’ which essentially signified you were supposed to pick the largest amount.

“Oh lovely, some RNG?” He muttered sarcastically, “It’s not like we don’t get enough of that in those gacha games kids play these days….” The cases shuffled around the screen, stopping and showing designated numbers that corresponded to the buttoned below. He thought a moment before pressing the nine button.

Choose your case...this will be your personal case.

“Yeah, I already did that-” Kokonoi hissed in annoyance, spamming one of the buttons to no avail.

You chose case number nine.

“Oh.”

Now pick five cases.

“I feel like I’m playing some fucked up lottery.” He sighed, noticing the clock and swearing under his breath as he scrambled to choose a number, “Let’s continue with the ongoing theme of my name.” He pressed the 1 button.

One.

One of the virtual women on the screen opened the case to reveal a low ticket amount, Kokonoi nodding his head in approval. He pressed the 13 button, the game echoing his choice once again to show yet another low ticket amount.

“And I thought poker was a rush.” He mused to himself, pressing the 8 button. This time, a larger amount was revealed.

“And all good things come to an end.” The light-haired man sighed as he then pressed the 15, another low.

“Back in black,” He joked, leaning back as he assessed the board for the final number, “Alright, let’s try 6.” It was a high number.

There was a ring from a telephone, causing Kokonoi to look around in confusion, only to realize it was the game, “This is such a weird game….”

That’s the bank.

“Oh good, am I getting paid?”

Here is the offer...Deal or No Deal...

A ticket amount appeared on the screen, Kokonoi’s inky eyes narrowing, “That’s it?!” He cried in frustration, hitting the NO DEAL button quickly, “I think that one gang we took out last week had a better offer for us than that.” He huffed.

Now open four cases.

“Again?” He asked incredulously, shaking his head, “Fine.” He pressed the 2 button, revealing a large amount, “Goddammit.” He thought a moment as the clock ticked down.

Hurry up.

“Oh, this game did  not  just tell me to hurry up.” The fair-haired man stated saltily, pressing the 16 button, low. He smirked, “See, can’t rush perfection.” He pushed the 10 button, low again.

“One more until the bank comes crawling back to me….” Kokonoi thought aloud to himself, hovering over the 14 button and then pressing it gently. Another low amount. The phone began ringing again in the game, music to Kokonoi’s ears, in all honesty.

There’s the bank again.

“Who else would it be?” Kokonoi mocked as he waited for the offer to appear on the screen.

Here’s the offer...Deal or No Deal…

Kokonoi thought a moment as the in-game clock ticked down. While this was a remarkably better offer than the last, he knew that there was still a significant chance he would be able to win big, and after all, it was an arcade. And not to mention, the bragging rights over Sanzu would give him mental clarity for the next month. With that thought, he pressed the NO DEAL button.

Now pick three cases.

Kokonoi sucked in a breath, his heart pumping, and he rubbed his hands together, “This is starting to feel like poker.” He pressed the 3 key. High. Swearing under his breath as he then pushed the 12 key high again. He stared up at the ceiling, his grand plan starting to fall apart as he looked down and pressed the 7 key, hoping for some luck. Low. Kokonoi sighed to himself as the phone rang, knowing the offer would look like garbage compared to the last, and laughing hysterically when it was less than half of what it originally was, quickly pressing the NO DEAL button as if he had never seen it.

Now open two cases.

“I don’t know if it’s good or bad, that the highest amount is still there, or that the offer they just made was so bad I wanted to leave here and never return..” Kokonoi chuckled to himself, questioning his life choices up until this point, pressing the 5 key. High. He then pressed the 4 key, also high.

“Wait...doesn’t that mean…” He stared and blinked, “I have either the 1 ticket or 500…”

The phone ringing again to make another offer, Kokonoi spamming the NO DEAL button as he came to the realization.

Now, let’s open your case.

As the in-game woman opened the case, Kokonoi leaned forward, only for the case to reveal...One ticket. Hajime Kokonoi had won, one ticket. He screamed, slamming his hands onto the machine before holding his head in his hands, staring at the floor in anguish. By now, Kakucho and Mochi had made their way over to him.

“Koko, what happened?” Kakucho asked, leaning down to attempt to make eye contact.

“I took a calculated risk...and for what.” The blond sobbed, his hand nearly tearing his hair out in frustration.

“Uh...Koko, it’s just a game.” Mochi laughed, amused by the entire situation.

“Do you think we can put a hit on Howie?” Kokonoi asked after a moment, looking up at the two of them.

“Who the fuck is Howie?” Mochi asked.

“Isn’t that the Deal or No Deal guy?” Kakucho asked, and then noticing where they were standing, “The answer is no, we are not killing someone for your petty revenge.”

Kokonoi huffed and crossed his arms, “Fine.” He looked around, “Where’s Ran and Rindou?”

“Oh, they’re with their fan club.” Mochi snorted, “Go see for yourself.”

---x---

“They really do have it, bro!” Rindou said with a huge grin, pointing towards the bright and colorful Dance Dance Revolution machine in front of them.

“Why wouldn’t they? They had it when we were growing up in Roppongi?”

“Okay, but who the fuck knows about a weird arcade Sanzu chose.”

“You speak only the truth…” Ran laughed, stepping onto the pad and sliding the card through the reader, “Oh nice, we get three songs?”

“Remember before we’d have to keep a cup of quarters on the floor, and we’d always spill it?” Rindou asked, tying his hair into a bun and joining his brother on the game’s vibrant pad.

“Yeah, and you’d always blame me for it even though you were always the one who did it!” Ran pouted, flipping through the songs and pausing on one, the music filtering through speakers as he turned to Rindou with a sinister smirk, “What was that about a revenge match?”

Rindou grinned, crossing his arms triumphantly, “I’ll gladly bust your ass at Kimagure Mercy any day.”

“Do you still remember how we do it?” Ran questioned as he selected it, sliding off his suit jacket and slinging it over the back of the railing.

“How couldn’t I.” The bun-sporting man rolled his lavender eyes, “Aren’t you the older one, gRANdpa?”

Ran’s eyebrow twitched, “I’m not above sibling punishment Rindou.”

“Oh, I’m shaking.”

The was applause from the game, signifying the song was about to start. The two brothers faced forwards, the intro starting and patterns beginning to fall down the screen. The two started to move in unison, swaying back and forth to the beat. It wasn’t until the first verse hit that what Ran mentioned began.

The Haitani brothers had begun to dance while playing Dance Dance Revolution.

Rindou glanced over to his brother, “Oh my god can you stop being such a show-off for once?” He huffed through a laugh, clapping hands with his brother to the beat.

“Please, it’s on my wiki article!” Ran cried out, “Just like you’re a big brute.” He bopped his head.

“I am not!” The younger retorted, squinting at the screen.

“Don’t mess up, Rindou!” Ran teased and purposefully pushed the other a bit in one of their claps.

“Fuck off!”

A crowd began to grow, mainly teenage girls enamored by these two men playing the game in such a spectacular way. All of them were excitedly watching as the two played, starting to ask each other questions such as “Does anyone know their names?” “Who are they?” “Do they have an Instagram?”... Eventually, when Rindou’s name was mentioned, people began to cheer for him. Naturally, this caused a significant issue for Ran Haitani.

“Hi ladies, I’m Ran~” He sang, causing them to squeal, a smirk plastered on his face, and an annoyed groan from Rindou echoing in response.

“In another life, I wonder if you were destined to be a host.” He sighed, accidentally missing the tile on the floor, “Shit!” he swore loudly.

“You see what you get, Rindou; respect your elders.” Ran snorted, the other man glaring at him from the corner of his eyes.

“When this song is over, you better run…” He whispered, “It’s over in 23...22...21…”

“I’m so old, my hearing…” He joked, Rindou nearly grabbing his hand during one of the claps and breaking it.

The song wrapped up, Ran turning around and waving to the group of girls and Rindou slouching forwards, primarily due to rage, though also due to an insatiable desire to beat his brother to a pulp in Dance Dance Revolution.

“Again.”

“Oh, you want more?” Ran asked with a lazy smirk as he waved to the “fans”.

“We have 2 more songs.” Rindou huffed, rolling his eyes, “It’s a waste of money.”

“True,” Ran nodded his head, “Let’s pick an easier song then!” He reached for the buttons only to have his hand slapped away by the younger, a dull ‘ow’ leaving his lips.

“No, we’re playing this song until I beat you. It’s that simple.” Rindou explained, hands on his hips.

“Fine, fine.” The older relented, “Don’t blame me if you can’t beat me.”

By the time Kakucho, Mochi, and Kokonoi made it over to the Haitani brothers. The crowd was sizeable. The arcade staff attempted to get the crowd to disperse, as it was becoming a fire hazard to the facility.

“Hey Ran, Rindou, what happened here?” Mochi asked as he finally made it to the front.

The two stepped off the machine and walked over to the group, Rindou grinning as the elder brother shook his head, “I reminded him who the rightful heir to the DDR throne is.”

“Please, you only beat me once.” Ran sighed in exasperation and exhaustion.

“And that still means I beat you.” The long-haired man spoke smugly.

“Wait, so that crowd...was all for you two playing a rhythm game?” Kokonoi questioned, “That’s insane.”

“I hope they don’t follow us home, or Mikey is going to have our heads,” Kakucho pondering the probability, “Then again, they might see Takeomi and get a bit scared.”

“Is he still out smoking?” Kokonoi pondered, tilting his head to see if he could see him, “I can’t see him.”

“I thought I saw him come in with Sanzu earlier?” Ran spoke up, the entire group staring at him.

“That can’t be right. Takeomi would never go with Sanzu…” The blond-haired man stated, slightly bewildered by the information.

“Oh, there he is.” The younger Haitani pointed, Takeomi wearing a shit-eating grin as he walked back outside, the entire group then spotting a pissed-off Sanzu.

---x---

Sanzu was officially bored. He thought that coming to the arcade would be an excellent way to spend some time away from things, though it only seemed to create more issues. What was worse was everyone else seemed to be doing their own thing, so there was no one left to mess with or bother. After an hour of wandering around and playing several games that held his attention for a few minutes or less, he set his sights on a bigger and better prize: Akashi Takeomi.

Yes, in actuality Akashi Takeomi was dangerous. He likely could kidnap Sanzu as he slept, lock him in a freezer, and then feed him to the fish...Though where was the fun in not messing with someone like that? He smirked to himself as he walked outside to see the scar-faced man unsurprisingly smoking.

“Ew, how many have you smoked today?” Sanzu spoke, holding his nose in mock disgust.

Takeomi didn’t even look at him, “Half a pack, give or take.”

“Smoking’s bad for you, y’know.”

“Drugs are too, but you don’t see me trying to give you a 12-step lecture.” Takeomi retorted dryly, Sanzu cackling in response.

“I gotta hand it to ya. That one was funny.” The pink-haired man pointing to the other.

“What exactly do you want?”

Sanzu clasped his hands together, “Dearest Takeomi, you’ve been out here for over an hour...I think it’s about time you came inside and actually enjoyed what we came here for.”

“No.” He replied with a laugh, “Nice try though, really love the theatrics...maybe we can get you a job with the prostitutes.”

Sanzu groaned, “Can you stop being a stick in the mud for once and be fun?”

Takeomi felt something inside him snap. Honestly, he just wanted to sit outside and smoke. He wanted not to have to deal with a specific pink-haired buffoon who continued to ruin his Saturdays over and over each week. Instead, however, he turned to the other man with a sickly sweet smile, throwing his cigarette onto the ground and crushing it under his shoe, “Sure, Sanzu, I’ll play one game...let’s go.”

“Really!” Sanzu’s face lit up with excitement, “Okay, let’s go!”

As they entered the arcade, Sanzu and Takeomi walked around a moment, regret beginning to wash over the older as his head began to pound from the noise and light.

“So, what do you want to play.” The pink-haired man asked, tipping his head to meet the other’s gaze.

“I don’t know, and I haven’t been to an arcade in fuck all knows.” Takeomi hissed, rubbing his temples, “Can you make it quick?”

“Jeez, I didn’t know they made you when the dinosaurs still walked the planet.” Sanzu grumbled, “Let’s go for a shooter then.” The two of them walking towards a Western-style shooting game that had plastic guns.

“Why am I not surprised.” The dark-haired man breathed, shaking his head.

“What? Sorry, I’m good at what I’m good at?” Sanzu mocked, shrugging his shoulders, “Anyways, it’s pretty self-explanatory...aim, pull the trigger, boom.”

Takeomi smirked. What Sanzu didn’t know was, he knew how to play this game. He knew far too well how to play this game because, during his days as a Brahma captain, Senju and himself would often sit in arcades and play. Sanzu Haruchiyo had sentenced himself to an early grave with this one, no matter how good a shot he was.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” The pink-haired man nodding his head towards the machine.

“I’m broke; you pay for it.”

“How the fuck are you broke if you- Nevermind.” Sanzu started, shaking his head and sliding his game card through the reader, “Let’s settle this.”

The older stepped up to the gallery, picking up the model gun and testing the weight in his hands before settling on a position.

Ready...Start!

Enemies started popping onto the screen, Sanzu quickly shooting the targets that were his color. He thought to himself it would be easy to best the older man until he realized he was keeping pace, and his score was already twice his based on the accuracy bonus.

“Hey, hey, hey…” Sanzu started, beginning to get ruffled by the sudden turn of events.

“What is it Sanzu, maybe you should aim a bit better, or is that too difficult?” Takeomi replied cooly as he blasted the head off of a zombie, “Oh, that was a good one.”

“Are you  shitting  me?” He cried out in response, “You actually know how to play this?” Sanzu was aiming for one of the enemy bonuses. However, he missed miserably. He swore under his breath, much to Takeomi’s delight.

“It’s been a good oh, what did you call it...era.” He mused as they made it to the boss level, “But for someone as young as you, this must be easy, right?” His voice dripping with poison.

“There’s still the boss level. I can-” He looked at the scores, feeling the color drain out of his face.

“What was that, Sanzu? My old deaf ears can’t hear you over the sound of your absolute thrashing.” He chuckled, “But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll recover in time to hear you cry.”

“Do we just need to get you a nicotine drip? I don’t think the patch is gonna cut it with you.” Sanzu groaned, “Or, do you want one of my pills? Those might take your edge off too.”

“Take the joke, Sanzu,” He sighed, the game finishing out and Takeomi writing his initials in the records list, “Have a good time trying to beat that, though.” The older smirking, patting the other on the back as he walked towards the entrance, shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he pulled out another cigarette from his ever-dwindling pack.

Sanzu stared at the score in disbelief. He couldn’t beat that score today. He would have to come back another day to beat it, but he would beat it, no matter what. He stomped his foot in frustration, only to notice the entire Bonten group was looking, sans Mikey. He blinked and did what any person with an IQ between 85 and 115 would do...make a break for the food court before he could be harassed.

---x---

Was this the main reason Mikey agreed to this excursion? He didn’t want to admit to it. However, when the flyer said they had six different types of taiyaki in the featured food court, Mikey was sold instantly on the idea, as embarrassing as it was. He quietly walked towards the counter, scanning the menu with his pitch-black eyes only to discover there were, in fact, now eight taiyaki options. He smiled softly to himself as the person operating the counter looked on in confusion at the strange man in front of them, “Can I help you?” The food court employee asked him, tilting their head to the side slightly.

“Taiyaki, all of them,” Mikey said, sliding a large bill onto the counter.

“Do you mean all of the kinds or...all of them, all of them.” The employee clarified, thinking to themselves.

His eyes lit up, “I can have all of them?” He asked.

“As long as you pay for them, I don’t see why not...It might take a bit, though, because we warm them in an oven, so they get kinda crispy.” The employee explained, noticing the glimmer in his eyes.

“All of them, then.” Mikey clarified, adding another bill on the counter.

“Do I know you from somewhere, though?” They asked as they handed him his change, causing Mikey to pause for a brief moment.

“I haven’t ever met you before.” He replied, walking to one of the tables and sitting in the uncomfortably hard seating. It was nearly impossible to take a nap here due to how loud and bright it was, as well as how unbearable some of the smells were...Who honestly authorized it to smell like nacho cheese? Though, he also realized he was in a food court. Slouching down into the chair, he wondered what the rest of his gang had decided to put their minds to that day. He assumed Sanzu had found something involving guns and roped Takeomi into it as well, smirking because he knew that Takeomi had played before. Kokonoi had likely found something involving money, and The Haitani brothers honestly were talking up a storm about Dance Dance Revolution before they even arrived. Mochi and Kakucho were the two members of the group he wasn’t quite too sure about. He made a mental note to ask Kakucho when they boarded the bus again later that day.

“Alright, here are the first few, careful though, because they’re extremely hot.” The employee warned, setting a tray in front of the light-haired man, “I’ll keep them coming.”

Mikey reached forward and grabbed one of them, mentally noting that his hand was burning, though not exactly caring as the gratification of the taiyaki was going to be worth it in half a second. He bit in and leaned back in bliss. He was elated as he continued to eat through the pile of confections, completely losing track of time. He inwardly began to feel that the Russian death metal car ride from hell was worth it, and so was having to deal with Sanzu complaining about everything. And so was-

“Mikey, are you okay?”

He wanted to snap his neck.

Sanzu stared at the fair-haired man, who looked as though he had passed out in his chair, only for him to lean back up with a menacing stare slowly, “I’m fine.” He said coldly, taking another angry bite of the taiyaki.

“O...Oh…” The pink-haired man replied, nodding his head nervously as he backed away, “That’s a lot of taiyaki there.” He pointed towards the ever-growing pile of confections.

“I know. They’re mine.” Mikey responded as he finished the first, licking his lips and picking up another, “Where is everyone else?” He questioned as he bit into the sweet and bitter flavor of matcha.

“I saw them a couple of minutes ago; they’ll probably be here in a minute...Takeomi is smoking.” He informed the other, omitting the absolute ass-kicking he had received.

As if on cue, the group walked into the food court; however, the mood quickly changed as Kokonoi held up his phone, “We need to go, one of Ran’s fangirls posted them on their Instagram; and we need to get out of here,  now .” His eyes narrowing.

“Why are we blaming my fangirl for this? They’re just as much of Rindou’s as mi-OW” Ran once again getting elbowed in the side by his brother.

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you didn’t name drop both me and yourself, so now you’re  really  more useless than Sanzu!” Rindou scolded him, “And you’re supposed to be older than me!”

“I’m RIGHT here!” Sanzu replied, raising his hands in exasperation.

“Cry me a river Sanzu, oh wait-” Mochi snorted, laughing at his own joke.

Kakucho grinned, “Mochi, that was surprisingly good coming from you.”

“I know, right. I surprise even myself sometimes.” The brawny man beamed.

“I hate all of you.” Sanzu huffed, crossing his arms.

“We hate you too; now let’s get going before we have to shoot our way out of a fucking arcade?” The long-haired blond replied in a haughty tone, motioning for the exit.

“Mikey, get a to-go box,” Kakucho suggested to the blond sitting at the table, eyeing the remaining taiyaki sadly.

“I’ll leave them.”

“Shotgun!” Sanzu yelled as they exited the arcade, Takeomi making eye contact with him and shaking his head.

“There isn’t even a passenger seat. What are the drugs hitting you that hard?” Kokonoi questioned him with a laugh.

“I’m assuming the cops are coming then?” Takeomi asked as he fished the keys to the bus out of his pocket, starting to walk with the group.

“ Oh yeah, Ran and Rindou are Instagram famous; Koko show him.” Mochi snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Why is it always...fine.” He attempted to argue as he pulled up the post on his phone, revealing a video with nearly 500 likes and 130 comments.

“Wait, I didn’t see it yet!” Ran yelled as he ran over to Kokonoi, smushing his head in to see, “Wow, I look good… Rindou does, too, of course.”

“Shut the fuck up, you cretaceous period cretin.” Rindou hissed, flipping him off from afar only to have Ran run after him.

“Stop running in the parking lot!” Kakucho yelled, shaking his head, “I swear to god…”

“You have to admit, though, it was a good time.” Mochi stated with a smile, “We should do this again.”

“Alright, everyone, get on the fucking bus, or I’m leaving without you,” Takeomi yelled, hopping into the driver’s seat.

“And who died and made you king?!” Sanzu yelled only to smack his head on the roof while boarding the bus, causing Mikey to snort from a laugh uncharacteristically.

“Wait, did Mikey just laugh?” Kokonoi asked, genuinely amazed.

“I made Mikey laugh!” Sanzu cheered, patting himself on the back.

“Wow, if only we could hurt you more...then maybe we could restore all of his emotions…” Takeomi whispered to himself.

“What was that?” Sanzu questioned, leaning forward.

“No, nope, nothing.” Takeomi lied badly.

“That’s what I thought,” Sanzu replied with a smile, sitting back in his seat, Takeomi groaning and reaching for his pack of cigarettes only to realize there weren’t any left. He sighed heavily, leaning back into the cushion of the driver’s seat and staring up at the tattered ceiling. It was going to be a long drive home, huh.

---x---

In Toyko, the conflict with a group named “Bonten” intensifies...However, they seem to have a soft side too…

It was once again a Wednesday, except this week Sanzu Haruchiyo was on time, and there were no off-topic discussions. Instead, all that was discussed was saving Bonten from the PR nightmare the Haitani brothers had created for the gang. And, of course, the now planned hit on Howie Mandel. However, the damage was done, and the gang’s reputation seemed to go from “dangerous and deadly” to “upcoming idol group.” However, Mikey didn’t seem too troubled by it, though it wasn’t exactly possible to tell what he thought until it was too late.

Takeomi sighed as he once again lit a cigarette, staring off into the distance, “Here’s to another fucking Wednesday.”

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 61

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 2,591

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

Taking Care of Business

You were in shock and at a loss for words, while Amber’s impatient expression as she stared you down meant that she obviously expected you to say something. When it became apparent that you weren’t going to kickstart this lovely conversation, she gave an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes before breaking the silence with a haughty voice that instantly grated on your nerves.

“Well, are you going to let me in, or what?”

Your subconscious gave a resounding scream of ‘fuck off!’ and hissed at Amber, while your brain warned to proceed with caution. The last thing you wanted right now was a fight, but it wasn’t clear which path led to a worse confrontation: letting her in or telling her to leave. Deciding to attempt civility, you clamped down the words ‘I’d really rather not’ that were on the tip of your tongue, and instead gave a small nod and stood back from the doorway to let her in. The sickly sweet smell of flowers hit when she passed by, and you had the incredibly random thought of where the fuck does she get perfume in an apocalypse? 

Ignoring the unimportant question, you watched as she glanced around your room, eyes flickering over the small bed, the wooden chair piled with clothes, and then the stack of old rickety crates holding your belongings. Her face scrunched up in utter disdain of the meager surroundings, solidifying what Ben had once said about her coming from a privileged background before the apocalypse. Her room upstairs probably had all kinds of fancy furniture and clothes. You wanted to feel annoyed, even a bit ashamed, but then remembered whose bed you were now spending the night in and immediately lost all sense of self-consciousness. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter what material possessions she might own, because you had Negan and she didn’t. No matter how this conversation went, that fact wasn’t going to change, and nothing she said was going to ruin your newfound happiness. You were still nervous and feeling a bit cagey being in the same room as the woman who was far from your biggest fan, but the security of knowing where you and Negan stood with one another helped you to keep calm and project an air of indifference. 

However, you still didn’t want to play this too arrogantly, and decided not to close the door the entire way, pushing it so that there was still a centimeter of space keeping it unlatched. The crack was small enough for her to not have noticed, and gave you that extra padding of reassurance. You didn’t trust her one bit, and wanted an easier exit, if necessary, or a way to hopefully be heard if you yelled for help. Not that you were too worried about a physical confrontation; you looked up and down her petite, small frame and thought, you can take her if you have to. The subconscious gave an aggressive yell of agreement and stared Amber down with laser-like focus. 

Not wanting to make any assumptions, you decided to stand there silently and wait her out. It didn’t take long, as she abruptly turned to you with a sneer and said, “I bet you’re feeling mighty proud of yourself right about now.”

Well then, guess we’re going with no pretense or attempt at subtlety. Raising your brows in surprise, you honestly replied, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.” You were certain this had to do with Negan, but weren’t sure if it was in regards to the last few weeks, if she had heard about the scene in the cafeteria, or, perhaps, it was something else entirely.

She narrowed her eyes at you and practically hissed, “Don’t play stupid with me. I know that you’re the one who convinced him to throw us all out.” 

You couldn’t hide the look of utter surprise at her words. Had Negan said something to the wives today? But when?! You had seen him off on the run to the outpost this morning, and there had only been perhaps a 20 minute space of time from when his men had sat down for dinner and he himself had entered the cafeteria. Had he spent that small chunk of time talking to his wives?

Apparently so, as Amber confirmed a few seconds later. 

“I can’t believe he would just march in there and tell us, tell me, that we’re not needed anymore.” She scoffed, as if the idea was laughable. “And I bet it was your idea that we lose our rooms too, right? You couldn’t even let us stay where we were, let us be on the same floor as him. No, you somehow convinced him to kick us out, and tell us we’re to ‘reintegrate into the community’. What the fuck!” 

She had used her fingers in air quotes around the reintegrate part, which would’ve been a bit humorous if not for her screeched curse at the end. Your emotions were all jumbled, since part of you wanted to fist pump with joy that Negan had decided to officially move out his wives and make them a part of the community, while another part of you knew that to let your happiness show would only cause Amber to escalate. And while you didn’t feel too bad for her, especially considering the way she’d treated other women like Maria and Trixie, you could still relate on a human level to the shitty feeling of being unwanted. It was that little crumb of empathy that you tried to lead with, despite the subconscious begging you to just bypass all that and use a fist instead. 

“I honestly wasn't aware that he did that,” you said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in your voice. “I understand that it’s gotta be frustrating to-”

“Don’t try to feed me bullshit by saying you understand!” she interrupted, eyes blazing with anger. “You think that just because you waltzed in there with your little food trays and spread your legs for him whenever he wants that it makes you better than us. You could’ve played by the rules and become a wife like the rest of us, but nooo. You must think you’re really fucking special, to screw us all over and wreck the entire system! News flash bitch, you’ll never be enough to satisfy him, and he’ll get bored with you soon enough. Then we’ll see how much you ‘understand’ when the tables turn and he asks us to come back while you’re the one tossed to the side! Because that’s what will happen in time, and it’ll make him look weak and indecisive to the entire community. I hope you’re prepared for that, for his potential downfall to be all. Your. Fault!”   

Well so much for going the empathetic route, you thought as a spark of anger burned in your gut. She stood there, breathing heavily from her outburst and wearing a cruel smirk as she waited to see what effect her words would have on you. Said effect was that both your subconscious and brain were now wielding swords, ready to go to battle and take her out. 

Any desire to try and make peace flew out the window, as you saw through her act and straight to exactly what she was trying to accomplish by confronting you. How dare she take her own hurt and insecurities and try to throw them back on you. And what made you extra mad was how calculated they were to cause injury. She had spit the words with pure venom, designed to seep into your veins and poison all confidence that what you had with Negan was real. 

If she had said this to you even two days ago, it might’ve actually worked, might’ve combined with that padlocked box of questions and been the tipping point to send you over the edge into fully believing every word. There had also been the ball of self-doubt, which until the other night had been constantly following you around and whispering that Negan would never give up a group of women who were always at his beck and call for someone as independent and outspoken as you. That he couldn’t possibly change his rules so completely for you. That he couldn’t possibly love you. 

But this wasn’t two days ago, and you knew better now. 

Spine stiffening, you stared Amber down and said in a cool yet stern voice, “It’s obvious that nothing I say will make you happy, unless it’s that I leave Negan alone and let you have him.” You saw her eyes spark in anticipation at the words, as if she expected you to do just that. “But that’s not going to happen.” 

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she opened her mouth, probably to spout more vitriol. But you weren’t having it. In fact, she wasn’t even worth the effort of fighting, and refusing to spend another second entertaining her bullshit would be a more satisfying win than arguing back and forth. 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” 

“Why you-”

“Leave, Amber. Before this escalates and ends in a public and unattractive way. Unless you want others to see you escorted out of the Sanctuary.”

You were possibly talking out your ass with that last bit, since you didn’t have the authority to ban anyone from the compound. However, she didn’t need to know that, and you could tell that the threat worked when her mouth clamped shut, eyes blazing with hatred as she marched towards you. For a moment, you had the fear that she was going to start a physical altercation. Instead, she angrily stomped past, a hair’s breadth away from knocking into you as the pungent smell of fake flowers trailed after her. 

“This isn’t over, bitch.” 

The words were said as she grabbed the knob and threw back the door dramatically. It flew open and slammed into the wall, swinging mere inches from your face. It would’ve been an impressive exit, except that she had barely set foot out into the hall when every muscle in her body went taut as a bowstring, and her face drained of all color as she looked at something up and to the left. 

Taking a step forward to glance out the doorway, your eyes widened in shock at the sight of Negan standing right outside. You weren’t sure how long he had been there, but seeing as how the door had been unlatched and opened a crack the entire time, he had to have at least heard the end of your conversation. 

Her mouth opened but no words came out, and you knew that she was frantically trying to come up with a way to twist the situation. If given enough time, she’d make herself look squeaky clean and try to manipulate things so that it would appear as if the confrontation was somehow your fault. Rather than give her time to come up with a bullshit excuse, Negan spoke first, his tone low and deadly serious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word. Nothing’s changed from what I told you earlier, and I don’t want any more fucking feedback about it. You and I are fucking done, and if you can’t handle that, then you’ll be escorted the fuck out first thing tomorrow morning, just like she fucking said.”

You felt a spark of satisfaction at his agreement with your threat to make her leave, at the way he stood in solidarity with you. Amber deflated slightly at his words, but she still glanced back at you over her shoulder, eyes shooting daggers. Unable to help one moment of pure pettiness, you looked her square in the eye and got the last word.

 “I’d say this is fucking over.” 

She knew she’d been beaten, you could see it written all over her face. But Amber was prideful, and she’d not crumple in front of an audience. Instead, she held her head high and walked quickly past Negan without a second glance. The two of you watched her march down the hall and disappear into the stairwell, and you had a feeling that, despite her brave face, she was going to find somewhere private to hide and lick her emotional wounds. 

Negan turned to you, the anger slipping from his expression as he scanned up and down your body, as if to make sure that there was no physical injury. Thankfully, all wounds had been emotionally inflicted and they were nothing more than shallow cuts, rather than the deep stabs Amber had been hoping for. 

“How long have you been standing there?”

His lips curled up into a pleased smirk, as he replied, “Long enough to know that you had the situation fucking handled, and didn’t need my help.”

You huffed out a tiny laugh at that, pleased to know that while he had been listening, he hadn’t just charged in and taken over. He’d been willing to stay back and let you deal with the conflict on your own...had trusted your ability to take care of it. 

You started to exit the room and close the door, but halted when he said, “Why don’t you pack a bag first.”

“What?” you blinked rapidly at him in confusion.

He shrugged casually, as if to try and offset the seriousness of his words. “Since you’re spending nights with me, it only makes fucking sense to move some of your stuff up to my room. Maybe then you won’t keep stealing my fuckin’ toothbrushes and clothes. Maybe if you ask nicely enough, I’ll even clear out a drawer or two.”

It took a few seconds to process that Negan had just done the apocalypse version of asking you to start moving in with him. Your subconscious and brain had linked arms and were twirling in a circle while tossing confetti into the air, but you tried to act as cool and casual as Negan had about it, nodding and turning back into your room. It wasn’t until you were sure he couldn’t see your face that you allowed a huge grin and silent scream of excitement.

Grabbing the brown sack, you threw in half your t-shirts (aka the ones that were currently clean) and the navy blue gym shorts. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as you tried to quickly and discreetly throw in a few pairs of underwear and socks, though you knew he was standing in the doorway and watching your every move. You also grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste, but left the shower items. Negan had plenty of those to share, and you weren't willingly giving up the luxury of his fluffy towels and fancy soaps. You topped off the bag with some extra hair ties, a comb, and the copy of Harry Potter. It wasn’t everything, but it put enough of a dent in your belongings that you wouldn’t need to stop back here every evening after dinner, and could instead go straight to his rooms. 

Walking towards him, you went to sling the bag strap up over your arm, but he held out his hand, palm up in offering. You gave a joking eye roll, but passed over the bag so that he could sling it up over his own broad shoulder. Instinctively reaching for his hand, you laced your fingers with his and gave a squeeze of thanks, as the two of you started off down the hall and upstairs to his room.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

[kingofthewilderwest]

what do you think of the ending of fmab? do you think it was well-written how ed was able to give up his gate of truth? i personally think it's a deus ex machina bc even if it WAS possible to give away your gate, it's kinda cheap that it has the same worth as Al's soul when it was established souls are invaluable. also even if ed did learn alchemy isnt all too great, i can still never see him choosing alchemy over their bodies even before he learned this lesson

I think it’s a downright *BRILLIANT* ending.

I would say it’s clearly planned from the beginning. Arakawa established the rules of equivalent exchange from the start. And one of the things she shows is that Ed could trade his leg for Al’s soul. I’m more used to hearing the FMA fandom joking about that exchange rather than Ed exchanging Al’s body and soul for the Gate of Truth, a gateway which is so powerful that entering inside of it provides you with all knowledge and understanding of the universe, not to mention the power of alchemy, which allows you to manipulate matter in magic-esque ways with ease. To me, it’s weirder to swap a leg with a soul, but I accepted the premise there (given as it’s a soul without a body, I can fly with it), so I’m more than fine accepting the exchange of Ultimate Knowledge And Power Of Everything with one human’s life.

Given as every character has a gateway, and it’s tied up into your identity, it seems just as plausible to me that someone could give up your gateway, just as you can a soul, or a leg, or your eyesight.

And it’s to note that... Truth has a say in the exchange. Ed is still the person offering his gate; Truth is the being accepting it. Truth approves of Ed’s loophole. Truth is the arbiter who takes things away when someone commits the taboo of Human Transmutation, and Truth intentionally takes away body parts that are representative of the person’s flaw. Truth knew about Ed’s arrogance from the beginning; Truth knows about what Ed learns now.

And what is it that Ed has learned?

As far as Ed and lessons, I believe that Ed giving up his ability to do alchemy is the entire demonstration of Ed learning a lesson. It’s the culmination of his character growth arc, in a way. 

Ed started as an arrogant character, one who believed alchemy was the ultimate way in which he could solve challenges - in some ways, rise above humanity's struggles. Alchemy will provide a solution to saving their bodies, too, he believes. Throughout the series, Ed and Al realize that they're only human. Moments like being unable to save Nina, or witnessing the birth in Rush Valley, or going through all the near-deaths they have in their adventures... make them see that what's truly great about humanity is its... humanity. Ed becomes humbled in understanding what he can and can't do, and at the same time, comes to find where the greatest value in his experiences are: his friends and family and the people around him.

FMA lets us know humanity's abilities are limited. We can't do everything. We can't raise the dead. We can't create life from nothing. This is all interconnected into the scholarship of Amestrian alchemy, especially as taught by Izumi: all living things are small in the grand scheme of the universe, but they’re interconnected into something incredible. We are one part of All is One and One is All. BUT. Humanity is also beautiful in what it can do: unite together, help one another, live together, fight for what's right. And as the FMA manga and FMAB shows, humanity is a beautiful thing, and all of human life should be cherished. It doesn't matter if you're a chimera, or a soul bound to armor, or Ishvalan, or Amestrian, or Xingese: your life is profoundly beautiful and worth being saved.

It’s to note that the reason the good guys win against Father is because of FMAB’s theme of how humanity unified is the ultimate best thing of humanity.  It’s this bonding strength of humanity that allows them to defeat Father. It’s the Dwarf in the Flask’s downfall to underestimate the power of working together over brute power and alchemical doings.

Likewise, the solution to getting Al’s body back isn’t alchemy: it’s the bond of the human spirit.

Ed giving up alchemy isn't a throwaway last minute deus ex machina, I’d say, because it’s integrated into the biggest themes of the story and the plot developments and Ed’s character development and more. By the end of the series, Ed has become humbler and wiser in acknowledging the limits of alchemy and the strength of humanity. It’s Ed having learned his lesson that alchemy is not all-powerful, to the point that it’s fine to give it up... to sacrifice it, in the ultimate act of solidarity to be with his brother.

The way I read you describing Ed’s exchange, you’re suggesting Ed never learned alchemy isn’t too great, or that Ed wouldn’t prioritize alchemy over physical bodies. Yet I think that Ed giving up alchemy is the culmination of an entire series of Ed learning better about alchemy’s strengths and weaknesses, and Ed growing into appreciating the strength of human character. Ed isn’t just trading clappy science for bodies here. Ed is making a trade to get what he finds most important: a promise to his brother kept, and a sacrifice to make his brother and him move forward in their personal lives. What Ed finds the more important thing isn’t the power of alchemy... but what he can do as a human with his brother. 

ALL of Al is now trapped behind the gate... without this exchange, Ed would never be with his brother again. And that bond Ed has forged with Al was always powerful from the start of the series, and inseparable, and deeper than his love for alchemy. And Ed, with an even greater appreciation for the human spirit at the end of the journey, is more than prepared to drop alchemy for a human bond.

Ed giving up alchemy is fine because he's human, and will be able to experience the great things of human life without alchemy. He'll be able to be with his brother again. He'll be able to live a life with Winry. Alchemy isn't needed for that. Alchemy can't save everything, anyway - they couldn't save Nina with it. Ed's much less arrogant than before, and is willing to give up alchemy for something he understands is much more beautiful and important. 

I’m sorry that this is a skimpy (for me) response, because I’m writing off the top of my head rather than pulling open the text and posting in manga graphics demonstrating my points. It would be fun to talk about this in more depth. Analyzing specific quotes and scenes throughout the manga and anime. Looking in depth at that final conversation with Truth. That stuff. But. I also recognize I have significantly less time in my life than I have in eras past. So I hope this answer suffices! In short, I feel like Arakawa had this ending planned from the start, interwove it with many important concepts that she developed through the series, and came up with a CLEVER AS FUCK loophole as to how Ed and Al can exit Truth’s presence whole - the brothers, who have shown to be intertwined in their beings throughout the series, can now walk together out one door.

[tutuandscoot]

Let’s dissect this quote shall we..

So how I’m interpreting this quote is that essentially, if anyone came into her life in ‘that capacity’ who had a problem with her relationship with Scott… she would prioritise her relationship/partnership/friendship with him over anyone..

Neither of them would get into a relationship or continue a relationship with someone who couldn’t accept that there was another person- a significant other in a sense, in their lives. They may not understand T&S relationship, but they have to be ok that the other exits and is a priority in their lives.

As I’ve said many times; I’ve never been able to see or imagine them as a legitimate couple- as a romantic couple. That kind of situation doesn’t make sense to me. They are so far beyond that. It’s almost like… if they were a real couple they would be so perfect and superhuman the world wouldn’t be able to sustain their greatness as a skating partnership as well as a real one. The world would just implode on itself. Also, on some fucked up level, in some ways it’s like they are two halves of the same person; they look the same- visually and physically they are perfect dance partners for each other- however it’s in a none traditional sense because typically and as was often pointed out- the girl should be shorter.. VM’s height difference was two little according to some, but that’s what makes them look like two halves of a whole. The same hair colour through (most of) their senior career.. *I’ll end up writing another post about it but I’m 99% convinced they strategically dyed their hair the same colour each season- go look at high def pics from Latch (16/17) then SFTD/MR (17/18)- their hair matched and was darker in 17/18.* Tessa is built more muscular- while Scott is tiny for a male partner. He’s insanely muscular but lean and slim (a perfect dancers body if ever I’d seen one[definitely not built like a hockey player]) so with her being muscular and him being small, physically they are closer in appearance and body shape.. (I’m not trying to say Tessa looks masculine- she’s is the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen because she is so physically strong and owns it- I’m just saying that they’re similar sized/shaped dancers in terms of the space they take up)- the point in the brackets extends to their ability to pull off programs that are both more traditional in the male-female relationship sense (ie compulsories, classical ballets etc) and in more contemporary programs (Pink Floyd, Latch) be seen as equals where the fact that one of them is male and the other is female isn’t a factor in the story- it’s just two dancers, their genders don’t matter. They are able to achieve this diversity that other teams just can’t because of their physical advantage.

That got a bit off track but I say it to make my point that visually, physically, emotionally, etc.. to me at least I can’t see them as a typical couple because how can you date yourself as a other person..??? (Obviously they are not the same person.. but this is what I think about when I read people say they have/had to be together)

So… with all of that.. then their connection, chemistry, history, understanding, empathy, care and kindness, closeness, familiarity, living 99% of their life experiences for over 20 years together, physical intimacy, living in each other’s skin for over 20 years, the ‘nature of what they do on the ice’, deliberately sharing a breath and heartbeat, then openly say that they would not give that up if someone looking for a relationship with either of them asked them too- they would cut that person off before each other- in fact never each other.

I know not everyone that got all freaked out about them in 2018 and before/beyond that read every single thing and deep dived on them like I and others on here have.. but there’s an article from like 2010/11 (of course I can’t find it now but if/ when I do I’ll link it, but please just trust me when I say it exists). Scott said: “Tessa is part of who I am. The woman I end up with will need to love Tessa as much as I do”. (I’m not sure which order those sentences were said, but they were both said).

So, to me at least, it’s easy to understand them as just a unique, different kind of couple then some kind of secret, will-they-won’t-they, definitely-are-in-love-with-each-other-but-just-don’t-know-it. And seems they always knew that as well- they knew for a long time they would never be ‘together’ in a traditional capacity, but also weren’t shy about letting it be known how close they are and how much they love each other and existing together as just that.

Also, she’s so right- there’s no hiding. What they do on the ice isn’t fake. They don’t bang anything on. Everything they do and say about each other is 100% real and honest and they didn’t let up any of that while they were also in other relationships.

I think their relationship is so fascinating because, as I’ve already discussed in this post, for whatever reason or laws of the universe they exist with each other the way they do… they also exist with other relationships.. and as they have often said: it’s so difficult for anyone to understand their relationship because it is so unique. I don’t even think their coaches or parents really understand it. I DON’T THINK T&S UNDERSTAND IT. So how could someone coming into their life who doesn’t know them/somewhat knows them understand it unless they have had the exact same thing with someone- which is next to a 1 in a billion chance.

Whoever they were/are/end up with, I guess would have to just accept that there was/is another person in their lives- in a (heterosexual relationship) capacity that for obvious reasons there would be questions or presumptions made about. It’s hard now a days not to draw parallels or examples from tv shows about dramatic, messy relationships. But real life isn’t always if not ever like that, so I don’t want to stereotype people TS have been in other relationships with as suspicious or spiteful.. but it must be such an incredibly unique situation. To in a way, the person in the ‘actual’ relationship is in second place- while they were skating, T&S came first for each other- or at least wouldn’t compromise their relationship for someone else.. and even tho things are different now, I have to assume in a way that’s still the same.. it’s kinda along the same lines as they say in the book that their mothers would never let anyone say a bad word about their child’s partner- they would defend them to the death as much as they would their own child. And how TS say themselves that they have never and would never say a bad word about each other.

From what it seems and what they’ve said, they weren’t in other relationships during the comeback. It seems they really did embark on that whole chapter, as a personal project between the two of them. This time where they were all in for each other and became the closest they had ever been and designed these programs as really deliberate, raw explorations of every facet of their relationship. Completely threw themselves into the respective artistic and athletic bubbles of their sport more than they ever had. They treated it as this relationship project between the two of them- really moulding themselves and this chapter of their partnership as like a 2 year long, living, breathing epic piece of performance art. That was their time in their lives to be 200% committed to each other only- and competitively it paid off- that approach, but I really think personally it was just this incredibly special time in their lives where they really were this “couple” who just happened to not be ‘traditional’ and didn’t do ‘traditional’ things- but instead do these incredibly special things and mould themselves into this incredible works of art. That is so much more special than anything I could ever ask for and I’m sure they could ever want with each other.. if they can have that and do it they way they did, how could anything else be better??

I imagine if I was in that situation with someone who had a relationship and connection like their’s, to accept that there is another (in this case girl) who knew my BF more and on a deeper, more intimate level than I ever would………. honestly I don’t know how I would deal with that.

It would be hard for their SO’s, but it would also be hard for themselves. Would they feel the need to overcompensate and over share in order to make up for the fact there is so much their SO will never know or understand about them? That there’s very obviously a side of themselves that their SO’s would never get to meet? That there is essentially 3 people in each of their SO relationships since as they say, they are a part of each other. They have had so much influence on each other’s development and world view. They would still contain elements of each other’s mannerisms and bring the other up in conversation unprompted just out of habit. That’s just a bi-product of the amount of time they spent together and in the capacity that they did. And I honestly can’t imagine either of them intentionally suppressing their spiritual and emotional connection to each other on purpose for someone else’s benefit.

That may seem selfish on some level I guess, but I’m in no position to say whether that is or isn’t and what affect that has on the people on their lives- I’m just going off what I know and feel from observing them and what this particular quote seems to suggest.

For their SO’s it wouldn’t be the same as just dating someone who has had previous partners in the normal sense.. TS literally know everything about each other.. they know each other better than they know themselves- they would probably do a better job at getting each other’s SO’s to know them better than they would themselves.

I really do appreciate and think it’s so healthy really that, at least from what it seems, they really kept outside relationships separate from each other… I know it seems weird- that they would want each other to like this person and approve of them, but I think it is so much healthier, just as it would seem, especially while they were skating, they didn’t take their work home with them. They didn’t take their relationship home to the people they were living with. They never ‘lived’ together or boarded with other skaters together. Their relationship is so unorthodox that I think just for mental reasons alone it was good for them to keep it separate.

But again, from this quote especially, it seems that there are lines they would not let anyone else cross. There are boundaries, and it would take certain kinds of people to go into relationships with either T or S and be ok with knowing that the other exists in their lives and that’s not going anywhere no matter what. There are boundaries that if they cross, T&S would protect each other and defend each other first.

I just think all of that is so fascinating. And I’m proud of them for staying loyal to each other no matter what. In every capacity. And because of that- that they never were in a “romantic relationship” it means they are never not being loyal and exclusive to each other in that sense because it never existed. I don’t believe they would ever agree to enter a “romantic relationship” with each other and be able to simply break up, AND continue skating together, or not- if they tried it once they stopped. They just couldn’t do that to each other- they wouldn’t be able to break each other’s hearts coz it would destroy them. It would be worse than any injury or any other kind of pain because it would be both their hearts breaking- their hearts that for so long they trained to beat in time with each other to form one heart.

So because they never did, they never will- they are never at risk of hurting each other. And so for what it is and seems like an insanely unique relationship, that to a lot of outsiders doesn’t make a lot of sense- that seems like the healthiest part of it to me, and really is the right way to continue always loving each other.

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1;  report ix

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: doctors! au; humor, romance 

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.8k

g/n: ((unedited skfslkdf)) also,,, i will be releasing Parallel Palpitations very soon [which features this Jimin hehehehe stay tuned for that] PLUS, im very excited to release the report x AHHHHHH send me your thoughts pleaseee 

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07​ @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle​ @btsmakesmehappy​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

You open your new group chat first thing in the morning, wanting to check on Soomin and Jimin. Just yesterday, the two had informed you of their concerns separately, both worried over the same thing. Soomin’s mother wanted to hold a small congratulatory celebration for her daughter’s KMLE results, and her subsequent acceptance at Woocheon, so there was going to be a party exclusively for all tenants of the building at the restaurant just next to the cafe. 

The two hadn’t worked out their budding acquaintance, as you had practically forced them to greet each other the last time you were at the cafe, so you thought this might be a great way to have them start over their tricky relationship. 

As you’ve expected, both of them had even tried to convince you to come, in the hopes that a mutual friend could help diminish the awkward air around them. You’ve declined each of them politely, not wanting to intrude on their little get-together. Besides, (just like you hadn’t forgotten to mention to them), this was the perfect opportunity to get rid of this wall hindering their friendship (to which, both of them had also quite strongly disagreed upon). 

A mere three hours after their outpour of sentiments, as you’re rewatching episodes of Dr. Romantic with Chohee, the pair drunkenly call you, requesting a video chat. You’re pretty sure not one of them is aware of what’s happening, especially with Jimin refilling his shot glass every thirty seconds; Soomin speaking gibberish, and Chohee literally teasing them through the screen of your laptop and yet none of them seem to mind a damn thing about it. 

So, with hopes that each of them arrived home safely last night, you type in your text message. 

‘What is this place, really?’ you mutter to yourself, slightly regretting your decision to take the subway instead of a cab. You only ride taxis for places you’re not familiar with (such is the case with today) but you didn’t want to spend twice as much solely for transportation so you took the train to the building. 

Now you feel lost. You’ve just gone to the main entrance of the building, but there was scaffolding barring the entrance, and now you’re struggling to look for Entrance B with the singular tarpaulin saying “Please use Entrance B” and a faded arrow below pointing to the left. After a grueling ten minutes of asking people for directions and walking all over the place, you finally find Entrance B and hurry on your way inside. 

There’s already a small crowd forming where the directions for the processing of your license is posted, and you can’t seemingly read the directions all the way down with people clearly taller than you blocking the way. 

“What’s the matter? Can’t see the directions, smally?” 

Your instant recognition of his voice makes you hang your head low. You figure there’s no way you can get rid of this guy anytime soon. 

“Hello, Jungkook.” 

Why is it that he’s always there wherever you are? He couldn’t be stalking me, could he? 

Jungkook almost spits his water on the girl in front of him. Oh, so he heard your thoughts then. “Yeah, you wish, woman. I wouldn’t do that even if you had one million strapped to your neck.” You roll your eyes at him. 

“Wasn’t asking for any conditions for you to do that, but thanks for letting me know your thoughts.” 

“Awh, you mad, babe?” Shaking your head at him, you try to continue peering over everyone’s shoulder to check the post. “If it makes you feel any better, I would for two million though.” 

You were just about to retaliate with a smart comment, but you see a girl walking towards Jungkook while twirling her hair with her newly manicured fingers. “Jungkook-oppa, you’re here!” she says, hooking her arm on his elbow. 

Ah yes, it’s the same brat that kept defending Jungkook’s ass during the KMLE exam. “Why don’t you come with us? My mom works here,” her voice gets down to a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. “If you come with us, you wouldn’t have to fall in line, then maybe we could have lunch together. 

Jungkook removes her hand from his, “No thank you, I’ll just wait here.” 

“With her?”

The audacity of this bitch. 

“Yes, with her.” Jungkook says, not skipping a beat. “She’s...better company.” Oof, that’s gotta hurt. 

You try not to show much of your currently soaring pride on your face, but you can’t help but clear your throat as a terrible disguise for a snort. The girl becomes silent after that, with most of her friends trying to control their facial expressions after Jungkook’s reply. 

“Fine then, your loss,” she says with a flip of her hair, then makes her exit. 

You're unsure what to do now as the girl has already left, and you’re also not sure if you’re entirely happy about being left with Jungkook now. “Why didn’t you go with her? Could’ve saved you a lot of time considering the people here.” 

Jungkook clenches his jaw, as if in thought. “I don’t like cheating. I believe that there’s a different value in the reward that comes with something you worked hard for.” 

You’re surprised. You really hadn’t expected this kind of quote, coming out of Jungkook out of all people, but you find yourself nodding as he speaks, quite impressed that you share the same principles. 

As the crowd starts to disperse, you and Jungkook finally get your turns to take a look at the poster. “Is it often?” 

“What is?” 

You point a thumb backwards towards where the girl had gone to, “Having girls throw themselves at you all the time?” 

“Oh that,” Jungkook chuckles, then gives you a lopsided smirk, “Yeah, that. Hadn’t realized being this hot was so tiring.” Squinting your eyes at him, it then again dawns on you that you shouldn’t even have asked him that sort of question at all. 

“You know,” he says, nudging your shoulder with his, “I’m quite jealous of you really,” your brows crease together. This can’t be good. “At least you don’t experience all of that, cause you know…” he says, gesticulating his hands over his face. 

He did not just insinuate that you were not...attractive at all. Huh. This bastard can wait for his license alone then. 

“Goodbye, Jungkook.” 

“Hang on! ________, wait! I was just messing with you,” Jungkook laughs, running after you.

The cashier is already scanning the last items on your grocery list by the time Jimin and Soomin had texted you that they were done with their licenses, and you three had agreed on meeting up by the mall’s concierge. It doesn’t take long before you all decide on having Italian for dinner, after seeing the restaurant nearest to where the concierge was. 

“Wait, it took you guys only half an hour?” you exclaim, recalling how you had to endure at least more than an hour with Jungkook as you waited for your licenses to finish. Thankfully though, the latter had other errands to run so you two parted ways as soon as you got your IDs. 

Jimin, always the gentleman, offers to get your group the utensils as well as a few condiments and spices you might need with your meals. “Soomin-ssi, do you know anybody else who’s going to Woocheon too?” he says, setting the silverware atop the napkins. 

Soomin thanks Jimin for the thoughtful gesture, sending a small smile his way. You squeal inwardly, wanting to know what happened last night for them to interact like this. “Um, also, I’m not so sure about the others who will be attending Woocheon too...I only got a glimpse of the list, sorry.” 

“Ah, no worries about that. So, how was the dinner party last night?” 

The two glance at each other, seemingly communicating with their eyes. Oookay, what’s going on between these two? What exactly happened last night? If they wanted to be alone, they could’ve just said so… 

“It was fun,” Jimin initiates, plastering  what seems to be a painfully wide grin on his face. Soomin nods along with him as she adds more, “Honestly, I don’t remember much about last night, but I do recall Jimin calling me ‘sajangnim’ the whole night. And I told him to not call me that, but Jimin here is a stubborn man.” 

“Yeah, you complained about that too last night,” you laugh, cutting your garlic bread into pieces. “Wait, what?” Jimin squints his eyes at you, “Were you there last night? How did you....” 

“I’m guessing you both don’t remember calling me last night too, didn’t you?” 

“We did?!” they say in unison, making your eyes go wide. “Did I do something stupid?” “Please tell me I didn’t say something I shouldn’t have?” 

“Hmm, well, it was quite the conversation last night,” you tease them, wanting to see how far this can go, “plus Chohee was there too so I have another key witness.” 

“What?” Jimin squeaks, lips pressing into a thin line, “what’s the key witness for?” 

“That, my friend, is up to you to remember and figure out.” You give each of them a wink, before turning your attention back to your pasta.  

Transferring all your groceries to one hand, you fish your keys from your purse, shaking it lightly to hear its jingle as you blindly course your fingers through your bag. As the elevator doors open, you see your neighbor down the end of the hall, trailing after a man. 

Ayoung hears the elevator bell ding and turns to your direction. She excitedly points her thumb to her back, mouthing ‘new tenant’ to you. She keys in her code and lets the guy in first. The moment he’s inside, she leans by the doorframe and whispers how hot the guy actually was and how much of a lucky neighbor you were going to be. 

You shake your head at her, leaving Ayoung to entertain her guest. Of course, not forgetting to pray that she manages to score you a hot man next door.

© joontier 2021

[bikerjongho]

the library of wonder | ateez ot8

genre: historical fiction, horror, adventure, fantasy

characters: warrior!ateez ot8

description: Religious radicals in the Joseon Dynasty, the self-proclaimed Anti-Rhythm Riders cult does everything in their power to destroy anything and anyone that violates their sacred Code of Conduct.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: violence, murder, maiming, ableism, graphic description of a dead body, radical religion, blood

author’s note: what happens when you combine the library of alexandria with ateez? this fic. this is the third addition to the ateez music video series whose masterlist (which lists the rest of them) is here. Also to note that this is part 1 of a series that I will continue later. The subsequent parts will be connected to different music videos.

taglist: @itsapapisongo @mangomingki @irehlevant​ @blueprint-han​ @doievoir​ @bvlnoriyas

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Weapons were a way to show the power of a king. Mounted and gleaming, the spears of King Yoongi of the Joseon Dynasty stood on either side of his elegant and golden throne like guards at the ready. On the walls that surrounded the throne from the left and right were an impressive display of bows and an array of fine arrows to accompany them. On the floor, King Yoongi's head lolled, blood pouring out of its severed end as Hongjoong sheathed the King's sword that was on his wall only moments before.

Beside the King's head and body on the floor, his recently deceased personal guard lay with him. This was thanks to Hongjoong's two best short-distance fighters, Mingi and Seonghwa. The two of them eyed the royally red blood that gushed out of the King's severed neck as they sheathed their swords. The three of them wore nothing more than simple blue hanboks and had their long hair tied up in a topknot at the top of their head, traditional for common men of this age. But with the corpse of the most important man in the Dynasty at their feet and the smell of civil unrest in the air, the plain clothing and ordinary hair was far from an appropriate look for these men in this moment.

The King's sword was now sheathed at Hongjoong's side, but he was not yet finished with the king. Bending down to the severed head, Hongjoong ripped out all of the intricate pins and ties that the King's servants had put in his hair that morning. The King's luscious black hair spilled out at his feet, mixing with his blood and turning it burgundy. Hair was a symbol of status and power. Now that the King was dead, Hongjoong assumed he no longer needed his power. He extracted a dagger from a pocket of his hanbok and began cutting at where the King's scalp ended.

The hair obliged with the blade. Soon, the King's heap of hair rested in Hongjoong's hands, and he promptly tied it to keep the strands together. "Proof," Hongjoong whispered and shoved the hair into his hanbok. "Proof that the wretched King Yoongi is dead."

"May he rot in many Hells," Seonghwa murmured and bowed his head. Mingi followed suit, and then Hongjoong last. There was a method to their madness. They, along with a few other men, were leaders of an ancient group called the Anti-Rhythm Riders. They did no harm as long as no one provoked them. Their laws, while more modest and tight than most groups, religions, or cults, were mostly fair. But the Anti-Rhythm Riders were a bloodthirsty and arrogant group of people that took pride in their faith and murdered anyone that refused to also follow.

"You must understand," Hongjoong had said calmly to a screaming woman only weeks earlier. Despite his attempts to convert her, she wouldn't budge, leaving Hongjoong with only one choice. His eyes had darkened to a lifeless grey as he had stuck his hand into her abdomen and twisted her gut. "This is a death far more merciful than if The Chariot returned while you were still alive and not following Him," he had said, digging his nails into her body while she screamed. "Feel blessed that I have chosen to kill you and spare you of his wrath that is worse than this by tenfold."

The dead King at Hongjoong's feet was one of many who had been adamantly against the Anti-Rhythm Riders. But besides their penchant for murdering those that were not like them, their strict code of honor shaped them into contributing and positive members of society. Their code of laws requested that each member of the group brought forth the best version of themselves at all times. This included dressing appropriately and being able-bodied, so all Riders were in peak health and dressed like they respected themselves. But on the same side of the coin, it was imperative to closely follow the code of honor as a Rider, lest they be murdered in the same way a non-believer would. The Riders, no matter how devoted they were to their cause, could not step out of line.

Top physical health included never becoming blind, deaf, mute, or immobile, except in the cases of old age or a sickness, but even then, those members were socially separated from the rest of the Riders. Old believers and ill people dressed from head to toe in black clothing in order to not bring attention to themselves and their misfortune of owning a frail and weak body.

But King Yoongi had not perished because of his non-belief. Despite his non-belief, most Riders saw merit in a hierarchal leader. They had, with their teeth grit, kept him alive. What had caused his downfall was not a snap decision by a lone Rider. It was caused by The Library of Wonder.

"A man that has lost his way chooses to walk the path to eternal hell," Mingi quoted a founder as he kicked Yoongi's body as he walked by towards the exit of the throne room. Hongjoong gripped the hair in his pockets, then followed Mingi. Seonghwa followed last, shutting the doors to the throne room with a smile on his face.

When they walked outside, they were met with thunderous cries and applause. The rest of Hongjoong's elite and higher-up group stood waiting in the front of it all. Yunho, man with a spear and a smile that was a bit too comforting and cozy; Yeosang, a solemn man with a sword strapped to his side that was anything but that; San, producing an ugly and terrifying grin on his face as Hongjoong removed the King's ponytail from his pockets; Jongho, with his sharp eyes and sharper reflexes, infamous bow and arrows strapped to his chest and back, and Wooyoung, who thrusted his permanently bandaged and bloodied fists into the air and let out a cry of victory that seared across the mass of Riders and raised the temperature of their spirits.

"The King is dead, Riders," Hongjoong bellowed above the roaring crowd. "And now, we ride to the Library of Wonder." He was met with shouts of disapproval for the Library, and Hongjoong's lip curled upward. There was a section for arts and music in The Rider's code. It was allowed, but certain teachings of it, such as allowing it to manipulate emotions, was forbidden.

"There is a disease in the heart of man," The Riders heard all too frequently in their sermons and speeches. "The disease is human emotion."

The Library of Wonder promoted this diseased music. For years they had tried to defund the Library, encourage the King to focus his spending elsewhere, to change the Library so it did not promote these blasphemous ideas, and none had been successful.

"We can't have a King that has allowed such a violation of our code for this long," Hongjoong had said only a month before the assassination, neck deep in plans for the kill. His face had darkened against the flickering fire that was nearby, casting inhuman shadows across his features. The Anti-Rhythm Riders were not a majority in the Joseon Dynasty, and their following was hardly recognized as a religion at all, let alone the Dynasty's main religion - but they were a potent and loud minority.

And over the course of a year, Hongjoong had been collecting and persuading commoners with his silver tongue to join The Riders for the purpose of having an army. An army that would not only be large, but also be relentless and unstoppable. And as Hongjoong stood in front of these thousands of people fueled with anger for The Library, he believed his work to collect them all had been a success. San took over with controlling the crowd, his loud voice carrying over all of the chatter and yelling. He dictated to certain groups in the crowd to certain tasks, such as loading wood onto the backs of their traveling cows or oiling up weapons and lighters. Fire, Hongjoong had decided, would be the ideal move to destroy the library. It would burn all of the texts that he and so many others hated with no hope of replicating them.

Amidst the screams, Yunho saddled up next to Hongjoong. One of Hongjoong's most efficient and silent warriors in the team, he was an asset that had carried them far. He couldn't stop smiling. Hongjoong knew that this day was huge for him - huge for all of them. Killing the King had been a goal point of their plan. Now all that was left was to destroy The Library of Wonder.

"Do you have any hangwa?" He asked, and Hongjoong was mildly bemused at how casual he was. He had just seen him slice the arm off of a palace soldier only fifteen minutes prior.

"I do," Hongjoong answered anyway, shuffling around in his bag before pulling out a packet of hangwa, assorted Korean cookies. He pushed it towards him, and Yunho happily dug in. "Time to rally the troops," he said, starting up a conversation.

"Well, it's easy to do that when persuasion rolls off of the tongue like leaves blow in the wind," Yunho said, mouth full of cookie. Yunho was referring to The Riders' way of persuasion and how it borderlined with magical coercing. In many ways, it was magical. Hongjoong theorized it had to do with how devoted and powerful many of The Riders were. It was The Chariot's doing that allowed his followers the ability of masterful persuasion.

It was also the reason why they had amassed so many people for their invasion so quickly. Many of them had knocked on doors and preached in the streets. As long as someone could hear them, people joined their cause.

The Riders left immediately after their supplies and weapons were loaded into traveling bags and onto the backs of animals. Hours after they had left on their journey to the Library, Jongho was ready to rally the troops for a special tradition. Having just climbed onto a travelling horse, he was raised above the crowd. His long and dark hair flickered around his face as he assessed the mass of walking Riders. The time must have felt correct to him, for he then raised his arms over the crowd, a move he had done many times.

This move caught the attention of many Riders, but his projecting and powerful voice was what roped in the rest. Jongho sang a mid-range note that silenced what little noise was left from the crowd. The Riders stopped what they were doing in order to match his note. Hongjoong and Yunho followed suit out of habit. The earth rumbled with the thousands of voices of the Riders.

There was an air to the main vocalist now that all of the attention was on him. Something lurked in the darker hues of his eyes, something that looked like power, and it showed itself through how he now moved and sang. His voice, still louder than the crowd's, rose up a note. The dissonance of the pitches only lasted for a moment before the crowd went down a note, creating a harmony. Jongho closed the fingers on his left hand into a fist and the women of the Riders adjusted their note. A minor harmony emerged from the chord.

None of the voices were completely perfect, except for maybe Jongho's. But all voices bowed at the command of Jongho's hands that were, in a way, conducting an old vocal ritual created by and for their religion. The choir was used to grab the attention of all Riders, but it was used equally as a morale booster. Hongjoong glanced at Yeosang, his sword gleaming with menace at his side, and raised his eyebrows.

Yeosang caught his eyes and sifted through the crowd to him. "Why is Jongho doing the Chariot Chant?" He hissed under the singing as the swordsman came close to him. He had seen Jongho and Yeosang together only a quarter of an hour prior. And while the choir was mainly for enjoyment, it was sometimes used as a distraction from something that the higher-up Riders didn't want the rest of their group to know about. Hongjoong feared something had come up despite his meticulous planning, and he assumed that Yeosang knew about the problem if there was one. "We didn't plan one. What is he diverting?"

Yeosang, in charge of the artillery, looked at Jongho on the horse. "Some of our artillery is failing," he said, his eyes the color of stone. "Some of our men and women notified me of a few issues our cannons are having. I inspected them myself and have found that they are correct. I assume this was the throne's last stand against us." His frown deepened. "I theorize our original plan for the Library can't be used now."

A smile appeared on Hongjoong's lips, mirroring Yeosang's disapproving frown. The original plan was to partially blow up the library before burning it, suggested by Yeosang, but Hongjoong had been against it. He wanted the library to be aflame as soon and for as long as possible, but he had been outnumbered by most of his group. Hongjoong's method would endanger more Rider's lives at the expense of his selfish love for fire. Unprecedented death of Riders was certainly a reason for Jongho to begin a distracting chant. He wouldn't have started it if he had thought Hongjoong's plan would go to fruition.

"So we go with my plan," Hongjoong smirked at the artillery leader. Yeosang pursed his lips and, for a moment, said nothing.

"I will think about our other options," Yeosang murmured. "Ones that will, perhaps, be less taxing on us. Don't think for a second that Jongho's calling to action means your plan will now be enacted," he said with a hint of irritation. He said no more, sweeping himself back into the crowds towards the animals helping carry the artillery, leaving Hongjoong with his thoughts and a smile still plastered to his face.

Hongjoong was the unofficial leader of the Riders, but he still wanted to deal with decisions diplomatically. So, after an hour of caroling with Jongho, Hongjoong rounded up the seven of them to talk about their plan of attack on the library.

They formed a line as they walked and saddled beside the cattle and horses that carried the artillery. Seonghwa and Wooyoung gravitated towards Hongjoong in the line. The two of them had been the members to agree with Hongjoong's less rational plan of setting fire to the library immediately upon arrival, but they had ultimately been overruled by the other five that had agreed to Yeosang's safer plan.

"So, fire immediately?" Wooyoung asked everyone once Hongjoong explained to them their situation, but his eyes were locked onto Hongjoong. Yeosang raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Not quite," Hongjoong said evenly, turning his attention to Yeosang, who now had his arms crossed. "Let's see what our artillery man has to say."

"If the First Army successfully purged the library of people," Yeosang said, referring to a subset of the Riders that had left for the library a day earlier, "then we should have a clean and easy shot to do whatever we want to the library. Word won't spread that we invaded it until it's already a pile of rubble." Some of them bowed their heads in appreciation for that statement.

"That being said," Yeosang continued, "we have about half the amount of cannons I'd like to have. We still have swords, but that won't do much against the hard material of the building." He grabbed the hilt of his sword at his side instinctively. "We still have torches and the building is flammable."

"And bow and arrows," Yunho cut in, lifting up Jongho's bow from his back. Jongho glared at him.

"Arrows that can carry flame," Yeosang sighed, and Seonghwa's lip curled up. "I truly have exhausted my thoughts and exhausted them some more. Many weapons from home could have been used for a different attack, but we're too far to turn back now." They were all experienced enough fighters to realize where Yeosang was going.

"Fire," Hongjoong smiled, and Yeosang looked weary.

"Fire," he sighed in agreement.

Wooyoung and Seonghwa exploded into hisses of victory. Wooyoung punched his fist into the air. "Hell yes," he said, shaking his bandaged wrist in front of him.

"Should we tell them?" Yeosang asked, gesturing to the entire herd of Riders that were traveling with them as a few of the members dispersed from the group. Yeosang meant the increased danger that came with their sudden change of plans. Hongjoong adjusted the bag on his back and grinned.

"They know what they're getting into," Hongjoong smiled. "But even if they don't, they'll do it anyway. They love The Chariot too much to refuse to do something." Hongjoong flicked a cocky smile at Yeosang, who could only sigh and nod. While it was not his favorite plan, it was a plan that still accomplished the destruction of the library, which was a goal all of them wanted to achieve regardless of the means.

And while Riders didn't like injuring other Riders, self-preservation overtook any feelings they had for their lower Rider acquaintances. If Yeosang could remain without burn scars and seared lungs while someone else did, then it was simply a means to an end. The library was destined to go down by the careful hands of the Riders, one way or another.

It took another day for the riders to reach The Library of Wonder, and when they did, it was a wonder to behold. Sculpted with stone and wood, it was an incredible feat of architecture in the Joseon Dynasty. Great stone columns supported the front of the building, and a stone statue of a beautiful woman with long hair and a scroll in her hands greeted library goers at the entrance.

Wooyoung yanked out a club from the pockets of his blue hanbok and swung at the lady without warning. He took off part of her chest and her entire left arm and was met with roars of approval and laughter. "At the ready!" Hongjoong yelled over the laughing crowds, and Riders began fishing their weapons out of their pockets. These weapons were mostly bows and arrows, but like Wooyoung, a few clubs were seen. Jongho was among those with bow and arrows, slinging his trusty bow from around his shoulder to the front of his body.

But bow and arrows weren't the correct term for the weapon Jongho and many of the other Riders had. His bow and arrows were of a narrower Korean variety called the singijeon. The singijeon worked much like traditional bow and arrows, but gunpowder was held in the arrows.

He now had his bow cocked and ready and his hands clutched a wooden arrow with a ball of gunpowder nestled close to the tip of the arrow. Jongho pulled back with his left hand and released the arrow. The Riders watched as it soared through the heat of the sun and made contact with the middle of the entry wall of the Library. As soon as the arrow hit the wall, the gunpowder activated and blew a hole in it.

Many more singijeon became useful and created more holes in the Library and smoke in the air. It was almost too easy to destroy the Library. It crumbled more and more with each hit like it was destiny for the great building to fall. Soon enough, the wall was completely gone and the Riders rejoiced in their work.

Mingi appeared at the front of the crowd, a tall presence marked even more visible by the torch of fire he held in his hands. Behind him, Yeosang carried a similar torch and was passing the fire to other torches held by other Riders, who were then passing the fire to others around them like believers in a church service would. There was no fire in Yeosang's eyes despite the lit torch in his hands.

"Riders," Mingi shouted and stepped over the rubbled wall that the Riders had just destroyed. He tilted his head down and grinned while surveying the crowd. Then, he elegantly walked over to the first shelf of the Library and let his torch make contact with the last book on the shelf. It took the fire with no issues, becoming an incendiary in moments. The book was quick to share the flames with the paper around it, and soon the entire shelf glowed with fire. Mingi was quick to exit the library as Riders poured into the Library with their torches and began setting the books aflame.

Yeosang, though his eyes were grim with the disapproval of how the Riders were proceeding, was smiling. While their method wasn't the safest or most practical, the Library that had been up for so long was finally being destroyed. The eight Riders watched a safe distance away as their lesser brethren raced into the Library like packs of overexcited hyenas. Many of them likely didn't know what they were fighting for, but they were moths drawn to flame, entranced by the beauty and cruelty of destruction.

Wooyoung smiled while the fire casted red and orange light on his face. "The Library is not exactly a slow-burn, is it?" He said softly as the fire ravenously ate through the texts.

"It's not," Yunho agreed with him. "Especially with the leftover gunpowder from all of the singijeon. Gunpowder revels with fire."

The eight of them watched the Library eat itself in the flames from a safe distance away. It was comical how some Riders passionately drove into the collapsing Library with a torch in their hands and emerged with burns and much less enthusiasm. Sometimes they didn't reappear at all. That feeling caused a bit of discomfort to some of them, but Hongjoong reveled in their discomfort. It just showed how dedicated they were to The Chariot, and Hongjoong was proud of them for their dedication.

It took a half an hour for the great stone Library of Wonder to turn into a charred and wasteful hunk of rock. The papery books had succumbed too easily to the flames and all that was left on the inside of the Library were ashes and the remnant memories of books lost forever. The fire was less of a roar and more whispery and trapped now, only burning the book it was on and not passing its flame to other books.

San was now on top of a horse and rallying the troops to receive medical attention if they needed any and congratulated them on their efforts. "The Chariot is proud of us, Riders," he said, beaming. Some Riders returned a smile, others were too hurt to acknowledge San. "As our great laws say, the disease in the heart of man is human emotion. These books would have spread that harmful message had we not burned them down. For that, He is eternally grateful for your efforts."

San hopped off of the horse and joined the other seven Riders in preparing for the return trip. Behind them, the last of the flames were dying out. Riders still in the Library were stumbling out of the burned rubble. There were likely bodies of Riders that were dead inside of the Library and others that were alive but had succumbed themselves to imperfections of their physical features. And while they had given a valiant effort in destroying the Library, that was a violation of The Rider's code. They would have to cover up if they wished to remain a Rider.

But something else lurked in the rubble as well. All Riders wore blue, but a man in red was now present behind a collapsing and charred bookshelf. His ethnicity, like the Riders, was Korean, but his skin and eyes held heavy years and knowledge of many more cultures and lands that the Riders could only dream of touching. His long black hair was knotted at the back of his head, and beneath his bulging arm muscles was a lengthy silver sword with a red hilt.

But perhaps his most distinguishing feature was the long scar that travelled from his left eyebrow, through his eye, down his cheek, ending right at the tip of his lip. The scar made the left side of his lips permanently downturned. Such a scar directly violated The Rider's code, but this man was above that religion and the laws that it held. This man was Ares, the god of war. And Ares, who thrived in bloodshed and carried the spirit of warfare wherever he walked, was not impressed with the warfare that had gone on at this library.

Yunho noticed him first. He was surveying the Library's remains when he saw the man's hulking figure amidst the ashes like a phoenix. "Hongjoong," he whispered and nudged him. He nodded his head towards the Library.

Hongjoong, who was overseeing a group of Riders, looked over at the Library. Ares locked eyes with him and Hongjoong's blood ran cold. He had no idea who this man was, but he was someone that could send shivers down Hongjoong's spine. There weren't many people that could do that.

Hongjoong took a step forward to address this man, but Ares was already ahead of him.

"So-called Riders," Ares boomed across the land, his voice easily the loudest in the vicinity yet there was no visible effort on his face to make himself heard over everyone. His thigh muscles rippled as he stepped over what was left of the wall. His face was flooded with unfiltered rage.

The rest of the Riders, who had been focused on returning home, froze in their efforts. All eyes were on the giant and muscular man seething in front of them.

Seonghwa grabbed the knife at his side and glanced at Hongjoong for permission. In any other circumstance, Hongjoong would have let him have it. Instead, he softly shook his head, and held his hand in front of Jongho when he realized he was drawing his bow. There was something about this man that Hongjoong did not want to provoke, but the steam coming from his head was proof that he had already been provoked enough. Hongjoong gulped and tried to calm his racing heart.

"I'm Ares, the God of War," the muscled man thundered, and no one was brave enough to disagree with him. He certainly looked the part. Now that he was closer, Hongjoong could see the long scar across his face and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"You-" Ares began, but he was cut off as a singijeon arrow flew through the air directly towards his face. Hongjoong turned and saw that it was from a young and male Rider, gripping his bow so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Ares didn't flinch at this unexpected attack. With a practiced and weathered hand, he caught the arrow between his fingers. The Riders were stunned. His hand twitched and the arrow snapped in half. "Cute," he muttered, letting it crumble to the ground in his hands. He turned towards the teenage Rider who had shot the arrow and gave him a smile.

Hongjoong began to step forward. He wasn't sure what he was to do for the boy, he wanted to help - but Ares was too quick. With a flick of his hand not unlike the motion he had done with the arrow, the teenage boy jerked inhumanly backward with a loud crack. With his spine completely in two, he toppled over himself backwards onto the ground. His face was lifelessly frozen in shock, and the clear God of War smiled with satisfaction at the work he had done.

A few muffled sobs prevented silence. "Let me speak," Ares said carefully to the crowd, his eyes traveling over them all like he was sizing them up. This time, no one argued.

"Riders," Ares began. "You've burned down The Library of Wonder and all of the wonders it contained. Do you even understand the weight of that action?"

Ares looked directly at Hongjoong and he felt obliged to speak. "The books hold untrue and unsafe messages," Hongjoong spoke to Ares, his knees quivering underneath his pants. He didn't remember his voice sounding so small. "We had to rid them of this world. They have no place here except as smoke and ash. It is The Chariot's wish and creed."

"And your Chariot is nothing more than a weak and ailing minor god," Ares said cooly back to him. It took everything in Hongjoong's power to not curse him out for insulting his god - but he didn't want to end up like the young Rider.

"I know him," Ares continued. "He laughs at the lengths you do for him. He himself knows he is pathetic, but he enjoys seeing humans like you quiver and worship him. And I normally don't bat an eye to his or your shenanigans, I have better things to worry about, other worlds that are far more entertaining than this one," Ares said.

His eyes darkened. "But burning down my wife's Library broke her. So, in turn, you have to deal with me."

Hongjoong realized in horror what he meant. He idly thought of Wooyoung's gleeful act of smashing the statue of the goddess at the front of the Library. He wanted to throw up. Wooyoung looked like he wanted to throw up.

"So I've made it my personal game to make your lives a living hell," Ares said with a smile. "Because no one hurts my wife." He shifted his attention, not just towards Hongjoong, but to the other seven of his teammates crowded around him. They all froze. Hongjoong felt Mingi tense beside him.

"You Riders are simply too vocal for my taste," Ares glared. "The Chariot gives you the power of persuasion because it amuses him, so you all go around recruiting mindless humans to follow your so-called religion. But it is not funny in the slightest." His eyes swiveled to Jongho and his smile widened. "Doesn't this one sing?"

Hongjoong heard Jongho intake a terrified breath. He heard a sudden movement, and then Jongho had taken off running in the opposite direction as Ares. But Jongho was an ant and Ares was a stone. Hongjoong blinked and Ares was in front of the singer.

Jongho was strong, but he was nothing compared to a god. He began screaming as Ares picked him up by the throat, crying out to the Chariot, to his mother, to Hongjoong, to anyone that was listening, but he received no answer. Tears ran down his face and he kicked to be set free. Only his scream, which vastly contrasted his usual mesmerizing singing voice, cut through the air, and then he was abruptly silenced by Ares.

Ares dropped Jongho to the ground at his feet, and the boy continued his sobs in a crumpled mess. But his sobs lacked the voice, no matter how anguished it would have been right now, that the Riders had grown to love.

"He has no more use for his vocal cords," Ares smiled, and Hongjoong's heart dropped to his feet. Jongho had loved his voice. Everyone had loved his voice. Ares looked at the rest of them, and he realized with horror that he was not close to being done with them. "A shame, isn't it?" Ares laughed and stepped over Jongho's shaking body. "Your law says you are to never become mute, lest you want to remain a Rider. Seems like a bit of an issue, does it not?"

Hongjoong tried to move his legs, but he found himself frozen in place. He wasn't sure if it was his own body trying to protect him from harm or Ares immobilizing him, but he could only stare in sickening awe as one by one, Ares stole the voices of every Rider present. For some, he waved his hand and an entire group of people were silenced. Others, like those in Hongjoong's close team, had a solo maiming in front of everyone. No one was spared from Ares' destruction, especially not Hongjoong.

When he was finished, the sea of Riders were silent.

"Now I won't be interrupted," Ares said cheerfully, worlds happier than he was when he first arrived at the library. The hulking man had taken it upon himself to move Jongho's limp and shaking form back to the other seven of them.

"You eight are especially troublesome," Ares whispered, because there was no voice that could be above him. "For that, you have a special place in my personal hell. And now, I will take you to your own personal hell."

Ares raised his hand, and the library in the horizon vanished from view. For a moment, Hongjoong could see nothing, and then a beige wall of a house clouded his vision.

Hongjoong opened his mouth to cry out, but the attempt was fruitless.

"Your own personal hell," Ares said softly, suddenly beside him. The god placed a hand on Hongjoong's shoulder, a soft gesture that a father might do to a son. "You and your seven other friends are in, what I call, a timeout mansion. It is a place that you cannot leave or escape from, so I advise you to not even attempt that. You will sit and you will gaze at the fine art and architecture that this mansion has to offer," Ares said, his words puncturing. "You will be in aching emotional pain because all of this art is, as you call it, a disease to your human heart." Ares rubbed his back while Hongjoong held back tears. "And you will grow to love it."

The god stood up from beside Hongjoong. "That is your answer to escaping. An answer that you must vocalize and preach if you are to ever leave here." Ares smiled at him, and the scar that touched his eye, cheek, and lip curled up with it. And then he was gone, and Hongjoong's hope left with him.

For a few moments, Hongjoong stared at the floor. Then, shaking, he raised his right hand.

There is a disease in the heart of man, Hongjoong thought and touched his chest over his heart. His heart was racing like he had never felt before.

The disease is in me.

[with-love-anu]

Consequences

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader Summary: You help Fred and George escape from Flitch and soon become friends with one and fall for the other Warnings: swearing Word Count: 1,655

You were going through the corridor when you bumped into someone, specifically the Weasley twins. Their eyes widened as one of them grabbed your hand and made you follow them.

“Hey!!! What the hell do you want?” You whisper yelled, scared that Flich would catch out after-hours. Afterall trouble followed the two identical redheads.

“Shhhhh… Mrs. Norris is following us!”

“What?!? Why are you taking me with you then?” You asked incredulously. They turned and hid behind a small opening, taking you with then. You were already huffing. To think you wanted a cup of hot cocoa to soothe yourself.

“Meowww” the cat’s voice came from nearby.

“Shit.” Fred mumbled under his breath.

“Shushhh” you motioned towards the twins taking out the red laser light, you always kept to yourself. Positioning it through the opening, you pointed it at the ground near the cat.

Mrs. Norris’s eyes quirked as it kneeled down, facing the red dot with excitement. As soon as it jumped towards it you moved the light farther away. The cat jumped, slided, ran, getting more and more impatient to catch the mysterious red dot; not even noticing the quiet snorts of Fred and George.

“Okay, when I say now, quietly move to the 3rd corridor.” you whispered, moving your laser to the far opposite end. 

“Now!” you said, turning the laser off and exiting quickly. 

You all huffed as you reached the familiar staircase, sure that Mrs. Norris would not follow you here. 

“That was wicked!” one of the twins said watching the laser in your hand.

“What is that thing?” asked the other one.

“Oh, this? This is a red laser. Apparently cats go crazy for it.” You handed him the laser to see.

“Bloody brilliant!” they both said together, making you let out a laugh.

“Who knew, (Y/n) would be up to some mischief?” Fred said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, just because you are not caught, doesn’t mean you lead a boring life.” you said winking at them and turning to leave for your dorm.

Unknownst to you, you had left Fred in awe. How did he not notice you before? Well, he did now.

***

You made your way to the history of magic class, yawning. How did you get sleepy, just thinking about it? You slid into your usual seat, taking out a notebook even though you knew, you weren’t gonna write anything that day. 

“Morning (Y/n)” you heard someone as they slid beside you. You turned to see none other than Fred Weasley. You raised your eyebrows to ask what he was doing there.

“You up for some mischief?” he asked.

“Nooo” you said, shaking your head. The twins meant trouble.

“Oh come on, you’ll be a valuable addition.”

“I rather not.” you said quietly as you saw the grumpy Professor Binns come in.

“Okay, then go on a date with me.”

“What?” you said whipping your head towards him, widening your eyes.

“Well, we could go to honeydukes, Zonko’s, Madam Rosemeta’s for butterbeers later?” Fred said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you think I would say yes?” you said smirking.

“Well, I am funny and hot; so that ticks two of the desirable traits. Plus I can show you a good time.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows.

He was cute, you could see that. And you knew the things he said were true. But, you decided to toy with him a little. You glanced at the professor, seeing he had no idea that you two were talking.

“I don’t know, is that enough?” you asked cocking an eyebrow, keeping a poker face on.

Fred’s mouth dropped before he composed himself. He smirked.

“Okay, then you tell me, what would you like?”

You grinned. You acted as though you were thinking hard.

“Well, I definitely want someone I am comfortable with, you know, know a little bit before thinking about each other romantically.” you said air quoting ‘romantically’.

“Ahhhh” he said, “I could do that!”

“How are you sure of yourself? What if I don’t like the little bit?” 

“Who cannot like this?” he said gesturing to himself. “And besides I am a complete sweetheart.” Fred made love eyes almost making you melt. Almost.

“Well, we’ll see.” you said rolling your eyes.

***

After that Fred seemed to be everywhere. He would sit beside you in classes, study with you. You found out he was actually very intelligent and sharp. He just didn’t give academics much thought. You were never not smiling when you were near him and he constantly flirted with you. You did keep a poker face but sometimes he complimented you so genuinely that it became hard not to blush. It was only time before you started hanging out with George too. The three of you would be seen laughing your asses off at some corner of the common room, because it was ;in fact; fun to be with them.

You started noticing little differences between them. How Fred’s eyes were lighter in shade and sharper than George’s, whose eyes were rounder. How Fred was louder and more emotion-driven. Fred was making it very difficult not to fall in love with him. It was impossible to keep up the nonchalant exterior when in fact you wanted to kiss the hell out of him. He would put his arm around you casually at times, and you couldn't help but smile. You wanted it there. You liked it.

As for Fred, he was whipped. He was falling hard and fast for you. You were funny, witty and not to mention breathtakingly beautiful. You were driving him crazy. There were times you would flirt back and act as if nothing happened, while his heart thumped so hard, he thought it would burst. Over the top of everything, you cared for him. And it showed. You had panicked when he had broken his leg during a quidditch mishap. He had fainted and had a bad concussion. When he woke up in the middle of the night in the infirmary, you were there beside him. You had cried in his arms as he reassured you, he was okay. He knew it was wrong, but your sadness had filled his heart with warmth. He loved you. And no matter how much you denied it, he knew you loved him too.

***

You woke up with a grunt. Your nose was stuffed and you felt like you were burning. You went into the washroom cleaning yourself up. You sneezed on coming out. You shivered, feeling very cold suddenly. You piled yourself with clothes, moving towards the great hall for breakfast. You filled your cup with some hot tea, not feeling like eating anything else. 

“(Y/n), Are you okay?” Fred asked.

“Just a little fever.” you said not having the strength to smile. 

“Come here,” Fred said as he placed a hand on your forehead.

“You’re burning! Come-on you are not attending any classes today!” 

“Noo” you tried to protest, but Fred had already wrapped an arm around your waist, making you stand up and leaving for your room.

“We’re gonna need soup!” Fred called out and you heard a faint “on it” from George before the two of you had exited the hall.

Fred laid you on your bed and covered you up with blankets. There was a knock on the door and Fred got up and brought back soup with him.

You ate some and felt suddenly very full.

“I’m not hungry,” You said, handing the bowl back to him.

“You need it, even if you don't feel so.” he said, making you pout.

“Come on, I’ll feed you while telling you something about my childhood” 

Fred started feeding you as he launched into a story of irritating his mother. Even though you had a headache, Fred’s voice felt soothing. You felt calm just listening to him talk and before you knew it, the soup was gone. Fred gave you a pepper up potion and you drank it unwillingly. He made you go under the covers again and he caressed your hair until you fell asleep.

***

It was nearing Christmas and the school was decorated beautifully. Mistletoes, trees, bells everything looked like it was out of a fairy tale. Fred was chasing you for the last chocolate frog when you both froze. You looked up to see a mistletoe hanging over your heads. Fred noticed it too and you gulped. Fred took this as you being uncomfortable.

“I know a spell to undo this, just wait.” he said reassuringly as you felt a rush of affection for this man. Never mind the chasing he did for months, he wanted you to be comfortable first.

As you felt the spell weaken around you, you grabbed his shirt, pressing your lips firmly against his. He was surprised at first, but quickly responded back grabbing your waist pulling you closer. Your hands were in his locks, tugging at them gently, making him moan. As you pulled back breathless, you looked at Fred’s eyes sparkling brightly.

“Well, it’s tradition,” you said as you turned and started to walk away. Fred grabbed you, pulling you back to him.

“Nuh-uh, you wanted to kiss me and you did it. It has consequences”

“Really? And what would those be?” You asked, smirking.

“Well, for starters you need to admit that you want to be my girlfriend.” He said bumping his nose to yours.

You sighed. 

“Well I guess I would have to suffer the consequences, huh? Fine, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

“Noooo, say you want to be my girlfriend”

You pouted and Fred rolled his eyes. He turned to leave and you stopped him quickly.

“Fred, I really, really want to be your girlfriend. Allow me?” you said in a small voice.

Fred pulled in and kissed you again.

“I did a long time ago.” He whispered.

A/N: Guys I hate asking this, but I would love some feedback on this one as this is this is the first time I am writing about Fred. And some reblogs would be nice as most of my blog is about Sirius Black. Thank you!

[dreamer213]

Broken Machines Lights The Dark

Chapter 4: On My Mind

Fourteen hours and three days. That’s how long it had been since Penny went to the evening party, how long it had been since she had met Whitley, and how long the thought of him had made her feel odd. That night she went home told her dad about the events that unfolded at the evening party. Everything was fine until she got to the part where she saved Whitley then things got hazy. It was so strange she remembered everything clearly but when she tried to vocalize her thoughts on the boy she would start to stutter and her temperature would rise, turning her face red. At first she thought it was some sort of glitch in her speech and temperature gauge but her dad checked and said there was nothing was wrong and that her body was just reacting to her mind and her soul processing her emotions. Flustered is the word he used for the reaction, he said quote “It’s a perfectly normal reaction for a sweet young lady like you to have when meeting a handsome young man.” Though that answer did not resonate well with Penny for a few reasons. Firstly the reaction itself made very little sense to Penny as why would meeting an attractive person make another person behavior in such so oddly. Secondly Penny had already met plenty of young men in the military most of which were very handsome and she hadn’t reacted in this way at all. And lastly Whitley was not handsome, his features and overall demeanor aligned more with the definition of beautiful or pretty as they held a more elegant and delicate nature compared to the more rugged and brash nature of the word handsome. When asked the different the best way Penny could describe it was that he was less like someone you’d see in the training center but more like someone you’d see at a library sitting in an armchair next to a window, sunlight beaming down on him as he reads some complex text.

Penny: I wonder if he likes the classics or more modern literature. Historical fiction maybe? Is he the type of person who likes to have a snack or drink while he reads or would he not risk the chance of damaging the book? Though judging by the look and feel of his hands they are very nimble and steady so it’s very unlike he would spill anything. But maybe he’s the type of person that worries too much.

Penny continues to get lost in her thoughts, seated at the control panel for the training room. She was immersed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Winter entering the room nor did she notices Winter sneaking up from behind and get down to her level. Winter positions herself to be leaning right next to Penny’s ear. She taps her a few times first, when that fails to get her attention Winter decides to go with plan B.

Winter: penny…Oh Penny…..PENNY POLENDINA!

Penny: Eeep!

Penny squeaks in sear fright when she realizes it’s Winter she quickly turns around, jumps from her chair and salutes Winter.

Penny: Good afternoon Winter Schnee! How may I assist you today?

Winter: Well first you can stop your silly daydreaming and focus! Second you do your job and get the training room ready for my session-

“Ring” “Ring”

Winter’s scroll rings cut her. She takes the call, stepping out of the room into the hallway. After a minute and fifteen seconds she returns.

Winter: Call someone to take over your post. I need you to come with me for an errand.

Penny: Right now?

Winter: Yes.

Winter walks out with Penny trailing behind her. Penny quickly asks the nearest center staff member to take over the training room then dashes after Winter. They keep walking for a while until they reach a small building hidden behind the rest of the facilities. Penny know about this building, when she was restored one of the first things she was told was if there was ever an emergency and this building was in danger of being damaged or destroyed to protect she and any other soldiers in the area were to protect it with their lives. The second was that she could never enter without either General Ironwood’s or Winter’s presence and permission. Now why would one small building amongst so many military facilities have such strict rules? Because it housed something crucial to the safety of the entire nation and the world.

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This morning had been an interesting one. After spending a few hours in conference with Ironwood, the details of they’re deal had finally been ironed out.. It was fairly simple agreement, the Schnee’s would provided support in the military’s investigation via invitations to formal events, etiquette lessons, and they even offered some financial assistance if necessary. In exchange Ironwood would back Jacques in his future political endeavors. Both would be sworn to complete secrecy on the matter for the sake of both parties public images. It was a simple exchange of resources a common practice in the business world however there was an additional clause in arrangement that had Whitley a bit on edge.

As they exit the reception room Jacques is preoccupied with his scroll while Whitley was pondering on what to do about the clause. It had added on in the last few minutes of the conference thus there was no time to debate or discussed it further then a yes or no. Knowing there was little to no chance of changing it outright Whitley decides to question Jacques on it to see if he could find some kind of trying and reason him into changing the conditions of this clause over time. He waits until they are far out of ear shot then speaks.

Whitley: Father?

Jacques: Yes, Whitley.

Whitley: I understand that we have to be cautious when dealing with the military but was it really necessary to add that last clause to the agreement?

Jacques: Of course it was necessary. I can’t just hand over my best tutors to those barbarians, they’d either be scared off by one of the mongrels he calls soldiers or return as his spies and I won’t stand for it! The lessons have to happen here, in the manor, that way I’ll know exactly what their little military hound is up to.

Whitley: Yes I do agree the change in location was but that’s not the problem. What I’m struggling with is the very last adjustment. The staff will be present and will be monitoring her every move while she’s in the manor so is changing her instructor really necessary?

Jacques stops in front of Whitley, he turns around, looks down at Whitley, and puts his hand on his shoulder.

Jacques: Whitley, this situation is nothing like any deals I’ve made before. This isn’t hosting an out of town guest for the evening nor is entertaining a group of businessmen. I am granting access to the manor to one of Ironwood’s soldiers for an undisclosed amount of time. If it were only going to be for a week I’d be less strict but possible months! Not a chance in Hell. And with that filth Klein betraying us I can’t chance give my trust to someone just to have them do the same. No, this task can only be handled by someone I know would NEVER betray me. Do you understand?

Jacques squeezes Whitley’s shoulder tight, the skin under his shirt and vest begins to redden as Jacques digs his nails into it. Whitley winces in pain but Jacques holds firm. He won’t let go until he gets the answer he’s expecting. Whitley takes a deep breath to compose himself before he finally speaks.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques: Good, now since there’s nothing left to discuss, go to the library you have a business statistic lesson in thirty minutes.

Whitley: Yes Father.

Jacques pulls his scroll back out again and walks off without another word. While Whitley, holding his now bruised shoulder, starts heading towards the library and sighs. What a useless conversation, there was really no changing the situation all Whitley could do was prepare, the girl will be starting her lessons and he needed to be ready. Though it wasn’t like he really had anything to fear from her besides her physical strength and military training she had come off as a fairly awkward and meek girl with little to no social awareness. But still he could help this unnerving feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach. Why did idea of her presence make him feel so uneasy?

“????:….I….want….I want to see her….I want to see her smile again.”

The memory of the unknown voice plays in Whitley’s mind. He still hadn’t figured out what caused the deviation of the dream nor what the voice was or where it came from. What he did know was that it wished for him to see that girl, Penny, again and regardless of his wishes, it looks like it was going to have its way.

Whitley: This isn’t what I was hoping for but there’s no going back now. I’ll just have to push through.

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.

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After several security checks and the removal of all their weapons Penny and Winter finally reach their destination, a kitchen with a door at the other end. Winter goes to speak the cook while Penny stands behind her confused by what’s happening. They had come to the most secured building in the entire center base just to go to the kitchen. When she done talking Winter goes back to Penny and points her towards a tea set, kettle, and stove.

Winter: Go brew some tea. She likes camomile , no cream, a teaspoon of sugar, a three drops off lemon juice.

Penny: Yes Ma’am

Winter turns around grabs a tray of food of the counter, and walks through the other door. Penny does as she was told and starts making tea. She had already learned how to sometime again before she had ever left the lab. She’d brew coffee and tea for her dad and Ciel during breaks, long nights, or when it got really cold out. Back then Penny couldn’t feel things like warmth or cold but hated to see them shivering or struggling to stay awake in the middle of the night so she’d make warm drinks, get them blankets, and clean up after them if they were too tired to do it themselves. Those times had made the act of brewing tea quite therapeutic and calming for Penny and since she gained the ability to enjoy the practice to its fullest she had only gotten better at it. But at times like this she was also reminded of her former attendant Ciel.

Penny: (Sighs) It’s been a while since I’ve seen her. Ever since that day.

Ciel had be like an older sister to Penny, wise, caring, and always there for the people around her. They’d been fairly close before they went to Beacon but after the tournament and Beacon’s fall Penny hasn’t seen her again, she asked for her a few times right after she was restored but she never came. Supposedly she was still working in robotics but was reassigned to mecha production and maintenance.

Penny: I would ask Dad where she is and how she’s doing but I don’t think she would want me to find her. Still I hope she’s doing well.

The whistle of the kettle pulls Penny out of her thoughts, the water was ready. Penny pours the hot water into the tea pot over the tea leaves in a circular motion. She lets it sit to set and cool a bit then pours the tea into the cup and adds the sugar and lemon. She puts everything on a tray and heads towards the door. As she gets closer Penny can feel cold air brush past her, she keeps going only to find the door has a layer of frost covering the edges. She pulls the door open to see what looks like a hospital room. There’s nothing particularly odd about the room aside from the many paintings that decorated the walls, the large window close to the ceiling, and the GROWING FROST AND DROPPING TEMPERATURE! The floor and a few feet of the walls have been covered layer of ice, Winter is standing by the bed where a frail elderly woman lays looking rather upset, the ice seems to emanating from her hands. Winter tries to get the women to cooperate with her but the woman just shakes her head as the temperature continues to drop.

Winter: Freya please stop being so stubborn, you need to eat now. It’s almost time for your medicine and you can’t it on an empty stomach.

Freya just shakes her head, unwilling to listen to Winter commands. This wasn’t too shocking as the elderly in Atlas were notorious for their attitudes. Anyone over the age of 50 was either the sweetest old person you’d ever met or the most stubborn and unruly. For the stubborn ones only the most patient of people could handle care for them. Luckily for them Penny was one of those people.

Penny continues to walk towards Freya, increasing her body’s temperature to keep the tea heated as she gets closer. Once she’s at Freya’s bedside she bends down to her level and gives her a warm smile.

Penny: Ms. Freya?

Penny stands over smiling silently as she waits for a response. Freya eventual turns her head towards her and groans. Still smiling Penny extends the tray to Freya.

Penny: Would you to have your tea first or do want your lunch first instead?

Freya groans again but motions for the tea cup.

Penny: Okay tea it is then. But you have to eat your lunch afterwards then take your medicine. Is that okay with you?

Freya nods and reaches for the cup, Penny pushes the cup towards her hand and help guid to her mouth. Once Freya’s got her cup of tea the ice stops forming and Penny turns to Winter.

Penny: Do you need me to do anything else?

Winter: (sighs) Please go and reheat her lunch.

Penny: Yes Ma’am!

Penny does as she’s told and reheats the food and brings the food back out. After Freya’s fed and medicated the girls begin gathering up the dishes and talking.

Winter: Thank you Penny, taking care of the Maiden can be taxiing at times. Especially when she gets in modes like this.

Penny: Is that why you told me to come with you on this errand?

Winter: Yes, I thought given your physical abilities and personality you’d be best suited to help keep her calm or in the worst case scenario hold her down with lower risk of major injuries.

Penny: Thank you?

Penny looks around again this time noting the paintings in detail. The all had a similar style, some looked older then the others, and there was an easel and cabinet full of fresh paints and brushes.

Penny: Winter? The paintings here were they all made by-

Winter: Yes, Freya was a talented painter before she became the Maiden, the large one on your right was the last piece she made before she fully devoted herself to being the Maiden and retired from her art career.

Penny: Oh.

Penny looks up at the paintings. It’s a silhouette of a little girl holding up a ball of light, the background is a starry night sky over snowy mountain range. The vocal point of the painting seems to seem to be the girl and the light. The light swirled outward blending into the other whites of paintings and while only being a silhouette the girl seems to looking at the light her expression unknown. What does the girl see in the light Penny wonders. She stares at for long moment trying to find meaning in the art piece. But soon Winter calls her back to the kitchen. Penny waves goodbye to Freya and takes one last look at the paintings before leaving.

Once they’ve cleaned up they leave the facility and go their separate ways to continue their work days. From there Penny continue with her day, her mind wondering back and forward between thoughts of the painting, Ciel, and Whitley until she finally finishes up her work day and goes home. When she opens the front door Penny is greeted by the sound of rustling of paper bags and the scent of pre cooked food. She goes to kitchen to see her dad setting a brown paper bag on the table. Pietro looks up to see her sporting a curious look as she inspects the bag.

Pietro: Welcome home Sweetpea.

Penny: Hi Dad, what’s in the brown paper bag? It smells quite good.

Pietro: Well, I was going to cook but I’ve been on phone on conferences all day and forgot to take anything out. So I ordered us some takeout instead.

Penny: Takeout!

Pietro: Yup, it’s stuff you haven’t tried yet to!

Penny: Yay!

Pietro opens the bag and pulls out three containers. He opens them to reveal a large amount of delicious looking food.

Pietro: We’ve got some soup dumplings, spicy wontons, and Yang Chow fried rice courtesy of Ms. Ling’s.

Ms. Ling’s was a popular family owner restaurant in Mantle Penny passed by almost everyday on patrol. The scent from the front door alone was enough to make her want to go in and order as much as she could have in one sitting but she never have the time or money to make quick trip. But tonight she would have her fill!

Penny runs and grabs two plates and forks. She hands her dad his then makes her plate, four soup dumplings, a couple spicy wontons, and a helping of fried rice! Pietro chuckles as fulls up her plate. Once her plate is full she sits down, and just as she about to take her first bite her scroll rings. Penny pulls out her scroll with her free hand and begins to read her messages. She tries to read and eat at the same but once she gets to a certain point she drops her fork.

Pietro: Penny? What’s wrong? Did something happen?

Penny: I-It’s m-my briefing a-a-and n-new sch-schedule. T-they j-just s-s- sent it a- a-a-and.

Pietro: And what?

Penny: The ten-tenth p-page l-last paragraph. I-it says it says-

Penny holds up her scroll for her dad to see and puts her head down on the table. Pietro tips his glasses a bit as he begins reading the section she mentioned.

Pietro: “ The formal etiquette lessons shall be held at the Schnee Manor Monday through Friday during the scheduled times. Penny Polendina will be chauffeured from the designated transit station to the Schnee Manor and back via a private chauffeured car. The lessons will be instructed by the Schnee Dust Company Heir, Whitley Schnee with up to five manor staff personnel present during each session. This schedule will go into effect tomorrow morning, please arrive on time and be appropriately attired.”

Penny: (high pitched squeak)

Pietro: Hmm, there’s a Note from the Instructor at the end. “ Good evening Ms. Polendina I’m looking forward to seeing you in the afternoon for our orientation session. I’m excited to teach you what I know and hope this will be a wonderful learning experience for both of us. Sincerely Whitley Schnee.”

With that Penny put her scroll down on the table and puts her hands in her now red face and starts squeaking at in even higher pitch while her dad just sits there and awkwardly pats her head. Tomorrow is going to be a very Very VERY difficult day.

[tenthgrove]

L'inizio- A La Squadra Backstory Collection

Chapter 3: Due Cuori (Sorbet & Gelato Part 1)

Word Count: ~3800

Warnings: parental abandonment, homelessness, mildly-suggestive behaviour

The young boy sobs into the bag he’s carrying as he flees down the dark, damp street. The quick-paced footsteps of his pursuer sound loudly as they smack against the wet concrete. The boy prays for some rain to cover the sounds of his panting and running, but he knows such luck will not be afforded to him.

He is out of his depth in this part of Naples. Not yet 14, he’s one of many such young fools who thought it would be easy to snatch a little money from one of the smaller street gangs that roam this part of the town, making the crucial mistake of thinking ‘smaller’ was synonymous with less relentless. The boy has barely a moment to comprehend the dead end ahead of him before he is knocked sharply around the back of his head and sent reeling to the floor.

“Where the hell is my money, you shit?!” the angered man interrogates him sharply. He rears a clenched fist ready to strike him again, and the boy cowers against the wall.

“It’s there! Right there!” he shrieks desperately, pointing at the back dropped at his side. The man spits. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun. “I swear Signor! The money’s there!” the boy pleads, his voice hitching in mortal terror. The man scoffs venomously.

“Yeah, I heard.”

Two shots ring out, but they aren’t aimed at the boy. The man’s blood splashes over him as he chokes on it, falling to the ground without a word. The boy counts two wounds on the man’s back.

The figure at the end of the alleyway lowers his gun and begins to approach. He is somewhere on the boundary between boyhood and manhood, perhaps about 18, at a first guess. He is darkly dressed, with hair to match, and he returns his weapon to his pocket with a detached smoothness that suggests great experience with the murderous act. He leans over the boy and picks up his bag, smiling in satisfaction at the wad of cash crudely jammed inside. He zips the bag up and hauls it over his shoulder.

“Grazie,” he thanks him, turning away and beginning his journey back down the alleyway.

He does not walk far before he reaches his destination- a small house in a densely packed row just a street away. He knocks calmly, and the door soon opens.

“Ah, Sorbet,” the responder answers. “I thought I’d heard gunfire.”

“’Evening Gabriele,” he greets him, sorting off some of the money in his hands. “20,000 lire says I can stay the night.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Gabriele agrees with a small chuckle. “Come right in, friend.”

Sorbet removes his jacket and seats himself down on the sofa, shuffling the bag protectively behind his legs. He takes off his own bag as well and pilfers through to find the chewing gum he’s been saving for this evening.

“May I ask how you still haven’t found a place of your own? Surely you must be rolling in it from all that blood money you’ve got lately. Hell,” he remarks, eyeing the money poking out from behind Sorbet’s lap. “You could probably sort yourself out for a couple months on that alone.”

“You can certainly ask,” Sorbet answers apathetically.

“Well?”

Sorbet looks at him contemplatively before deciding he’s in the mood for compliance tonight. He leans back.

“To put it simply I’ve just been out of it too long. ‘Don’t have my birth certificate, ‘don’t have any documents of that sort. I left home at 14 and frankly I’d be shocked if I wasn’t legally dead by now. Well, assuming my mum was ever lucid enough to do the paperwork, that is.”

“You could rent a flat from the gang. They’d hardly say no to you,” Gabriele suggests.

“Not really a fan of that sort of obligation, Gabe,” Sorbet refutes him. “Besides, the quote on quote ‘buildings’ the gang owns get busted by the cops all the time. I hardly wanna deal with that at 1 in the morning.”

“True,” Gabriele snorts. A knock sounds at the door. “Who the fuck at this time of night?” he gripes.

“No idea, but have fun with them,” Sorbet says, getting to his feet. “I’m off to help myself to your shower,” he announces, departing up the stairs. Gabriele answers the door.

“H-Hello,” the newcomer greets. It’s another teenager, with messy blond hair and a sky of freckles. He shivers into his thin jacket, hand red-raw from clutching his heavy bag. “Are you Gabriele?” he asks.

“Who’s asking?” Gabriele says with scrutiny.

“My name is Gelato, sir. You don’t know me, but I know a friend of yours from Florence, well, small village outside of Florence, I’m sure you know which one I mean. I heard from him you wanted to get someone to do errands for you and well, I was wondering if I could do that for you,” the boy offers. There’s a wild look in his desperate green eyes, and Gabriele knows this won’t end quickly for him.

“Kid, that was weeks ago! What the hell took you so long?” he asks.

“It’s not my fault I had to walk here!” Gelato protests. “Look, I got kicked out by my parents, I’m only 17 and if you don’t help me I’ll have nowhere to go!” he pleads.

“That’s rough and all, but the job’s closed. Go find a shelter or something.”

“PLEASE!” Gelato begs. He’s trembling, but there’s a touch of anger in his eyes as he glares at him that makes Gabriele mildly scared to turn him down.

“Look, I have neither the need nor the money for another errand boy right now. But, now I think of it I do know a guy who needs someone to manage a bar for him. Make no mistake, it’s nothing more than a meet-up spot for the gang so don’t expect anything fancy, but I think it has a flat upstairs. Maybe you can ask to move into the place as your pay.”

“A bar? That’s perfect!” Gelato enthuses. “Thank you thank you so much!”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’m happy for you. Now If I go give the guy a call will you please piss off?” Gabriele entreats him.

“Anything you say sir! Thank you!” Gelato agrees. Gabriele heads for his phone with a sigh.

::::::::::::

An hour later, Gelato finds himself in the staff-only section of what was once a fully functioning bar.

“Look kid, it’s not hard stuff,” his guide tells him. “Just keep ‘em drunk enough they can’t kill each other and ring me up if you hear any talk the boss ought to here,” he explains.

“Yes sir, I will,” Gelato answers dutifully. The man opens a rickety door leading to a thin, steep staircase. Gelato follows him up.

“And, this is the flat you were so eager about,” the man announces, looking over the dark, dust-filled space of the bare-bones apartment. There’s a frightful stain on the sofa, and one of the kitchen cabinet doors is hanging on one hinge. “Consider yourself lucky I’m letting you have it when I could be giving it to someone who pays. Don’t expect a penny more from me, this is your full payment,” he continues.

“But how will I eat?” Gelato protests.

“I guess you better hope they tip you good,” the man answers apathetically. “Look, if you do a good job and don’t piss me off, maybe I can spare a few thousand lire a night later on, but until then, you’re getting no more help from me,” he maintains. “Maybe you should learn to pickpocket. ‘Useful skill to have around here.”

Gelato growls inwardly. Of course he knows how to pickpocket! Well- how to pickpocket 13 year olds outside a school gate. Grown men might be a different matter, but he’ll figure it out. Getting caught can’t be much worse than what happened when his parents found out.

“Alright. Thanks,” Gelato forces himself to say. The man gives a satisfied nod and exits.

“Make sure you know where everything is before you open at 9,” he says.

Gelato seeks out the bedroom and lies down, not caring how musty the frayed sheets smell. He grabs the pillow and hugs it close to him like a stuffed toy. It occurs to him that he’s scared.

::::::::::::

It takes him a month to accept his parents aren’t taking him back, two to stop fucking up every day of his life and three to feel some sense of normalcy in his new life at the bar. That’s not to say he’s happy, by any means, simply that he holds onto his current existence with a vice-grip, for fear that things could only get worse if he shook the boat too much.

He sleeps until noon, usually, leaves the house as soon as he’s awake enough to do so and just walks. Anywhere. Sometimes he tries to pickpocket but ever since that beating he earned from a poorly chosen victim, he saves it for his most desperate days. After lunch, if he has any, he sometimes goes to the library. He was never much of a scholar and rarely reads, but he finds the place more pleasant to dissociate in than his apartment.

Should he feel like treating himself, he occasionally visits the arcade when he has the change to spare. After it became clear letting him waste away was not in the landlord’s best interests if he wanted his bar to stay running, he began to help a little with food costs but nowhere near enough for such frivolous outings to be frequently affordable.

Around 3pm, Gelato goes home and sleeps until his hunger forces him to get up and eat. He likes to make a start early on setting up the bar, and cleaning it from the messes of its previous nights patrons, so he tries to begin by 7. It opens at 9 and closes at 2, after which Gelato will shower, and spend a short stretch of time watching the old, boxy TV he pulled out of the attic in bed, before sleeping.

As he exits the cellar, he receives a few apathetic glances from some of the patrons but ultimately nothing much. His eyes are on the far corner of the bar where, to perhaps less of his concern than it should be, two men are engaged in a heated argument. It’s a sight he’s well used to now, but he keeps a keen watch on the men, since the landlord insisted he de-escalate anything that looks like it may prove fatal.

“I don’t care what your excuses are! We had a deal and you’re going to fucking pay me!” The first man shouts. He is one of the younger ones, probably little older than Gelato but with an air of authority more akin to some of the older individuals in the mob. He has heard whispers about this man- his name is Sorbet and he is an enforcer. The mobsters are cautious about the word ‘assassin’, it makes them sound like a more ambitious group than they truly are, one that could be deemed a threat by the larger syndicates that truly control this city. Yet, Gelato reads between the lines when they talk about the things Sorbet has done. As Gelato approaches Sorbet’s eyes flick towards him momentarily. Gelato shies away from the eye contact and feels an odd feeling inside him. Seeing Sorbet always makes him feel odd. He doesn’t dare speak to him directly.

“Whatever. It ain’t on me if you misread what we were talking about. You did me a favour, nothing more,” the second man retorts. He’s another regular, as familiar to Gelato, if not more, than Sorbet is, even if he doesn’t know him by name. He is a cruel man, impatient and aggressive whenever he visits. Gelato always tremors a little when he comes through the door.

Still, he scares him less than Sorbet.

Gelato forces a smile as he approaches the second man.

“Pardon me, could I get you any more-” he inhales sharply as the half-full bottle of wine is chucked over him.

“Yes, one more of these,” the man orders coldly. Gelato wipes his eyes.

“Right away,” he nods, turning back towards the cellar and fighting every fibre of his being telling him not to let this slide.

Gelato descends into the cellar, shaking from the cold of his wet clothes and anger. As he pulls a new bottle off the shelf he wonders briefly if he ought to piss in it, but decides the best result that could come of that is having it thrown over him again. He pats down his shirt and takes the bottle back up to the bar.

He knows what has happened before the door is even open. The sound of shouting is familiar to him, and if the past few minutes is anything to go by, it’s Sorbet and that petulant man’s feud which has turned violent. Opening the door proves his theory, as a small crowd has formed around Sorbet and his opponent as they engage in a relentless match of fists.

Gelato debates to himself. He could put down the bottle and run, he could try and calm the men down and risk one or both of them turning their anger on him, or he could use this opportunity to finally get back at that bastard’s disrespect. Gelato’s never been much of a thinking sort. His mind doesn’t take long to settle on the third option. He rears the bottle above his head and charges.

There’s a collective gasp of shock as Gelato suddenly crashes into the man, smashing the bottle over the back of his skull with full strength. It shatters, and the man falls to the floor with a groan. Gelato looks up at Sorbet, briefly fearing his interference may have provoked anger but, Sorbet only smiles.

Gelato rushes to his feet just in time to join his new ally in kicking the man, again and again until he starts to spit blood. Gelato picks up the remains of the bottle’s base and pours out the remaining liquid onto his enemy’s face in one, final insult. The crowd cheers. Evidently this man was not so popular with the gang after all.

Gelato sits down, whoozy from exhaustion and adrenaline. He finds himself laughing. He cannot recall the last time he’s done that. Sorbet leans down and pulls a stack of cash from the unconscious man’s pocket.

“Lying bastard,” he scoffs. “He did have the money. Probably a lot more than I asked for, but I can hardly complain about that.” Sorbet turns to Gelato with a look of deliberation. He pulls out one of the 50,000 lire bills and hands it to him with a smile.

“For your trouble,” he declares. He withdraws his hand with a slow deliberateness, their fingertips touching for just the briefest of seconds. The odd feeling Gelato has felt since laying eyes on Sorbet returns with a vengeance, and yet, Gelato can feel nothing but awe as it begins to eat his heart.

Oh dear. Gelato might have a crush.

::::::::::::

It is three days later to the hour, that Gelato finds himself hauled into the cellar and pinned against the wall, mouth agape in shock as Sorbet digs his fingers into his neck. It occurs to Gelato he might have gone about this the wrong way.

“Alright, spit it out,” Sorbet demands. “What the hell was that up there?”

“Pardon?” Gelato pleads fearfully.

“Did you think I would let you get away with mocking me like that?” Sorbet asks through gritted teeth. Gelato’s mind turns to the myriad of weapons no doubt hidden in Sorbet’s clothes. That thought shouldn’t endear him as much as it does.

“Mocking?”

“Oh? Is there another explanation for why you would behave like that around me? Humiliate me in front of half my gang? Well?!” Sorbet entreats him. His grip around his neck tightens

“Flirting! It was flirting!” Gelato confesses desperately. Sorbet’s grip lessens.

“What?”

“Look. I think I like guys, you like guys or at least everyone says you do. And- I think I might like you a lot so- I wanted your attention. I wanted to talk to you again,” Gelato admits sheepishly. His cheeks start to burn, and it isn’t from the lack of oxygen any more.

Sorbet looks like something in his brain must have just blown a fuse. Perhaps Gelato should take this opportunity to run, since this half-assed attempt at seduction is clearly a resounding failure.

But then Sorbet starts to laugh. It’s a low, quiet laugh but nonetheless genuine as he fixes his eyes warmly on the floor.

“Oh you dear thing. That isnot how this works,” he says. Gelato breathes out in relief, as well as a little disappointment.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. This was stupid I should- probably just go back to my work,” he apologises. His body goes still as Sorbet touches a hand to his cheek.

“Though if you ever want my attention again,” he leans in and presses his lips lightly against Gelato’s. “You should just ask.”

Sorbet lets out a little hum of amusement at the sight of Gelato’s shock. He caresses his face once more, touching his finger to a little curl of hair as he does so, before finally freeing Gelato from his hold.

“See you later,” he promises, before leaving him alone in the cellar. Above him, Gelato hears Sorbet walk out in the direction of the front door. Gelato collects himself, and calmly wanders over to the sink, waiting patiently for it to fill with water.

He sticks his head in and screams.

::::::::::::

Sorbet visits the bar twice weekly, no different from before. But he starts visiting Gelato more often. Barely a week from their first kiss, they are in bed together, Gelato clinging onto his new love tightly as he reads. This touch is alien to him and in spite of his joy, he cannot help but quiver as Sorbet pets his hair. He wonders how he ever lived his life without knowing joy this strong.

Their second week is easier. They both start to become accustomed to this newfound love and no longer think of each other as strangers. Gelato knows Sorbet’s full name now, he knows which street he grew up on and the names and ages of each of his siblings. Sorbet knows what Gelato’s parents did for a living. He knows the name of the boy he had his first real fight with, and the therapist who tried and failed to relieve him of the ‘learning disabilities’ that made his parents despise him so deeply. Sorbet tries to at least drop in on most days, but when he can’t, he calls Gelato to tell him where he’s staying for the night. Gelato thinks of him as he falls asleep, hugging his pillow close.

By week three, the pair have found a new normal together. Sorbet sleeps over more often than not, and the bar patrons now know full well not to cause Gelato trouble when Sorbet is in the building. Sorbet has made every aspect of Gelato’s life more enjoyable, and he can see in Sorbet’s eyes that the feeling goes both ways. Gelato knows why Sorbet left home four years ago, and Sorbet knows how Gelato really wants to get revenge of his parents for abandoning him. On precisely day 19 of their affair, Gelato asked Sorbet if he planned to keep doing this with him forever. Sorbet did not hesitate in saying yes.

It’s a few days later that Sorbet comes to the bar with an especially warm smile on his usually cold face. Gelato thought little of putting down his current orders to rush over and greet him at the door.

“Sorbet, you’re here early!” Gelato enthuses. Sorbet pecks his cheek.

“I thought we might spend a night to ourselves. I think you need it, Caro.”

“But Sorbet, the bar doesn’t close for three more hours yet!” Gelato reminds him.

“Not if I can help it.”

Sorbet raises his gun and fires it twice at the ceiling. The patrons look up in fear. “Alright, everyone out. Bar’s closed,” he announces. The patrons sheepishly get to their feet and file out.

“But, the landlord!” Gelato protests.

“Fuck the landlord. If he has a problem with this, he goes through me,” Sorbet maintains. Gelato’s breath escapes him with a laugh and he follows him upstairs.

“Really, tell me,” Gelato insists light-heartedly. “What’s brought this on?” He turns around and his face falls to see that Sorbet is looking saddened.

“I- saw my siblings today,” he announces.

“Are they… okay?” Gelato asks worriedly.

“Oh, they’re fine. I saw them down at the cafe, they didn’t notice me. Taking a look at the other ones, I’m assuming the older ones are getting better at taking care of them. It makes sense, given the ages they’re getting to. The issue is… there was another baby, this time, who wasn’t there before,” Sorbet reveals. “Probably just a month or so old, from the looks of her.”

“Sorbet…”

“My sister,” Sorbet says, bringing his head into his hands. “And I don’t even know her name!”

“Sorbet,” Gelato says, taking his head in his own hands. “It isn’t your fault the way your mother is. Looking after them isn’t your responsibility.”

“It was,” Sorbet reminds him. “Then I left.”

“Look, I’m sure they’re fine,” Gelato reiterates. “Believe me when I say there are many worse things older siblings can do than just not look after you. Now,” he begins. “How about that night we were going to have together,” he smiles.

“Right,” Sorbet recalls, pecking him on the nose. “It’s you I came to see.”

Sorbet leans forward and kisses him deeply. Gelato, so recently a stranger to the sensation, leans in further to the kiss, pawing teasingly at Sorbet’s chest to urge him on. Sorbet groans to the kiss, hooking a hand around Gelato’s collar. Downstairs, something crashes loudly.

Sorbet pulls back. He sees Gelato’s eyes widen in fear as a parade of footsteps stumble into the building. Sorbet presses a kiss to his cheek reassuringly.

“Stay calm,” he urges him. “Not a sound.”

Sorbet stands up and, watching his feet on the old floorboards, moves over to the window to peer outside.

“Shit!” he exclaims, ducking away out of view.

“What is it?” Gelato whispers.

“The police. Two cars.”

“Are they here for us?” Gelato asks, voice hitching in fear. Sorbet shakes his head quickly.

“Unlikely. They most likely thought the place was empty. If we are quick, we can still leave without them seeing us,” he promises. Gelato shrinks back.

“I’m scared,” he admits. Sorbet takes his hand in his.

“Just stay with me okay? I’ll protect you.”

[ambivalentmarvel]

so the story behind this is that @sreppub​ arrived in my dms saying “sitcom starring two uppity, former rich guys and a regular poor college kid who follow up an online ad and become roommates” and i said something along the lines of “your MIND” and here we are. she does the art, i do the fic, and we both yell a lot along the way. read it on here or ao3 and enjoy!!

The Sitcom Supreme

If Peter or Stephen were around to hear Tony tell the story of how they all ended up rooming together, they would have plenty of objections, to which he would call them both dirty liars, to which they would gang up on him because they’re terrible and like that, to which he would probably throw up his hands in exasperation and/or make the mistake of engaging them in a debate, to which they would grin like wolves because, once again, they’re terrible and like that, but Tony’s the asshole who put up the Craigslist ad, so he gets to start—because he’s terrible and like that.

It’s a common trait amongst the three of them, what can he say?

The beginning of the story does not involve either of the other two, however. It begins with Rhodey, who is only occasionally terrible and like that. Rhodey has been Tony’s best friend since the tender age of fifteen. Considering Tony at age fifteen was a greasy little douche bag with too much money and a whole bunch of daddy issues that were somehow more obvious then than they are in the present, this is an impressive feat. 

Where things start, Rhodey and Tony are roommates at MIT, which is Howard’s school of choice to shove his problem child onto. Tony is supposed to get a single dorm room, but there’s a cockroach problem in that building. Administration has to get creative, which is how Rhodey, fresh out of boot for the fall semester, gets saddled with approximately one hundred and fifty pounds of neglected teenage boy who has only kind of gone through puberty.

The first words out of Tony’s mouth are blunt: “Any chance you have plans to drop out?”

And Rhodey looks at him with a raised brow, efficiently unpacked and totally unimpressed with the enormous stack of Tony’s things wavering in the doorway. “You have any plans to quit being annoying?” he retorts, which set the tone for their entire relationship.

Tony loves him to pieces. 

He’s the older brother he never knew he needed, yanking him by his collar from frat parties on the weekends and to his house for holidays because getting swamped by Rhodey’s six younger siblings is infinitely better than having to wear a suit and tie for Christmas dinner with six CEOs and maybe some senators, depending on the year. In return, Tony sees him through every finals week of his collegiate career, during which Rhodey gets so nervous he usually pukes at least daily and pulls so many all-nighters Tony memorizes the exact shade of red his eyes are at the end.

So, it’s safe to say they get along well. They get along so well, as a matter of fact, that when they stare at each other after their graduation ceremony for their Masters—a two-year process for both of them, and Rhodey receives two degrees to Tony’s four—surrounded by Rhodey’s family and Jarvis, Tony’s lips curl in a smirk Rhodey knows spells the best kind of trouble. “What do you say we keep the roommate streak alive, yeah? Howard’s building an office in New York, and I’m thinking of doing a doctorate at NYU.”

Rhodey’s brows raise, but he’s grinning, so Tony already knows his answer. “Depends. Are you still gonna’ snore?”

“Are you still gonna’ have a stick up your a—”

Mama Rhodes shoots Tony a look from where she’s trying to corral the rest of her kids.

“—butt?” he finishes with a sheepish glance her way.

Rhodey does not even remotely have a stick up his ass, but of the two of them, he features in tabloids far, far less, which Tony somehow uses to his advantage.

“You know it,” Rhodey replies, and so they find a fancy penthouse that Tony mostly pays for, with the excuse of Rhodey satisfying his part of rent via generally covering Tony’s ass to the best of his ability. And he has a lot of ability, honed from years upon years of Tony self-destructing at the drop of a hat, but there’s only so much he can do, especially as his military career just keeps flying higher and Howard just keeps pushing Tony harder.

A few sex tapes, especially wild benders, and crashed cars later, when Howard cuts Tony off and tells him, quote, “I won’t speak to you until you learn to do something other than disappoint me”, Rhodey very gracefully still shacks up with him in their considerably less fancy apartment.

This is all important to know, contrary to what someone whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange might say about Tony’s “long-winded” and “overly-complicated” storytelling tendencies because it explains exactly why Rhodey is a traitor.

Is Carol a very cool lady who could kick Tony’s ass? Yes. Is she sickeningly cute with Rhodey and not just because a smile from her makes him melt into a pile of fucking goo on the floor? Also yes. Does it probably make more sense for Tony to find roommates who will actually be around to monitor his—allegedly—poor mental health and self-care habits? Okay, fine, yes, but the bottom line is, Rhodey is moving in with Carol and abandoning Tony, and nobody said he had to like it.

(This is not strictly true, what with the approximately ten conversations Rhodey and he have had about his happiness and how, if Tony needs him, all he has to do is say the word and he’ll be back, but Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic.)

The whole idea is that Tony will find someone gone less than Rhodey with all his military business to enjoy having around the apartment. It’s technically a three-bedroom, but he and Rhodey use the extra one for storage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that storage area has become a lot of junk they go through before Rhodey makes his grand exit, and Tony suddenly has the option of having two roommates.

The ad is a low point, he can admit that, but there is a flaw in what Tony loudly calls Rhodey’s master plan to leave him alone to wallow in misery: Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, nevermind people who he’d want to live with.

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Platypus.”

“The nicknames are old, and you need to stop using them around Carol. She called me Platypus last night during sex, and it ruined the whole mood.”

“You poor thing.”

“She thought it was hilarious.”

If Tony has to lose Rhodey to anybody, by God, Carol is his first choice by a long shot.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Sourpatch—”

“I hate you.”

“—how am I supposed to find someone else to live with?”

Tony is thirty-two and regularly speaks out with all of four people: Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, and Happy. Unfortunately, Happy works in Stark Industries’ California branch and has stated rather firmly that he’s not interested in transferring to the city, Pepper wouldn’t live with another person for love or money, and the other two are spoken for.

It’s a terrible situation to be in, honestly.

“Craigslist,” Rhodey deadpans, fighting with some packing tape.

Tony feels his heart stop beating in real time from his place folding some of Rhodey’s clothes into a plastic tub. His head snaps up, and his jaw drops, absolutely affronted. “You would suggest that I, even disowned and stripped of my former glory—” Tony has several million dollars in the stock market, but that’s neither here nor there and isn’t much compared to the fact that he was supposed to be a billionaire. “—would stoop to looking for live-in friends on Craigslist?”

Rhodey looks up to meet his eyes, unfazed. He’s used to Tony’s antics after nearly two decades of friendship. “Well, I’m not moving out until you have at least one person guaranteed to take my place, so unless you have any better ideas, yeah.” He shrugs—just shrugs, as if he isn’t advising Tony to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel in terms of reliable people to regularly fall asleep around.

It’s insulting.

“I’m not putting out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist,” he protests, shoving the next horribly colored polo into the tub with disdain.

That night, he tears up thinking about stopping Rhodey from being happy with Carol, and the post is up by the time Rhodey gets up—stupidly early, like normal—for his morning run. Along with his contact information and a few blurry pictures of the place, it includes a blurb about the circumstances.

Best friend moving out. Need a roommate or I will die of Sadness. His girlfriend is cool but hewas mind first. Carol, I am watching you. Two rooms open for business. But not sketchy business. You can just lve there. Current resident (me) is cool and very charming. I am a man. No dumb fuck offers. Thanks.

It could use some work, but Tony’s never been great with words, even less so when he’s crying to rock ballads at two in the morning. He edits it when he wakes up, and by noon that day, it’s looking better.

At seven o’clock that evening, he receives one of two messages that actually work out.

Enter the first offender: Peter Parker.

Peter, Tony will learn, is nineteen, attending NYU—like Tony did, which is a sign, really—for a double major in biochemistry and physics, and has the worst luck of anyone Tony’s ever met.

Rhodey’s moving out in a week—he’s been putting off finding a roommate for a while, alright—and Peter has to legally be out of his dorm in three days. That is quite the predicament, and Tony, by nature, is a curious creature. He is not, however, one for beating around the bush. That results in a text that reads exactly this.

Tony: What the hell did you do?

He could hack through the university files, but explanations are always more fun with a personal touch that’s lacking in, say, an incident report. Tony watches a bubble with three blinking dots for a long, long time, and the reply is surprisingly sparse—sparse enough, in fact, for Tony to have more questions than answers when he receives it.

Unknown Sender: theres been a few things but the kicker was the fire

Tony: The fire?

Unknown Sender: i tried to make popcorn and the microwave blew up

Now that is some problematic behavior Tony can get behind. He amends the kid’s previously non-existent contact information.

Tony: How can they kick you out for that? That’s not your fault.

Roommate (?) Peter: it blacked out the power on the entire first floor

Tony: And?

Roommate (?) Peter: last month i got the blame for contaminating half the campus water supply

Roommate (?) Peter: so i was already on thin ice

Tony: Accidentally?

Roommate (?) Peter: idk sometimes things just happen to me

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. If Rhodey knew, he’d never let him live it down. He can hear his annoying laugh in his ears like a premonition—“Hah—Tony, speechless?”—but then there are the dots again and a simple message to follow the last, a touch pathetic.

Roommate (?) Peter: please let me move in

Tony likes him.

Peter shows up on the stairs of the complex thirty-six hours after Tony posted the ad with a backpack and a meager total of six beat-to-shit boxes. The backpack holds nearly all of his school supplies, which makes Tony, in retrospect, genuinely fearful for the integrity of his spine, and the contents of the boxes are sorted, as Tony will learn, into three categories that each have two boxes in them. The categories are fairly simple—clothing, necessities, and whatever other shit he could fit from his dorm—and leave Peter with thrilling possessions such as an entire collection of truly atrocious shirts with science puns on them, a gallon of hand soap, and any food he had in his cupboards.

Thankfully, Rhodey is out furniture shopping with Carol when Tony goes out to meet him, which solves the problem of Rhodey going into overbearing caretaker mode at the sight of a beanpole of a kid failing to manage their life successfully. As someone who has been made many a you-haven’t-eaten-a-meal-in-two-days-and-I’m-secretly-a-panicking-mother-hen casserole, Tony counts his blessings.

Tony waves. “Peter?” he asks, reluctantly changed out of his pajamas for the day.

The kid nods. “That’s me. And you’re Tony?”

“Guilty as charged. Want a hand with those boxes?” he asks, watching Peter lift three at a time.

“No, I got it,” he insists, and then the box on top slides out of his grip and onto the sidewalk.

Peter stares at it for a second before he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe I could use some help,” he admits, and with much struggle, the two of them, each with three boxes, waddle inside. There is a moment and only one moment where Tony thinks that it might be nice to have some extra assistance, but with another thought of the things Rhodey would do at the sight of a woefully inept college kid, Tony decides it’s for the best.

Tony leads the operation, considering he has the key and also knows explicitly where they’re going, and he would have to say his biggest complaint about the ordeal is that Sam, who lives in the apartment below Tony and Rhodey with Steve and Bucky, happens to open his door as they walk by.

Being an asshole, he has something to say about it. “Need some help, shellhead?” he crows.

Tony wishes he had a free hand to flip him off.

“Watch your back, Wilson,” he growls in return, a continuation of the beef the five of them have maintained since they met approximately seven years ago, when they all moved in on the same day and kept knocking into each other’s shit in the halls.

When they reach the top of the next flight of stairs and Tony starts to fumble with the key, Peter asks about it. “So—uh—who was that?”

“That was Sam. Part of the deal with moving in is that you harass him and the other two idiots who live with him. He also responds to jackass, douchecanoe, or birdbrain.”

“Birdbrain?”

“It’s an old joke. He had a rather—” Tony grunts, forced to set down his load to unlock the door, “—spectacular run-in with some pigeons a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“They shat on him. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good nickname,” Tony assures him, throwing open the door with his arms flung wide for dramatic flair. “Welcome to Casa Stark. I mean, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker now, but if we’re hyphenating, my name goes first because I lived here first.” He holds up a finger as if to stall Peter, who has yet to speak from where his mouth is decidedly blocked by the aforementioned three boxes he is carrying. “And I know what you’re going to say—that Parker-Stark works better because it’s alphabetical—but that is where you are wrong because letters have no place in this house. Numbers are much preferred, and we play by seniority here, anyway.”

He gives Peter a meaningful look that he cannot see because, once again, boxes.

“More on that, by the way—”

“Hey, Tony?” 

He cuts him off which is, objectively, rude, but Tony rarely gets along with people who aren’t a little curt with him from time to time. This is a positive sign, really, so he allows it.

“Yeah?” 

“This can be Casa Stark-Parker, but can we get to somewhere I can set these down? My arms are, like, going to give out on me.”

Not even ten minutes in, and he’s already learned the art of bargaining. Tony’s proud, and he ushers him inside without any more monologues and a grin stretched across his face.

Peter, by virtue of moving in before Rhodey is out, ends up with the room that is no longer being used for storage. Tony has several questions for him, beginning with the fact that, despite the six packets of instant noodles he bothered to bring, he does not appear to have a mattress. Or a desk. Or a dresser. Or anything that’s supposed to go in a room.

His solutions for Tony’s concerns are as follows.

In place of a bed, he has two blankets, one to put on the floor and one to cover himself with. He was planning on sitting on the floor to do schoolwork instead of using a desk. And finally, he was going to leave his clothes in the boxes.

This is all relayed to Tony with an earnest gleam in his eyes and a smile.

Tony blinks in disbelief. Then, very eloquently, he says, “Kid, that is the saddest shit I have ever heard. Aren’t your parents helping you with the move to an apartment?”

The kid shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing to the side.

Tony’s eyes narrow. As someone who is extremely well-versed in avoidance tactics, he feels very confident in saying that is definitely a fucking avoidance tactic.

“About that,” he begins, “first of all, I’m an orphan.” Jesus Christ. “Second of all, my aunt doesn’t exactly—uh—know I got kicked out of the dorms.”

That is all interesting information, to say the least, but luckily, Tony thrives under pressure.

“Alright. I can respect that.”

It’s not like he never hid anything from his parents. Evading his aunt is Peter’s problem, not Tony’s. None of this is Tony’s problem, really, except then he looks around the room and wonders which of Peter’s boxes are holding his two blankets.

Tony was concerned about Rhodey, but he can’t stop himself.

“But I’m also gonna’ level with you—you’re not sleeping on the ground. You can take the couch.”

The until I get you a proper bed frame and mattress goes unsaid, but sometimes things like that are better as surprises. It’ll be a fun housewarming gift, Tony thinks, and by the time the shipment from IKEA arrives containing both of those things and the aforementioned missing dresser and desk, there will be a third roommate to help put it all together, not that either of them know it yet.

That night, Rhodey and Carol show up with enough ingredients for lasagna to serve four, and Tony delights in showing off Peter as they cook because now he has a “super cool roommate too! Take that, Platypus.”

Rhodey glances to Peter. “If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. He is a perfectly lovable roommate, thank you very much, and he’s so offended, he’s not even going to let Rhodey know about his mission to furnish Peter’s room.

God bless her, Carol just laughs.

The four of them get along with surprising ease, considering Peter’s only been around for a few hours. Peter even tries to help with the lasagna, but Tony has a near-photographic memory and has not remotely forgotten the popcorn incident, however vaguely it was described.

“You just sit there and be a nicer person than Rhodey,” he urges him, and Peter nods, hiding his grin behind his hand at the argument that starts.

Once everyone is done, he and Rhodey get suckered into dish duty while Carol spirits Peter off to the living room, claiming she has to warn him about what he’s getting into. Tony doesn’t care enough to complain, and when her back is turned, he splashes a plate of suds onto Rhodey’s front. 

Rather than rise to the bait, however, he raises his brows, slipping into what Tony affectionately calls his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode. “You have to be a good example for him, Tones.”

Tony blinks. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“I’m serious!” They keep their voices mostly down, but Rhodey’s rises a bit with the declaration.

“He’s nineteen—an adult, in case you forgot. He signed the lease all on his own and everything,” he hisses back incredulously.

He thought he dodged the bullet by not disclosing just how underprepared Peter is to live in an apartment, but Rhodey’s head dips. Tony braces himself for the part of his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode where he tells Tony he’s making a bullshit excuse and needs to get it together. “Don’t give me that. He’s a baby adult at best, and you know it.”

Yep, there it is.

“That’s still an adult!”

It is! Tony was on his own way earlier than nineteen. This is not a big deal, no matter how outlandish Peter’s circumstances are for moving out of NYU’s dorms.

“Watch his back.”

Tony scoffs. “It’s not like I was going to feed him to the wolves. I’m barely thirty—I’m not his dad.”

“Tony.”

Ah, the final, crushing blow of this version of Rhodey: his name—but with emphasis.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I solemnly swear I will not let him get up to no good.”

A beat. Rhodey squints at him, slowly lowering the plate he’s holding into the sink. “You told me you refused to read Harry Potter.”

Shit.

Back when the books were first coming out, Rhodey was insufferably obsessed with them, and Tony loves him, but emotionally, he couldn’t handle having Rhodey think he was willing to discuss anything having to do with the series for longer than thirty seconds. Thus, he read the books—everyone in the world was doing the same, okay, and he cannot stand being out of the loop—but lied to Rhodey about it.

And now, he’s been made.

Rhodey and he launch into a very spirited discussion that draws Carol and Peter back to the kitchen, and despite the vein throbbing dangerously in Rhodey’s forehead, the promise has been made.

The day after Rhodey moves out, he and Peter manage to flood the bathroom.

In Tony’s defense, he only promised to look out for Peter. He said nothing about curbing his own dumbass tendencies, and it’s not like Bucky’s bedroom is all that damaged by the leak that Tony fixes before it’s really even a problem.

He and Peter settle into a nice sense of camaraderie, and Tony, content with his situation, forgets to take down his Craiglist ad that, logically speaking, someone would have to dig to find at this point, over a week after initially posting it.

Then, he receives a text that is as simple as it is effective: Is there still an available room in the apartment?

Enter the second offender: Stephen Strange.

Ahem, Doctor Stephen Strange, technically, but Tony has six PhDs. Nobody sees him going around making people call him Doctor Stark, and that’s because it makes him sound pretentious and stuffy, both things Tony prides himself on not being. However, Tony likes to push buttons, and very little gets Stephen worked up as fast as someone ignoring his credentials.

It’s a fun set-up, really, but annoying the piss out of Stephen is something that comes a little later—Tony’s not there yet in the story.

He humors the text, and after getting a read on things, he bursts into the living room, startling Peter nearly off the couch. He’s been doing his homework there and on the coffee table in front of it because the Swedish have many things but fast shipping is, apparently, not one of them, not that Peter knows there’s anything to be waiting on, but he’s getting off-topic.

Peter lets out a short yelp and presses a hand over his heart, both things that Tony ignores.

“We have a situation,” he announces.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Peter defends pleadingly.

Tony is trying to teach him that messing things up is expected and, especially in particularly magnificent cases, admired in Casa Stark-Parker, but it’s a work in progress.

“I know you didn’t—don’t be ridiculous,” he waves his concerns off. “We are talking bigger than setting things on fire by accident. I bring you, my young protege, the proposition of—” A pause for dramatic effect. “—another roommate.”

“Ooh,” Peter says appropriately, setting his textbook down to examine the texts Tony brandishes. He begins to scroll, but while he does, Tony figures he can go ahead and fill him in on the essentials. It’s a very juicy situation, after all, and he can’t help himself.

“His name is Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon, but he got into a pretty bad car wreck that messed up his hands. He’s trying to save money while he goes to physical therapy—he apparently has a chance of recovery, but it’s a ways off—and that includes downsizing on where he lives.”

“I mean, yikes, but that’s an oddly specific backstory.”

“I’m glad you think that too, but I am intrigued. I looked him up, and he’s a real person—has a basically flawless reputation, or at least he did before his accident. Thoughts?”

Please say yes, please say yes, Tony thinks. The chance of a competent human—not including Rhodey, who looks more put together than he really is next to the chaos Tony perpetually dwells in—choosing to live with him is too fascinating to pass up, and he needs Peter to see that too.

Peter shrugs. “I’m down if you are. How old is he?”

Victory!

Satisfaction floods Tony, but he tries to maintain his cool.

“Thirty.”

Peter blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I didn’t anticipate moving into a nursing home,” he remarks dryly.

What a little shit.

It’s worth noting half the reason Rhodey left so easily is because he said he trusted Peter to keep Tony on his toes. Then again, that Tony likes being snarked at is a large part of why they get along so well despite only knowing each other for a matter of days.

“You’re the worst, Parker. I’m going to feed you to the hooligans downstairs. Steve has a monster appetite, you know.”

Peter hums, picking his textbook back up. “Not if I feed you to them first. And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Only old people say hooligans.”

Tony thinks about that one book, Give a Mouse a Cookie or whatever. Except in his case, it’s Rent a Teenager an Apartment, and Tony doesn’t have to adhere to the literary equivalent of a G-rating.

His response to the dig is creative and colorful, and Peter laughs.

Four days and a brief conversation at a coffee shop later—a formality he and Peter did not do and probably something Tony should’ve thought of as the older adult before giving him the address—Stephen’s team of movers invade the apartment.

The man himself stands like a drill sergeant at the last flights of stairs it takes to get to the apartment, arms crossed, beard wild, conducting activity.

Peter and Tony share their evaluations, peeking their head out from the doorway when it’s unoccupied by movers and Stephen isn’t looking their way. This involves quite a bit of ducking, but they are very careful not to be caught.

(Someone’s whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange later informs that “they were not at all subtle” and “were, in fact, very embarrassing”, but that’s how things with the three of them generally are, so Tony figures it was a good crash course to how life together goes.)

“He’s kind of scraggly,” Peter whispers, his head under Tony’s because he’s the shorter of the two of them, something Tony delights in refuting Peter’s quips about his age with.

“Kind of? He looks like a hobo.”

It’s true, okay? Facially, at least, the guy is a wreck. He’s not quite to Einstein levels of bad hair day, but he’s getting there.

“Be nice,” Peter chastises him. He’s gentler than Rhodey when he does it, but considering neither of them ever shut the hell up and they have thus bonded very easily over the course of their short relationship, it’s gotten to feel as natural as most of their interactions.

“All I’m saying is that I am happy to retain my place as the most attractive person in the apartment, okay?”

They’re forced to retreat from the entryway as another load comes through, and Peter looks at him disbelievingly. “Dream on,” he replies bluntly.

Tony gasps in offense.

Peter shrugs. “Look, I’m just gonna’ say it—you knew Rhodey before me, and now that I’m here—” he trails off, looking at Tony in faux-sympathy that doesn’t match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

While it is true that Rhodey is a fine specimen of a man—yet another reason Tony can’t, in good conscience, be truly angry Carol mooched him away from the bachelor lifestyle—Tony can’t cede that easily for the sake of his pride, and he scowls. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They’re still bickering as the movers finish up and Stephen enters the apartment, dressed in what Tony recognizes as the latest from Armani and Tom Ford.

He may not get invited to fashion week anymore, but he still has taste, alright, even if Rhodey limits him to one designer purchase a month.

(Rhodey isn’t around to see what packages he orders now, Tony thinks but shelves the thought for later.)

Tony and Stephen met over coffee, and all three of them said hi to one another before the moving business officially began. However, there is a little stiffness in the air, make no mistake. It’s not Stephen’s fault, exactly, because he’s just kind of a foreboding guy, but still.

It figures that Peter would break the ice. As Tony’s found and will continue to discover, Peter is just as talkative as him. Granted, that trait usually appears in the form of rambling about something from class, but it’s not surprising that his natural passion for life comes through with someone about to be very, very involved in it. 

“Hi!” he begins. “Are all of the movers gone now?”

Stephen raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes.”

His reply is seriously lacking enthusiasm, but Tony isn’t allowed the opportunity to jump on that as Peter keeps going. 

“Sweet! Okay, so welcome to Casa Stark-Parker.”

Woah, woah, woah—timeout.

Tony frowns, raising a hand in a motion for Peter to stop. “I thought that was my thing?” he interjects.

“Well, it has my name in it, so it gets to be both of our things,” Peter replies, then furrows his brow, looking to Stephen. “Actually, since you’re here now, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker-Strange. Order’s based on who got here first, sorry,” he explains with a smile that Tony, now familiar with the fact that Peter has more to him than meets the eye, notes is a touch impish.

Tony is pleased to see, despite his generally wholesome appearance, the kid has at least picked up on the power of staking a claim.

Stephen blinks. His hands, Tony has noticed, don’t stop shaking, not even when he folds his arm across his chest, like a physical barrier between him and Peter’s excitement. “Okay?” he drawls slowly, confusedly.

“Tony’s rules, not mine,” Peter assures him as if he doesn’t just want the satisfaction of having his name not be the last in the line-up.

Tony scoffs. “Oh okay, so now we’re throwing me under the bus?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, Tony.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he replies, tone betraying that he does not, in fact, think any responsibility is at all necessary. He looks to Stephen, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? And it’s barely been a week.”

Stephen blinks again. “I see it’s a lot,” he says measuredly.

Peter gasps, unaffected. “Oh my God, we should make a sign for it,” he enthuses. “We can put it up on the door, and we’d be so much cooler than Sam and them.”

To say that Peter rose to the challenge of bothering their downstairs neighbors with zeal is something of an understatement. 

Tony is, honestly, a fan of the sign idea, especially if it were to light up, but that is where Stephen cuts in, his hands still trembling as he gestures. “Can we slow down for a moment?” He looks carefully from Tony and Peter and back again, bearing the appearance of a man in the throes of realizing he has made a bad decision. 

Tony knows that look well. It usually shows up when Rhodey agrees to one of Tony’s ideas and doesn’t realize just how badly constructed it is until it’s too late.

“First of all, I am fairly certain my car is parked illegally, and before we get too far, I need to fix it before I get towed. And secondly,” Tony watches Stephen’s lips curl in a self-satisfied, I-totally-think-I’m-better-than-you-even-if-I’m-not-technically-saying-it smile, “I am not here to be part of any Casa. I am waiting for physical therapy to work for me, and then I will be out of your hair. I appreciate being able to live here, but—”

Yeah, Tony’s had enough of that. Personally, he would like to thank Rhodey, who, in a way, begins and ends the story, and truly is the greatest best friend a man could have for teaching him how to properly deal with pompous rich people.

“Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re living here, you’re a part of Casa Stark-Parker-Strange whether you like it or not.”

Stephen looks downright appalled that someone would dare to interrupt him, which, Tony knows from experience, is exactly the kind of shock rich people need to go through. He splutters for a second before he manages to get out a reply, “That was not in the lease.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say what can you do? “And you didn’t mention in your texts that you were going to try to be a bump on a log, but here we are.”

Perhaps sensing the mounting animosity in the room or maybe just as excited as Tony to have someone to bother, Peter takes advantage of Stephen’s overwhelmed and bewildered state.

“First day with all three of us!” he shouts. “Picture!”

And before anyone can protest—including Tony, who would prefer to be documented in something other than a Black Sabbath tee and his work pants—Peter leans in with the camera on his phone ready to capture the moment.

In the resulting photo, Tony looks vaguely alarmed, Stephen looks pissed as hell, and Peter wears a grin that stretches across his whole face. The whole thing is blurry, and they eventually get it framed.

It’s a beautiful and fitting start to their time as roommates, and in the humble eyes of the asshole who posted the Craigslist ad, that is how the story of how they came to live together went.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Be Mine, this Quarantine

"Dude." Dean nervously chuckles, scrubbing his face with his hand. The other one holds the phone to his ear. "I haven't even been able to ask this guy out to dinner. And you're asking me to ask him to go into isolation with me?"

"You're being dramatic again." Sam tells him, matter-of-factly, as if Dean's the one being unreasonable here.

Sam is the one who specifically called him on a Sunday from California to remind him to self-isolate, but "do it with someone like Castiel, okay?" - like he's supposed to be taking care of his older brother from fucking Stanford, like Dean knows anyone else like Cas, and like he's ever going to be able to propose something of that sort to Cas.

"He has a third-floor apartment." Sam points out, revisiting all of his super valid points. "You share a dorm with three other guys. And he just seems like the kind who'd be the correct amount of a germophobe." Dean rolls his eyes - although he also agrees. "Dean, you share so many classes with him that if nothing else, you could revise your entire semester together - and to top it all off, you're like best friends."

Benny comes to Dean's head and he starts to protest.

"You text him, Dean." The eyeroll and bitchface are audible in Sam's voice. "You, who exits all text chains you've ever been added to because quote unquote you're not an adolescent teenager with a celebrity crush, or looking to be catfished - you, Dean Winchester, text Cas."

That - wasn't far from the truth.

He wouldn't call them texting buddies or anything, but Castiel always sends a good morning text, and Dean always sends him a picture of his breakfast (because that's what he's up to by the time Castiel wakes up) and sometimes Dean's late for class because he lost track of time while talking to Cas, and sometimes they stay up all night together discussing the most inconsequential things like why mattresses matter to Dean and bees matter to Cas, and - yeah. He should probably call them texting buddies.

"Whatever, bitch." Dean throws back, taking the small losses his way as long as he wins the final battle. "Fine, we're friends. That doesn't automatically mean we'll be able to live together."

"You cannot actually mean that." Sam scoffs. "You're the best kind of neat freak I know, because you just end up doing all the tidying up by yourself. And you can cook." Dean huffs. "Admit it, jerk. Compatibility in a shared living space shouldn't be your concern."

Sure, Sam makes some good points, but Dean has the biggest card up his sleeve - which will trump all of Sam's meticulously presented arguments.

He's sorta in love with Cas.

But to say out loud to his little brother, it comes out as, "What if Cas doesn't want me there?"

Sam pauses.

Point, Dean Winchester.

"That's exactly why you need to talk to him." He finally says, but he sounds more thoughtful like it finally entered his twenty two year old brain that Cas might not want to shack up with Dean.

"Like hell, I will."

"I swear on your bullshit, Dean," Sam threatens. "I won't hesitate to take a cheap-ass flight, straight to Cas's apartment."

Dean balks. "You're not getting on any planes right now, Sammy -"

"And you're asking him." Sam declares, and if he were in front of Dean, he'd be crossing his arms on his chest which usually implies the end of a debate in Sam-the-to-be-lawyer speak. "Promise me."

"What will I even say?" Dean retorts, indignant. "Like, do I just go up to the guy like 'hey, wanna have me impose on you for a bunch of weeks?'" Sam snickers like Dean's trying to be funny. "'I promise to clean and make you food if you let me live with you during a pandemic'?"

"Something like that." Sam laughs, and Dean has to smile - because that doesn't happen very often and when it does, it reminds him of a past where they were much closer than California and Kansas. "Tell me how it goes, okay?"

"Nothing's going -"

"You promised."

"I didn't fucking promise a thing -"

The line clicks, and Sam is gone. Dean lands back on his bed, and wonders briefly if it'd be easier to die.

*

He calls Cas - because they're not goddamn texting buddies, no matter what Sam says - and asks if he's free for lunch.

Cas says yes and actually sounds excited about it.

*

When Dean reaches their usual diner, he takes longer than usual to park the Impala - all the while thinking about how he's going to frame the question to Cas, because he's fought it out with himself and knows that he's going to do it. He'd also taken longer than usual to drive there from the University apparently, because when he reaches, Cas is already there.

He's sitting on a table for two - probably just because that allows him to have a seat against the wall and Cas is kind of adorable about small things like that - and he's slumping over his phone.

But he puts it down when Dean approaches, and as Dean takes off his jacket, Cas puts his phone back in his jeans and uses his fingers to fidget instead. When Dean sits, a little amused, Cas is the one who speaks up first and in a hurry.

"Would you like to quarantine with me?"

Dean blinks. He takes a moment to think and then asks, "Did Sam get to you?"

"Uh, your brother Sam?" Cas frowns, shaking his head. "No, why would he?"

"Nevermind." Dean believes him. Though he cannot believe what just happened.

"So?"

"Oh." He's supposed to give an answer, because Cas doesn't know how much Dean's been thinking about it. Though, in his defense, most of the time, Cas tends to be so goddamn intuitive that Dean feels like he can read his mind.

Nonetheless, Dean tries to answer as casually as he can. "Yes. I mean, of course. Thank you for asking."

That's Dean Winchester in a sentence.

He tries to shoot for the normal, and ends up in affirmative-response-to-a-promposal territory.

"Are you sure?" Cas asks, sounding slightly less sure than before.

Did you not hear me say 'of course, thank you for asking' after that yes?

"Yeah, buddy." He pulls the menu from Cas's side of the table to his, sliding it on the table. "So what are we eating?"

"I'm not forcing you into this, am I?" Cas interrupts, hand on Dean's wrist jolting his attention back and ruining his complete 'casual' cover, because now Dean's sweating too. "Just because I asked, and just because we're friends - you don't have to say yes to anything, okay?"

"I know that." Dean gives Cas his best reassuring smile, though it's a little non-assured from his own core.

"I wake up late and I'm not sure when I sleep." Cas confesses, eyes worried. "The flat is clean only because I stuff everything in the closets. And I have a neighbor - you remember Balthazar, right? He just returned from France."

"How long ago is 'just'?" Dean repeats, and then adds. "And frankly I'd assumed he was simply being pretentious when we met."

"Two months." Castiel bites his lip. "And he is. The accent is fake."

"We'll survive." Dean announces, grinning broader. "Plus I can't wait to hear that guy minus the accent now."

Castiel makes an exasperated sound.

"Cas, how do I put this?" Dean sighs, knowing that things would eventually come to this. "I would be grateful if you'd let me stay with you, and -"

"Sometimes I wander around the house with my cat past midnight." Cas volunteers, out of the blue.

Naked?

Dean's brain jumps there and then he drags it back from the gutter - or, you know, the land of tempting imaginable scenarios.

"I want to live with you, you dumbass."

Cas pauses like that's at all surprising. "You do?"

"I was literally trying to figure out how to ask." Dean rubs the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. "And then you did, okay? And then I said yes, and I wanted us to not talk about it all lunch because later we're going to have important shit to figure out like food and beer and toilet paper and -"

"When exactly you'll move in." Cas offers, and when he puts it like that, a little bit of Dean melts.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay." Cas smiles, and finally it's that smile - eyes all crinkled, nose all scrunched up, the very definition of gummy - and fuck, Dean's very much in love with him and has just dug himself a huge, apartment-shaped hole, but he'd fucking like to live with him too, and he's a fucking liar if he isn't being a little hopeful about it too.

"We'll not talk about it." Cas declares. "And before, you'd asked me what we were eating?"

Dean nods.

"Well, I asked the waitress for recommendations for something memorable and she offered me the specials menu." Cas says, innocent as though everyone in the city doesn't know not to ask for the specials' menu at Reed's diner.

Dean starts to pray.

"So, kale pecan pesto." Cas announces. "And yes, I had to Google what that is later and no, I'm not showing you."

"God-fucking-dammit, Cas." Dean glares at him. "These might be our last diner meals for the foreseeable future, I don't want to have rabbit food -"

And then Cas winks at him like that's something he's allowed to do, and Dean's suddenly flustered again - and if that isn't an apt summary of how living with Cas is going to be like, he doesn't know what is.

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch29. The Sokovia Accords Part 1: When You Gotta Go...You Gotta Go.

Summary: Things didn’t go according to plan in Lagos and as a result The Avengers are faced with a set of regulations which the Government are seeking to impose on them. But, when Steve gets a phone call with some devastating news, it all pales into insignificance.

Warnings: Bad language, Smut! (NSFW, Under 18s) Bad Language words.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: Elements of this have been reworked/rewritten…for reasons which will become apparent at some point! Once again HUGE thanks to @angrybirdcr​

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 28

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chaos. That was the only way to describe what went down when The Avengers mobilised. The Institute was compromised and, after a violent chase Natasha secured the biological weapon which had been stolen, whilst Katie and Sam provided support from the air, Wanda dealing with a huge cloud of poisonous gas which had been released.

And then Steve and Rumlow ended up exchanging blows, which was where it all went completely to shit.

Neither of them seemed to have the upper hand, although it felt like Rumlow did for a while, as he slammed Steve into a building and extended a blade from one of his gauntlets.

“This is for dropping a building on my face.” He snarled. Steve, however, was quick to respond and pulled the gauntlet off, only for Rumlow to reveal another knife. After a violent struggle, Steve finally got the better of the man, forcing him to his knees, both of them heaving from the exertion of the fight. As Steve glared down at him, Rumlow reached up to remove his mask and Steve’s mouth fell slightly open at the sight of the man’s scarred face.

“I think I look pretty good, all things considered.” Rumlow chuckled.

“Who’s your buyer?” Steve asked, grabbing him by the collar.

“You know, he knew you. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.”

Steve froze, his stomach twisting slightly at the mention of his friend. He remembered him? Really? His jaw clenched in anger slightly as he looked down at Rumlow who was smirking.

“What did you say?” He demanded.

“He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it. Till they put his brain back in a blender.” Rumlow wheezed with a laugh. “He wanted you to know something. He said to me, ‘Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go, you gotta go…’ And you’re coming with me.”

It was whilst this was going on that Katie, who had been flying over, saw exactly what was happening. FRIDAY scanned Rumlow and told her about he was wired to explode, but even as she yelled a warning to Steve on the coms, the bomb vest exploded. Steve staggered back slightly, but the blast was encapsulated by a ball of red energy. Katie landed besides Wanda who was concentrating on keeping the explosion contained around Rumlow and she lifted him into the air before she lost control. The explosion finally blossomed, devastating entire floors of a nearby office building. Wanda’s hand flew to her mouth in shock as Katie stood by her side, looking up in disbelief.

“Oh my…” Steve approached the girls, looking up open mouthed. This was bad. Really bad. “Sam … we need fire and Rescue … on the South side of the building.” He stuttered between breaths, before he looked at Katie “We gotta get up there.”

She nodded and took off.

The Avengers did all they could to help the rescue efforts, but after twelve long hours Katie suggested they leave, as just like in Sokovia, the locals were baying for blood. They didn’t know the exact death toll. Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to either. When they landed back at base Wanda was first down the ramp, she hadn’t spoken a word since the incident, and she sped straight past Rhodey who was waiting at the bottom. He watched her go and then looked at Steve.

“Secretary Ross has already been on.”

“Ross can kiss my ass.” Katie mumbled, wiping at her face which was dirty from the clear up efforts.

Rhodey smiled a little as she stepped off the ramp.

“What does he want?” Steve asked, ignoring Katie’s grumblings. .

“A report.”

The Captain sighed. “Okay, we’ll get right on it.”

“No we won’t” Katie spun round to face him, her face stern. “It’s gone four am and we have been awake for over twenty-four hours. The team are tired, you’re tired. Ross can wait.” Steve opened his mouth to tell her that he really thought it was best they deal with it now but she wasn’t having any of it. “Don’t argue with me Steven.” She cut him off before he could start, her eyes flashing dangerously. “We’ve been away for almost a week, and it’s been a long day. We’re all tired, we need rest, and that means you too.”

Rhodey and Sam exchanged a grin, they loved it when Katie put her foot down with Steve. She was the only one who could make him see sense when he was like this and the only one of them that the Captain was secretly, just a tiny bit scared of. With good reason the men thought, because, let’s face it, she had the keys to his sex life after all.

Steve looked at her, half of him was exasperated at her calling him out like this, but the other half knew she was right. Eventually, to avoid an argument he sighed and nodded.  

“Fine. Rhodey, tell Ross I’ll call him tomorrow. Go get some sleep everyone, we’ll debrief in the morning.”

“Somebody should probably check on Wanda.” Sam pointed out and Katie nodded.

“I’ll go.” She volunteered, heading out of the room.

After a brief search Katie found her in the communal kitchen, slumped down against a counter with her knees pulled up to her chest. She made her way over and slid down to sit next to her. The two sat in silence until Wanda eventually sniffed.

“It’s all my fault. I thought I could contain it. I should have thrown the bomb somewhere else.”

“Wanda, you did your best.”  Katie sighed, putting her arm around her. “That’s all anyone can do.”

And then the younger woman broke down. She sobbed, dropping her head onto Katie’s shoulder and there was nothing to do but let her cry and soothe her, telling her it would be okay.

Once she had settled Wanda back in her room, Katie made her way back to their apartment, running her hands over her face. She was exhausted, but she also knew Steve was brooding over the events as well. She walked into the bedroom and looked into the en-suite through the open door watching as Steve was drying his hair and his face after having showered, dressed in nothing but his grey sweat pants, which hung off his hips in a way that usually made his wife combust. As he finished he glanced in the mirror and caught sight of Katie who was leaning up against the door-frame.

“How is she?” He asked.

“Upset.” Katie said honestly “She’s taking things really hard.”

“This is all my fault.” Steve sighed heavily, shaking his head as he turned to face her.

“Steve, what happened is no one’s fault…” She began, but he cut her off.

“You were there.” Steve looked at his wife. “You saw what happened, Doll.” His shoulders dropped as he tried to brush past Katie to exit the bathroom, but she stepped to the side to block his path.

“Yes, I saw what happened.”  She looked up at him. “But I still don’t understand why you’re blaming yourself.”

"Because I lost focus!” Steve yelled, his frustrations bubbling over and he ran a hand through his damp hair as Katie blinked, the only reaction she gave to his angry change in demeanour. “All Rumlow had to do was mention Bucky and it was like I was a little kid in Brooklyn again.”

“Bucky?” she frowned. “He mentioned Bucky? I don’t-“

“He told me that Bucky remembered me, well he did, until they, and I quote, ‘put his brain back in a blender.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and Katie looked up at him, his face was contorted with a mixture of grief and tiredness. She sighed and wrapped her arm around him and he buried his face into her neck. Always so stoic and unmovable to the outside world, but with her it was a different story.

“Sorry for shouting at you.” He nuzzled closer, sniffing slightly, his voice slightly muffled when he spoke.

“It’s okay.” She soothed and he took a deep breath.

“All he had to do was say his name and I lost it. He was wearing that fucking vest from the start, I should’ve gotten rid of it right away but-”

“It is not your fault.”  Katie shook her head, her hand gently stroking his hair. “Stevie, I challenge anyone to be in that position and not react the same.”

"I’m supposed to be the leader,” He pulled away with a shake of his head as he straightened up slightly. And it was true. As far as he was concerned this started and ended with him. “I’m supposed to stay professional no matter what, but when it comes to Bucky and you for that matter…”

“Baby, you’re only human.” Katie assured him, her voice gentle as she took his face in her hands “Super-strength, enhanced yes, but still a wonderfully flawed, dumbass human being, just like the rest of us.”She leaned up to give him a gentle kiss. “We can only do our best, Love. Nothing more.” He sighed and then pulled her in for another hug, burying his face into her hair, which smelt of ash and gunpowder and her, giving him something to anchor himself to. As her face pressed into his bare chest he felt her smile softly before she pulled back to look at him.

“Wanna be little spoon tonight?”

His face split into a childish grin because the thought of her holding him was so damned comforting and appealing right now. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

**** The relative feel-good factor that had been present at the base for months was completely decimated. None of them had ever been under the illusion that life as an Avenger would be easy, but now it seemed to be getting harder by the day. In the weeks that passed by following the Lagos incident, various Diplomatic Heads of States waded into the debate, demanding some kind of regulations were put in place to police The Avengers, something Steve, Sam and Katie felt drastically opposed to, the three of them often getting into protracted discussions between themselves about what it could mean for the Avengers were it to happen, discussions which Natasha, Rhodey, Vision and Wanda avoided.

The most troubling thing for Katie though, was the silence on the issue emanating from Tony. He’d called by, of course, to make sure everyone was alright, but she had assumed he would be anti-government control considering his stance on all things official previously. But he hadn’t commented to any of them about it, which worried his sister immensely. Katie tried several times to get him to open up whilst they were out touring with the Foundations but each time he shut her down and changed the subject. This wasn’t helped by the fact that one day they were accosted by a woman who had lost her son in Sokovia. She blamed him, blamed her, blamed all of The Avengers, and had grown even angrier when Katie had tied to placate her. Their flight home that day was a silent one, Tony speaking only when they landed home to state that everyone needed to get round the table to talk things over, specifically how they go forward as a team and that they should face facts, The Avengers needed to be accountable for their actions and if that meant they were put under sanction, then so be it.

Steve had reacted exactly how Katie had assumed he would, out and out refusal to even contemplate listening to what Tony was going to say. Katie had sensibly pointed out that the issue of Government control wasn’t going to go away and they had to confront it, and to do that they needed a joint position, of which Tony was a big part. Steve had simply shook his head, insisting that it was out of the question at which point Katie’s temper had bubbled over and she had yelled at him, calling him an stubborn prick, before telling him to take his head out of his ass and look around at his team. His team, which at the moment, was struggling a little. She’d continued to blaze at him about how things couldn’t continue the way there were, and something was going to have to give, and then she called him a moron for not being able to see what was staring him in the face, before slamming the door to their quarters as she stormed out.

In the wake of her spectacular exit, Steve angrily headed to the gym to pound his frustrations out on a punching bag. And whilst there, with each blow he landed, he thought about what Katie had said, and as the angry fog cleared from his brain he realised she was right. Wanda had been withdrawn for the past few weeks, rarely emerging from her room, talking to no one really but Vision. Natasha was currently taking some time out at Clint’s which was almost unheard of, unless it was over a holiday period. Sam and Rhodey had continued their training with Evans and the new recruits but even there Steve could see things were subdued, neither of them socialising much. His team were suffering and he’d been so wrapped up in his own, stubborn little world to realise. And, as their Captain and leader, he had to rectify this and do something about it. So, he swallowed his pride and apologised to his wife and told her to call Tony.

They arranged to meet the day after next, and in preparation, Steve gathered his team they day beforehand and told them what was going to happen. He asked them to think about their positions and feelings carefully, but made it perfectly clear that whatever they decided it wasn’t going to be a problem, and they would reach a conclusion jointly, because that’s what they did.

As it was a sunny day, Katie suggested an early evening BBQ to try and coax them to spend some time together. And Steve was happy to see it working, as for the first time since Lagos, everyone seemed to be relaxed. But then that was his girl all over. Full of great ideas because she understood people and could empathise with how they felt in a way Steve could only wish of doing.

“Well, I gotta say.” Sam dropped his cutlery onto his plate with a clang. “For an old man, you sure can grill a steak pretty well.”

“I’ll take that as a back handed compliment.” Steve rolled his eyes and picked up his glass which contained a decent measure of the Asgardian Liquor Thor had left for him. He was secretly pleased though, whilst Katie was the cook, the grill was most certainly his domain.

“That potato salad was fantastic!” Wanda looked at Katie “Where did you learn to cook?”

“Sure as hell wasn’t Tony!” Rhodey quipped .

Katie laughed and shrugged “I dunno, I picked various pieces up from Pepper, and I watched a lot of cooking shows as a student in England but, well, I just tried and found I could I suppose. Has everyone had enough or…”

There were murmurs of a general stuffed nature from around the table, and she stood up to clear the plates until Steve gently grabbed her arm. She’d been fussing like a mother hen around everyone all evening and he wanted her to sit down and relax.

“Leave that, we can do it later.” He insisted gently, shooting her a look.

“Mr Neat-Freak telling me to leave the dishes?” She grinned, as he pulled her onto his lap. “That Asgardian stuff going to your head already?”

He shot her a look but at that point they were both distracted by a loud “Shit!” from round the table where Sam had spilt his beer.

“Now, just hold on a minute.” Rhodey said, his eyes flashing as Sam hastily began to mop at the river of Peroni that was cascading across the red and white gingham table cloth. “Cap doesn’t like that kind of talk.”

Everyone laughed, except Steve whose brow creased into a serious look.

“You heard Rhodey, Sam” He arched an eyebrow. “Watch your fucking language.”

The table descended into fits of laughter and Steve took the opportunity as he looked around his team to raise Katie’s hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to her wrist, a gesture she took and understood to be a thank you and another apology. She’d been right, agreeing to talk about what was coming had lifted a weight off everyone’s shoulders.

Well almost everyone’s.

Steve still had that sick feeling in his stomach, that sick feeling that told him there was something big and bad looming on the horizon.

*****

“11 Wakandans were among those killed during a confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria last month. The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission when the attack occurred.”

The next afternoon Steve was sat watching a news report on the screen above his desk, turning his compass over in his right hand. He felt exhausted. As he ran his hands over his face he felt himself tense up when King T’Chaka of Wakanda came on the screen

“Our people’s blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent is no victory at all.”

The King had waded straight into the debate immediately after the incident as a group of his people had been killed in the blast. He was one of the main campaigners about the need for some form of sanctions to be put in place. Steve was on edge enough about Tony coming, and deciding he didn’t want to hear or watch anymore, he turned the TV off. But, his sharp ears caught the continuation of the news broadcast being continued elsewhere, and he inclined his head a little to the left as he took in which direction it was coming from. He glanced up and saw that the window to his office was open, and standing up he walked over to it, the sound growing louder.

It was coming from the residential floor above. Directly above, unless he was mistaken. Which meant the person watching was in Wanda’s room. He turned and made his way out of his office and up the flight of stairs at the end of the corridor, figuring out he could make it up one floor faster than he could call the elevator. He pressed his palm to the door which would allow him access to the floor which contained Wanda, Evans’ and Natasha’s rooms, and it slid open with a little hiss.

“They are operating outside and above the international law. Because that’s the reality, if we don’t respond to acts like these” came the voice which grew louder as he approached her room. He stopped at the door, which was open, and paused as he saw Wanda was sitting on her bed, watching a TV which stood on a dresser in the corner.

“What legal authority does an enhanced individual like Wanda Maximoff have to operate in Nigeri – “

With a deep breath Steve picked up the TV remote from the nightstand and turned the set off before placing the remote down, leaning on the doorframe

Wanda looked round. She spotted him but she didn’t get up.

“It’s my fault” she swallowed gently shaking her head.

“That’s not true” Steve replied gently.

“Turn the TV back on. They’re being very specific.” She said sarcastically.

“I should’ve clocked that bomb vest long before you had to deal with it.” Steve pushed off the frame and walked over to the bed where she was sat.  “Rumlow said Bucky and all of a suddenly I was a 16-year-old kid again, in Brooklyn” He sat on her bed next to her, “And people died. It’s on me.”

“It’s on both of us” Wanda looked at him.

“You know,” Steve smiled gently as he recalled the words Katie had said to him years ago, “this job, we try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn’t mean everybody. But if we can’t find a way to live with that, next time maybe nobody gets saved.”

Before Wanda could reply, Vision materialized through the wall making them both jump. It made Steve slightly uneasy how the android was the only person who seemingly could get the drop on him like that.

“Viz! We talked about this.” Wanda chastised him.

“Yes, but the door was open so I assumed that…” He gestured at the door and stopped. “Captain Rogers you wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving.”

“Thank you. We’ll be right down.” Steve nodded.

“I’ll use the door. Oh, and apparently, he’s brought a guest.”

“Who?” Steve frowned, that hadn’t been part of the plan as far as he was aware.

“The Secretary of State.” Vision said, turning to go.

Steve’s frown deepened and he turned to Wanda. She was sat looking at her hands. He knew instantly why Tony hadn’t mentioned he was bringing him, because he would have been met with a resounding no. Giving Wanda’s shoulder a squeeze he stood up and left the room telling her to follow him down when she felt ready to.

“Why is he here?” Katie was blazing at her brother when Steve arrived at the conference room.

“Oh hi, Tony.” The billionaire snarked, rolling his eyes. Katie glared at him, her arms folded and chin jutted out defiantly, a look Steve had seen many times before. Tony sighed. “Look, I suggested he come. He can explain the thinking behind the proposed sanctions better than I can.”

“What do you mean, proposed?” Steve looked at Tony. “I thought this was supposed to be a discussion on the idea?”

“They already have a set drafted.” Tony informed him after a moment’s hesitation and Steve scoffed, turning away as Katie rounded on her brother.

“Are you for real?” She hissed through her teeth. “So not only do you spring him on us, now you’re saying the very thing we thought we were going to be discussing, as a team, is already fucking decided?”

“Kiddo, just hear us out, please?” Tony sighed

“Us?” she spat, as she looked over at General Ross who was stood talking to an aide at the other end of the room, in front of the large TV screen. “That asshole is not part of us, Tony. This is bullshit.”

Steve had to fight the snort at the utter look of disgust on his wife’s face. She despised the man, for no other reason than she thought he was an arrogant prick. That said, he knew if he didn’t calm her down, that infamous temper was going to really boil over and that wouldn’t be helpful to anyone.

“Come on.” He stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to placate her. “He’s here now so let’s listen and see what he has to say.” She pulled a face which was a cross between annoyance and disappointment aimed directly at Tony as she shot him one last glare and allowed Steve to guide her towards a chair, his large hand in the small of her back. She flopped down, angrily, her nostrils flaring as she looked away from everyone, out of the glass walls of the room. This was a shitty stunt for Tony to pull. Whilst she knew Tony wasn’t opposed to some form of sanctions, the fact that he was seemingly already involved in drafting them without discussing it with any of them, didn’t sit well with her at all, but what worried her more was the fact that he and Steve were undoubtedly now going to be majorly at odds over all this, which in itself was going to test team loyalties.

And make her life a bigger pain in the ass than it already was.

Wanda and Vision arrived shortly after and once they were all seated Steve’s hand slid onto Katie’s thigh under the table. She squeezed his fingers gently as Ross cleared his throat and looked at the assembled team, before beginning to speak.

“Five years ago, I had a heart attack. I dropped right in the middle of my backswing.”

Shame you got up, Katie thought to herself.

“Turned out it was the best round of my life, because after thirteen hours of surgery and a triple bypass I found something forty years in the Army had never taught me: Perspective.” Ross continued.

I wonder how many Post Its I can staple to his head...Katie considered the question for a moment, deciding that eight, one for each of the original Avengers and an extra for good luck, should do it.

“The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives… but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word “vigilantes”.

“And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?”  Katie asked, unable to contain herself anymore. Steve’s hand gave her knee a gentle squeeze in an attempt to calm her down.

“How about “dangerous”?” Ross responded, not flinching at her question.

Fuck the staples, let’s use nine inch nails.  

“What would you call a group of US-based Enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Ok, so now Steve was starting to get slightly uncomfortable. He stared at Ross, his chin resting on his left hand, jaw set. Ross then activated the screen behind him. News footage from past missions and SHIELD matters began to flash as he spoke.

“New York. Washington DC. Sokovia.”

Katie swallowed and her hand tightened around Steve’s. He knew Ultron and Sokovia had affected her more than she tried to let on. She took a deep breath and then the footage stopped and flicked to the latest incident in…

“Lagos.”

As footage of the burning building morphed into a shot of a dead girl, Steve glanced up at Wanda and saw her bottom lip began to wobble. The Captain took a deep breath, his face dark as thunder as he looked at Ross, gently bringing his fist down to rest on the table.

“Okay. That’s enough.”  He spoke firmly.

Ross nodded to the aide, and the images disappeared.

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.”  Ross spoke as the aide handed him a thick book. He slid it across the table to Wanda. She picked it up, then slid it to Rhodey.

“The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries. It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary.” Ross explained.

It was worse than they had imagined. They’d expected to be subject to some kind of regulations, rules, a code of conduct. Not overt Governmental Control. This would essentially make the Avengers another branch to an army, and Steve wanted no part of that. Keeping his voice level he looked up at Ross. “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that”.

“Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?”

Why use nine-inch nails when you could use a javelin? Katie glared at Ross a Steve took a deep breath, glancing down at the table.

“If I misplaced a couple of thirty megaton nukes you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

“So, there are contingencies?” Rhodey asked.

His question was left hanging.

“Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.” Ross carried on. “Talk it over.”

Katie glanced over her shoulder at Tony, at the same time as Steve did too. He was behind them, in the corner of the room. His brown eyes locked onto Katie’s as she shook her head at him. He looked away and then Natasha turned to Ross.

“And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” She asked the question that no one else had dared to.

“Then you retire.” Ross smirked at her before he made his exit, flanked by his aide.

“Glad that clears things up.” Katie muttered, standing up. “Oh no you stay right there!” She pointed at Tony as he also made to leave. “What the fuck, Tony?”

“So much for coming to discuss potential ways forward.” Steve stood behind his wife, eyeing his brother in law, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Instead you help issue us with an ultimatum”

“Can I suggest you take time to read them first?” Tony sighed. “You know, before you hang, draw and quarter me.”

“I’m assuming from your use of the word, you, that you have already read them?” Katie looked at him. Tony stayed silent for a moment, before he groaned.

“I need a drink.”

With that he left the room and Steve looked round at his team, all eyes on him, waiting for direction. He took a deep breath. “Take ten guys, and we’ll meet in the communal lounge.”

**** Chapter 29 Part 2

[notoriousjae]

Love is a Little Box (For Home to Lay Inside) || Edeleth Fanfic (1/?)

Chapter Title: A Heart

Pairing: Byleth Eisner (F)/ Edelgard von Hresvelg

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Chapter 1 (Current) | AO3 | Below:

It's a peaceful day in Garreg Mach.

The sun catches along the lightly swelling waves of a familiar pond, wrinkles in blue caused by the light winds dancing Sothis’ fingertips along its surface. It’s hard to know whether Sothis was a Goddess but it’s  easy  to imagine that contradictory carefully carefree  smile full of restraint and curiosity as small hands skimmed along the ripples of the pond in the heart of Garreg Mach, feeling moisture beneath palms--learning what water might feel like, again, for the both of them.

You need to experience things, Sothis would say and Byleth would experience them, because she had never known to experience them, before. 

Or maybe Sothis would just...hover behind Byleth’s shoulder as she watched a line bob for an hour before she yawned, disappearing into the cold of a tomb she’s made in a baby’s chest that became the casket nestled in a woman’s.

It’s easy, too, to understand why people think Sothis is  everywhere , because Byleth feels her, still. In the air...and the wind...and the water--

They were both familiar with the pond at Garreg Mach and a sense of... something--easy; warm; familiar?--stirs quietly in Byleth’s chest as she watches the pond and thinks of green eyes and hair and soft fingertips before she hears paper rustle a little behind her.

The feeling transforms a little like that tomb had.

“You know, Edelgard,” Byleth hums, chin dipping over her shoulder to watch her--a rare moment where  both of them happen to actually be in the same place without a need for something sharp and pointy (or a strategic exit). “Fishing is a tactician’s game.” 

Edelgard chuckles quietly to herself but looks up from her book all the same. Edelgard having time to read is probably rarer than them sharing time together, at all, and pulling her from it makes Byleth feel--

Hmm…

Her chin tips up in thought. It makes her... feel …

Edelgard interrupts.

“Is that so?” 

Byleth nods, serious, and watches the way red fabric shifts as Edelgard turns to listen to her--to watch her--with the same rapt attention she had as a student, and still keeps to date in the war council. 

“They say it’s chess, but that’s not the case.”

“They say that because chess is the tactical routing of an opponent. It’s meant to  mimic  a battlefield.” The Emperor practically quotes from the  tactician’s guide and Byleth watches the breeze skirt over the surface of the water and wonders if Sothis would have fondly chuckled, but the only sound she hears is the water and the idle, far-away chatting of a few soldiers.

How would Edelgard feel, knowing a Goddess was so fond of her?

Byleth shakes her head.

“How many battlefields have you been on, El?” 

“Countless.”

“How many battlefields resembled the neatly-drawn lines of a chessboard, where everyone took turns and you could predict your opponent’s attacks with statistics and  math?” 

“...none.” Edelgard looks pained to admit, begrudging, sighing as she tucks her book at her hip. 

“Chess is just…” Byleth’s head tips, “...the memorization of strategies. You’re not creating anything new. When you’re facing someone in chess, you’re...just applying the most appropriate thing you’ve memorized that you can think of for that moment for the situation in front of you and hoping it works.” 

“Alright.” And Edelgard stands, then, setting her book upon the bench, armored boots clicking as she walks along the stone towards the pond with that same studious look, hands settling on hips. Maybe one of these days they’ll both be comfortable enough fishing and reading and relaxing to do it without wearing armor. “Then what is  fishing ?”

“Fun.” At Byleth’s amused look, Edelgard tutts and steps closer, obviously not having appreciated being  baited over to the pier. She likely also wouldn't approve of the pun a little too similar to Alois' (and Petra's, lately) so Byleth keeps it to herself. A little more serious, “Are you sure you want to know? You don’t enjoy fishing. But I'm always okay teaching you.”

“You are currently the most renowned tactician Fódlan has ever seen. It could be argued you are a key point in elevating the war campaign into a rousing victory. If I have a chance to learn  how that wonderful mind of yours ticks, I’d be remiss not to take it for the betterment of the Empire.”

“...you could have just said yes.” Brows knit, head barely tipping to the side--no longer teasing--and Byleth cuts off Edelgard’s undoubtedly annoyed reply. She doesn’t have to divinely intimate it’s coming to see it on parted lips, “Not everything needs such a complicated reason, El. If you’d like to learn, let yourself learn. You don’t have to explain your motivations just because people have questioned them in the past. And you don’t always have to do things to make you  better , it’s fine to just fish. Although," A thoughtful look, "You’ll probably learn something in the process, anyways.”

Maybe Byleth has spent too much time answering the notes in the confessional.

“You’ll teach me to the end, won’t you?” It’s fonder--softer. Edelgard purses lips before letting the criticism settle, nodding. “Then...yes, Byleth.” Byleth smiles and Edelgard’s shoulders visibly lose the last of their tension when she quietly smiles back. “I...suppose I  would  like to learn. Especially since it’s something you take such an interest in.”

Edelgard slowly unhooks gauntlets about wrists, setting them to the side, white gloves underneath catching the sunlight like melted snow.

“Fishing,” Byleth nods before reeling in the line. “Is a  real  battlefield. It’s long moments of waiting followed by sharp, tense moments of excitement. Everything is planning. You find fish like you scout your battlefield--” Once the line is reeled, she hands the pole to Edelgard, whose nose wrinkles only a  little at the feeling of her gloves getting wet. 

Unlike most nobles, after all, Edelgard doesn’t mind dirt and muck and mud--she had been covered in them for years. Battlefields weren’t glamorous.

(Neither was fishing).

And so Byleth feels her chest swell with... something  as the other woman totes up the rod, ready to learn, like she had picked up a lance in lessons. Not proficient with it, but  willing . 

A challenge.

“So we scout our enemies--what do you see in front of you?” Byleth steps behind her and scans the horizon over her shoulder.

“A pond. I see a ripple in the corner--” A true general starts, “The wind is shifting the current  towards  me, so I’ll likely have to adjust how I throw my line in order to hit my target.” Her chin tips backwards and looks to her professor, who nods, encouraging. “The light is hitting the right side of the pond, and will fade across it in an hour, creating warmth for the fish, and they’ll likely follow it. They’ll stay below the surface because they’ll want to avoid predators. Or my professor’s  infamous rod and net, which catches anything under its shadow.” 

“You approach things like a soldier.” There’s a knowing praise on her lips and Edelgard straightens just a little beneath it, “And a leader of troops. You’ve noted some important things, Edelgard, which are good to trap the fish in this moment...but we need to think of the bigger picture. What else do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?” 

Light brows knit as an Emperor once more takes in the blue, glistening pit that’s become her battlefield. 

Byleth leans forward to gently wrap fingers around her wrist, guiding the shorter woman backwards so that she can mimic her eyes with her own, listening to the faint gasp of breath that catches on lips before Edelgard seems to focus, determined, now. 

A professor settles her chin on Edelgard’s shoulder, far more familiar in touching this student in particular, these days. 

Rare, but...familiar.

And the way Edelgard eases just a little into her reminds Byleth that sometimes the rarest of things are welcome. 

“What matters to people on a battlefield?” 

“The same as what matters to people founding cities: food, shelter, water, and safety.” Edelgard immediately replies. 

“So what matters to fish? Your goal is to trap the enemy and reel them in--what might stand in your way of that?” 

“I see…” Realization floods that calm voice, Edelgard’s head moving about as she takes in the pond in a seemingly new light. “The monastery. It’s...four o’clock, coming into five, and that path on the left will be tread by the church service let out. They’ll be noisy and their footfalls will probably disturb the pond. The squires like to come here to throw rocks on Wednesdays, and the washing happens in the corner. They’ll be pushed into the middle of the pond, even though the light will be on the West end of it. And I smell…” Edelgard’s nose wrinkles. “...fish soup? How is that relevant? Are they scared of their fate?” 

It’s... nice to hear Edelgard joke.

“Rain.” Byleth offers knowingly. “You can taste the condensation on the air, if you can't smell it.”

“How could you smell that over the kitchens?” 

Byleth shrugs, stomach idly grumbling because she  does smell the kitchens. 

“Is this...how you look at everything?” Edelgard is looking over her shoulder, now, close enough that Byleth smells far more of her hair than the rain and it’s a welcome change. She could smell the clouds over the food, but Byleth isn’t sure anything but Edelgard could ever fill her lungs, in this moment. “Is this how you see battlefields?” 

“Yes.” Hands curve gently over the rod, raising fingers to paint a grid in the pond where Violet eyes can follow, “It’s  real  chess. You’re good with strategy when you’re expecting it. You can plan in advance and are great facing adversity on the battlefield as a soldier--you’re always quick to react--but a battlefield is never as clean as chess. We both know that.” 

She feels fingers flex beneath her own, gripping the rod not out of being corrected, but vigor.

“I see.” And Edelgard  has  always been good with critique--with that infinite urge to  strive further --and there’s that tightness in Byleth’s chest, again. Warm and soothing, pressing herself against the flat of Edelgard’s back. 

She hadn't thought holding someone could be so comfortable.

“You shouldn’t be...picking a strategy to go up against whatever opposing strategy you  think  you're seeing on the battlefield, hoping the one you picked is better." 

“I... should  be thinking of how they respond, and naturally taking in the world and their needs. You’re saying I shouldn’t just assume they’ll react tactically--but...naturally and true to themselves?” 

“Exactly. Everyone has a primal urge--it’s true there’s...math and statistics, and we can always take two strategies and see which path people will be most  likely  to take, because the truth is that  most people are just as skittish as these fish. If I toss a rock into the pond, they’ll flee to the other side, because we know they’re scared of it--it’s something they’ll avoid. But not everyone is as scared as a fish.”

“Many enemies are...noble. Are fighting because they believe in the opposition of your own wants and desires.” Edelgard quietly agrees and Byleth nods. 

“So if you  identify  your enemy’s needs and desires--what they think is important, whether the rain will make them move, whether the light will keep them warm, whether the noise will scare them--you’ll know which way they’ll go, and you’ll know what they do. And then you go fishing.” 

“I see.” Edelgard repeats, quieter, now, watching the pond for a moment before she asks, “Is that why you--” A rare pause and it sounds like she might think over the question before redirecting, or maybe rewording. It’s interesting enough for Byleth to lean back and watch her, fully. “...spared Flayn?” A moment passes before she continues, “We were surrounded by soldiers with the city on fire and I  trusted you, I never hesitated to accept your choice in sparing her, but I didn’t understand, then, that it might have been…” She shakes her head, and this is one of those moments where she wonders if there’s a question behind the words. Edelgard is full of layers, she’s found, and while Byleth has learned so many of them, she feels there’s so many more to be found. A woman of secrets, all tucked away in a hidden box Byleth has yet to fully find. “Was it a tactical decision?”

A bare hand comes up to rest on Edelgard’s shoulder in thought, still pressed against her back as she thinks--lets the question settle before nodding. 

“Yes. And no. Our enemies aren’t the only fish.” Byleth offers, “Flayn...didn’t have to die. Neither did Seteth. The best battles are the ones where you minimize casualties on both sides,” Her head dips to the side, remembering the heat on her shoulders. Her back. Remembering the way she had barely cupped Edelgard’s palm in curling fingers after the fighting in a rickety war tent on the outskirts of the battle, the puckered flesh of hands beneath gauntlets singed through and burnt along the metal of Aymr in the flames. The healing waves from Byleth’s fingertips had turned them into slivers of scars beneath red grieves--two more to match thousands that litter ivory skin. 

She remembers the way Flayn had coughed, the smoke settled in both their lungs, fingers curled and bloodied into the tuft of a Pegasus’ quaking wings, matted with soot and blood. Both of them panting wisps of heat. Weak.

We’re family , she had said once, but looked at Byleth with nothing short of sadness, then. Not betrayal, just...sadness.

Perhaps that’s what family filled in people: hope, sadness, and loss in equal measure. That’s how Byleth remembers Jeralt. It's how she remembers Sitri.

It's how she remembers Rhea.

Byleth mulls over the words--the odd...ache that the memory fills in her chest--the worried gratitude that had settled on Edelgard’s features, after the fight. A look she’d seen several times, over the years, when Byleth had chosen  Edelgard and life over a church’s firm thumb.

The Emperor of Fódlan, cloaked in red and black and on her knees in the soot, didn’t want the world to die (despite what some apparently claimed) and the moment Byleth offered someone might be spared, Edelgard always took the chance with equal parts relief and trepidation.

Just because war had been the only way didn't mean death truly was.

This thought, it-- feels--

“They needed an escape route. They needed to know that our battle was righteous, not  wicked,  I guess. To use...whatever words the Church probably used. If we took them, we took the battle, and we would demoralize the troops. But it isn’t always about killing. If we killed Flayn, Seteth would have been...inconsolable. He would have become a danger to fight, and he was already dangerous--we didn’t  need  to fight him. Some fires are better to...put out quickly, than let them burn and spread. Some fires are  supposed to burn, but...not that one.” 

Her brows knit and she’s surprised when Edelgard turns Byleth’s chin towards her own, something unreadable in her eyes. 

And Edelgard waits, simply holding her for this brief moment, like she knows there’s more, because there is.

“ And  I didn’t want her to die.” Byleth says simply, only to her--only in this safe quiet of a courtyard--and the woman who she intends to spend  all days like this with, who nods as fingertips curl beneath Byleth's chin. 

“How did you know they wouldn’t retaliate when you let them go? That they wouldn’t go back to Rhea?” Edelgard quietly presses. 

“I didn’t, I guess...but I know my fish.” Byleth looks back towards the pond. 

“Which is why we won.” Edelgard surmises. “Our initial strategy was outmatched when we arrived. And your responding strategy on the battlefield to split up and focus our forces around the fire--sparing key combatants... that’s  what won.” And she sounds almost  praising  when she says, a little in awe, “You didn’t just choose a strategy or response, you...went fishing.”

“A tactician’s game.” Byleth’s voice skirts along her ear and Edelgard eases backwards against her enough that she can wrap an arm fully around a slim waist, now.

This information seems to cement Edelgard's drive.

“What do we do next?”

“We take all of that into account and cast the line.” 

And so Byleth shows her the technical aspects of fishing--of how to throw and cast and reel in, despite the elements of noise and wind and heat. Shows her how to tactically assume where the fish might try to escape upon being caught on a line--how to pull it and unhook it without harming it and kill it the quickest way possible. She tells her about bait, and how to read shadows, and how to choose a fishing spot--

“So you just...stand here and  wait for it to bite?”

“Like waiting for a charge on a battlefield. See? The anticipation--” Byleth lightly tickles her stomach and Edelgard chuckles and bats away her hands and Edelgard listens to every word, until she stands on her own and reels in a smacking fish that flops against her knee with no guidance, a few hours later.

Ever the quick study. 

The warmth spreads through a chest still so unaccustomed to it and settles in her lungs and fills her so deeply that Byleth has to pull away to look at the happiness on Edelgard’s face. 

Proud. Edelgard looks proud.

This feeling is...startling.

“I’ve forgotten how marvelous you were at teaching, Professor. Unorthodox, as always, but still so phenomenally proficient.” Edelgard  hums , careful to unhook the fish exactly as shown, shaking away water and the scent from her fingertips before slipping back on gloves. And then turns her attention up to said professor. “You look yalms away.” It’s softer and Byleth slowly looks up from fingertips to familiar eyes, that warmth pressing against her chest...consuming. Distracting.

Her face contorts in confusion and she shakes her head.

Does she look far away?

“...I’m sorry--” 

“Are you alright?” It’s even gentler, barely heard over the wind and the soft sound of the rain starting to gently patter about their feet and the fish in its bucket full of water in deep plops, and the pond where the fish scatter from its cold intrusion. Edelgard steps closer and Byleth nods.

“I’m...fine.”

“What is it?” It’s an invitation and Byleth must visibly hesitate because Edelgard steps closer, still, careful--

“I…” A huff of breath through lips, feeling-- feeling  -- “I just...  felt something, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard is rare with her affection on the grounds but fingertips raise up to gently brush ragged bangs from Byleth’s eyes. This is the closest she’s felt all month, even a moment ago in her arms, and an ache churns in Byleth’s stomach. It’s a testament to how much a student changed over the years, because she asks instead of assuming she knows the best recourse: “Are you in any pain? Do you want me to call for Manue--”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that. I felt--” Brows still knit and, words failing her, Byleth gently takes Edelgard’s hand and lowers it to her heart, where its weak thud aches (and aches) up towards the warmth of familiarity. Presses a palm of white against the black-cloaked, hidden place that used to be so  still. It stirs like coal simmering beneath ashes, vibrating fingertips and her chest and her throat. It beats so steadily that Byleth might think it would scare those fish away. “I  felt something. New.”

“Oh.” The realization settles deep in widening violet.

“Maybe not  new , just...different. It all feels…”

Different.

Edelgard’s fingers splay over heart and Byleth’s breath catches, looking away.

“Do you know what it was?” 

“No. It felt...like--” A tongue darts over lips before she tries-- “I’m still--” It feels so odd to say--to  admit --out loud.

“You can tell me.” El promises, leaning closer so that it’s just them standing in the soft, gentle rain, neither of them minding. For the moment, at least, their voices barely heard over the sky’s gentle cry. Byleth hesitates. “My teacher…” El whispers in her ear, “They’re  our  problems, remember? You’ve taught  me  so much, the least I can do is help you untangle  this.” 

“I’m…” Byleth eases tense muscles beneath Edelgard’s fingertips, wordlessly lifting up her cloak to shield them from the rain, “I’m still learning what all of them mean. It’s like...waking up and trying to remember a dream. I’ve...I think I’ve  felt  these things before. I’ve just never felt them so...” Her head tilts to the side, “...  strongly.” 

“And what do you feel now?” 

It’s started to rain a bit more, gentle, graceful drops. The kind that makes the grass smell like dew and hides the scent of enemies in a battlefield, even if it helps make their tracks clearer due to the mud their boots will sink into after it's settled, trapped.

The kind that makes Edelgard’s hair stick to her chin, if they’re out in it long enough, framing the curving edges of her smile on the unlikely occasion it’s only them en route to a mission or a skirmish or a battlefield.

Or fishing by a pond in Garreg Mach.

Byleth pulls up her cloak enough to block out the rain from Edelgard's eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Alright.” Edelgard pulls enough away to see her in the shadows of the black cloak surrounding them, looking thoughtful and determined for a moment before she tries, “Then what...did it feel  like ? What were you thinking? What did you want, in the moment?” 

“I don’t know.” Byleth admits, trying to sort it through, calm and methodical, “...it was... good .” A little more certain, mulling it over before she repeats, firmer: “It was good.”

“Good.” El sounds relieved in a way likely only Byleth and Hubert would be able to hear of it in her voice. 

“Warm. I was watching you fish and I was thinking of how much you’ve  grown as a person, and into who I knew you could be, and how...” Her head tips upwards, thinking of the way Edelgard had looked at her own catch, realizing: “...proud of you I am.”

El blinks, rain tickling down cheeks to Byleth’s chin before she quietly...smiles. Beautiful. And the warmth is there but  different  , again. Spreading.  Aching . 

“You felt  proud of me?”

“I...yes. I  feel  ,” Byleth settles on, a little more sure--a little more confident and sturdy--meeting Edelgard’s eyes with her second resolute nod, “  Proud of you.” 

Byleth has read about pride. It’s the emotion that precedes arrogance in novels--the emotion that can heat someone’s palms to war; It’s the emotion that swells up in a lover’s chest when they watch the eye of their heart succeed, or a mother when their child writes a song and defies them to sing it to a nation; it’s many people’s downfall. Heroes. Villains. People.

It’s Byleth’s success, as a teacher. And...the woman who feels for Edelgard as she does.

“Byleth…” El softens and beneath the thin weight of Byleth’s coat, which must seem like safety enough from prying eyes and the scattered fish, she leans up to kiss her cheek, near the edge of lips, and the breath rattles in an Emperor’s lungs before it pushes out between them, steady and warm. Her voice rumbles like quiet thunder in the distance, but Byleth's never seemed safer beneath it, “Who I am, today, is because of you, I think you have  reason to be proud.” 

“You’re giving me  too much credit.” Byleth murmurs, dismissing, and Edelgard kisses her again, near the other edge of barely curved lips, the sound of a fish flopping in the bucket next to them missed beneath the rain.

“My love,” Edelgard doesn’t laugh, but she does  smile in her wry amusement, and that warmth burns and burns and burns in Byleth’s cool chest, “You don’t give yourself enough.” 

Pride

Byleth knows this word, but didn’t understand its meaning. 

Not until Edelgard taught her.

“Next time you feel something new, you should tell me,” El offers, “We can sort it through, together. However confusing it might be, certainly it’s no rival for our combined wits.” Byleth thinks on it for a long moment before she nods and looks down towards Edelgard's first catch. “For now...why don't we cook tonight's dinner?" 

The cloak lowers as Byleth pauses, an almost shy smile tucking up the edges of lips before it smooths into something calm, "Sure. We'll cook it together." 

There's many things Edelgard rouses pride in her Professors' chest. Her passion and compassion--her intellect and deduction--her triumphs and the way she's learned humbled, and with dedication, from her failures--her fishing and, perhaps, most of all...her smile. 

Edelgard seems determined to add  her cooking to that list and while Byleth has a staunch feeling that today will not be that day, she finds herself...excited(? Hopeful? Pleased?) at all the days they can spend finding out.

(Even if she always makes sure the Head Cook sets aside a separate meal for them, just in case).

Byleth leans over to pick up a small little wooden box off the bench and later that evening, slides Edelgard's first hook inside.

----

In truth to their vows to each other in the Goddess Tower, they become a unified front. Although Byleth is unsurprised by the fact that this means not much  changes in their lives (outside of winning a war) because they were a unified front, before.

In strategy, battle, and tactics--in facing their enemies and their friends--but maybe... some things are different.

Like the nearly shy looks Edelgard sends Byleth’s way when no one is looking--or their moments, after the long days have set to night and the war counsel empties to two, that they sit and discuss what future might await them on the horizon, just out of reach but growing closer by the day. 

‘I’ve always wanted to go to Albinea’  ,  El’s wistful hum is lost in the quiet of the room, echoing around them as she leans up against the table they once had lessons on. Byleth’s arms cross as she leans next to her, their hips resting comfortably side-by-side as they have for the past two and a half years.

Byleth wouldn’t be surprised if El insisted the past   eight    years.

Time has passed, since the war, but she’s learned it doesn’t stop. Not anymore. Then again, it never   stopped    for Byleth--it only ever folded backwards in on itself like a rumpled shirt or sifted through her fingertips like sand she’d intended to throw into the eyes of an attacker, but lost to the ground, instead.

‘Me too.’ Byleth’s hand idly scratches nails along her chest and she lets out a small breath when she feels Edelgard’s fingers barely skim along the inside of her wrist, both of them hovering over her heart. ‘Maybe we can go there, when this is all over with.’

‘Let’s.’ And El smiles and that feeling...   blooms    and Byleth’s hand stills along her heart and Edelgard stills along with it. A curious look must have settled on Byleth’s face, because the next thing she knows--

‘...perhaps you’re feeling...hopeful.’ Edelgard boldly offers, shifting a little closer and Byleth’s eyes flick down to her lips. 

‘Is   that  what I feel?’ 

‘That’s up to you to say.’

‘Hopeful.’ She tastes before the summoning bell rings above them and they pull away.

Edelgard’s fingers linger in her own before they untwine, walking down the hall hip-by-hip towards the tower, their knuckles brushing with each step.

The moments are still rare, but they seek them out, now, the light from the sky catching along Edelgard’s ring before a glove is slid over fingertips.

Hope.

(Maybe not all futures must wait until after the shadows are scattered by light).

And hip-by-hip is how they tackle a professor’s removed, textbook examination of her own heart with Edelgard’s life experience (what she  has of it), slowly sorting out the feelings that have begun to stir in Byleth’s chest. 

They’ve both been removed from emotions for so long, maybe it’s nice for Edelgard to find them, too.

What is this feeling? Byleth learns to murmur in the air by Edelgard’s ear, and they’ll arrive at a conclusion, together. 

‘Contentment’ in the early morning as Byleth sets tea down on the soft, rustling white cloth in the gardens, watching the steam curve around Edelgard’s smile like hair caught around her cheek in the rain, their wrists creeping towards each other beneath the chipped porcelain that’s survived far more than a war--something soft and settling like fresh linens on a bed Byleth is still getting used to sleeping on; 

‘Disappointment’ in the moments their fingers touch and are pulled away by duty, the sound of their quiet laughter lingering throughout the stone halls similar to how the cathedral used to catch Dorothea’s voice as it rang throughout--aching and quiet as Byleth watches Edelgard’s smile fade into something serious and resolute; 

‘ Amusement ’ Edelgard wryly comments as Lindhardt successfully spars Caspar by continuously ruffling his hair with a sleepy grin and a yawning, batting hand--fluttering like a bird’s wings against her ribcage, bouncing about bars waiting to break free; 

‘ Sadness ?’ She asks Edelgard in a guess when the Emperor finds her in the courtyard overlooking a great chasm, her father’s and mother’s gravestones stalwart bastions against its empty void, as if they’re holding Garreg Mach’s penetrable walls of stone and lost faith from falling into the endless dark gravel below--muted and constant, a dull ache. It lessens, somehow, when Edelgard’s rare open touch skirts along her hip and rests along her stomach, guiding Byleth backwards against her chest.   

Soon, Byleth has experience to back the names of emotions she’s read about and dully felt and Edelgard, ever one to rise to a challenge, has stepped behind her professor without a second thought, trying to answer the questions of a quiz before her. 

“Joy?” Edelgard tries as Byleth’s fingertips run along the edge of a flower, blue hair spilling over shoulders and head tilted to the side in thought as she calmly regards El’s determination. 

Thinks it through.  No. It doesn’t sound right.

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head, fingers curving beneath the edge of a flower, not wishing to disturb the small bird fluttering around the surface, lips barely pursing in thought.

She’s been in the Greenhouse for an hour, or so, watching this small little blue bird bat from leaf to leaf of a plant she’s been growing, fingers scratching thoughtlessly at her heart.

Byleth hadn’t asked what the emotion was, but Edelgard took it upon herself to find out, regardless.

“Contentment.” Edelgard tries again, brows furrowed in deep thought, herself, the leader of a ruthless strike force and a now-impervious Empire. It’s a tactical strategy--Edelgard had initially tried to talk it through with Byleth to see what she was feeling, what it reminded her of--

‘It’s a bird. I just see a   bird  , Edelgard.’

‘That’s not exactly helpful, Professor.’

--before talking through some of the more base aspects of what was stirring in Byleth’s chest.

‘ Well...is it positive?’  

‘It’s...good, I think.’

When nothing else followed, Edelgard had sighed.

And then did what any leader might do: try to find a solution regardless of adequate facts, because it simply had to be done.

Peaceful?  No.  Nostalgic?  No.  Analytical?  No.  Joy?  No  --

And finally,  contentment , which like the ones before it, is met with a shake of the head. 

Edelgard frowns, the crease of it barely indenting between brows as she lays a hand against Byleth’s back, easing forward to look at the bird, herself.

At a loss and not admitting it, probably. Now  that  makes Byleth feel  amused . That fluttery little bird in her chest, far warmer than it had been watching Caspar and Linhardt. 

Most things are far warmer when she’s with Edelgard.

A cat by the doorway meows with what might be agreement and fingertips thoughtlessly curl around the stone of the planter’s box.

El hesitates before almost guiltily suggesting:  “...hungry?” 

“Hunger isn’t an emotion.” Byleth pauses, chin tipping up to look for Edelgard’s counsel, “It’s a need, isn’t it?” 

“Hmm, I suppose it is. And I might be disturbed if you wanted to eat a swallow you found in the garden.” 

“Mercenaries don’t have many choices, so I probably could. But if I  had to eat anything here, I’d rather have that squirrel up the tree.” Byleth’s lips barely tip upwards and the leader of Fódlan looks up towards the tree as if taking in the squirrel for the first time with a barely wrinkling nose.

“And I’m  still  disturbed by your sense of  humor  , my teacher.” But Edelgard smiles all the same, a hint of her competitiveness ebbing in light of the softness of the air in the garden as Byleth turns from the bird to brush a strand of hair from violet eyes--it had been tickling Byleth’s shoulder, given their close quarters, and was a little  annoying, but she doesn’t want it blocking Edelgard’s vision, either--fallen from a curving braid, tucking it behind that attentive ear. 

“Maybe some emotions don’t have names.” Byleth’s head tips to the side, palm warmed by the soft blush along Edelgard’s cheek from the gentle touch of fingertips as she leans into a cupping hand like it is both thoughtless and a very conscious choice, all in one. 

Warmth spreads from a clenching stomach to beating chest to curling fingertips, resting against El, who gently circles Byleth entirely in her arms, a little bolder every day.

Warmth.

Is  this contentment? Maybe it is. 

“Well...do you feel differently, now? Or is it still the same?”

Byleth’s head tips to the side, thinking it through before she leans close enough to taste El’s breath, wanting to be  closer , somehow, which makes no sense since arms are wrapped around her and there’s no real way to get closer, is there? Or maybe there is.

Oh, she thinks there  is.

Bergamot. Edelgard’s lips smell like the tea Byleth had brewed for her in the early morning, fingers curling around the ivory of a cup as a humming Emperor inhaled it through nostrils before taking a long, slow sip. The same tea likely sipped even when it grew cold throughout the day for a reason Byleth’s not certain of, and still doesn't feel the need to ask, because there's a certainty to the knowledge. This fact. That Edelgard is more than capable of brewing her own tea, but always seems to favor Byleth’s pot long into the afternoon, even after it grows cold.

Bergamot. 

It’s not the first time Byleth’s had the urge to kiss Edelgard and it probably won’t be the last. Even though they’ve tackled everything together, they haven’t had much  time  like this, alone. Fleeting moments for  months--

“I think I feel…” Byleth smiles--a little wider, however small it might be in comparison--gently guiding Edelgard closer as that blush spreads. “...distracted.” 

And that quiet laugh tastes as nice as it sounds and it dances up into the air like the flutter of the bird's wings below them and it fills all of Byleth’s lungs with it until that  content breath spreads through her and between them. 

Edelgard's laugh is as beautiful as her smile.

Bergamot, she decides, is a good scent.

“Oh, are you, Professor? What by?” A light tease despite that flattering blush, gloved fingertips smoothing out the rumpled collar of a dark cloak; work that’s ruined the moment Byleth’s other hand raises up to gently settle in the small of El’s back, pressing her up closer, and those gloves fist in fabric until suddenly white is engulfed by the shadows spread over shoulders. 

“What...do  you feel right now, El?” It's a murmur--curious and soft, letting out the smallest flutter of a breath when one of those tangling hands falls down to her chest and rests a palm against the skipping beat of a heart. It’s...soothing, now, how Edelgard holds her. It's been so seamless, how hesitation has slowly morphed into...familiarity. How Byleth's body seems to expect it as much as her mind might, heart pattering like soft rain and shoulders easing like knots of a ship that have been unmoored into calm waters.

“Maybe...some emotions  don’t  have names,” It’s a breathless recall, leaning just a little further up into Byleth until their noses brush and the words sink onto parting lips like a welcome drink of water. “But...if this one did, I suppose it would be--”

“Lady Edelgard.” 

Both of them tense, twisting around to see Hubert’s impassive face and devilishly twinkling eyes, voice monotone as Edelgard huffs underneath her voice--

“ Annoyance  .” To Byleth’s quiet chuckle, before she says much louder, “  Yes , Hubert?”

Surprisingly, Edelgard doesn’t pull away, although she does give Byleth a far more apologetic smile as those white gloves once more smooth out the wrinkles they've caused in fabric before facing Hubert and leaning into the palm settled in the curve of her back for just a moment more--just a moment more--before Byleth’s hand dutifully falls, facing the familiar stoic vassal, as well. 

“There’s word on the Slither’s movements on the outskirts of Hyrm.” 

Both of them straighten their spines, then, tender could-have-beens once again tabled for another day. Another tomorrow, brighter than the day before. 

They both have higher priorities.

“They’re heading towards Morfis?” Edelgard surmises and at Hubert’s nod, the Emperor sighs up towards her tactical counsel, something far more serious taking root in features. “It appears you were right, Professor.”

Neither of them take pleasure in this fact.

Those Who Slither in the Dark were not just slithering in Fódlan. 

“But unfortunately there’s been even more...unnerving developments than just Morfis.”

The war room is full within the hour after Edelgard and Byleth have both been briefed, their heads bent and hushed whispers bouncing along the high stone walls.

The map sits stalwart upon the table, crisp and loose around the pins keeping it stapled to the large desk centered in the room, holes widened from half a decade plus of wandering hands shifting it about as eyes took in a war front.

In the center of the map still sits proud Garreg Mach, whose conversion these past six months following the Won War from a Monastery to a genuine officer's school has not changed its current occupancy of forces. It's true that many hearts' hatred eased with each and every day of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg's steady, firm rule--more compassionate than they had been lead to believe through the mayhem and tragedy that consumed houses for neigh a near decade--but not everyone was pleased.

While The Great Beast (as she's come to be called within the troops, propaganda and pamphlets continuous and circulated, still) Rhea was felled and Dimitri, Deluded King (a term Byleth frowns at in its use every time), put to rest, there is still upset in much of Fódlan. Uprisings and spattered, enraged, frightened villages fighting back against who they view as an evil conquering force, taking away their land and religion, combined with the nobles who clutched desperately to their power and riches and crests, insistent that equality threatened their livelihoods.

“Perhaps if your excess of...livelihood cannot exist with equality--if you believe you require the lesser futures of the men and women you swore to protect and serve as their noble leader to maintain it--then you do not understand the worth of human life, at all, and are not fit to hold your position over them, von Gideon.”

Edelgard had been cemented in history as a fierce leader, but her rousing speech at a large estate set ablaze by righteousness in the North East of what was beneath the Lions Snare, where a noble had tried to fight the Black Eagles by using his peasants for fodder, would likely go down as a key quote to attest to it. There wasn't a scribe in sight as Emperor Hresvelg held a glowing axe to the last noble nephew of Gideon's neck underneath his mansion's towering stone pillars, the disgraced man scrambling backwards in the muck he'd fallen into from the gallop of his dismayed horse, cowering on his back with sniveling pleas as his flee from battle was thwarted...but the story has been told time and time again by every soldier and in every tavern Byleth's been to since. 

All with such a great dramatic flair and liberty to storytelling that she wouldn't be surprised if Alois wasn't the first one to tell it.

Edelgard's amused face as they sat on a carriage heading back towards Garreg Mach a month later after quelling another uprising was well worth the bumpy ride and sitting next to a skew-eyed pegasus. 

'--that's not how it happened at all! Edelgard beheaded him on the spot after he spat on an orphan boy that was working for him!'

'Oh, is that so? I had heard him jailed 'n Enbarr with the rest of the noble filth, waitin' judgment.'

'Oh, yeah--yeah--had a friend there, took his head clean off! He's not jailed, he's a yalm under!'

'You don't have friends, Jaspard.'

Normally, they ride proudly, but given the Slithers’ spies having eyes in   every    hill, it would be better not to be caught unawares by a trap. It was wiser to sneak into a caravan than to take the entire group across the border when Ferdinand would already need to head Northwest and Petra and Dorothea South. At least, that’s what Byleth suggested off-hand to Hubert’s   sighing    assent, all of them breaking off to go separate directions in common clothes. 

Which is why Hubert sets across from them looking   unnervingly    threatening towards a Pegasus that’s just licked his jaw in the back of a rickety, open-top caravan for the next three days. Byleth and Edelgard have settled next to each other far closer than they might have been were anyone else there.

This, for some reason, does not seem to improve Hubert's always dour mood.

‘I’ve never had roast Pegasus before. I wonder, is it a delicacy on the outskirts of the mountains?’ Hubert's smile is something reminiscent of the tales told of Byleth, herself, in the taverns:   devilish . 

Definitely not improvement. If this is how Hubert’s doing, Byleth can only imagine Ferdinand’s fear at riding in the back of a straw-filled cart.

Maybe he’ll think it’s an adventure. Caspar certainly looked excited.

'It seems this new Emperor wants the best for   all    people in Fódlan.' Edelgard pipes up underneath a particularly rough bump, a hint of red that might be indignation or amusement creeping up her neck and Byleth is just glad the farmers didn’t hear Hubert’s dry musing.

The men look back from their conversation and tilt their heads, appraising, and ultimately nod. 

'Y'know, lady...you might be right.'

Byleth's sword easily tips underneath her nails to dig out the dirt, casually shrugging with a serious nod, stilling it underneath the next bump. 'She usually is.'

The red was certainly not ire, now, spreading further upwards and that same, amused smile twisting up Edelgard’s lips as lips brush along the dirt-scuffed cheek resting upon a sword's hilt, paying little mind to the weapon...or to Hubert’s heavy   sigh    across from them, it seems.

Byleth offers a smile, shifting to hold Edelgard beneath the next jostling bump so that she might steady herself against it. Out of the corner of an eye she catches t he Pegasus nosing beneath Hubert's chin as if trying to lift his scowl.

It's not a surprise it doesn't work.

'Oh, Hubert, we're just traveling companions. Wouldn't you say, Jaspard?' Edelgard's voice is practically sing-song over her shoulder and Jaspard, once more paying them notice instead of squabbling with his own companion about just how many nobles Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg has beheaded, furrows brows thicker than the stray dog that wanders Garreg Mach's coat. 

'Uh...yeah, sure?'

The pegasus licks Hubert's cheek and Byleth's head tips to the side, calmly noting:

'I think it likes you.' A thoughtful hum, 'I think you would make a good Pegasus Knight, Hubert.'

Hubert's scowl...thins. And maybe it's a trick of the eye--maybe the trees above them filter out the sunlight until it blinks--but she swears, just for a moment, she might see the hint of a smile.

Or, at the very least, Hubert no longer threatens to cook the pegasus for the remainder of the ride to town.

And thus thanks to word of mouth, the uprisings caused by nobles have been easily dealt with, and few nobles could find villagers to bolster their claims of outrage, these days.

Edelgard was fighting  for them, not against them, and they were starting to understand that. 

The uprisings regarding religion were...trickier, and Edelgard’s interference usually led to  worse outcomes than if she hadn’t shown, at all, something she’d been reluctant to admit, but nodded after their last quelling of an insurrection led to every member of a church being toted away in chains.

Even now, Byleth is aware that had it been Rhea, the insurrectionists in the church likely would have been dead, instead of sitting in a jail, but the indignation of being locked up for ‘believing’ was gaining far too much traction to not be taken a serious threat.

‘It’s my job to lead--we’ve spilled enough blood, perhaps someone else might have a solution.’

‘I agree.’ Mercedes looks hesitant in the corner, but hardly meek. They all agree there’s been too much blood spilled. But Mercedes ultimately looks away before Byleth steps forward, eyes set on a girl she knows well.

‘...I think there’s a solution.’

All eyes expectantly look up save for Mercedes, who nervously watches Edelgard.

At Byleth's quiet insistence, these uprisings have been dealt with with the head of the New Church, Mercedes von Martritz, who has ended many  of them before they started, establishing several Churches underneath Edelgard's  cooperation  , not banner. An organization subsisting  within  the Empire--alongside, not  over.

So far, the most radical uprisings where Mercedes has not been successful in quieting them, Jeritza has settled them shortly after. 

They’re thankfully far less prominent. 

'I might hate this false Goddess and 'religion', but people still have a   right    to it, Byleth. Why would they think I would--everything I have done has been to protect them!' A rare frustration is as clear as a scowl upon lips, highlighted by the flickering candles that fortify the long spindles burning within a restored Cathedral. It paints Edelgard’s features in a soft, passionate glow, but also showcases the dark circles beneath sunken eyes. ‘They’re only prolonging their own suffering.’

'Maybe,' A shrug, gently stepping up behind tight shoulders to gently curl fingers around them. 'People are...protective over things that matter to them.' 

‘That   is  true, isn’t it?’ Edelgard murmurs, shoulders tensing before they relax beneath scarred palms. ‘I  suppose I am protective, as well. I am protective of everyone here--I’m protective of   all    of them. No one else has to die, if they would just--’ 

Byleth’s fingers skim along a cheek that clenches and eases just as shoulders had--dip down a neck that swallows and bobs--before wrapping around Edelgard's waist, guiding those sharp muscles and edges the rest of the way against Byleth's chest. A welcome embrace.

Edelgard sags against her like a sack of flour that’s been cut open, all the air in her lungs puffing upwards into the sky. 

Because here, it seems, just like her muscles, she can hold on only so tightly before letting go. It's a feeling Byleth...can understand, now.

‘All you can do is...lead people, El. You can’t make their choices for them.’ 

Fingers hesitate for only a breath before they smooth along Byleth’s wrists along hips, pulling the taller of them closer so that arms wrap fully around her, twisting to raise her own arms around a craning neck before El's own head falls to rest there. 

El fits so nicely here, like the proudest token nestled safely inside a box.

‘Then I’m glad I have you by my side. What are you protective over, I wonder--’ 

Edelgard’s chin tips backwards and Byleth holds her until a messenger comes shortly after with an updated report on Ferdinand’s slim hold in the Northwest.

It hasn’t gotten better, the two months since.

The war room is full of a tense silence after the news is shared, all eyes in the room focused upon the map of Garreg Mach, and the pins of their strongholds littering its aged surface. To the southwest, a few weeks’ journey away, lay a new pin.

A plague has started to take root in Hyrm, on the outskirts of Ordelia, much to Lysithea’s worry, similar to what had overtaken Remire but far worse. The stronghold borders what used to be the Leicester Alliance and the Empire’s hills--a key position against the annoyed nobles rebelling in the East looking to ride towards Enbarr.

The plagues’ spread is showcased by black pins trending a noted path upwards, adorned by the clean parchment quill of Ingrid’s handwriting.

Names.

“It’s spreading to the  nobles with crests who sided with the Empire.” Ingrid concludes, face pulled downward as if a string had tied to her chin. 

Sided with the Empire’s successful  insurrection , as many people in Leicester would still claim. 

“How could a plague attack someone with crests?” Caspar frowns, eyes flicking up towards the few empty chairs of their usual Black Eagle Squadron. Two notable absences with crests missing: Ferdinand, who has been dispatched to the Northwest of what used to be House Kleiman, whose strategic tactical position near the coast of the continent will be  invaluable if Byleth’s hypothesis of the Slithers’ outreach stretching to their neighboring continents held true. Leonie rides with him, crestless. And the other was Petra, who had returned to Brigid to mend relations between the Empire and her country while assuming rule. 

Dorothea, of course, was with her, but bore no crest, as well, and Byleth’s chin tips downward in thought, fingers tucking beneath a working jaw. 

“Technically a plague  infects, it doesn’t attack. But I suppose those who bear crests  do have unique blood.” Hanneman offers thoughtfully, carefully cleaning a monocle with a handkerchief he tucks back inside his pocket. “It is likely attacking the unique signature of the blood that makes crests so extraordinary.” 

“And if it’s attacking the  blood  , the options we currently have to treat it are, oh...  nonexistent  .” Manuela  pouts in the corner, clearly disturbed, knuckles resting beneath her own chin as she takes in the map. 

“Hmm...yes,” Linhardt perks upwards, either clearly deep in thought...or clearly deep in sleep, “Fascinating, really. It would have taken a good bit of experimentation on live blood samples of someone bearing a crest to create a strand of plague that could infect crest-bearers.” 

Byleth’s eyes skim over Lysithea’s pale features before settling to her left on Edelgard’s stoic ones. 

“Indeed.” Edelgard agrees, darker than any of them know. “Which can serve as a reminder of how dangerous they are--and always will be--until they’re wiped from existence. They’ve ruled by fear and oppression for so long that they don’t seem to know how to fight a war with any other tool. I fear this was likely their contingency plan from the start.” The discontent waters of violet flick up towards Byleth before once more settling on the board.

“So...if they’re going to worst case scenarios--” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, scowling. 

“It means we’ve got ‘em on the ropes!” Caspar pumps his fist and Linhardt sighs at the mere insinuation of probably how much effort it all sounds like but it’s Ingrid who steps closer. 

“I think we should be cautious.” Ingrid sports furrowed brows and tense lines about lips but she’s grown so much since Byleth first met her.

They all have, judging by Bernadetta in the corner, quiet but present. 

“Agreed.” Hubert nods, “They’re cunning beasts who have not yet revealed themselves to Fódlan for a reason. I would advise against underestimating them.” 

“I concur, as well.” The Emperor herself agrees before leaning up from the board. “I believe you all know your roles. This changes nothing from our current effort to solidify our defenses in key strongholds. Cementing our hold over the continent and against opposing forces by sea is a high priority not for just putting out lingering opposition from the war, but from  defending all of Fódlan. We need to keep an eye on our future as well as our present, my friends. The True War is still upon us. Be that as it may, Hubert, I’ll need you to notify Petra and Ferdinand of this immediately. We do not need to cause panic, but they need to be aware of the situation at hand in case it escalates. I do not want to send anyone to Hyrm until we’re positive the plague cannot be contracted by someone without a crest.”

“As you wish, your Majesty,” Hubert, with his ever-deep bow, departs shortly after. 

“Manuela, Hanneman, Linhardt--”

“Fine, fine,” Linhardt  yawns  , “I suppose looking into this will at least be  interesting  . Let’s go ahead and  solve it so that I can go back to bed.” 

“Not everything has to be about a  bed with you two,” Hanneman huffs and Manuela scowls, hands settling on hips. Indignant.

“ Excuse me--”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant and you  know it, Manuela. I simply meant you were late to this meeting because you were--”

“Alllllright. Let’s stop shoving our feet in our mouth squabbling and go kick some butt!” Caspar, surprisingly, is the one to shoo them out, much to everyone else’s relief.

The meeting that lasts after is another few hours before the light that had graced the garden has fallen and started to rise, once more, faraway on the horizon but close enough somebody might be able to touch the ephemeral warmth of it if they became one with the shadows on the edge of its reach. 

Soon enough, it’s just Edelgard and Byleth left in the thick of those shadows, candelight flickering above the edge of a map that’s slowly been stained red by blood and determination and time. White gloves had been replaced by a lightly-armored counterpart given the generals and commanders sifting in and out of the room and Byleth walks behind her, now, watching the way the light touches the dips of them and disappears in the red bend of knuckles above the map before calmly shifting. 

Knowing fingers slowly undo the left gauntlet, its ply metal creaking loud enough to cover Edelgard’s surprised gasp for any ear but her Tactician's, who’s close enough to feel it warm the air. Fingers run over the scarred ridges of fingertips--and knuckles--and a wrist--before she does the same with the right, fingertips tracing a map she wishes she were far more familiar with than the one of Fódlan and the Empire below them. 

Edelgard’s nose dips down, head hanging as shoulders barely shake and with a rattling, heavy breath. She leans back into Byleth’s arms, sagging just enough for those undressing hands to skim up fingertips to hips to arms to the other woman’s heart, nose brushing along the high rise of an Emperor's cheek. 

She can feel an Emperor sift like that sand of time into a woman left behind in the steady beats of her heart, strong and certain below Byleth's palm. Rhythmic. Soothing. Like a war drum. Like the bob of a fishing line against water. Like the sound of footsteps walking alongside her in the hall.

Edelgard unwinds a little faster against her, these days.

And Byleth quietly kisses the ring on Edelgard’s finger and wishes it was Edelgard, herself.

“I realized what it was, looking at the bird.” Byleth quietly offers in her ear, knowing Edelgard has never been content with mysteries and secrets unless they’re woven by her own hand. “During the counsel.”

“And what was that?” Barely a murmur, the tension still pulling that smooth voice as taut as the string on Bernadetta’s bow, thin and  sharp  and deadly. But shoulders ease a little more as one of Byleth’s arms wrap around her stomach, gently twisting in a slow dance to press Edelgard’s hips against the table and hold her up within the certain strength of her own arms. 

Byleth isn’t Hubert--she has no intention of taking Edelgard’s burdens solely upon her own shoulders so that she won’t feel them. Assuming her future wife is not capable of bearing the weight of her own life seems... undermining , somehow, after all Edelgard has accomplished and faced. No, Byleth is well aware of the Emperor’s strength.

Which is why she lets them stand together, instead, hand on a heart raising up to cup a cheek, instead. 

“Protective.” Byleth offers, thoughtful and quiet. “I had seen a cat out in the garden--I’ve been feeding it, so it followed me. I’d forgotten about it, because I stayed with the bird for...an hour, before you came, and it didn’t feel like it mattered. But it did.” 

It’s funny, that way. The strangest things cause emotions.

“Oh,” Edelgard’s features soften and it’s now that she seems to hesitate before she gently tucks her head in the crook of Byleth’s cheek, resting on her shoulder fully, once more. “You’ve always been far more compassionate than anyone knows. You have a habit of protecting little birds, don’t you? Animals--children-- students --”

“I know the bird can fly on its own, and it’ll see the cat coming.” Byleth wraps her arms a little tighter around Edelgard, then, whose hands smooth up the front of her shoulders, but this time they sneak boldly underneath the black of a cloak, flattening over biceps until the fabric puddles around scarred wrists. “But I couldn’t help but…” Brows knit as she tastes the word that follows, “...worry . I guess even though I had fed the cat, and I  like the cat, and the cat is just...hunting. I understand the cat’s motivations--” Byleth closes eyes and feels Edelgard settle in her arms and--

And it’s...warm.

It spreads through her and settles and eases the tension she hadn’t known existed in her spine. 

“You’ll fight for the bird, even against the cat. That’s...not the first time you’ve felt that way, is it? It’s a little bit of a heavy-handed metaphor, my love.” Edelgard murmurs, pulling away enough to look at her. 

Byleth's read about protection: it's the desire to safe-keep something from harm; it's the emotion that wraps around shoulders like a hug, fierce. Loyal. It's a knight, like Jeralt used to be, if a person could be an emotion.

What emotion would Edelgard be?

“I know you can fight your own battles.” Byleth nods, determination settling in, “But I’d rather fight them with you.” 

“As would I, Byleth.” El’s voice is quiet and her eyelashes flutter against Byleth’s palm, leaning...closer. 

Until her scent once more fills Byleth's lungs and her warmth spreads through fingertips and palms and a clenching stomach and suddenly all she can feel is Edelgard.

“What’s...this emotion?” A breath, leaning down to rest their foreheads together, brows knitting as Edelgard’s fingers hesitantly raise to brush over her cheek--her neck--push up through her hair, as if she’s careful of it. 

It’s the first time someone’s ever been careful of touching Byleth, outside of Rhea. 

(Byleth has a feeling Edelgard wouldn’t appreciate the comparison). 

“Hmm…” A thoughtful note sounds in the back of her throat as Edelgard leans closer in the earliest hours of the rising sun, light starting to creep up their bare hands and scarred necks and El’s soft, loving smile. “Anticipation,” Teeth tuck lips, “I would think.”

“Anticipation.” Byleth tastes with a smile and feels the thud of Edelgard’s heart in her throat and the shifting air between them and the feeling of fingertips growing a little bolder in their curl about her own craning neck, before leaning down and kissing her.

Love--

El’s gasp parts locked gates against lips and Byleth’s heart and the beating bird within as her fingers tangle in her hair and mutter  ‘finally’ against her before they inelegantly clatter against the table and knock half of the scrolls off the top of it, the map tearing a little at one of the pins, both of them giggling and chuckling and--

Embarrassed and Happy and Giddy and Light--

--as they clean up the mess before Edelgard’s teeth tuck her lips and she blushes as she brings Byleth closer, once more. This time guiding her far away from the long table into the corner, sheltered from the kalleidoscope light of the stained glass windows in this shell of a building full of  used to be’s  and slowly heralding  will becomes. 

Neither one of them have had much practice at this, but love is something they can learn together, as well.

“Let’s try again.” 

--Love--

Byleth hums as she kisses El again and again and again underneath the warmth of the sun until both of them part with flushed cheeks and knowing smiles and fingers that link until they’re forced to go their separate ways, a little more disheveled than they had been an hour before. 

Love through tense weeks and months and half a year of a slowly spreading plague and continued fights. Love through stolen moments and kissed rings and emotions offered up into the air and caught by Edelgard’s lips.

“ Love ”--Edelgard vocalizes and offers, herself, as they lay in the grass by the gardens months and months later, tucked away in a corner where no one would think to look save for  Hubert (because anyone who  would look isn’t nearly as bold). Her finger gently, fondly tracing down the line of Byleth’s cheek like a painting, eyes bright and bashful as she leans above her.

“Is that what you feel?” Byleth asks, leaning into that fond finger and wrapping arms around her waist. It’s the first time Edelgard’s offered an emotion of her own instead of being asked--or implying it with an answer of Byleth’s. 

They’re parting ways in a few hours--Edelgard to Enbarr and Byleth to the outskirts of Kleiman to help Ferdinand secure the territory after a surprising uprising in the Southeast of the fortress, near the coast. 

A little  too  close to the coast, and a little  too close to the spread of the plague that they’ve been monitoring since word of it rose. It’s convenient in the worst of ways that they’ve both come to expect, and it’s the wisest decision to send a tactician over the Emperor, however Edelgard desires to be on the front lines.

It was smart to send Byleth, they all agreed.

It’s funny, how time can move so  quickly . She finds it hard to believe Ferdinand has been gone so long.

‘Let me go fishing’ , Byleth had murmured against the curve of Edelgard’s neck above mussed sheets and biting lips before everyone had arrived a week prior, hand curving over her hip and Edelgard’s fingers falling down to her chin and her neck and her heart as she hovered above her, hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight. It was the decision that made the most sense.

‘I hate this --’

‘...I'm sorry.’

‘I   hate    this, Byleth--’

A blink, coming back to the present. Do emotions always do this? Are they always so...heavily tied with memories and moments and the flutter of violet eyes like a blue bird’s wings?

“Yes.” Edelgard looks away--unusual, given she’s the type to tackle problems head-on--and Byleth shifts upwards on her elbows.

Byleth’s read thousands of books and nearly half of them mention love. People were  fascinated  with love and...Byleth was too, in a way. She’d never felt it, and never understood it, and could never quite grasp its importance. On a battlefield she had watched people kill for it and die for it and  live for it--

It’s something so complex to capture that it doesn’t have such a simple definition like the other emotions might--it’s like a...box. A wooden, rickety box tenderly made and nailed, full of emotions that are so cluttered and many that they all have to be contained so that they aren't spilled and lost and forgotten.

A box. Maybe this...cluttered thing made out of the wood of her chest filled with a dozen--a hundred--a  thousand  other emotions inside of it, carefully latched and closed and carried about in a rucksack from campsite to campsite, safely stowed. Hidden.

Yes, a box. This brittle wooden thing with  love  written on the outside of it.  Love...written in an elegant pen by a white-gloved hand. Signed like a letter--like a name--because Byleth would know that hand anywhere it pressed, branding wood and ink and life beneath its touch. A thousand keepsakes of  happiness  and  hope  and  anger and a million other things Byleth knows the definition to but has only recently fully understood tidied within its cramped confines. Love. Some people throw the word around so carelessly--

Manuela, who loves another person every week

--or have never quite found what was nearby them--

Dorothea, whose letters to her professor list Petra more than anything else

--or have never found its purpose--

Felix, who loves training, he claims, but loathes the taste of battle before sniping that Sylvain will waste away if he doesn’t join him

--and Byleth watches the way Edelgard says it as her chin dips. Certain and careful--like the word means more than she might know how to explain, herself, and Byleth thinks of the poems and the operas and the novels she’s read and imagines each of them on El’s lips before she leans up a little further, safely tucking the other woman against her chest. 

She watches the sun dance along her cheek as Edelgard looks up at her through long lashes, blush and nerves tucking up a thin smile.

When Byleth was as tall as his knees, her father crafted her a box, and she thinks Love might be like that.

“El…” Byleth reaches down to curling hand and untucks a glove where a ring has settled for nearly a year, now, hidden away safely out of sight like so many things are. “I asked you to spend your life with me.” She reminds, lips brushing over it in a quiet ceremony. “We’re engaged. You don’t need to be nervous.” 

The blush deepens and when Edelgard tries to turn away, Byleth catches her chin. 

"I--"

“Is it...so hard for you to imagine I love you, too?”

Edelgard is unusually silent for a long moment before her hand raises up to Byleth’s chest, resting over her heart. And she smiles. This broken, hopeful thing that reminds Byleth of the night she had returned from half a decade of sleeping, or something close to it, something she doesn't quite understand yet buried deep in those eyes.

“If you do, then it won’t be difficult for you to promise me you’ll do everything in your power to come back to Garreg Mach. Promptly. In a  month’s  time, not five years. No more  sleeping .”

“It’s not difficult for me to promise that.” Byleth immediately offers, voice calm, watching the way Edelgard’s features twist and contort beneath their own calm veneer like a fish beneath the pond's surface. “As long as you promise to keep up with your training in Enbarr. I would hate to have to come sooner to whip you into shape. No fighting is no reason for your axe work to get sloppy, Edelgard."

“ Professor  ,” Edelgard gripes, though there’s a hint of a smile in her eyes, “I’m being  serious  . You honestly joke at the  worst momen--”

Byleth kisses her, feeling tense shoulders ease beneath her touch as Edelgard’s fingers wind in her hair, pressing them both down into the red quilt they’d stolen from a student’s bed, its hue vibrant and harsh above the green grass that resembles a Goddess's eyes. 

“...I love you, too.” Byleth whispers when they pull away and sees Edelgard’s conflicting shock and contentment in equal measure--her happiness and  nerves-- but her smile seems to make the whole world feel...unimportant, just for a second. A moment. 

An instant and five years, all in one.

"Then I expect you to return to me...my Empress." Quiet so only Byleth might hear, Edelgard's knuckles skim down Byleth's cheek and the empress lets out a rattling, soft sigh.

All of those books had made love seem so  complicated, but it tasted right the moment Edelgard had offered it.

But Byleth doesn't have to ask what  this feeling is. They're both far too familiar with war.

An afternoon later, Edelgard’s fingers lingers in her own amongst the troops as their hands clasp to part--their eyes meeting and staying before they can't, anymore--and the Emperor sees her advisor off towards Kleiman, her own convoy heading the opposite way to Enbarr, a box tucked in her bag and a dagger on Byleth's hip. She leads the charge on a horse at the helm, never one to shy away from the front lines, Hubert’s look knowing and calm next to her. 

"Until we meet again, Professor." Hubert offers before turning about his own horse, both of them disappearing into the light cast off of the mountains as Byleth turns towards the darkness behind her, the beast she rides neighing appreciatively as she dips into the quiet shadows left by cascading trees into the sky.

“You look happier, Professor.” Ferdinand casually mentions offhand, the sound of their horses hooves sinking into mud accompanying them during the daylight. He had met her halfway towards Kleiman, their intent to set up another outpost on the outskirts hopefully not heard by anyone else in the Monastery.

There were shadows in every corner, after all. Or at least that's what Hubert liked to enigmatically drawl knowingly every time they talked about the Slithers having spies. 

“Do I?” Her head tilts to the side, remembering her father once saying the same, long ago. She hadn’t realized emotions could ease the knots of muscles until something softer could be seen underneath. Not until Jeralt had mentioned it. She’s getting a little more used to the idea. “And  your  hair is getting even longer. It suits you.” It's pointed out in kind and Ferdinand preens at the observation, offering a dazzling smile as he sits straighter on his horse. 

“Ah, yes. I had initially thought it was unbecoming of a noble to keep it unmaintained, but I find I like it far more.” His chin tips upwards towards the sun--command looks good on him, as well, their battalion following behind. Well-led and proud. “Edelgard, though my judgement would have been sound without her commentary, did  also  state that it complimented my eyes, a few years ago, and made me seem more approachable to commoners.” Byleth doubts those were Edelgard’s exact words, “It spoke great volumes that we both were of the same thought. There’s many things I never would have assumed I would have enjoyed outside of the nobility. Who knew hair could provide such a cautiously freeing sense of enjoyment? So I've let it grow longer.” 

“I’ll help you brush it once it reaches your hips.” Byleth helpfully offers and Ferdinand laughs, surprised and shaking it over shoulders. 

“That will not be necessary, Professor.”

“It can be very difficult to maintain.” Byleth seriously continues, pointing towards it off-handedly, “In a battle the last thing you need is a handle for someone to grapple you to the floor with, especially from your horse.” 

Ferdinand scratches at his chin in thought, humming.

“Ah, I had not seen that angle, Professor. Perhaps freedom does come with its costs.” He seems plagued by this for a moment before Byleth nods.

“Dorothea arrives next week, we’ll have her cut it for you. She’s cut mine, before.” After pouting that Byleth had let it turn into a mess, anyways. Which is strange because Byleth’s hair has  always been this way.

Was it messy?

‘Edie can’t run her fingers through a raven’s nest, Professor.’

‘I have no idea what that even means, Dorothea.’  

‘ Oh, hopefully you two aren’t too thick-headed to find out.’ Dorothea’s sigh could push mountains to the edge of Fódlan. 'No wonder why she never gives me any of the good stuff in her letters.'

'What?'

'Nothing~~'

"She can keep it long but still manageable. Then you have both freedom and functionality."

Ferdinand perks upwards. “She  does  seem to have a great amount of experience needing to cut her own hair and not having someone to do it for her.”

Byleth sighs. 

He’s making  progress , perhaps that’s the best they can ask of him.

Fondness --she can hear Edelgard murmur in her ear, a phantom’s touch as her smile might skirt along her cheek.

A smile, soft and quiet, graces Byleth's lips, in kind.

“It suits you, as well.” Ferdinand offers and Byleth tilts her head to the side to regard him, a little distracted in her thoughts as they continue on. “Happiness.”

Ferdinand just smiles and Byleth nods after a long moment, realization donning. 

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s  good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Happiness is the word she thinks her father would have liked the most to hear she learned.

Happiness. It’s a word Byleth knew the definition to, but never quite understood. 

Not until Edelgard gave it to her.

Love suits me, El  --she can imagine humming along her shoulder, because for now the only emotion she can imagine settling in that sanded, shaped box labelled ‘love’ is the rattling, large one named  happiness.

[imanerdychubbyqueen]

One Night Stand  Sad Eyes x Black/Hispanic  Plus Size Reader!!

warnings: Smut 18+, choking, Angst. 

Please let me know what y’all think, I want to thank @multiyfandomgirl40​ and @lady-pswrld​ for their help, it means a lot. 

P.S. All my Ocs will be Black/Hispanic Plus Size, Because Plus Size Woman deserve love too!!. Here we go!!

There's some grammar mistakes, Beware!!!!

GIF Creator: @merakiaes​

 Ashanti was sitting on the toilet, staring at the pregnancy test she took just 5 minutes ago, she was glad her parents Dwayne and Stacy and her little brother  Jamal, weren’t home because if they were, they wouldn't have liked  the results that the pregnancy test showed. Standing up and putting the test on the piece of toilet paper she ripped from the toilet paper earlier, she washed her hands, grabbing the test and heading to her room. Closing her bedroom door, Ashanti places the test in her safety deposit box, before laying on the bed, as Ashanti turns over, cuddling with her pillow, wiping her tears away, she starts to think about that one night. 

Ashanti was on her bed watching The Vampire Diaries, as a celebration for herself, she recently graduated college with her Bachelors Degree in Software Engineering, a month ago and two days ago she got hired to work for Google at home, and since it was peaceful at home, she decided to order pizza and binge watch the diaries, but was interrupted by a call from her best friend of 15 years, Monica Guzman. 

“Hello.” Ashanti says, after chewing the piece of pizza that was in her both.“Whats up Bitchh” Mariana  yells over the phone. “Nothing just chilling.” Ashanti pausing her show. “Well chilling time is over cause we are about to go to Oscars party.” Mariana picking her outfit, after looking thru her closet she decides on a pair of Levis 501 pants with a white crop top with  one of her boyfriend, Jokers Black and white flannels with air force ones and a gold chain, that Joker brought her for their 5 year anniversary. “Mari, really I don't like partying.” Ashanti silently  groans, moving from a lying position to a sitting up position. “SIS we just graduated college and we were both hired from  our dream jobs, if that isn't something to party about then i don't know what is.” Mariana  fixing her hair after getting dressed. “Mari I don't know.” Ashanti looking at her nails. “Sad Eyes is going to be there.” Monica convinces Ashanti. “So??, hie is dating Andrea Ramos' ' Ashanti mocking Andreas' voice. “ Not anymore, I don't think, Just pleasee comeee pretty please. '' Mariana begs. “Fineee.” Ashanti gives in. “Great, so Joker is picking me and my brother up first, so ill say about 30 minutes we should be at your place and also, wear something sexy!!” Mariana putting her on speaker. “I don't have anything Sexy!” Ashanti getting up from her bed and walking towards her closet. “Yes you do, you have the 2 piece yellow set, the one with a crop top and matching short skirt and wear you're black vans.” Mariana  instructs Asthanti. “Okay, I found It” Ashanti finds the 2 piece outfit under the chest box in her closet in the Ross shopping bag she hid from her dad. “Alright see you in 30.” Mariana  says. “Bye.” Ashanti replies , before ending the call. Picking up the box from her bed and heading to the kitchen, placing it in the fridge and closing the fridge door, she heads to the front door and the back door making sure they are both locked before heading back to her room and grabbing her black towel and running to the bathroom, locking the bathroom door once As Ashanti got inside, turning on the shower, she hangs up the towel while the shower gets hot before stepping inside shower, washing her body and wetting her hair since she washed it yesterday, she starts to rinse her off when she quickly remembers she needs to shave her legs, grabbing her men razor and her shaving cream she quickly but carefully starts to shave her legs, after spending 15 minutes in the shower, Ashanti turns off the shower, grabbing her towel drying off her body before exiting the shower, stepping on the mat and the towel they use on the floor. Reaching  the sink, She grabs her hair products from the sink cabinets that's located under the sink, and putting them next to the sink before getting up and opening and grabbing some gel spreading to her hair evenly, before checking the final result in the mirror, noticing she missed a few stands, Ashanti grabs a smaller amount than before playing the gel on those strands she miss before smiling at the end result, washing her hands, and putting her hair products away.

 Unlocking the door and jogs to her room, Ashanti quickly hangs up her towel, before walking to her outfit that was laying on her nightstand, grabbing her yellow lacy set, she brought from Torrid she quickly puts it on, then her skirt, crop top and finally her socks before putting her shoes on, Grabbing her lanyard which contain her house key and car key and her new Employee Id for Google, before shutting her tv off and fixing her queen size bed with black comforter set covering it. Taking a small glance around the room making sure everything was shut off and checking the bathroom, she heads outside opening and closing the door before locking it with her key. The minute she turned around Joker's car was already on the sidewalk waiting for her. “Hurryy upp” Mariana  yells, making Ashanti jog towards his car, getting inside once Sad Eyes steps out to let her in. “Thank you Joker for picking me up.” Ashanti yells. ‘You know I got you, you're family.” Joker says. Turning her attention to Sad Eyes, aka Angel Guzman, Mariana’s brother, she thinks about all the times he used to drive her and Mariana to the liquor store to get snacks for their sleepover, and how she would buy him a coke as a thank you, how he would smile at her making her blush like a schoolgirl, Mariana finally found out her best friend has a crush on her brother when Ashanti told her on a dare, of course like every girl who has a brother thinks EWW!! But later Mariana was glad it was her best friend, somebody who knows how to treat someone unlike Andrea Ramos. Ashanti didn't realize they were there until Sad Eyes tapped on her shoulder. “Are you coming Ash or are you going to sit in this car and stare off in the distance?” Sad Eyes chuckles. Seeing Sad Eyes giving both of his hands to help her out of the car made her start to feel like a schoolgirl over again. “They're here!! Freeridge newest College graduates Ashanti Turner and Mariana Guzman!!”Oscar Diaz, aka Spooky shouts out with a beer in the air in his left hand, once they made their appearance on Oscar's lawn. “Congratulations!! Proud of you!!” Oscar kissing both their foreheads before heading back to his Reina of 4 years Letty Mendez. “Gracias.” Both girls shout so he can hear them. Walking behind Joker and Mariana while Sad Eyes is walking beside her, she felt out of place, since some of Andrea's friends here giving her a glare once they saw her walking next to Sad Eyes. Sad Eyes must have felt her discomfort, grabbing her hand and bringing to his lips and giving it a kiss before saying “It will be okay, enjoy the party it's for you anyway, you and Mariana!!”. 2 hours have passed since arriving to the party  and after dancing with Mariana, shaking her ass, letting loose.

Ashanti decides to take a break for herself and grabs a Modelo and heads to the porch in front of Oscars front door, taking a seat and sipping here and there, Ashanti thinks back to the past how far she's overcome, but is interrupted by a voice. “Can I join you?” a voice asks, making Ashanti turning her head and looking up. “Oh sure, if you want?” Ashanti asks, regretting what she just said instantly hitting her forehead with the palm of her left hand. “You're cute” Sad Eyes chuckles, looking at how embarrassed she might have felt right now. “Me??’ Ashanti pointed to herself after looking around to make sure it was her he was talking about. “Yes you” Sad Eyes takes a sip of his beer. “You shouldn't be saying that stuff when you're with someone else .” Ashanti looks at Sad Eyes. “It's complicated.” Sad Eyes looking down at his shoes. “What do you mean complicated?” Ashanti uses air quotes for the word Complicated. “I feel like she's using me, to  buy her clothes and shoes or whatever she wants , and also to show off to other girls that she's with me, that I'm taken.” Sad Eyes looking up at Ashanti. “I'm sorry. “ Ashanti put a piece of strand of her curly hair in front of her face. “Don't be. It's not your fault.” Sad Eyes putting that strand of hair in front of her curly hair behind her ear “Don't hide your beautiful face Mamas.” Making Ashanti giggle. “Can I kiss you Ashanti Marie Turner?” Sad Eyes putting his hand under her chin making her look at him. “I don't think t-that's -” Ashanti stutters. “Please just this once.” Sad Eyes looks at her. Ashanti nods. Getting her confirmation, Sad Eyes craved more the minute his lips landed on hers, taking matters into his own hands he slowly leaned in again for a full blow kiss, after receiving a reaction from her he smirked slightly as his arms wrapped around her waist pulling her closer, Ashanti wraps her arms around his neck,  unhooking one arm from his neck, she places her hand on his right cheek, then her other hand on his left cheek, bringing him so much closer now, as both of these two were to focusing on fighting Dominance in this makeout session on the front porch, that they didn't hear Joker and Mariana coming towards them. “Are you guys  ready to go home??” Joker asks, while waving his arm that wasn't around Mariana's neck, making Sad Eyes and Ashanti pull away from each other quickly. “Did we interrupt Something?” Mariana smirked, as she can tell they were kissing by the way their lips were looking. “No,No” Both Ashanti and Sad Eyes say, shaking their heads. Monica nods her head, knowing they are lying. “You guys ready??” Joker asks one more time. “Yes” Ashanti and Sad Eyes both reply. Getting up from the porch and walking behind Joker and Mariana, Both Sad Eyes and Ashanti can feel the sexual tension rising as both of them walk beside each other. Getting in and sitting behind Sad Eyes Ashanti blushes at their little make out session. Parking next to the sidewalk in front of her house, Ashanti stepped out of Jokers car after giving Mariana her kisses on her cheek before patting Joker on the bed and stepping out once Sad Eyes got up and opened his door and stepping out, once she was finally out of the car, she looks at Sad Eyes and says as Mariana and Joker look at her, “Sad Eyes do you want to come in, my parents are gone and Jamal's at Ruby's for the night. “ fidgeting with her fingers, once she hears a car door open she looks up, seeing Sad Eyes standing in front of her and says” Yes!!” Sad Eyes chuckles, making Ashanti laugh, walking along the sidewalk towards her front door, they hear Joker scream “Use protection.” Making Mariana hit  him on his shoulder before pulling away and driving down the road, Reaching her door, Ashanti walks in front of Sad Eyes, enters her home, and turns around and watches Sad Eyes close the door and locks it before leading him to her bedroom, to watch a movie on Netflix.

Picking The Lodge as the movie they would watch , after she changes to her pink pajamas set, with a soft comfy tank top and a soft and comfy pair of shorts, Ashanti pulls back her covers and slips in and wait for Sad Eyes whos in the bathroom, to start the movie. Hearing the bathroom door open Ashanti pulls back the covers over her so she is mostly covered, and watches as Sad Eyes enters her room and closes and locks her bedroom door, before slipping in her bed next to her. “What are we watching?” Sad Eyes asks , looking at her tv with one of his arms behind his head, and the other one laying across her stomach. “It's called the Lodge, about a woman who babysits her boyfriend's kids while he has to go on a business trip I think.” Ashanti squinting one eye, trying to remember what it said for the movie description. Sad Eyes nods his head, taking in what Ashanti just said, before pressing play. Half an hour in the movie, Ashanti was laying down, with the covers covering her face, just to be prepared for the jump scares. Ashanti jumps as the scary scene pops up on scene, making her yelp and Sad Eyes chuckling, touching Ashanti thigh rubbing back and forth as sign that she's okay, feeling his hand move back and forth on her thigh, Ashanti starts to felt tingling down in her pussy , Ashanti was a virgin, but tonight she wouldn't be anymore. As Sad Eyes turned his attention away from the movie, looking at Ashanti as she was looking back at him, they both could feel the sexual tension, but before anything happened Sad Eyes said “One night, that's all i can offer you Ashanti.” Ashanti nods understanding this is a one-time thing. Sad Eyes turned to the body, laying on his side facing her, looking at her, putting his hand under Ashanti's chin, making her look up at him, leaning in Sad Eyes kisses her lips softly, Ashanti puts her hands behind his neck, Rubbing the back of his head up and down. Sad Eyes, moves from her lips to her neck, kissing it roughly, before sucking it, creating a hickey. Ashanti moans, tilting her head back at the movement, giving him more access's, which he granted. Removing her hands from his neck, moving them down his shirt until she reached the bottom of it, she pulls it up, signaling him to take it off, Sad Eyes stops sucking her neck, getting up from her, sitting up on his knees pulling the shirt over his head, throwing it across her room once it was fully off, before going back down sucking on her neck, kissing up from her neck down to her pussy, stopping it, once he reaches her skirt.Pulling her crop top up and exposing her yellow lacey bra, pulling the bra down freeing her breasts out, squeezing them, rubbing her nipples, pulling them as Sad Eyes places kisses from her neck to below her belly button before stopping in front of her skirt, making her tilt her head back, lifting her stomach. Looking up at Ashanti, Sad Eyes asks for permission to remove her shorts, threw his eyes putting his hands on her waist, once Ashanti gave him a nod as a yes, he wastes no time then pulling each side of the shorts down, until they reach her ankles, yanking them off of her, he throws it across the room. Looking back at Ashanti, Sad Eyes Pulls her legs apart from each other, before kissing her from ankles on both legs  to the inside of her thighs on both legs.pulling her underwear to the side, Sad Eyes looks at her one more time, sending her his sexiest smirk, before sticking his long tongue inside her pussy, diving in, putting his arms underneath, her thighs earning a squeal from Ashanti, pulling her closer to him, giving his tongue more access to her black/ pink pussy. Ashanti felt wave of pleasure hitting her, once Sad Eyes stuck his tongue inside of her. ”F-Fuck Angel” Ashanti moans, traveling her hands to her breast before squeezing them, playing with her nipples with her middle finger.”You like that mamas” Sad Eyes words sending a vibration through her body. ”Fuckkk you taste so good, You taste like strawberries my favorite.” He says, adding a finger while he licks her pussy. “A-Angel I’m about to cum!!” Ashanti moans, lifting her stomach up. ”Yeah, you gonna cum for papi, Fuck the more I taste you the harder I get” Sad Eyes feeling his boner growing each lick he licks.“Yeah??!! I want to feel you in my mouth!!, I want to taste you papi” Ashanti tilting her head back. "You will mamas, But first you gotta cum for papi, can you cum for papi??!!” Sad Eyes sticking his long thick fingers in her pussy moving in and out at a rapid pace. `Yes, Yes I can” Ashanti feeling her release coming. Ashanti's body starts to shake, as Sad Eyes sticks his tongue on her, slurping all of her juices in his mouth. Ashanti tries to calm down her breathing after feeling her first release, Sad Eyes looks over at her laughing a little bit. “How do you feel??” Sad Eyes, asks standing up, moving to her side of the bed. “Amazing but it’s your turn now” Ashanti gets on her knees, crawling towards Sad Eyes on the bed, reaching him Ashanti wraps her small , yellow manicured nails around his long thick cock, before looking up at him through her eyes lashes.``Your soo big” Ashanti looks down at his cock, moving her hand up and down, making Sad Eyes groan. “Stop teasing Ash, put it in your mouth baby, stop being a tease, show papi how deep you can swallow my cock!!” Sad Eyes looks down at her. Without a warning, Ashanti places his cock in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat moving her head up and down slowly at first before speeding up. Sad Eyes brings a hand to her hair, grabbing a fistful before moving her head faster and faster. “F-Fuck look at the good girl, how she can suck a cock just like a porn star!! I bet you mom and dad don’t know how much of a freak their daughter is huh??” Sad Eyes leaning his head back.Ashanti moans, sending vibrations to Sad Eyes body, looking down at her, he can see tears coming out of her eyes, making him almost releasing. F-Fuck baby, Your gonna make me release in your mouth.” “Do it” Ashanti mumbles, pulling Sad Eyes closer to her, grabbing the back of his thighs, pushing them forward towards her. “No, I want to feel how much of a freak you can be!” Sad Eyes, pulling his cock out of her mouth, Ashanti felt some spit drip down from her mouth to the floor. Sad Eyes picks her up, throwing her on her stomach, Ashanti already knows this position she saw it so many times on Pornhub, arching her body, waiting for him. Sad Eyes taking in the view, slowly hands his hands down from  her back to her ass, Smacking each ass cheeks until each ass cheeks is turning red before leaning forward, his top carefully lays on top of her off, whispering in her ear. “You are not allowed to cum until I do??!! Understand!! IF YOU DO, papi will destroy that tight little pussy of yours so rough, that you won’t be able to leave your bed for weeks.” Sad Eyes commands, kissing her cheek before grabbing her waist pulling her closer to him. Sad Eyes wasted no time and slammed into her, Ashanti moans the feeling of him going in and out making her throw her head back, grabbing a fistful of her hair, pounding into her fast and rough, Sad Eyes groans, feeling her clench around his cock like a little pornstar would, ”F-Fuck Ashanti who knew the little good girl had some bomb ass pussy.” Sad Eyes chuckles. ”Yess papi!!” Ashanti biting her lip, trying to hide her moan. ”Don't be shy, Let those moans out baby, let you're neighbors know who's fucking you so good!!” Sad Eyes wrapping his other hand around her neck, choking a little bit. ”F-Fuck Angel, I'm about to cumm” Ashanti whimpers. ”Dammm you love to be choked too, dammn you're a freak for sure!!, HOLD THAT SHIT UNDERSTAND!!” Sad Eyes grunts, feeling his release approaching. ”I-I-I can't hold it any longer” Ashanti cries in pleasure. ”FUCKK HERE IT COMES BABY!!” Sad Eyes, growls, spilling all his cum inside of her, painting her walls white ” Cum for papi.”Hearing Sad Eyes, giving her permission, Ashanti waiting no time cumming so hard she and his cum mixed together inside of her and on his cock. Pulling out of Ashanti, Sad Eyes watches as Her body lay flat, while she was still gripping the sheets, chuckling at the sight, before heading to the bathroom and grabbing a washcloth from her bathroom and wetting two towels from the sink and wiping himself before heading back to Ashanti wiping her down with the we towel before placing her under the covers, closing her bedroom door he heads back to the bed, laying next to her, he watches her turn over and look at him. ”What??!!” Sad Eyes laughs. ”Thank you for being my first.” Ashanti says, caressing his cheek. ”Wait you're joking right.” Sad Eyes gasps. ”No I'm not.” Ashanti shaking her head. Sad Eyes gets up and checks the covers, not seeing any blood, he pushes the blankets back, seeing a big red spot on the mattress. ”Fuck, why didn't you tell me??!!, I wouldn't have been so rough on you.” Sad Eyes exclaims. ”I knew if I did you wouldn't have done it, besides I wanted it rough. ” Ashanti taking the blankets off the bed. ”But the way you suck my cock and the stuff you did, people who aren't virgins Don't really do what you did.” putting his hands on his waist. ”There's porn websites like Pornhub, redtube.” Ashanti placed the old blankets in the hamper in her room, grabbing new sheets from her closet. ”Fuck, I don't know what to say” Sad Eyes helping her make the bed. ”Don't say anything, Don't beat yourself up, I love the way you fucked me, even if it's one night.” Ashanti placed a kiss on his cheek stepping on her tiptoes. ”Is it bad that I want another round but this time in you're shower?” Sad Eyes looks down at her. ”No, Because I was thinking the same thing.” Ashanti giggling. ”Well in that case.” picking her up, opening her bedroom door, walking her to the shower closing the door behind them, after making her bed. After they finished around 2, they finished round 3 in the kitchen, Sad Eyes fucking her over the sink. As the night processed, neither one of them didn't realize the risk of not using the protection. 

*Next Morning* 

Ashanti woke up, to her front door being opened, and closing, hearing her parents, brother's voice, she starts to panic thinking that Sad Eyes was still here, turning over and seeing the side he slept on empty, she calmed down, but she knew it was just for one night but she still felt a little upset that he did leave, even though she agreed to it. 

*ending* 

Ashanti knew how much fun it would be , inviting him in her home, but what she didn't know was how much drama would enter her life by having one night of fun. 

Ashanti looks at her phone, staring at the number she just typed in, debating on calling the person, Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, opening her eyes. She clicks on the phone icon before putting the phone to her ear, waiting for the other person to answer, after the phone rang for a second time someone picks it up. ”Hello?” The person on the other side of the phone call asks. 

”Hey it's me, can we meet up and talk, it's really important ” Ashanti tried not to sound upset. . ”Yeah, I'll come over tomorrow at 2 is that okay.” the other voice answers. ” See you then.” Ashanti replies before hanging up the phone, placing her phone by her side, looking at her fingers, letting the tears fall down her beautiful brown face. 

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