#where whispers of it circulate around beforehand

[itspileofgoodthings]

@ everyone saying Persuasion on my Austen poll post you’re so valid for that

[weevilismyname]

Hey everyone!! I'm writing a book series currently and to give myself a bit more traction before i release the first book i'm going to post the first chapter:) This book series is circulating around the main character, Ibis, and her struggle to overtake the main villain, Rooster, who is trying to convert the world to her cult. Quick warning the prologue is a bit graphic ^^

Beforehand

 Blood leaked from his mouth, he writhed in agony. The muscular Sképsi clutched his lip with his top teeth, and he huffed curses under his breath. His blood was crimson red and smelt of old wet metal, and it stuck to his fur in feral clumps. The white, young Sképsi held his attacker by her wrist. “You don’t know who you're messing with, bastard.” He gurgled through the thick stream of blood gushing from his body. The attacker's broad head tilted, and she just squinted, and leaned closer to him, and slashed him again across the lips with the horn protruding out from her nose. “Do you know who you said that to?” She snarled, her eyes sparkled with cruel intent, and her voice was laced with rage. The attackers curled, black claws grasped her victims neck, his white fur parted weakly to the touch. Effortlessly, she raised her arm and lifted him up, so he was kneeling on his knees. “I am the moa.” She whispered in his ear, as she gripped his chest with her claws. The attacker quickly pulled her hand across his chest, slashing him raw till he bled so much that she was stained red. She threw him to the ground, and dirt collected in his wounds. He didn’t bounce back when he fell. Not anymore.

Chapter one - Childhood

Ibis used her little white hands to part a fat, thick leafed piece of foliage blocking her and her sister's path. Her sister, Toucan, who was slightly younger than her, was bouncing up behind her on chubby legs. Toucan was black, except for a white splotch on her face. Her nose was also a stunning carnelian red. Ibis, on the other hand, was a dusty pale gold, except for her lanky forearms, feet, nose bridge and under her eyes, that were a warm white. The two children scampered along the ashy, hot terrain of Kangaroo tribe territory. They passed a large gum tree, and a few sharp rocks before ibis mumbled, “We should go back. Mama will be worried.” Toucan scoffed, and rolled her eyes as she smoothly stated, “It’s fine! We’re not that far from our village.” She gave a flick of her round ear and trotted on past ibis. Ibis gurgled nervously, and she breathed the crisp morning air in deeply. Ibis opened her mouth to protest, but a panicked screech interrupted her. “Ibis! Toucan! Where are you!!” A feminine voice wailed. It was their mother, kookaburra. The two looked at each other, ibis gave Toucan a ‘I told you so’ look. They sprinted back, almost tripping over their own feet along the way. Ibis was first to push through the branches of the gum tree that guarded the entrance to the village. Toucan closely followed, holding the tip of ibis’s long tail in her right hand. The two children softly walked over to the small cave in which they slept with their parents. Their mother, Kookaburra, a tall red sképsi, gasped before running over and scooping the children up in her muscular arms. Kookaburra scowled and began to lecture the two for sneaking away. “You could have been hurt! A snake could have bitten you, or an eagle could have plucked you from the ground in one swoop!!” She cried, before shaking her head. Kookaburra put the girls back down and gestured the two to follow her. Ibis stared at toucan, and she hissed quietly, “this was YOUR idea.” Toucan looked annoyed, but she just walked ahead of ibis. They reached the eating grounds, in the middle of the village.

The eating ground was a flat, open area in the center of the village, decorated with logs and large rocks to sit down while you ate your food. Teenage and adult skepsi would go out and hunt food,and bring it back to the hole in the earth that was in the middle of the eating grounds. Kookaburra’s muscles rippled under her skin as she strided to sit next to her husband, Scrubworm. ScrubWorm was a skinny, pale gold figure that looked almost identical to ibis, but his tail was a deep rust. Scrubworm greeted Kookaburra with a smile and he shuffled over to give her room. Kookaburra opened her mouth, and stuttered softly before turning back to Scrubworm to tell him what happened. “Those two went off outside of the village alone.”

She flicked her tail towards the pair of sisters. Scrubworm wiped a bit of meat off his reed-woven shorts and he clicked his tongue. “Don’t do that again, both of you.” He silently looked at Ibis, and squinted. She was the older sibling, so she was expected to control toucan. The siblings nodded guiltily and they turned to look at the hole in the earth. They scampered toward it, and looked into the shallow hole. It was about one adult sképsi long and wide. Inside the hole, was one large kangaroo, a few small lizards, a fat arm of a cactus, and a plump cod.

Toucan reached for the cod, and showed it to Ibis with a soft squeak. Ibis smiled and commented on the fish before holding the upper half while toucan held the tail. The girls walked back to their parents and sat down to eat the cod. Ibis took the first bite, the fish tasted fresh and cool. Flavour tickled her cheeks and lips as she went back for another succulent bite. Toucan was mauling her half, chunks of flesh flying in the air like small mosquitoes. Ibis licked her lips, and wiped blood from the cod off her woven top. Toucan burped and licked her hands clean but left her face dirty. Kookaburra called her over, “Toucan, come here! You look like you’ve been raised by dingoes!” Toucan groaned and skipped over to her mother, and Kookaburra groomed her face clean. Ibis looked down at the cod’s remains in her hands, admiring the delicate bones and joints of the hardy fish.

“Ibis, go put that back in the hole please.” Her mother called. Once you were finished eating, you placed the leftovers back in the hole for the birds and insects to eat. It was their way of giving back what they took from the earth. Ibis placed the cod’s skeleton in the crater gently, and she stared at it for a moment. It looked so delicate, even in its state of decomposition.

[oddduckthatgirl]

More

Sometimes you have to stop. Even August knows that. (I was terrified to write this so if you take the time to read it, thank you!)

Tagging @littlefreya who gave me a little nudge in the write direction. (see what I did there)

Warnings: safe wording, after care, mentions of abuse, mentions of emotional abuse, hints of pain play, anxiety, trauma, dom/sub dynamics, Cg(DD)/Lg (if you squint) If you aren’t comfortable with any of this shit please see yourself away from this fic!

“Aardvark.”

Your voice is muffled by a gag but you know what you said.

His eyes meet yours as he quickly removes the offending object. He cups your face in his hands and studies you with an intense gaze.

You try to pull away; you can’t stop crying. “Aardvark,” a ragged sound leaves your throat.

Before you can even register the movement, he has your body in his grip. He reaches up and quickly releases the knots that were holding your arms above your head.

You try to get away from him. The sharp stabs in your hands only serve to make the tears fall even faster. You have no strength to push back.

He gathers you in his arms, “Easy, baby girl. It’s alright. You’re okay. It’s safe. No more,” his voice soft but firm. You know you’re moving and can feel his body lower.

It’s like a dream and none of this feels real. “Stop Mike, please…,”wheezing out of you as the sobs take over you once again.

He pulls a blanket over you and holds you firmly against his chest, “ssshh, calm down my sweet girl. It’s me, It’s August. Come back to me.” His hand starts to rub small circles over your back. He can feel the heat coming from the raised skin just under his fingers, “You’re shaking so hard. I know you’re scared but I swear you’re safe now. It’s just you and me.”

Your chest continues heaving as you gasp for air. Everything is too much and not enough. You’re hot and cold all over. Your skin is touching his skin but you feel disconnected.

August knows this all too well. He’s discovered telling you exactly what’s happening makes things easier, “Y/n listen to me. I’m going to help you. We’re just going to breathe together okay? Just nod if you understand.”

You give the smallest nod against the wet spot now on his chest.

“Very good. Just do what I do Princess. You’ll be fine.” August has trained his body to follow his own desire. Even though he’s worried, he can regulate himself and take deep, calming breaths. He keeps a hand on your back and pays attention to the feel of your breath against his skin. Every time your body begins to relax, your mind clearly sends the alert back for pain.

He silently curses himself for not looking you over better.

Your eyes keep looking around for the danger but August won’t let you budge, “Where does it hurt? Can Daddy see?”

You stretch your quivering hands toward his. You can’t even form the words to say what’s wrong. You try to tell him that it feels like pins and needles in your hands but it comes out as noise. It’s frustrating.

He takes one of your arms in his large hands and holds it as if it was made of glass. He looks you over and sees the indentations from the ropes. He sees the raw skin on your wrists.He notices your hands are cool to the touch all the way to the fingertips.

He begins to softly work his thumbs into your hands,” I need to push into your skin to help get the circulation back. It will only hurt a little but I promise to be as easy as I can, okay?”

You nod your head and wince at the first bit of pressure. It makes you cry out and your head falls against his shoulder.

“I know baby. It’s okay,” he kisses your palms, “I know it hurts. Just let it out.”

He continues to work on your hands. Normally he would be completely breathless seeing the rope marks on your skin. This isn’t what he had in mind. You fought so hard you actually have broken the skin around your wrists.

The mention of your ex didn’t escape his attention either. Right in this moment, you aren’t in any condition to speak about that but August knows he inadvertently triggered a reaction in you. You may not have even been aware of it at all. Deep down, it makes his chest ache to know he caused you this emotional pain. He will fix this.

Your shallow breaths and cold skin start to worry him. Your hands don’t feel as cold as they were but there is a thin layer of sweat over your skin that isn’t going away. He pulls you tighter into him and reaches for the water he thoughtfully set out beforehand.

“Lover,” he coos while he takes the cap off the bottle, “I need you to drink this water for me.”

“Can’t,” you shake your head weakly.

“Yes you can,” he adjusts the way you are sitting so he can support your body with his leg and your neck with his hand, “just a little bit sweetie. Can you try? For me?”

He cradles your neck in his large hand as he offers the water to you. You swallow down the small amount he offers to you.

“That’s my good girl,” he scratches along your neck with his index finger, “can you try some more?”

“Mmmhmm,” you eagerly take it down. You grab his wrist, “more please?”

“It’s nice of you to use your manners, but you need to drink this slowly. Too much too fast will make you sick to your stomach,” he helps you take another small drink, “doing so good for me Y/n.”

He continues to offer praises and light kisses as he helps you to drink the water. Your eyes feel less heavy and the ringing in your ears has softened by the time you finish the water.

“Feeling a little better now yes,” his fingers tracing over the welts on your back. You jump once he runs over one place near your spine. He stops his hand over the spot, “I need to see your back,okay?”

You nod and try to control your breathing as he leans you forward. You can’t help the shiver when the blanket is pulled away and your body isn’t against his.

August finds a small cut that is clearly the source of pain. You took the cane so well and never asked him to stop. You weren’t even sure you could do that. He swelled with pride at how far you let him take you. He made sure there was nothing more than that.

He shifts you back to leaning against him, “it’s not deep. I’ll take care of it after we get you calmed down.”

“Please,” you weakly claw against his skin.

“Y/n. Tell me what you need,” he tilts his head toward your face, “even if you can only whisper it. Tell me.”

Your mouth makes a few attempts before you can quietly answer, “hold me.”

“Thank you,” he kisses you softly before taking you in his arms. He slowly sways his torso. He knows rocking is something you do to self soothe. He watches your eyes droop closed and feels some of the tension begin to move out from your shoulders. Your breathing is starting to even out and even slow. He smirks at how adorable you are when you’re completely wrung out.

“That’s my girl,” he strokes your hair and it earns a moan of approval from you, “but I can’t let you sleep just yet. Let’s get you all cleaned up all right?”

“Okay daddy,” a yawn creeps through. You try to sit up but your body doesn’t cooperate.

He chuckles, “let me take care of you sweetheart,” he doesn’t wait for your approval. He slides out from underneath you, keeping a hand around your waist to help keep you upright. He stands beside the bed and slides you to him. He lifts you with little effort and carries you into the bathroom.

“Okay baby. Can you reach out and grab a towel? My hands are a little full,” he wants to test your movements without you thinking about it. He also knows in this state you’d do anything he asks.

You reach out and take one of the special towels August keeps for you. They’re soft and they always smell so clean. He walks you to the toilet and closes the lid with his foot. You jump with the loud sound and turn your head into his shoulder.

“Sorry little one. I tried to be quiet,” another soft kiss to apologize. He takes the towel from your shaky hands and sits it over the lid, “can you sit without falling over while I fill the tub for you?”

You nod and pout at the thought of being away from him.

August softly places your feet on the ground while keeping your upper body pressed to him. He’s careful of the angry stripes on your back, “sit down now. Nice and slow.”

He guides your body down to sit. You become acutely aware of more pain and wince.

“I’m sure that ass of yours is sore,” he comments softly, “you needed correcting.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter as you stiffen your spine and pull yourself upright. It takes everything you have to tilt your head up to look at August.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek and then your lips. He kneels in front of you and rubs his hands over your thighs. Leaving one of his large palms on you, he reaches over to start the water for your bath. He carefully watches your face out of his peripheral vision. Your brow creases and he can see the tears forming. He pushes the plunger down in the tub and turns his full attention to you.

He caresses your thighs, tracing a long scar just over your left knee. He feels you jump but you don’t pull away, “Y/n. I know you don’t want to but you used your safe word. We need to talk about it.”

You lock your eyes on his, “are you mad at me,” your lip quivers.

He blinks back the shock from your question. He stands and holds his hand out for you. You place your palm in his and he helps you to get to the edge of the tub. He takes your hand and dips it in the water so you can test it. You nod to tell him it’s okay and he slides your legs over the edge and helps you into the water.

He turns off the nobs and then reaches to push the hair from your face, “Sweet girl, I could never be angry or mad at you for finding your limit and knowing that you can’t go anymore.”

“Then you’re disappointed.”

He shakes his head, “Not even close. You shouldn’t feel like you’ve let me down because you used your safe word. I’m proud of you for trusting me to stop when you said enough. Especially after what you’ve been through.”

Mike. Even that bastard’s name makes August’s skin crawl. That poor excuse for a man abused your trust. He broke your self esteem and made you hyper aware. You were young and didn’t know how to check him out. You couldn’t even have known then. This narcissistic sadist disguised himself as a dominant to take advantage of anyone who he could. The scars that were all over your body was evidence of that.

August began to wash your hair. He wanted to get every trace of him out of this space, “Look I know you don’t want to talk about this but we have to. I need to know what head space I took you to so that I don’t ever do it again.”

The feeling of his nails against your scalp was magical. You secretly wished he would do this every night. Tender isn’t the word that comes to mind when you mention August Walker.

Protective. Attentive. Possessive. Domineering. Alpha. Those are the first ones you think of. But this version of him, makes you weak. It’s something only you get to see.

You sigh, “I said his name didn’t I?’

“Mmmhmm,” he tilts your head back so he can rinse it.

Your eyes turn towards him, “you didn’t do it on purpose.”

He says nothing. He knows the power of silence. He gently pushes your head back to a normal position. He lifts your arm from the water and begins to wash your skin, taking care to look over the damage on your wrist.

You close your eyes to try to fight back the tears, “whenever M...I was with him, he would absolutely lose his shit if I so much as smiled at some guy. Not the same way you do; you’re just trying to watch out for me and protect me.”

He smiled at your understanding.

“If he ever had a passing thought that I may have spoken to another guy, he would really lay into me,” you sniffled back the sadness and pushed on, “he would call me a whore, slut, dumb cunt, whatever he could think of. Not his. But those words. He would do whatever he wanted to and call me all those things. Then he would just leave me alone. ”

August’s hands stilled on your back and he moved himself so he could meet your gaze. There was a softness in his eyes like you’d never seen before.

“I know you were just talking. You know I wasn’t flirting with anyone at the party. But when you said I was acting like a cheap whore, not yours…..something broke inside me,” tears rolling down your cheeks, “every strike with the cane was like it was against open skin. All I could hear was his voice saying those words again and I…..”

August crawled into the tub with you, got on his knees and wrapped you in his arms. You sobbed against him all over again, “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you in a way you wouldn’t like. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, “you didn’t know.”

“I do now. That’s what matters,” he squeezes you tightly. He lifts your face to his and wipes the tears away, “do you feel cleaner now?”

As it turned out, you actually did. This mystery of a man managed to help you wash away a memory you didn’t even know was lurking. This man who could easily cast you aside when things get murky. August, who was honest about not wanting a “relationship,” is right here with you when it’s hard, “I do feel a little better.”

“Good,” he gets himself out of the water and towels off. A cocky smirk drags across his face when he catches you drinking in his naked body with your eyes. The lust burning behind your eyes is something he craves, “see something you like?”

“Lots of things,” the blush is all the way to your ears, “even that face furniture. It’s a fun place to sit.”

“Easy now little girl. You need rest before I would even consider touching you,” he helps you stand in the tub, “maybe tomorrow morning.”

You feel his eyes on every movement. His hands are right beside your legs as you step out, a safe place in case you fall. Warmth spreads all over your body as he dries you. Seeing him on his knees before you, in such a submissive pose, you can’t help yourself. You drag your fingers through his wild, curly hair. He practically purrs and looks up at you.

“Thank you,” he folds the damp towel and drapes it over the tiled edge of the tub. His hand covers yours in his hair. Reluctantly he pulls you away from his scalp and tilts his head toward the towel, “sit.”

He watches as you lower yourself. He grabs another towel for your hair and gets the first aid kit he keeps in the linen closet. He also grabs the wet brush from a drawer in the vanity. You watch with complete contentment knowing he’ll take care of everything. You let a heavy sigh out which causes him to turn toward the sound.

He looks as you sigh and sees you tracing lazy patterns on the bath mat under your feet. There is a swell and a warmth in him that even Walker himself didn’t think was possible. He makes his way back to you and notices you’re softly humming to yourself. He thought it was cute. Only you could make him ever think anything is cute.

After toweling your hair as dry as he could, he brushes it out so it won’t be a tangled mess. Your whole body vibrates with happiness. This is the piece of this you love the most; someone taking care of your every need and being able to shut off your brain. All those thoughts that were screaming in your mind from before have fallen silent. All you can hear is the beautiful melody that is August and how he loves you. He doesn’t say it but the way he tends to you and ensures your happiness is enough for you to know.

August begins to rub lotion into your skin, concentrating on the welts and rough places. He also cleans and bandages any cuts into your skin. He kisses each place he bandages, which makes you giggle.

“I love you,” you can’t even stop yourself from saying it, “I love you August Walker and I don’t care if you won’t say it.”

He gives you a hard stare, “it’s time for bed.”

It’s his go to mode whenever you get too emotional. He takes control and becomes neutral. You slowly stand and shrug your shoulders as he puts a hand on the small of your back. You take the cue to walk to the bedroom. You slide into the bed and let him spread the blanket over you.

He settles into bed and pulls you into his chest. His fingers run up and down your spine and your eyes start to feel heavy. He softly kisses your forehead and begins to watch as you fall asleep in his arms. Never, in all the things he ever wanted for himself, was something like this on the list. He’s stripped this beautiful creature raw, took her apart and put her carefully back together. Taking the time to fix what’s broken so all her edges are polished smooth again.

Watching her sleep in his arms, he’s finally able to rest. He takes a deep breath and squeezes her to him. He breathes in her scent and opens himself to what he couldn’t think possible.

“I love you. More than anything.”

[cyndecreativity]

Day 7 - What kind fellows

Power – Meddling Friends – “That could have gone better.”

Alden finds himself in a right pickle after picking a fight with some bullies. Rescued by a pair of friendly dockworkers, they offer to take him in for the night.

~1250 words

---

“That could have gone better…”

Alden clung to a plank as it floated down the river between sectors of Lotuserna. He just intended to scare them a bit. But their meddling friends had come prepared. Meet us behind the armory, they told him. Just our two groups. We’ll settle this like men. Pure men.

He knew what they meant and it sicked him. Valash’s dual-parentage had been the subject of hot debate since he arrived at the Academy. His father showed up and took his wife, a woman not of his Constellation, on a tour much to the surprise and disdain of students and faculty. There were those that cared very little, even supportive of the idea of inter-Constellation relationships, but they were rarely vocal. They didn’t have the courage or ambition to put the bullies and protestors in their place.

But Alden did. He had very little to lose. They hated him anyway, rumors of his parentage circulated just as much as the knowledge of Valash’s. As a result, Sylvain had only lifted higher in the social hierarchy of the school, the pure-blooded son of the Scorpio Imperial line having to share his space with a wily bastard of a half-brother. So why bother being more than what they expected from him? He had nothing to lose.

“Ooooyyyyy!” A call came from the shore, a Cancer man that waved his hand high, the other cupped around his mouth to project his voice.

Alden floundered on the plank, barely able to lift his hand to wave back. The Cancer man waved again, pantomimed and shouted words Alden could not understand, and ran off. He pressed his lips together. He could only hope that the man intended to find help.

A few moments later, a Piscean man dove into the water and slipped easily to his side. He instructed Alden to grab onto his shoulders and hold his breath if he ended up underwater. Pisces had a much better relationship to the water than the Scorpio or the Cancer. They reached the shore fairly quickly with minimal water in Alden’s nose.

“What’re you doin’ in the river, boy?” The Cancer from before pulled Alden up by his armpits.

He forced air out of his nose and rubbed it, sloshing and dripping his way over the stone before the docks. “Had a run-in with some unsavory types. They thought it funny to ambush me and blow me over the side.”

The Pisces pulled himself up out of the water with a grace that Alden envied. He swiped a hand over his face to rid himself of most of the water. “Over the side of what? One of the boats?”

Alden shook his head and pointed to the towering white mountain at the back of the city. “The Academy.”

Both men froze before sharing a look. “You’re a lordling?”

At Alden’s nod, the Cancer expelled a superlative and rubbed a hand over his head. “Well, it’ll be quite a while to get you back up the mountain, m’lord. Surprised you even survived all the falls.”

Alden shivered. The Pisces shook his head. “Maybe we oughta keep you here overnight, so as you don’t catch a cold.”

“Should probably at least send a letter to the Academy-“ The Cancer leaned over to the other man.

“They’ll think we’re keepin’ him for ransom.”

They descended into conspiratorial whispers as Alden felt a chill permeate his bones. Where had he gone wrong to find himself rescued at the dock, by workers, who argued the safest thing to do with him. He sighed slightly and looked around them to a Lotus Soldier. Everyone told him that if he ever got lost to just tell a Lotus Soldier. They would return him back to the Academy.

The men rushed after him. “Slow down there, m’lord!” Alden barely spared a glance. “We saved your life, it’s the least you could do!”

He stopped and spun around, shivering. His chest started to hurt, forcing him to cough. “Fine! What are you so worried about, anyway?”

The men pulled back and the Cancer scoffed. “They’ll think we kidnapped you.”

The Scorpio’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

Pisces squatted in front of him. He hated when adults did that. He hadn’t grown much over the last few years, ever since the treatment for his curse began, and everyone just assumed his age as younger than he really was. “You don’t see many dockworkers or commonfolk up in that Academy of yours, do you?”

Alden pondered on it for a moment. “My best friend is the son of one of the teachers.”

The men both drew back. They expected him to say no. “He’s noble, though, isn’t he?”

Alden shook his head. “Halfsie, actually.”

Their eyebrows shot up. After a moment, the Pisces held out his hands, palms up. Alden took them automatically. “You’re a good boy, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Something in Alden clicked and a flood of warmth spread through him, despite the chill in the air. He smiled slightly and nodded. “Th-thank you. I should really be getting back, though.”

The men looked to the Lotus Soldier and back to him. “How about you write a letter in your own hand to your friend, let him know that you’re all right, and have him tell his father. Then tomorrow they can have someone collect you in the morning. Because you ended up all the way down here at the docks after several drops over waterfalls and the men that took you in want to make sure you’re warm and safe instead of traipsing for hours back up to the Academy.”

Alden looked between them. They seemed less skittish, happy even. He drew back from them.

“How about we introduce ourselves, hm?” The Pisces man gestured to himself. “My name is Taro. And this is Camlo.” The Cancer, Camlo, nodded in greeting. “How about you?”

By telling him their names, according to Alexander, they trusted him. He nodded apprehensively. “Alden.” He trusted them. They asked no more from him.

They turned and started to lead him down the stonework of the port. “So why did those ‘unsavory types’ blow you over the side of the Academy, Alden?”

Power. Alden frowned and held himself. “They were mad at me.” Taro tilted his head. “Because I called them names.” He arched a brow. “Because they bullied my friend.”

Taro nodded, understanding. “Your half-breed friend?” The Scorpio nodded. “Very brave of you to defend your friend like that. But you seem like a strong young man. How did they get the better of you?”

Alden growled, his tail twitching behind him. “Bartoth and his meddling friends! We were supposed to fight fair, but he got his friends to whip up winds beforehand so when I showed up they could just blow me around, make it hard to fight!”

Taro frowned. “Well, that doesn’t seem very sportsman-like.”

Alden, with an adult that believed him and took his side, continued. “It’s not! It’s cheating! They’re so stupid they even used too much magic and ended up almost blowing the whole yard away!”

Camlo clicked his tongue. “Little shits.”

Taro shot him a stern look. “I’m sorry that happened, m’lord. For tonight, though, we’ll get you some dry clothes in a nice warm house, a nice warm meal, and nice warm bed. Maybe not as fancy as you’re used to, but I hope you’ll enjoy it at least.”

Alden looked to the pair. “Thanks.”

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Robin!

AKA: @dcbbw​

The People of Valtoria vs The King of Cordonia (Riam)

A/N: Robin, you are not only one of my favorite writers but have become an amazing, supportive friend over the last year or so that we've known one another. And I believe that friendship transcends beyond Tumblr. Youve been a virtual shoulder to cry on when I needed one and someone who made me laugh so hard while chatting once that I ... well, I won't embarrass myself here 😆 You're just truly a remarkable person with a compassionate, giving heart. I'm blessed to know you and blessed as hell to call you a friend #mycommonlawcitywife

A/N2: I wrote Riam for you. It will be no where near as good as yours and I hope I didn't mess them up too badly. Trust me, I'm nervous.

The following characters belong to Pixelberry with the exception of the term "Riam" and some references in the story which belong to @dcbbw . You can find her masterlist for them here. 

Thanks @burnsoslow for beta reading!!!!

__________________________

With assistance from Gladys and Mara, Riley stepped up onto her Hoveround scooter. The cart jolted side to side from the added load as she shifted into place. Her heavily pregnant stomach narrowly fit between the seat and handlebars. 

The motorized vehicle was a gift from Liam, who felt that at this point in her pregnancy, it was much safer and more comfortable for her to get around if she didn't have to walk. It was also easier to track her movements with the GPS hidden underneath.

For her protection, and knowing she wasn't the best driver, he had the machine’s speed reduced from its factory setting of 13 mph to a more leisurely four mph. 

The following morning, at her insistence, Drake arrived -- toolbox in hand -- to remove the GPS and increase the speed to 20. 

With a groan from the Queen, the two staff members lowered her carefully into the seat and backed away while she arranged her footing and large belly.

Riley turned her head and arched a brow, giving the majordomo a moment to figure out on her own what was missing.

Gladys' eyes flitted between her boss and the guard. 

Like a lightbulb switching on, it finally dawned on her.

The snack wagon.

She shuffled to Riley's side of the bed. The head stewardess retrieved the wagon that was already stuffed with everything needed for the Queen's busy morning: barbeque potato chips, mini chocolate bars, Tupperware bowls filled with teriyaki meatballs, ham and cheese sliders, garlic chicken spring rolls, and leftover spaghetti and meatballs topped with melted mozzarella and a dash of parmesan. 

Cook was still reheating the garlic bread and putting the finishing touches on the devil's food cake.

After running several minutes behind due to a last-minute potty break and to catch her favorite American reality show about friends living in Washington, D.C., Riley squeezed the handles to power forward. 

Followed closely by Mara on the lookout, and Gladys, who was lugging the snack wagon, she took the elevator down to the first floor.

There was a crowd assembled in the throne room to witness this highly anticipated and rather unusual royal court case.

Gladys opened the door, announced the Queen's entrance, and stepped aside to allow Riley to roll in.

The guests stood in reverence, much to her delight.

It hadn't gone unnoticed by Liam, sitting at a lone table with a piece of paper that said Reserved for the Guilty Party taped to it, that his wife's mode of transportation was quite a bit faster than it should be. 

Liam tilted his head and furrowed his brows before moving to the edge of the seat. He wasn't entirely sure how she did it, but judging by the rapid blinking and shifty movements coming from Drake, he was sure he'd found his culprit.

Liam sensed a disaster happening before he could stop it. 

While driving toward the dais, his wife's eye caught a glimpse of Annabelle Parsons standing in the opposite corner of the room.

Miss Parsons’ breasts were practically heaving from her gray low-cut backless dress that had a slit up to her hip. A white lacy garter could be seen encircled around one slender thigh, and there were unquestionably no panties worn.

The two women locked eyes.

Riley licked her lips as the object of her affection trailed a tantalizing finger over the swell of her bosom, her taut nipples peaking through the gray silk attire.

Liam jumped from his seat with a shout just as her scooter's front wheels plunged into the first step of the dais, bringing her to a hard, abrupt stop.

The crowd's eyes, which included the staff, members of the nobility, and curious Valtorian citizens alike, widened in concern for their pregnant queen and the twin heirs.

"Love!" Liam ran up beside her and laid one hand on Riley's stomach, the other stroking through her hair. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm just fine, no thanks to you. It's this damn defective scooter you bought me. You could have killed me, Liam. I always knew you would try to get rid of me one day. I just thought you'd at least wait until your children were born."

Liam stiffened; his voice slightly raised. "How is this my fault? You were gawking at Miss Parsons, and I know you had Drake adjust the speed."

"I wouldn't need to adjust the speed if someone hadn't bought me a broken metal deathtrap on three wheels!"

"That ... That doesn't even make sense," he countered.

She lowered her eyes to him with a glower. "You don't make sense."

Liam shook his head and wrapped his firm hands around her arm. "Come on, my love. Let me help you up and to your chair."

He lifted her to a standing position, steadying her movements, and slowly led her to the BarcaLounger on the dais. 

Once Riley was reclined and had altered the chair to a comfort setting she preferred, Gladys set up a tray of the meals and treats from the snack wagon and placed it on a table beside her. 

Liam watched with curiosity as she prodded a meatball with a fork and brought it to her mouth. "I'm worried about you. Are you sure everything's okay?"

Enjoying the delicious flavor burst from the teriyaki sauce and the juiciest pork and beef combination she'd ever had, Riley waved him away. "Liam, I'm trying to sue you. If you think sucking up to the judge before I've had a chance to find you guilty will help your case ... you're mistaken. This judge will not be swayed by the defendant; now go to your table before I hold you in contempt."

"You haven't even heard the case yet; how can I already be guilty?"

"I haven't heard the case because YOU WON"T SIT DOWN!"

He leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. Riley melted into it and felt all those butterflies she usually had when the love of her life kissed and caressed her.

"I love you, my queen."

She bit into a barbeque chip while shaking the mustard bottle to squirt on a ham and cheese slider. "I know," she replied coolly, but there was so much love radiating behind her big brown eyes hidden by a flock of hair. "Now, stop breathing all over my food with your germs and return to your table."

Liam stepped away and took his place. The crowd went quiet, eager to get the proceedings underway.

Cook finally arrived a few minutes later with a basketful of hot garlic bread and a slice of Riley's favorite cake. The Queen was now ready to begin.

As she twisted a forkful of spaghetti noodles and slurped them up, she motioned for Gladys to call the case into session.

With a loud clear of her throat, Gladys began, "Ladies and Gentlemen! The case of the People of Valtoria versus The King of Cordonia is now in session. Please give your complete attention to the honorable Queen of Cordonia and ... grand ruler of all of Valtoria."

Riley brushed away bread crumbs from her chest and glanced up to Gladys, giving her an approving smile for using the proper title she proposed beforehand. "Thank you, Gladys."

Riley tilted her chin at Liam. "Now, King Liam, we are here today because you owe me over $280,000, plus interest, penalties, taxes, processing, restitution, travel expenses, court and collection fees for back rent at Valtoria. How do you wish to plead?"

The King sat forward and sighed in vexation. "This is ridiculous. You know full well the Crown financially supports this duchy and manor."

"And in turn, I have had to support your mooching ass with it. So ... what is your plea?" she enunciated.

Liam crossed his arms and drew in a deep breath. "I suppose, not guilty."

The Queen narrowed her eyes in a glower. "You wouldn't dare."

A smatter of whispers and gasps broke out among the audience.

Riley reached over to her tray and picked up a wooden mallet before banging it several times on the sounding board that set next to the bowl of spring rolls on her tray. "That's enough! You all will not turn my court into a circus," she admonished. 

Hushes circulated through the crowd.

Liam raised his hand to draw her attention and spoke up. "Can I say something?"

Riley contemplated his question, then replied, "Overruled."

"It's about our children," he continued.

She flashed a glance to Mara, who pursed her lips and simply nodded in approval. The Queen looked back to her husband. "Okay, I'll allow it this once. But make it quick so we can get to your sentencing."

"I was just going to remind you that we have a doctor appointment that we need to leave for in 10 minutes."

Dammit, he was right; she had forgotten all about the appointment, and Liam hadn't shaved her legs since the prior visit two weeks ago. Riley lifted the lower part of her dress, her legs still reclined, and peered down at the thick stubble that had grown. She huffed. Liam. That man had one damn job to do.

Riley twirled the gavel in one hand and a fork with the other, contemplating how to proceed with the time crunch.

She cut through a piece of her cake and took a bite, closing her eyes to savor its chocolaty flavor. After dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, she looked out to Liam, drumming his fingers on the table. "I've made my decision. Would the defendant rise?"

Liam glanced at his watch and sighed. He pushed himself from the table and rose to his feet before placing his hands in his pockets.

"Due to the critical nature of this case, and the fact that the judge and offender had an important prior engagement scheduled, I have no choice but to issue a continuance. But I would like to remind the prisoner that he is not to flee the country without express written consent from this court." She slammed the gavel down. "Court dismissed until further notice."

As the attendees flocked out of the throne room to return to their homes or positions within the estate, Mara stood at the door with a crystal bowl collecting court donations to fund the Queen's prosecution. 

It received $747 and a coupon for half off at Mei Wah Sing.

Liam rounded the defendant's table and made his way to the Queen, whose legs were flailing in a struggle to get out of her lounger. 

He wrapped his arms around his wife and lifted her to a standing position, helping her straighten out her dress.

"Are you ready, love? I think we can still make it there on time if we hurry." His hand rubbed soothing circles over her aching back.

Riley leaned in for a kiss, relaxing into his special touch that always made the aches and pains disappear. Her eyes fell on the scooter at the bottom of the steps and lit up. "Oh, I know a way to get there faster."

Liam followed her gaze then shook his head adamantly. "Absolutely not! No way! Not after what happened earlier."

Riley dismissed him and tottered down the steps to her scooter.

“Riley!”

“Riley!”

“Riley!”

He hung his head with a heavy sigh as she exited. “Right behind you, my Queen.”

Permanent tags:

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[atths--twice]

Rumor Has It...

Going through my stories and I don’t think I’ve posted this here before. I honestly was not super aware of how to post stories here for the longest time. Anyway, even if I had, no reason not to post it again, eh? We could always use more fics to read, right? 

This story was written for the summer fanfic exchange last year. The prompt was this: “Something a la Gillovny Cutting Room party era rumors, but MSR.” Now... this was a little tricky, but I got the job done. : ) 

Hope you enjoy. : ) 

The basement in the J. Edgar Hoover building, was always subject to rumor and urban legend. Even when no one worked down there, nor had any desire to, it was still discussed. Boxes, old files, and copy machines were all that occupied the space for years, and yet stories were still told of it.

There were far too many dark corners where a person could meet for a rendezvous with another for there not to be rumors. No one ventured down there too often, so the space was perfect. The whispers that reached the ears of agents becoming a mixture of fact and fiction.

While time had changed some things, it had not changed everything. The copy machines were taken out, files cleared away, and boxes tossed as they became too weak and ripped when relocation was attempted. A small bathroom was added to the space, and a storage area was walled off to better confine, contain, and organize the  files, keeping them out of the open area and behind a locked door where they could no longer be easily rummaged through. People agreed it looked much better, but still it was not an area with heavy foot traffic or spoken of too often.

That is, until the day Fox “Spooky” Mulder took up residence down there. That was when the rumors really began. He was thought to be a crazy alien nut who liked the weird cases. Cases others would not touch. He was hardly seen wandering the halls. Instead, he immersed himself in his ideas and theories.

Fox Mulder was brilliant, and also quite handsome. Some women overlooked his “spookiness” and tried to get his attention. They flirted when they saw him and asked him about the cases he worked on, but none of them stuck around long. His answers were so long winded that those who asked often required a bread crumb trail to find their way back to reality.

No, for the majority of his time in the basement office, Mulder was considered weird and generally avoided by his colleagues who did not wish to be treated to a story about Sasquatch or aliens. The rumors about him were rampant, but for the most part, Mulder was left to his own devices.

That all changed the day he was assigned a new partner, Dana Scully. She was a fairly new agent, a medical doctor recruited to join the FBI as a forensic pathologist. Dana Scully had arrived with rumors of her own.

“Do you really think that’s her natural hair color?”

“Did you hear she dated Jack Willis? He’s so much older than her. I guess he likes them young.”

Perhaps one of the worst rumors, especially considering she did date Jack, was the name she acquired at the academy: The Ice Queen. She was rumored to turn down men and not “put out,”even after being wined and dined. She was also rumored to be a ball buster who was frigid because she did not date fellow agents. As if her dating life was a measure of who she was as a person.

Women who tried to get Mulder’s attention before Scully showed up, were envious and rude towards her, leaving her disinterested in forming relationships, even with colleagues her same age who had similar backgrounds. This only served to perpetuate the rumors circulated, but Scully did not let the rumors affect her, knowing it would make no difference if she tried to quell them or not. She was not one who required many friends, and she enjoyed her work. She kept her head down and worked, not worrying over relationships, hers or anyone else’s.

Not until early on a Tuesday morning, when a wild rumor flew resulting in them being called to Skinner’s office to answer some questions, did she give it much thought.

Sitting outside his office, waiting for Mulder to arrive, Scully clasped and unclasped her hands, breathing deeply. Closing her eyes, she put her head down, the call to come to Skinner’s office still ringing in her ear, his shout like an echo.

“Hey." She heard Mulder say quietly as he sat next to her on the couch. She opened her eyes and looked at him, watching him smooth down his tie as he smiled slightly at her. “So how angry is he?” He tilted his head toward the door and Scully shook her head.

“Agents? You can go in now,” said Arlene, Skinner’s secretary, with a slight smile. Scully sighed as she stood up and walked toward the door with Mulder following close behind her.

Entering the room, Skinner had his back to them, looking out the window. No one else was in the room, and Scully sighed again as she sat down, Mulder taking the seat beside her. He glanced at her, but she did not look at him, her eyes facing forward waiting for Skinner to turn around.

A few minutes passed before Mulder cleared his throat, and Skinner’s shoulders slumped before he turned around. He stared at both of them, his gaze holding on Scully’s as he breathed deeply.

“I take no pleasure in calling both of you in here to discuss the things that have come to my attention. I believe you know that Agent Scully, considering our phone call earlier,” Skinner said, his eyes burning into hers. She sighed and nodded slightly.

“Sir, I’m afraid I’m out of the loop. Agent Scully said you wanted to see us, but …” Mulder said in confusion, and Skinner sighed.

“Agent Mulder, I’m referring to some information that has reached my ears regarding this past weekend at the team building workshop. More to the point, after said workshop … in the ... hotel lounge area.”

Scully watched Mulder as Skinner spoke and saw his face change, his eyes unable to meet hers save for the quick flick her way. He lowered his head as he leaned forward and locked his fingers together.

“Sir, I’m still confused. As I told you earlier, I don’t remember much about that night. I … I had a couple of glasses of wine and …” she said, looking at Mulder before looking back at Skinner. “I didn’t … I know I wouldn’t get up on stage and sing. Much less play a tambourine …”

“Scully …” Mulder said in a whisper, his head shaking imperceptibly. She kept staring at him, and he finally glanced her way, nodding his head.

“What?” she asked, horrified.

“Sir, could we have-”

“Why don’t I-” Skinner said over Mulder, tilting his head towards the door as he made his exit, leaving the two of them alone.

Scully watched him leave and then turned back to Mulder, her eyebrows raised. “What the hell, Mulder?” she said quietly.

“Scully, it wasn’t just a couple of glasses of wine,” he sighed and stared at her.

“Maybe a mixed drink too, but, I wasn’t out of control. And, Jesus, if I was having fun whose business is it here? It was after the stupid workshop, on my own time,” she said, her anger rising. “I don’t need to be lectured like a child and be forced to apologize for my actions. I’m not going to sit here and listen to this,” she said, starting to stand only to be stopped by Mulder.

“I don’t believe that is why we're here today, Scully,” he quietly said as he held tight to her arm. “Half the people at the workshop were drinking and acting the fool, much worse than you.” She glared at him and angrily shrugged his hand off her arm. “I’m not implying you were acting like a fool, just stating how others were behaving,” he quickly added, smiling slightly.

“If that’s the case, then why the hell am I being singled out? Because I’m a woman? A woman who generally doesn’t “act a fool” as you say, and so I have to be made an example of for the men in the office? You know, this is the kind of bullshit that stops women from pursuing careers in these fields. This boys club mentality that exists and women never have a chance-”

“It’s because I punched Tom Colton for the things he said about you,” came Mulder’s raised voice, immediately silencing her. She stared at him in utter disbelief and he nodded his head.

“What?” she whispered. “Tom? I have no recollection of him being there. Not in any capacity.” She shook her head, and he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“He wasn’t there in connection to the weekend, he was just … there. I saw him when I was at the bar waiting for our drinks, which were definitely not wine,” he sighed, looking down at his hands before looking at her. “Scully, you were standing on the stage and singing or attempting to, and someone did hand you a tambourine.” He stared at her, and she shook her head, to which he nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Mulder … I have no memory of that, not even a little …” she stopped as she suddenly did have a recollection of standing and shaking a tambourine, people singing and talking loudly, the room unbearably hot. “Oh my God, Mulder.” The door opened as she felt her cheeks flush, embarrassed beyond belief.

“Sir, we’ve come to an understanding and I want to apologize for what I did, and I will speak to Agent Colton and apologize to him as well as soon as we leave your office,” Mulder said, standing up as Skinner entered the room.

“Agent Colton?” Skinner asked, his face puzzled.

“Yes, Sir. Is this not about me punching Agent Colton in the face?”

“You did what, Agent Mulder?” Skinner shouted, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Uhhhh,” Mulder stammered and looked down at Scully for help, but she was still seated and had her hand partially covering her face.

“Agent Mulder, this meeting was about … things that were witnessed and heard outside of Agent Scully’s hotel room. And downstairs by the elevators beforehand,” Skinner said pointedly.

“The ... elevators? Oh ...” Mulder said and sat back down with a sigh, as Scully looked at him, confusion on her face.

Skinner sighed, sitting down behind his desk, and Scully looked between them, waiting for one of them to speak. “Mulder, why did you punch Agent Colton? Do I need to make a call?” Skinner finally asked quietly.

“I … uh, I don’t think so, if he hasn’t said anything?” Mulder said, not sounding entirely certain.

“What would make you punch him, Mulder?” Scully asked him and he looked at her, his eyes telling her she did not need to hear it. “Mulder?” He sighed and shook his head, but she continued staring at him, forcing him to speak.

“He made comments about you that were not becoming of one agent about another. I made myself known and told him to watch his words. He and his buddies seemed to think that was funny, and then he said something else … so I punched him. He deserved it, and I don’t regret it,” Mulder said to her with a glance at Skinner who sighed and shook his head.

“What did he say, Mulder?” she whispered.

“Scully,” he said with a shake of his head.

“I need to know.”

“You don’t,” he told her gently. “That guy is an asshole and that punch was a long time coming. I don’t regret it one bit, other than it took so long.” He smiled, and she stared at him, searching his face. She sighed and leaned back in her chair, her head down.

Skinner cleared his throat and she looked up. “That uh, it doesn’t cover why I called you both here as at least one of those things is not a problem.”

“Neither of them is a problem if you know Agent Colton,” Mulder murmured, and Scully shook her head.

Skinner sighed again and looked down at the desk. “There were a few agents who expressed concern over … actions they saw between the two of you.” He looked up, and Scully frowned at him, still not knowing what he meant. He looked at Mulder who nodded and shook his head, which caused Skinner to sigh once more. “Look, I know that … male/female partnerships are subject to scrutiny more so than traditional same sex partnerships, I do. Just … you two seem to attract more attention, and when I hear things from others …”  he sighed again, and Scully stood abruptly to her feet, finally realizing what they were talking about.

She looked at each of them, unable to speak, her anger and embarrassment too high. Turning around she walked out of the office, past Arlene and to the stairwell, not having any patience or desire to wait for the elevator to take her to the basement office.

Two flights down though, she stopped and sat on the steps, her head in her hands. The night was coming back to her now, tumbling through her brain, almost begging to be remembered.

The heat of the room and the feel of the tambourine in her hands, made her feel happy and giggly, definitely past tipsy but not completely drunk. A drink was handed to her, and she saw Mulder’s smile as he shook his head and stepped back into the crowd.

She drank it down quickly, the alcohol burning her throat and then her stomach, but making her feel braver and bolder. The song ended and the crowd cheered. She laughed and handed the tambourine to some woman next to her, her eyes searching for Mulder as she did.

Stumbling down the small stage, she felt a hand on her elbow and looked to see Mulder beside her, his smile huge. “You’re just full of surprises, Scully,�� he said close to her ear as a new song started and everyone cheered again.  

As they came through the crowd of people, she turned to look at him, losing her footing resulting in his arms catching her before she fell. The closeness of him made her dizzy, more so than any alcohol. He smelled so good and she told him so, his eyes widening in response. She laughed and pulled on his tie, bringing him closer to her, and allowing her to smell him closer.

“Scully,” he breathed, his voice low and close to her ear.

“Mulder. God, you make me …” she said, her words drowned out as the crowd erupted again.

Her eyes flew open as she remembered what she said and the words burned like hot lava inside her, destroying everything in its path. How was she supposed to be around him now that she remembered what she said? She needed to leave and never come back, the words too embarrassing to live with, much less think of every day with his eyes watching her.

“Oh my God,” she said, her voice echoing in the empty stairwell, as she suddenly remembered it was more than simply the words she said to him. There had been … touching.

A lot of touching.

She stood up and continued hurriedly down the stairs, determined to grab her things and get out of the office before Mulder saw her. Pushing the door open she looked left and right, walking past shelves of boxes, trying not to be seen.

Unlocking their office door, she put her keys in her pocket and quickly went to grab her bag and her phone. Items secured, she reached for the doorknob as the door opened and there stood Mulder. He stared at her in surprise and then frowned when he saw her bag in her hand.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, closing the door behind him. She could not look at him, the words she said to him that night burning in her mind, teasing her tongue to tell him again.

“Mulder. God, you make me … so wet.”

“I … uh yeah … I forgot I have … um ...” she stammered and tried to step past him, but his hand on her wrist stopped her, forcing her eyes to meet his. Hazel and full of worry and concern, they were the same as that night …

The feel of his hands around her waist, his gasp of surprise at her words, his breath smelling of alcohol, made her knees weak as she stumbled into him. He tightened his grip before pulling back slightly to look at her. His eyes were open, and she felt she could see into his very soul if she looked long enough.

She wrapped his tie around her hand and tugged, bringing his mouth close to hers. Their breath intermingled as his fingers dug into her waist. Someone bumped her from behind, and she fell into his chest. His hard, muscular chest.

But that was not all that was hard.

He groaned and he pulled her closer, making her gasp. “Scully,” he breathed in her ear, and she shuddered against him. “I think … think we should head upstairs.” She nodded against his chest, and he pulled back to look at her. His eyes moved all over her face, and she smiled.

He turned her and led her out, walking behind her. Her pulse was racing. Every place he touched her felt like fire. One she never wanted to extinguish.

At the bank of elevators, he pushed the UP button and as he turned around, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket. She pulled hard until his mouth was on hers, and she kissed him. His hands went to her waist and then he was pulling her into the elevator, his mouth fuzed to hers. He pulled back, breathing hard, shaking his head.

“Mulder,” she moaned, reaching for his tie, but he stopped her, holding her hands between their bodies. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. He kept a hold on her hand and walked her down the hall.

At her door, she pulled him in for another kiss, falling against the door as he pushed into her, his tongue exploring her mouth. Her hands went to his hair, and she dug her nails into his neck, making him audibly groan.

He pulled back again, resting his forehead against hers. “Scully,” he whispered and she scraped her fingers along his neck, breathing hard. “Where is your room key?”

“Pocket, I think,” she said, her words feeling and sounding slurry even to her own ears. Mulder nodded and felt in her suit jacket pockets before he found it and opened her door.

She stumbled back, taking her shoes off as she walked inside the room, then trying to unbutton her jacket but her fingers did not cooperate. Forgetting about it, she stumbled to the bed and sat down. The room began to spin and she shook her head, before she fell back and remembered no more.

“I need to go, Mulder,” she said, barely above a whisper, and suppressing a sob. “Please … let me go.”

“You remember,” he said, a statement, not a question, and she nodded, her eyes downcast, embarrassment washing over her. “What do you remember?” Her head snapped up, and she found his eyes soft and understanding, not teasing and not judging.

“I remember …” she began, and he took the bag from her hand, setting it on the small desk, his eyes never leaving hers. “Uhhh …”

“Do you remember my hands being on your waist?” he asked as he put them there once again. “Do you remember how close you were to me? How it felt as though our very breath was mating?” She closed her eyes and leaned into him, whimpering quietly as she did. “Do you remember how my heart was racing? How my breath felt frozen in my chest because of your words, and the thoughts they created in my head?” He pulled her toward him, and she reached for his tie, realizing this was going to end way better than she thought it would when she had considered bolting out the door.

“Do … do you remember how your tie felt like silk when I touched it? How I wanted to run it over other parts of my body to see if it was as soft there, as it was in between my fingers?” she whispered, tugging his tie and making him moan her name. “Do you remember how the heat of the room made me want to strip all my clothes off, but I would have still been too hot, your touch making me ache? Do you remember that, Mulder?” She pulled back to look at him, her eyes seeking that he felt the same way she did, one hundred percent.

“I remember all of that, Scully,” he whispered. “I remember that and so much more.”

“Show me, Mulder,” she said, her fingers under his tie and seeking out the buttons on his shirt, pushing the first one she found through the buttonhole. One finger slid inside and scratched at the heated skin she found there. “Show me everything you remember.”

He stared at her for seconds that felt like forever, before he leaned in and kissed her, his lips just as soft as she remembered. His fingers gripped her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck, his hair and skin as soft and warm as she remembered. He groaned in his throat as his tongue once again explored her mouth, as amazing and delicious as she remembered.

And once again, when she whispered in his ear the effect he had on her, his eyes widened, and he gasped, just as she remembered.

Yes, the basement office in the J. Edgar Hoover building, the one that was home to Fox Mulder and Dana Scully (although her name plate had been ordered, received, and lay in the desk drawer, the execution of it being hung up by either of them had failed) was known for being where odd things resided and strange theories were discussed. On that Tuesday morning, however, there was nothing odd about what was happening up against the wall, causing the doorknob to rattle, and moans to escalate to louder and louder decibels.

Times change, but places where memories have been made, especially the really good ones, the very walls themselves have a tendency to remember. In particular, the walls of a shared basement office, that was avoided by so many and thus created a rather private space for a tryst that had been waiting patiently for seven long years.

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Dreaming Pt.4

Summary: Virgil hates his dreams for showing him what could be. He avoids sleeping at any cost- until it becomes inescapable.

AO3, Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Virgil’s powers are stupid. He controls what makes Thomas anxious, and how anxious Thomas gets over any one thing, but he does it to himself too in the process. It’s dumb. If he were truly evil, shouldn’t he, oh he doesn't know, be laughing maniacally in the background instead of shivering on the floor of his room after a nightmare?

Virgil sobs again, convulsing so hard he almost dry heaves against his carpet. He doesn’t remember falling off the bed, but he’s pulled the blankets with him and is hopelessly entangled. His skin burns under too many layers of blankets and sheets and his hoodie and shirt. But he can’t get up, doesn’t have the strength to do anything more than keep the door to his corner of the mind shut tight. Shadows of his power lick at the edges of the doorframe; Virgil can feel them wanting to trickle out and control Thomas, dying to warp his thinking.

This is exactly what Virgil has worked so hard to avoid.

“Stop it!” He thunders, getting enough of his control back to sit up, even as his hood pushes sweaty hair into his eyes and his tears obstruct his vision. His face feels hot and feverish in the way only fear and crying can make it, and his breath hitches up under his ribcage uncomfortably when he yells. He yells anyway. “Stop it right now!”

The shadows flicker and flee, chastised.

“It was just a dream,” Virgil tells the darkness of his room. The words sound even hollower than they did that morning--afternoon? He’s not sure how much time has passed.

Are you sure? Whisper the shadows. Their words reverberate through his skull, making him wince and clutch at his ears. The tears flow again. His lungs won't expand properly. The only thing he can think to do is curl up tighter, but the blankets pull at his limbs and he thrashes, suddenly convinced he’ll never be free again. The darkness deepens around Virgil. How can you be so sure?

He looked so horrified, says a tiny, shining part of Virgil, the part that made all those nice dreams seem possible for so long. Roman would never hurt you if it made him look like that, would he?

Before, when Virgil was in his (somewhat) right mind, those words would have made sense. Now he just garbles out some inarticulate scream and tries not to pass out.

He doesn’t hear his door open, but he does feel it when his fears begin scrambling to get out again; Virgil stops breathing for a moment, concentrates hard, and pulls. They shrink back from the light of the rest of the mindscape, wrangled into dark corners and nooks and crannies, properly scared of his authority over them. He’s getting better at this.

The door closes with a light click and Virgil doesn’t even have time before an arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him upright against the side of his bed. The blankets encase his arms, making it futile to struggle and he must look so pathetic right now, wriggling like a worm, it’s got to be Patton holding him because he’s the only one kind enough not to say anything, or Roman because he feels bad about making this happen even when it’s Virgil’s fault, all stupid Virgil’s fault for having a nightmare that felt real, he can still feel the burning in his gut, the need for more air, his hair is wet his face is wet his eyes are wet he can’t breathe and someone is holding him up--

It’s not Patton. It’s not Roman.

“You are experiencing a panic attack.” Logan enunciates clearly, face exactly three inches from Virgil’s. “I have not previously seen you experience one of this magnitude, nor has Thomas ever had one this bad, so I have come to offer my assistance. I must commend you beforehand, however, on your ability to keep this from Thomas. It was...sneaky. And unexpectedly thoughtful.”

“You--you--” He still can’t breathe, but the tears have stopped, more out of surprise than anything else.

“We must get your breathing under control before we have any more conversation,” Logan decides, and settles, stiff but comfortable, against Virgil’s side. “I have heard that physical contact can help during an attack, but feel free to push me away if you are so inclined. Now, shall we start with counting your breaths?”

The whole situation is bewildering, but it is easy to fall into the familiar experience of in-hold-release, five-seven-eight, so Virgil does. His tears stay away but the breathing is harder to control, after having indulged in the panic for so long. But Logan is patient, and his arm is a heavy, reassuring weight across Virgil’s shoulders. Their knees knock together where Virgil’s are still bent awkwardly inside the sheets and Logan has sat down cross-legged.

Remember what happened last time, say the shadows of his room. Remember. Don’t forget.

I’m not dreaming. I’m not even asleep.

Are you sure?

Virgil’s shivers redouble, his throat constricting, and Logan’s brow furrows. He places a hand on Virgil’s chest and Virgil balks, eyes rounding. Like this, he's almost encircling Virgil, the back of Virgil’s head brushing the other side’s shoulder. He was too warm before, but no it feels like he’s boiling alive but Virgil can’t find it in himself to ask Logan to stop it. What is he doing--

He’s checking my heartbeat, he realizes when Logan frowns again and glances at his watch. Keeping time. He knows my pulse is too fast.

What do you think this is doing to Thomas? That’s why Logic is here to help, right? Do you think maybe Princy will come back and finish the job if you don’t get your heart rate under control?

Stop it, Virgil thinks. It is much harder to stop his fears when he’s the one they’re attacking.

“Is there anything more that I should be doing for you, Anxiety?” Logan asks. His voice is quiet, softer than it has ever been when addressing Virgil--gentle, almost, if Virgil were the type to use that word--and his tone is even and controlled. Exactly the opposite, then, of Virgil.

“Water,” Virgil croaks, and winces when he hears his own voice. It is raspy and broken and terrible to hear. He has been crying for a long time. “Please.”

Logan’s lips twitch at the polite afterthought, but all he does is incline his head and conjure a glass. When Virgil manages to wrest one hand free of the linen prison he’s constructed for himself, it is cool against his fingertips. He almost expects his skin to sizzle upon contact. The air is so still in his room, but he can’t exactly open the door to get some circulation.

He tries to take the glass for himself, but his fingers are weak, and he still isn’t getting air to his brain properly and he almost drops the glass. His other arm is twisted awkwardly around his own back and he doesn’t have the strength to get up and put himself to rights, so Virgil has a split second to resign himself to the fate of being slightly damp for a few hours.

He doesn’t have to, though, because a sure, steady hand folds around his, catching the water before it can fall in his lap. “Careful,” Logan says, but with how gentle he’s being--like Virgil is a newborn colt, which would be aggravating in any other context but makes that small, bright part of Virgil curl up in his chest and shudder pleasantly now--it doesn’t sound like an admonishment.

“Sorry,” Virgil rasps anyway. Just to be safe.

Why is he doing this for you? It’s not like he likes you. Patton probably put him up to it. Or he wants to make sure you don’t hurt Thomas.

Logan shakes his head but keeps his silence and helps raise the glass to Virgil’s lips. His eyes are keen behind his glasses, watching for any sign that Virgil is uncomfortable. His face is tight, lines drawn from how hard Logan is concentrating and his cheeks are--

Virgil splutters, pulling back from the glass with a gasp; it had tasted strangely musty, but that’s not the issue. Virgil’s mouth is probably the origin of that strangeness. There are only a few sips left, thankfully, so he doesn’t make too much of a mess of himself. He feels the other’s bicep tense beneath his head but he’s too busy scrambling back to see Logan’s face more clearly to apologize.

“You don’t have any bags under your eyes,” Virgil says. It must seem like quite the non sequitur because Logan’s brows jump, and he disappears the glass with a wave of his hand. Virgil stammers under the scrutiny. “You--you should have--”

“Not all of us are able to due to the nature of our very beings,” Logan tilts his head in Virgil’s direction, “but I happen to get the optimal amount of sleep every night, hence why I do not have the same shadows under my eyes as you do. Although--and please don’t take this to mean I am prying--but you seem to not be getting enough sleep these days. More than usual, in fact.”

“I--how do you know about that?”

“Irritability, irrationality, sluggish movements, decreased appetite, and trouble concentrating are all signs of lack of sleep,” Logan lists off. He still hasn’t moved very far but Virgil’s body must be uncomfortable to hold like this, all bunched up fabric and jutting bones. “Although it is hard to differentiate these symptoms from those of the nature of who you are, Anxiety, yours have increased dramatically over the past few days to weeks.”

Virgil’s stomach drops even further but there’s something strange here, something his paranoia has latched on to and if he can just figure out why Logan’s face is bothering him so much he could figure it out.

It’s his eyes, whisper Virgil’s shadows. You know it’s his eyes. No one can stay here for so long without getting tired of you, Anxiety. What’s wrong with his eyes?

“You’re not feeling the effects of my room,” Virgil realizes. Every bone in his body is made of lead; he can’t seem to move. Even if he could, where is there to go? “You should be--you should be freaking out right now. Why aren’t you--what’s happening?”

Virgil’s body isn’t listening to him anymore, the panic from before and his new terror rising to wrench his control away. The tears are back, streaming from the corners of his eyes, unbidden, unheeded. Logan doesn’t even react to them beyond a head tilt, a quirk of the lips. Virgil sags against the other side's arm and shoulder, the bedframe digging into his upper back. What is wrong with him? He’s been having trouble moving all this time but not like this, not so much that he can’t even feel in control of his own limbs. His lungs still feel pressure, but it's foggy now, like they’re not a part of him anymore. His brain is cloudy. There’s foam in his mouth.

The water, Virgil realizes, a second before his brain catches up with him. He tries to thrash and twist away from the other’s grip, but Logan just smiles and reaches out to wipe at his chin where the foam is gathering. He tsks under his breath, still smiling but his face is too angular now, too sharp and frightening. Virgil cringes away from those sharp teeth.

“Oh Anxiety,” Logan says, voice too high and sweet as sugar, a tone too saccharine for even Patton. “Don’t you know not to go accepting help from strangers? And here I thought that’s the only thing you were ever good for. I’m sorely disappointed.”

It’s just another nightmare, says that hopeful piece of him, but that too is getting harder to focus on.

Did you even fall asleep this time?

Things are going fuzzy again, for the third time--the final time, some small, dark part of Virgil hopes desperately--but he still has the presence of mind to try to lift his one free, deadened hand and push at Logan’s chest. Anything to get away.

“The only stranger here,” says another voice, too familiar not to be instantly recognizable, “is you. Now if you would kindly unhand my friend here, that would be appreciated.”

It can’t be, Virgil thinks. Logan is sitting right here.

He’d never call you his friend, the shadows agree. They are growing now, filtering in at the edges of his vision, clawing their way across his ceiling and over the bedspread, reaching for his fingertips.

“And what if I don’t?” Asks the Logan holding him, smiling all the while. God, but Virgil sort of wants to punch his lights out.

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” says the new Logan, and the stern, dangerous tone of voice almost puts Virgil at ease.

Then the convulsions start and he loses track of things for a while. Stress and shock make waves of tingles flood his body, again and again and again and he doesn’t know what kind of poison he’s ingested but it’s making him weak and disconnected but it also makes his insides feel like they’re being set on fire and liquefied all at once. He can feel more foam coming to his lips and filling his throat and tears wash it away from his face. He thinks maybe his nose is bleeding.

There's a flurry of movement, and at the corners of his eyes, Virgil can see sharp jerks of color, flitting in and out of sight like birds. Someone’s fist, someone’s elbow. A pair of glasses, maybe, flying off into the darkness of his room. But then his vision starts going and Virgil can’t get up the strength to turn around and look at what’s going on.

There are hands on him again and Virgil isn’t sure when he’d been let go in the first place, but these new palms are warm and dry and they wipe away all of the gunk on his face. The weak light in Virgil’s room, dimming fast, glints off of Logan’s glasses. Worry etches plain across his face and there are deep shadows under his eyes.

“Anxiety, can you hear me?” Logan asks, voice urgent and careful. He’s cupping Virgil’s face and his skin is too hot, the waves coursing through him feel like needles now and it hurts so much that his vision greys out for a few seconds. Logan shakes him a little and the colors snap back into place, but his vision is still tunneling. “Anxiety, if you can hear me, I don’t know what's happening but I think you’re hallucinating, or bringing your dreaming into reality or--I’m not sure, I’m sorry, I know it’s my job but just--just wake up, alright? You have to wake up--”

Virgil gasps, reaches one hand up to clench his numb fingers desperately around one of Logan’s wrists, and feels his eyes roll back in his head.

Virgil knows no more.

[brn1029]

Get those tin foil hats ready to go!

The 10 greatest conspiracy theories in rock

By Emma Johnston

In a world where fake news runs rampant, rock'n'roll is not immune to the lure of the conspiracy theory. These are 10 of the most ludicrous

Conspiracy theories, myths and legends have existed in rock’n’roll for as long as the music has existed, stretching all the way back to bluesman Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil at the crossroads in exchange for superhuman guitar skills, fame and fortune.

There are those who believe Elvis Presley and Jim Morrison live on, others who think the Illuminati control the world through symbolism in popular culture, and plenty of evangelical types with their own agendas trawling rock and metal songs for secret messages luring the innocent to the dark side.

Let us take a look, then, at rock’n’roll conspiracy theories ranging from the intriguing to the ludicrous, as we try to separate the truth from the codswallop.

Lemmy was in league with the Illuminati

Few men have ever been earthier than Lemmy, but one conspiracy theorist claims that the Motorhead legend didn’t really die in December 2015, instead “ascending into the heavenly realm” after making a “blood sacrifice pact” with the Illuminati.

A “watcher” of the mythical secret society some believe are running the world – despite evidence that is at best flimsy, at worst straight from The Da Vinci Code author Dan Brown’s discarded notebooks – told the Daily Star: “Lemmy signed up for the ultimate pact – he signed his soul to the devil in order to achieve fame and fortune.”

While we can only imagine what the great man would have to say on the matter, there’s one word, in husky, JD-soaked tones, that we can just about make out coming across from the other side: “Bollocks.”

Paul McCartney died in 1966

As you might expect from the most famous band that has ever existed, there are enough crackpot theories about The Beatles to fill the Albert Hall. From John Lennon’s murder being ordered by the US government, who, led by Richard Nixon, suspected him of communism (the FBI actually did have a file on Lennon, but the story is spiced up by the man behind murderlennontruth.com, who apparently believes author Steven King was involved due to, uh, looking a bit like Mark Chapman) to Canadian prog outfit Klaatu being the Fab Four in disguise, there are plenty of tall tales more colourful than a Ringo B-side.

The most enduring, though, is the notion dreamt up by some US radio DJs that Paul McCartney died in a car crash in 1966 and was replaced by a lookalike. They came to this conclusion having studied the cover of Abbey Road – McCartney’s bare feet on the zebra crossing apparently symbolising death, while others found “evidence” in the album’s opaque lyrics. There were a lot of drugs in the 60s.

Gene Simmons has a cow’s tongue

It’s easy to see why all kinds of far-fetched stories sprung up when Kiss first took off in the 1970s. The fake-blood-spitting, the fire, the demon-superhero personas – middle America clutched its pearls and word spread that these otherworldly weirdos’ moniker stood for Knights In Satan’s Service. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t.

It was Gene Simmons’ preposterous mouth that got the nation’s less voluminous tongues wagging though. So long and pointy is his appendage, and so often waggled at his audiences (whether they asked for it or not), that eventually the rumour spread around the world’s playgrounds was that he’d had a cow’s tongue grafted onto his own. The bovine baloney is, of course, bullshit, but Simmons has admitted it's one of his favourite Kiss urban myths.

Supertramp predicted 9/11

The Logical Song may be Supertramp’s calling card, but one man in the US stretches common sense to the limit having come to the conclusion that the artwork for their 1979 album Breakfast In America gave prior warning of the terrorist attacks on New York on September 11, 2001.

Look at the album cover – painted from the perspective of a window on a flight into the city – in a mirror, and the ‘u’ and ‘p’ band’s name appears to become a 911 floating above the twin towers, while a logo on the back features a plane flying towards the World Trade Center.

So far, so coincidental, but when our intrepid investigator falls down a rabbit hole of Masonic interference, strained Old Testament connections (“The Great Whore of Babylon – Super Tramp”), and the title Breakfast In America reflecting the fact that the planes crashed early in the morning, things get really tenuous.

It’s fair to say it’s unlikely a British prog-pop band had prior knowledge of the terrorist attacks 22 years before they happened. But maybe Al Qaida were really big fans.

Stevie Wonder can see

Stevie Wonder is a genius. That fact is not up for dispute. The soul/jazz/funk/rock/pop legend was born six weeks prematurely in 1950, and the oxygen used in the hospital incubator to stabilise him caused him to go blind shortly afterwards. But his love of front-row seats at basketball games, the evocative imagery in his songs, and the fact that he once effortlessly caught a falling mic stand knocked over by Paul McCartney (who, let us reiterate, did not die in 1966) has caused basement Jessica Fletchers to muse that he’s faking his blindness as part of the act.

Wonder himself, a known prankster, has great fun with his status as one of the world’s most famous vision-impaired musicians. In 1973, he told Rolling Stone: “I’ve flown a plane before. A Cessna or something, from Chicago to New York. Scared the hell out of everybody.”

Dave Grohl invented Andrew W.K.

When Andrew W.K. first broke through in the early 2000s, dressed in white and covered in blood, his mission was serious in its simplicity: the party is everything. He took his message of having a good time, all the time, to levels of political fervour. But rumours of his authenticity have been doing the rounds from the start.

Reviewing WK’s first UK show at The Garage in London, The Guardian’s Alexis Petridis wrote: “One music-biz conspiracy theory currently circulating suggests that Andrew W.K. is an elaborate hoax devised by former Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl.”

As time went on, the theory gained traction – Grohl was believed to be the mysterious Steev Mike credited on the debut album I Get Wet. And as W.K.’s style changed over subsequent records, and his own admission that there were legal arguments over who owns his name, whispers began that he wasn’t even a real person – he was a character, played by several different actors, an attempt to create the ultimate Frankenstein’s frontman.

"I'm not the same guy that you may have seen from the I Get Wet album," W.K. said in 2008. “I don't just mean that in a philosophical or conceptual way, it's not the same person at all. Do I look the same as that person?" The jury is out, but if this is a great white elephant concocted just for the sheer hell of it, we kind of want this one to be true.

Jimi Hendrix was murdered by his manager

An early victim of the 27 club, the death of Jimi Hendrix was depressingly cliched for a man so wildly creative: a bellyful of barbiturates led to him asphyxiating on his own vomit, according to the post-mortem. But in the years following the grim discovery at the Samarkand Hotel in London on 19 September 1970, a different theory was offered by the guitarist’s former roadie, James “Tappy” Wright.

In his book Rock Roadie, Wright claims Hendrix was murdered by his manager, Michael Jeffery, who he says force-fed his charge red wine and pills. The motive? He feared he was about to be fired and was keen to cash in on the star’s life insurance. One thing we do know for certain is Jeffery won’t be able to give his version of events, as he was killed in a plane crash over France in 1973.

The 50th anniversary of Hendrix's tragic passing was "celebrated" with the release of Hendrix and the Spook, a documentary that "explored" his death further and was described by The Guardian as "a cheaply made mix of interviews and dumbshow dramatic recreations by actors scuttling about flimsy sets in gloomy lighting." Sounds good.

Courtney killed Kurt

Courtney Love is no stranger to demonisation from Nirvana fans. When Hole’s second album, the searing, catchy, feminist, witty, aggressive, vulnerable and unflinchingly honest Live Through This was released, days after Kurt Cobain’s death, rumours almost immediately started up that Love’s late husband wrote the songs. That was insulting and sexist enough, but nowhere near as damaging as the conspiracy theory that Love hired a hitman to kill Cobain amid rumours they were about to divorce.

After Cobain’s first attempt to take his own life in Rome, the Nirvana frontman was eventually convinced to go to rehab following an intervention by his wife and friends. He ran away from the facility, and the private investigator hired by Love to find him, Tom Grant, eventually became the source of the idea that Love and the couple’s live-in nanny Michael Dewitt were responsible for Cobain’s death shortly afterwards.

His claims, made in the Soaked In Bleach documentary, include the notion that Cobain had too much heroin in his system to pull the trigger of the shotgun, and that he believed the suicide note was forged.

People close to Cobain (and the Seattle Police Department) have refuted the theory, including Nirvana manager Danny Goldberg: “It’s ridiculous. He killed himself. I saw him the week beforehand, he was depressed. He tried to kill himself six weeks earlier, he’d talked and written about suicide a lot, he was on drugs, he got a gun. Why do people speculate about it? The tragedy of the loss is so great people look for other explanations. I don’t think there’s any truth at all to it."

The CIA wrote The Scorpions’ biggest hit

Previously synonymous with leather, hard rock anthems and some very questionable album artwork, West Germany’s Scorpions scored big with Wind Of Change, a power ballad heralding the oncoming fall of the USSR, the end of the Cold War, and a new sense of hope in the Eastern Bloc.

In a podcast named after the 1990 song, though, Orwell Prize-winning US journalist Patrick Radden Keefe follows rumours from within the intelligence community that the song was actually written by the CIA, as propaganda to hasten the fall of the ailing Soviet Union via popular culture.

“Soviet officials had long been nervous over the free expression that rock stood for, and how it might affect the Soviet youth,” Keefe is quoted as saying. “The CIA saw rock music as a cultural weapon in the cold war. Wind of Change was released a year after the fall of the Berlin Wall, and became this anthem for the end of communism and reunification of Germany. It had this soft-power message that the intelligence service wanted to promote.”

It's a convincing theory, but one that is disputed by Scorpions frontman Klaus Meine: “I thought it was very amusing and I just cracked up laughing. It’s a very entertaining and really crazy story but like I said, it’s not true at all. Like you American guys would say, it’s fake news."

There are satanic messages in Stairway To Heaven

The great comedian Bill Hicks had something to say about people searching for evidence of devilry in rock’n’roll: “Remember this shit, if you play certain rock albums backwards there'd be satanic messages? Let me tell you something, if you're sitting round your house playing your albums backwards, you are Satan. You needn't look any further. And don't go ruining my stereo to prove a point either.”

The memo didn’t get through to televangelist and stylus ruiner Paul Crouch, who in 1982 attempted to scare the Christian right into believing Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven was stuffed with demonic meaning, and that played backwards it revealed the following message: “Here’s to my sweet Satan/The one whose little path would make me sad, whose power is Satan/He will give those with him 666/There was a little toolshed where he made us suffer, sad Satan.”

Guitarist Jimmy Page, of course, is no stranger to the esoteric, making no secret of his interest in occultist Aleister Crowley and the attendant magick, and there were even rumours the band made a Faustian pact to achieve fame and fortune. But hiding messa

[efrmellifer]

Bound

Etien had felt like a creature outside herself all night. It wasn’t a bad thing, nor a good thing. Just… something.

There was something amusing about how Estinien and Aymeric talked when she wasn’t around, what she got to hear of their conversations afterward (it was usually quite a bit, when they were all so close, but still).

And it was even more amusing when those little chats between them seemed to pique Estinien’s curiosity about things Aymeric mentioned.

And that was how Etien and Estinien ended up like this, her legs draped over his lap as she tried to coax information out of him.

“I can’t sate your curiosity if you’re reluctant to ask questions,” she said with a click of her tongue. “What did Aymeric tell you, and what did it make you want to know?”

“He said it was calming. I thought that beggared belief—who gets calm from being bound?”

Etien’s eyebrows lifted. “Aymeric, clearly. But what he’s told me is that it’s more about the trust. The giving up responsibility. I guess some people would call it control,” she said, scratching at her cheek, “but he’s still in control. I don’t tie him tight.” Now she giggled, shifting onto her hip slightly. “But he can sit back, and let me handle everything. A fitting reward, for a man who’s always responsible for handling everything in multiple arenas.”

“And he calms because of that?” Estinien asked, almost sounded like he still didn’t believe it.

“To my knowledge,” Etien replied with a shrug. “I personally think if I could get him to lie still long enough without tying him down, we would get the same results. But he needs an excuse.”

Estinien snorted. “Good old Aymeric.”

She agreed, murmuring the same just above a whisper.

Then she turned to Estinien again. “So do you want to try it? No is a perfectly sufficient answer.”

“Why not?” He mused.

_

She laughed a little as she pulled the slack of the rope a little tighter. “You keep squirming,” she noted, looking up at Estinien only briefly. “I don’t want to cut off your circulation. Please, stay still.”

It was a mix of ribbon and rope adorning him, so that Estinien looked more like an oversized parcel than a man undergoing an experiment regarding his pleasure.

But he liked the look on Etien’s face as she studied him.

“Thoughts?” he asked as she tipped her head this way and that.

“I was looking at the scars,” she admitted. “You have so many more than I do.”

“I have a few years on you,” he said, attempting to shrug, but finally appropriately incapacitated. “And from what I’ve always heard, you don’t scar because the healers are so busy bringing you back from the Fury’s grasp that they patch you up completely as a side effect.”

“Maybe so,” Etien mused, letting her fingers trail across her stomach, and then over a scar on Estinien’s shoulder.

“You have a scar on your nose,” he noted.

“Oh, that,” she sighed. “I thought it would have gone away by now.”

“A lot of them are supposed to fade, and then don’t,” Estinien commented.

“Are we talking about physical wounds now or emotional ones?” Etien asked him, coming to her knees in front of him, close enough that her words made his hair flutter.

“At end of the day, where does the difference lie?”

_

Etien had worried the whole time that the pressure and stillness of being bound would have gotten to Estinien, broken him down or riled him up until physical sensations, least of all pleasure, were the last thing on his mind.

But she had been wrong, luckily.

After, however, when she was unwrapping the ribbon and kissing over the grooves left by the rope—even when she’d tried to leave plenty of room, slipping her fingers next to his skin beforehand and all—that was when the breaking point was hit.

“You did so well, Estinien,” she’d cooed, kissing his shoulder as the rope left his bicep, stroking her fingers over his forearm as the ribbon fell away, “thank you for not squirming and for being patient.”

She’d taken the risk of kissing him on the lips after that, and she felt the emotion roll through him before she could hear it or see it.

He near to crumpled, almost sobbing as she pulled back.

“Estinien?” Etien asked, barely hitting the consonants, soft as down as she called to him.

“I am all right,” he replied.

“You don’t have to be,” she soothed, pulling him closer and stroking his hair. “If you aren’t sure that everything is completely well, you need not say so.”

She made more comforting noises—a shush that was almost a whistle for how airy and tonal it was, a humming coo that transformed into soothing words.

Sometimes, people commented—in jest or completely seriously—that Etien had magic in her voice, when she sang on the battlefield. But now, Estinien was inclined to believe it.

They lay there for a long time, her fingers trailing through his hair, her heart beating in his ear. He must have fallen asleep, because he didn’t know how long it was before Aymeric came in and Etien stirred as she woke, which made Estinien hazily aware of the world around him again.

He’d seen Aymeric bend, kissing Etien, then been slightly surprised by also receiving a brief kiss.

Aymeric slipped into bed, and the three of them went to sleep.

...for a time.

All three of them were plagued with nightmares in one form or another—possession, torture passing for interrogation, and just about everything that had happened to Etien since she left home, especially in the last year—did that, taking their toll on the mind, the pain nestling into a corner and every so often sticking a paw out to swipe at anything that passed by.

Estinien knew they happened, even to Etien. But he’d never seen it.

Not until he was thrown from her chest, which heaved with her every breath now as she tried to calm down.

“What was that?” he asked when he finally got his bearings.

“I thought I had left thoughts of the First behind,” she intoned, halfway between a groan and a wail, hands covering her eyes.

If the slight dipping and rising of her shoulders was any indication, she was crying now, now that the adrenaline was beginning to filter out.

She was home, in bed. But even as whatever pain or fear was starting to ebb away, it had still existed.

The sounds of her sniffling woke Aymeric, who immediately slipped a hand into hers, gently tugging it away from her eyes. “Etien, dearest,” he sighed into the dark. “Another nightmare?”

She nodded, a soft “mm-hmm” her reply.

Silently, Estinien watched the two of them start going through the routine. He wanted to reach out, to help, but didn’t know where or how to insert himself without getting underfoot. So he watched.

Aymeric sat up, gathering Etien into his arms. It was made abundantly clear how small she was when she was enveloped like this, tail limp and ears flat, curled up knees to chest in his lap.

It only made her victories more impressive. And her fears more understandable.

“Do you… would it help to talk about it?” Estinien asked. “Or should I leave for that?”

“What’s one more intimacy between us?” she asked, smiling, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Stay. Please.”

He scooted a little closer to the pair, watching Aymeric start to slightly rock, Etien’s eyelids sinking lower from the motion.

“Tell us, if you can,” Aymeric requested, voice low, smooth and comforting.

Etien nodded, swallowing. “I was dreaming about when Elidibus was testing me.”

“Testing you?”

“Yes. He said he wanted to assess my capabilities, and—well, he did just that. He certainly pushed me to the very limit of what I could handle.”

“In the dream?” Estinien asked.

“No,” this came out of her just a little raspy. “On the First. The dream was just the feelings washing over me again, little slices of the memories.” She sighed. “I might as well tell you about what actually happened, considering that was what had me shaken enough to dream myself into this state. The way it started was I… I saw Mother Miounne. That is, one of the Amaurotines was made to look like her. It took me by surprise to see, when hers was really the first friendly face I saw in Gridania. The first to meet me as Etien Mellifer, rather than… the identity I cast off, I suppose.”

The two men were silent, letting Etien work through the words she wanted at her own pace. Already, her eyes were welling, her pupils wide as if in fear, ringed in a teary, glassy green.

“And it grew worse from there. Seeing people who have been lost to us was one thing, as was fighting old foes. When it was the Scions, I could ignore it. But that ability was quickly spent. Especially when, as if he had reached in and pulled the fear directly out of the darkest part of my heart, you two were suddenly on the other side of my bow.”

Aymeric gasped.

“I couldn’t bear it, fighting you,” she told him, tears overflowing the banks of her eyelids, fresh streams hot on the tail of the first rivulets. “I remember now, the pain in my chest as I sobbed, nocking another arrow. It didn’t matter that they were cubii, I looked and it was you and I almost couldn’t do it. But what was I going to do, fail? Die?”

“Absolutely not,” Aymeric muttered, pulling her close again.

“And then there was the issue of reliving the end of the war,” Etien said with a heavy sigh.

“Well you cannot be afraid of Nidhogg,” Estinien commented, scooting closer again.

“I’m not afraid of Nidhogg,”she replied, gaze lifting to meet his.

“Oh. Aye, I see.”

“For whatever it’s worth, the cubii put up a valiant fight. I had no tears left to cry, heaving by the time I was finished with the test.”

Aymeric sucked his lower lip into his mouth, then let it go, the way he’d watched Etien do many a time. Estinien just looked between the two of them.

Aymeric positioned her so she was straddling his lap, laying her head against his chest, rubbing near the tip of her ear as he hummed softly. “Fret not, my dearest. Estinien and I yet live, thrilled to have you here with us, and prouder of you than ever, which is saying something. That must have taken an inhuman amount of courage.”

She sniffled, tears falling faster and still unbidden, as she pressed her face just below Aymeric’s shoulder.

“Shh, I have you, Etien. Nothing can hurt you, not while I’m here. And the same goes for Estinien. Isn’t that right?” he asked, with a flick of his eyes and a subtle tilt of his head, beckoning Estinien over wordlessly.

“It is,” he agreed, settling into a more comfortable seated position next to Aymeric and laying a hand on Etien’s back.

“Listen to my heartbeat, to my breathing,” Aymeric soothed a little more. She repositioned herself, sighing again. “Not to sound too much my father, but you have suffered too many indignities at the hands of Ascian influence,” he murmured. “But no more. Not now.”

He lay down, bringing her down with him, and beckoned for Estinien to join him with a quick gesture.

“Does Etien want--?”

“You could ask her,” Aymeric replied.

“May I join you?” Estinien asked.

Aymeric swept back Etien’s hair, searching her eyes, pupils wide and irises starkly green as a side effect of being bloodshot, for an answer.

She nodded, then turned to Estinien. “Please.”

Nodding, willing to do as she asked, he lay down beside the pair, trying to entangle himself with both of them, legs crossing with Aymeric’s, an arm thrown over Etien’s back.

He couldn’t think of anything to say. There was nothing to say, no way to make such a traumatic event fade from her mind. He sighed a little at the knowledge that even with all she had told him and Aymeric, it couldn’t have come close to living it.

And as she was the one with the Echo, they would never see what she had seen.

Maybe it was better that way.

All they could do was comfort one other after the dreams and pray—alongside the actions they took—that nothing like this, any of it, ever happened again.

And for now, sleep, secure in this loose embrace for three.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 10x08: The World Before - First Thoughts

Hello everyone! So what did you think of the episode. I totally loved it! Yes, it’s frustrating to get a cliffhanger for the MSF, but I, for one, am kind of used to it by now. I more or less count on that for every finale and MSF. If it doesn’t happen (because sometimes it doesn’t) then awesome. But when it does, I’m not surprised or upset by it. 

But onto happier things. This was one of those episodes that was just dripping with symbolism. (My favorite kind! So today I’ll talk about the broad, sweeping things and what most jumped out at me (and there was a LOT that did, even on first watch) and tomorrow I’ll do nitty-gritty details. Later in the week, I have some other things to post that I’m hoping will help everyone get through the hiatus, so stay tuned for those. Let’s dive in!

This is one episode that the spoilers definitely didn’t do justice to at all.

***As always, spoilers abound for 10x08 below. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Daryl’s Reaction to Carol and Lydia:

Depending on what you follow online, this might not mean much to you. But the groups I’m in follow spoilers and there was a lot of talk about how Daryl didn’t seem to care that much that Lydia was gone, or that Carol sort of lost her. And the spoilers only talked about a very tender scene between Daryl and Carol. 

Well, they did have a sweet scene together, but him not caring about Lydia and not getting after Carol was utterly untrue. (If you’ve watched the episode, you know this.) 

No, he doesn’t exactly scream in Carol’s face or anything (but Daryl wouldn’t do that anyway) but he does get after her. I really liked their interactions because I feel like Daryl might just have finally gotten through to Carol about her destructive behavior. She cries, and that’s where he hugs her. It was actually a really beautiful scene.

I will grant you that it doesn’t last long, as Carol still chases blindly after Alpha not long after, but still.

Music References:

Probably my favorite thing was the musical references. Luke names and later hums a specific piece of classical music: Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a theme of Paganini. 

Even if the name doesn’t ring a bell for you, I can almost guarantee you’ve heard it before. HERE’s a video so you can listen. If you can’t access this one, just google it or search your YouTube. I promise it won’t be hard to find a way to listen to it. It’s one of the most famous pieces of classical music of all time.

It was featured in a film in the 80s called Somewhere in Time that had a cult following (one of my personal faves with Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour).

So, my first instinct was to research the song itself. Like, does it have a coda? I knew I had some sheet music from this song on my shelf so I went and got it. Mine doesn’t have a coda, but mine is also only the 18th variation.

It’s important for everyone to understand what a variation is in classical music. A variation is basically just one part of the overall symphony. Any given symphony is divided into parts, or variations. Not unlike chapters of a book. Each one is part of the overall story, but different things happen in each chapter, right? Same with Variations. All part of the same symphony, and therefore all based around and repeating the same musical themes, but all slightly different as well.

So, any given variation may not have a coda, but we need to look at the symphony as a whole. (And I can back this idea up because in the episode, Luke finds a book in the library of this piece of music and on the cover it says something like “complete preludes for piano” on it. 

So, what I’m getting at is that the 24th variation IS a coda. I found this description of the 24th variation:

Variation 24: provides a massive capstone to the entire work.  The Dies Irae theme emerges heavily in brass and strings while piano and winds recall prominent features of the subject.  A brilliant coda reiterates fragments of the theme, compressing earlier ideas within a massive acceleration. Suddenly and surprisingly there is a drop to an unexpected soft dynamic and two cadential chords from the piano mark the ending.

Obviously that is very significant. They’re mentioning, talking about, humming, and showing us sheet music for a very famous symphony that has a coda. I think our TWD coda is about to roll back around, don’t you?

But I’m also wondering about the Somewhere in Time theme. I’m sure at least some of you aren’t familiar with it. It’s an American film with a cult following. But in terms of pop cinema culture, Paganini’s Rhapsody and this film are very intertwined. There are plenty of people who wouldn’t know that symphony at all EXCEPT for the film, so I have to wonder if they chose this piece of music, both for what it means by itself, and also for the Somewhere in Time reference. Notice the “time” element of that title.

The film is a ridiculously romantic time travel story. Its about two lovers who are basically separated by time, and have to travel through time to find one another and, you know, be together forever. Sound like Bethyl to you?

And because I was thinking about that, I noticed something else. When Aaron is talking to Gracie (there are a lot of interesting things in this scene, but I’ll go into most of them tomorrow in my Details post) he tells her a story about once visiting some old Native American ruins. He says he started to wonder about the lives and identities of the people who once lived there. People who had been “lost to time.” So there was a definite theme about people being lost in time in this episode. Very significant. Actually kind of gives me chills. In a good way. ;D

Gracie:

I felt like there was a large emphasis on Gracie in this episode. Aaron talked about her to Gamma last episode, in conjunction with bikes (which we’ve long associated with kidnapping and even “missing girl” stuff) so I still feel like Gracie might be taken.

Here, when Aaron learned about Dante killing Siddiq, he kind of had a meltdown, saying he should have seen it and Dante had been part of the community for months and had even treated Gracie. I don’t think we should read into that literally. I don’t think Dante did anything to Gracie or anything. But I feel like she’s being associated with the whole Siddiq/Dante situation.

And of course we had the part where he sat with her and quizzed her on the license plates. So I feel like they’re setting up something with Gracie here, and I’ve said before that I can see something along the lines of Gracie being taken/kidnapped and Aaron going to find her, and that somehow leading to Beth. So I guess I’m just seeing this as confirmation that something with Gracie is in the works, even if the rest is just conjecture right now.

Bear Trap:

This probably qualifies as more of a Detail than anything else, but it was too huge not to share. After they cross the border, Carol almost steps in a bear trap. Daryl sees it in time and stops her saying, “You could have lost a foot.” Lost shoe/foot symbolism anyone?

I’ve come to believe that the lost shoe/foot theme is directly tied to the death fake out. I won’t say much more than that except that only Daryl and Carol are in this scene. So, it might point to Ezekiel’s coming death fake out, which I think is close, or to the one Daryl is involved in, which would just be another way to hint at Beth being close.

But it’s more than that. MUCH more. Some of you may remember that WAY back, a long time ago (like during the 5b/6a time period) some of the prominent TD-ers of the time dug up some information about a Beth figurine/toy that was set to be released. They were going to release one that included a bear trap prop in the package.

Now, that figuring was never actually released. People in our fandom actually contacted the toy company to ask about it and were told that it was planned for release at one point, but for unspecified reasons, the company (that would be AMC) changed their minds and scrapped the project.

We still don’t know exactly why, though I suspect it was because TD was so active back then and they simply decided they didn’t need to give us this hint.

Lots of theories about the large bear trap circulated back then. People even wondered if it would have something to do with Beth and Shiva, which it didn’t. But it’s weird, right? I mean, why would tptb release a figurine of Beth with such a specific, large prop that never showed up in her story line and had absolutely no bearing on anything in her—or any other character’s—story?

Well, obviously TD took it as something symbolic/a clue to how she might return. Now, we have an actual bear trap as part of a sequence connected to the Whisperers, when many of suspect we may be as little as two episodes out from her return. Significant enough for you? I can’t stress how huge this little bear trap detail is.

But I can even take it further than that.

In terms of what specifically happens in this episode, it was a foreshadow of the ending. So Carol almost stepped in the bear trap, but just barely avoided catastrophe. Daryl yelled stop, stop and managed to pull her back before she stepped in the trap, triggering it, which would have been very painful. Near the end of the episode, Carol chases after Alpha. Daryl yells, stop, stop! But she doesn’t listen and what happens? They trigger the trap.

So, some pretty basic foreshadowing for the end of the episode. But the idea of that also has my head spinning, because I can’t help but compare it to other things.

First, it’s the bear trap being associated with Beth again. Because, in my head, them triggering this trap, and it being symbolized beforehand by the bear trap, is just another way of saying that something about them triggering this trap Alpha set for them will lead to Beth in some way.

But I’m also thinking about Alone. With this symbolism in mind, you could argue that Beth stepping on the small game trap at the beginning of Alone foreshadowed her getting caught in the Grady trap at the end of that episode. The sequence is similar. When the metal, animal trap is scene early on, catastrophe is largely avoided.

(Yes, Beth steps in the trap, but it only results in a hurt ankle. Nothing to worry about. They even emphasize that it’s not broken. If Carol had stepped on hers, it would have snapped her leg like a twig, and they needed her to be able to run later, so they couldn’t do a complete parallel. But again, catastrophe largely avoided.)

Then, near the end of the episode, a MUCH bigger trap is triggered. And this time, catastrophe can’t be avoided. Daryl couldn’t stop the Grady cops from taking Beth, though he tried. And he couldn’t stop the group in this episode—including himself—from falling into the pit, though he tried.

In fact, you could argue that because the rest of the group ran out ahead of him after Carol, while he stayed behind to fight walkers, this was a huge parallel to the end of Alone. Think about it. He stays behind to lead the walkers away while she runs out ahead of him. We see him running through the yard of the funeral home in the direction she went, looking for her, but she’s already fallen into the Grady trap by then.

Here, the rest of the group runs out ahead of Daryl, after Carol. He takes care of the walkers and then runs in the direction they all went, looking for them. But they’d already fallen into the pit by the time he got there. See why this is so huge?

(P.S. On TTD, they pointed out that we see this from Daryl’s POV, which was true of Alone as well. We saw everything through his eyes, and didn’t see what happened with Beth. Only what he saw.)

The dark pit they fall into reminded me of two things: 1) the cave Gamma’s sister went into with Alpha before emerging into the light, which I pegged right away as a Beth-parallel. 2) the darkness-to-light theme in general. We saw it around Beth a lot, but around others as well. So if this is the group going into the darkness, then when they re-emerge into the light, maybe that’s when Beth will show up? (a.k.a. episode 10?) Just a thought.

But for Beth, Grady = falling into a dark pit. In this shot, we see her walking into a dark corridor/tunnel with light at the other end. And this is RIGHT before she’s shot. Which I always saw as her heading into the darkness, but it foreshadows that she’ll come through into the light (survive). And now we’re seeing a replay of this in 10x08.

Virgil:

Okay, let’s talk Virgil. For the record, I don’t think he’s linked to Connie and Kelly. That was a fun theory and I was hoping for it as much as the next person, but I didn’t get that feeling while watching the episode. First off, it’s not that he’s been separated from his family and looking for them, which is what early reports of him suggested. Rather, it’s that he left his community on some kind of supply mission and he’s trying to get back to them. So, he knows exactly where they are. He’s just trying to get home.

That’s right. HOME theme. They emphasize several times that he’s going home. He says it, Michonne repeats it, etc. And remember that finding one’s way home is associated with the North Star/Sirius symbolism, thanks to Carl saying that to Judith in S6.

And where Virgil’s home is, is AWESOME! Pay attention to this TD-ers, because it’s SUPER significant. He tells Michonne that he lives in a compound on Bloodsworth Island in Tangiers sound. I had to sit back and let that sink in. We’ve always said Beth will return by water. If she’s on an island, that kind of makes every water reference we’ve ever seen around her make sense. The picture of the ship behind Hershel in 4a (Smooth seas don’t make for good sailors), the teddy bear that washed up on the beach in 7x06, etc.

I had to do some research on this place because I wasn’t familiar with it. Both Bloodsworth Island and Tangier sound are in the Chesapeake Bay area. The sound is bordered by parts of Virginia and Maryland. My point? This really isn’t very far away. Michonne mentions a 2-day trip to get there.

But given all the symbolism around this, and that this may be where Beth is…well, suddenly it seems like she really may not be very far from D.C. at all.

And then there’s the idea of the naval base. Virgil says it’s hard to find and fortified. Remember what I said about the helicopter people: that they’re probably ex-military, which is why they’re so good at security and keeping people from leaving their group once they’ve entered. It would also make sense why they’ve learned to purify water, since they’re on an island surrounded on all sides by salt water.

So what I’m saying is that this plays very well into everything we’ve been thinking thus far. We already know Danai is going to the Rick Grimes films, so to say she’ll run into Rick is a foregone conclusion. But I’ve said before that I think Rick and Beth are in the same place, or at least within the same organization.

I want to point out that Michonne quotes Rick’s line to Virgil: My mercy prevailed over my wrath. Now, on the one hand, that’s just a very obvious way of foreshadowing that when she leaves, she’ll be finding Rick. His storyline is about to come back into play, and Virgil will be part of that. We already knew that because of outside-the-show stuff. But a good example of foreshadowing at work, and we’ve seen plenty of similar stuff with Beth.

But that line is also tied to Carl’s death. I won’t go into all of this today (I will in a later post) but this is also helping me draw a line between Carl’s death and how Beth will return. I know that’s kind of a tease, but it’s also a whole other rabbit hole, so I’ll give it its own post later.

Wolves and Whisperers:

I said I’d talk more about the Aaron/Gracie scene tomorrow, and I will, but I want to point out one more thing that jumped out at me. First, when Daryl/Carol/Father Gabriel were interrogating Dante, they emphasized that Dante and the Whisperers believed they were setting people free. First Dante said it, claiming that not caring about yourself or others makes you free, and then Carol repeated it for emphasis.

Then there was the Native American story Aaron told Gracie. Both of those things are major callbacks to the wolves. One of the wolves told Morgan that what they did would set people free. And then Crazy Wolf Dude told Morgan in 5x16 that their beliefs were remnants of the beliefs of Native Americans who first settled the area, who believed they were wolves.

And I’ve said before that the wolves were a forerunner and symbolic parallel of the Whisperers, so this is nothing new, but I wanted to point out the strong resemblance in beliefs. And is it literal? I don’t know. I could see it going either way. Maybe at some point we’ll learn that the wolves were an outgrowth of the Whisperers or something.

But it really could just be a symbolic parallel as well. Even if it is just that, it would explain why there was so much Beth symbolism around the wolves and lend credence to the idea of her returning during the Whisperer arc. Just saying.

I also think Virgil has some parallels to Morgan. Again, I’ll talk about this more tomorrow, but in 3x12, Clear, when Rick/Michonne/Carl ran into Morgan, they were looking for weapons to help them fight a war against the Governor. When they found Morgan, he came across as somewhat crazy, and they had to tie him up until they were sure he wouldn’t kill them.

Similar stuff with Virgil. He comes across as a threat and is taken prisoner at first. In the end, Michonne goes with him to find weapons to help them in their war against Alpha. So there are some definite parallels there.

Okay, these were the biggest things. I’ll stop there because this is already long. Plenty more to cover, but I’ll do it tomorrow in the Details post. How did YOU like the episode?

Oh wait! One more thing. Hehe. Can I just point out the title. The World Before. I have to ask, the world before what? Something big is about to change, y’all. ;D

[hyunmintae]

Puppet Min

A/N: Heaven or Hell is giving me literal hell. Having a bit of writers block with it I not being able to figure out how to play out the next scene I’m writing!

So in honor of that amazing video of Jiminie that I reblogged, here is a little au/drabble.

Park Jimin!Puppet x Reader

Sum: Jimin has lived most of his life bounded by ropes and chains, going through torture and pain over and over again. The victim of a cruel being with the knack for making voodoo dolls. Jimin never knew the reason for why a voodoo doll was made for him, one day however his fate changes when Y/N finds his doll and himself.

     Pain and torment were all that Jimin knew, alongside sadness and being alone, of course. After becoming the torture toy for Nia, or so she called herself, he hadn’t really known much else. One day he was happy and healthy and living the life he had always wanted, simple, calm, sweet, but then one day he remembered waking up in what was now his prison. He didn't have a bed, rarely got food or water. Jimin hung from the ceiling by ropes, tied tightly onto his wrists and ankles, yet they never cut off his circulation. It must be a trick of the voodoo doll.

    Oh, right I forgot to mention, Jimin was yet another victim of Nia’ voodoo doll making, why, he never could figure out. Perhaps it was because she was angry and wanted someone to take it out on and Jimin happened to catch her attention, or maybe she just simply liked the idea of torture and thought Jimin fit her image.     “Oh, Jiminie! I have a lovely surprise for you!” Nia called out as she came bounding into the room, smiling devilishly as she gazed at his bloody and bruised body.   

    Jimin only wore a pair of ripped up sweat pants and even more ripped and torn t-shit that barely covered him at all, all his wounds from the torture on full display for anyone to see, however, it was always just Nia to see.     Jimin whined softly as she watched her untie the voodoo doll from its ropes and hold it close to her chest, causing Jimin to fall to the floor and then stand up before his body was ready. This causing him to groan in excruciating pain, he tried his hardest not to sob for that would only make what was to come worse.  

    “Aww, is my Jiminie hungry? Thirsty? You look so parched Cherub!” Nia spoke sadistically, an evil grin on her lips.

    Nia stood in front of Jimin, letting him have a few sips of the water from the cup in her hand and a few bites of the bread she had brought o award him for being such a good doll for her lately, given he had no other choice, being tied up and all.    “Ready for the surprise?!” Nia screeched, walking away from him with the voodoo doll, causing Jimin to stagger behind her.  

    Nia smiled as she heard the small whimper leave his lips as she led him upstairs, before she chunked the doll onto the couch, which in turn threw Jimin with it, Jimin slumped into the couch welcoming the slight comfort it gave him before she picked up the voodoo doll only to throw it to the floor.

   “My bad, toys don’t go on the couch, do they Jimin?” Nia teased, standing in front of his crumpled body.

   Jimin shook his head the best he could, “No ma’am.”

   Nia smiled that wicked smile again at his words as she walked into the kitchen that was joined to the living room, “I have a friend coming over today! Her name is Y/N! So I’m going to need you to be extra quiet today, okay? I’m going to put you in the guest room until she leaves. We need the basement for the little get together we’re having!” she explained as she finished making her drink and walked over to him.

   She bent over and grabbed the doll, dragging it and Jimin along before tossing them into the guest bedroom. After she was gone, Jimin slowly climbed up and onto the bed, to try and relax the longest he could before she would come back to torture him again.

   ~A few hours later

    “Nia! Where’s the bathroom?” Y/N asked as she stood up, and turned toward her friend.

   “Upstairs, go down the hall and it’s on the left,” Nia called, turning to smile as she gestured toward the room.

    Y/N smiled and nodded as she went upstairs, walking through the house she entered the hallway. She found the bathroom pretty easily, once she was finished she began walking back but stopped when she heard a groan and a small whimper from the room in front of the bathroom.

   Y/N looked toward the door, tilting her head to the side a little. She looked around to see if anyone else was around before she slowly opened the door, her eyes widened at the sight before her. Jimin lay sprawled out on the bed, covered in blood and bruises, a doll in his hand as she clenched his teeth from the pain he was feeling.

   Jimin hadn't realized who exactly entered the room before she shot off the bed so quickly and held up the doll, “Please don’t hurt me. The bed was just so comfy I got carried away and stayed on it too long, I’m sorry Ms. Nia!” He pleaded, his head lowered and his body shaking.

   “N-Nia?” Y/N whispered she was so shocked at the man before her and the fact that he had just begged her not to hurt him thinking she was Nia. Jimin looked up quickly and his eyes widened wider than he thought they could, he dropped the doll and scooted away from Y/N quickly.

     “Get out, you can’t be in here. Please hurry, go before she comes!” Jimin pleaded, quickly trying to usher her out the room.

    “But-You’re hurt! Let meh-did Nia do this? And what’s this doll for?” Y/N asked, her mind racing with questions and sympathy.

    Jimin stopped and looked up at the girl from his place on the floor before his eyes shifted toward the doll, he quickly snatched it and handed it to her.

    “Please, help me. This is a voodoo doll, my voodoo doll, and Nia has been using it to torture me and I don’t know why. Please! Help me!” Jimin begged, realizing now that he may have a chance to escape. Y/N couldn’t think straight as she nodded, pulling out the keys she looked at the beaten boy.

    “There’s a gray car outside, a Toyota, unlock it and hide inside it. Wait for me, okay? I promise I’ll help you.” Y/N promised. Jimin nodded hesitantly before he stumbled out of the room with the doll, Y/N behind him to make sure he wasn’t caught. Jimin looked back at the girl as she smiled at him and pointed to the car she told him about.

     “Thank you.” Jimin smiled as he ran as fast as he could to the car, unlocking it beforehand and giving her back the keys before he got too far. Y/N sighed and walked back downstairs as she made sure no one else saw him or her.

     “There you are! Did you get lost?” Nia asked as she met Y/N on the way up the stairs.

    “No, I just got a call from my mom, she needs to me to go to the store for her and pick up her medicine, so I was coming to say bye before I left.” Y/N smiled at Nia as she explained the situation, a lie of course.

    “Oh, Okay! She’s okay though right? Nothing bad happened?” Nia asked, concern on her face.  

     “No! No, she’s fine just not feeling okay enough to drive.” Y/N said, hugging Nia before she waved to everyone else and turned to leave. Once she was in her car and made sure Jimin was still hidden in the back seat, she backed out of the driveway and left. Waiting until they out of view before she told Jimin he could sit up.

   “I-Sorry, I got blood on your seat... “ Jimin mumbled, trying to wipe the blood away from his spot in the floor.

    “Why are you sitting on the floor? Sit in the seat, and don't worry about the blood I can clean it.” Y/N asked before she reassured him.

    “Toys aren’t supposed to sit on the furniture..” Jimin explained, voice quiet. Y/N’s eyes widened at his words, tears beginning to form, “Sit in the seat Jimin.” Jimin nodded and got in the seat quickly, his gaze set on Y/N as he noticed her tears.  

    “How could she be so cruel...” Y/N mumbled to herself, quietly as she drove back to her apartment.

     “Don’t cry, miss... I-I’m okay..” Jimin told her, leaning forward to put a hand on her shoulder.

     Months later, Y/N hadn’t heard from Nia since the get-together and Jimin hadn’t left her apartment since she brought him home. He would barely talk to her unless she asked him to and he held onto the doll tightly, he wouldn’t let her even touch it.

    “Jimin..? Your food is ready..” Y/N said as she knocked on his bedroom door. Jimin opened the door slowly, allowing her to come inside the room, he was already back on the bed, sitting in the corner with the doll tucked in his arms.

    “Jiminie, when are you going to let me have the doll? I can break the spell on it if you let me have it..” Y/N tried to reason with him.

    “No, you’ll just use it against me. Like she did, when she made it.” Jimin spoke, holding the doll tighter only to release it some because he was suffocating himself.

Y/N sighed as she placed the tray of food down, she was beginning to become frustrated with the boy.

    “Fine. Keep the damn doll Jimin. But don’t come crying to me if you lose it or something, I know how to break the spell and I figured you’d trust me by now. Being I saved you and all.” Y/N told him, rubbing her arm slightly as she frowned and walked out of the room and shut the door.  

    Jimin was about to reply when he heard the door shut, a sound he wasn't prepared to hear she all the times he was left alone in the basement, bruised and bleeding from the torture, with no one to comfort him. Y/N had comforted him for weeks when he first got to her apartment, and then he began to shut her out, afraid she’d become like Nia simply because they were friends. 

   “I’m sorry, Y/N...” Jimin whispered, his head lowered as a few tears fell. Jimin wasn’t quite sure what to do now, he had actually grown to trust and even love Y/N, so much that it scared him. 

As he peered down at the doll he smiled and got up to go and find Y/N to give her the doll so she could break the spell that was on it. As he neared his bedroom door, he heard some suspicious noises that made his eyes widen.

“Where is he?! I knew you took him that day! Now give him back, He’s mine!” An oddly familiar voice yelled, before there was a loud crash and Y/N screamed.

Jimin’s eyes widened as he ran to hide the doll before he ran out of the room and was met with Nia standing over Y/N a glass vase in her hand that once sat nicely beside the window.

Jimin looked around for anything he could use to distract Nia but when nothing caught his eye he looked back toward her and then at Y/N who had noticed him and shook her head, her eyes widening as she tried to tell him to go back.

Nia noticed this, however and turned around and smiled wickedly when she saw Jimin.

“Why, Jimin, you sure do look good. She must have took such good care of you for me, huh?” Nia asked, stepping away from Y/N, still holding the vase.

“L-Leave her alone, N-Nia!” Jimin stuttered, his voice coming out weak.

“Leave her alone? But why? She took you from me without permission. Isn’t that a reason to punish her?” Nia asked, turning back to Y/N. 

Jimin watched as Nia grabbed Y/N by her hair and slung her to the floor and raise the vase, about to smash it against her head. 

“No!” Jimin screamed before he ran forward and wrapped his body around Y/N’s, holding her tightly.

“Move Jimin, or I’ll punish you too.” Nia told him, her voice stern.

Jimin shook his head and held Y/N tighter, “No.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as Nia smiled and moved to smash the vase against Jimin, Y/N screamed and pushed Jimin off as she covered him and the vase made contact with her back, smashing and cutting through her shirt. 

Nia’s eyes widened as Y/N slumped against Jimin, Jimin moving quickly to sit up and catch Y/N, quickly moving her into his lap and away from Nia.

Nia gritted her teeth and yanked Y/N away from Jimin by her shirt and slamming her to the floor before she picked up a piece of the broken vase and holding it up, sharpest end pointed at Y/N.

“No, stop Nia! Stop it!” Jimin cried, moving to get to Y/N but only being shoved away by Nia. 

“This is for leaving me Jimin. After I took such good care of you, you abandon me to be with-with her!” Nia cried before she lifted up Y/N’s shirt, slicing the broken vase piece across her skin, blood flowing dripping down her side. 

Y/N screamed as she cried, thrashing around trying to get Nia off of her, tears flowing freely as she couldn’t and the pain becoming unbarring. 

“Stop!” Jimin yelled as he ran to the bedroom to get the doll, he knew a way to make her stop.

Nia watched Jimin as he walked by inside the room, holding the doll close to him but what she didn't notice was the small needle in his hand. 

“Good boy Jimin, now give me the doll.” Nia told him.

Jimin held out the doll, but also the needle, pressing it into the doll where the heart was.

Y/N’s eyes widened and Nia yelled, “Don’t you dare!”

Y/N cried as she tried to get to Jimin, “Jimin, no! Unstitch the heart, don’t stab it! The curse is in the heart!”

Nia’s eyes widened and she moved to grab the doll before Jimin could listen to Y/N but Y/N held her in place, causing the sharp object to cut her more.

Jimin quickly unstitched the heart of doll and pulled out a small piece of cloth, the missing piece of cloth from one of his hoodies he had the day he first ran into Nia.

“How-How did you get this?!” Jimin yelled, holding it up as he dropped the doll.

Nia smacked Y/N hard enough to make her let go and grabbed the doll, stabbing it repeatedly but Jimin showed no signs of feeling it. 

“No! You ruined it!” Nia yelled as she turned back to Y/N about to lunge for her but Jimin grabbed her and held her up.

“Why. Did. You. Do. This?” Jimin asked slowly, holding up the doll. 

Nia growled lightly as she tried to get out of Jimin’s grip, thrashing around but Jimin held onto her tightly, his strength suddenly coming back in full force. 

“Because you left me! You abandoned me in Busan! You don’t even remember me, do you?” Nia cried, anger all of her face but a hint of sadness in her eyes. 

“I don’t even know you!” Jimin yelled, dropping her and going over to Y/N when he heard her groan.

“No, but we met and you helped me, several times. Remember that girl you met in the streets when you were fifteen? You gave her your jacket because she was standing out in the rain but wouldn’t speak to you. That was me, and I had been trying to find you for a while and I finally did, I gave you the jacket back and then you left Busan and never came back.” Nia explained as she watched Jimin kneel beside Y/N and check on her, asking her if she was alright. 

“And even know you don’t notice me, nor do you listen. Why is it I who always gets ignored?” Nia spoke, more to herself than him.

Jimin held Y/N to his chest as he looked toward Nia, “I remember you now, I also remember the reason why I left. You were stalking me, I gave you that jacket because you looked cold, you were in the rain, the jacket wasn't even mine, and when you returned it I remember taking it and throwing it away because you sprayed it with your own perfume, thinking if I wore it people would think you and I were dating. You were obsessed with me and I don’t even know why, all I did was give you a jacket that wasn’t even mine so you wouldn’t be so cold.” Jimin explained, grabbing Y/N’s cell phone to dial 911.

Nia began laughing, an devilish, maniac laugh as Jimin spoke with the dispatcher and asked them to hurry. Jimin leaned Y/n against the wall as he moved to sit in front of her in case Nia had anymore ideas in mind. 

Fortunately she didn’t, and when the police and ambulance drivers arrived the police took Nia away and Y/N was loaded in to the ambulance, Jimin right by her side.

Jimin held Y/N’s hand as the made the journey to the hospital, he lifted it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand and held in to his lips for a while, smiling down at Y/N as she looked up at him.

“Jiminie? Are you okay?” Y/N asked, concern taking over her features. 

Jimin smiled and scoffed a little, “Even through you’re the one who’s injured you still ask if I’m okay.”

“Yes, I’m fine Jagiya.”

Y/N smiled at this as her cheeks dusted with a pinkish hue to them, she softly rubbed her thumb across Jimin’s hand that held hers.

After the ambulance ride, they took Y/N straight into the E.R to get checked out and to get the stitches as other things she needed, Jimin never leaving her side until she was taken into the x-ray room and when the police asked him to answer some questions.

While Jimin was standing outside the room with a few officers a nurse poked her head out from the room, “Excuse me, Mr. Park?”

Jimin turned to the nurse and nodded, “Yes, Ma’am?”

“Y/n seems to be having a little trouble staying still in the x-ray room, do you mind coming to sit with her to calm her?” The nurse asked, politely bowing at the officers when Jimin nodded. 

“She needs me, but that’s all I can tell you at this point. Nia had been obsessed with me for years and somehow created a voodoo doll of me and used it against me to keep me captive for years, when Y/N rescued me a couple of months ago, and then I guess Nia found us or found out that Y/N had actually helped me and she came to Y/N’s and attacked her.” Jimin finished up his explanation and quickly walked into the x-ray room. 

The police officers looked through the window of the room and then looked at each other as Jimin walked over to Y/N after having his vest and mask put on and sat in front of her to hold her hands as the doctor and nurse finished the x-rays. 

“Voodoo dolls? Again? Who keeps allowing these people to learn this kind of stuff? I thought the government got rid of all those books and things.” The first officer spoke to his colleague.

The second officer simple shrugged, “Not sure, but let’s go take care of the reports and the girl get her booked and set for the institution.”

The officers walked off and left the hospitals, bowing to the doctors and nurses as they left.

Jimin smiled at Y/N as she lay in her hospital bed, sleeping soundly from her hard day. 

Jimin smiled and pulled his phone from his pants pocket, dialing a number he hadn’t in a long time, “Namjoon Hyung? Yea, it’s Jimin. She recused me just as your vision said and I’m with her now. She’s so beautiful Joonie, I’m glad she’s my soulmate. Have the other boys found theirs? And what do you know of Nia now?” Jimin whispered, making sure not to wake Y/N.

On the other end Namjoon held the phone out to the boys and Nia, who sat tied up in the middle of the room, “She’s here. You’re on speaker Jimin.”

Jimin smiled, “Well, you know what to do boys, after all we can’t have her escaping and making a doll of my precious Y/N can we? Thanks for helping me meet her, Nia. Now goodbye, hope it isn't unpainful.” 

Jimin hung up the phone as he put it back in his pocket, standing up to slowly and carefully climb in the bed with Y/N, whom scooted over for him and the cuddled into him once he was laying down and comfortable. 

Jimin smiled to himself as he kissed the top of her head, holding her as tightly and carefully s he could, they both drifted back off into dreamland.

~On the other side of Town~

“Nighty Night Nia.” Yoongi smirked as he inserted the vile of liquid into her bloodstream, Jungkook covering her mouth with a cloth so she wouldn’t scream. Nia thrashed and struggled until her limbs went numb and the life left her eyes. 

All of the boys walked out of the room escape Taehyung, who poured gasoline everywhere and on Nia as he set the place on fire and walked out of the building, making sure she wasn’t going to get up and walk out of that building after they left. 

The building exploded behind them as they all started hollering in joy and ran to the car. 

(A/N: Just imagine them walking away from the building in Fire MV at the end)

Jungkook texted Jimin, “Done.”

And the other boys were off to see who the next one would be to find their soulmate and how it would happen. 

[prepare4trouble]

a member/ a few members of the Ghost crew crash on a distant planet and don't get rescued for years. They worry about how the war with the Empire has gone, and if the rest of their family think they're dead... No pressure!

A huge thank you to @pomrania for braving the feels to beta this for me :-)

Day 1

“Karabast!”

Ezra’s frustrated curse broke the silence that had filled the Phantom, and Kanan felt a burst of anger through the Force at the exact same moment that he sensed Ezra drew back a fist and thrust it forward toward the wall.

“Ezra,” Kanan said, warningly.

Whether it was Kanan’s warning or his own self-preservation instinct, Ezra stopped himself inches before he impacted the side of the storage unit.  That was good, they had medical supplies and a limited amount of bacta, but a broken hand would be difficult to deal with under the circumstances.

“Sorry,” Ezra said.  He still sounded angry, but suitably embarrassed about the outburst.  “It’s just, the circuits are fried, and I could fix it, but…”

Kanan braced himself.  He knew exactly what Ezra was going to say.

“All the spare parts are gone; someone’s moved them.  And all the tools, anything that’d be even halfway useful for spaceship maintenance anyway.  Unless they’ve put them someplace else on the ship, we’re stuck here.”

He had known that was coming.  He had already known the finer details of their predicament; he had helped to orchestrate it.  Still, hearing that was harder than he had expected, hearing Ezra’s reaction to it was harder still.

“Well, stuck for a few days at least.  Until Hera organizes a rescue party.”  Ezra added.  “I’ll check in back.  Maybe they moved things around or something.  How’s the comms unit looking?”

Kanan briefly turned his attention to the comms unit on the control panel in front of the copilot’s seat.  Knowing exactly what was going to happen, he activated it and heard nothing, not even static.

“Right,” Ezra said, sounding even more dejected. “Figures.  Okay, We’ll have to check the rest of the ship for something that’ll help, then look through the cargo.  I know it’s mostly food and medical supplies, but I didn’t see the whole manifest. Maybe there’s something useful in there.”

There wasn’t. Not useful for ship repairs anyway.  Kanan knew that Ezra was going to look regardless, but he needed him to do that later.  The longer he left it before telling him the truth, the worse it was going to be.  He sighed.  “Ezra,” he began.

Ezra was already working on opening storage units and checking the inside of every access panel for spares that might have been left there by accident on a previous repair.

“We were expected to be gone a couple of days,” Ezra said.  “Hera won’t even be looking for us yet.  And what about the mission to Jedha?  The people there will be relying on these supplies.”

“Ezra,” Kanan said again.  “There was no mission to Jedha.”

He could sense Ezra’s understandable confusion.  “What are you talking about?  The supplies…”

“Are for us,” Kanan finished for him.

That got his attention.  Ezra stopped what he was doing and turned to face Kanan.  Kanan imagined him staring, searching his expression for a sign of what he meant.

“Sit down,” Kanan told him.  He indicated the other seat with a wave of his hand.  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Day 2

Ezra was angry.  He could feel the dark side of the Force nipping at him, whispering tempting ideas into his mind.  He ignored it, suppressed it, pushed it down as deep as he could manage.  Instead, he took a deep breath, adjusted his position on the ground, and tried to concentrate on his meditation.  Losing himself wasn’t going to help anything, not when he was already lost in another way.

Still, the fury remained.  Kanan had betrayed him.  Hera had betrayed him.  And maybe they had done it for the best of reasons, but the least they could have done was discussed it with him beforehand.

“You would never have agreed,” Kanan had told him, when he had said just that.

He had shaken his head angrily at that.  “Of course I wouldn’t have agreed.  Why did you?!”

They still should have told him.  Even if it meant they would have had to drag him kicking and screaming onto the ship, they shouldn’t have lied to him.  They shouldn’t have sent him off on a mission in a ship that they knew kriffing well was going to stop working when they reached a certain point, drop out of hyperspace and crash them who-knew-where.  A ship that Hera had rigged to do just that.

He had a right to be angry.  Even Kanan had said so.  Although he had cautioned him to be careful.

He had known something was strange when the Phantom had lost power.  The way it had veered toward the planet before the engines had cut out entirely, the way the electronics hadn’t gone until they were well inside the orbit, none of it had felt right.

He wondered whether Hera had received his distress call as they went down.  He wondered what she would have thought if she had.

Kanan told him they had received intel that the Empire was coming for them.  Not for the Rebellion, not for Yavin 4, not even specifically for the Ghost, although all of those things were a real and ever-present threat.  The Empire was coming for the Jedi.  For him and Kanan.  One last push to remove the last of the Force users that they didn’t control from the galaxy.

It didn’t make any sense to hide them away.  The Empire would be coming regardless.  True, they might plan to take out the biggest threat first, and then come for the others, but surely without the two of them there, it would only mean that the Empire would come for the rest of the Rebellion sooner.  And there would be no Jedi there to help with the fight.

“We’re a weapon,” Kanan had told him.  “If they think we’re dead, they won’t be expecting us, and Hera can return for us either when we’re most needed, or when the Empire is defeated and we’re free to live our lives.”

In other words, they had been placed into storage, like a valuable tool that the Rebellion didn’t want to lose in case they needed it later.  Well, he wasn’t a weapon, he was a person, and he was angry.

What made matters worse — but at the same time a little better — was that Sabine, Zeb and Chopper had no idea.  On the one hand, it meant that they hadn’t been in on it; they hadn’t lied to him.  On the other, it meant that when Ezra and Kanan didn’t return from their mission, they were going to be told the official line.

The Phantom went down, the Jedi are dead.

Everybody was going to be told that.  Not only Sabine and Zeb, but his friends in the Rebellion: Hobbie, Wedge and the other pilots.  The Resistance movement on Lothal: Ryder Azadi and the rest of his cell.  The only people who knew the truth were Hera, and Senator Organa.

And what if something happened to them?  Then where would that leave Ezra and Kanan?

Stupid question.  It would leave them exactly where they were right now, stranded on some unknown planet, alone, for the rest of their lives.

Day 4

“They’re going to have heard by now, aren’t they?” Ezra said.

Kanan almost flinched at the unexpected words.  It was the first thing that Ezra had said to him in days.  He knew exactly what he meant; Sabine and Zeb, Hera would have had to have told them something by now.  He nodded.  “They might.  It depends how Hera decides to handle things.”

He hoped they knew — or thought they knew — what had happened, but it was going to be difficult for Hera to handle that part, and although they had discussed it, it hadn’t been possible to come up with a coherent plan before they needed to leave.  There would be no bodies, no evidence of the crash, nothing that they would be able to show to anybody to support the idea that the two Jedi had died.  After just a few days, Sabine and Zeb wouldn’t just give up and accept it.

If their positions were reversed, Kanan would never stop searching; he would never stop believing that there was a chance.  Neither would Hera, not if this had been real.  If after a few days she were to simply shrug and tell people that Kanan and Ezra were probably dead, it would seem wrong. It would seem exactly like the lie that it was, and nobody would believe it.  Rumors would start to circulate, and there was a good chance that somebody would guess the truth.

On the other hand, he couldn’t expect her to keep pretending, to continue to search, knowing all the time that she wasn’t going to find them, knowing exactly where they were.  He couldn’t expect her to keep up that act, to lie to Sabine and Zeb, and even to Chopper, over and over again.  Because every time she acted as though she believed that the next planet would reveal something, she would be lying to them, and every time it would become more difficult.

“Do you think maybe she decided to tell them the truth?” Ezra said.

It wasn’t impossible, it would certainly make things easier in one way.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “The more people that know, the more dangerous it is.”  That was how the Rebellion was run, nobody knew everything, and the more valuable the information the fewer people were privy to it.

“I just hate to think of them thinking…” Ezra broke off without finishing.

Kanan nodded.  “Yeah,” he said.  “I know.  Me too.”

“Yeah, well,” Ezra said, and Kanan could hear the snarl in his voice, “Maybe you should have thought about that before you agreed to this stupid plan.”

Day 7

If Ezra had been involved in the planning of this stupid idea, he would have — well, for a start he would have told them how stupid it was, and refused to have anything to do with it — but if it really had been unavoidable, he would have made sure they had a functional comms unit.  Even if they didn’t use it, it would have been good to know that they could.  It would have helped with the feeling of complete isolation.

It might also help if he could bring himself to speak to Kanan again.  But that was going to take a while longer.

Day 10

Kanan had known this was going to be difficult, he just hadn’t realized how difficult it was going to be.  He had anticipated Ezra’s reaction; he felt angry and betrayed, and Kanan didn’t blame him at all.  Of course, Ezra didn’t understand the level of the threat.  He didn’t understand how afraid Hera had been when she had made the suggestion.  He didn’t realize that although they had lost part of their family temporarily, the alternative would have been so much worse.

And Kanan, he hadn’t understood how hard it would be to be away for so long.  Once, he had believed that it would be impossible to survive without seeing Hera again, and he had been forced to learn that wasn’t true.  In time, he would learn the same about this.  But he ached to talk to her again; to hold her, to have her tell him everything was going to be okay, and to promise her the same.

He was very glad they had sabotaged the comms unit too, or it would have been very difficult not to give in to the urge to break radio silence.

Day 16

“Did you actually choose this planet?” Ezra asked over a dinner of ration bars one evening.

Kanan shook his head.  “Not me.”

Hera then.  “Do you even know where we are?”

Another shake of his head.  “It’s not important.  I know it’s uninhabited and there’s nothing here that should attract the attention of the Empire.  The place is heavily forested, and wood isn’t a resource the Empire has much need for, but the trees would delay any construction making it unattractive for them.”

“It’s definitely unattractive,” Ezra agreed.

Kanan frowned, obviously not understanding. ��“There’s nothing here worth mining, and it’s been left alone so far.  There are plenty of sources of fresh water, and the plants are mostly edible.”

Ezra eyed the crates of food he had believed were destined to feed the people of Jedha.  They weren’t going to need the plants to be edible.  Not unless… “Kanan?” he asked.  “How long is Hera planning on leaving us here for?”

Day 23

“You probably don’t know this,” Ezra said one morning.

They were gathering the edible berries that grew on the vines that wrapped several of the trees not far from the crash site.

“I mean, you almost definitely don’t know this, but these berries do not look appetizing.”

Kanan hadn’t even thought about it.  The vines were mercifully free of thorns, and he ran his hand over the surface until he located one of the fruits, squeezed it lightly to test its readiness, then plucked it and dropped it into the bag.

“They’re yellow,” Ezra added.  “Not that there’s anything wrong with yellow, but it’s this kinda, sickly, off-white yellow, and when they have any damage on them, the inside oozes out, and that makes me think of…” he hesitated, “unpleasant things,” he finished.

Kanan nodded, and opposed one of the berries in his mouth.  Whatever they looked like, they tasted delicious.  “Sounds horrible,” he said with a smile intended to show that he didn’t care.

“Yeah, but not as bad as the things hanging on that tree,” Ezra said, giving no indication as to which tree he meant.  “And hey, did you know the leaves of the trees are kinda purple here?”

Again, unsurprisingly, he hadn’t known.  He had seen different colored trees and plants on different worlds around the outer rim.  He had seen trees that changed color for certain seasons, and trees covered with sharp needles instead of leaves.  He had never really paid attention to any of it, it had all simply existed in the background of his awareness, but he knew it was there.

He could get a good idea of what this world might look like simply from calling on past experience and what he could hear and sense around him, but until Ezra had mentioned it, he realized that he hadn’t done that.  He hadn’t even considered it.  He had shaped his opinion of the world based entirely on what he could hear and feel and taste and smell, and what he could sense through the Force.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.  “Purple trees?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra said.  “It’s just a thing.”

Kanan nodded.  “It’s not so bad here, is it?” he said.  “It could have been a lot worse.”

Ezra scoffed and Kanan heard the sound of several berries being dropped into his bag before he replied.  “Oh, yeah, it’s great,” he said sarcastically.  “Know what’d make it even better? If we had the option of leaving.”

It would have been tough to argue with that.  There were probably worse places in the galaxy to be stranded — well, of course there were worse places in the galaxy to be stranded, Kanan had been stranded in some of them — but even though he had agreed to coming here, it was difficult not to feel like a prisoner.  It had to be worse for Ezra, who had been given no choice;  no foreknowledge.

“I’m sorry,” Kanan told him.  “If there’s been any other way…”

“Yeah, you said,” Ezra told him, curtly but without that sense that he was cutting him off completely.  He just didn’t want to hear it right now.

Things really could have been worse though.  The ship had landed in woodland, a short walk from a river that was a good source of clean, fresh water.  The air was likewise clean and unpolluted, and smelled of fresh greenery— purplery? — or of damp leaves underfoot, depending on the direction the wind blew.

The ground had taken some getting used to.  It was soft underfoot, years of falling leaves had built up to a surface that his feet sunk into easily.  It made walking difficult, and at first it had confused his ability to sense his surroundings, until he learned to compensate.  It was very comfortable to sit on though, like meditating on a soft bed.

Above their heads, the canopy rustled constantly as the breeze worked its way through the leaves, adjusting its tune to match the weather and the time of day.  It meant that it was never completely silent there.

Whatever color the trees were, or the berries, or the ground or the sky, it felt beautiful.  One day, he was going to show it to Hera.

He hoped.

Day 32

“Again.”

“Seriously?”  Ezra sighed before getting back into a defensive stance.

Kanan didn’t wait to reply before he lunged at him without warning.  Ezra dodged out of the way.  He ducked into a roll then leapt to his feet, lightsaber in a defensive position.

He took a breath, then began to advance on Kanan.  He ducked another blow, then switched his weapon to his non-dominant hand and attacked.  The change of hand threw Kanan for a moment; not long, but long enough for Ezra to gain the advantage.  He caught his Master off-balance, and ended the match with a few lucky swings.

He grinned as he offered a hand to help Kanan to his feet.  Kanan accepted it graciously.  It was their fifth sparring match so far today, and only the first that Ezra had even come close to winning.  He was almost certain that Kanan had let him win, but he couldn’t stop himself grinning anyway.

“You’re improving,” Kanan told him.

“Nah, I just got lucky,” Ezra insisted.

Kanan shook his head and placed a hand on Ezra’s shoulder.  “You’re improving,” he said.  “Ready to go again?”

Ezra sighed, but prepared himself.  “Nothing else to do, I guess.”

Day 50

Kanan arranged the firewood ready to light the campfire for the night.  One good thing about the planet, or possibly about their location on the planet, was that so far it hadn’t been cold.  A little chilly sometimes, but nothing that shutting themselves inside the Phantom overnight couldn’t fix.  They didn’t need the fire for heat, not to heat themselves anyway.  But there were certain vegetables that needed to be cooked to make them palatable.  The fire also provided Ezra with a light-source, and as such had become a fixture every night, whether they were cooking or not.

Oddly, there didn’t appear to have been much change in the length of the day and the night, which made it difficult to tell which season they currently found themselves in.  At the same time, the weather hadn’t changed much, leading Kanan to suspect that they had been lucky enough to land in a temperate area.  Or maybe the whole planet was like that.  Hera had selected it, she would have chosen somewhere where life would be easier.

But if it did grow cold, it was good to know that they could build a fire, as well as that they had an ample supply of blankets and warm clothing.

He sensed Ezra’s eyes on him as he finished building the fire.  “You know,” Ezra said.  “That’s one practical application for a lightsaber that I never thought of before.”

“Lighting a fire?” Kanan asked.

“And cutting the wood.”

Kanan nodded.  It was more than a weapon, it was a useful tool in so many ways.  But that particular application wasn’t one that he had considered either, until they had found themselves here.

“So, what’s on the menu tonight?” Ezra asked.  “Boiled unnamed vegetables?  Or the other unnamed vegetables that don’t need to be cooked?”

Kanan gave him half a smile, then ignited his lightsaber and touched it carefully to the wood shavings at the centre of the pile.  They had more than enough of both to last them through any winter that might come, and so far they had proved to be easy to store without having to worry too much about them perishing.  The longer they spent on the planet, the more they relied on what they found there, keeping the long-lasting supplies they had brought with them for times when they either really needed it, or wanted a break from the monotony.

“I was thinking,” Ezra said.  “Maybe we should give these vegetables and stuff names.  It’d make it easier to know what we’re talking about.”

It would, especially given Ezra’s tendency to describe things as ‘the green one’.  Kanan shook his head.  “I don’t think we need to.  It keeps things interesting.”

Besides, starting to name things felt a little too much like giving up and calling the place home.

Day 83

Ezra shifted uncomfortably on the bedroll laid out on the floor of the Phantom.  At the other side of the ship, he could hear Kanan breathing quietly.  Ezra rolled onto his back, supported his head in the palms of his hands with fingers intertwined and stared up at the darkness above him.

Nights on the planet were dark.  It had no moon, and the thick canopy of leaves meant that it was difficult even to see the stars from their location.  It was probably different down by the edge of the river where the trees thinned out, but he had never been there at night; he knew that if he was, he would have to stay until dawn or stumble back through the forest in almost complete darkness.

Of course, that wouldn’t have been an issue for Kanan, and neither was the fact that inside the Phantom at night there was no light at all, a darkness so absolute that his eyes could not adjust even enough to show him shapes, or the outline of the viewscreen.  Even after so many weeks on the planet, he had still not grown accustomed to it.

He hadn’t mentioned it to Kanan.  He probably wouldn’t mention it; what would be the point?

“Kanan?” he asked.

There was the slightest pause before an answer came from the other side of the room.  “Can’t sleep again?”

Ezra shrugged, a gesture that felt even more pointless when he couldn’t see either.  “Did Hera tell you how long they thought we’d be here for?  I mean, is this what you expected, or did you think we’d be out of here by now?”

“I don’t know,” Kanan told him.  “It’ll take as long as it takes.”

“But you must have had some kind of an idea.”

“I didn’t,” Kanan told him.  “I don’t.”

Ezra sank into silence.  He got the impression that Kanan had been almost as in the dark — figuratively speaking — as he was over this.  He might have agreed to it, but he had no idea what he was actually agreeing to.  And just like Ezra, he had no idea what was happening out there in the rest of the galaxy.

“Do you think they’re okay?” Ezra asked, breaking the silence again.  “I mean, you don’t think anything happened to them, do you?”

Kanan’s only response was an impression of tension transmitted through the Force, and for a moment, Ezra was almost glad that he couldn’t see him.

Ezra sighed.  “No.  They’re fine,” he said, not sure not whether he was reassuring himself or Kanan.  “I guess it’s just taking a little longer than Hera thought, right?”

Only, surely if she had really believed it would be that long, she would have come up with another plan.  She wouldn’t have sent them away to hide for so long, not when there was so much good they could be doing.  Either things had gone badly wrong with the war effort and it simply hadn’t been possible to come back for them, or something had happened to Hera.  The fewer people that knew the secret, the more possible it was that none of them were left alive.

He didn’t want to think about that.  He didn’t ever want to think about that.

“Maybe they’ll come for us tomorrow,” he said.

Kanan answered him with silence.  Ezra looked up at the darkness above his head and didn’t sleep until the first rays of light began to penetrate the viewscreen of the Phantom.

Day 102

Fall was beginning.  Ezra had mentioned the leaves overhead beginning to turn from their deep purple to a lighter, less healthy shade, now Kanan felt them beginning to fall to the ground, joining those from previous years in piles on the ground.  There was a chill in the air, not so bad that they needed to change their habits, but enough that it felt different.  So, the planet had seasons after all.

They shouldn’t have been here anymore.  Ezra had been right, that night in the Phantom weeks earlier; Kanan did had an idea how long they should have been waiting, and they should have been home by now.

He flexed the fingers of his right hand, still feeling the ghost of Hera’s touch, and the words that she whispered in his ear, “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

They had packed more supplies than needed, and deliberately picked a planet that they knew was livable in the long term, because they had known there was a chance that it might be longer, but it was such a slim chance that they hadn’t even mentioned it.  They were supposed to be home by now, and the fact that they weren’t worried him.

He thought he would know if anything had happened to Hera.  It was something he felt as though he would know, no matter where she was in the galaxy, no matter how many lightyears there were between them.  But of course, that wasn’t necessarily true.  The truth was, he had no idea what was happening outside of their little corner of this tiny world, and he hated it.

If something had happened, if he had been there, might he have been able to prevent it?

Agreeing to this was the worst decision he had ever made.

Day 162

Ezra grinned widely as he deactivated his lightsaber.  It might not be the ideal way to learn, but the opportunity to practice every day for so long had definitely improved his technique.  He had thought he was good before, but now he felt ready for anything.  

It was too bad he was probably never going to get the chance to try out his new skills in the real world.

Day 214

Kanan carefully poured the river water over the tiny marrow plants growing in the vegetable patch by the side of the river.  He could feel the sun warming his skin, and the water behind him bubbled as it hit rocks and bumps in the riverbed.  He knelt down and carefully dug a small hole to begin the next row of plants, spacing them so that each one had enough room to grow, placing the roots into the soil and covering them over with his hands, pressing down to ensure they were held firm.

Winter had been mercifully short, and spring had arrived.  It felt like a good time to plant the infant plants that had grown from the seeds he had harvested at the end of the last year.  After weeks of careful cultivation back at the Phantom, while he had worked over the patch of soil by the river, it was time for them to move into the ground and try to thrive.

When he was finished here, he would move on to the three kinds of root vegetables that they had found.  Each had their own patch of soil, and if things went well, within a few months they would have all the food they needed to get them through the rest of the year.

When he had finished and watered the second row, he turned his face skyward.  They were still out there somewhere, he was sure of it.  As much as he tried not to think about it, it was impossible.

He wondered whether Hera was thinking about him too.

Day 287

The floor of the treehouse was smooth to the touch, seared by the lightsaber that had cut the wood.  Ezra’s bedroll lay pushed up against one wall.  The treehouse was empty otherwise, and would probably stay that way.  It wasn’t like there was anything on this planet worth stealing.  Still, it was nice to have his own space again.  He hadn’t had that since Lothal.

The treehouse reminded him of his tower, in a way.  The higher vantage point allowed him some kind of a view, not much, but more than he could get in the Phantom.  And as an added bonus, some starlight penetrated the area, and he could see at night.  Not much, but enough.

Since moving up there, he had slept better than he had in years.

Day 349

The fire crackled as the wood burned, the smell of fire filled the air, and Kanan breathed in deeply.

Next to him, he heard Ezra do the same.  They hadn’t cooked tonight, instead, they had finished off the very last of the rations they had brought with them, two ration bars that Ezra had been saving.  It had felt like an occasion, although Ezra had insisted that it wasn’t.

Nothing special, just a day.

They were now completely reliant on the planet to provide for them, and it would.

“Do you still wonder what’s going on out there?” Ezra asked.  “How they’re doing?”

Kanan turned to face him.  It didn’t make any difference to him, but it seemed to put Ezra more at ease.  “Every day,” he said.

“Me too,” Ezra told him.  “But I think we’re going to have to learn to live with not knowing.”

Day 431

The irrigation system that Kanan had set up to feed water to the vegetable patch was working well, but Ezra’s absolute favorite of the new innovations they had come up with was the one that moved water from the river directly into the camp.  Not only did they have water on tap, but he had been able to have a shower again.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had been able to treat himself to something more than a quick wash in freezing river water.

In the summer, if you showered in the evening, the water would be warmed a little by the sunlight, before being slowly released onto whoever was lucky enough to time it correctly.  The trick was to beat Kanan to the shower, but still to be late enough that the water was warm.  But to be early enough that it hadn’t already begin to cool.

Ezra won more times than he lost.  He suspected that Kanan let him.

Life was good.

He still ached to know what had happened; to see his family again, to talk to them, to know that they were okay.  But then maybe it was better not to know.  As long as he didn’t know, they were still up there, fighting the Empire.

They always would be.

Day 569

Something was wrong.

Kanan felt something disturbing his meditation, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.  A feeling, something coming from deep inside him, but something that he couldn’t quite identify.  Something familiar, but long-forgotten.

There was a sound.

Kanan opened his eyes.  It wasn’t an intentional thing, he barely even realized what he was doing until he turned his face skyward and was disappointed not to see the sight that he had anticipated.

It made no sense.  On this planet, he had never seen.  There was no reason to expect to see anything in the sky.  There was no reason to expect to see the sky at all.  That had been lost to him a long time ago.

As had the sound.  He concentrated on it; a distant humming in the background, still so quiet that it was difficult to tell whether it was real or imagined.  He knew it well, and it had been a long time since he had imagined that sound.  In the early days, he had heard it all the time.  It had roused him from his sleep and interrupted his meditation and his training sessions with Ezra.  It had never been real, and as time had passed it had faded away completely.

He had long since accepted that he would never hear it again.

It was growing louder.  The sound of engines, of metal cutting through an atmosphere.  Beside him, he sensed it claim Ezra’s attention too.  That meant it was real.  That meant…

“It might not be them,” Ezra said.  “It could be the Empire.”  Kanan could hear anticipation in his voice, excitement, but also doubt, as though he didn’t dare let himself hope.  To believe something to be true and then have it proven wrong would be too painful.  Especially now.

But it wasn’t the Empire.  Kanan knew the sound of those engines.  He recognized the exact pitch, the hum, the way that the air around him seemed to vibrate.  He closed his eyes again, and reached out into the Force, searching for familiarity, and almost instantly, he found it.

At that exact moment, he heard Ezra’s sharp intake of breath as the ship came into view, sensed his disbelief and excitement.

“It’s them,” he said.  “Kanan, it’s really them!”

[onceabluemoonwrites]

All About the Fanboy

Summary: Yuri’s desperate (and, in hindsight, hopeless) attempt to hide his skate-crush on Yuuri Katsuki.

Note: Halfway through, at the ‘’Four months later’’ part, All About Yuuri takes place.

FF.net | AO3

You can find my fic master list here.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri!!! On Ice. 

It began as a game.

Yuri had been forced to accompany Yakov and Georgi to a skating competition. The old hag had cracked up when she’d helped them force him through the airport. ‘’You’re like an angry kitten, it’s no wonder Yakov doesn’t leave you alone, you’d slash the furniture to shreds the minute you’d be left alone.’’

‘’I AM NOT AN ANGRY KITTEN AND WOULDN’T DESTROY THE FURNITURE IF YOU WOULD’T DO SHIT LIKE THIS ALL THE TIME’!’’

Mila had laughed. ‘’Pettiness rules in this family, Yura!’’

He hadn’t been able to argue that. Didn’t mean that he didn’t post those pictures of her in drag anyway.

Mila’s reply made him nearly smash his phone again.

Mila Babicheva:

So cute @Yura 

#SmolAngryBrother #HesSoPrecious #ThinksHeCanEmbarrassMe #Please #HesTooShortForThat #IAmAwesome #DeliciousInDrag

Fuck her and her stupid confidence!

He was in the crowd, watching Georgi. Which was really not all that bad, if it wasn’t for Anya painting her nails next to him while Georgi threw kisses at her. Her beaming smile was creepy and Yuuri had problems enough already. Like the fact that he was planning to go seniors next year, and that somebody dared to have the same name as him. There couldn’t be two Yuri’s in the same competition! He’d have to deal with that before next season. Preferably today, because Yuuri Katsuki was performing, so what better opportunity would he get?

The problem was: how?

There was this adorable kid sitting on his left (Not that Yuri liked children or something. All brats were evil, with their cute chubby cheeks and small hands!) throwing plushies onto the ice. Ha! That one bounced right off the skater! Bullseye! It was just too swee- hitting the skater, that was it!

The perfect solution! Yuri would throw stuffed animals and flowers directly at Yuuri Katsuki’s face after his performances, so he would fall over and injure himself! The injury would no doubt be so severe he would have to sit out the next season and Yuri couldn’t be arrested for sabotage because he wasn’t in the senior division yet and… He hated that people called his physique ‘’dainty’’ and shit, but it would definitely help play the innocent kid card. He’d only have to blink, flutter his lashes like Victor (wait, not Victor, never like Victor- he’d adjust that part of the plan later) and they would all fall over their feet to free him from the clutches of the terrible police!

Oh, yes, Russia’s ice tiger was on a roll!

The Japanese skater would rue sharing his name! There could be only one Yuri on ice, and it certainly wasn’t Katsuki!

It was Katsuki’s turn and Yuri could see his legs were shaking from all the way over here. Damn wimp. Pathetic.

Katsuki took a deep breath and assumed his opening position. The crowd went quiet.

The music started and Yuri had to admit that Katsuki wasn’t all that bad. He wasn’t one for the mushy (he was Russia’s Ice Tiger, not the fucking sugarplum fairy), but the way Katsuki managed to involve emotions in his skating was masterful. Hmm… That jump was sloppy.

A flawless layback Ina Bauer and- Yuri dropped the plushies.

Fuckity, fuckity, fuck.

The step sequence.

Yuri couldn’t for the life of him sabotage someone who did step sequences that beautiful. He didn’t want to admire Katsuki’s skating, but the stupid jerk left him no choice. That graceful footwork, that divine turn! ‘

Fuck. He was in way too deep. (He was never going to hear the end of it if anyone found out).

Four months later, the Viktor Nikiforov Protection Squad had moved out, there had been identity issues and Yuri (who was NOT their mascot) had embarrassed himself terribly in front of Katsuki. Worse, Victor had succeeded in seducing Yuri’s idol (tch, more like Katsuki had seduced Victor) and was now going to coach him. Which meant that Yuuri moved to Russia to be taught in the same rink as Yuri (!!!!) and that would have been awesome (the end of Yuri’s little fanboy heart!) if it had not been for the fact that he needed to HIDE HIS POSTERS.

Not only to stop embarrassing himself any further in front of Katsuki but also to stop the old hag from teasing him to death when she would inevitably go into his room in search of blackmail material.

God fucking damn it.

There was one place in the world where Yuri was sure Mila would never find it. Not even if the building was broken down. In that case, it would be because Yuri had removed them beforehand, because there was no way he would allow his precious Yuuri Katsuki posters be taken from him. He needed them for his Yuuri shrine!

The perfect hiding place was the boy’s locker room at the rink. Why? Well, not only was there a deep, hollow space behind the lockers, just narrow enough to hold a poster container, but it also was (did he mention that already?) the boy’s locker room.

No, it was not the nudity that would deter Mila, nor was it the fact that it was an invasion of privacy. Mila did not know the meaning of privacy, as was evident in her grand blackmail collection and the huge nose she stuck in everybody’s business. It was another, more natural defense.

The smell of sweaty teenage boys and the stinky feet of men.

(Yuri had worried it would eat away at his posters, so just to be sure, he’d put them in an airtight container this time. Nobody and nothing was going to damage his babies)

‘’I found a treasure!’’ Victor stormed into the rink, waving around a- god fucking damn it- familiar container. ‘’There were Yuuri Katsuki posters hidden behind the boy’s lockers! I can’t believe my luck! My lovely cinnamon roll! I wanted these so badly, but they were sold out! Can you believe it? Mila, Mila! Look!’’

Opening the container, Victor presented the posters like Simba.

Yuri grid his teeth. ‘’Sudden exposure to light is bad for them, you fucking idiot!’’

Quickly, Victor lowered them, protectively placing the lid back on, frantically looking from side to side as if sunlight was an enemy that would sneak up on him.

Yuri wanted to throttle him. What if the posters had gotten caught on the lid?!

‘’Vitya, darling, we can’t look at them like that.’’ Anya sighed from the rink.

‘’Oh, right!’’ Reaching inside, Victor-

‘’OH NO YOU DON’T!’’

Blackmail material be damned, Victor’s grubby paws were NOT touching Yuri’s limited edition Yuuri Katsuki catboy posters!

“That's mine, stupid! Give it back! It’s a limited edition and it completes my collection! Take your dirty hands off it!" 

Too late. Victor had taken them out of the box and Yuri’s favourite poster- the one of Katsuki in a cute kitty skirt- had been revealed to the world at large.

Or, well, the skating rink.

A choking sound came from the entrance. ‘’Oh my god. I had no idea those were still in circulation. Just-‘’ Yuuri Katsuki swallowed, looking pale, ‘’Let me sit down  for a minute.’’

Yuri was ready to die. Just let it come. Bury him alive.

His idol had found out about his obsession. ‘’If someone could kill me now, it would be greatly appreciated.’’

Victor cocked his head, tapping his bottom lip. ‘’If I slit your throat, can I have the posters?’’

Mila was cackling in the background.

Oh, no. He didn’t.

Snatching the box out of Victor’s hands, Yuri stole the poster and put it back in. Without ceremony, he grabbed Victor’s shirt next. ‘’Over my dead body, you idol defiling jerk!’’

Victor gasped. ‘’Yuuri is a Japanese idol too?!’’ With wide eyes, he looked past Yuri at his boyfriend, ‘’Where can I get the merchandise?!’’

Katsuki, for his part, sank his red face into his hands.

Anya rolled with her eyes, skating towards the barrier. Tapping her nails on it, she got their attention. ‘’I think we’d know if Katsuki had been an idol.’’

Mila, still sitting on top of the barrier, nodded. ‘’Yuri would’ve known. Vitya too, for that matter, and the second he found out, it would’ve been on the billboards.’’ And cackled on like the utter devil she was.

Fuck this. If they were going to tease him further about this instead of giving him a mercy kill, then Yuri was going to rock this shit like nobody had ever rocked it before.

He would show them fanboy.

Beginning with establishing his freaking seniority over Victor, because you did not just happily skip into a fandom and take it over. Not with veterans like Yuri present.

‘’I’m your Yuuri fangirl senpai. Bow to me, peasant! You shall worship me like a proper kohai!’’

Victor dropped to his knees faster than the speed of light.

Okay, Yuri had not anticipated that, but he sure could roll with it. Sliding his sunglasses onto his face, he smiled. Finally some damn respect in this place.

From below (the dirty dregs where shipping trash like Victor belonged. Because seriously? A self-insert fanfiction brought to life? Victor should’ve done better. Yuri expected a fast learning rate from his fan-slaves, and Victor had to catch the fuck up), Victor squeaked. ‘’My hair is on the ground and so is my Armani suit, but here! Bow! Now give me the poster, fangirl-senpai!’’

Yuri spluttered. ‘’That was too easy!’’

Katsuki made dying animal noises in the background. …Yuri should get him something to drink. And take a picture. And ask for more autographs.

Actually, why the hell hadn’t he thought of rolling with the fandom in the open before? It obviously was an A+ life choice.

Mila might be laughing at him, but Yuri was living the life.

Of a fanboy, that is.

‘’Wait-‘’ Katsuki whispered, looking up with eyes glistening as if he had just heard angel choirs, ‘’Does this mean I can put up my Victor posters too?’’

Yuri should’ve KNOWN a divine creature like Katsuki would have fanboy seniority over him!

[mackinmacki]

What Are You Afraid Of?

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2222

Pairings: KanaRuby

Summary: Ruby agrees to go camping because she likes Kanan.

Link: (FFN) | (AO3)

Ruby hadn't done a lot of camping. In fact, she had done no camping whatsoever. Her and the outdoors didn't go so great together, and it wasn't like being the youngest Kurosawa child meant she had to go anywhere besides school most of the time. Being a part of Aqours, however, meant that she was now spending much more time outside. It wasn't so bad, though. After all, being an idol was a dream for her, so she was fine with being outside and exercising a lot of the time. That didn't mean she wanted to go camping.

Of course, when she was asked to go camping with her sister, Kanan, and Mari, she had timidly responded yes. Asking if she really wanted to go was the wrong question, because the answer was obviously no. The right question to ask was if she was incredibly weak-willed when it came to Kanan. That answer was a resounding yes. Not that she wasn't weak-willed in many other aspects of her life, a negative trait she knew she had but had a lot of trouble overcoming. However, it was Kanan that really made her weak. Weak at the will, weak at the knees, all that good stuff.

Kanan was definitely the epitome of cool. Dia was the most responsible, and Mari was the most energetic, so all three of them were awesome people that she looked up to. She didn't have romantic feelings for her sister though, and Mari was just a bit too wild. It scared her sometimes. Kanan, though... she was cool, calm, and collected. Everything that Ruby herself was not. She looked up to all three of them, but Kanan was the one whose praise made her feel way too warm inside. Not that Dia's praise didn't make her feel warm. Her sister was the best. It was just... Kanan was the one she most wanted to kiss. On the lips. That would hopefully straighten it all out.

Gods, even thinking about locking lips with anyone - especially Kanan - made Ruby red in the face. She had always liked Kanan, because she was friends with Dia and anyone who Dia liked Ruby would like in turn. Then the two of them had a falling out that lasted over a year, and Ruby hadn't liked Kanan all that much anymore. It felt weird to not like her, or to not be around her at all, but she'd never betray her sister like that. If she was hurt, than Ruby was hurt too.

They reconciled, though, and it was around that time that she began to realize that her feelings for Kanan were returning. It wasn't just a close friendship, though: it clearly was something more. She wasn't naive enough to believe that it could be anything else but a desire for closeness, for intimacy, but she was completely inexperienced enough to not know what to do about it.

The last thing she wanted to do was ask Dia for advice. It'd be way too embarrassing to admit that romantic feelings were starting to blossom inside of her. Besides, Dia was a protective big sister. She might end up throwing Kanan off the dock, and that wasn't what Ruby wanted.

Then again, maybe asking Mari was the last thing she wanted to do. She was sure Mari would mean well, but she wasn't even sure what the excitable blonde would do with that information. Would she even keep it a secret instead of immediately teasing Kanan - and Dia - to death with the knowledge? Even if she got advice, she would have to wonder if any advice from her would be feasible. She'd probably die of embarrassment.

Her best choice would likely be Hanamaru, but when it came to romance, she had a feeling her best friend was more of the classical romantic type. Or worse: existentialist. She still remembered last year's Valentine's Day, when she got chocolates and a card that read 'Happy Valentine's Day! Chocolates, like the heart, eventually go bad, so eat them beforehand! - Maru-chan'. Somehow, she felt that Kanan wouldn't want to hear how they should kiss before a tsunami drowned them all.

So as she went with the third years to camp out for the night, her plan was to say nothing and bottle up her feelings like a Kurosawa. Even if her advice may have not been very helpful, she still wished Hanamaru was there. She had invited her, but she had to help with the temple that night. Now, why were they camping in the first place instead of staying inside where there weren't any bugs or complete darkness? Apparently it was one of those third year bonding experiences, which didn't explain why she, a first year, was invited. However, when Kanan asked her if she wanted to go, she didn't ask why. She just said yes. Weak-willed as always.

They set up two tents: one for Dia and Ruby, and one for Kanan and Mari. Most of the night was spent in the latter tent, though. When they would venture outside, it was a disaster, but a funny kind of disaster. They were supposed to have a campfire, but it turned out nobody knew how to start a fire. There weren't any big-enough logs to start one anyhow.

"Aww, but how are we supposed to roast marshmallows?" Mari pulled out a bag, but instead of regular marshmallows, they were the kind that you'd get in a box of children's cereal. Dia blew a gasket at that, which made Kanan roll over in laughter as Ruby tried to keep her sister from stuffing the entire bag in Mari's mouth. She couldn't help but glance over at Kanan, noticing how cute she was when she laughed, even when it was raucous. Then Dia stopped trying to get at Mari, and Ruby still pulling on her back caused both of them to fall over, which made Kanan laugh even harder. Now she wanted to hide in her tent and never come out.

Then there were the ghost stories. Those were supposed to be told around a campfire, but without the fire, they just sat in a circle and looked silly. Ruby didn't like scary stories, but she didn't want to chicken out in front of her seniors. After hearing Mari's story, though, she wished that she had.

"And she ran, and ran, but they kept coming... They chased her down, surrounded her. There was nowhere to run!" Mari leaned in, grinning from ear to ear. "The next day, one of her friends came to check on her, but all she found were the words 'account deactivated!" Ruby squeaked and jumped, while Dia just rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, Mari. Nobody hounds people to death for having a differing opinion." Ruby was still shaking though, until she felt Kanan's hand rubbing her shoulder soothingly.

"It's okay, Ruby. There's no such thing as Tumblr." That made Ruby feel a bit better. It was just some story Mari made up. She didn't feel much better listening to either Dia or Kanan's ghost stories, though, and she declined to come up with her own. It wasn't her specialty, and she was sure that it would be lame anyway.

Eventually Ruby started to get tired, so she went to her tent to read a little before falling asleep. She wasn't sure how long she ended up falling asleep for before the sound of the tent zipper being moved woke her up. Moving the book off of her chest, she sat up and saw not Dia, but Kanan zipping the tent up. She felt her face start to heat up as she squeaked out, "K-Kanan?"

"Hey Ruby." Kanan smiled sheepishly, waving at her. "I know this is yours and Dia's tent, but she and Mari are, uh..." She bit her lip, her cheeks going a bit red. "They didn't seem like they were going to sleep for awhile, so I hope it's okay if I sleep here for tonight." Was it okay? Absolutely. Well, it wasn't okay for her heart, but otherwise, it was perfectly fine. She just nodded and slid down further into her sleeping bag.

Kanan took Dia's sleeping bag, but she didn't seem all that tired. "So, did you enjoy the ghost stories? I thought they were pretty good."

"Y-Yeah, but they were, you know... scary." Ruby always felt even less cool than she already was when measured against Kanan. "H-Hey Kanan, are you scared of anything?"

"Hmm? Naw." Kanan laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "What's there to be scared of? Besides, you've got Dia to protect you, right? And you've got me too." She flashed Ruby such a brilliant smile that she was sure she would die right on the spot. She wasn't even sure what to say after that, but apparently the wilderness decided to speak for her. A strangled moan, like there was a wild animal nearby, reached their tent, and Ruby was suddenly no longer tired. She sat upright, eyes wide and looking at Kanan.

"Wh-What was that?!"

"Uh..." Kanan frowned slightly, seemingly unsure of what that sound was. When it sounded again, louder this time, Kanan jumped, looking more nervous than Ruby had ever seen her before. "M-Maybe it's just the wind. Ahaha, yeah, the wind. That's it-" The moans were soon replaced by something much worse: screaming. It was loud, and it sounded human, like a tortured soul within the forest. Kanan yelped and burst from the sleeping bag, jumping against Ruby and knocking her over.

"Eep!" Ruby squeaked and fell over, Kanan clutching onto her arm. "K-Kanan?!"

"G-G-Ghosts!" Kanan whimpered, her eyes shut tight as she hugged onto Ruby for dear life. "Th-The yurei are haunting the forest!" Seeing Kanan like this freaked Ruby out even more than the moans and screams were. She'd never seen Kanan scared, and she felt like her arm was losing circulation. Then there was another round of screaming, and this time both Kanan and Ruby hugged each other tightly, screaming out together.

"D-DIA!!!" They huddled together, whimpering quietly until they heard something stomping outside. "Uh oh..." Kanan whispered, but then they heard a familiar voice outside their tent.

"Ruby? Kanan? What's going on? Are you two okay? Open up!" Kanan instantly untangled herself from Ruby and fell over trying to reach the front of the tent, unzipping it so Dia could get in. She ducked in and looked at the two of them, as if trying to see if either of them were hurt. While she did that, Kanan and Ruby both got a look at Dia. Her hair was a complete mess, and in the light of their lantern it looked as if something had bitten her on the neck and collarbone. "Ruby, are you okay?"

"U-Uh, y-yeah," Ruby muttered meekly, starting to feel ashamed as she couldn't hear any more screaming. "We, uh, heard screaming, and thought..." She didn't want to admit that she had started to believe there had been ghosts too, nor did she want to throw Kanan under the bus like that. "... that someone was in trouble."

"Oh." Dia just stared at them, then her cheeks started to turn red. "Oh, well, uh... It must be your imagination, then. But, I'll go check, just to... be sure." Without another word, she ducked out of the tent, leaving them alone again. They looked at each other, the same thought on their minds.

"You don't think..."

"I... don't doubt it." Kanan groaned and blushed, shaking her head in an attempt to get the images out of her mind. When she had calmed down, she zipped the tent back up and got back in Dia's sleeping bag. "You know, I somehow don't think Dia's going to be coming back here tonight. Do you want to sleep with me? ... In my sleeping bag. I-I mean Dia's sleeping bag. Y-You know, just in case you get scared again, I'll be right here to protect you." She laughed, though it was nervous in nature. It made Ruby smile, giggling at how Kanan seemed much more like a dork now than she had just moments ago.

"S-Sure." She got out of her own sleeping bag and moved in with Kanan, having to snuggle up close so they could both fit. Not that that was a bad thing, but she was already feeling warm from being near Kanan, and this was just making her burn up. It felt like she needed to take off... Wait, no, never mind. She didn't want to finish that thought anymore.

Instead, she switched gears to better thoughts, like how Kanan was a dork. Even if she had said she had no fears, Ruby could tell that she was at least scared of ghosts. She couldn't judge her, of course: she probably had more fears than the rest of Aqours combined. It made Kanan seem a bit more human, though. She was cute when she hugged onto Ruby. It made Ruby feel important, like she was the one protecting Kanan, rather than vice versa.

As she cuddled close to Kanan, she liked that her crush had a silly side as well as a cool side. It made her more unique, more Kanan. Ruby could still fall asleep knowing that Kanan would keep her safe. Except from ghosts, maybe.

[skillesswriter]

Inertia - Introductions... can wait. [1K writing Challange] Part 03

Part 01 | Part 02

_______________________________________________________

A single clap echoed around the room, drawing all eyes on the teacher. “Alright, I know its a bit late but we have new transfer student!” Whispers spread around the students like drops of water in a bucket. Questions, rumors and more circulated around the room. The teacher silenced them all with a few claps. “Please try to save needless chatter until after I’m gone, now.” She shook her head as she spoke but the smile remained on her face. She turned to Enri, raising a hand to present her. “Please welcome Ms. Dreizehn she has come all the way from Tyrite, if you can believe that. I also hear she is very gifted with Crystal White Archania.”

Once more the classroom was filled with the whispers of students. This time the teacher nodded knowingly, in fact, she herself had an eye on Enri. there was a question in them but Enri was looking at the other students as they talked about her. The comments were… not the best but it wasn't like she was actually Ms. Dreizehn, first name pending. 

So it didn't bother what they said about her. In fact, it was welcome. that's right, talk more. I need to know my backstory! She wondered if taking on the persona of Dreizehn was a smart move, but it really was convenient. almost as if it was planned out beforehand. Born in Tyrite, copy. I have to remember that one. No first name again? Come on teach, work with me here! I understand, we have to be professional here but talk to meeeeeeeee. also, what in the actual fuck is a Crystal White Archania!

“She is a holder of Crystal white? How? This filthy thing can't possibly be connected to-”

“I know! But Miss Enaki said so herself. Why would a pureton lie?”

“Subhuman freak.” 

“dude, look at those ears, she can hear you!”

“ugh, that's exactly why I hate demis”

“That's alright with me, less competition, hehehe.”

“Worthless, and from Tyrite? why would that thing be granted-”

“Crystal white is almost non-existent, that's why. It has nothing to do with anything that actually matters.”

“I give her a day”

“I'll take that bet”

“Hey! Me too!”

“backwater half breed, doesn't know its place”

“How easily do you think we can manipulate an animal from Tyrite?”

“Oh, already have an idea in mind?”

“Yeah, something to honor the idea of white Archania”

“Hehe, honor or honor?”

“We will see…”

“It has to be a lie.”

“Yeah, it’s impossible to have crystal white.”

“is it though? We do study it?”

“yeah, in history class and ancient lore.”

“Oh shit!”

“What?”

“I forgot my history homework again!”

“Haha, damn man, you dumb”

“Shut up and give me yours quick!”

eventually, it died down. All it left her was an alarming bit of information. She was hated. Well, Excuse me for being superior she brushed off the idea of her being some filthy animal and focused on what she had learned. White Archania, whatever that was, had a connection to something that her teacher, Miss Enaki, was a party to. It was also rare and more than likely a cause for concern. She would have to avoid anything to do with it until she knew more. if not her stay would be shorter then planned. er, gods plan not hers.

Tyrite was looked down upon. It wasn't really her home but it annoyed her to find that her place of origin was being looked down upon. She would have to fix that. She also needed to figure out how to get in on the bet, that was just easy money. Oh… I don't have any money here, do I? Alright, she really needed to get in on that bet. Depending on what the good looking kid had in mind, she might “fall” for his manipulation, for a price.

“Come now Ms. Dreizehn, this is where you introduce yourself child!” bitch I’m older... than you… oh god, that's depressing. Shaking her head from the thought she looked at her new friends, particularly at the one God had asked her to save. “I am… glad to be here! I look forward to learning with all of you!” what the heck and I supposed to say!? Hey, I'm a lord of war, oldest of the Valenrir and sent here by God to save that girl!

Light chuckles flowed through the students at her announcement while others shook their head. they all seemed disappointed. Enri didn't know why but she also didn’t care. Miss Enaki spoke up, “well, we should start with the basic of greeting but what are you going to expect from Tyrite.” God! I know it's not actually my hometown but it still hurts! I have pride you know!

“Well take your seat.” Mss Enaki said with a sigh. “Oh, but you need one don’t you, lets see… third row. The sixth seat is open why don’t you take that one!” that seat was next to her charge, it seemed that its choice of seat was something “Devine...” The teacher rolled her eyes at Dreizehn words, “this is a place of learning, Ms. Dreizehn, god has nothing to do with us here. Please refrain from talking such fantasies here.” Enri blinked. Uhh… ok... She was not used to the gods being faced with such disrespect. fantasies? oh honey, you have no idea. it was funny, God had given her a job to do here. So… yeah God actually has something to do with this place of learning.

She walked to the seat that the teacher had given her. Up three rows and down six. Right next to the girl that the god has asked her to save. This was perfect, almost as if god itself had planned it out. “What are you grinning about?” Enri realized she was displaying her emotions out loud when the words were spoken by the girl's pink lips. Her blond hair was cut short framing her face. Her blue eyes held only an expression of annoyance as they stared back at Enri’s green.

Shaking her head of the perfection in God's plan, Enri scratched a hand to the girl before her. “Nothing, sorry! I'm Enri. it's a pleasure to meet you!” the girl raised a brow at her introduction. “Ms Dreizehn, please don't mistake yourself here.” that was all she got before the girl looked away. Enri lowered her hand and sat down with a whispered “sorry.”

She should have expected that from the way everyone talked about her. They only saw her as a stray dog, a Rialeir. But that was fine, she didn't need to be friends with her target. Only keep it safe. God sat her next to her. The rest would be up to her. But what thoughts did the little girl next to her face? Why was she a target and more importantly why did god care? hmm... next time I see her I should ask what was up with that tank on Vir’Kel.

[breaktimewritings]

Please please please do #14 (the one about the mother in town)! Maybe DOBelle verse and rumple's mom the Black fairy..if not anything you want!

I apologize, Nonny! I tried REALLY hard to fit this in to SotR,FitH but try as I might I simply COULD NOT make it work with the story I had in mind. Sooo instead how about something for the Professional Girlfriend ‘verse in which Gold realizes his mother is at a party and secrets about Lacey are revealed?

13. “I really wish you told me your mother was in town.”

“We have to go.” Gold said immediately.

Lacey had never seen him like this before. They'd barely taken two steps into the room and already his whole body was tense. The hand on his cane started to tremble, and Lacey found herself letting go of his arm in favor of taking his hand.

“What's wrong?” She asked.

But he was already guiding her out of the room. She frowned, not understanding. The decorations might have been all hearts and pink and obnoxious, but he'd stressed the importance of the Valentine’s Day company party. It was somehow one of the biggest events. They'd planned for her to act a bit more distant tonight. Foreshadow the imminent break-up. She didn't understand why he was suddenly very against it all.

“Ruben.” Lacey repeated, tugging his arm as he tried to hurry towards the elevator. “What is it?”

She watched as he hesitated, glancing back to the room before he met her eyes again. A thousand excuses ran through him that he could tell her. He changed his mind. He'd thought not coming would be more dramatic an ending. Finally, he sighed.

“My...mother.”

Lacey’s eyebrows raised. “Your mother?”

He nodded, suddenly looking quite miserable behind his usual guarded expression. He'd never told her of his mother. Or either of his parents. During one of their talks on the way home from a party he'd let it slip that his father left him on his aunt’s doorstep when he was a boy. She could only imagine what his mother had done.

His explanation came at a whisper. “She doesn't consider me her son.”

Lacey bristled. That was it then. Ruben Gold was many awful things, or seemed to be. But underneath all of that rough exterior was a man who'd been cast out and simply wanted to be seen as someone worth something. Worth everything.

And Lacey would be damned if anyone saw him as anything less.

“This is a party for your company.” Lacey reminded him. “Do you want to leave? Or are we going in?”

He faltered, obviously caught between not wanting to deal with the sight of his mother and making an appearance and mingling with his peers. His eyes fell to her, and her gaze softened.

“No.” He finally decided, as if whatever look she'd given him was the conviction he needed.

“Well then let's go.”

Lacey only took a step towards the ballroom when Gold grabbed her shoulder.

“We’re not going.”

This time, Lacey’s gaze was harsh. He could be brave if he just stopped giving in to that flight instinct. “Why not?”

“This isn't your job.” He said simply, his tone hard. “I didn't hire you to deal with my mother. You're...arm candy.”

Lacey recoiled at the words, pulling away from his touch as if it burned her. She opened her mouth to speak. To shout. To demand he take her home right that moment. But then something akin to Hope flashed in his eyes, and the fight left her.

“No I'm not.” She said, her tone firm as she squared her shoulders.

“Of course you are.” He said, though his gaze faltered.

“You don't mean a word of that.”

“I mean every word, dearie. I don't pay you for this.” He gestured to the room where his mother was swimming amongst the other suits and evening dresses.

Lacey grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers and giving it a firm squeeze. “Then don't pay me at all.”

Her tone was clear and firm and left no room for argument. Which was all well and good, because Lacey was moving back towards the party, Gold behind her looking rather dumbfounded.

They didn't elicit any odd looks as they mingled and Lacey brought Gold’s arm around her waist easily as they made conversation with Midas. There were no whispers as Lacey found herself laughing at one of Regina Mill’s jokes at the expense of her mother. There wasn't even any coos of impression when Ruben coated a strawberry in chocolate from the fountain and popped it in Lacey’s mouth. It was a normal date, and Lacey found herself forgetting all the reason Gold wanted to leave. That was, until they were taking a break, sitting at one of the small tables, and Gold instantly stiffened as a seat at the table behind Lacey was taken.

She was here. She was right behind them.

Luckily, Jefferson joined them. “Interesting seeing you here.” He noted, his voice almost hushed.

Ruben only nodded, sipping the red wine he'd poured himself beforehand. Lacey frowned.

“She's here with some hot-shot custody attorney.” Jefferson said. “There are a lot of rumors circulating, but I'm not sure which is right.”

“It doesn't matter.” Lacey said easily, sitting back in her chair, her eyes on Ruben. He'd stopped talking. Turned away from both of them, looking the opposite way. Already he was retreating into himself from the simple presence of the woman she knew was sitting behind her, probably even with her back turned. She knew how these things worked. It was all about appearances and intimidation.

Enough of that.

“Speaking of rumors.” She said, her voice the usual even tone she took during her performances as Belle, taking the normal volume, ensuring she'd be heard. “I've heard that Ruben’s mother is mingling somewhere in the party.”

Jefferson’s eyes widened as he looked to hers, flickering just for a moment behind her. Lacey grinned. She was listening. Finally, Jefferson nodded. “Yes that seems to be the case.”

“Ruben, I really wish you told me your mother was in town. We could have schedule lunch or dinner.” Ruben was staring at her with wide-eyes now, looking as if he wanted to run away, slap her, and kiss her all at the same time. He knew exactly what she was doing. She just hoped it wasn't crossing whatever slim line they’d drawn. She reached across the table, taking hold of his hand to give him the grounding he needed as she sipped her own wine. “Then again, maybe not.”

“N-no?” Ruben stammered, still trying to play along bless him.

Lacey gave his hand a squeeze, a confident grin spreading on her lips as Jefferson once again glanced behind them. “No. You've told me before about her tendency to abandon commitments. The last thing I'd want is for us to be left in an unfamiliar restaurant wondering where she was. It's probably for the best that we didn't see her. I can't blame you for not wanting to anyway. After all, what kind of a mother does that to her son?”

“You didn't want to meet her?” Jefferson asked, all too happy to play along.

“Of course not.” Lacey said with a laugh, as if amused by the joke entirely. “I have Ruben…” Her gaze shifted to his, and Ruben’s eyes lost their fear almost entirely. “I wouldn't want to meet any woman who's stupid enough toss him, let alone her own son, away.”

There was a violent sound of chairs being scooted out from under the table, and Lacey felt the presence behind her disappear. She'd won. Without even giving the woman a glance she'd made it clear her presence wasn't welcome and just what she thought of her. She gave a triumphant grin to Ruben as he stared at her with something akin to wonder in his eyes. Jefferson gave a low whistle.

“That was risky, Lacey.”

She only shrugged, sipping her own wine again. Ruben was still clutching her hand. “It got her to leave.”

Jefferson only chuckled, shaking his head. “I suppose. Ah! It's gotten late. I need to call and check on Grace. I'll be seeing you.”

Lacey nodded and Jefferson stood, disappearing into the crowd. Ruben was still staring at her, clutching her hand. She couldn't discern the emotion in his eyes.

“I'm sorry if that crossed a line…” Lacey said. “I just...You looked so helpless. You shouldn't--”

“Come to dinner with me.” Ruben said, standing immediately.

Lacey blinked at him, glancing around the room. “I thought we WERE at dinner.”

“A proper dinner. Right now.”

“Ruben, you don't have to…”

“Lacey.”

His tone bore no room for protest, and Lacey found she didn't want to. If given the chance, he looked like he was willing to give her the world. Part of her wanted to let him…

“Is that who you want to take to dinner?” She asked. Ruben raised a brow at her, tilting his head. “Do you want to take Lacey to dinner? Or would you rather take Belle?”

Ruben hesitated, then shook his head. “Who kissed me on New Year’s?” He shot back, making her lips quirk up in a grin. “Who just mouthed off to my mother without even looking at her?” He leaned down, suddenly looking very serious “Who are you, dearie?”

Lacey sighed, finishing off her wine. For her part, she looked rather at-ease. But Ruben was at the end of his rope. The dual personas were all well and good until...well until feelings were brought into it. She stood, her expression blank. For a moment he wanted to take it back. Play it off as silly folly and take her home. But then she looked sheepishly at him, and he couldn't tell whether or not it was real or fake.

“Isobelle Lacey French.” She said, extending a hand to him. “It's nice to meet you.

At first, Ruben seemed puzzled as he took her hand. He hadn't known her full name, of course, but it wasn’t as if he was supposed to was it? But it did sound familiar. French. Isobelle Lacey...French. His eyes widened in understanding, suddenly realizing where he’d heard her name. Suddenly it all made sense. How she fit right into his high-society world. Why she’d want adventure on New Year’s Eve the night of her first kiss. Even why she’d made herself right at home in his large house.

She’d already been used to it all.

“Not...Not Maurice and Colette French’s daughter.” He stammered out. “They were...You’re their daughter?”

“Yes.” Lacey said with a giggle, her hand still outstreached. He seemed to realize he’d been keeping her waiting and took it in his. “I’m that daughter.”

“I...I didn’t realize. They’ve been out of the legal circles for so long…”

“Dad’s running a flower shop now. Mom was the brains of the business. I haven’t seen him in...a while.” She cleared her throat. “You mentioned dinner?”

“Yes.” Ruben suddenly blurted, shaking his head. “Yes. Dinner. We can talk there. I’d like to get to know you very much, Miss French. You seem to be full of surprises.”

“Believe me.” Lacey said with a giggle, and she didn’t have to prompt him at all to put his arm around her waist. “You don’t know the half of it…”