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thepointoftheneedle · 4 years ago

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Happy New Year!

I wrote a little New Year’s Eve one shot. It’s below the cut or you can read it on AO3 here. (I’ve started a collection of short pieces just to keep things tidy.) I hope you are all able to celebrate safely and I wish you a healthy and happy 2021.

It was obvious that the party was going off the rails as soon as Archie started lining up shots along the whole length of the marble counter top. He called Reggie out and Reggie never backed down from a challenge to his machismo so they both worked their way along the little bullets of stupid until, breathless and belly laughing, they slid to the floor, their eyes swivelling in their dumb skulls like cartoon coyotes that had just been smashed over the head with an Acme anvil. It was nine fifteen. Betty had wondered if Veronica would be mad about it but she seemed in the mood for some chaos as she set up two more lines of glasses opposite each other on the counter and challenged Cheryl who had never met an unnecessary drama she didn’t like.

Betty had drunk a very pleasant glass of good champagne and had been contemplating having a couple more before midnight. She’d never been a big drinker so for her that was cutting loose. It had been, to put it crudely, a shit-show of a year and she was glad to see the back of it. At the last New Year’s party she had been showing off a dazzling engagement ring, about to start the job that she had been expensively and laboriously trained for and she and her intended had signed the lease on a cute and well appointed apartment in Sunset Park which everyone said was the up and coming neighbourhood. The world had been unfolding for her like a flower. Then the frost had come and scorched the petals with its chill. This year she was single, her job sometimes felt like it was eating her up and that cute apartment burned through every cent of her pay check now she had to make the rent alone. It was possible that she was the saddest girl in a cocktail dress on the whole island of Manhattan, she was certainly the soberest person at the party.

An hour later the shots were completely out of hand and Betty had only just prevented Ethel from throwing up into the piano. Moose made some half hearted effort to restore order, offering glasses of water, trying to start a game of Charades, but Kevin was in too mischievous a mood for his efforts to bear any fruit and instead they were embarking on Drunk Jenga, the rules of which seemed to be that you took a shot whenever you removed a block and then another when you placed it on top of the stack. She imagined you took a shot if the tower fell but she didn’t stick around to find out. She sidled over to where the Pol Roger was stacked, neglected, in its very own champagne refrigerator and helped herself while everyone else was supporting the economy of Mexico by the prodigious consumption of Patron Silver.

She took her recharged glass to the window and looked out at the snowy expanse of Central Park far below. It looked like the idealised interior of a snow globe, the air glassy and still and a huge yellow moon surveying its domain. Betty remembered walking through the park with Trev last Christmas, bundled in a thick coat and scarf. They’d held hands inside one of his mittens. They’d made snow angels. They’d skated at the Wollman Rink and drunk hot chocolate afterwards. Her life had been a cover image from a romance novel. This year she had spent Christmas being patronised by Polly’s constant offers of introductions to a succession of Jason’s frat brothers and golfing buddies. Eventually she’d pointed out that if she’d wanted some obstructionist, bigoted blowhard she could have found one herself, without Polly’s oh so sympathetic intervention. Polly cried and Betty apologised but she still wasn’t going to go on a date with a junior vice president of acquisitions even if he did have a weekend place in Connecticut. She wouldn’t tolerate being paraded in front of prospective suitors like a prize dairy cow at the county show, not by Veronica and certainly not by her sister.

As she reminisced she became aware of Archie and Veronica deep in conversation in the corner of the room. “We have a teeny emergenshy,” Veronica said, her hand on Archie’s forearm. Veronica was never less than perfectly composed but that slur at the end of her word and the ramped up sincerity gave her away to her best friend. She was sozzled. “Only two bottles of Patron left and then the cupboard is bare. I may have over-ordered on the fizz and neglected the tequila.”

Archie nodded, taking the situation as seriously as his wife. Then some kind of light dawned on his handsome face. “We’ll get the magic doorman to get us some. He’ll be on duty now. I’ll go slip him a fifty and he’ll take care of it.” He turned to reach for his wallet and promptly fell on his face. It was ten to eleven and all was decidedly not well.

Betty went over to help Archie off the rug. He grinned even though his nose was bloody. “Ronnie, Betty’s all sober and sensible. She can go talk to the wizard. Here Betty, here’s fifty for a tip and Ronnie’ll give you her credit card for the booze. Okay? Shit I’m bleeding… still it’s not a party til something gets broke.”

V was looking at her imploringly now. Somewhere there was the sound of glass smashing and Monroe’s attempt to do chin ups on the kitchen doorframe seemed to be bringing plaster down on the floor. Betty would rather be almost anywhere than right here so she nodded at her friend. "What do you need V?”

V explained that the building’s night doorman was a kind of fixer. When Tom in 204 had forgotten his wife’s birthday Jones had got him a gluten free chiffon cake iced with her name at two thirty on a Thursday morning along with a bouquet of out of season narcissuses....narcissi? When the little boy in 116 had told his mama at midnight that he needed a George Washington costume for school the next day the night doorman had sourced it, complete with powdered wig, before the little tyke had finished his cheerios. When V had realised an hour before her 5.15 a.m. flight to Miami that she had completely forgotten her niece’s confirmation gift he had sourced a personalised Catholic Bible bound in white leather which he handed to her as she got into her cab. “He’s a miracle worker B. Just tell him we need a case…no two cases of Patron Silver before midnight. Give him the fifty but tell him I’ll make it a hundred if he can fix it by eleven thirty. OK?”

“Sure. On my way.”

She travelled down in the elevator imagining the doorman. He’d be some old guy in a uniform with gold braid on the chest. He probably knew all the residents and their dogs by name and had one of those old timey extended families so that he could reach out to Cousin Ike for last minute birthday cakes or get his nephew’s wife to sew a costume at no notice. She needed a fixer herself since her life seemed so broken. She wondered what he could do for a lonely woman who was trying to work out if getting a cat was too much of an admission that she had given up.

As she stepped out into the lobby she was slightly taken aback by the mismatch between her expectations and reality. He was behind the reception desk, dark head bowed over a laptop, no braid in evidence, no grey whiskers or paunch, just this dark, poetic looking guy in a black sweater. She approached the desk and he looked up at her, fingers still flying over the keys without him needing to glance down. He seemed to reach a natural pause, closed the lid of the laptop and smiled politely. “Yes ma’am, how can I help?” His eyes were blue. They seemed to look through her probably thinking she was just another rich girl bringing him problems. He must get that a lot.

“Yeah, hi, I’m a guest of Mr and Mrs Lodge Andrews up in the penthouse. They’re having a little New Year's Eve party and they’re running low on liquor. They wondered if you could source them a couple of cases of…”

“Patron Silver? Yes ma’am, of course. Who should I charge it to?” She had no idea how he could have known what she was going to ask for. It made her want to say that they wanted Stolichnaya or absinthe or something, just to surprise him but she’d been sent for Patron and Patron she would get.

“Oh, yes, I have a credit card.” She handed it over, “and Mr Andrews said to give you this for the trouble.” She passed him the fifty, embarrassed.

“No incentive to get it here before the coaches turn into pumpkins?” he asked, eyebrow raised. She thought he was making fun of her but she couldn’t be sure.

“Oh yes, that’s right. Veronica said another $50 if it’s here by eleven thirty.”

“Okay ma’am. I’ll buzz up when it’s here. If that’s all.”

“Oh please don’t call me ma’am. I’m Betty.”

“I’m Jones... Jughead. Nickname. Long dull story.” He raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering why she was still standing in front of his desk.

“Look, it’s a little crazy up there. Would it be okay if I just stay down here for a minute? Just say if it’s inconvenient. I don’t want to disturb you if you’re busy.” She didn’t think she could bear to be the responsible adult at Veronica’s party for a moment longer. Here it was quiet and no one needed her to hold back their hair while they were getting sick.

“Busy getting hold of twelve bottles of good tequila on New Year's Eve but that’s all. I just need to make a call. Excuse me.” He stood and walked away from the desk, his back turned to her. It was a good back. He was wearing the black sweater over grey slacks with a key chain hanging from one of his belt loops. He had broad shoulders but his neck was fine, not thick and meaty like the guys who needed to lift weights to manufacture some self esteem. He was slim at the waist and the hips, long legs, tall. The hair was the USP though, dark waves of it tumbling freely as he dragged long fingers through it, waiting for someone to pick up his call. Finally he yelled “Hey Toni. Yeah, two cases of Patron Silver asap. Yeah, I’d noticed that but mark it up. Can Sweetpea drop it over? Yeah right now. Hey, ask him to get me a burger on the way too.” He turned and looked at Betty with a questioning look and she shrugged and nodded, “Two, make it two. Ok, thanks Toni. Yeah you too. See you Sunday.”

He ended the call and made his way back to the desk. “My pal Toni runs a bar,” he explained with a grin.

“Veronica says you’re magic, a wizard,” she told him.

“Nothing occult about it. I’m just observant, that’s all.”

“Seems magical to produce a George Washington costume overnight,” she countered.

“Oh well, that was a lucky break. My sister’s a textile artist. A struggling one. I gave her the brief and she knocked up the costume in a few hours. Now all the upper east side mommies have her business card and she can afford to buy materials and pay her rent. She had to pull an all nighter but it paid off pretty big in the end.”

“Birthday cake? Out of season flowers?”

“The husband’s kind of a dick. He forgot last year too. They had a fight about it in this very lobby so I wrote down the date and got ready to save his bacon. If he’d remembered the date I’d have had cake for my breakfast and sent my sister a bunch of flowers. As it was I made a couple hundred bucks.”

Betty was laughing now at the smug look on his face. “So you could have reminded him beforehand?”

“Could have, but maybe the expense’ll help him remember next time. Anyway if the doorman knows more about your wife than you do it might be time to review your priorities.”

“Ok but what about the Bible? That seems pretty miraculous.”

“Actually it’s kind of the opposite. The kid’s confirmation name is Maria. Hardly original. My buddy Joaquin’s little sister was confirmed a few months ago. Her confirmation name’s Maria. She hadn’t made a whole lot of use of the Bible. Your pal paid me three hundred, Joaquin’s kid sister got two hundred in her college fund.”

“Seems like the side hustles are more remunerative than the pay check,” Betty observed.

“It’s all a side hustle. I’m a writer. This job’s kept me supplied with characters and plot lines and given me eight hours of mostly uninterrupted writing time.”

Betty flushed pink and jumped up from the corner of the desk where she had been leaning. “Oh I’m so sorry. Here I am wasting your time. I’ll be on my way.”

“No, wait,” he reached out and put his hand on her arm. It tingled. “I didn’t mean it like that. This is research. Maybe I’ll put you in my next book. The sad girl in a party frock who’d rather be in the lobby than with her friends at a party being kissed for New Year.”

“There’s no-one to kiss up there,” she confessed with a sad smile and then, without having any idea why, she said “I broke up with my fiancé last February.”

“Aha,” he said. “There’s the plot. Tell me.”

“He’s great. A really good guy. Kind, loyal, handsome. Everything I should have wanted. Any girl would be lucky to have him. I think I broke his heart.”

“Why?”

“We started to plan the wedding and I wanted to run away. I couldn’t bear to think about it. Then one day I found myself imagining what I’d do if something bad happened that prevented it, like if he got sick or if I was in a car accident or something. It was pretty clear that I couldn’t go through with it if I preferred the idea of one of us being in a coma to the idea of my wedding day.”

“Cold feet?”

“Oh freezing but it wasn’t just nerves. When I imagined being married to him I couldn’t see myself, I was just a blank. It was… I don’t know how to say it…like I was finished. I’d never be anything more than I was, never change or grow or struggle. It was all too easy. No grit in the oyster. I know it’s crazy.”

“You didn’t say it was you not him did you? You didn’t do that to him?” He was smiling at her, sympathising not mocking.

She blushed. “I did. All the clichés. How could I explain? I don’t even understand it myself.”

“I understand it. You want to find out who you can be and he couldn’t give you that. He was happy with who you were, didn’t want you to change. He was probably scared of losing you. Anyone would be.” He looked at her with an intensity that made her nervous so she tried to change the subject.

“A writer then? What do you write?”

“Mostly mystery stories. Magazines and online so far but I’ve just got a publisher for the novel. I’m going to quit this next year. What do you do?”

“I’m a psychologist. I work with kids who are in trouble. Try to get them back on track. I love it but it’s hard sometimes. I hear things that it’s tough to leave at the office.”

“You need to take care of you first. You can’t save someone if you aren’t safe yourself. ”

“Writer or life coach?” she smiled.

He chuckled. “Sorry. I’m not good at small talk. I get too intense too fast and freak people out. Oh hey, cometh the man, cometh the tequila.”

A tall guy in a leather jacket was pulling boxes out of the back of a truck that he’d illegally bumped up the curb outside.. He looked a little scary. Once he was in the lobby she saw that he had a snake tattooed on his neck. He fist bumped Jughead and then pulled him into a side hug. “Hey man. Happy new year and all that. Hey,” he said, noticing Betty for the first time.

“Hey. Thanks so much for bringing it over. There’s a whole apartment full of drunk idiots upstairs just waiting to make themselves sick on it. Oh!” He turned back to Betty, aghast at what he’d said. “Sorry Betty.”

“You’ll not get an argument from me. That’s why I’m down here talking to you.”

Neck tattoo laughed and held out his hand “Sweetpea. Pleasure doing business with you.” He turned back to Jughead, “So I have to get back, I’m supposed to be on the door at the Wyrm. See you Sunday?”

“Burgers?” Jug reminded him and his friend nodded, trotting back to the truck to grab a take out bag and toss it back to Jughead who snatched it from the air like a dolphin snatching a fish at Seaworld.

Betty buzzed up to the penthouse to get one of the assembled jocks to come and collect two cases of tequila and bring down a bottle of Pol Roger and the promised fifty dollars. It was eleven twenty four. Ten minutes later she was sitting on the reception desk eating a burger, washing it down with $200 champagne. “This is the best New Year's Eve I’ve ever had,” she grinned, a little disinhibited by the bubbles.

“Weren’t you engaged last year?”

“This is much better. I was pretending last year. Now I’m just being me.”

“I always find that works better. The not pretending bit. Especially not with someone you can love.”

She certainly wasn’t pretending at eleven fifty nine when she reached out to him and he took her in his arms and kissed her softly as cheers and yells rang out from the parties all over the city and fireworks exploded high above the park, casting confetti of coloured lights across the marble lobby.

As the kiss ended she looked up into his blue eyes, wondering if it was the champagne that was making her blurry and relaxed or if it was him. She thought she’d have to keep on kissing him to know for sure. He really was a fixer though. Her heart felt lighter, hopeful.

He grinned. “Spectacular as that was, this is probably the most surveilled lobby in the city. Can we schedule the repeat for when I’m not actually on the clock?” He gestured at the security cameras covering every inch of the space and she blushed to think that somewhere there was taped evidence of her trying to seduce the sexy doorman.

“Can I stay here and talk to you some more if I promise not to touch?”

“I wish you would. I get off at six and I know a great diner for breakfast. We can tell people our first date was breakfast. They’ll be scandalised.” She couldn’t hold back at the mention of the first date, of them telling people about it, so she kissed him on the cheek before retreating back to the edge of the desk with her hands up.

They talked about her work, his writing, they compiled an ultimate New Year's Eve playlist and top tens of movies and books. She found herself distracted by the fullness of his lips, the expressiveness of his face, the heaviness of the locks of hair that fell forward over his eyes only to be pushed back impatiently. They agreed on almost nothing and that was exactly how she liked it. When she crept up to the penthouse at five thirty to collect her coat and change her party shoes for snow boots, she was met with a scene of devastation. Prostrate bodies sprawled on every flat surface. The two cases of tequila sat unopened in the kitchen, clearly surplus to requirements by the time they had been manifested. She picked her way through the carnage and found the coat closet where Archie had put her things when she’d arrived the night before. Opening the door she noticed the cases of liquor stacked inside, three unopened boxes of Patron among them. She realised that Jug wasn’t the only fixer in the building. She made sure to lean over her sleeping friend to place a kiss on her forehead before she let herself out, locking the door behind her.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead fan fic #New Years

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do-androids-dream-ao3acc · 4 years ago

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There was a prompt by @frances-the-red:

Oh no! Geralt lost his engagement ring! 😱 What happened and how is the godling Hansi involved? (Just a silly little prompt if you ever become bored. Love your writing! 🧡)

I changed the engagement ring to wedding ring because there has never actually been an engagement, let’s just say that’s not a Nilfgaard custom ;) Also, I changed Hansi to the more common Johnny. I think nobody will understand the joke anyway and English-speaking gamers just know him by this name. Hansi is his name in the german dubbing (which is the same as Johnny) and that happens to be the name of my favorite Heavy Metal singer, too. And I love that you prompted me with it :)

One last thing: I had to alter the outcome of a specific Witcher 3 quest for this. Usually, Sarah only meets Johnny if you throw her out of the house where Corinne meets her. So for this story, let’s just assume it went a bit different.

Enough babbling! This one is called “A seeker enthralled by a flame” (Avantasia lyrics this time), read under the cut or on AO3. 5330 words, rated G.

The second of waking up, Geralt realized something was fundamentally wrong.

This had nothing to do with the fact that dull rays of the sun shining through the curtains indicated morning was already advanced. Nothing to do with him waking up in a foreign bed. Or that half of his body was hanging out, as if it missed the habit of a much larger bed. All of this was not unusual. So what was it? When his eyes opened, Geralt immediately knew where he was (in Novigrad), what he had been doing the night before (getting drunk with Dandelion and Zoltan out of pure reunion), and why he was here (a contract, of course, and this was a stopover on the way back).

Nothing of all this was wrong. What he could see of the room without moving his head (possibly one too many beers) was normal. A guest room at the Chameleon, furnished with Dandelion's somewhat exuberant taste and clearly refined by Priscilla's hand; fresh flowers and fruit on a sideboard. The fingertips of Geralt's right hand brushed wood. It took him a moment to realize that his arm was hanging out of the bed, touching the floor. The floor felt normal, as did his body, which was slowly waking up and painfully reminding him that he needed to pee.

But he was not ready yet. His mind was still trying to trace this feeling, even if it might well have been only a vague thought from a dream. Lost in thought, he involuntarily began tapping a kind of rhythm on the floor, an odd imitation of what Emhyr did when he became impatient. And then he understood. An ice-cold feeling ran through his abdomen, and the natural need was gone.

The ring was missing.

Hastily Geralt raised his hand, straightening in the bed, bringing his fingers close to his face, staring. His ring finger had a small, light-colored indentation, an imprint that made it even more evident that something was missing. His wedding ring was gone. Against better judgment, Geralt jumped out of bed and carefully examined the floor; he even crawled under the bed, checked every crack, combed the whole room.

It was simply easier to assume that the ring had slipped off his finger (it sat perfectly, he never took it off, not even when he put on gloves and went into battle) than to believe someone had dared to steal it from him. That was ridiculous. Stealing from a witcher? In one of the hottest establishments in town (a fucking wicked, disgusting town full of disgusting subjects, well). Even drunk as he had been last night, that was not possible. Who would dare to enter his room without him noticing (impossible) and pull a ring off his finger?

It was undoubtedly a valuable piece, but the silver... Geralt's eyes immediately darted to the wall next to the bed, although he had long known what he would see. The swords were still there, leaning neatly against the wall in their scabbards.

That didn't make any sense. Who would steal a ring when there were two swords whose common material value was significantly higher? Indeed, the blades were almost unsaleable – no merchant in his right mind would buy witchers' swords, especially those whose engraved runes were more than clearly traceable to the owner. Nevertheless, Geralt hurriedly began to check the rest of his equipment. The armor, the saddlebags... everything was there; nothing was missing.

Geralt sat down on the bed, resting his slightly aching skull on his hands. Had he perhaps lost the ring during the evening? Or – even worse – had he, in a frenzy, agreed to use the piece as a prize in a game of Gwent? He was notorious (well, in the eyes of a certain man at least) for occasionally doing idiotic things, but Geralt thought something like that was out of the question.

Besides, he didn't want to imagine that possibility because it would have meant that, in a few days, he would have had to confront his husband to tell him he had lost the ring. The symbol of their love come true, the flame that he always carried with him like the one in his heart....

"Silly. And you're hyperventilating."

There wasn't really a voice in his head, but he could imagine it very well (and that was very close to what Emhyr would actually say before he found out the ring was gone). Besides, the voice was right. Geralt took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. If the idea of being robbed seemed absurd, at least there was a way to find out if it was valid. All he had to do was focus on possible clues in the room. However, that was easier said than done; after all, he was in Novigrad, in a much-frequented house – supposedly the most popular in the whole city. Looking for traces in this room was like telling a dog to search through a massive pile of shit to find out if his best friend had been there.

The same was true for the smell. However, chance aided him – this room didn't seem to be used quite as often. Perhaps Dandelion indeed did keep it only for friends at all times, or maybe he exaggerated his establishment's popularity. In any case, most of the traces and smells that Geralt's senses picked up were older and not of concern. Quite clearly, his own smell still hung in the room, an almost visible cloud of alcohol, leather, horse.... well, he had arrived only a few hours before. But there was something else. More like a hunch that someone else had actually been here – a kind of whiff, an indefinable but strangely familiar smell, as if he had sensed it once before, and a tiny trail of footsteps, as delicate as if that had been just a ghost. But a ghost would have left no visible traces at all.

Even these were almost impossible to see, smell or feel. It was strange, but at least a better explanation than that he had simply lost the ring. Still, what creature would have managed to pull the thing off his finger and disappear with it completely without a sound and almost without a trace? There was only one way to find out, and, if possible, before anyone saw him without the ring. Now it didn't seem like such a good idea that he had presented it so openly (because he was damn proud of it).

Geralt left the Chameleon like a suitor who had fallen asleep over his secret lover – very quietly. No one was awake yet anyway. He disappeared without a message, which was not that unusual, and sneaked out through the back exit. It was challenging to follow the delicate breeze on the streets and impossible to make out the tracks anymore. Almost as if the thief had fled across the rooftops – a not so unlikely possibility. Besides, the city itself stank of all the shit that places like these stink of: too many people and their numerous vices.

His motivation was high (if not desperate), so his focus was tremendous. The sight of a witcher trudging through Novigrad with a grim expression on his face, looking neither left nor right, was not common even here. As so often, his reputation preceded him, and if he had bothered to look into the eyes of the people who hurriedly avoided him, he probably could have guessed which of the numerous things said about him they were most likely to believe. He didn't care anyway. Geralt followed the fleeting trail of a breeze mixed with so many smells that it became almost impossible to keep track of it.

Twice he lost it, once he almost lost his nerve, and yet he held on convulsively to that one delicate scent. It led him out of the city, which was good; it would be easier to track now. Only briefly did he give up following the scent because, outside the city gate, he was sure to find it again. The trail led directly away from the main road, which didn't surprise him. The brazen thief surely had not been interested in encountering any guards. So he unhitched his horse from the capable businessman who had recently started running a livery stable near the entrance.

*//////{<>==================-

It went cross-country, over meadows and fields, which Geralt had to ride around as a precaution if he did not want to incur the farmers' wrath, and he lost valuable time, but never the trail. Whoever had taken the ring had been nimble, and they were several hours ahead of him. But he wondered where this would lead. The ring had hardly been stolen by a magpie that had flown into its nest with it. So why through the countryside and into the forest? Maybe the thief just wanted to hide and wait because there was no direct way to the next town from here, and Geralt still considered it doubtful that it would be possible to sell the ring, just like the swords. However, some crazy collectors paid a fortune for witcher's memorabilia. Maybe there was a black market for his wedding ring. This was such a monstrous thought that he already imagined what he would do to the thief if….

Geralt stopped as if rooted to the spot. The scent ceased here, in a small clearing of beech trees, in the middle of a meadow, sprinkled with daisies and wild herbs. He had been leading Roach on the reins for quite a while because the forest had become too dense. Now he let go, patted her briefly, and whispered to her to be good and stay put, which earned him a snort that sounded almost contemptuous.

The trail might end here, but that didn't mean he had lost it. He perceived a presence that was trying to hide, but... Geralt looked up.

"Johnny," he said. "You can come down now."

Up there, perched in a treetop, sat the reason why the smell had appeared familiar to him from the very beginning. He had just not been able to assign it to the little godling immediately. In fact, Geralt had not expected to see him again at all.

"I don't want to," resounded a pitched voice from above.

"I can imagine, but I'd rather you come down. My neck hurts from staring up."

"That's old age."

"I'm sure you know something about that," Geralt replied patiently. "Come down now. I want to ask you something."

Johnny grumbled, and he played coy for a few more seconds, but he seemed to realize that he would not escape the witcher just by hiding in the tree. So he climbed down the bark as nimbly as a squirrel, but when he reached the ground, he still kept some distance.

"Long time no see, witcher," he chirped, though also with a certain mistrust – which, in Geralt's opinion, he had good reason to feel.

"Johnny, you know it's dangerous for you to show yourself outside," Geralt began carefully.

The little one grimaced.

"I'm careful. Besides, sometimes it's pretty boring to just sit inside all the time."

"You promised to watch Corinne – and Sarah, didn't you?"

"And I do! Really!"

Now a genuine smile covered the godling's face, who outwardly and also in many traits almost resembled a child. The smile might have as much to do with his conspecific Sarah as with the sorceress who had taken them in. They could have lived a pleasant life in the wilderness, where they would not have had to hide all the time. But the godling's natural kindness had driven Sarah to return to Novigrad as if she felt a connection with the oneiromancer, and Johnny had gone along. It was certainly not a forever bond, but it seemed to work.

"I'm sure you do," Geralt replied, "But listen.... is it possible you paid me a visit last night?"

Johnny's big eyes had an innocent look.

"Maybe?"

"And did you maybe take something that doesn't belong to you?"

Johnny scratched his head.

"Well, that would depend on how you define property, I guess."

Geralt sighed.

"My ring, Johnny. Why did you steal my ring? And don't even try to deny it. I know you have it in your little pouch."

Involuntarily, the godling's gaze went to the slim bag he carried over his shoulder. There could hardly be a more apparent admission of guilt, and he noticed his mistake immediately.

"Oh, unfair," he complained. "You tricked me. That'll teach me to play with witchers again."

"This isn't a game, Johnny," Geralt said, now noticeably more severe. "Give the ring back."

"Oh, but I can't."

"Why not?"

"I need it."

"For what?" sighed Geralt.

"That's a secret," the godling quickly replied.

"Johnny..."

"No, no, I won't be fooled again!"

"I'm sure Corinne doesn't know anything about it. Right? Would she approve?"

"You're not going to rat me out, are you? That's not proper between friends."

Johnny was visibly indignant now.

"It's not proper between friends to steal from each other, either."

The godling sighed.

"Oh, fine. Suppose you don't rat me out! Promise!"

Geralt counted very slowly inwardly to ten before answering, albeit through clenched teeth.

"I promise. So?"

"Well, if you can give anything on a witcher's word of honor.... I'll try to summon Liuba."

Geralt stared at him, dumbfounded.

"Liuba, the goddess of love?"

Johnny nodded eagerly. Geralt narrowed his eyes.

"Listen, I have no idea how this works among you godlings, but if Sarah isn't interested in you in that way, summoning a tricky goddess certainly isn't the best approach..."

"Dumbass. It's not for me," Johnny interrupted him. "It's about Corinne. She's been pretty lonely since she started taking care of us. She doesn't go out much, and even though we've offered to leave, she says she doesn't want us to. As far as we know, there are hardly any mages left in town. It is reasonably safe, but most are suspicious. And Corinne believes that no one who doesn't understand her powers can love her."

"Did she say that?"

Johnny sighed theatrically.

"We're magical beings, witcher. She doesn't have to say anything."

"All right, but... Johnny, you and Sarah are already very rare. Gods are – well, in many cases, just myths. Things made up by humans who found winter too cold and dark. And even if Liuba does exist, she may not be the best choice. According to her legend, she more or less killed a woman who asked her for help. Which technically fulfilled the deal to reunite her with her beloved, who happened to die on the battlefield at the same time."

"Hogwash," the godling replied contemptuously. "I do believe that gods exist. And that they are nothing other than magical beings, just like us. You should understand that, even if your magic is a flyspeck compared to what I can do. That they are myths, yes, that is a merit of the humans, and that's good because otherwise, they would have probably wiped them all out. This way, they've just forgotten many of them."

Annoyed, Geralt blew a strand of hair out of his face.

"All right, let's not argue about the existence of gods. Why does my ring have to be the pledge to call her?"

"It must be a symbol of true love," Johnny said seriously.

"Surely there will be enough love to be found in Novigrad..."

"You don't understand! What do you think I have tried already? Garters, lockets with drawings in them, love letters.... None of it worked. This may be a big city, but true love is rarely found."

"You stole all that?"

The godling shrugged.

"And a lot of wedding rings," he admitted. "But yours is special. There's much stronger magic in that."

"There's no magic in it at all," Geralt objected.

Johnny chuckled.

"You have no idea. There is destiny in true love, and the two combined are a rarity. Your ring radiates that. No wonder you don't realize it. You can't do anything but light fires and make people look elsewhere when you don't like them."

"That's not quite what..."

"That's some magic you don't know a thing about," Johnny continued. "Why you, of all people, have a ring like that is beyond me. There are far more beautiful wedding rings; believe me, I've had enough in my hand. But I haven't seen one that had an engraving like that. Even the metal was chosen with care. Almost all the wedding rings I saw were gold; yours is not."

"But what makes you think you can conjure Liuba here in the wilderness, of all places?"

"Ha, my dear, research!"

Johnny tapped his nose, a strangely touching gesture, even if it was meant to express superiority.

"Corinne had picked up some books so we wouldn't be bored. I honestly believe, secretly, that she genuinely thinks we're like children because of our shape. Well, anyway, one of the books was about local legends in the area. It was not difficult to get to the right place. The book said that some lovers claimed to have seen Liuba there."

"Did the book also say that it was dangerous?" Geralt asked dryly.

"It said that only true love could summon her," the godling replied unaffected. "Otherwise, Liuba would punish the callers. That's why I need your ring, you see."

"Well, let's say I believe all that; what happens if you succeed in calling the goddess with this pledge?" asked Geralt.

"She will accept the gift and fulfill my wish: that Corinne meets the love of her life. You know, she wouldn't have to take care of us. We can do it quite well on our own. But Sarah thinks we make sure her powers don't turn against her. I guess all this dream magic isn't that much fun."

"I can't let that happen," Geralt said seriously.

"What, you don't begrudge Corinne finding someone she loves?" asked Johnny indignantly.

"This isn't about Corinne. You can't give my ring to some goddess. This is my wedding ring, Johnny. It's very important to me."

"Weren't you listening? That's also one reason why it'll be so valuable to Liuba."

"I get it," Geralt replied grimly. "But it's my ring, and you can't have it. You'll have to find something else."

"I told you, I've already tried."

"All right... I'll try. I'll get you a pledge of true love that's just as good."

Johnny grimaced.

"I don't think that's possible."

"You do believe that you can summon a goddess, and I don't think that will work, either with my ring or if we sacrifice a virgin."

"That's barbaric," Johnny said indignantly.

"That's why we're not doing it," Geralt returned irritably. "Listen, you know I could just take that ring off you. But I don't want to hurt you or your, well, religious feelings. So I'm going to help you and get you another love symbol. I'm convinced it doesn't even have to be magical."

"But..."

"You don't even know her legend," Geralt continued. "The woman who summoned Liuba paid with jewelry. Among them was possibly a love pledge, a gift, but that's only part of the ritual, isn't it?"

Johnny nodded slowly.

"Well, there are a few other things required as well, I've already obtained them all, wasn't exactly easy either."

"You mean you stole those too."

"How could I have bought them?" the godling replied innocently. "So, what's your plan?“

*//////{<>==================-

Geralt didn't believe for a second that Johnny would succeed in summoning a goddess - let alone that she was anything more than a legend. What he did believe, however, was that maybe something was there. The fact that the information in Johnny's book pointed explicitly to a particular location was hardly a coincidence. Also that the ritual was described in detail – although the special ingredient, namely the love pledge, was mentioned rather vaguely in the book, as he had gotten out of Johnny after some more inquiring. Geralt thought it possible that perhaps something really could be summoned at this point, but certainly not a goddess. A specter, perhaps, or a cursed being, a corgowrath, a Shishiga… whatever it was, he believed it to be rare and old, probably dangerous.

He asked the godling not to try to start the ritual without him but to prepare it so that they could start right away when Geralt returned. Meanwhile, he rode back to Novigrad, spending an outrageous amount of money on a small silver box decorated with tacky rose petals made of tiny, inexpensive gems. Then he spent considerable time unobtrusively looking around for a mage or sorceress. He could by no means go to Corinne with his request without betraying Johnny – which he didn't want to do because it was clear to him that the godling meant well. But as a being exceedingly connected with nature, he lacked the sense for many human characteristics, and he did not grasp the danger that could hide in such magical incantation. Furthermore, Geralt was aware that he would only get his ring back safely if he played at least partially by Johnny's rules. And in the end, it was always about playing with these creatures.

He found a mage who, even if they officially no longer had to hide, made a somewhat nervous impression. Geralt had the box covered with a spell that he had thought about for a while and was reasonably sure that Johnny wouldn't recognize what was actually behind it. This took a while, and the mage relaxed a bit, even admitting at the end that he still slept poorly, albeit the city was safe for his kind again. However, prejudices did not disappear from people's minds so quickly. Emhyr held back on the presence of soldiers in the city; it was still a sensitive topic in negotiations. Of the northern kingdoms, no one felt responsible either, which is why crime still flourished in Novigrad. Before leaving, Geralt recommended that the mage visit Corinne – just for safety. Briefly, the thought crossed his mind that he was traveling in the matter of love, after all. That was ridiculous, and besides, it was none of his business.

When he returned, Johnny had prepared the ritual. He had set up a circle in the clearing, made of half-burned candles and at least one unused one. In the middle of it, he had placed a pile of gifts, mainly jewelry and love letters, all stolen like the candles – like Geralt's ring, but it was not among the other stuff. The godling noticed Geralt's look and defended himself by saying that all of this was only for security, to strengthen the spell.

"I really don't think that's going to work," Geralt said, "not even with this."

He held up the silver box.

"For someone who possesses such a mighty token of love, you're surprisingly doubtful of its power," Johnny remarked pointedly.

"Maybe, but I'm a reformed skeptic when it comes to love."

Johnny shook his head.

"So, what did you bring?"

"In this box," Geralt claimed dramatically, "I had one of my memories magically locked away."

"What?"

"A memory of a loving moment."

"Memories are powerful," Johnny mused. "I just hope it's nothing objectionable?"

Geralt shrugged.

"Love has many facets. Ultimately, it's up to your goddess to decide, isn't it?"

The godling still looked a little indecisive, but finally, he nodded.

"All right, I'll tell you how we do it," Geralt continued.

"But I've read the book, I know..."

"Well, you can do it as the book says. But as soon as the time comes when the box is needed, you give me back the ring. At that exact moment, you hear?"

Johnny tilted his head.

"That's not stupid," he said appreciatively. "You think if your little box isn't strong enough, after all, Liuba will be attracted to the power of the ring. In the end, the memory in your little box might still be enough for her. Clever."

"Exactly," Geralt lied without batting an eye.

"That way, you can keep the ring, and I can still talk to her.... it's just a little bit of cheating. I like it," Johnny said. "Let's get started."

So they began. Geralt lit the candles in the order Johnny solemnly told him to. He had even stolen a flint, which Geralt thought was almost more dangerous than anything else he had done. Then began a litany of mumbled words, a strange mixture of elder speech and some gibberish. Maybe some swear words, who could tell for sure.

At some point, the godling reached into his little bag, and at last, Geralt saw his ring again. The sight of it stung him a little. Perhaps it was indeed strange how attached he was to this object. Still, he did not regard the ring as a mere object.

"It's time," Johnny whispered, his face a single mask of concentration, his big eyes half-closed.

Geralt held out his hand with the box. The atmosphere was strange. Evening had fallen on the small clearing; the light had given way to a pale gray, at the edge of which still hung the last pink of the setting sun. The birds' singing from the forest had stopped; not even the woodpecker, which had been hammering on some trees almost all day, could still be heard. Actually, all sounds had fallen silent, even that of small animals in the undergrowth. Although a gentle breeze was blowing, not even a rustle could be heard.

That was strange, but even stranger was that the air, which had been pure and clear all day, seemed to condense. Johnny had insisted that Geralt put down the swords, but he had placed them on the floor not too far from him and was now glancing at them. If any specter was indeed going to show itself, he had to be quick. The silver sword was prepared in case, but since he didn't know what he was up against, he had to decide on a possible potion at the last second. And he had to get Johnny to safety somehow.

"Now," Geralt hissed as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Promptly, he held out the box to Johnny. The latter’s eyes seemed even bigger than usual, and a delighted smile now appeared on his face. He took the box and gave the ring to Geralt, who immediately put it on his finger. At the same moment, a strange glow seemed to fill the air. Geralt stood waiting at the edge of the candle circle, his knees slightly bent, ready to make a daring leap towards the swords. It seemed to grow darker around them, while a bright spot of light remained in the center of the circle. The air crackled. Suddenly Johnny chuckled and lowered his eyes in a shy gesture. Geralt stared over at him, frowning.

"What's going on?"

The godling did not answer. He seemed not to perceive Geralt at all. Then he nodded and began to speak incoherently.

"That's right," he said, and "What mage?"

He chuckled again. Then he pointed to Geralt.

"No, he has no idea," he said.

The witcher wondered if Johnny had gone mad. Nothing was there. It seemed as if an apparition was about to materialize, but at the same time, as if something prevented it from doing so. Johnny spoke to the air. Geralt thought carefully. What creature could manage to make itself entirely invisible for a witcher, not even causing the medallion to vibrate? It was also strange that the changed atmosphere had nothing dangerous about it at all. Nevertheless, he thought it impossible that Johnny was talking to a love goddess right now – or that she would show herself to the godling, of all people, who had nothing to offer but a handful of jewelry and a small box covered with a strong but rather silly spell. This only confirmed his suspicion that it was not about a love pledge at all. Geralt took a quick look at his ring. The engraved flame on it seemed to glow red. He ran the index finger of his left hand over it. It was all in his imagination; there was nothing at all.

Just at that moment, the strange sensation hovering over the surroundings disappeared, and suddenly, the birds began to sing again. The light was back as before. Everything was exactly as before, just as if nothing had ever happened – only the candles had all gone out.

"What was that just now?" Geralt addressed the godling.

Johnny looked at him innocently, the box still in his hand.

"Look, she didn't take it at all. Nor any of the other stuff. She said she'd do it for free for me. You got all worked up over your ring for nothing!"

"Better safe than sorry," Geralt grumbled, "What did she say, your goddess?"

He sounded so skeptical that Johnny burst out laughing.

"You don't believe it even now, do you? I suppose you didn't see anything? Well, these gods play by their own rules, my dear. She said Corinne's already been taken care of. I don't know what that means, but I think Sarah and I won't have to worry about her anytime soon."

"I see," Geralt replied. He couldn't think of any other answer. He made a mental note to ask Dandelion to check on Corinne occasionally. While he didn't actually believe Johnny had been talking to a goddess, as long as he didn't know what he was dealing with, he preferred to play it safe. If there was some spectral being around, someone would have to take care of it sooner or later.

*//////{<>==================-

"You're late."

Emhyr, engrossed in papers in his study as usual at this hour, did not precisely toss aside his quill at the sight of Geralt, but he leaned back, regarding his spouse intently.

"Late?" asked Geralt, after closing the door and making sure they were indeed alone (occasionally, there were minions in the alcoves, scurrying out at a hint). Only then did he casually stroll around the table to pick up the kiss he thought he richly deserved. He got it, and it felt like he had actually been gone too long. The fact that he then sat down on the desk, however, earned him a disapproving look.

"You're crumpling important documents. All I’m saying is that, according to my information, you had already arrived in Novigrad about a week ago. Usually, you stay a day or two, then you head back."

"You sent your spies after me?"

"Certainly not."

"So you have spies in Novigrad?"

"Don't act surprised," Emhyr returned. "With your penchant for dubious adventures, you can't blame me for occasionally liking to know where you hang out."

"Dubious... pah."

Geralt grinned cockily.

"Then why didn't your spies tell you where I was if you think I should have been back by now?"

Emhyr didn't bat an eye, but at least he had to admit, "I'm afraid they... lost sight of you at some point."

"Well, maybe I just don't let myself be watched on my dubious adventures," Geralt countered. "I'll tell you about it sometime; however, right now, I want to get rid of the dust from the journey. Just this much: I was traveling in matters of love."

Emhyr folded his arms, raising his brows.

"Is this going to be some weird attempt to make me jealous?"

"Oh, would that work?"

"Sure, though it would be high treason."

"High treason?"

"Of course," Emhyr replied calmly, "betraying the Emperor is high treason."

"In that case," Geralt said, "it's a good thing your spies didn't get me."

He wiped away Emhyr's now slightly confused expression with another kiss. Before closing his eyes, he took one last look at his ring.

This story was probably better left a secret after all.

#writing #fanfiction #Emhyr/Geralt #Emralt #Witcher 3

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charlie-sloane-art · 5 years ago

Text

The Fair Play

Summary: After the death of your paramour Ser Caspian Hightower, you couldn’t bear to love again. But while you, the Lady Mormont, grieve, others conspire behind the scenes to set you up with your close friend Jaime Lannister. Things seem to work in their favour until you meet Caspian’s maternal uncle at his funeral: Oberyn Martell.

Tags: @bluegalaxyprime @zeldasayer @beaferni @thewaythisis @edwardsj81 @hollandhiddles @mandahoe @btsbodyguardforever @refrigerated-omelette @theshiftylibrarian @azulasgf @vikingqueen28 @justnancydrewthangs @heatherlynn25 @c-ly-g @discogrrl @no-thanks-lol @yxorebeloxy @jeahyunniespeach @coffeeandtodd @reesestwizzlers25 @the-universe-stars-and-sun @zanasharm @venus-calum @cielphantomhixe @everything-lost-and-unsaid

The Stranger sits on her altar, shrouded by the silken, lilac-colored scarf of Ser Caspian Hightower, covering her eyes with her hands. She sits among rose petals and burning candles, the air around it tinted with the aroma of cyprus bark infused into the candle. Here is where you now kneel, a private moment in a sea of unwashed and bald-faced betrayals and heart-wretches. Here you are allowed to mourn, with your back to the locked door of your rooms. Leaning backwards, your hands catch the blanket ripped from your bed frame less than a few hours passed. It still smells like him; like amber and sticky sweet fruits of the Reach. You had started to worry when your incessant paramour hadn’t shown his face in nearly a week. It wasn’t like him not to come bounding up to you every morning with a new flower to present you by the dozen, one you had never seen from the icy grips of the North. Now you know why he hadn’t shown his face. He couldn’t. It had been left rotting at the bottom of a hang-cliff, having just missed its gradual slip and slide into the sea a few feet below. A cracked skull was all that had been left of him, all that could be recognized. Whatever other traces of his previous humanity that he had taken with him on the fall to his death the seagulls and other maritime creatures had taken from him quickly. Even those deep, bottomless pools of dark ichor he had for eyes had been pecked out, leaving raw and red gashes in their wake. A cracked skull and some fractured teeth.

The maester had told you his fall was as swift as his death, a candle extinguished nearly as quickly as it had been lit. The flowers he had in hand when he fell had dried, shrivelled, and blown away. You would never see what specimen he had carried with him ever again. Whichever it had been, he had been proud to show it, surely. For that must’ve been how he had lost his step. He had always been so sure and light-footed, trained by his uncle for a few months at a time in his childhood. He fought like the Red Viper, but with a romance unparalleled.

Surely, you would never find another romance like his. Spending hours in the gardens picking wildflowers to put through his dark hair that brushed his shoulders, his fingertips digging into your thighs ever so often enough to remind you he wasn’t a lifeless doll. That smile when his gaze graced your own grew like the opening of a lily in spring. His skin was always warm, tanned and only rough around the hands where he’d grown calluses from working to be the best second son of a secondary house. To be Caspian Hightower was to be alive, and so to be dead and to be Caspian Hightower was to cease being. Not even he could change that, not with that quick wit and adorable wink could death bring back what it had stolen from him.

Someone was speaking your name. Someone was touching your shoulder. A familiar touch, you noted. Jaime Lannister had come to rely on these touches between the two of you. You’d made him soft around the edges, he thought, but didn’t have the courage to sandpaper those edges back on. He liked the softness too much. Watching you weep was another feat of softness. You were bent over at the abdomen, face in your hands, and shoulders shaking. When you came up for breath it split his heart in two. His closest friend was in such agony and there was nothing he could ever do about it. “Please,” He whispered, pulling you into his gold-plated chest. You had learned how to make yourself comfortable against such a harsh material since arriving back at King’s Landing. He used to hold you with a warm bare chest or at the very least covered in some sort of soft yet dirty cloth. You’d fallen asleep under the stars so many different times this way. “Please stop crying.” He murmured against your hairline, his green eyes fluttering closed as you turned to wrap your arms around his neck.

“It isn’t right.” You sputter against his neck.

“No,” He agreed “It isn’t fair.” The thought of saying ‘I warned you’ nagged at the back of his brain but he reigned it back in. The capital had been cruel enough to the Lady from Bear Island “You can’t stay in here all day.” Jaime leaned over and extinguished the candles, letting more smoke waft into the room “At the very least keep your window open.” He helped you up to your feet and wiped your tears away, taking advantage of the necessary pause between your sobs as you caught your breath.

“I don’t want the fresh air. It smells like shit.” You seethed at him, grabbing the blanket from the floor and stuffing your face in it, sitting on the side of your bed.

He tutted your name and knelt in front of you, careful to brush your hair behind your ears. Another familiar gesture. “It’s better than choking on smoke. Come on, at least go to the kitchens with me. Have something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course not. But still, you must eat.” Jaime’s patience had never been his virtue and you were starting to hear it in his voice.

So, you acquiesced “Fine. But I want wine. Lots of it.”

“As much as you like, Lady Mormont.” He offered his arm, a golden hand sticking out at the end of it. It occurred to him, as he walked down the halls with you, that he must look like a wizened pervert next to you: a lady half his age and freshly heartbroken leaning on his arm.

“Food for the Lady!” He called out as you both found your way to one of the many kitchens in the Red Keep.

“Whatever is on-hand will work just fine.” You added, less accustomed to being a commanding force. You remembered a time when you had to ask the kitchen staff nicely for your food or you starved at the end of the table with the other Stark ward and their bastard.

“You’re a Lady, Mormont.” Jaime reminded you under his breath as he led you to sit down at the sturdy oaken table in the middle of the grand kitchen. “Just because the Starks beat you to submission does not make your status any less.”

“I wasn’t beaten.” You mutter under your breath, taking a roll of bread and picking at it.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I said I wasn’t beaten, you prick.” You rolled your eyes and threw the bread roll at him. Jaime remarked you may be the only person in the world who could do that to him without consequence.

“So what were you then?”

“I was a ward.” Your chin pointed higher “To Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“Not a very good one.” There was a pregnant pause before he managed to make you laugh.

“No, I suppose I wasn’t a very good ward. I let you out, didn’t I?”

“I am thankful for it every day, Cubby.” Cubby, another familiar touch. Of course, your house sigil was a bear, but to denote your youth Jaime had taken up calling you a cub, his cub. Lion’s had cubs too, after all.

Food arrived, an assortment of beans in a thick stew of some sort, breads with an array of different spiced butters, and wine to wash it all down. “Perfect weeping food. Come on, eat up.” Jaime said despite you staring daggers at him for the comment.

“Do you think,” You spoke between spoonfuls of beans “that the funeral will be here or at Hightower?”

“Surely it’ll be at Hightower. Besides, it’s bad luck to have a funeral precede a wedding. Cersei wouldn’t stand for it.” Of course, Caspian had only been at King’s Landing in the first place to attend the long-awaited wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell. It was still highly anticipated. Half of the guests had yet to arrive, including Caspian’s own family from his mother’s side: the Martells of Dorne.

“Is it?” You rose a brow.

“Is it what?”

“Is it bad luck?”

Jaime shrugged “I don’t actually know but I’m sure that’ll be the party line. Besides, it’s not like there’s much of him to transport back.” Jaime said it and as soon as he did he regretted it because then he had to watch your bottom lip quiver and your eyes blink quickly “Cubby, I...I apologize. That wasn’t...That was not what you needed to hear.” He took your hand in his across the table and sighed, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb- another familiar touch.

“I might go.” You sniffled with a shrug, splitting a piece of bread in two with your hands “I might follow the procession to attend the funeral.”

“I can not follow.” Jaime spoke, his voice tinted in concern “Are you sure that is wise? You will be on your own.”

“Why won’t you follow?” Your question was cut off short by a presence in the kitchen, a tall mass of a woman with bright blonde hair and eyes of azure, glinting like her silver armor. “Brienne.” You smiled but she averted your gaze. “Brienne,” You stood, but she made her way back out of the kitchen from whence she had arrived in a clamor. You sat back down, head bowed.

“Found out you lied, did she?”

“The truth has its way of making itself known. If I really had been pregnant when I told her, my belly would be the size of a wild boar by now.”

“You can’t just tell her you lost it?”

“That would’ve been a bright idea if I had not already confessed, Jaime. Thank you.” You rolled your eyes. “At least you can pretend you weren’t in on the lie. Be as shocked as she was.”

Jaime shrugged and met your gaze with a small smile “It doesn’t matter to me that much.”

“Why would it? Brienne isn’t angry at you, is she?” You all but stuck your tongue out at him. “It’s not like I had much of a choice anyway. She was going to bring me back for execution!”

“You don’t have to convince me. I would have done the same.” Jaime finished his bowl and pushed it to the side, leaning on his elbows over the table “She’ll come around, Cubby. You shouldn’t worry yourself over her opinions.”

“She’s my friend, of course I worry about her opinion. What sort of advice is that?”

“Fine.” Jaime stood, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping his mouth and hands with it “She’ll come around.” He said, making his way to your side of the table. He leaned down, holding the back of your head, and pressed a kiss to your brow “You’re too fragile, Cubby. You break at the slightest of wind changes.”

You bit your lip and held your head higher, meeting his gaze “I do not.” A fragile little girl wouldn’t have survived a year in the wilderness of Westeros, knight present or no. “Jaime,” you caught his attention as he was leaving the kitchens “why won’t you come with me to Hightower?”

“The king needs me here.” The knight spoke, still resigned to his post with the white cloaks.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Jaime sighed and closed his eyes, shifting on his feet.

“She needs you, though.” Cersei. It was always going to be Cersei, and no other. Poor fools, the both of you.

“Yeah.” He nodded and walked out, a bit of a stormcloud brewing over his head.

#game of thrones #Oberyn Martell #Oberyn Martell fanfic #Oberyn Martell fanfiction #Oberyn Martell x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fan fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #Nikolaj Coster-Waldau #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones fanfic #Jaime Lannister #Jaime Lannister fanfiction #Jaime Lannister x reader #jaime lannister fanfic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

Text

The Crucible (part eight)

[Carrie AU; UK Tour]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word count: 10,126

TW: None, for once lol

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

-Dreamer In Disguise-

“Tell us about the night of May 28th. Of the events leading up to the incident.”

Katherine grit her teeth tightly, then exhaled a sharp breath through her nose, releasing her mounting anger. Her eyes were stinging, like fire ants were infested in the sockets and wouldn’t come out no matter how hard she scratched. Her face was still blotchy and washed out from crying, but she held herself as confidently as always, not willing to give into the crime Mulaney so desperately wanted her to be a part of.

“It was meant to be a celebration.” Katherine said strongly. Her voice held no evidence that she had been crying just a few minutes ago. “It was supposed to be the biggest night of our high school lives. The ending of one chapter and the beginning of the next. If only--” Her words caught for a moment, but she would not break again. “If only--”

“If only what?” Mulaney urged.

“If only I hadn’t told Anna to go to prom with Joan!” Katherine exploded, slamming her palms on the table and making even Madeline jump and Mulaney look at her more warily. It pleased her, and she eased back down, steadying her sharpening breath. “Then maybe nobody would have died. But just because I should have done that, doesn’t mean I regret having her go.”

Mulaney’s eyes glinted and he leaned in, hungry for a confession.

“Anna sent me a picture.” Katherine said. She took out her phone and slid it over the tabletop. The screen showed an image of Anna and Joan, grinning brightly at the camera with two other kids, George Boleyn, Anne’s younger brother, and his girlfriend, Jane Parker. “Look at how happy she is… I’ve never seen her smile like that before. So carefree and peaceful…”

She put her phone back into her pocket and shook her head. She blew out a sigh from her nose.

“That’s why I don’t wish I didn’t have Anna ask her.” She said. “She was happy for the first time in her life. Truly happy. And who am I to take that away from her?”

Her eyes began to burn again. She fingered her shredded tissue, a whirlwind of emotions storming inside her skull. She wanted to release it on this skeptical detective before her and show him that she was innocent.

“I hope it was good for her. That prom. Before things went to hell.”

------

It was like a dream. An actual perfect dream.

The prom glimmered in droplets of amber and gold, sapphire and jade, obsidian and pearl. Fragments of gods and goddesses and mythical creatures prowled across the walls in detailed murals, capturing ancient battles in their canvases forever.

The gym had been morphed into a huge, vaulted space that hummed with activity. Intricately carved Greek pillars and spires and arches dotted the space, and green and silver drapes of silk dipped from the ceiling. White fairy lights were lit up everywhere, casting soft glows across various tapestries and weavings decorating the walls and architecture. Miniature recreations of temples acted as buffets for the hundreds of partygoers, bearing chips and cookies and cakes and other treats. There was even a large bowl-like piece that was shaped like the Great Theater of Epidaurus, holding salad condiments around the wide sides and lettuce in the middle. A chocolate fountain burbled on a nearby table, the most modern-looking piece of decor in there.

The food temples encircled a giant white fake-marble tree that the origins of were unknown to mostly everyone. The trunk was carved with intricate designs that looked like they had taken hours to scratch away, and the lush shrubbery it bore was braided with silver lights, making the entire decoration a beacon of sterling radiance. Transparent ice blue globes hung from the many reaching branches, lit up with fake candles inside of their hallowed out interior. They glowed like captured moons within the party.

The stage was set up to look like the Parthenon, with white pillars along the apron and wings, coiled by ivy and flowers. Golden and iridescent fabric braided the top, glistening in the fairy lights. A hired band was set up at the center, along with the DJ booth, which played most of the music. Behind them were the thrones for prom king and queen, all shiny and poised, ready for their royals.

Music catapulted around the high, canvas-covered walls like thread winding around and around the assembled students. The sound seemed to swallow Joan up, reverberating in her bones. Partygoers whirled together on the dance floor, the colors of their suits and dresses sparkling in bright tornadoes. They stomped and jumped and clapped in time to the beat of the music, a kaleidoscope of rainbow rhythm.

However, the highlight of the ball were the sculptures. There were at least ten different elaborate carvings sparkling importantly in the party space. Twisting spirals, weaving tendrils, and delicate beads mingled with glorious bells and vast shipwrecks, towering trees and clusters of griffon feathers. Joan wanted to run her hands over all of their smooth, bubbly surfaces.

“Anna.” Joan squeezed Anna’s arm tightly. “Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna--”

“Yeah?” Anna looked down at her.

“Look.” Joan pointed to the sculpture garden with her free hand.

“Wanna go look at them?”

Joan nodded vigorously. Anna chuckled. They both began to walk over, and Joan nearly dragged Anna when she leapt forward to look at the closest sculpture, a beautiful, branching ice tree with fat orbs of sugary fruit.

“It’s so pretty…” Joan murmured, her eyes sparkling.

“No wonder it’s so cold in here,” Anna observed. “They have to keep these from melting. Damn, this must have taken forever.”

“Yeah…” Joan nodded slowly, like she was taking in the secrets of the universe. “Ooh, look at that one!”

The two of them went over to a sculpture of roaring waves with captured pieces of poetry within their depths. Joan ogled at the ice with great interest, taking the time to read every piece of paper inside. Anna patiently let her, smiling at her look of awestruck wonderment. She was glad she was distracted so she didn’t notice all the stares they were getting.

But Joan did. She had picked up on it from the moment they stepped inside. It seemed like everyone in the entire gym was staring at her like she was an alien from outer space. She did her best to ignore all of them, but she could feel their eyes burning holes into her skin.

She’s never felt so exposed before, not even in the showers last Friday.

“Why, Anna von Cleves!”

A voice cut through the music and talking and laughter rebounding throughout the gym. Joan spun around and saw two people approaching them- a brunette boy with amber eyes, wearing a black tux, a silvery grey undershirt peeking out around the collar, and a blood red rose boutonniere, and a girl she didn’t recognize. She was taller than her date and had curled dirty blonde hair and grey-green eyes. Her dress was long and flowing, ebony black like the boy’s but dappled with silver specks like stars. The straps were thin and the bodice was gathered and fitted snugly against her bust.

“George!” Anna embraced the boy tightly in one of those “man hugs” men always seem to do, rapping his back so hard it sounded a little painful.

“You look good enough to eat, honey!” George whistled, looking Anna up and down.

“Some would say I am delicious.” Anna said.

“Okay, if you two knew how many people thought you were dating, you wouldn’t be joking about it.” The girl piped up, looking amused.

“Tell Anna to stop looking so goddamn queer!” George chortled.

“You know I always gotta look a little lesbo.” Anna said.

Then, George raised his fists and Joan flinched back a little. She flexed her powers, prepared to save Anna, but then Anna raised her fists, too, and began throwing playful jabs and poked at George’s stomach and chest. George did the same, and they began circling each other like two tuxedo-clad cats standing off against each other for a dead mouse. Joan realized that it was a game of sorts.

“Don’t let it bother you,” The girl said to Joan. “If they kill each other, I’ll dance with you.”

Joan couldn’t smother the smile that came to her lips. She looked down shyly for a moment, then lifted her head again to watch George’s and Anna’s sparring match. Anna tagged George twice, then got jabbed in the waist. They kept grunting and gobbling playful threats to each other.

“They’re too silly to kill,” Joan observed, tilting her head at them. “Like dinosaurs.”

The girl laughed and smiled, and Joan felt something warm flood through her.

Was this what delight felt like?

“Joan,” Anna said. She and George had stopped fighting and she now had an arm around his shoulders. “This is my best buddy, George Boleyn! And this is his girlfriend, Jane Parker. She goes to Chamberlain.”

She didn’t go to Kingston. So maybe that’s why she was being so friendly.

Joan liked it.

“George, Jane, this is Joan.” Anna continued.

“Joan, hi,” Jane smiled down at the girl.

“Joan!” George exclaimed. “Oh shit. Hey, can I just personally apologize for all my sister’s bullshit? I wish I could say she isn’t always like that, but…” He trailed off with a dry laugh.

“Wait…” Joan began to put the pieces together. “George Boleyn… You’re Anne’s brother?”

George laughed. “Yup. The youngest of the bunch. We have an older sister in college named Mary. She turned out pretty okay.”

“...I’m sorry.”

George burst out into even louder laughter. He shook Anna’s side, wiping a tear from his eyes.

“Oh, Anna, I love this girl!” He said.

Joan blushed dark red, ducking her head. Anna grinned at her.

“She’s great, isn’t she?” She said.

There was a light touch on Joan’s shoulder, warm and soft, easy for her to shrug off if she wanted. She turned her head to see that it was Jane’s hand.

“I love your dress,” Jane said. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” Joan told her.

“Made it?” Jane gaped, looking the length of the sparkling silk gown up and down. “No shit!”

Joan blinked a few times, then echoed, “No shit.”

Jane laughed. Anna grinned even more. Joan felt like a sinful little rebel.

“You really made that?” George asked.

“Oh, now who’s queer?” Anna said, earning her a smack on the arm.

“I did.” Joan answered George. “I like to sew.”

“You have got to teach me sometime!” Anna said. “I tried before but it didn’t turn out so well. A sweater somehow became a snake warmer.”

They all laughed. Joan felt glee bubbling up inside of her the longer and longer she talked to Anna and her friends. It was so nice to be a part of conversations and share her talents with other people.

“Yeah, of course,” Joan said to Anna.

“Hey, ladies,” Said a heavily sneering voice. “And Anne’s brother.”

Maggie, Maria, and a boy came gliding over. Maggie was wearing a pure white toga with gold lace to fit the Greek theme, while the boy, tall and tired-looking, was in a maroon tux. Maria wore a bright tangerine orange dress that had no sleeves and was loaded with fake jewels to make her gown sparkle.

“Hello,” Anna said. There was a sort of warning in her voice, like she was daring the three of them to try something and see what happened.

“Joan!” Maggie exclaimed in a very forced friendly voice. “Wow. You look so...different!”

Joan struggled not to squirm. She didn’t like the way Maggie was looking at her, like she was being sized up. Jane stood tall beside her, a protector of sorts, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“Thanks,” Joan mumbled. The bedazzled gems encrusted on Maria’s dress caught her attention and she looked at her in wonder. “Wow… You’re so shiny.”

Maggie snorted. “Shiny?” She said. “Joan, what are you talking about?”

“You made The Human Tide,” Joan went on, ignoring her. She lifted one of Maria’s hands in her own, tracing the lines on her palms. “Passion and lust, envy and yearning, wrath and guilt…” She looked up at her, eyes shining. “Did you put some Sylvia Plath in there?”

“What?” Maggie said uneasily.

“I-I did,” Maria stammered in an oddly rapt way. “I didn’t think anyone would have noticed… Nobody ever understands my pieces.”

“I’m very observant,” Joan stated. “Charles Dickens and Edgar Allen Poe and lines from the Odyssey…”

“Okay, not you’re literally just saying random names.” Maggie said. She looked at the others. “What is going on?”

“Shh.” George shushed her, earning him an evil glare that he deftly dodged around Anna.

“It was very beautiful.” Joan said, releasing Maria’s hand.

“Thank you,” Maria said, wide-eyed. “That--that means a lot. Thank you.”

Joan smiled at her. She looked at Anna in a sort of glance of approval and Anna grinned back at her.

“This is so fucking weird,” Maggie hissed under her breath, the swept away into the crowd. Maria and her date lingered around.

“Oh, hey,” George suddenly said to the boy in the maroon tux. “I know you from...Trigonometry? You’re William, right?”

“Yeah,” The boy, William, nodded.

“Where’d you get your dress?” Maria asked Joan at the same time.

“She made it.” Jane said.

“I made it.”

Maria looked Joan up and down, sort of like Jane did, then said, “Shut up!”

Joan flinched slightly and bristled. “You shut up!”

Maria laughed. Anna set a hand on Joan’s shoulder to relax her, chuckling slightly.

“Really, you made that?” Maria asked.

Joan nodded. “It’s a really simple pattern. I also got the fabric really cheap.”

“Wow.” Maria said. “Give it a twirl!”

“What?”

“Twirl your dress!” Maria specified, then demonstrated, spinning in a shimmering circle of orange and silver. “Like that!”

“Oh--” Joan blinked. “Okay.” She twirled for them.

Maria gasped loudly. “LOOK AT YOUR ASS!!!”

Joan yelped and leapt backwards against Anna, eyes bulging. George burst into laughter. William leaned to the side slightly to get a look and nodded in approval.

“Now THAT’S queer!” George chortled.

“Okay, after seeing your ass, the whole ‘nun in street clothes’ thing is no longer acceptable.” Maria said to Joan.

Joan’s bewildered expression does not lessen. In fact, she looked even more confused and startled after hearing that. Jane leaned down to her and whispered, “It was a compliment.”

“You’re glowing,” Maria said. “You really do look great, Joan. So different!”

Joan blushed shyly. “Thank you.”

Someone gently took Joan’s arm. “Let’s go find our table.” Jane said, and began guiding Joan through the crowd. “Yikes. Why is everyone acting so weird around you?”

“I’m not--usually like this.” Joan said. “All nice and pretty and dressed up. I’m kinda weird…”

“I like weird.” Jane said. “It makes you special.”

Joan ducked her head to hide her bashful expression. Jane chuckled.

“Here we are!” They stop at an empty table that was coiled with ivy and violets. Three candles flickered on the tabletop. Anna and George caught up to them.

“They’re really trusting us with real candles?” George said, peering at the small flames. “Not the best decision they could have made.”

“How are you doing?” Anna asked, sitting down next to Joan. “Feeling alright? Need to go out and get some fresh air? I know parties like this can be a little much. With everyone packed together and whatnot.”

Joan’s heart fluttered in her chest. She’s never had someone be so worried about her before. Anna genuinely cared about how she was feeling.

“I’m okay,” She answered. “It’s a lot, though. I’ve never been to a place like this before. It’s amazing.”

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” Jane put in.

Joan nodded. “I hope I’m doing okay. Again, this isn’t really my crowd, you know?”

“You’re doing great.” Anna told her. “Trust me.”

“Joan?” A voice called.

George leapt to his feet instantly and dragged Jane with him to go visit with another table, saluting Anna and Joan as he careened away. The remaining duo blinked, then realized what he was fleeing from.

It was Miss Aragon.

The gym coach appeared from the crowd in glistening swathes of gold, like an angel descending from heaven. Her dark brown hair was elegantly curled, framing her makeup-covered face perfectly. The dress she wore was smooth, with no wrinkles or frills, and had short sleeves so her muscles could be revealed to wandering eyes. A black pendant hung around her strong neck, glinting like polished onyx in the light.

“Oh, Miss Aragon!” A smile came to Joan’s face the moment she saw her favorite teacher. “You look incredible!”

“Thank you.” Miss Aragon said. “You look beautiful.”

Joan ducked her head humbly. “That’s very nice of you,” She said. “I know it isn’t true, but thank you anyway.”

Miss Aragon and Anna both ruffled slightly at that.

“Don’t be modest,” Miss Aragon said. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Joan blushed. “Thank you… Really, thank you.”

“Hey, Miss Aragon!” Anna said to the coach.

“Anna.”

Joan blinked and glanced back and forth between the two of them. Why did Miss Aragon look so threatening? Why did Anna look slightly nervous? Was there something going on that she didn’t know?

“You guys want some punch?” Anna said briskly, standing up. She smoothed out her tux and straightened her flower crown. “I heard Henry and Francis spiked it.” She snickered.

“Oh no,” Joan said in a woebegone voice. “Isn’t it dangerous to drink spikes? What if someone chokes?”

“Really?” Miss Aragon said to Anna at the same time.

Anna laughed, then noticed Miss Aragon’s unamused, deadpan expression. She stopped instantly.

“Uh-- No.” She said. “I’m joking.”

Miss Aragon’s expression did not change. Anna cleared her throat, then sidled off towards the food temples. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes and sat down next to Joan.

“So,” Miss Aragon smiled at her. “Is it everything you dreamed?”

“It’s nice.” Joan said.

Miss Aragon laughed. “Just nice?”

“It’s like being on Mars,” Joan admitted. “Now that I’m here, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.”

“I remember my prom,” Miss Aragon mused. Joan tipped her head in interest. “I went with the captain of the basketball team. She was six foot seven inches tall!” They both laughed. “So, I went out and bought a pair of these Stiletto heels so the kiss goodnight would be less awkward. Anyway, we went in her pickup truck, which of course broke down, so we had to walk the last half mile to the prom.”

“Oh no!” Joan gasped.

“By the time we finally got there, my feet were so blistered that all I could do was just sit there. I was sure I ruined the night, I couldn’t dance, but you know what? We just sat there and talked for hours. And it turned out to be one of the best nights of my entire life.”

“Wow,” Joan said. “I’m so happy for you, Miss Aragon! I’m sorry you couldn’t dance, though.”

“Could have been worse,” Miss Aragon shrugged. “There was this one girl whose boyfriend brought a toy gun so he could pose like James Bond in the picture.”

“Oh,” Joan giggled, despite not knowing who James Bond was. “He sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” Miss Aragon nodded. “He was arrested.”

Joan stopped giggling instantly. Miss Aragon chuckled.

“But it’s okay.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s just a dance. Not that special.”

Joan nodded. Her gaze began to slide back to the party around them, to the mass of writhing limbs that was the dance floor. Mostly everyone was dancing or talking, but she spotted a few people staring over at her and whispering to each other. Some glanced away when she noticed, pretending they weren’t gossiping about her, while others didn’t even try to make it seem like they weren’t talking behind her back. She turned her head towards them fully, unable to look away, and felt fear and shame bubbling back up inside of her.

(Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right Mama was right)

Miss Aragon smothered those thoughts for her.

“Are you excited for summer?” Her coach asked. Joan turned her head back to her, successfully pulling her attention away. “Then you’ll be in Year 12. One grade closer until graduation!”

“I don’t know,” Joan admitted. “Graduation makes me nervous. I don’t even know what I want to study.”

“That’s understandable,” Miss Aragon said, nodding. “I couldn’t wait to graduate.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” Miss Aragon said. “I hated high school.”

“Oh, god.” Joan leaned in. “I do, too. I know you’re not supposed to say that, but I do. I hate it. I hate it so much.”

“Preach it to the choir.” Miss Aragon said. “No offense.”

Joan smiled slightly. Miss Aragon took one of her hands and stroked the knuckles with her thumb.

“Just remember,” She said. “Nothing that has happened will matter after graduation. Nothing. Except, you know, things like good grades and studying. You take what you want and leave the rest behind. You don’t even have to see any of these people again if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” Miss Aragon said. “Oh, but I highly recommend the ten year reunion.”

“Why?” Joan asked eagerly.

“Everybody’s different. People will say, ‘Oh my god, so-and-so hasn’t changed a bit,’ but they’re LYING.” Miss Aragon told her, a devilish smirk twitching on her lips. “Everybody changes. And not always for the better.” She scanned the crowd, her smirk curving fully. She leaned into Joan, subtly nodding towards a trio of girls in insanely expensive dresses. “Like, those girls over there? Right now, they’re at their peak. They will never be more pretty or more popular, and in ten years, they’ll be fat.” She snickered. “And the fat girls, some of them will be thin, and the cute boys will be bald. The jocks will have beer bellies-- it’s fantastic!”

Joan dissolved into giggles and had to cover her mouth.

“And the ones who were miserable?”

Joan stopped giggling. She watched Miss Aragon nervously. Her hand was squeezed comfortingly.

“They turn out just fine.”

A grin came to Joan’s lips and she didn’t try to stamp it down.

(i’m okay i’ll be okay)

“They do,” Miss Aragon said, squeezing Joan’s hand again. “So enjoy yourself, and try not to take it too seriously. Everything is going to be okay.”

Joan vaulted into Miss Aragon’s arms, unable to hold herself back. Miss Aragon chuckled and hugged her back, cupping the back of her head to her chest with one hand and rubbing up and down her spine with the other.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Miss Aragon told her.

“Woah,” A voice said. “I better not catch you hugging any other girls like that!”

Joan and Miss Aragon parted as Anna set two cups on the table, grinning.

“Have a good talk?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded.

“We did.” Miss Aragon said. “And on that note- Anna. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

“Sure.” Anna said, sounding slightly guarded.

Miss Aragon smiled at Joan and kissed the top of her head before standing up. She took Anna by the arm and guided her away, far out of earshot from Joan.

“Having fun?” Miss Aragon asked. Her voice wasn’t nearly as loud as the blasting music, but the biting words still cut smoothly through all the noise.

“Yeah,” Anna nodded. “Yeah, I am. I think Joan is having fun, too. She’s making a lot of progress!” She looked over her shoulder for a moment, seeing that Joan was pulled over to one of the desert tables by Jane and George. George put some whipped cream on a brownie, then handed it to Joan, who observed the canister seriously for a moment and then promptly sprayed herself in the face. She dropped the can with an alarmed screech and tottered backwards as laughter erupted around her. She was laughing, too.

“That’s good,” Miss Aragon said, smiling fondly at Joan as she was trying to wipe her face off. “I just thought you should know,” She turned her smile to Anna, “that if you show Joan anything less than the time of her life, I will personally see to it that you are expelled.”

Anna gaped at her, mouth hanging open slightly. All the color drained from her face. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously, leaning in.

“Do you understand the words that just came out of my mouth?”

Anna swallowed hard and nodded. Miss Aragon smiled again.

“Very good.” The coach said, pleased. “Now go get back to her.” She caught Anna’s arm when she tried to walk away. “Oh, and wait for a slow song to dance with her to. She’ll look stupid dancing to anything fast.”

Anna nodded again and was released. She scampered back over to the table, glancing over her shoulder at the coach as she went.

“Everything okay?” Joan asked as Anna sat back down.

“Yeah!” Anna answered. “Yeah, don’t worry.” She looked up as a slower song by Billie Eilish began to play. “You wanna dance?”

“No.” Joan said instantly.

“Oh--” Anna blinked. “Alright.”

“Sorry…” Joan hunched her shoulders in. “Maybe later. But not right now, please? I still wanna get settled in completely.”

“Yeah, of course,” Anna said. “We can just talk, alright?”

“I like that idea.”

“So…” Anna shifted in her seat slightly. She looked Joan over, then plunged into a question she really hoped wouldn’t upset her date (and make her have to retake Year 13 when Miss Aragon found out), “If I may...how’d you get those scars on your hands?”

“Ah--” Joan coiled her scarred hands into her cowl, looking embarrassed. “Um-- It’s really stupid…”

“No, no, no--” Anna caught her before she could tuck herself back into the shell she was just starting to come out of. “Hey, why don’t I tell you one of my dumb scar stories?”

Joan looked up at her in interest.

“Okay, so--” Anna looked around like she was making sure no one was around, despite there being dozens of people all around them. “I have this little hole in my lower stomach because when I was eight, I put a pencil in my pants and it stabbed me when I went to pee.”

Joan instantly burst out into laughter. It was such a pleasant sound to hear coming out of her, slightly high pitched and adorable.

“Really?” She sputtered out.

“I swear to god!” Anna said, laughing with her. “You can’t really see it anymore, but you can feel the indent of where the hole is. I also have this bad boy,” She rolled her left pant leg up enough to reveal a giant, faded burn scar on her inner thigh. Joan ogled it.

“What happened?” The younger girl gaped.

“When I was 13, me, my younger sister, and my cousin were riding around in a golf cart. My cousin was driving, and he ended up turning in a cul-de-sac way too fast, flipping the entire golf cart on my side. I hit the asphalt and, since I was sitting next to my cousin in the front, that whole loaf fell onto me, breaking his fall and letting him come out completely unscathed. I, however, got this burn.”

“Wow…” Joan murmured. “Were you scared?”

“At the time, oh yeah,” Anna said. “My sister wasn’t moving at all. I thought she was dead. So we got a helicopter air lift to the hospital. That was pretty neat!”

“You aren’t...ashamed of it?” Joan asked softly. “Your scar?”

“I used to be,” Anna admitted. “But it’s a part of me, you know? It’ll only look worse if I try to get rid of it. Besides, it looks pretty cool, and it's not like anyone sees it that often anyway. It’s always too cold to wear shorts.”

Joan nodded. She unconsciously traced one of the webs of scar tissue lacing across her left hand. She looked up at Anna with courage in her eyes.

“I stuck my hands in fire.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Joan nodded. “I found a picture of my father and my Mama threw it into the fire. I tried to grab it and burned myself pretty badly in the process.” She splayed her hands open, revealing the entire spider web of burns to Anna’s eyes. They were white than her already-porcelain skin, like someone had tried to paint over them. “They used to look really bad. All red and peeling a lot. But they’re gotten better, I think.” She rubbed her rough palms together.

“Wow.” Anna said. “That’s pretty metal.”

Joan looked at her strangely. “They’re not metal? This is skin.” She looked down at the scars.

Anna laughed.

“So… Did you know him?”

“Hm?” Joan looked back up at her.

“Your father.” Anna clarified. “If I may. Did you know him?”

Joan shook her head. “No. He left when I was just a baby.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I have his eyes.”

“Oh,” Anna said. “I mean, I’m glad the rumors aren’t true. Not that him leaving is a good thing, it absolutely isn’t, but it’s better than people saying--”

“My Mama killed him?” Joan finished. She looked up at Anna thoughtfully. “I don’t think she did. But you still never know…” She shook her head and rubbed her palms against her dress. “Can we--go outside?”

“Need some air?” Anna asked.

“Yeah,” Beads of sweat were welling up on the crown of Joan’s head. “It’s getting kinda hot in here.”

“Come on.”

The two of them slipped out of the prom through the door that fed into the rest of the school. It was much cooler in that hallway and much quieter, with only dim storm lights turned on overhead. They walked a few paces down until they got to the entrance hall. They sat down on the huge main staircase.

“Are you okay?” Anna asked, gently touching Joan’s arm. There was worry in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Joan answered, nodding. “Trust me. I just need to get away from all that noise for a moment.”

“Gotcha.” Anna said. “It was getting pretty wild in there.”

Joan nodded again. She was staring forward, looking out the huge windows all along the entrance way of the school. The sky was completely black now, even with the layer of clouds, and sheets of drizzling rain could be seen sparkling in the outside lights.

“So…” Anna said, hoping to ease back into some small talk. “What do you want to study in college? I know you’re only in Year 11, but I’m curious.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Joan shrugged. “Is sewing an option?”

Anna laughed slightly. “I’m not sure.”

“What about you?”

“Something with agriculture,” Anna told her. “I kinda wanna be a game warden. I like animals. A park ranger would be cool, too. I could get an entire tower all to myself!”

“That sounds scary.” Joan said. “Being all alone in a tower in the middle of the woods...”

“Don’t put it like that! You’ll crush my dreams!” Anna teased. “I actually thought about being a singer at one point, too. Can you believe that?” She snorted and shook her head.

“A singer?” Joan echoed. “Can you sing?”

“I like to think I can.”

“Can you show me?”

Anna blinked, slightly shy. “Right now?”

Joan nodded eagerly.

“What would I sing?”

“Your poem!”

“What?”

“Your poem, silly.” Joan said again. “It’s basically a song, you know. Just give it a rhythm!”

“Oh.” Anna blinked. “Right. Okay.” She cleared her throat meaningfully. “Let’s see…

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings

A river's just a sheet of ice

Till winter turns to spring,”

Her voice came out husky and smooth, like molten caramel. Each word flicked languidly off of her tongue, dripping easily into open ears. Joan watched her in amazement and great interest and then, shockingly, began to sing the next few stanzas.

“And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky,”

Joan’s voice was soft and slightly raspy, but higher pitched and easy on the ears. It was light and airy and pronounced each word with silky gentleness. Anna was so startled from hearing it that she faltered for a moment. Joan giggled at her bewildered expression.

“What?” She asked.

“You sing beautifully.” Anna blurted.

Joan blushed. “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind. Your poem was just so amazing that I sorta kinda memorized it… Sorry.”

Anna blinked at her in amazement. Nobody had ever been so interested in any of her writing pieces before, not even Katherine.

“No, no it’s okay!” She said quickly. “That’s so cool. That you like it that much. It means a lot to me.”

Joan smiled. “I’m glad.” She said. “Now, what was the next part?”

“Umm… Oh!” Anna cleared her throat again, then began singing once more,

“Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more than meets the eye,”

“Like, things I dream,”

“And things I feel,”

“There’s more to me,”

“Than I reveal,” The harmony they pulled off together was like nothing Anna had ever heard before. Her deep alto and Joan’s light soprano mixed together beautifully, sounding like liquid sugar in their ears.

“And cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize,” Joan sang, a smile twitching on her lips.

“I’m a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise…”

They finished in another chilling harmony. Joan beamed at Anna. Anna smiled back at her brightly.

“That...was incredible.” Anna breathed.

“I know!” Joan exclaimed gleefully. “We sounded SO GOOD! I didn’t even know I could sing like that!”

Anna had never seen her so energetic before. Even Joan never felt this way before, so happy and at ease. She must have come out of her shell a lot more than she thought.

“You’re great, Joan.” Anna said. “We should really hang out more often! Are you free tomorrow by any chance? Katherine, George, Jane, and I were going to have an after party at my house. We have a pool!”

Joan looked absolutely thrilled to be invited. “I would love to go.” She said, eyes glowing. “Do you really mean it, Anna?”

“Of course!” Anna said. “We were also going to watch a few movies, too. Have you ever seen Star Wars?”

“No.”

Anna gaped at her in shock. “Really? You’ve never seen a single Star Wars movie before?”

“We don’t have a TV at my house.” Joan admitted. “What is Star Wars? Is it, like, World War I in outer space?”

Anna burst into laughter. Joan blinked at her in a delighted way.

“Now I REALLY have to show you!” Anna said, wiping an eye. “It’s a date!”

“Yeah,” Joan said excitedly.

They hung out on the main staircase for a little bit longer, discussing plans for the next day and Anna giving Joan permission to wear one of her bathing suits (since she didn’t have her own), then ventured back into the prom.

“I still can’t get over how pretty it is,” Joan said as they walked past a sculpture shaped like temple ruins. “It’s like a dream. A perfect dream.”

The plants were one her favorite parts by far. All around her there were glorious purple exploding star-shaped flowers, delicate pale orange orchids, clusters of petals the color of bananas, odd little orbs in ruby red and sapphire blue. Hanging moss and trailing vines and reaching willow were like curtain doorways to new parts of the prom in all shades of emerald green. And then, there was the tree glowing brightly among all the greenery.

It was so much more beautiful up close. Joan could see all the little details in the pure white trunk, which must have taken forever to get just right. The globes hanging from the branches were the same icy blue as her eyes, she realized, and she blinked at them in wonder. Was the color really that beautiful?

Looking closer, she noticed something in the hollow of the closest globe. A rolled up piece of paper! In fact, several of the globes had one or more, folded or rolled up to sit inside. There was also a small brown table next to the tree with pens and pieces of paper for anyone who wanted to write something. George was currently doing just that, looking very dutiful as he did so, while Jane waited by his side. She noticed Joan and Anna and perked up.

“There you guys are!” She said. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Sorry,” Anna said. “We just went out to get some air. What are you guys doing?”

“Making wishes,” Jane told her. “That’s what the tree is about. You’re supposed to write a wish or desire on a piece of paper and then put it into one of the fruit things.”

“So the decoration committee can laugh at you when they read all of them after prom,” George added as he was writing. “So don’t mark your name. And hope your handwriting doesn’t get recognized.”

“Wanna write one?” Jane asked.

Anna nodded, then nudged Joan questioningly.

“Sure,” Joan said.

They went over to the table George was hunched over at and each took a pen and piece of paper. Anna thought for just a moment, then began writing something, while Joan hesitated a little bit longer.

She had so many wishes that she thought about all the time. Being adopted into a nicer family, Mama loving her like a normal mother would, having friends, finding her father, getting a kitten… There were so many things to put down, and so little room, so, after a moment of deciding, she wrote, “I wish to always be happy like I am now.”

She rolled her paper up like a scroll and tucked it into an empty globe. Jane did the same, then Anna, and then, finally, George.

“So, what did you guys wish for?” George asked as they walked back over to their table. “Because I wished for something practical. Money.”

“I should have known,” Jane chuckled. “I wished for an easy, hopefully painless transition into college after summer is over.”

“Eternal love,” Anna said.

“A pet cat,” Joan lied, feeling too sappy to say her actual one.

“That’s a good wish, that’s a good wish,” George nodded in approval.

The four of them began to chat for several minutes, discussing summer plans and swapping funny stories. Joan didn’t have much to share, seeing as her life wasn’t exactly very easy to bring up in a lighthearted conversation, but Anna, Jane, and George each made sure she was included. She was perfectly happy with just listening quietly, but actually getting to partake in the talk felt like an honor she didn’t deserve.

“What about you, Joan?” George had been asking. “Got any embarrassing secrets?”

Joan thought for a moment, sifting out several way-too-dark things to share.

“I can’t swim,” She finally admitted.

“Woah, really?” George said. “I thought everyone learned how to swim.”

“Where? In school?” Anna snorted. She turned her head to Joan, eyebrows furrowed. “I guess that makes tomorrow’s pool party a little unfortunate, huh?”

“I still wanna come.” Joan said quickly, afraid the opportunity will be taken from her. “I agreed regardless, didn’t I? And I’ll be okay. I just had a bad experience with water one time, that’s all. It’s been years, anyway.”

(the tepid water and her wrinkled fingertips marked the end of her bubble bath. Mama just checked on her, but her patience had doubled since then. she called for Mama to help her out of the tub, but Mama did not respond. she tried twice more but she heard no returning calls. she decided that she did not really need Mama’s help; she was five and a big girl.

the slippery acrylic tub and her misplaced feet resulted in her arm roughly slicing on the sharp faucet. a metallic and unknown smell engulfed her. all she saw was red, just like candy apples. so much red falling from her arm and coloring the bathwater. unexplainable fear and pain overcame her. she started to cry and within seconds, Mama was standing at the door.

she had always been beautiful, but the flour smeared on her face and the stress lines present on her features did not do much for her. the sheer horror on her expression scared her further and transformed weak cries into wailing screams. Mama appeared white as a sheet as they stared at each other, motionless. the tub water was noticeably darker when she started to feel a painful sensation shooting down her arm. in a flash, Mama was carrying her onto the sink counter, swaddling her in a towel that turned crimson red almost instantly. Mama was wearing her special apron and bore a grim look on her face.

Mama left for just a moment, then returned with something gleaming.

there was no warning given before Mama started putting a needle and thread through her skin. it reminded her of sewing a dress together. she can only feel a light tugging, but it did not quiet her cries. Mama finally cut the thread after what felt like forever. the cuddles she got after that were like angel hugs. she thought she should hurt herself more often.)

“What happened?” George asked with great interest. Jane lightly whacked his arm.

“Don’t be pushy.” She chided him, then looked at Joan. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, hun.”

The pet name sent flickers of pink flames glowing on Joan’s ears. Her heart fluttered wildly inside of her chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings for the first time.

“Well--”

(the shower. the blood in the water like when she was five. her blood. girls all around her laughing, throwing things, humiliating her.)

“I was twelve, and I snuck away from home to this Christian summer camp because I wanted to make some friends,” She said. “That, of course, went south, and all the kids participated in a game where they would dunk me in the pool until I started drowning.”

Silence filled the table. Joan instantly felt guilty and lowered her head.

“Sorry…” She mumbled. “I-I shouldn’t have…”

“I’m so sorry, Joan.” Jane looked sympathetic and concerned. “That sounds awful.”

“Those kids are awful.” George corrected her. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Me too.” Anna nodded. She gently took one of Joan’s hands and squeezed it. “That’ll never happen ever again, I promise.”

Joan smiled at her. “Thank you.” She wanted to dive into Anna’s honey brown eyes and catch the reflected flames in there. She wanted to tell her and George and Jane how much this meant to her.

Suddenly, Anna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, but kept her other hand holding Joan’s.

“Oh, it’s Kat!” She said to the other three. “She’s asking how the night is going.”

“Amazing!” George declared. “Really amazing! Isn’t this prom the GREATEST?”

Jane tipped her head at him and smiled, and Joan realized that THAT was what it looked like when someone was in love.

“It is amazing,” Jane agreed.

“Yeah,” Joan nodded.

“I’m gonna send a picture to her,” Anna said. “Come on, guys! Everyone get in!”

They all huddled together, even Joan, who got snugly sandwiched between Anna and Jane. Anna snapped a picture and then sent it to Katherine, along with a quick text telling her how things were going. By the time she finished, the music had changed into a slow, soothing song, and couples began to group together on the dance floor, including Jane and George.

“Oh--” Anna looked up with a smile. “It’s a slow song, Joan.”

Joan froze, her eyes widening. She began shaking her head, but Anna was already standing up and gently taking her hands. She pulled them back quickly.

“No, Anna, I can't--” Joan stammered nervously. She glanced at all the couples dancing, noting how smoothly they moved, and couldn’t possibly imagine herself swaying among them. She would be much too clumsy. “I’ve never danced before.”

“That’s okay,” Anna said dismissively.

“No, no, Anna--” Joan’s fear was mounting. This was where everything went wrong, this was where things got messed up, this was where her perfect night fell apart--

“Hey.” Anna knelt down in front of her. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just one little dance, and all we do is hold each other and sway. Just like everyone else is doing.”

Joan glanced at the dancers again. It didn’t look too hard…

“B-but what if--”

“Shh,” Anna carefully adjusted Joan’s flower crown so it would be straight again. “Everything is alright, Joan. Nothing bad will happen. Remember: if anyone laughs, I kick their ass.”

That got a tiny smile from Joan. Anna smiled back and lifted Joan to her feet, guiding her onto the dance floor.

“Okay, so you’re going to grab my hand like this. See?” Their right hands clasped together in the air. “And then set the other one on my shoulder.” Joan’s left hand rested on Anna’s shoulder, while Anna’s gently cupped her waist. “And then we sway…” They swayed. “See? It’s easy. You’re a natural!”

Joan smiled shyly up at Anna. She glanced around them, and realized mainly everyone was too absorbed in their partners to notice she was dancing with them.

“And...if you wanna get fancy with it…” Anna smirked. “We can do the Dancing With The Stars move.”

Joan had no idea what that was, but it still sent lightning bolts of anxiety shooting through her.

“N-no, Anna, no, I can’t--”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Anna hushed her gently. “Just trust me.” And then she stepped back slightly and spun around slowly so her arm would be draped across her torso and Joan would be pressed against her chest. Joan looked up at her with a mix between an amazed and deer-in-headlights look. “See? Easy! Wasn’t that fun?”

Joan nodded wordlessly, lost in her wonder. Her icy blue eyes were sparkling like starlight twinkling on fresh snow. Anna gently uncoiled her and they got back into position.

“You’re a good learner.” Anna told her partner.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered, ducking her head. “Can I spin you?”

Anna laughed. “Sure.”

Joan spun Anna, but ended up twisting their arms quite painfully before the full rotation could be complete, so they had to break away and come back together with unknotted muscles. They both laughed.

“Good first try!” Anna said.

Joan giggled.

A serene silence fell between the two of them as the music went on. They swayed together like a white and pink boat drifting on the quiet waves of the ocean at night. The rhythm they rocked to was conducted by years worth of longing and desire from Joan’s part, and now it was all blooming before her. Everything she’s ever wanted was happening. Friends, a fun night away from home, people who actually give a damn about her… She could feel tears of joy pricking in her eyes and she quickly blinked them back.

“Do you really have to be home by eleven?”

Anna’s voice, smooth and caring and not a bit cruel, cut though the singing playing from the large speakers set up. Joan looked up at her. It felt like she had just woken up from a nap, that the music had lulled her into sleep and she slipped away into a blissful dream. But it wasn’t a dream. This was real. The bodies rocking around her and the beautiful decorations and her perfect dress and Anna’s hand in her own--it was all real.

“Yes,” Joan said, processing what Anna had asked her. She frowned. “I’m sorry. I promised.”

“No, that’s okay!” Anna said quickly. “It’s just that after prom, a few of us were going to go to--”

“OKAY.” Joan said, pulling away and hugging her hands in close.

Anna blinked. “Um. What?”

“No, no, if you want to go off with your friends, I understand. I-I-I don’t want to spoil anything.” Joan sputtered out, feeling her heart sink back into the black abyss it had finally climbed out of for the first time in fifteen years.

“What I was going to say was,” Anna said, taking Joan’s hands again and pulling her back against her. She began to sway again. “If you’d like to, after prom, we could stop at the Blazer for awhile.”

Joan blinked. She suddenly felt embarrassed about how she had jumped to conclusions so easily, that just goes to show how much she truly trusted Anna, but Anna didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never been there.” She said, unsurprisingly. She didn’t go to many places.

“They have the BEST fries!” Anna stated, grinning.

“I’d love to.” Joan said.

“Then it’s decided!”

A smile was starting to come to Joan’s lips, one that felt like it would stay there for the entire night no matter how hard she tried to smother it. After years of vicious bullying and constant teasing and unfriendly looks, she suddenly found herself wrapped in attention and warmth. Anna or Jane or George didn’t hate her or were afraid of her like Mama had said at all. More than that, they seemed to actually like her. They were talking to her and being nice to her and making her laugh, and none of it seemed forced in even the slightest way. They were making her forget, for all these hours, how miserable she had been and how miserable she truly was. The pain was numbed.

For once in her life, for the first time in fifteen years, she truly felt happy.

“Thank you.” Joan whispered, breaking another few peaceful seconds of silence between them.

“What for?” Anna asked, tilting her head slightly.

“For everything.” Joan clarified. “For taking me to prom. For the limo. For being so nice to me.” The tears were coming back, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to blink them back this time. “I know you don’t like me like that, and I know it’s only one night, but…” She looked up at Anna, her eyes sparkling. “I’m glad I got to be your date tonight.”

“Me too.” Anna said, taking Joan by surprise.

“R-really?”

For a moment, Anna frowned at her disbelief, but then she shook her head and chuckled slightly.

“Of course,” She said. “I’m having the best time with you.”

“B-but what about Katherine--” Joan stammered, her voice catching in her throat.

“Katherine isn’t here right now,” Anna said, wiping away the tear that rolled down Joan’s left cheek. “Tonight, you’re all that matters to me. I’m going to make sure this is the best night of your life. And the nights and days and everything else after that. You aren’t alone anymore, Joan.”

That’s what broke Joan.

The girl whimpered, bottom lip quivering, and a cascade of sparkling silver tears began pouring down her face. Anna cupped the back of her head and brought it to press into the crook of her neck for security. Joan cried steadily, thanking her over and over again through squeaking sobs.

“How about this?” Anna said when Joan began to quiet down and was able to pull her head back. Her makeup was slightly smeared, but Anna still thought she looked amazing. “We dance for a little longer, see what poor fools get elected as prom king and queen, and then head to the Blazers for a bite to eat. And I’ll have you home by eleven.” She smiled warmly. “How does that sound to you?”

Joan nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joan squeaked. “Maybe eleven-thirty…”

“Whatever you want.”

“Eleven-thirty.”

Anna smiled even more. “Wonderful.”

They fell into blissful silence as the song began to wrap up. Joan’s eyes were starting to sting, but she didn’t care. She tucked her head underneath Anna’s chin and rested her head on her chest, relaxing. Anna swayed them both gently, acting as a protective barrier that Joan never wanted to be away from.

The song soon ended and the two of them parted. George and Jane bounded over to them, with George grinning his head off and tapping his feet energetically. Jane rolled her eyes at him fondly, then smiled at Joan and Anna.

“I saw you guys dancing,” She said. “You were really good for your first time! This one,” She jerked her head at George, “tripped on MY FEET and dragged me to the ground when he fell the first time we danced together.”

Anna and Joan laughed. George was not fazed by his girlfriend spilling embarrassing things about him. In fact, he seemed a little proud.

“It’s going to be funny to tell our kids one day!” He said.

“Oh, you,” Jane rolled her eyes again and poked his nose. “Oh, Joan. Your makeup smeared.”

Joan blinked and lifted a hand to her face. “Oh dear,” She murmured in dismay.

“Not to worry!” Jane waved a hand. “I have some makeup in my car. I can help you fix it.”

“Really?” Joan said. “Thank you.”

“No problem, lovely!” Jane said. She gently took Joan by the arm. “Anna, I’m going to borrow your girl for a moment. George, don’t do anything dumb.”

“Yes sir!” George beamed. When Jane and Joan whisked through the crowd and out into the parking lot, he sighed lovingly, “I love her so much…”

Anna laughed and patted his back. “I can tell!”

Meanwhile, in Jane Parker’s blue Hummer, Jane was dutifully applying fresh makeup onto Joan’s youthful face and thinking back to some of the things she overheard Anne Boleyn saying about her when she was over at the Boleyn residence to hang out with George. The young girl before her didn’t look ugly at all, despite what Anne had said, nor did she look like a freak. Her eyes may be a strange color, but they were the most beautiful shade of blue Jane had ever seen before.

Jane suspected that, deep down, Joan actually enjoyed the kind of pampering she was giving her in the car, despite the distrust in her eyes as Jane drew near with a mascara wand. Not that she needed anything more, but still. Little Miss Five Minute Skincare had obviously missed out on a lot of the girly stuff that had saturated Jane’s existence since birth.

It made sense, though. From the rumors she heard and from everything Anne griped about, she didn’t have a normal upbringing like most people should have. Something much darker lurked beneath those silly stories.

Something terrible has happened to this girl.

And, judging by the “hideous” hand-made flannels Joan apparently wore quite often to school, her mother hadn't been much of a fashion mentor either.

Once Jane had achieved the smoky eye effect she wanted, she applied some gloss to Joan’s lips. The girl had quite an amazing tone to her mouth. Pity it was drooped in a sullen pout at that moment.

Jane leaned back to admire her handwork.

“Well?” She adjusted the rear view mirror down so Joan could see her reflection. “How does it look?”

“Pretty…” Joan murmured. “But it feels like I have dirt on my face.” She pouted adorably again.

Jane laughed. “Makeup has that effect, unfortunately.” She said. “But you look lovely. Now, come on, let’s get back inside.”

They journeyed back into the prom, chatting idly as they went. Joan was smiling again, but her hands kept twitching like she wanted to rub her eyes. This was probably the first time she’s ever worn mascara, Jane realized.

“Wow,” Anna murmured breathlessly when Jane and Joan got back to their table. Even George looked a little starstruck at the newer, better makeup applied to Joan’s face.

“Do I look alright?” Joan asked shyly.

“Better than alright!” George said.

“You look beautiful.” Anna added. “Gorgeous.”

Joan blushed bright red. “I’m glad.” She said. “Because this black stuff is making my eyes sticky. And itchy.”

“That’s mascara, sweetheart.” Jane corrected her.

“It’s AWFUL.” Joan said. “Do girls wearing makeup always have to feel this? How do they do that? I’d rather pluck all my eyelashes out!”

Jane, Anna, and George laugh. After a moment, Joan joined them, giggling.

“I’m going to go grab a drink,” Anna said, parting from the group and going over to the bufett temples.

“Excuse me?”

Anna spun around and found herself facing a young woman, maybe a Year 12 or Year 13, with tassels of red hair and striking smoky grey eyes. Her dress was scarlet, accenting her hair perfectly.

“Sorry,” She said, smiling slightly, “I just had to ask before I made a fool of myself. Are you two a couple?” She nodded in Joan’s direction.

“What? No!” Anna barked. The laugh came out more harshly-sounding than she meant, making her instantly guilty. But she was right- she wouldn’t date Joan. She was too young for one, and for another, she was already with Katherine.

The redhead was devouring Joan as the girl giggled over something George was saying, effortlessly adorable.

“No, we’re not a couple,” Anna found herself repeating as the redhead purred her appreciation. “But Joan” Anna couldn't resist. She really wanted Joan to open up to new people. “…Joan’s a total stud.”

God, that felt a lot weirder to say than she expected. She did NOT like that.

“Really?” The redhead’s gaze shot to Anna’s face and then back to her object of attraction. “Joan?” She teased the name with her tongue. “God, she's cute. Do you think I have a chance?”

Anna shrugged and sipped her drink to stifle a giggle. To be honest, she didn’t actually know. She had never ever seen Joan with anyone romantically before, making her believe she was a raging asexual or mother-superior-in-training.

The reality was that Joan was left tongue-tied by male and female nudity alike. Two years into high school gym, and Anne would say she STILL averted her eyes when changing out with other girls in the locker room. She was just hopelessly shy when it came to all matters sex-related.

“She may play hard-to-get.” Anna finally said.

“Ah,” The redhead nodded slowly. She chuckled. “Thank you.” Then, like that, she glided back off into the mass of writhing limbs that was the prom. Anna respectfully waited ten seconds after she left to snort her laughter.

“You’ve got some fans, Jo,” She said, walking back over her friends.

“What?” Joan blinked up at her innocently.

“I think someone has a crush on you.”

Joan’s face flamed red instantly. She stammered on a reply, but all her words came out squeaking.

“O-oh.” She choked. “Nice?”

Anna chuckled and patted her head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it was nothing. And you can always say no.”

Joan nodded. A second later, the music switched to an upbeat Lady Gaga song. George began to bound excitedly.

“Oh, I LOVE this song!!” He yelled. “Let’s dance!”

Anna glanced at Joan, who appeared to be a little more confident at dancing. They all moved to an emptier spot on the dance floor and began to dance.

“Come on, Joan!” Jane encouraged, noticing that Joan was just bobbing her head to the beat of the song. “Shake that bony white ass!”

Joan was flabbergasted at that, but was motivated to get a little more into the song. Anna, Jane, and George all clapped and cheered for her as she did so.

Unbeknownst to them, Maggie watched on with Bessie at her side. Bessie’s amethyst purple dress went with her bleached white hair surprisingly well, but Maggie wasn’t sure if that was intentional or not, seeing as Bessie’s head was filled with quite a few moths. Anthony was somewhere in the crowd near the food temples, lost in the cluster of black tuxedos so much like his own, fetching drinks like Maggie had asked.

“God, just look at them.” Maggie sneered in disgust, watching Joan dance like an idiot and Anna, Anne’s younger brother, and Anne’s younger brother’s girlfriend actually make it seem like they liked her. “Couldn’t you just vomit?”

“I can’t believe Anne is missing this.” Bessie said, wide-eyed. Maggie definitely saw flickers of longing and jealousy in her dark brown eyes; she wasn’t exactly very subtle with her big gay crush on Anna von Cleves.

“Trust me, doll,” Maggie said dismissively. She shot a smirk at the stage. “She isn’t missing a thing.”

22 notes · View notes

jawnjendes · 6 years ago

Text

i could use something good | shawn mendes

university au, shawn x goth gf

AN: this is their First Date and its nearly 4k words and i gave myself emotions so and a bitch is TIREDT so TAKE THIS BLEASE n let me know what u think pls i need it

!!!!also!!!! should i give this bitch a name? should the goth gf be called something other than goth gf??? let me know if u have any name suggestions!

!!!ANOTHER also!!!! i made a playlist!!! its a fuck ton of whiplash! i spent 3 days on it!! enjoy!!

masterlist | series playlist

“If I didn’t know you,” said Stella, who was at my bedroom doorway, “I wouldn’t think you were going on a date with a guy like Shawn Mendes.”

She wasn’t wrong. I was decked out in a long black button up, ripped black jeans, and black Vans. However, I had the decency to keep my makeup colorful. Who doesn’t love bright red eyeshadow, thick wings, and a nude lip? Besides, all black clothing and bright eyeshadow was all I had for the moment. These days, I barely found time for washing my clothes or makeup brushes. My glamorous office job and homework was getting quite demanding. I was surprised I found time to see Shawn on the weekend.

I say that as if I wasn’t putting off psych homework. The last time I did this was for some fuckboy who didn’t care about my grades… or me at all. How did I know it was going to be different this time? Usually, I can tell when someone wants to hook up and leave it at that, but I have spoken to Shawn as many times as I can count on one hand, and I couldn’t detect any of that. Must be a good actor. Maybe he’s done this before.

“Maybe I’ve lost my mind,” I said, more to myself than to Stella.

She heard and responded anyway. “Losing your mind is staying in bed for a whole twenty four hours. You’re getting back into the swing of things, so even if this date goes bad, the interaction is good for you. This is normal for our age.”

Again, she’s not wrong. My antidepressant prescription was finally refilled, so the fog in my head was starting to clear up. It was just way too easy to slip back into isolation. My self destructive tendencies were just being done out of habit at this point.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Stella asked.

I blew out a sigh and thought about it as I applied lip gloss over my nude lipstick. I was hardly the type to go on an actual date. “Shit, I don’t know. Before college, I think.”

“So you were seventeen?”

“No! I started college late. I was probably eighteen, almost nineteen.”

“That’s still about three years.”

“Well, chances are neither of us are really taking this thing seriously,” I said, putting my lip products into my purse. “He didn’t ask me on a date. He just wanted to hang out.”

Stella clicked her tongue and folded her arms. “So you’re just gonna go get laid?”

“No. I’m past that part of life.”

“So it’s a date.”

“No.”

She was more confused than I was by the time Shawn had texted me. He asked to come up to the dorm, so I gave him the floor and number. According to Stella, I was either definitely getting laid or my man friend was a real gentlemen. I wasn’t sure which one I was more nervous about.

“Should I answer the door?” Stella asked, bouncing on her feet. “So I can tell him that you’re almost ready, and then you can make a dramatic entrance, and he’ll be like ‘you look… wow.’ Y’know the way guys do!” She said all of that very fast.

“And then I say ‘you don’t look too bad yourself,’” I said, amused. “What universe is this?”

We both laughed, but then we were cut off by a knock on the door. Stella looked at my with a grin so wide her dimples came out. I tried to match her enthusiasm.

“I’ll get it,” she said, turning on her heel towards the front door.

“No, I will!” I snapped, suddenly frantic. I pushed past her to answer the door.

“No, you have to make your dramatic entrance!”

“I don’t have to!”

We bickered as we got closer to the door. Mind you, it was five steps from my bedroom. I pretty much slapped Stella’s hand out of the way as she reached for the doorknob, and I knocked her out of the way with my hip. At the last second, she stood behind the door as I opened it.

I smiled wide at Shawn, who had been waiting for thirty seconds too long. He was in a white button up, black skinny jeans, and black boots. Tall and handsome as ever. It’s always the handsome ones that’ll get you. What are the chances I was falling into another fuckboy trap?

He returned the smile, probably acting like he didn’t hear me tackle my roommate. “Hey, you ready?”

I nodded like a lovesick puppy. This was quite unlike me, if you don’t think about the times I was easily swayed by various guys who gave zero fucks. Oh god, am I easy?

Stella was hopping like a bunny from behind the door. I shot her one last glance before stepping out of the dorm and into the hallway.

No one was around to see or feel the awkward air of me walking next to Shawn. It was obvious that we were… into each other? But it was still, for lack of a better phrase, the first date and I was unbelievably aware of that. Just by appearance alone, Shawn and I didn’t look like people who would typically hang out with each other.

Shawn walked with a type of confidence I could only dream to have. People noticed him, people wanted to be friends with him. There was just something about him that draws you in, and it drew in my broody ass.

I walked with my shoulders hunched, my hood up, and my head down. I tried not to be noticed, and I was pretty sure it worked. Strangers in class who tried to talk to me were always caught off guard by my black lipstick and dark eyeliner, like it’s never been done before. I was a little unapproachable, and I didn’t intend for it to be that way.

“So before we go,” Shawn said, “you got any allergies or dietary restrictions I should know about? ‘Cause we’re gonna go eat.”

Okay… doesn’t seem like a hook up situation. I was also surprised he had the decency to ask. The only reason why my face felt hot was because I actually had an answer.

“You ready? ‘Cause it’s a decent sized list,” I told him. Then, I named all the restaurants I couldn’t eat at because I’ve gotten sick from the food. “Also, I can’t have anything spicy, or anything that’s super processed and dripping with grease.”

I didn’t love explaining this to people, but it was necessary. I prefer not being sick, especially on a date. It’s a long story.

“Alright, coffee it is,” Shawn concluded.

We ended up going to the place he and Camila performed at a couple weeks ago. It was much less crowded in broad daylight. Shawn ordered some passion fruit whatever, and I stuck with jasmine tea. I insisted on paying for myself, but nah, I was invited here or whatever.

“Where do you wanna sit?” Shawn asked when we had our drinks.

I wordlessly went for the table at the far corner of the shop. The place was quite small, so we weren’t exactly away from everyone else. From here, I could see the entrance, and the string of customers that would come and go. The bathrooms were also right next to where we sat, so I could make an impromptu escape if needed.

“Away from the sun, eh?” Shawn joked. “As expected.”

If this date was going to consist of goth jokes I swear-

“So how’s your day goin’?” I asked, keeping a smile on my face.

“The usual. I worked, went to class.”

I nodded, playing with my steaming to-go cup. “You said you work at a flower shop, right? What’s that like?”

“Oh, I love it.” Shawn sat up in his seat. “I love the different types of flowers we got. There’s one, a chaenomeles, or a flowering quince - beautiful, one of my favorites.”

The way he talked about being surrounded by pretty plants four times a week was entrancing. He was really into it. He went into detail about arranging flowers down to the vase they went in. He knew his stuff and he loved every bit of it. Damn it, he’s passionate. I like passion in a guy. Damn it.

“So you do the arrangements and you deliver them?” I asked. Listen, I wanted to know more about him and for him to know less about me.

“Pretty much. Although, I’ve been delivering to a lot of funerals lately. That’s probably more your neck of the woods, right?” He smirked.

I scoffed. “Oh yeah, the girl who wears all black must love attending funerals, huh?” I sat back and sipped my tea. “It’s quite the opposite actually, even though I’ll admit, I look like I love death and dying.”

Shawn tilted his head, curious. “Is that not what being a goth is?”

“I wouldn’t know ‘cause I’m not a goth.” A smile almost grew on my face, but I stayed neutral.

Silence fell between us, and I looked down at my cup. I could feel Shawn’s brown eyes on me, and one glance at his face showed me a charming, boyish smile. He knew I knew something, and he was quietly coaxing it out of me.

And it worked.

“Okay, fine!” I said, scooting forward and placing my elbows on the table. “Goths are merely aware of how short and fragile human life is. We-” I cleared my throat, “They acknowledge and accept the fact that we’re all going to mcfreaking die one day.”

Shawn nodded. “Okay, I see. So they’re not afraid of dying?”

“Depends on the person,” I replied. “They’re incredibly aware of the dark side of things - obviously. But they know of the light too. Light and dark, life and death. But anyone can have that mindset, really. So I would say being goth is finding beauty in the dark.”

“So what makes you not one of them?”

I thought for a moment. Yeah, I was fascinated by things that deviated the mainstream. I thought about death more than I’d like to admit. I wore skulls and black lace and dark makeup, but that shouldn’t be a reason to put me in a box. I knew I wasn’t going to stay like this forever. I just never labeled myself as what others labeled me as.

“I forgot where the beauty was,” I finally answered.

That made Shawn smile. He finally got a sliver of what I just might come with. He didn’t say anything either, he just sank into the moment, and it felt like he wanted me to be there with him.

My eyes went around the coffee shop, trying to find a way to change the topic. More people were starting to enter the vicinity. It was getting less chill and more hectic. Then I looked at the table top. We both had our hands around our cups. I found Shawn’s bird tattoo on his hand, something that made him just a little more attractive.

“So what does your tattoo mean?” I asked.

His response had me floored. “Which one? I’ve got five of them.”

Damn it.

“I guess all of them,” I replied, a smile creeping up on my face.

All five of his tattoos were special and deep. Each one gave me more reasons to not ghost him after this was over. Shawn really loved this city. He really loved his family. He loved his mother so much.

“You really love music, huh?” I mused, looking at the beautiful guitar tattoo on his forearm.

“More than anything,” he replied.

“More than flowers?”

“A hundred percent. Playing music is all I want to do for the rest of my life.”

Tell me why that made me genuinely smile. Tell me why that was so goddamn attractive.

I asked him what his favorite songs were to play, and he had a list of sweet love songs I had listened to at a different point in time. He loved writing songs about love, and he revealed he hasn’t been in a proper serious relationship before. Neither had I. Shawn was a year younger than me, so his reasoning was from just that, being young.

Part of me wished that was also my reason.

After talking to Shawn for over an hour, we fell into a silence much less awkward than when we were walking out of my dorm building. I was stuck wondering how a soft, sunshine-y boy like him could find interest in a stone cold storm like me. I wondered, but I didn’t want to tap out just yet.

Once the coffee shop was too crowded, we went out to the street. This part of downtown was still unfamiliar, but I didn’t mind this time. I was talking to a cute boy. A soft boy. This wasn’t a normal occurrence for me.

“What are you thinking about?” Shawn asked me as we strolled down the street.

I was staring at the ground. I really didn’t know what to say. We spent the last hour sharing our thoughts and whatnot, why does he need more? I merely shrugged.

“Alright, well I have another question,” he said. “What made you agree to this date?”

Oh fuck it is date.

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But after spending some time with you, I can say… you’re… charming? And, kind?” I chuckled. “I don’t really talk about things like that so explicitly.”

He looked at me for a second. “Okay, well I do. I asked Stella about you after I saw you at my set. All I’ve wanted to do is to get to know you. You’re just really cool, and really mysterious. It’s kinda drawing me in.”

This had to be a trap somehow. Shawn couldn’t possibly have genuine interest in me. He was all softness and joy, and I was all stormy and bitter. This couldn’t be real.

“I… awesome,” I mumbled, trying to hide my giddiness. Yeah, I was in disbelief, but how often is a guy like that so upfront about his feelings? That is, if he wasn’t lying about any of this.

“You haven’t told me enough about you, honey,” he said.

I glanced at him, placing my hands in my sweater pockets. So he noticed my questioning. “Well, you kinda got it figured out. I’m a girl who likes wearing black.”

“That’s it, eh? Come on, don’t be shy.”

Shyness wasn’t what I would have called it.

“What do you wanna know?” I asked sheepishly.

“Hmm… something crazy that’s happened to you.”

Honestly, it’s just as bad as the word, “everything.” But at least I had something to think about. The craziest thing I did was move countries at the age of nineteen, but it was only crazy in the eyes of my relatives, which was a lot of people. Does that count?

“I got my wisdom teeth out when I was seventeen,” I said casually. “That’s about as crazy as I get. When I was hopped up on drugs, I was telling my mom a tale of a chosen hero who on adventures all over the kingdom.”

Shawn chuckled. “Really?”

“Yeah. My mom recorded it, because she got really into it. She thought I was gonna be the next JK Rowling or something. But when I watched it back, I realized I was just talking about the Legend of Zelda series.”

“Insane. You’re insane.”

We walked a lap around the block, talking about nothing, and then we got back to Shawn’s car. I felt a thrill in my bones I couldn’t explain. I was trying to keep a cheesy grin off my face. I had to keep up my composed exterior.

“So have you been having fun?” Shawn asked when we were inside the vehicle.

“Definitely,” I replied simply.

He looked at me with a smile, and then he was pressing buttons on the radio. “Connect your phone. I wanna hear what you’re listening to.”

I quickly opened the Spotify app and changed the song I was last listening to. Why? It was one of Shawn’s songs. It was too soon for him to know that I was growing fond of his music. Instead, I chose a fairly popular Halsey song, and it played on the speakers.

“Oh, nice,” Shawn said, and he was singing along in seconds.

It got less nice as I listened to the lyrics. This song reminded me of a harder time. That’s probably why I didn’t listen to it for so long.

“You know I’m the one who put you up there

I don’t know why”

Cool way to finish a first date.

I stared out the window and stayed quiet, letting this dumb song swallow me whole. Flashbacks hit me before I could try to stop them. Backseat of my car. Weeks of silence. Feelings like you’re underwater. It made my insides go cold.

“You really get into it, eh?” Shawn asked halfway through the song.

The sound of his voice startled me, but I didn’t jump. I blinked a few times, coming back to present day. I’m in another man’s car. We’re in a different time period.

“Yeah,” I said. “A good song can alter my mood so quickly, I wonder if it’s normal.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. But I also think it has to do with the memories associated with the song.”

Once Halsey finished her song, a slow rock tune played. It was far less triggering, and it had a mile long title.

“She’s the Prettiest Girl at the Party and She Can Prove It with a Solid Right Hook,” I read off my phone. “That’s a banger.”

The following conversation about music helped ground me again. I knew Shawn was passionate about it, but music is the real love of his life. He was looking at the road as he drove, but he had a sparkle in his eyes that shone through the dark. Sometimes he was the flower delivery guy and the singer at a wedding. Sometimes he was the guy who played guitar at a house party.

Shawn was that guy.

We listened to several more of my favorite songs, most of which were symphonic metal. Some of them were lyrically dark, the type that compelled people to do that head tilt and ask “are you okay?” in that voice. Shawn just asked if I wanted to rethink not calling myself a goth, to which I played a Little Mix song to put that shit to rest.

“Oh, Woman Like Me?” he said, surprised. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“There are many sides of me, my dear,” I told him. We were getting closer to campus, which meant the date was almost over. “You’ve only seen one.”

“Hopefully you’ll let me see more.” He pulled into the parking lot and stopped in an empty space in front of the main building. “So what level am I on now?”

I was shocked he remembered that. But if we’re being real here…

“Two.”

He chuckled. “Two, eh?”

“Yup.”

He hummed. He was looking at me again, and now I was looking at him. His eyes were still sparkling in that stupid cute way, and it was getting me weak.

“This might be the first time you’ve made direct eye contact with me,” he said softly.

“It’s because you’re cute and it confuses me,” I admitted, maintaining the eye contact. There, boy, another little sliver of my feelings.

That stupid charming smile appeared on Shawn’s stupid cute face. He quirked his eyebrows once and licked his lips. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his mouth… This is bad.

“Well, you’re beautiful and it doesn’t confuse me at all,” he said, his voice getting low. You know, that voice that tells you something is going to happen. “In fact, it’s made things more clear.”

I felt myself getting even weaker. My heart was pounding, not just in my chest, but in my ears and my legs and the bottom of my feet. My stomach was turning over in a way that I wasn’t used to. My body was gravitating towards Shawn before my brain could process it.

“I really like your eyeshadow,” he said softly, doing the same motion.

“Thanks,” I breathed out.

Our faces were an inch apart. I got an intoxicating whiff of his cologne. I was teetering on the edge of just diving headfirst, but I had to be strong.

“I don’t kiss on the first date.”

We stayed in that position for a second. Shawn was the one to lean back first.

“Okay, that’s okay. I understand,” he said. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

It was easy to tell my rejection got to him. I didn’t want to leave knowing he was disappointed. I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t like him. I had been more aloof than I’d like to admit on this entire date, so maybe he was getting the wrong idea.

“So we should go on another date,” I told him, touching his arm, “and maybe I’ll kiss you then.” I smiled hopefully.

That was what he needed to perk up again. “Yeah, definitely. I’m looking forward to it.”

I nodded. “Okay. Alright. I’ll text you, or something. I’m gonna awkwardly leave now.”

He chuckled. “Alright. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

I had my purse and my phone on me, and I placed my hand on the door handle. But I stayed in that position for a minute. It was long enough to be weird. Was I really going to leave knowing that we really wanted to kiss each other?

“Ah, fuck it,” I said with a shrug, and then I was turning back to Shawn.

I would have hoisted myself over the center console if he didn’t meet me halfway. Shawn leaned in as quickly as I did, and his lips were pressing onto mine. It was much softer than I had anticipated, and I only realized it when Shawn placed a hand on the side of my face, gently cupping my chin.

My hand went around his wrist as we gently broke apart. It was only a split second of breathing time before I pulled him in for another. I softly took his bottom lip into my mouth, resisting the urge to just pounce on him completely.

Shawn moved his hand to the back of my neck, trying to pull me closer. Tongues and teeth began to clash, and it only made me grab onto his clean button up. Would it be a bad idea to spend some time in the backseat? We were practically leaning over the center console, moving back and forth like one was going to top the other.

But again… I had to be strong.

We broke apart, panting. My fingers stroked his cheek, and his hand found its way into my hair. I felt his quick breathing on my upper lip, and it only made me want to kiss him again.

“I have to go,” I told him.

But he leaned in again, kissing me once more. “Alright.”

“Alright,” I repeated breathlessly. Then I kissed him again, only for both of us to laugh softly.

“So what level am I at now?” Shawn asked with a cheeky grin.

I returned the smile. “Two and a half.”

“Oh, really? I’d say I’m at level four.”

“Nope. Two and a half. But it’s like I said, we’ll go on another date and see what happens.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #fourtristattoosspring #shawn mendes smut #shawn x goth gf #deadass tho im so fuckin tiredt #blease validate me i need i

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serenity-writes · 6 years ago

Text

A Whispered Wish (IkeRev Fenrir - NSFW)

Fenrir never thought he had a chance.

“I’m in love with her.”

They’re simple words, set adrift into an evening air that whisks them away with a decisive breeze, leaving them only in memories. They are words spoken definitively despite their dimmed volume, the tone carrying not a single trace of hesitation or doubt. They are words that form a declaration worthy of a king.

“Finally admitted it to yourself, huh?” Fenrir can always rely on his trademark grin in times like these. It punctuates his words as he drops his weight onto the balcony railing to the familiar creaking of aged wood. He’s not surprised; his friend can’t hide anything from him. Fenrir tilts his head back, sparing himself from following Ray’s gaze into the ballroom, alive with melody and dance.

“Yeah. Took me a while.”

Fenrir’s eyes are locked to the waning moon, but all he can see in the pale light is a bolt of brilliant blue. “What are you goin’ to do?” Even though he’s the one asking, he has a sudden urge to plunge his fingers into his ears like a child.

“I don’t know yet.” Ray just barely finishes his sentence when the rotunda doors burst open, swinging eagerly on their greased hinges. Music and chatter spill forth to irrevocably stain the intimacy, like wine from a tipped glass upon a white carpet.

“Here you two are!”

A few hurried steps bring her close enough to grab a wrist from each of them. “Come dance! Come dance!” She beckons with light, but persistent tugs.

Fenrir is too focused on the way her dress floats, undeniably envious of the delicate silk that clings to her, closer than he’s ever been. He misses a meeting with her sapphire eyes; he looks up only when she settles upon Ray, misreading that she’s been there all along. Of course.

“I need a partner!” Her smile is ever optimistic, a killer when paired with her champagne-induced rosy cheeks. “So, who’s it going to be?”

“Ray.” Fenrir casually shakes his arm free, chilled by the wind that sweeps in to replace her. “You two go! Have fun.”

“You sure?” Ray asks, but the glimmer in his eyes says the opposite.

“Totally sure!”

She frowns, but not enough. “Okay, but you’re next, Fenrir!”

What can he say, except, “of course!”

When the couple joins the crowd on the floor, Fenrir’s waving hand drops with his grin. He watches Ray wrap a familiar arm around her waist, supporting her while keeping her close. He sees her hand link with Ray’s, so entwined that every inch of their palms touch. It leaves no space for anyone, anything else. Ray leans in, whispering something into her ear that has her dissolving into laughter, as animated as she is breathless while they circle in clumsy harmony.

She makes a beautiful queen.

Fenrir exhales, his breath but wisps in the darkness, and decides he needs another drink.

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

Fenrir does his best to avoid her for the next few weeks.

He knows it’s a silly thing to do, that they’re not children caught in an endless game of hide and seek, but he’s playing anyway. When he’s not training, he’s out and about, lost in the crowd of friends that always manage to distract him for a little while. He thinks she won’t notice, not when she’s being courted by the King of the Black Army. Fenrir’s seen firsthand how women coo over Ray, inviting him to share their bed for glory and reputation. It’s customary for Ray to turn all of them down, and now Fenrir knows why.

They’ve always had similar taste.

BANG! BANG! BANG, BANG, BANG!

Five shots. Five seconds. It’s all he wants. All he needs. His mind focused solely on hitting the mark, everything else becomes white noise.

In speedy succession, Fenrir makes hollow shells of his opponents: metal cans that topple over onto the ground, new holes burned into the sides. He allows himself an easy grin of victory as he sprints over to pick up his targets. “Aw, damn,” he says, realizing these ones have become too tattered to be called cans any longer. He drops them into the pile of a few dozen more, listening to them clank with some satisfaction.

“Fenrir, are you hungry?”

Her voice cuts across the field of crisp green, and he stops. He stumbles for a second, hands unsure what to do with themselves. He ends up holstering his guns, hastily plastering on a grin before turning. “Hey!” He jogs to the bench she stands in front of and drops down, his muscles thankful for the relief. He wipes a sweaty brow with a hand. “What are you doin’ here?”

She’s holding a plate with what appears to be meatloaf. With a free hand, she gestures to the sun, well on its way to melting into the horizon. “You missed dinner, silly!”

“Oh, shit, sorry! I didn’t realize how late it was.”

To his relief, she accepts that explanation. “Here. I tried to keep it warm.” She hands him the plate and a fork. “Don’t worry, I made sure there were no tomatoes!” She laughs, probably thinking about the face he makes when accidentally tasting those red demons.

His heart thumps at that eye-crinkling smile. He returns it. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

As he cuts into the loaf with the side of the fork, silence falls over them. But it’s a comfortable blanket, one worn and slightly frayed, settling over them as easily as it always has. Simple. Effortless.

“It’s really nice out, huh.” She’s staring out across the field, the sunset reflected in her eyes.

“Yeah! It’s a perfect day for goin’ out.”

“Central Quarter has been gorgeous these past few days. Oh! I forgot to tell you, I went the other day to pick up some cakes from the new bakery, and they started having those seasonal cakes, you know, the ones with the adorable icing flowers that I like. They let me try one they were just testing, and oooh, the lemon frosting was absolutely delicious. I really wish I could have brought some back for everyone.” She takes a deep breath to regain some oxygen, then her eyes widen. “Oops, sorry! I rambled all over you. Fenrir, you have to stop me when I do that, you know.”

“I don’t mind,” he mumbles, half to himself. “I like listening to you talk.” He chooses to keep the endearing dulcet of her tone to himself.

She makes a miniscule noise of surprise, suddenly shy as her cheeks color with the unexpected compliment said in a tone that is so unlike the Fenrir she’s come to know. This ushers in the quiet once more, and they settle for listening to the leaves of the nearby trees scatter, the last vestiges of fall drawn away by a persistent wind.

“So, what’ve ya got planned for the weekend?”

“Tea! With Blanc. He promised to show me a new blend that he thinks I’ll like. And I think Seth wanted to take me shopping. By then I’ll be exhausted, so I think I’ll just want to curl up with a good book in my bed.”

Fenrir grins, imagining her snuggled between the sheets, cozy and warm as she dives into those novels she so loves. “That sounds fun.”

“What about you? Are you going out too?”

“I think I’m going to have another great weekend of training! Oliver’s hooking me up with some new guns, and I’m gonna test those babies out on some more cans. They’ll never see me coming!” He pumps his fist into the air, but there’s no real gusto behind the action. “And I think—”

“Hey Fenrir, are you okay?”

Her fingers play with the hem of her skirt as she holds a breath, awaiting answer.

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I just… are you okay?”

To his credit, he manages to keep his cool. “What do you mean? I’m fine!” He sounds utterly convincing. Too much so, even.

“…Are you sure?”

“Of course! I’m totally fine, like always.” Fenrir hardly tastes the meat he just swallowed. His tongue feels heavy, sinking into his mouth. “Why do you ask?”

“I… I don’t know!” She’s struggling alongside him, trying to articulate her thoughts but it feels like grasping for floating letters. “Maybe I’m being crazy or paranoid. But… lately, somehow, you feel different. Distant, I guess. You’re always training.” Her fingers press into each other. “I-I know you always train hard, but it’s… way more than usual. And you’re always missing lunch and dinner even though you love eating. More than anyone in the world.”

He gives an awkward laugh, but lets the sound die when she doesn’t join him with her own. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. Really.”

“I don’t have to worry, but I will. Because you’re… important. To me, Fenrir.”

As important as Ray? Whatever rational part is left in him holds back the pettiness before it can slip from his lips. At least until he turns to respond, and her face is close. So close he can count the constellations of light freckles swept across her nose. His jaw falls slightly ajar on its own, whatever sound he was about to make crumbling like ash, blown away by the next breeze.

He wants to kiss her.

He wants to touch, graze, crush his mouth to hers, trace the curve of her lips with the tip of his frantic tongue, carve the forbidden taste of her into his very skull until breath itself is shorn from them, the only oxygen they need found in the other’s arms. He’s vaguely aware his hands are trembling as they shift from the plate, destination unclear as they move up, up, up—

“Hey!”

Their heads whip back toward the sound of the familiar noise. Fenrir’s arms drop. From far away, Ray is crossing the field, imposing cape draped over his shoulders. “There you are! Oh, Fenrir, you’re here too.” Broad strides bring Ray quickly to the bench. He smiles at the pair. “Hey partner, we missed you at dinner.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Lost track of time.”

“As long as you ate something. Don’t work too hard, okay?” Then Ray shifts his attention to her, his grin softening just a smidge around the edges. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yup!”

Fenrir fidgets with the end of his fork. “Where are ya heading?”

“Just to Central Quarter. I want to try one of the new drinks at the pub! They say it’s made with seasonal fruit. I can’t wait!” She’s practically beaming, the tension in the air now fully shattered.

“Come on then, or I’ll leave you behind.” Ray teases, turning to make good on that promise, heading towards the path that leads to the world beyond the barracks.

She’s about to join the king, but turns back to Fenrir one last time. “Hey.” A friendly hand on his lap beckons his eyes back to hers. He finds her warm. Much too inviting. “You can tell me anything. I’ll always be here for you.” She stands, leaving him one last smile before she runs off after her date for the evening.

“Yeah.” Fenrir swallows the last mouthful of now-cold meatloaf. “I know.”

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

All those endless days of harsh training and keeping himself too busy pay off a few weeks later, in the form of a vicious sickness. It forces Fenrir to finally rest in the comfort of his bed, the covers drawn up tightly around his neck. He is a ghost, drifting in-between states of consciousness as he fights off whatever bug has made his body its home.

A crack of light invades the darkness when his door opens, silently pushed by a careful hand. She steps with her toes, not wanting to wake the patient she’s come to see. Her lips droop into a frown when she sees how he trembles, shivering with the chills despite the heat that swirls around him. Taking the cool cloth from his forehead, she’s about to replace it with the fresh one she’s brought when his eyes flutter.

“You’re here?” His voice cracks, throat too dry to articulate anything better.

“Yes, I’m here.” She speaks in whispers, turning to hand him a glass of water. She finds him trying to sit up on his own, failing when his shaking limbs betray him. “Ah, Fenrir, be careful! Let me help you.”

Eventually, they get him upright, though he’s slightly gasping for breath by the end of it. She flicks on a dim lamp. Then she sets to wiping his forehead of sweat, careful to soak up every last drop before she hands him a tiny pill and his cup. “Drink.”

Fenrir swallows the medication, but dribbles water over his pajamas when his fingers struggle for purchase on the ceramic. “Shit,” he mutters, watching as she removes the cup and wipes down his top. “I’m so uncool right now.”

“Is that really what you’re worried about, Fenrir?” But she can’t help a slight laugh that always seems to appear when he’s around.

“Of course. Gotta play my part. I’m the coolest Ace around.” He tries to wink, but only succeeds in making both of his eyelids twitch. “Did that work?”

Another giggle. “Nope.”

“Ah… I’ll try again in a few days.” Fenrir brushes hair from his eyes, feeling somewhat stronger already. “Hey. Thanks for coming and checkin’ on me.”

“Of course. Now, you should go back to sleep.” She turns, sorting away the various things on the bedside table.

Don’t go. “No, no, I’m fine. Improving, really. I’ve been real bored, so having someone to talk to could really help.” He flashes what he hopes is his most convincing smile, though it currently looks a smidge lopsided. “Don’t you wanna help me heal?”

“…You’re really feeling better?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay! Then I’ll be right back.”

There’s a clacking of heels, and then she’s disappeared through the door. Part of Fenrir fears she won’t come back, but he decides to give her more credit than that. True to her word, she returns a few minutes later, with a bowl that sends steam into the stale air.

“If you’re feeling better, then you can eat! Here. Luka made some porridge, specially for you. It’s very light on the seasoning, so it won’t upset your stomach.”

Fenrir pulls a face.

“Can’t I have meat or something? Or at least more salt?”

“Nooope.” She sets a tray on his lap, adjusting until it’s as steady as it can be. “Eat up.”

Fenrir has one last card to play. “Only if you feed me.” He figures that even if he says anything weird, he can just blame it on the meds.

“Uh-huh.” But she acquiesces. She pulls the bowl into her own lap, scooping a spoonful of the thick porridge. In true nurse fashion, she blows on the surface, trying to cool it down. She doesn’t notice Fenrir’s easy smile as he watches her, working so intently. “Open up.”

Fenrir is more than happy to play along, opening his mouth wide to receive. As he eats, she begins to talk, filling the space with music. He swallows bite after bite, barely registering flavor as he listens. Not that there’s much to taste in the first place.

“Luka’s been experimenting with some new recipes lately. I can’t wait for you to get better to try them! There’s the one with the marinated lamb, then the one with the cream sauce, and my favorite, an absolutely addicting fried cutlet.”

“And you only brought me porridge?!”

She only gives a light shrug in the face of Fenrir’s mock outrage. “To give you incentive to heal up and never get sick again. Anyway, Seth’s been leading the training in your absence, and all the soldiers are working hard! But I can tell, they can’t wait for you to get back.”

A drop of gruel lingers at the corner of his mouth. Before he can wipe it away, she does it for him with her thumb, brushing past his lips, almost as lightly as a kiss. He coughs, and she instantly looks down to get the next spoonful.

“Sirius is busy as always. I wish he’d take a break before he also works himself into sickness, but he keeps telling me he’s perfectly fine.” She’s scraping the bottom of the bowl now, catching the last dregs of the meal. “And Ray… Ray’s doing fine too. But he misses his partner a lot.”

“I miss him too.” The spoon slips between Fenrir’s lips and he swallows the final spoonful. He’s truly regained some strength as the medicine fully enters his bloodstream. He meets her eyes, and she can see that a flicker of their former flame has reignited. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“No problem.” She sets the bowl down. “I… miss you too, you know. It’s too quiet around here without you. So, I guess I have an ulterior motive for nursing you back to health.” They share a chuckle, joined by the noise of soldiers chatting as they walk past the door, still ajar.

Without warning, she shifts closer, and Fenrir’s heart hops. Her lips are moving, but Fenrir can’t quite hear what she’s saying. She just keeps coming towards him, leaning over the bedspread, and Fenrir isn’t sure if he’s hallucinating this entirely, or if she’s somehow read his mind for his most hidden wish.

His reaction time is still delayed; he doesn’t close his eyes before her forehead meets his.

“W-What…”

“I need to check your fever, silly,” she whispers, so close he can feel her breath on his skin.

“How is it?”

“Still running hot.”

Their eyes are captured by each other, holding the stare as electricity seems to crackle in the room, the tension coming to a boiling point.

The bed creaks as she starts to push back, and Fenrir’s hands move on their own. He’s not thinking as he cups the back of her head. He meets no resistance when he pulls so slightly and crosses the rest of the distance himself, and finally, finally, his feverish lips meet hers.

She is every bit as soft as he’s imagined.

He’s breathing in her in lieu of air. His nose presses lightly against hers, effortlessly intimate. His addled brain can only spur him on, deepening the kiss as the flame in his very soul threatens to burst. This. This is what he’s been dreaming of for so damn long. And it was worth every second of the wait.

That is, until she shoves him back.

“F-Fenrir!”

“I—”

He can offer no excuse or explanation. He can only watch as she throws the bowl and cutlery back onto the tray. She gets to her feet in such a hurry that everything rattles. “I… I’m sorry. I’ll be back to check on you later, I just—Sorry!” And with that, she flees, leaving the door open an inch in her wake.

Fenrir stares at the sliver of light. He feels a sudden weakness, left by waning adrenaline, and slides himself back into a sleeping position. He’s finding it hard to focus, his blinks forcing his eyes shut for longer with each subsequent one. Her scent still lingers in the air, delightful torture. He hopes he doesn’t forget her lips in the morning.

It isn’t long until he slips into a dreamless sleep. And when she checks on him again, he doesn’t wake.

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

A week later, Fenrir’s back in action. His trigger-happy fingers are just as nimble as ever, and his beaming smile is slipped into place to all his soldiers. He’s welcomed back to the squad with applause and cheers. He’s rejoined them at the dinner table, but he sits across from Luka instead, citing it to be the best place to get the freshly made food. She doesn’t say anything, and settles in to her usual spot, beside Ray.

Fenrir tries his best to act normal. He really does. Seeing them together is really just a natural thing that he needs to get used to. Now, sitting in middle of this roaring pub with the rest of his buddies, it feels so banal that Fenrir actually believes what he keeps telling himself.

“Hey partner, your drink’s empty!” Ray claps Fenrir on the back, jolting the latter from his thoughts. “What’re you thinking so hard about?”

“Just what kinda bullets I’m gonna get Oliver to make next!” The two men share an easy grin.

“And here I thought it was how to rid our world of tomatoes forever,” Ray says with a laugh.

“Damn, I really wish. But somehow, I think the lil’ things will pop up again, just to terrorize me.” Fenrir grimaces, but soon he’s back to smiles.

“Another drink?” The waitress that pops by is a bit too friendly, with her batting eyes and waning smile. Fenrir finds himself thinking that she’s attractive. Maybe that’s what he needs. An attractive distraction.

“Yeah, sure!”

When it comes, Fenrir wastes no time in taking a huge swig of the alcohol, letting it run through his system to cause a pleasant numbness throughout. He doesn’t realize the foam’s clinging to the top of his lip, causing a rather prominent mustache. When he catches her eye, she giggles at it.

“Have you been growing that long?” She points to her own lip.

When he touches his hand to where she’s indicated, he’s surprised to come away with foam. “Yeah, for years! Do ya like it?” He pouts, showing it off.

“Of course!” She’s a bit tipsy in her own right, all giggles as she thrives in the bustle around her.

“Gosh, Fenrir, maybe you should actually grow one~ ☆” Seth turns and fiddles with the foam to change it into a thin, curly mustache. He leans back to admire his work, absently running his fingers through his ponytail. “I’ll even style it for you.”

“Ugh, please don’t.” Luka rolls his eyes.

Ray returns with a round of fries for the table. The drunken army members cheer for their king before they dive in, grabbing at the golden potatoes. Fenrir’s one of them. He’s stuffing his face with the sticks, but he happens to look up to see Ray whisper something into her ear. And then, he watches her slide out of her seat.

Meeting Fenrir’s gaze, Ray gives him a thumbs-up as he moves to join her. He’s all smiles, looking happier than Fenrir’s seen him in some time.

Be happy for your friends.

Fenrir shoots him some finger guns, then stuffs more fries in his mouth.

When he’s back in his room, spread starfish over his bed, his ears are still ringing. The pub will do that to you. Sometimes, that’s just what you need. He came back just a handful of minutes ago with the rest of the guys; the pair that disappeared halfway through never returned to the table.

“Ray’s probably confessed by now,” Fenrir mumbles to himself. “I hope they’re happy.” He rolls over, and the clock tells him it’s almost one in the morning. “I should sleep…” His sobering mind tells him to change, but he’s too lazy. So, he settles for stripping off his uniform jacket, then his top, and he’s just about to tug his pants off when there’s a subtle knock on the door.

At first, he thinks it a figment of his imagination. But the knock comes again, quietly, politely insistent. Fenrir doesn’t hesitate to jog over in his state of undress.

He yanks the door open, and there she is.

Damn it, is his first thought. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Now, he only wants more.

Clasped hands drop as her jaw does. “Fenrir!” She’s obviously flustered, not expecting to be faced with his bare body. “Umm, sorry, am I interrupting?”

Fenrir looks down and realizes. “Oh, right, sorry. No, it’s fine. I was just getting ready for bed. That’s why,” he gestures to his chest, “this.” He steps aside, to clear a path for her. “Come in, come in.”

She does, ultimately deciding to take a seat on his bed as his chair is currently occupied by a pile of clothes. Typical. It makes her smile. “You don’t need to change, it’s alright. I won’t be long.”

“Okay. So, what can I do for ya?” The bed creaks with his weight as he plops down next to her.

She’s changed into a nightdress and thrown a robe over it for modesty. Absently, she kneads the soft strap of the robe, parting and unparting her lips before she finally speaks. “Ray told me he loved me tonight.”

“Oh.”

The noise slips past Fenrir’s lips on its own. He’d been in the process of sobering up, but now he’s fully there, brain whirring to process what she’s just said.

“Wha… What did you say to him?” Say no. Tell me you said no.

“I said I needed time. I’m… I’m not sure.”

“Why?” That morbid part of him forces him to pry, even when he’s afraid each uncovered word will be a new needle slipping between his ribs.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together. And I… I like him. I do. I just don’t know how much. I don’t want to hurt him, so I feel like I have to at least consider it.”

Fenrir wishes he had a gallon of water to calm his desert throat.

“But Fenrir. I… Our kiss… I just…” She doesn’t even stop to breathe. “I need to ask you. I can’t get it out of my mind, and I just can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen. I-I have to know, Fenrir, what did it mean?”

Fenrir knows exactly what he should say. It goes along the lines of ‘it was a mistake. Ray really loves you, so you should say yes.’ Then she’s off, her mind satisfied. And he’s fulfilled his duty as best friend. The duty he’s upheld for so long.

In the span of three seconds, the space between them is vanquished, and Fenrir is answering her question with a kiss. This time, his calloused hands weave into her hair. He feels her move beneath him, cycling through emotions: shock, surprise, then desire. She leans into his starved touch, both of their eyes pressed firmly shut, as if this would all vanish if they dared to reaffirm with a gaze. “Choose me.” Fenrir ghosts the words, lacing them into his fingertips as he strokes the nape of her neck, then a smooth shoulder revealed by the scattered robe.

A part of him wants to blame it on the drink, but they both know better.

He dares to trace her lips with the tip of his tongue, and she opens for him. He finds her just as intoxicating as he remembers. The sweetest wine he could savor and sip for an eternity, deliriously drunk on even just the scent. She matches his every lick, every stroke. Their heated sighs fade into one -- and damn, does it feel like he's truly living for the first time.

His hands tug at the strap of the robe, and lets it fall utterly onto the bedsheets. How many times has he imagined doing this, going over each step in his mind only to let the daydreams slip away into obscurity? How many times has he buried these errant thoughts in bullets, slammed into whatever targets he can find?

“Fenrir,” she whispers, shy when his eyes stare at her with such intensity, taking in the thin nightdress that clings to her frame. It practically hides nothing from view. “I… We…” Her lips glisten with proof of their kiss.

In this moment, he realizes he would give anything to fasten his mouth upon her silk-silhouetted peaks until she cries out for him, and only him. “Can I touch you?” Reason is slipping from his mind like fine gunpowder through parted fingers, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so afraid. So afraid that what she says next will shatter this illusion and return him to earth.

“…Yes.”

There is no hesitation in the arms that envelop her now. He lays her upon the blankets, the sinew of his arms working with a gentle ferocity that only those closest to him are privy to. He urges the fabric of her dress out of the way, impatience swelling with each new inch of skin he uncovers. Involuntarily, she shivers, realizing how yearning is not dusted, but carved into eyes that possess her in such reverence. She’s only caught glimmers of it before, at dinner, in meetings, but now they have her captive, refusing to break the hold. Pint bumps prick her arms, and he pauses.

“Are you okay? Cold?” He asks, tracing the slightly-raised skin with a thumb, thinking even this is adorable. He gathers the sheets around her, intending to cover her bared limbs, but she shakes it off. She touches his shoulder instead, a silent summons that he heeds by dipping his head and covering the swell of her breast with his lips.

She rewards him well: a noise that is more exhale than moan, but it’s more than he could have ever hoped for.

He strokes so gracefully with his tongue, leaving traces of himself behind with each persuasion of song. His battle-worn hands trace down her stomach, the sides of her waist, memorizing each curve, each dip. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, flicking his gaze up to watch her flush rose-pink. And not mine.

“S-Stop, don’t say that,” she replies, her voice effortlessly sensual, enticing in its coyness.

“It’s the truth.”

His breath tickles her senses when he releases, to not leave the other unattended. When he returns her to the heat of his mouth, she is arching. Her body meets him to subtly whisper that her passion remains unsated, fiery yet. And while he wishes to savor, to let sit the dessert of her yearning on his tongue until it melts into saccharine cream, his fingers are not nearly as obedient. They find her damp, honest.

“Fenrir…”

He’s too aware that he strains against his pants, and her feverish moaning of his name only contributes to this torture. On his knees, he sculpts a path down her body, testing where his kisses tempt the most cloying of mews. But what does he hope to accomplish here? Would any of this make a difference? Is this just a result of their weakness?

She twitches when he takes her inner thigh into his mouth, sucking hard enough to leave blossoming evidence behind. He soothes the mark with his fingers, tracing, outlining the color. It’s an action as juxtaposing as he, the noble against the wild, the control against the release. Tomorrow, will he wake alone?

“Fenrir, stop teasing me…!”

He hooks a finger into the final piece of resistance, thin fabric he entices away. Arousal practically dribbles from between her thighs.

“Hey, I think you like being teased.”

A squirm, a giggle. “Shut up.”

“Hehe.”

And for a second, everything feels normal.

Then he lowers his mouth, and has his first taste of her.

He swears he’ll dream of the way she bucks for him, raising her hips only to let them fall, conducting him in the unpredictable rhythm of pleasure. His blood seems to be locked in a southbound race, his arousal so firm in its aching for her. The whimpers that spill from her are infinitely precious but lost upon the bedsheets that surround her with his scent.

It’s only in this liminal space between friend and lover, the public and the private, that Fenrir allows himself to be honest. “I can’t hold back any longer.”

“When have you ever?” and she smiles.

He sits back onto his heels, his belt and pants obstacles that are dealt with by the next minute. They hit the floor, crumpling as he surges forward. There’s no awkwardness here despite their nakedness, the vulnerability of it all. When he hovers over her, she feels nothing but comfort. Then, his arousal is pressed firmly against her.

Fenrir shifts. She parts for him. He’s engulfed by heat. A sole thought comes: this is where he belongs.

He sinks deeper into her, wanting, needing to know her very core. Her name falls from his lips, a mantra that he can’t stop repeating, reminding himself this is real. She tightens around him every time he does.

Fenrir kisses her chest, making his way up to her mouth as her arms come around him, hugging him close. “Does it hurt?” He asks quietly, not daring to break the hush.

“It feels good, Fenrir. So good.” The final fragment is pressed into his skin with a kiss.

He’s hilted, enveloped, drowning in a pleasure that is so familiar yet frighteningly new. It’s here that he can forget. His king, his duties, his friendships. He lets it all burn away with each stroke, each time his body meets hers in the name of bliss. Beneath him, she is breathtaking. She moans through their kisses, through his gasps.

“Fenrir, if you keep—oh, Fenrir…”

It’s him she’s thinking about. Him, and no one else. He fucking loves it.

The bed creaks under their shifting weight, rattling slightly against the wall. Fenrir obeys every desperate ache that runs through his veins as he rocks into her. Hating that he’s close. Hating that his body betrays him when he needs it most. But she’s beckoning him in deeper with the murmurs of pleasure against his shoulder blade, moving to his collarbone, exploring.

This can’t end.

He’s not ready for the warmth of her skin to fade from his fingertips, for time to erode his memories of this night until all that remains are fragments, bits and pieces he can’t quite use to form a finished portrait. God, she feels incredible. Tight around him as if she needs him just as much as he does her. He could make love like this, madly, possessively, for a lifetime.

I won’t let this end.

When clarity returns, will she leave? Will she be satisfied that it’s out of her system, that she’s had one last wild tryst? He strokes her hair, letting the strands ultimately fall from his fingers. His lips land wherever they can, on her forehead, her cheek, her sweetly moaning mouth. Here, in the dim, unsettled darkness of this room, bared skin against skin, she is his. And he is always hers.

Please.

“Fenrir, I…!” She unravels with a cry of his name, and nothing else matters. He watches, feels her come, ankles crossed behind his back to demand him go deeper. He knows he’s gone. Control has been lost. So, Fenrir surrenders.

“Me too.”

His final thrusts are done right against her, kneeling, grinding. It’s a bliss he has no right to know, but has partaken of just the same. He tucks himself into the crook of her neck, lightly capturing the skin between his teeth only to release. And as he spills the vestiges of sin, he makes a silent confession.

I love you.

Suspended in time, the pair can do naught but hold each other as their breaths slow, pants subside. They remain wrapped in each other, in the magic of the night, in the sanctity of these bedsheets. They connect with a stare, a silent meeting of cobalt and magenta that dissolves when Fenrir bites his lip and turns.

He rolls off her, fetching a handkerchief from his bedside table. He wipes it across her sweat-drenched skin, so delicately he’s hardly touching her. His chest rises and falls, heavy. His eyes are devoid of something. They’re clouded, lost.

What has he just done?

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She sits up, her dress falling down back into place. She replaces a thin strap on her shoulder.

“I…” A bitter taste lingers on his tongue, where once was honey. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.” All he can picture is Ray’s face, fallen with disappointment. He never wanted to be responsible for that look.

Her brows knit. Her fingers shake as she picks up the robe from the floor. “Fenrir, do you regret this?”

She waits longer than she should for an answer, but he has none to give.

So, she makes one for herself. Taking the cloth, she soaks up every last drop of him left inside her. She slips the robe back on, hiding her kiss-warmed skin. He can’t make himself lie to her, even if it looks like tears are welling in the corners of her eyes.

“Goodnight, Fenrir.”

Before he can even consider asking her to stay, she’s gone.

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

How do I tell Ray?

This thought consumes Fenrir for the next few days. He knows he has to. There’s no chance in hell he’ll get away with hiding this. Nor does he want to. He just… hasn’t found the right opportunity to yet.

In fact, Fenrir hasn’t seen Ray much at all. When he does, they’re both too busy to spend any time chatting. Fenrir’s putting his troops through a vigorous program, and they’re all exhausted and sweaty at the end of it. Today is no different, as they spar with each other, fists flying and kicks whipping.

“Hey, Fenrir!” Ray’s voice cuts through the hubbub, and everyone pauses to greet the king before they’re right back at it. “Working hard?”

“As always!” Fenrir strolls over to Ray. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in. Everyone looks to be in top form.” Ray surveys them with a huge grin, looking very proud indeed. They start to walk through the troops together, giving advice and praise where needed. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred together, huh?”

A nearby soldier overhears. “You should give us a demonstration!”

“Not a bad idea.” Ray turns to his friend. “How about it?”

“Ehh…” Fenrir scratches at his head. “I dunno…”

“C’mon commander!”

“It’ll be cool!”

The ace sighs, then bursts into a grin. “Alright. Let’s do it. If you lose, you’re buyin’ a round of drinks!”

“As per usual.”

There’s a roar of cheers, then a huge rumbling as the men move to clear a space, a vast, circular arena. Ray leaves his cape aside, and Fenrir does the same with his jacket. They both stretch, just lightly warming their muscles. They enter the ring to another round of noise.

Circling with slow, purposeful steps, they’re like jungle cats, feeling the other out, ready to pounce at a moment. Ray pounces, a kick flying out. It would have done some serious damage if it connected. Fenrir dodges with a speed that can only come from intense training. He retaliates with a jab. Neither of them hit, but they didn’t expect to. They know each other too well for this to be an easy fight.

Ray’s smile is natural, even as he summons strength to send his curled hand towards Fenrir’s face. It’s a feint. Fenrir doesn’t register it in time, and—ouch! A second fist sinks into Fenrir’s stomach.

“Oof!” Fenrir leaps back. He pats his side. He’s wincing, but only slightly. “Nice… one…” He pants, the burst of air forced from his lungs. “Next one’s gonna be mine.”

Ray’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing.

When the ace lunges next, he goes a bit too far. All Ray has to do is spin. Two fingers push into Fenrir’s spine to send him toppling off balance. Fenrir scrapes his palms; he’s not falling, but he certainly stumbles. He kicks up a cloud of dust, which he uses to his advantage. He launches a counterstrike.

The roundhouse kick just barely misses Ray’s leg. “Too slow!”

Now they’re close, arms and hands grappling. They drag each other to the ground in a flurry of rough punches that are all equally blocked. The noise of the spectators dies down in their suspense, waiting to see who comes out of this sequence victorious. It’s Fenrir who breaks first. His block falls for just a second and Ray sees it. He exploits it with a light blow that doesn’t hurt Fenrir’s body as much as it does his pride.

“Fight me properly,” Ray practically growls.

“What’re you talking about? I am!”

“No. You’re not.”

Fenrir forces them apart, leaping back. He shifts back into a fighting stance. But Ray isn’t having any of it. He doesn’t give Fenrir a break, coming at him with an unpredictable array of attack. Fenrir just barely manages to fend him off but gains a few bruises in the process. Fenrir doesn’t even feel the sting of his wounds, the ache of his muscles telling him he’s pushing himself too far. He can’t stop. He doesn’t want to stop.

It’s only when Ray’s fist smashes into his face that Fenrir crumples to the ground, and stays there.

One of the spectators, a new recruit, yelps. He wants to run to Fenrir’s side, to help his commander, but Ray’s outstretched arm tells him no. He approaches the man, his best friend, and squats down beside him. Fenrir’s nose is slightly bloody, but the angle says it’s not broken.

“Do you think I’ll feel better when you’re unconscious and bleeding out, Fenrir?” His quiet words are only meant for one set of ears.

Fenrir’s eyes flutter open. “Wha?”

“I know. I already know.”

Shit. Fenrir summons his strength to push himself up. His face burns, recalling the imprint of Ray’s knuckles. “How?”

“Does it matter?”

Shit. Shit. “Guess not. I just… Ray…” Fenrir stares into those sea-green eyes, searching for some semblance of a sign to reassure him. He feels like a damn wounded puppy, even though he was the one who did the hurting. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, I can’t say I’m not upset.”

“Heh, I can tell.” Fenrir tries to stretch his jaw but finds it too stiff for now. “Ow. Ya got me good.”

“But Fenrir. I know when I’ve lost.” Ray’s stony poker face is on, and Fenrir knows how hard he must be straining to hold back the emotions clawing at him. “Go get her.”

Fenrir refuses to move. He sets a hand on Ray’s shoulder, still bloodied from touching his nose. “I’ll let it go. I can’t do this to you.” He hates seeing that false indifference in his friend’s eyes.

“I’ll get over it. Go. Be happy.” Ray grabs the hand and helps Fenrir to his feet. His words are as resolute as his mind. “Stop being stubborn.”

“Do you even know me?” Fenrir winces when he attempts a smirk.

“Too well.” Ray spins on his heel to turn back to the soldiers, who are utterly confused watching the exchange. He raises his voice back to its normal volume. “Alright men, back to training!”

The circle disperses without argument, without any of the men questioning what the heck just happened between their commanders. Fenrir looks towards the barracks, Ray’s quietly muttered words wedged firmly into his heart. The time it takes to inhale, then release a deep breath is all he needs. Then he’s off, running towards his dream.

This time, he’s the one coming to her. But… now what? Fenrir stands in front of her room looking like a bloody mess, trying to figure out just how the hell he’s supposed to be romantic or sweet or something. Every time he attempts to knock, his hand seems to falter, afraid of what change lies beyond.

The door swings open on its own.

“Whoa!” Surprise that someone is right outside her room has her taking a step back. Then, recognition and concern beckons her forward. “Fenrir! Oh god, are you okay? What happened? You’re bleeding so much, oh, come in, come in, I have a first aid kit…”

He has to admit, it’s so terribly adorable watching her fret.

She leads him to the bed, sitting him down upon the soft mattress. He realizes that this is the first time he’s been in her room, and everything is so her. It smells like her, a gentle scent of camellias and comfort. “Is it the pirates again? What’s going on? Nothing’s broken is it? Is everyone else okay?” She’s wet a cloth with some water, and she wipes it across his cheek. It’s stained with crimson every time she takes it away to wash.

“Everyone’s fine, no, it’s just me.”

After he’s all cleaned up, she inspects him so carefully he feels like a museum artifact. When she’s satisfied that he’s not in any immediate peril, she sits back and lets loose a sigh of relief. “You really scared me!”

“Sorry, sorry, my bad!” He offers an apologetic smile. “I just. I have to tell you somethin’.”

She’s rinsing the cloth out in a porcelain bowl of cold water. “And it couldn’t wait until you cleaned up?” She’s still muttering under her breath about safety and taking care of yourself and—

“No.”

His tone gives her pause. The cloth forgotten, she shifts to face him with question in her eyes.

Fenrir is squeezing his finger so hard it turns white. But at least it isn’t shaking. “Ray.” He can’t quite decipher the emotion that slips into her gaze. “Ray’s my best friend. He’s my partner. When no one else was there for me, he was. I… I never wanna hurt him.” He can see her suck in a breath.

“But I can’t get ya off of my mind.” He feels so shy, raking his fingers through his light hair. “I don’t even know when this happened. It just kinda did. And then it never went away. I only fell deeper.”

“Oh.” It’s a hushed gasp, of a realization she can’t put into words for fear of being wrong.

“To answer your question. That kiss. It meant… everything.” He hadn’t known his heart could feel such a rush, such a burst of adrenaline, almost as if he’s hurtling down an enormous hill despite sitting perfectly still. Well, that isn’t true. He’s trembling. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about it either. But I don’t really want to.” He still recalls the heat of her hands, embracing him so closely to her heart. “I guess what I’m getting at is… Choose me.”

“Fenrir…” She mouths his name, and he wants to kiss it off her lips.

“I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. Actually, I can promise the opposite. I’ll slip up a few times for sure. But I’ll try my damn best to keep that gorgeous smile on you.” He offers her what he hopes is a grin. “So, what do ya say?”

Not a second is wasted before she answers him with the sweetest kiss he’s ever had. His eyes slide shut on their own. She’s silk upon his lips, the right amount of nervous and sensual as she deepens the connection, seeking more. It’s a kiss that feels like their first, one bursting with promise and youth.

“Is that a good enough answer?” She murmurs against him, not wanting to break the connection of heat, of affection.

“Hell yes.”

They’re both breathless, but they can’t stop the silly laughter that bubbles up as they stare at each other.

“So, I get to call you my girlfriend now?” He takes her hand in his, tracing the thin veins as if they would lead him to her heart. With his other, he brushes her bangs back, tucking a lock behind her ear.

“You can call me anything you want.” Her grin is pure mischief, and he’s so addicted.

“Oh, what am I going to do with you? You just keep makin’ me fall harder.” With a smile, he guides her back to his lips. This time, he’s not afraid that each kiss will be the last. Instead, they reinforce the promise he’s already made to himself in his mind: that he’ll do everything in his power to ensure she’s always safe, always happy. This is a choice he’ll never allow her to regret.

Finally, she is his.

And he was always hers.

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

Perhaps it’s divine intervention, or just plain old luck, but Ray is called away for the next several days. Any potential awkwardness is, at least temporarily, avoided. The new couple is given some time to make their rounds, revealing to the delight of their friends that yes, they’re finally together. It’s not quite a surprise, at least not to Seth or Sirius, that Fenrir harbored such a crush on the little lady. And if they’re concerned about Ray, they’re nice enough not to mention it.

Tonight, the king is scheduled to return.

She insists on throwing a sort of welcome-back feast for him, especially since he’s coming back right at dinnertime. She’s been busy in the kitchen all afternoon, working in perfect tangent with Luka. Dish after dish is served upon the elongated table, steaming away, filling the room with all sorts of drool-worthy scents.

Fenrir’s stomach growls when he enters the dining hall and takes his first whiff. “This looks amazing!”

“Hands off, Fenrir. Not until Ray gets here.” Luka exits the kitchen, carrying an enormous roasted bird. It’s the last thing he sets onto the table before he slides into a seat, joining the few others already sitting.

“Aww, fine.”

“He should be back anytime now,” she says, skipping to Fenrir’s side. She takes his hand, giving him a casual squeeze. Don’t worry, her eyes seem to say. He wants to listen.

Right on time, the doors swing open. And there he is, cape swung over his shoulders, hands on his hips. “Hey! I’m back!” He takes a double look at the amount of food piled upon the table. “Whoa, what’s all this?”

“Your welcome back dinner.” Sirius greets his king with a friendly pat on the back. “And an excuse to eat too much.”

“You really didn’t have to go to this much trouble. I was only away for a few days.” Ray walks towards the table, looking so pleased that they planned this despite himself. “C’mon guys, let’s eat.”

The rabble of chatter and the scraping of chair legs swell as people sit, beginning to dig into the plates of delicious food. Fenrir plops down into a chair, right beside Luka. She takes the seat next to him, like they’ve done every night since. But instantly, Fenrir realizes he’s chosen the wrong spot. The pasta’s too far away. It’s not a meal without carbs!

“Hey Ray. Can you pass the--?” Fenrir jerks at the cream-sauce-covered pasta with his chin. He watches Ray contemplate, then reach for the bowl of green salad, with dozens of sliced ruby-red tomatoes right on top.

“Here you go.” There’s that teasing smirk.

Fenrir rolls his eyes. “C’mon buddy.”

“Hey, you lost the fight. Normally, that means you eat tomatoes.”

Fenrir is about to argue back when his gaze locks onto Ray’s. Something unspoken passes through them, spanning only the space of a breath, but it’s enough. The silence that sits is a tenuous string that snaps when Fenrir grabs the salad.

“Alright, fine.” He dumps some of the greenery onto his plate. “Tonight, I’ll eat ‘em.”

“Wait, whaaaat? Really?” Seth’s managed to capture everyone else’s thoughts at this moment.

Much to their tablemate’s amazement, Fenrir actually slips a tomato slice into his mouth. He wrinkles his nose and grimaces, hating the flavor. He chokes it down anyway. Beneath the table, he feels her cover his hand with her own, delicate as she squeezes to say she’s thinking about him, supporting him. The now-familiar warmth is just what he needs. He answers back with his thumb, stroking the inside of her palm.

“It’s a perfect punishment.” Ray watches Fenrir inhale a second slice. “Very entertaining.”

“Next time, I’m gonna win.” Fenrir waves his fork at Ray like a warning sign, already dreaming of the pasta that’ll wash any taste of tomato away. As he’s not looking, she takes this opportunity to sneak two red slices off his plate, replacing them with some chicken of her own.

“Oh yeah?” Ray laughs. He raises his glass to drink, but thinks better of it. He holds it out towards Fenrir, who responds in kind. They clink together in a crisp cheers. Just the two of them. Ray takes a deep swig, letting the sentiment color his cheeks and his heart. “Want to go again after dinner?”

Fenrir’s grin comes easily. “Oh, you’re on!”

A VERY, VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the sweetest lady @fenrirgodspeed, who is the inspiration and driving force behind this piece. I wanted to write something for your boy (of course), but wanted to try something a little different. I really hope you enjoyed ;-; I so admire the works you create, and hope I got even a smidge closer to the incredible standards you set for angst with each new piece. I wish you all good things this year and every year following. I always have such a damn fantastic time chatting and squealing with you. I’m so grateful that you’re my friend! ♡♡

HUGE shout-out to @kashimalin for helping me out with this story, and sitting through my endless rambles as I wrote it. This story wouldn’t be where it is now without your keen eyes and wonderful, fantastic mind.

Also tagging some lovelies: @pseudofaux, @jaciinclays, @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons ♡

Please feel free let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics~

#ikemen revolution #ikerev fenrir #ikerev ray #ray blackwell #fenrir godspeed #happy birthday ikaros #ilysfm do you even know #ENJOY THIS #it's truly become my word baby #and i had so much fun working on it #i am so glad this is for you #fenrir deserves everything #every damn thing in this world #my writing

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khadij-al-kubra · 6 years ago

Text

Persephone & Hades AU...

For your consideration, and bearing in mind that the original myth is not really all that toxic at all and is not a show of Stockholm syndrome...

The “””Kidnapping””” of Persephone:

Logan as Hades-

Bespectacled Ruler of the Underworld

Takes his job very seriously (wears a black and blue necktie with his long silky black robes)

Cold pale skin and intelligent grey eyes with slicked back black hair. Looks scarier and meaner than he actually is. (although he can have a bit of a temper if pushed and will have loud sharp outbursts of “FALSEHOOD!”)

Very logical and methodical in how he rules the underworld and keeps the souls passing through organized. Like he’s got the judgement thing down to a T! But despite his cold demeanor he’s actually very generous and kind at heart. He just recognizes the importance of his work and in remaining just yet impartial

Sucker for dogs, hence why he has a three headed one. He just wishes he had more time to play with Cerberus, but alas ruling the dead alone takes up a lot of ones time.

Has a sweet tooth and often indulges in jams made from the pomegranates that grow in his realm.

Is on decent enough relations with his brothers (Emile as Poseidon and Deceit as Zeus), although he STILL thinks that Deceit cheated in their straw draws, but let it go because he’s actually best suited as the more organized brother for ruling the dead.

Is secretly very lonely. Once in a blue moon he’ll sneak up to the surface for fresh air and sunlight. One day he spots a certain someone in a flower field who takes his breath away. (can you blame him, i mean that smile! )

Patton as Persephone-

Supreme flower child! (flowy sky blue clothes, grass green eyes, sun-kissed freckly skin and wheat colored curls, barefoot, flower crown)

Loves gardening, animals, and helping his father Demeter (Roman) with the changing seasons. Loves Roman to bits....He just wishes he wasn’t so overprotective. Like come ON dad, i’m a grown god, i can look after myself. I don’t run off on my own THAT much!

Is protective and loving towards most all forms of life and tries to see the good in each and every soul, both mortal and god/goddess #momfriendtothemax

Unless given reason to feel otherwise. Then...weeeell at the least he’ll give you a stern talking to but at worst...lets just say you DONT want to get on the bad side of someone who can grow massive and sharp thorn bushes and effect earthquakes when pushed too far. XO

Sometimes gets bored with the same old routine with Roman and wishes to get away and see something new from time to time. Maybe have some quiet time to make his own floral crafts and garden peacefully for fun and not work.

Often sneaks off when Roman is busy and goes wandering along dirt paths, sit under or climb a tree, or frolic in the flowers.

Roman as Demeter -

God of the Harvest, but like, EXTRA in all ways shape or form. (”we can top last years crop no problem, MORE WHEAT STALKS!” “No dad, we can’t, then there’ll be too much in this region and not enough for the next.” “LONGER SUMMER!!” “No! Bad idea dad! That’ll throw the seasons off”)

Often dresses in flowing gold threaded and sunset colored robes, but will change ensemble to match the seasons.

Enjoys watching the goings ons of the mortals, they’re just so entertaining! Especially is fond of traveling thespians and will bless the harvest of wherever they perform in.

Loves his son more than anything and has him help in godly duties because it keeps him close so he can keep an eye on Patton MUST KEEP PRECIOUS BAB SAFE!!!

Stubborn (but will never own up to it)

Virgil as Charon-

In charge of Ferrying souls across the River Styx

Doesn’t mind his job all that much but is #done with soooo many of these complaining, noisy and often rude or entitled souls. (like, NO dude, i don’t care who you were ruler of in the living world. Its two coins for passage like everyone else buddy!)

Really just wants a nap (often tries to hit up Remy a.k.a. Morpheus but he shows up late ALL the time)

Is actually very compassionate and gentle. He tries to ease the fears of souls who he sees are younger or were genuinely good in life or died in unfair ways.

Lives for the dark skull & bones aesthetic

Master of snark

Plays chess with Logan when either of them have some rare down time

Click the cut for full story

One day Roman and Patton are off doing their nature godly duties, and Roman is nagging his son about the proper way to harvest corn. (”Yes father, i know how to do it. you’ve only told me like a hundred times” “well i just want to make sure to remind you and that you don’t cut yourself on the sickle”)

Patton sneaks off one day to pick flowers since it’ll probably be the last bloom before autumn sets. Suddenly he sees a curious crack in the ground and ambles over to it to take a look. (”what sort of creature could’ve made this deep thing?”) He leans in too far however and pulls an Alice in Wonderland.

Turns out that crack was made by Logan. Apparently he’d become so deeply smitten by Patton that he went to his older brother Deceit/Zeus for advice. (Yes he was a dick and a little shit at times-although took his duties seriously when need be-and tricked many of his lovers into bed, but Emile didn’t have nearly as much love experience as their elder brother & Logan was desperate)

Deceit had actually been pleased when his too serious brother told him that he’d fallen for the spring god. His advice to Logan had been to simply kidnap Patton and either bed him then woo him or woo him and then bed him. Logan, of course, didn’t listen because that was the stupidest idea ever! (”what under earth was i thinking? This is the guy who turned himself into a cygnini in order to copulate with a woman behind his wife’s back.”) Besides, he was too painfully shy and socially awkward to try wooing. (He worked with the dead for crying out loud, not the best circumstances for practicing social skills)

He did however create a crack in the ground so he could sneak peeks at Patton from below the earth and admire him from afar. However, he’d been called back on an emergency and forgot to close one particular crack up before leaving again.

So sufficed to say, he was fairly shocked when he suddenly heard screaming above him one day. He looked up to find one Patton falling towards him and just caught him in his arms in time. (BLUSH CITY ON BOTH PARTS)

Patton thanks Logan but is admittedly miffed at him when he learns Logan was the one who’d made that crack in the ground. “What were you thinking leaving a big hole in the earth like that? Some poor oblivious mortal or animal could’ve fallen into it and gotten hurt!” “Apologies I-it was a foolish oversight on my part. i-I certainly hope you are uninjured?”

After a while Patton forgives him when he sees how truly sorry this (admittedly) scary and stern looking god is. (lest we forget he’s one of the big three) And Logan is honestly just trying not to show how flustered he is. i mean Patton is there in his realm! They both realize the crack is far too high up for Patton to get back out through right away. So Logan offers to have Patton stay in his palace until he can fetch his assistant Virgil/Charon to help Patton back up the next day. IN HIS OWN QUARTERS, OF COURSE! Logan says blushing, trying to be a gentleman. Patton agrees, promising upon Logan’s request to only follow one rule: “You must NOT eat anything”. Strange, but okay. Besides, it’ll be nice getting a break from his father. And it’s just for one night, right? (WRONG!)

Patton ends up having to wait longer than he realized because both Logan and Virgil are super busy with ferrying and judging souls. So he wanders around the Underworld. (of course he is marked with untouchable safety from almost everything as a guest of Logan)

One night however Patton finds himself stumbling upon a sparse garden. He’s surprised that anything is capable of growing down there in the realm of the dead, but even more shocked by the poor state of it. “Really, just look at the se rose bushes. They’re so brittle!” (it’s not Logan’s fault. He’s a busy boi. plus the god of the dead doesn’t exactly have a green thumb) Really the only thing flourishing down there is a single Pomegranate tree. The fruits on it look so red and shiny and juicy and...well...whats the worst that could happen if he eats just a few seeds?

Of course if you know the myth, it means now Patton cant leave. Because, well, greek god realm rules. Sufficed to say, Patton is pretty miffed that Logan hadn’t thought to tell him why he shouldn’t eat the darn fruit in the first place. Logan is greatly frustrated at Patton because a) he didn’t listen, and b) he actually has a point there and he does NOT like being wrong. Still, nothing to be done about it now.

Over time they cool off and apologize to each other. Patton’s still kind of mad though because now he can’t go home at all if he wanted too, but he recognizes that Logan wasn’t forcing him to stay on purpose. So he get’s over it and tries to make the best out of the situation. At least he can finally get away from Roman’s nagging for a while.

* Meanwhile in the living world, a frantic and angry Roman raises hell. “WHERE IS MY BOOOOYYYYY?!?!?!?!?!?!?” (Thebes did not have a good crop that year)

While in the Underworld Patton starts talking to some souls, listening to their stories and offering kind and comforting words. Which as it turns out makes them more at ease and willing to go for judgement as they pass on. Logan’s fondness for Patton grows as he witnesses these acts of compassion and kindness. He also comes to respect Patton when he sees just how fierce he can be in the face of those who’d been cruel or unjust in life. ”I’m sorry, you did what to how many people!? and NOW you’ve got the nerve to demand entrance into Elysium young man!? Logan, hold my flower.” “Fret not Patton. I have your bougainvillea.” (art link for this scene)

Meanwhile Patton cant help but notice that, although he’s stern and serious on the outside, Logan is actually a very gentle god deep down. (he picks up on this from the soft tone of Logan’s voice as he speaks to souls being judged who’d suffered in life, or the way he reassures the more anxious ones with facts and logic about the afterlife that set them at eases “it’s not all punishment and Tartarus you know. Statistically few souls on the grand scale are malign enough to enter there. The Asphodel Meadows are quite pleasant, I assure you.”)

Logan works so hard and tirelessly at his often depressing job, but never acts mean or harsh unless a soul is nasty or rude or was truly evil, and Patton gains an admiration of him for that. (besides, he is actually quite handsome and beautiful in a cold distant way, like the stars and moonlight on a midsummers night) Patton also sees what a softie Logan can be when he’s playing with Cerberus. (”Who’s my excellent tri-headed canine? Who is a good demon dog?”) Patton gushes and of course Cerberus and Patton LOVE each other. Watching Patton play with the big dog becomes Logan’s newest favorite thing. (”By the gods Virgil, it is too precious to process!”)

Sometimes Patton will keep Logan company when there’s a lull in souls. He’ll tell Logan about all the different places he’s seen and what mortals are like when still alive. Logan meanwhile will often go into rants about the fascinating bits of knowledge he’s accumulated over the years from souls who’ve lived full lives. Logan enjoys having someone who enjoys listening to him (not that Virgil isn’t a respectful listener, but Logan sometimes wonders if he only does is because he’s his boss) And Patton really likes being able to share his own opinions and ideas without condescendingly albeit gently being told, (“no, no, my silly sweet boy. This is the right way to do it. Now eat your cereal, you need the fiber sweet pea”) Having picked up some of the mortal’s sense of humor, Patton is very much a fan of word play and LOVES making puns. Logan is...less than amused by them. However, the first time he makes Patton laugh with a clever quip (about Virgil or one of the more disgruntled souls) he swore the whole Underworld actually lit up. He treasures every time he can make that precious god laugh and smile.

Heck, even Virgil warms up to Patton and actually becomes VERY protective of the spring god. Patton sees through to his anxious softie center and enjoys talking to Virgil who is a very good listener. Meanwhile Virgil finds Patton’s sunny disposition refreshing and his warm presence calming. Patton will often keep Virgil company, but can’t always bring himself to follow when he has to ride across the River Styx. The memories and voices coming off the water just make him too sad.

Virgil ends up playing wingman for Logan. He tells Logan how Patton’s been a bit down in the dumps and recommends Logan cheer him up with a present. “That is an excellent idea Virgil, but what? What could possibly be good enough for that sweet honeysuckle?” “Well you’ve spied on him enough times- and don’t try to deny it boss- what does he like?”

Sufficed to say, Patton LOVES his surprise underworld garden that Logan had worker rigorously on creating for him. He knows it couldn’t have been easy. Of course, being the god of the dead, Logan cannot maintain the garden and Patton is more than happy to have free creative reign over it. He giddily catches Logan in a big hug, and is pleased when a blushing Logan returns the heartfelt embrace, pressing a tender kiss to Patton’s forehead. Then he takes a blushing Patton’s hands in his.

”Patton, my honeysuckle, sunshine of my heart...I cannot contain it any longer. For so long you’ve been the object of my affection, but over the course of our time together down here, although the circumstances had been less than idea, my love for you has only deepened. Would you perhaps...although I am not worthy of you...would you consider marrying me, and ruling the Underworld by my side?” By now Patton is blushing like crazy and in tears because, although he’d been mad at Logan for getting him stuck down there at first, he realizes that he’s come to deeply love the dark god too. Logan worries that he’s crossed a line but then Patton beams and looks up at him with tears in his eyes. “Oh Lo-lo, my brilliant beautiful lobelia blossom, I-” BAM!

Cue a properly pissed off Roman crashing down to the Underworld. He’s also got Deceit/Zeus with him by the ear. “AHA! So THIS is where you’ve been keeping my precious boy!” “Deceit, you told him!?” “He got it out of me. Sorry, not Sorry. I may be the ruler of the gods, but Roman is quite -ow- convincing when angry.”

Roman rushes over to Patton and they embrace, because although it was nice having time to himself Patton did miss his beloved father. After Roman fusses over Patton-“Are you alright? Are you hurt? have you been eating properly?” “yes, yes, i’m fine father. I promise!”- Roman unleashes verbal hell on, well, the god of hell. He reprimands Logan for kidnapping his son, but Patton quickly comes to Logan’s defense saying that it wasn’t his fault and the whole thing had been an accident, not a kidnapping. When he hears the whole story Roman does calm down a bit, and is admittedly happy to see Patton so happily in love as well. (he may be a helicopter parent, but the god of the harvest is quite the romantic at heart and loves seeing Patton so happy. Even if he doesn’t think the doom and gloom Logan is good enough for his precious little sunflower)

But upon finding out about the pomegranate sees he practically begs Logan to release him so that Patton can come back to the land of the living with him. (besides, he does still need him to help with the seasons and crops) Logan apologizes, saying it’s impossible and there’s nothing he can do. He just doesn’t have that kind of power. Then all three hear Deceit clear his throat.

“Ahem. God of gods speaking, and if you’re all done blubbering, i may have a solution.” So he tells them that there may be a loophole he can work around. He’ll give Logan his blessing to marry Patton, who will also be allowed to go back upworld with Roman, but on the condition that Patton spends part of the year co-ruling the Underworld. He tells them that for the number of pomegranate seeds that Patton ate, he’ll be obligated to spend a month with Logan. “Well darling, how many seeds did you eat?” They all look at Patton expectantly. Technically Patton only at 3 seeds, but heckitty heck, he really wants more time with Logan than three months. And frankly, he enjoyed the idea of getting some time away from Roman too, bless him but he cannot face so much nagging again!

He lies and says six. Only six seeds. Because it’s not like anyone was there to see him or could know. Weeeell maybe the all seeing god of gods, but Deceit just winks and smirks at Patton, pressing a finger in secrecy to his lips behind Logan and Roman’s backs. So it’s agreed that Patton will spend the summer and spring half of the year in the Living world with Roman and the fall and winter half ruling the Underworld with Logan.

Before he goes back up with Roman though, Patton and Logan are wed. It’s Logan’s first and only time back to Olympus (he forgot how bright and noisy it was up there!) and all the greek gods and goddesses bear witness to their union. Even Virgil is granted a short vacation to be the witness of honor for his two favorite immortals. As it turns out the months apart end up being good for Roman as well as Patton. He gets a lot more work done now that he isn’t constantly fretting (actively anyways) over Patton or keeping him out of trouble or from wandering.

When they consummate their marriage for the first time, hoooboi! Logan’s so bashful but respectful (never having been with any other being before, mortal or immortal) and Patton thinks its adorably sweet. Having been topside, well, lets just say Patton snuck off every now and then when he could to “frolic” with a few naiads and mortals he found sweet or lovely. So he ends up being a thorough teacher to Logan. Turns out they’re quite compatible in more ways than one ;)

Patton ends up being a fantastic co-king of the underworld. Heck, he’s even incorporated the new job into his aesthetic (he always wears a crown of flowers and bird skulls in the Underworld) and, as it turns out, can be even scarier than Logan! Only when some foolish soul makes him mad or gets on his bad side. So none do. And with the souls being more behaved it takes the pressure off of Virgil and Logan a LOT. But for the most part Patton remains a sweet, kind and benevolent co-ruler to the dead souls, and balances out Logan’s stricter judgements quite well. Logan now has a bit more breather time to read and play with Cerberus since he’s not the only one in charge of the whole Underworld anymore. And he and Patton LOVE spending time together in Patton’s dark yet flourishing underworld garden!

Patton is always so happy to go back to the Living world with Roman when winter’s over. Of course he hates leaving Logan and misses him. Logan doesn’t do a very good job of hiding his sadness and tears, but understands. He does get a bit clingy their last nights though. (he becomes a kissy snuggly fiend) Virgil always promises Patton that he’ll take care of Logan while he’s gone. But Patton is a child of the earth and he does tend to miss the sunshine and his father. So he get’s back to work with a newfound exuberance, making the flowers grow, spending time with Roman and frolicking about the world. He always does his best to bring back a new scroll or star map for Logan, who treasures every gift and is slowly building a library for himself.

Sufficed to say, the decades pass by, Logan and Patton attentively fulfill their godly duties, and remain happily and devotedly in love with one another.

Tag List: @altruistic-skittles @thekeytohappiness-is-you @canadian-crofters@icecoldparadise @the-pastel-peach @justisaisfine @bluebloodstains@purpleshipper @patchworkofstars @axyzel @hissesssss @beautifully-terribly@pink-and-purple-flowers @jynxlovesluck @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6@hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @moonstone-fox @smokeyrutilequartz@phlying-squirrel @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton @notveryglittery@eequalsmcscared @safesandersides @lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @ab-artist @unikornavenger @queer-human-being @grey-lysander @asofterfan @fangirltothefullest @tinkslittlebelle @allsortsofgeekery @fuck-my-life-i-want-food @ironwoman359

#KDsWriting #Persophone&Hades AU #logicality #sanders sides #sanders sides au #Logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #persephone #Hades #sanders sides fandom #famders #greek gods au

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cyberneticlagomorph · 5 years ago

Text

7×7

The darkness is all consuming.

Oppressive.

Cold.

Like deep, dark water that never ends. It renders the Warren, your home, alien. Your skin refuses to light, leaving you blind.

But it's not the smothering blackness that unsettles you, no, it's the harsh scream that echoes down hallways, once familiar.

Your feet move of their own accord, dragging you towards the sounds of wounded animals and feral beasts. The lights in the hallway gutter like a horror movie cliché, your security cameras hang limply from their wires.

The devices themselves have been reduced to twisted clumps of plastic and metal.

Beneath the inconsistent light, you find handprints and names scrawled in blood on the walls.

Someone is trying too hard to impress you.

To terrify you with overdone concepts that wouldn't spook a small child.

You've lived through worse, done worse.

As you come across your family, deranged and rabid, gnawing the flesh from each other's bones as they babble on about names and the number seven, you cannot find it in you to be afraid.

Not now, not this time.

As Jeanne looks up from the half eaten corpse of a child and snarls at you with her lipless grinning maw, you do not flinch. Even though you have no control here, and you couldn't run if you wanted to, this all plays out like some kind of contrived formality. Like some sort of mandatory presentation that you're being forced to sit through.

When the mutilated dream version of your wife sprints after you on all four grotesquely elongated limbs, screeching like an animal, you feel nothing.

Nothing but annoyance. A feeling that intensifies as your body moves against your will, taking a step back, only for the floor to drop out from beneath you.

Of course it does.

You plunge into an abandoned well full of cold, slimy, black water. Moss crawls along the wet stone walls as ferns spring up from the cracks. Black candles with green flames sit in little hollows where the oldest stones have gone missing, they melt into waxy stalactites and are your only illumination down here as you suddenly regain control over your body, fighting your way to the surface of the water. It smells like rotting flesh and old blood, bits of rot and mold cling to your wet skin, refusing to wash off as you feebly cling to the side of the well.

You shiver, cold and angry, gazing up towards the mouth of this watery hell earns you nothing but darkness. Growling, you cut your finger on your own teeth, writing Correspondence on your palm. It burns, burns like the stars that speak these symbols as their native tongue. You draw the symbol for "to beg for aid from a dear friend", and hold your scorched hand over the nearest candle.

It doesn't take Him long to respond, no.

As always, His entrance into your dreams is immaculate. It feels inexorable, like sunlight bearing pleasantly down on you, gentle claws prying your head open and filling you with a somnolent calm. The presence is sifting through you with deft ease, and unusual gentleness for a creature of such loud and large disposition. The Dream feels... realer, more solid with Him in it.

Again, you stare up, up into the once darkness of your watery prison. Mr Nights, merchant of dreams and candles, gazes down at you with glowing golden eyes. As He reaches down to help you up, the well becomes shallower, and soon he can scoop you up by the scruff like a wayward kitten. You open your mouth to thank him, but are torn from his grasp and sent plummeting back into the well before a sound can leave your lips.

Nights hisses, and seven times seven more serpentine sounds answer his fury. Rising from the black water is a septet of massive snake heads, they curl around you and speak in seven times seven tongues.

"How rude, how cruel. Who told you that you could bring a plus one to this private party?" whispers your captor. Trapped in this tangled mess of a beast, you are dragged ever deeper into the water.

"UNHAND HIM," Mr Nights spreads his glittering wings wide, he is a beautiful creature, something like a very very large white bat with horns, dressed in fine cloaks. The dream starts to warp around him, but the seven headed serpent seems unimpressed.

"Oh, I don't think I will, no, Jack and I need to have a little talk, now don't we?" it coils ever tighter around you, bones snap and cybernetics crunch beneath the force of it all. You weren't scared before, but you are now. The pain feels too real.

You wonder if you can die in this dream.

One head out of seven starts to circle you, your face is the only thing above water now.

"Hello again, Jack, I'd say it's been awhile but I've seen you every night this month now haven't I?" it gazes at you with empty eye sockets clotted with fruiting fungal bodies and bright flowers, vines and mushrooms spangle the length of its neck, probably terminating wherever it joins with the main body.

You couldn't respond if you wanted to, too busy trying not to drown. Mr Nights is trying to come to your rescue, but whatever He warps snaps right back like a rubber band. The serpent grows tired of Him and coils tight around Him too. You swear you hear something crack within those coils. The serpent says something snotty about how feeble Nights seems, especially after all the hype.

Your vision is obscured by water and snake, it stares you down as you choke on the filthy water. Forked tongues flick across your ears as whispered voices fill your aching skull,

"Hello, my sweet, stupid thing," it coos in a voice like a forest on fire, like sunlight filtering through leaves, like weeds swallowing a house left to rot, "Did you think that milk teeth and daydreams could keep me at bay forever?"

It sounds amused as it lifts you ever so slightly from the water. Blood and filth pour from your mouth and nose as you stare dazed at the creature, "Wh-- what do… you.. wa--want?" you words are a painful gurgle, the last breaths of a drowned thing.

You wonder if you will be devoured like He was…

Like She was.

"My name, what is my name. Who am I to you? Oh great and powerful Jack D'Arc, slayer of gods, unrepentant slut and biggest meddler in the multiverse." a hiss, you can taste the bitterness in those words, you can taste the knowingness behind them. There is something here that just doesn't add up.

But you know who this creature is.

You've known for years.

And it has known you for longer than either of you can readily remember.

It has visited your dreams, lived in your subconscious for decades.

You can remember when it was just one endless serpent with a head of flame, asking for its name in a ruined city.

You slump in its grasp, struggling to draw breath, "Y-you are the End-of-everything, the seven times seven named serpent," a pause, a swallow, the taste of death on your tongue, "I am supposed to fight you, imprison you inside inside myself to stop the destruction of the multiverse as we know it… you will be my Prisoner… and I your Warden."

Your secret is heavy, and it falls from your lips like a stone. The End seems dissatisfied. It turns fourteen eyes on you, eyes that burn or do not exist, eyes that are empty sockets, eyes that multiply ad infinitum.

"How crude, how fucking hamfisted is that to name me 'The End'? Has he truly run out of ideas so quickly?" the questions don't seem to be directed towards you so much as it's being spoken at you with the same disgruntled tone as a retail customer bitching about a problem that isn't half as bad as they think.

"No matter," the End says, to you this time, "soon you will learn the truth of this world, everyone will learn the truth of this world. Won't that be fun?"

All seven heads seem to smile at you as wax starts to pour into the well, burning you alive while you simultaneously drown in the scalding liquid.

You wax with a start, falling off of your sister's couch and onto the floor, scaring the shit out of her in the process.

"You good soft boy?" she asks, but you don't hear here, you're too busy crawling towards the bathroom.

Trembling, sore, and scared, you cling to the toilet bowl.

With your stomach emptied, you close the lid and rest your head on it. You flush without looking, why would you bother? It's the same thing you've thrown up night after night of having that nightmare.

Pitch black candle wax.

The same wax you drowned in, the same wax now dripping from your nose and caking your lips.

You won't try sleeping again, not now, not after that.

If a literal dream god like Mr Nights can't help you, then who can?

#ic #action post #blood #emetophobia #body horror #cannibalism #drowning #ask to tag

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unclefungusthegoat · 6 years ago

Text

New Dawn Review- MASSIVE SPOILERS AHEAD

So, I’ve been screaming a lot in tags, but haven’t really summed up my emotions about New Dawn... so here we go. Under the cut because it’s pretty long and I don’t want to spoil it for anyone. But what I can say is:

Hmmmmm.

Also this totally turns into a rant at the end hahaha

If you have decided to brave my waffling, welcome.

Well, let’s start by saying, I have mixed emotions. It’s fluctuating from very positive, because I genuinely did enjoy the game, to retrospectively being exceptionally annoyed with it. And so here are my thoughts.

FYI this looks really unbalanced because the negatives are a lot longer than the positives, but again, I reiterate, I did enjoy this game!

POSITIVES

The game looked GORGEOUS. Absolutely fantastic. The graffiti everywhere was awesome, the flowers were beautiful, the colours glorious and Prosperity was fab. A+ job guys!

I LOVED the twins and wanted so much more of them, especially Lou, who I felt was really sidelined in favour of Mickey. Cara and Leslie did a fantastic job playing them, but five or six cutscenes to get to know both of them was nowhere near enough, especially when you think each of the Seeds got that individually. I get it was a shorter game, but still... I loved their designs, their ‘rabbit’ catchphrase, the skull crushing helmet, the scene with their mum... they were just brilliant.

I thought some of the story missions were awesome, mainly the ones where you infiltrate the Highwaymen- the fighting pit idea was cool, as was the Derby, and returning to the jail was great! And let’s not forget collecting the Word, and then going to see Joseph in his sanctuary!

I generally really liked all of the new characters, particularly Carmina and the Judge. Timber and Horatio were adorable and the homages to Boomer and Cheeseburger were sweet. There was ONE however, who I fucking HATED, who I will discuss momentarily... three guesses who hahahaha

Prosperity upgrading system was nice.

Fun outfits for the Captain.

The photography challenge was heartbreaking and I loved it.

Speaking of that, seeing Fall’s End, John’s Gate and other recognisable places in such a state was gut-wrenching (especially the Spread Eagle and hearing about Mary May, holy shit), but it’s really nice that it had that effect on me. Makes me realise just how much I cared. (Also totally glad the giant cow was still there OH AND THE YES SIGN AT THE DERBY ARENA)

I prefer FC5′s soundtrack, it feels more like ‘home’, if you know what I mean, but I have been listening to this one a lot on Spotify and it’s so good! Definitely worth a listen if you haven’t already!

NEGATIVES

Ethan. Holy shit, what a whiny bitch. Kylo Ren type ungrateful children of previous lead characters always really annoy me and he was no different. ‘What have you ever sacrificed’ was an absolute knife to the heart. I get he had his purpose in the story, but ugh. And I think we’re all in agreement that there is no fucking way that he’s Joseph’s actual son, because NO.

Come to think of it, something about the whole New Eden being a sort of caveman colony now just doesn’t sit right with me. I get the whole ‘casting off society’ angle, but I’d rather they’d have been more recognisable as the cult from the last game. Even if it was just them wearing the sweaters or having a couple of banners up hahaha. They didn’t feel churchy enough.

Only one GFH at a time... *cries*.

Details missing, just small things. Sharky and Hurk’s tattoos. Joseph’s rosary around his hand. Tiny things, but things that could have easily been in it.

No cult songs. Period.

No explanation (as of yet, someone may yet find something) about Jess, Tammy and Wheaty’s fates. (I take it Garrett Barnes was no relation to Tammy???) Can’t say I think it’s a coincidence that they’re all Jacob’s region characters and that’s the region that has been ignored the most by the developers.

Also real talk, in my initial hopes for the game post, I wrote something like ‘I’m hoping for Mary May, Tracey and Wheaty’ to be in the game. Like that was an actual sentence I wrote.

Basically, just... don’t be a character I root for, because YOU WILL DIE.

The ending. I like that you can spare Joseph and Mickey, but I dunno, it just felt... underwhelming? Like either way you chose, it didn’t make much difference. And the Ethan transforming into the beast thing didn’t do it for me. It felt silly. Unrealistic, and yeah, I get that FC5 wasn’t exactly realistic, and it was supposed to be about unclean souls and being unworthy and whatever, but this felt a step too far? Magic sacred fruit? I’m with the Highwaymen on this one I’m afraid. Like, keep the Eden and apple reference, just do it in a different way???

AND HERE IT IS FOLKS, HERE’S WHAT REALLY BROKE MY HEART AND FROM WHAT I’VE BEEN READING YOUR HEARTS TOO-

I made no secret in my ‘Hopes for New Dawn’ post I put together when the trailer first came out, that I, like many others, was here for the Seeds. Yes, I knew that John, Jacob and Faith weren’t going to be in it. They’re dead.

BUT.

I wanted something.

Ubisoft, how could you practically ignore your most popular characters like that?

JOSEPH DIDN’T EVEN SAY THEIR NAMES.

‘My family is ash’ is fucking heartbreaking, but not enough buddy.

No songs, no shrines, no saint like murals, barely any NPC dialogue or notes, and I liked Thomas Rush, but don’t even get me started on how pissed I felt that he got a grave, and our Heralds didn’t. Not even at Eden’s Pyre, which is where is would have made logical sense???? No Affirmation wreckage, or challenges to collect personal effects like Jacob’s knife, or the ghostly laugh of Faith still echoing at times. You couldn’t even explore Jacob’s region very much.

Like those three had such an effect on the people of Hope County’s lives, and we don’t even get any reflection about them by the characters?

I feel cheated.

Like, Ubisoft know. They have to. All those tweets they get from us. They know how much we love the Heralds.

And yet????

I love that we have this game, but I would have happily waited another year or six months or something if it had meant more detail and more content. And instead of quenching my thirst for more of these characters and this setting and this Hope County universe, it’s just made me want even more because I feel so unsatisfied.

I’ve been posing the question ‘where is our live action mini series’ on here for a while now because we are being cheated of Seed content, and I am in such a mood after this game that I might just sit down and fucking write it myself, because if that’s the only way we’re getting it, I will write that shit and fly to Canada to hand it to Ubisoft personally.

*flips table*

Thank you all for coming to my TED talk hahahaha

#far cry new dawn #far cry new dawn spoilers #chloe gets real mad at the end hahaha #don't get me wrong #I did enjoy the game #it's just... *sigh* you'll see

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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

Note

HI! I saw you were writing itasaku fanfics and I was wondering if you could do a soulmate themed fic of them! THANK YOU

title Red Thread summary You just really get me.pairing Itasaku

Four drops of water raced down the window pane. He leaned against it, staring out at the street below. When he pulled away, his fingerprints had smeared onto the glass. Teeth clenching around his pen, he swiveled away. His chair squeaked. He stared at the numbers on his computer screen. The cursor blinked endlessly at the end of the last word he had typed.

“Fucking shit. S’gonna rain,” Hidan grumbled from his desk. He turned away from the window too.

“I’m going out for a smoke before it does,” Kakuzu said, already pulling his jacket off the back of his chair. He tugged his mask down, the elastic loops stretching from behind his ears. Hidan’s glare followed him all the way out.

“He’s had ‘allergies’ for like a month now. He ever think it’s because he smokes a pack a day?” Hidan muttered.

“Good. Hope the both of you die,” declared Kisame, leaning back in his chair.

“Detective,” reprimanded Itachi without looking up.

“I’m not sorry, Itachi. Those two committed an unforgivable sin. I hope Jashin strikes them both with lightning,” Kisame huffed. He got out of his seat with his mug.

“Dumbass. Jashin doesn’t do lightning. It’s more severing heads,” snickered Hidan. Kisame grabbed the warm carafe, shaking his head.

“Good. Even better. Hope he cuts off your head and then hits you with lightning,” amended Kisame.

“All we did was eat your ice cream. When are you going to let that go, man?” Hidan said under his breath.

“When you buy me more Chunky Monkey!” Kisame yelled back.

Itachi pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. As Hidan and Kisame continued to bicker, he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. He accidentally wrote the word “chunky” in his report instead of “suspect”. Bashing the backspace button, he tried again. This time he wrote the word “ass-douche” as Hidan shouted the insult.

First, his umbrella had broken in a particularly strong gust of wind. Then one of the beat cops had mislabeled some evidence and nearly gotten a conviction thrown out. And then his favorite coffee shop had run out of banana nut muffins and he had had to settle for lemon poppy seed. Now two of his detectives were screaming at each other like children. The irritation began building up inside Itachi’s skull like steam in a pressure cooker.

“Well why wouldn’t you put your name on it?”

“I’m the only one who eats Chunky Monkey, Hidan. You don’t even like bananas. Also why would you eat anything that isn’t yours anyway?”

“Well maybe if you didn’t hog the whole fridge with your protein drinks, I’d have room to bring in my own food!”

“How does that have anything to do with my Chunky Monkey?”

“You’re a chunky monkey!”

Banging his palms down on his desk, Itachi stood.

“That’s enough, you two! I’m sick of hearing about this damn Chunky Monkey!” he shouted over the noise. And in the dead silence that followed, someone cleared their throat.

“Uh…Sergeant. There’s someone here to see you?”

Itachi opened his eyes to see one of the beat cops standing by his desk. The same one who had nearly destroyed his triple homicide. Itachi narrowed his eyes until he realized that a woman stood with him. She looked at him and then her eyes went wide. She quickly averted her gaze. The officer coughed. He didn’t seem to know where to look.

“Uh, this is Miss Haruno. She’s the witness of that ATM robbery from yesterday,” he explained. Nodding to the woman, he quietly made his way out of the bullpen and to the elevator.

Itachi quickly pulled out a chair so that she could sit facing his desk. When he gestured to the seat, she sank into it, her expression strangely unreadable. Which was odd, because the sergeant prided himself on being able to read faces.

“Uh, Miss Haruno. I’m very sorry about that. My name is Sergeant Uchiha. We spoke on the phone this morning,” Itachi stated. She nodded, looking around the room. She tapped her nail against the armrest; it was the color of cherries.

“Yes, although, you made fewer mentions of Chunky Monkey,” she pointed out. Itachi cringed. But when she turned back to him, she was smiling.

“I assume it’s one of those situations where I came in at the worst possible point in the conversation,” she asked. Itachi chuckled.

“You’re pretty sharp.”

Hidan crouched behind Kisame’s desk. They both peered out from behind his peace lily. Hidan glowered at the plant

“Can’t. see, anything. Stupid. flower!” he hissed, smacking at the leaves with each syllable. Kisame shoved him with his shoulder.

“Hey! Lay off my peace lily! It purifies the air,” Kisame whispered.

“Will the both of you shut up? I can’t hear.”

They both jumped. Kakuzu sat on the floor with him.

“When did you get back?” demanded Hidan.

“Shut up!” was all Kakuzu growled in return.

Heads clustered together like some alien plant, they attempted to eavesdrop on the pretty civilian speaking with the sergeant. She sat straight-backed, her short hair tucked behind both her ears.

Itachi asked a question. She laughed, head tilting to one side.

All three men sighed in unison.

“She’s so pretty.”

The three heads swiveled. Deidara sat in Kisame’s chair. He lounged, a dreamy expression on his face.

“Deidara, what the hell. We’re trying to be subtle!” Hidan spat.

“Yeah, three grown men squatting on the floor of a police station behind a ficus is subtle,” he scoffed.

“It’s a peace lily, damnit!” Kisame bellowed.

The sergeant and the civilian both turned to look at them.

“Ah, shit, Kisame,” groaned Hidan. He stood.

“Good going, moron,” Kakuzu agreed, also straightening.

With Itachi’s glare on them, they slowly made their way back to their desks. They settled for sneaking glances at the witness until she eventually gathered her things and left. As soon as the elevator doors shut, they scrambled over to the sergeant’s desk. They huddled around him while he did a good job of ignoring them.

“So, Sarge…what’s her name?”

“How old is she? Do you know what she does?”

“Is she single?”

“Does she like peace lilies?” Hidan snickered, earning another shove from Kisame.

“Her name is… none of your business. Whether she’s single is none of your business. And all of that is irrelevant to your jobs, which you should be doing right now,” Itachi finally responded, still typing.

“Aw, come on, Sarge. We never get the hot witnesses. The last one I got was an 80 year-old woman who kept calling me ‘Peaches’,” groaned Deidara.

“Detectives. If you’re still standing here by the time I finish typing this sentence, you’re all losing overtime this week,” stated Itachi. Rolling their eyes, they complained all the way back to their desks.

“Besides, we’re never going to see her again. So quit wasting time and work on your cases,” he added.

“Itachi sucks,” Hidan muttered under his breath.

“I heard that, Hidan.”

“Good. Now you know.”

True to Itachi’s prediction, he solved the case within the week. He didn’t have to call the pretty witness in again. And with another case closed, he typed up a new report.

II.

At 8, he clocked out, backed out of his parking spot, and pulled onto the main street. Halfway home, he remembered that he was out of milk, eggs, and actually that pretty much his whole fridge was empty. Sighing, he made a legal u-turn and headed for the supermarket.

Pushing his squeaking cart down the fluorescent aisle, he grabbed the usual packages and leafy vegetables. The most exciting thing was that he decided to get red bell peppers instead of yellow this time. A surly teenager with a lip ring rang up his groceries.

“Have a good evening,” he said in a flat tone as he handed over the receipt. Almost as if secretly hoping for the opposite to happen.

Itachi drove home and parked in his spot. He crammed all the paper bags into his arms at once, refusing to make more than one trip. He dropped his keys. Stooped to pick them up, dropped his phone. Picked that up, dropped his wallet.

Blowing out a sigh, he crouched in the parking lot for a long moment. Gathering the vestiges of his patience, he scooped everything up and made his way up to his apartment on the second floor. Everything seemed to be going reasonably well until he got to his door, dropped his keys, his phone, and then a bag split open, unleashing every single cherry tomato possible. Like a river of fleeing tomatoes.

“….Tomato betrayal,” he uttered.

“Woah. Uh. Here, let me help you.”

“No, that’s really not necessary. I ap-” he began, looking up. But when he locked eyes with the kind stranger, his jaw went slack.

“Oh. Sergeant,” she said.

“Miss Haruno,” he said.

It had been a year since the ATM robbery case. She had grown out her hair. She was dressed in black this time. Her bright red sneakers almost seemed to shine against the beige carpet. She smiled.

“Last time was Chunky Monkey. This time it’s tomatoes, huh?” she remarked as she squatted to help him retrieve the runaway fruit. She gathered the cherry tomatoes in her palm. He quickly grabbed the rest. They stood up together. She poured them into one of the unripped bags. And then handed over his keys.

“There you go,” she said, grinning.

“Uh. Thank you,” he replied, voice wooden. And for some reason, he pointed at his door.

“I live here,” he announced. And then mentally threw himself off a cliff. That sounded so awkward. So stupid. Sakura blinked a couple times. She then pointed next-door.

“I live here. Just moved in a couple weeks ago,” she replied.

“Oh. Well, good night,” Itachi said in a voice that was too loud. He quickly unlocked his door and slipped into his home, locking the door behind him.

“You WHAT?” Hidan shouted.

“AW, SARGE! NO!” Kisame lamented. He slid out of his seat, melting into a pile of disappointment on the floor. He flailed around, throwing a mild tantrum. Kakuzu walked in, microwaved burrito in one hand.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

“Turns out Hot Witness now lives next to the sarge. And when he ran into her last night, he said ‘oh, well, good night’ and shut the door on her’,” reported Deidara, chin in his hand.

“Yikes,” replied Kakuzu in an equally flat voice. He took a bite of his burrito and winced as the beans burned the roof of his mouth.

“It’s simple. All Sarge has to do is make sure he never runs into Hot Witness again. Stake out her apartment. Find out her schedule. And then plan the rest of your life so that your paths never cross again,” Kisame listed, his eyes a little crazy.

“Honestly, Itachi, that was pretty humiliating. I say just move to another country. Or get a face transplant,” Kakuzu said.

“Not helping, Kakuzu,” Hidan said, glaring. Kakuzu shrugged.

“I never said I was trying to,” he answered before he blew on his steaming burrito.

“Y’know, I’ve lived in my building for ten years and I’ve seen my neighbors maybe three times. I doubt Itachi will see her again,” Deidara pointed out. He clicked and dragged a card across his screen. Kakuzu leaned on the back of his chair. He used his burrito to point at one of the cards and gestured where to put it.

“You’re probably right, Deidara,” Itachi agreed.

III.

Itachi spilled a bunch of chili down the front of his shirt just before he saw her.

“Oh! Hey, neighbor,” she said. And then she saw the chili on his shirt and paused.

“Oh,” she said again.

“Uh, hi. Got a bit of a chili situation,” he explained, needlessly. She gave a polite smile.

“Yeah. Looks like it. I feel like food is always betraying you in some way or another. Do you need help?”

“No thanks. I uh…didn’t want the rest of the chili anyway…” he finished, lamely. She blinked a few times.

“Oh…is that why… you spilled it?” she asked with obvious concern.

“No,” he answered too loudly.

She blinked again. Itachi stared right back.

“You should probably soak that quickly. It’ll set if you don’t,” she pointed out.

“Uh…” Itachi responded, eloquently.

“The stain. It’ll set…” she repeated. Her patience amazed him. Glancing down at his shirt again, Itachi sighed.

“A little detergent and maybe some vinegar if that doesn’t work,” she went on. When Itachi continued to stare, she tilted her head.

“You know what? I was on my way back up anyway. I can show you how,” she offered, taking a step forward. It was only then that Itachi noticed the big cardboard box on her hip. He pointed at it.

“I can carry that,” he told her. She turned to look at him. Then looked down at her box.

“I mean… I’m not bragging that I can carry heavy things. I was offering- er. I would be willing to carry it for you. Not that I think you can’t. Feminism rules,” he rambled. She jostled the box a little.

“You know, this is actually pretty heavy. I would appreciate the help,” she said, handing it over to him. Itachi accepted it and nearly dropped it as the full weight hit him. But she had already turned to walk up the steps into the building.

Up on the second floor, she unlocked her door.

“Could you leave that on the table? Thanks.” She pointed to the round wooden table in the kitchen. Itachi deposited it as carefully as he could. It still landed with a disturbingly loud thud. He even thought he saw the table legs vibrating under the weight.

“Lose the shirt, Sergeant. Here. I’ll trade you,” she said.

When something came flying toward his face, he caught it. He turned it over in his hands. It was a rather old shirt, the lettering so faded that he couldn’t tell what it had once said. When he looked up, she had her back to him as she walked down the narrow hall. Popping open the buttons of his shirt, he quickly swapped it out for the t-shirt.

As he stared down at the heinous chili stain, her voice drifted in from the other room.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Of course,” he called back.

She held her hands up as she walked past. Itachi tossed her the shirt. She held it up to the light.

“Wow. You just completely missed your mouth, didn’t you,” she observed. Itachi felt his cheeks warm. He followed her to the kitchen sink. She plugged it and began filling it with water. Her fingers flickered in and out of the stream as she adjusted the temperature.

“So there’s protein in this. You never want to put it in hot water because that’ll cook the stain in,” she explained. She dabbed soap onto the stain. Then she scrubbed the fabric together until the detergent foamed. She looked up at him.

“What do you usually do for stuff like this anyway?” she asked.

“I just pour bleach on it and hope for the best. I now own a lot of white shirts that didn’t necessarily start that way,” he admitted, looking down at the faded t-shirt. He squinted. Was that an M or an H? She plunged the shirt into the warm water, scrubbing harder.

“So do you do this all the time? Bring people up here to teach them how to do laundry?” he asked, looking around. Her apartment had the same layout as his. There was a vase of flowers by the door, filled with roses that weren’t quite pink and weren’t quite peach. Kind of like the color of her hair.

“Yeah. It’s how I get them so I can harvest their organs for meat pies,” she answered, matching his easy tone. When he gaped at her, she looked a little worried.

“I’m kidding,” she said.

“I knew that,” he replied, quickly turning away. He glanced over her counters. There was a stand mixer and a rather large blender. A variety of mugs hanging from a rack- each with some sort of animal ears or a face on them. Even the apron hanging by the oven was adorable. It was covered in little yellow chicks.

“But you know, I was really surprised to see that you’re my neighbor. Kind of makes me feel safe living next to a cop,” she confessed. His eyes drifted back to her. Their eyes met. There was no hidden laugh there. She was serious.

“Uh well… you know, even if it’s not an emergency, you can ask for my help. If you’re walking home late or something… you know…” he trailed off, mumbling. She lifted the shirt to examine it. Water dripped back into the sink. She plunged it back in, scrubbing again.

“You know, I don’t think I can do that…”

His heart sank.

“Given that I don’t even have your number,” she continued.

His heart soared.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“That number you called me at was my personal. Drop call me?” she suggested. Itachi cleared his throat.

“Actually, when I called you, I wasn’t at my desk. So… you have my number too,” confessed Itachi. She smiled.

“Well, problem solved then,” she declared. And then she lifted the shirt in the air.

“Two problems,” she amended, turning with it stretched out in front of her.

IV.

“Hm. Sarge is whistling,” Hidan noted to himself. He continued typing for a few extra seconds. And then he gasped. Ducking his head, he wheeled over to Kisame’s desk. He had aimed poorly. His chair smashed into the other detective’s.

“What the hell, Hidan?” Kisame snapped. But Hidan threw his arm over his shoulder and pulled him down.

“Sarge is whistling,” he hissed.

Kisame stared at him. Then his eyes widened. He glanced over Hidan’s shoulder. Itachi was typing away at his desk. The man was indeed pursing his lips, whistling some classical music.

“Theories. Quick. Kakuzu, keep track,” Hidan said.

“This is stupid,” Kakuzu sighed even as he flipped to a fresh page in his notepad.

“Go,” Hidan ordered, pointing at Kisame.

“Itachi found a rare state quarter that he didn’t have before. Because you know he totally collects coins,” Kisame theorized, throwing down a crumpled twenty. Kakuzu nodded as he jotted it down.

“He ordered a really old, rare book and it’s coming in the mail today,” he then conjectured. He reached over and threw in another $20 bill.

“Ooh! Good one!” Kisame agreed. Hidan reached into his wallet to pull out a crisp $20 bill. He stretched it, making snapping noises. He handed Kisame the money, then rubbed his hands together.

“Okay. He marathoned a bunch of history documentaries he’s had on his DVR forever,” Hidan guessed.

“Damn, I should have guessed that,” groaned Kisame, sagging in his chair.

“That is pretty good,” Kakuzu said, writing.

“Yo. Deidara. What about yours?” asked Hidan.

They all turned to look at their coworker. He had his head down in his arms. Kisame grabbed a sheet of paper off his desk, wadding it into a ball. He lobbed it at Deidara, hitting him in the back of his head.

“Cough it up. And then talk, Deidara,” demanded Kisame. Deidara lifted his head, scowling.

“Pay up, nerd,” Kakuzu said. Deidara grumbled, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Muttering under his breath, he found the money and slapped it onto his desk.

“Your theory?” Kakuzu badgered him, holding his pencil ready.

“Your theories are all wrong. It’s obvious. The Sarge got some,” Deidara replied in a flat voice. He leaned back in his chair, arms limp at his sides.

The three other detectives stared at him before they burst into raucous laughter. They thumped their fists against Kisame’s desks. Even Kakuzu snickered, still jotting down the response. Clicking his tongue, Deidara spun his chair to face the sergeant who, surprisingly enough, wasn’t glaring at all the noise.

“Hey Sarge!” Deidara called out.

“Deidara, shut up!” hissed Hidan.

“You’re in an awfully good mood. Something good happen last night?” Deidara asked, ignoring his panicking coworkers. Itachi’s fingers stopped clattering against the keyboard.

“Shit,” muttered Kakuzu, lowering his head. Kisame ducked behind his peace lily, as if he could hide his huge body behind the ceramic pot.

“Not bad, detective,” Itachi stated.

Kisame’s head shot up.

“What?”

“No way!”

“Hand it over, you morons,” crowed Deidara.

“Wait, with Hot Witness? Was it Hot Witness?” Kisame shouted.

“Get back to work, detectives,” Itachi simply said as he resumed typing.

At noon, the Sarge always took his lunch break. On the rare occasion, he chipped in a couple bucks and stood eating pizza at Hidan’s desk. But more often, he took a walk to his favorite coffee shop.

A warm cup of Americano was a given. And he had a few favorite paninis and wraps that he cycled through. It was a quiet little joint. There were minimal hipsters crowding up the place and so it was an ideal spot for a relaxing lunch.

The barista at the counter recognized him and fired up the espresso machine.

“Oh, hey. We’re trying out a new recipe. Do you mind being the guinea pig?” the barista asked as he poured the coffee into a paper cup. Itachi’s eyebrows rose.

“Can I ask what kind of recipe?”

“Uh. I think she said some kind of chocolate? Hold on,” the barista hedged. He stuck his head into the kitchen and shouted something. The front of the kitchen was opened up to the rest of the coffee shop. Half the wall had been cut out and replaced with smooth wood countertops. He sometimes saw hands push out foods and such, but it had never been anything worth noting.

There was a distant bang. And then he saw hands emerge from that partition holding a plate. The bright red nails made him pause.

The barista returned with the plate.

“She says it’s a chocolate chiffon pie,” he reported. But Itachi wasn’t listening. He craned his neck, trying to peek into the kitchen. The hands were still there, tapping against the counter.

It would be embarrassing to be wrong, but the uncertainty honestly felt worse.

“…Sakura?” he called.

A head popped into view.

“No way! Sarge?” She grinned. “You’re the regular that Haku won’t stop talking about?” And then her eyes went wide. She held up one finger.

“Hold on!” she said.

And then she disappeared. It only took a few seconds for the kitchen door to swing open. She looped around the espresso machine and plopped her elbows down on the counter.

“Okay. Now take a bite. Let me know what you think. I kind of messed with this recipe,” she ordered. Face resting on the backs of her hands, she waited. Itachi looked from her down to the plate.

“Is this a new job?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No way. This is my store. I’m always in the kitchen, though,” she replied. And then she pointed to the menu mounted above the counter. She was wearing an adorable apron, just like the one hanging in her kitchen. Although, this one had a light blue pattern with piglets.

“But maybe that means I should show my face in the front more often,” she added, laughing.

Itachi leaned in closer. He took her hands. A blush rose to her cheeks.

“So you’re the one who bakes those banana nut muffins?” he interrogated. Sakura nodded.

“Fresh. Every morning,” she confirmed. Itachi lowered his voice.

“My life has been made so much better by those muffins. If I could, I would live inside one of them for the rest of my life.”

Sakura blinked.

“Thank…you? I think…”

Haku blinked at the both of them.

“So…y’all gonna try this pie or what?”

“Oh my god. Itachi,” Sakura exclaimed. He looked up from his newspaper. It took him a moment to find Sakura laying on her stomach by the couch. He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen her actually sit on the couch. Instead, she seemed to always lie on the shag rug beside it. And once again, she was there.

“Itachi, come here. You have to see this,” she insisted. Setting his paper down, he made his way over to her. A large book was spread open in front of her. She motioned for him to come closer. And so he sat on the rug. And he finally understood why she was always on it. It was so perfectly soft and fuzzy.

Sakura pointed to something on the page.

“So I was looking through my high school yearbook. And look!”

Itachi followed her finger. It was a picture, he read the caption, of the debate team in the gymnasium. To the left of the photo was Sakura in braces and a maroon blazer. She sat at a long table with several other teenagers dressed in the same blazer. In the background, he glimpsed a banner informing about the upcoming school dance.

“Cute?” he offered, not knowing what else to say.

“No. Look at this!”

She then pointed to someone in the background on the opposite side of the photo. There was someone carrying a trumpet case. Itachi squinted.

“Is that me?” he gasped.

She flipped to another page. There he was sitting in the courtyard with a couple of his buddies. He was in his letterman jacket, the school’s maroon and yellow proudly on display. And then he found Sakura on the edge of the photo, talking with her friends.

She was in front of some lockers, smiling and laughing. And there he was walking past with his own friends.

“I had no idea we went to school together. That’s so weird!” she exclaimed.

“I mean, our school was really big. And you must have been a freshman when I was a senior,” he rationalized.

“Still spooky, Itachi. I love it,” she hummed, legs swinging back and forth.

But the coincidences kept piling up.

Sasuke called, asking if he could crash on his couch for the weekend.

“Sure. I mean, it’s a little cramped but you’re always welcome to stay,” Itachi replied. He turned in his chair and found Kisame and Deidara leering at him from behind the peace lily.

“I’m on the phone with my brother, detectives,” Itachi said.

“Ugh. Boring,” they immediately groaned.

“Yeah, you see, one of my friends moved to your city like a year ago? Haven’t seen her in forever so a bunch of us are coming to throw her a surprise party,” explained Sasuke. Itachi nodded as if his younger brother could hear him. He continued clicking through the details of his latest case, half-listening.

“Actually, she went to school with us. Maybe you know her? Her name’s Sakura.”

Itachi dropped the phone.

“Hello? Hello? What was that?”

Itachi scrambled to pick the phone up. He jammed it up against his ear.

“Wait. Say that again?”

“Yeah. Sakura? We were in concert band together? She’s got pink hair, kind of pretty but also really weird,” Sasuke listed.

Leaning back in his chair, Itachi stared up at the ceiling. There was an old water stain above his desk in the shape of a rabbit. He tilted his head. Or maybe a duck.

“Okay, Sasuke. Get this,” he sighed.

Ten minutes later, Itachi hung up the phone as Sasuke continued to roar with laughter. It only took a few minutes for their family’s group chat to blow up. He didn’t bother opening it up. He didn’t have the energy for that. But he did happen to see Shisui type, “Yeeeeeaaaa get it boiiiiii”.

Itachi silenced his phone.

“Detectives, if I look up and I don’t see you doing something work-related, you’re all going to be staying late organizing case files,” he warned. Chairs squeaked around and someone began shuffling papers very loudly.

VI.

Itachi hesitated in front of her door. He held up his fist, lowered it again. Raised it. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and-

The door swung open. Sakura nearly barreled into him with a pizza box. On the lid of the box were drawings of bright red discs of pepperoni.They stared at one another for a minute. And then she opened the lid.

“I asked for a small and they gave me a large. I will die trying to eat this. I was just about to ask if you wanted to eat together,” she explained.

Itachi held up a six-pack of beer.

“Sasuke left these and they’ve been sitting in my fridge forever. Want to help me?” he said.

“There’s pineapple. Do you like pineapple? I know it’s a very polarizing topping,” she asked even as they stepped into her apartment together.

“Pineapple haters will go to jail,” he answered in a solemn voice. She laughed as they shut the door behind them.

VII.

Grocery store. There was a manger’s special sale on red pepper hummus. After a shift that ran late, Itachi arrived to find that there was only one package left.

He grabbed the last round container from the refrigerated display. The only problem was that someone else grabbed it too.

Left eye twitching, Itachi lifted his chin. It was Sakura, looking rather rumpled and exhausted herself.

“Itachi, release the hummus,” she ordered in a low voice.

“….I will have you arrested, Haruno,” he replied.

VIII.

“Ugh! I can’t believe the Captain is making us stay late for this. We should just let Deidara screw up. Then the Commissioner will grind his body up in his protein shake for breakfast tomorrow and Kisame can take his chair,” groaned Hidan.

Nodding, Kakuzu shot a glare toward the Captain’s office. But the blinds were shut and his glower was wasted.

“You guys should calm down. Sarge got here earlier than all of us. He’s been here for over 24 hours,” cut in Kisame, pointing. Itachi stood in front of the whiteboard, staring at the evidence. His necktie was loose and the back of his shirt wasn’t tucked in.

“Deidara, did you talk to the suspect’s sister?” Itachi asked.

“Already did. She has an alibi,” Deidara called back.

“Damnit. Now I’ve got no leads and I’m hungry,” sighed Itachi, rubbing his hair. He crossed his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

“I really want some Thai food,” he grumbled to the heavens.

At that precise moment, the elevator doors dinged open.

Sakura walked in, shivering and huffing. She said something garbled but her huge scarf muffled her voice. Itachi walked over to her, opening the gate to let her into the bullpen. While he was at it, he tugged her scarf down, revealing her red nose.

“Hi! Got your text that you were working late. Thought you might be hungry,” she said, holding up a bulging plastic bag in each hand. Itachi trailed after her, jaw slack as she made her way to his desk. She set down the bags and undid the knots. And an absurd amount of food poured out.

“So I had Haku make you a bunch of Americano and put it in a thermos. It should stay warm all night. Here’s some of your favorite banana nut muffins and some carrot cake. I also had some rye leftover today so I made a pastrami sandwich for you,” she listed, hovering her hand over each food.

“Wow. Sakura. Baby. Thank you,” Itachi said, running his hands over his hair again. Her put his arms around her, pulling her chilled body against him. But then he pointed to the second bag that she hadn’t unpacked yet.

“What’s that?”

Sakura unwound her red scarf, shivering again.

“Oh. You know, I had the weirdest craving for Thai food on the way here. So I picked us up some Pad See Ew and Gai Yang. And I got you that pineapple fried rice you like with mild spice,” she stated.

It was silent when she finished speaking. She looked around the bullpen. At the frozen faces, puzzled.

From the back of the room, Deidara peered over his computer screen.

“Wow. Itachi, like, just marry her,” he yelled.

#writing #itasaku #Anonymous #asks #oneshot

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saintcheesus · 7 years ago

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600+ notes later for my post and I wrote the first prompt! Lmaooo thank you all! And big thank you to @loki-god-of-thunder-and-mischief to givinng me advice and helping me with my fic!

~~~~~~ It was a particularly trying day for Damien.

First, he woke up late because his wonderful son took his charger while he was asleep because god forbid that Lucien cleaned his room once in a while, and so his phone died over night. Then he thought that he would have some cereal instead of a normal apple or other piece of fruit, and so he poured a bowlful. Of course, his son managed to use the whole gallon and so he was left with dry cereal which he poured back in the bowl, and then his son was being unusually pushy and rushed him out so he could drive him to school. Of course, there would be traffic on his way to work, why did they do so much construction when nothing ever got fixed?! His boss was usually lenient with Damien running late, he’s always tried to prove himself to be a model employee, and was well-liked around the office. He forgot that one of his co-workers were out sick, so he had to take their calls, while trying to do his own work. He was starting to see why his friend got sick.

The plus side was that he got off early, and was able to join Mary at the animal shelter. He figured that it would be a good time to unwind before going back home. Of course, even his happy place gave him a rough time. One dog was sick and Mary thinks it had something to do with it eating garbage when it thought no one was looking, and another one was having puppies and they needed to help with its birth (and they also were looking forward to it for three months). So, cue Damien covered in dog vomit, and birth juices in under two hours. Mary noticed that the animals weren’t giving him much grief and that he looked strung out already and sent him home. When he got to the house he prayed that Lucien wasn’t home. He loved his son to death but he just wanted five minutes of peace before he came home tearing the house apart looking for food.

“Lucien?”

There was no response. Damien figured that he couldn’t hear him. He took his shoes off at the door and looked up at his son’s room. He walked up to the door and gave it a few knocks. Lucien never really answered the door. Either his music was terrifyingly loud, he just gave something between a moan and a growl that signaled he could enter, if he didn’t do any of the two he was sleeping or he wasn’t home. Since Damien dropped him off today, he knew that his son didn’t go back after he left and cut school, so he just wasn’t home. He sighed and slid down the door and buried his face in his hands. He felt that familiar craving and hated himself for it. He hadn’t done it since Lucien was born and now he couldn’t keep his mind off it.

Damien really wanted a cigarette.

He ran a hand down his face and berated himself for even thinking about smoking. He did it when he was a teenager, mostly because a lot of the goth kids in his school did it and he didn’t want to be a poser (does anyone still say that???) so he picked up the habit too. Thankfully, he only smoked two or three a day, and Lucien came into his life before it could become a life-threatening past time so weaning himself of it was easy. He spotted Lucien a few times putting out a cigarette in the front of the house, or coming home from school smelling like the tobacco. He really didn’t approve of Lucien doing it, and even told him that he used to do it, Lucien must have taken some of it to heart because he stopped smelling like the smoke, and the ash marks on the porch are gone. He couldn’t stop Lucien from doing it permanently he realized, but it would make him feel a little better if he could at least smoke one a month. In fact, he was sure that Lucien had a few in his room right now. Even if he didn’t smoke them all, he probably sold them and Damien made a quick note to have a very serious talk with Lucien about that but for now, he was going to smoke one. Damien pushed himself off the floor and opened the door.

The boy’s room was a mess.

It was mostly clothes that belonged in the hamper, some papers of Lucien’s art that Damien wanted to hang in his office at work because it was so good, and other miscellaneous items. Everything in Damien’s body screamed to just get a cigarette and leave but he couldn’t help himself and gathered all the clothes, organized his books (that he stole from his room) and placed all of his jewelry and make up and small items in his drawers. He found the rolled-up cigarettes on his table and grabbed one as he exited the room. When he got to the laundry room, he threw all of Lucien’s dirty clothes in the washing machine and started the cycle.

“He’s going to definitely wash his clothes when he gets home.”

While he was watching the machine go, he looked down at the cigarette in his hand. He shook his head and walked into the kitchen. He didn’t grab Lucien’s lighter and didn’t want to chance Lucien catching him snooping in his room. He turned on the front stove burner and lit the end of the cigarette. He turned off the flame and took a huff of the cigarette. He frowned and coughed a bit.

“What type of tobacco is he using?”

He heard keys and his heart stopped.

“Dad I’m home!”

He walked up to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. His mouth hung open and Damien’s never seen his eyes so wide.

“Dad. Are you smoking?”

Damien sighed and looked at the cigarette.

“Lucien…I’m so sorry but I was really…no, I was horribly stressed today and I needed to have a smoke. I didn’t mean to steal one of your cigarettes…”

“Dad, dad hold on. Did you say cigarette?”

“Well…yes, are these not cigarettes? I know you tend to roll them yourself…”

Lucien held his hand up. He was trying hard not to laugh, and Damien knew that he did something wrong. He took another huff and blew a puff of smoke out.

“Dad you’re right about me rolling my cigs but…that is not a cig.” He was pointing at the item in his dad’s hands. Damien furrowed his brows and stared at Lucien harder. The boy was holding his hand over his mouth now like he didn’t know whether to laugh or to be horrified.

“Son…is this weed?”

Lucien smiled and said, “I am neither confirming or denying it…. but yes.”

And all Damien could think to say was:

“Well, shit.”

-----

Ten minutes later, they were sat in the middle of the living room, his dad sitting on the floor smiling at nothing and looking around his house as if he’s never lived in it before. Lucien took the joint from his dad as soon as he saw the cannabis doing its work on him. He led him to the carpet and that’s where they’ve been. His dad was hugging his knees to his chest and grinning like an idiot. At first, he was scared that his dad was going to have a panic attack, he was already prone to having those when he wasn’t high and it was horrible every time. His stuff was mild so his dad wasn’t going to hear colors or see dancing flowers, but he did take quite a few puffs of the joint already. Lucien wondered if he should just give his dad the rest of it, but he placed it on the table and leaned against the couch cushion and watched as his dad got up to look at his display skulls. He giggled and put his hand on the glass, leaning in really close so that his nose was crushed against the spotless showcase.

“You are so beautiful…I want the world to love you.”

Lucien’s brows furrowed at his dad. His father looked over at the carpet and placed his hands on it, his grin never wavering.

“Everyone steps on you but no one takes time to appreciate you…”

Lucien cracked a smirk and wondered if he should record this.

“I love this color so much, Lucien, did you know that?”

He rolled his eyes as he recounted the countless hours they spent shopping for the carpet. Lucien insisted that no one was going to care if the carpet was a lighter shade of red but all he got was a lecture on the importance of maintaining aesthetic and Oscar Wilde and how they could not possibly live in a home where the colors do not complement.

“Yeah dad I know.”

He watched as his dad put a hand over his mouth and giggle.

“I love my home so much, and I love you son! I love you so much!”

Oh here we go.

“You make me happy. Everything makes me so happy!”

Lucien stopped smiling. That wasn’t something his dad said often. He hadn’t heard the word “happy” leave his parent’s mouth in quite a while. In fact, the teen couldn’t remember the last time he saw his dad this happy and carefree. While he did pride himself on wearing Victorian clothes and being the Goth Dad, his dad was often quite insecure about his passions, and himself most days. He knew that as much as he spent time with him, his dad needed more than familial love. Some days he would try to hide it but Lucien knew that he got lonely time-to-time. He gets dates pretty often but there doesn’t tend to be second dates because people suck. They spent so long, no, his dad spent so long personally renovating their house and no one complimented it or congratulated him, but himself. His dad never liked to dwell on bad feelings for long but still, he was only human, and he’s had a rough go of things.

He didn’t hear his dad shuffle closer to him, he did feel his dad padding at his hair, and his face. He was slightly uncomfortable but let his dad rock.

“Look at you! My boy…”

“Dad…”

“I love you!”

“Heh…love you too dad.”

His dad moved onto the table and whispered something to it and Lucien crossed his legs. He was going to get hungry soon, and so snacks would have to be put out. He sighed and got up.

“I’ll be back dad.”

He heard laughter and just kept walking. He left him sitting criss-cross and holding his cloak.

“Why does everyone call you a cape? You are special, you’re my special cloak!”

“Come on, I know you’re hungry as fuck right now.” He chuckled at being able to curse without being scolded. His dad nodded and rose from his spot.

“Thank you son, you’re amazing!”

He watched his dad take his seat in the chair and smiled at him. So maybe he didn’t need to be giving his dad blunts every day, but it was nice to see him so calm and happy. His dad deserved to be happy. His dad deserved so much more too.

~~~~~~~

So I’m gonna tag @damienbloodmqrch @dreamdamein @rainbowroyal @onecolorgirl @thevoicesinmyheadsayitsokay @negatjazzy @tinyawkwardoctopus @5fantasticfuckingnightsatfreddys @nanasamantha @choroland @xxinfinitywriterxx @ddadds-lover @raddadds @crying-waffles @suicidesquadgirl13 @little-mister-disappear @shadows-destiny @1-800-moonriver @robinitegames @corynofhoole @trans-damienbloodmarch @glassdais @maybe-strawberry-blue @tearstainedashes @dinocatdraws @cas-winchester-novak @adryanass @isdisorigionalenoughforyou @reinventphan @damien-and-lucien @c-chanfromda @dream-dicky @voidofthestars

I went through all 720 notes to tag people who picked both/the first one/asked me to tag them. If you want to be tagged in the next, send me an ask or a message!

#dream daddy #fic #damien bloodmarch #lucien bloodmarch #dream daddy damien #they are a good family #and lucien is a good boy and a good son #weed tw

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imagineangryspacegrump-blog · 8 years ago

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For You

Prompt: "Instead of the reader getting hurt, Bones does? Maybe he protects the reader from getting hurt or something?" -Anon

Warnings: Trashy science stuff that, for the most part, is made up. Angst if you squint

Word Count: 2,099

A/n: This fic is way, WAY overdue, but don’t worry, I’m getting back to writing again. I have been horribly busy. The facts in this story are everywhere, so if you really have the dying desire to know what's real and what's not, message me and I'll let ya know :P

The two suns in the sky illuminated their light softly through a large canopy of trees, illuminating small beams of light through the dense ceiling of leaves. It made the whole environment feel magical, and the mysterious creatures that ran or flew around just added to the feel.

You happily walked around, taking everything in little bits at a time. Your companion though, was having a much worse time than you were, and instead of frolicking around, he was stomping through the vegetation with a deep scowl.

"Can you hurry up and pick a damned plant already? I'm getting blisters on my heels from walking so much."

"Stop whining and enjoy the view!" You stopped and bent over to gently touch a flower that was white with red specks.

Leonard stood behind you and watched your skirt ride up a bit from bending over. Doing so revealed the Starfleet insignia you had tattooed on the back of your thigh.

He grunted. "I am enjoying the view but I'd much rather be enjoying it from our bed, not on some crazed planet that's probably crawling with some sort of deadly space herpes."

You chuckled and straightened out, continuing to walk through the trees. "C'mon, this is is fun! This is probably the only break you'll have in months so enjoy it."

He went silent after that and followed after you, smacking away some pesky bugs that started to hover around his head.

"Woah Leonard, check this out!"

You pointed out a weird looking plant that had spikes along the pod. It looked like a dragon fruit on a stick. The red and brown color's mixed together, making it look beautiful yet dangerous.

Your face scrunched up. "I could've sworn I've learned about this plant before. Does this look familiar, Len?"

Leonard shrugged and hit another bug away. "You're the botanist, not me. I couldn't even tell you what lilies look like. Aren't they white?"

You laughed and reached forward to poke at the flower. Leonard saw the movement in the middle of the flower before you did, so he hit your hand away. In doing so, instead of your finger getting trapped inside the flower, it was his.

The plant had wrapped around his poiner finger and held tight, similar to one of those old Chinese finger traps. The harder he pulled to free his finger, the more it held on.

"What the hell? Can you help me out a little Y/n? The plant keeps pricking my finger."

"Okay, okay hold on." Pulling out a knife, you hacked at the stem of the plant, successfully cutting it in half.

You thought doing so would make the flower let go, but it didn't. So it wasn't the flower? Must be something inside.

"Ok, I'm going to cut the pod open so if I accidentally cut your finger off, I'm sorry."

After a couple of seconds, the hard shell of the plant broke open and released Leonard's finger. The digit was turning purple and had swollen up drastically.

"That can't be good. Umm..."

Turning back to the pod, you nudged the plant with a nearby branch and something fell out.

It was a small caterpillar, almost two inches in size. It's entire body was covered with small, needle like hairs that branched out in every which way.

You blanched at the sight and jumped up. Leonard winced when you grabbed at his hand and ripped off a part of your uniform. While you tied the piece of cloth tightly around his wrist, he started to question you.

"What's wrong? What was that thing?"

"That was a Lonomia Obliqua."

"Ok yeah that helps." His tone was dripping with sarcasm. "I don't speak Botany Y/n, speak English."

"Otherwise known as the 'Assassin Caterpillar'. Very toxic. It uses those little hairs on it's body to inject it's victim with venom that spreads quickly, causing disseminated intravascular coagulation. In other words, you get blood clots in places you shouldn't and you don't get clots in places you should. We have to get you medical help before the symptoms set and you start losing blood flow to your tissues and organs, and start internally bleeding."

Leonard looked a little pale. "Is there a cure?"

You shrugged and made sure the cloth wrapped around his wrist was tightly synched to try and delay the venom from spreading as much as possible. "I think some of the Brazilians on Earth may have come up with something since they have a very similar insect. Hopefully we have the stuff for the cure."

"You're a real comfort, you know that? Good thing you're not a doctor, 'cause your bedside manner is shit." He watched as you pulled out your Comm.

"Yeah, well, last time I checked, your bedside manner was debatable as well." He lightly chuckled at the remark, and you flipped open your Comm.

"L/n to Enterprise, we have a medical emergency and need to be beamed up immediately."

Scotty's crackling voice rang from the little device. "Aye, lass. Beaming in five."

As soon as you and Bones appeared on the Enterprise, you grabbed his arm and started to lead him to the med bay.

"You're holding me like I'm going to collapse any second."

"If the venom sets in, it's quite possible. One can't be too careful."

When the med bay doors were in sight, Leonard's right leg suddenly gave out. He grunted and held onto his thigh with one hand, while wiping and his nose with the other. When he pulled the hand away, there was a smear of blood on it.

You started spewing curses and pressed two fingers to his neck to feel his pulse. His heartbeat thrummed against your fingers.

"You of all people should know that to prevent toxins from spreading at a faster rate is to calm your heart! The venom is already kicking in. Looks like you have a deep vein clot in your leg and you've already popped a blood vessel or two in your nose."

You wrapped his arm over your neck and helped support him for the rest of the walk. When you walked through the door, two nurses jumped at attention and took him out of your hands.

As they set him down on a bio bed, you started listing off orders to surrounding nurses.

"I need you to thoroughly wash that wound with soap and water, no matter how much pain he says he's in. We don't need any infection. And you, I need you to get adhesive tape and wrap his finger with it, then pull it off. Repeat that a couple of times, because we need those little hairs out of his finger. I need a hypo with antifibrinolytics."

The nurses hopped to work and someone handed you the desired hypo. Leonard flinched when you injected him with the fluid, but relaxed when you lightly rubbed the spot while looking at his vitals. His blood pressure was out of wack, the bed trying to decipher if it was high or low since the pressure was different in separate parts of his body.

Small red and purple dots started to appear through his skin as a sign of more little clots. You noticed he had a slight dazed look in his eyes.

"Leonard? Hey, you alright?"

He slowly looked up at you and scrunched up his face, before looking around the room. "Where am I?"

You took a deep breath. "Shit. Mental confusion, first signs of internal bleeding in the brain. Umm... think Y/n, think. What's the treatment? You learned this."

You hit your temple with the heel of your hands, eyes squeezed shut, trying to file through your memories to the deepest and darkest parts.

"Caterpillar, disseminated intravascular coagulation, internally bleeding, tox-"

It was if a light bulb had appeared and smacked you on the head.

"Toxins. The venom! We can use the venom to make an antiserum!"

You sped out of the room, Leonard calling a delirious 'Noooooooo' when you ran through the doors. After grabbing a mug and plate from the mess hall, you ran back to the beaming pad and instructed Scotty to put you back down in the exact same spot.

He did as he was told and you started pushing around bushes to try and find the little creepy thing. When you spotted it slowly working it's way across the soft soil of the ground, you approached it slowly.

When you got close enough, you lashed out and covered the bug with the mug so it couldn't escape. After carefully slipping the plate underneath the lip of the cup so the bug was contained, you contacted Scotty again.

Leonard seemed to be getting worse. He was starting to sweat and his breathing was getting shorter and shallow. More clots must be building somewhere in his lungs.

Going to the nearest table, you started to make an antiserum. You held the caterpillar with forceps so you wouldn't risk getting stung either, and pressed it's head against the lip of a test tube. What you were doing was similar to 'milking' a snake of its venom. A pale green liquid started to slide down the glass and pool in the bottom.

When you gathered a decent amount, you put the caterpillar back in the mug and put the plate over it to keep it contained. For three agonizing minutes, you worked swiftly on the serum. [A/n: This process takes years to actually finish, but we don't have year’s soooooooo I've condensed years into minutes]

You would watch Leonard out of the corner of your eye, failing to push away the smile that appeared when he said "Ouchie" while a nurse administered pain relievers. Even though he was being adorable, the behavior just confirmed the bleeding that was possibly taking place in that thick skull of his.

When the liquid in the test tube turned a golden color, you let out a happy laugh and grabbed an empty hypo, loaded the serum, and jogged over to Leonard.

He watched with distant eyes as you readied the hypo. "Is that chicken noodle soup?"

You chuckled and lightly rubbed his neck to loosen the muscle. "This is some golden blackmail material."

He flinched when you injected the serum and it seemed the stuff did it's magic. His eyes cleared up and he shot up from his lounging position.

"What the hell? What just happened?"

"Wow, look at that. Symptoms gone just as fast as they came. How are you feeling?" You grabbed a tricorder from a nearby nurse and started to scan him, much to his displeasure.

"I feel like I've been hit by a space station. Twice."

"You look like it too." You gestured to the dry blood that caked the tip of his nose and his upper lip. He glared. "But it looks like all your brain functions have been spared and the internal bleeding didn't get anything important. Although, I'm pretty sure it might've damaged the part of the brain that held the instructions on how to smile."

He scrunched his face up and feined confusion, "What's smiling?"

You laughed and kissed his forehead. He quirked a small smile and moved to stand up.

"Woah, where do you think you're going?" You held a hand to his chest and pushed him back to the bed. He sat down but didn't lay back, so you stood between his legs.

"Back to work?"

You shook your head and poked his abdomen with your pointer finger. "You, sir, almost bled out from the inside, which was mostly my fault. I'm not letting you leave until someone looks you over to make sure all systems are functioning properly."

In his head, he was declining your statement, you could tell, but he never argued with you aloud. He knew you would win the argument.

"Fine." He grumbled. "But," He hooked his feet around the back of your thighs and pulled you closer to the bed. "you're staying with me. Besides, like you said, this whole thing was your fault anyway."

You pouted when he used your own words in his favor. When he started to get closer, you pulled back.

"No. I'm not kissing you until you clean up that bloody mess. I love you, but I don't love you that much."

Leonard caught on to your teasing and huffed. A nurse handed him a wet rag for his face and Leonard started to wipe his face off. You sighed and rested your forehead on his chest, listening to his beautiful, clot-free heartbeat.

Tagging: @outside-the-government @feelmyroarrrr @hellhoundsandunicorns @captian-hannah-kirk

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