#yeah it was obnoxiously yellow and red and also he uses his nickname on the campaign

[sqlmn]

Art I did during my break but don't wanna post on main but you know what. I like Levi and Richard (and Arienne the redhead).

Basically, Levi and Richard go to school together, Richard decides to go by the name Richard and the only person to without question go along with "I'm a boy now" is Levi who calls him Dick. And then gets into fist fights with boys that don't call him Richard. So Richard falls pretty much in love in school then his parents divorce and he moves away.

Many years later (10+) Richard meets Levi again and it's very much nothing grand. Levi overhears Richard introducing himself to someone and is like "lmao Dick? You work here now? Sucks to be you" and Richard is immediately 'I love him so much I hate myself for how easily I give up all dignity for him' but yeah. They work in different departments so Levi does more behind the scenes stuff while Richard talks to clients and is very social.

And their coworkers in both departments love Richard because he's such a nice guy and Levi's department hates Levi a lot cause he's an asshole. (then stuff happens that would require a tw blah blah blah) So after a month of Levi not being at work he returns and Richard immediately goes over to the department to check on him and he's just. Incredibly mellow. No cussing and no cockiness and worst of all, he's being called Richard which is very much not correct from Levi. So he points it out that no one else calls him Dick and if he had a problem with it he would have said something by now so hey, maybe don't suddenly change the entire friendship on your own. (So Levi texts him later to say "sorry for being a dick, Dick" and Richard is v happy and content with that turn out)

Richard is honestly tragically created out of spite for the fact I saw a name IRL and I know that the state that I live in would in fact NOT have someone that intentionally funny and trans so I have to make my own funny trans guy to fill the void.

[shortyisweird9]

'Lonely ghost serie'

Quiet Night - part I

Tw: swearing ⚠️

It all started on a quiet night, the raining outside trying desperately to calm your nerves. To stop this feeling of shutting down that creeps down your back.

You don't know why you feel like this, why your internal organs feel like they will give up on you any second, why your lungs seemed to be on the verge of collapsing, why you couldn't sleep and why you couldn't keep your mind quiet. Your anxiety made you feel like every you think you have will be gone on the blink of the eye, your depression made you feel worthless, just a waste of space, time, money and resources. A nothing that won't be missed if something were to happened to it. But they were wrong , you were more than that.

You sighed, licking your dry lips as your tired eyes watched the dark room. Shadows that made your imagination ran wilde. When you were a kid , you used to be afraid of the dark ,now you found solace in it. Shelter from the loud,obnoxious, scary world that was outside of your small house.

What I won't give from some water.

You didn't want to get up as you fixed your disheveled clothes on your plump body but you couldn't sleep on the overturned bed or have any wish to hop on YouTube or any crime investigation shows. You couldn't shout at your cat to bring you water, she will ignore you anyway.

You sighed, cleaning your eyes fron what remained of your tears before sucking in the walls of your mouth to create some interesting sounds of boredom.

As your mind did the excruciatingly hard task of thinking, your phone binged. A message but from who?

It was from your friend, Sabrina. She is an avid player of Among us even start a channel called dum Red where she and other classmates played. You are cool with the game ,not your favourite but a good pass up time.

"Hey, what's up?" She wrote.

"This early you are up?"

"Yeah ,why not."

"*?"

"You will be dead tomorrow. "

"I suffer for the entertainment of others."

You laughed as you imagined the face full of tiredness of your friend. You were the night owl of the group but she... she is an imposter. Trying to pass up as a night owl but she is just a morning seagull.

"So.. wanna come up on the feed? =))"

"Hmm..you sure? I don't want to fuck up your stream."

"Nonsense, they will love you."

You sighed, it's not like you had anything better to do.

"Fine."

"Yayyyy💖💖"

You groaned as your eyes burned from the brightness of the monitor, the writing hazy as ever. You moved to get your glasses from the night table, stretching and sighing when you heard the satisfying pop from your lower back. As you let Windows ran its course ,you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, cold water was superior by a long shot. Your cat was watching you with her big yellow eyes. You baby talked with her for a bit ,petting her then washing your hands.

The invitation of the link long send ,was quickly tapped in.

"Hey ,guys! Welcome back!" Your friend's voice ran in your room before you entered the headphones cord.

"Guys, I told you it was pink. You never believe me."

You smiled as the usual banter raged on , nice to know that even at this hour people were more alive than asleep.

"Yeah, yeah. Roberts you always complain."

"Because I am always right."

"Cool your jets ,Jamal. Don't pull out the 9."

They laughed at their friend's expanse.

"Whatever."

"Um ,Red?"

"Yeah , Steve? What's up?"

"The sky."

"Robert, shut."

"Um..who is ghost?"

"Who? Ah! Everyone ,please say hi to my friend, Y- ghost!"

The loud chorus of salutations hit your ears as their characters circled around your still one. It was white with red pointy horns ,you liked the aesthetic of it.

"Um..ghost? Are you-..Are you there?"

"Ghost?"

You sighed, getting ready to talk after making sure it was on.

"Ghost? Hey, it's okay. We don't bite." A worried voice calm you a bit.

"Not too hard, ha."

"Ghost!"

"Ghost!"

"Ghost!"

They all began hitting on the desks with their fists to create a beat. Poor desks.

"Gho-"

"'Sup motherfuckers."

The quiet settled in, making your dread more prominent and your skin tingle. You wanted to say something but the boys and girls beat you to it:

"OH MY - FUCKING- GOD!"

"NO FUCKING WAY!"

"What the fuck? Sovereign is that you?"

"Red you didn't tell us your friends with a MOTHERFUCKING reaper."

You laughed as the voice changer made it deeper, mechanic but enought to ignite something judging by the face of your school pal , Matthew.

"What's the manner toots? My voice is too much to handle?"

They were quiet again as Matthew cleaned his throat to finally address.

"Very funny, best friend. I am dying of laughter. "

He smiled though, knowing you were just teasing him.

"The matter of death remains to be determine."

"Phew ,is it hot in here or it's just..."

"You. It's just you." You spoke watching the blond boy with milk skin and acne scars move his green shirt to cool off, you chuckled at this.

People are so easy to get a reaction from. Not like you, yourself, haven't been affected by the charm of a deep voice.

"Ready to play?" Came the cheery voice of Sabrina as you watched her move in the chair, playing with her sand blonde curls and wearing your lavender hoodie.

"You still haven't got me the hoodie back, Red."

"Yeah, Red. You don't want Sovereign daddy to be mad,do you?"

You snorted in an ugly manner at the nicknamed a dude called David put you. He had a small moustache, black curls fit in a square like afro. He may be the Arab friend Sabrina told you about. He seemed nice, maybe a bit shy but then again so were you. Hmm...not shy,more like reserved. You liked being alone but you also craved the touch of another being.

"Mommy, David, mommy. "

"Ooooh!"

"Alright you horny bitches ,time to play."

With that Sabrina began the match as your smirk grew when the word IMPOSTER was displayed on your screen.

Time to kill some bitches.

————————————————————

In the other corner of the internet, Corpse was getting ready to hop on another live stream with Jackie boy and Pewds. He loved how his life changed , how his supporters were kind and understanding. He was still nervous yes but the thrill was outweighed by the happiness of just being around so many good people.

His phone started to blow up as he was putting his headphones. People were tagging him on a small video of an Among us live stream, he pressed play not thinking much about the title of the video : HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!!

The film started with the host presenting their friends who seemed to by a bit scared of saying hi. The others started cheering them on but stopped abruptly when a deep mechanical voice hit their audio. It was from a voice changer no doubt but still..it shocked them as it did for him.

His eyes skipped on the funny comments left by his fans. Some where calling them his twin, other called for a collab and others thought it was actually he who spoke.

The other thing that stood out was the match. Ghost as she calls herself ended their match in one go... by killing all of them except the other imposter. He smiled at that , impressed of the skill of a casual player as her friend dum Red said she was.

A notification came from Discord, it was Lily. She send the same video he's been watching with the caption: Hey, guys! Look what I found.

The others flooded the chat with their own reaction as he drank his boba tea. The consensus was that they wanted to play with this person. His smile grew was the word 'yes' was sent.

This will be fun.

————————————————————

Hey guys! 💖

Hope you liked the first part of the serie! Feel free to comment your thoughts and opinions but please be nice and respectful. 👉🥺👈

Anyway, see yah!

[satrangee-ray]

The Snack of a Lifetime

Book: Open Heart 3 and beyond.

Pairing(s): Ethan × NB!MC {Dr Inara Hepburn (she/they)}.

Rating: Teen+

Summary: Inara barges into the DT room with some obnoxious snacks to force Ethan into taking a break. But is that all they have in mind, or will their brilliant plan saved for later take him by pleasant surprise?

Category: Fluff, banter, life decisions and celebrations 🎉😁✌.

Trope: Weddings and Proposals.

Warning(s): one or two swear words, mention of a sex act.

Writer's note: By the time this starts, Ethan and MC have already said their 'I love you's, are in a committed relationship, and more or less everyone knows about it. In my original HC for Inara and Ethan they don't get married this early, so this is kind of an AU cause I really wanted to write a proposal fic. Also the whole lawsuit drama didn't happen, cause I said so, and most sane people would agree.

Ethan wasn't used to receiving.

It was apparent in the way he interacted with the world, immediately getting suspicious of anyone who would remotely extend some sort of courtesy towards him. 

He knew if he ever wanted to have something for himself, no one but he would have to take initiative to go get it. And for two-way processes like relationships, he had no belief whatsoever on the legitimacy of such things.

That was until Inara waltzed into his life, and amazed him with the possibility that he could be on the receiving end of good things without having to worry about any strings attached. Be it love, or a blowjob, or "care", as he previously liked to call it– the best things life ever had to offer were simply falling into his lap, and he couldn't find himself complaining.

Inara cared, in the truest sense of the word.

She cared enough to take off his glasses and cover him up in warm blankets, whenever he would fall asleep with an open medical journal in his hands. She cared enough to know just how he liked his coffee, or to school his scotch habits whenever they would get a little out of hand. And presently, she cared enough to let him work overtime, by agreeing to grab lunch with Tobias instead.

Ethan couldn't afford to take breaks. These days, he had to work even in between shifts, to finish editing his second medical book decently before it's approaching release date.

.

.

(One month before Inara's board exams)

.

The diagnostics office sat deserted, except for one doctor. A wooden desk, with papers sprawled all around. Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, as he kept his glasses aside.

Suddenly the office door swung open, and three figures strolled in. Two practically tumbled, giggling overenthusiastically. The third one was Harper, who calmly walked in holding a tray, and shook her head with an amused expression.

Ethan looked up, and saw Tobias and Inara, each triumphantly holding up all their 10 fingers at him.

"Ring Chips!" Inara squealed, running towards Ethan. "Si baked these last night, and brought them as extra snacks for her fourteen hour shift today, but of course, we managed to hog some. So dig in!"

Ethan cautiously eyed the bright yellow crisps looped through Inara's fingers, and said, "you're not expecting me to eat those atrocities, are you?"

"Did you just call Sienna's baked goods an atrocity? That's wrong on so many levels E, lemme just get her on the phone..."

"NO", Ethan replied on high alert.

"That's what I thought. Cause bold words for someone who struggles even with a pancake."

Tobias and Harper chuckled, struggling in vain to stifle it.

"Fine, give me one here", Ethan said, extending his hand towards Harper's tray which contained the particular baked snacks.

"Nope, that's not the way", Inara stopped him, slapping his hand. "If you're doing this, you gotta do it right."

A loud exhale escaped Ethan. "What now, Rookie?"

"E, you can't just pick one chip and eat it, okay? You gotta slip it through your finger, and try to grab it with your mouth, the childhood nostalgia way. Like this."

Inara brought their hand to their mouth, and swallowed one whole finger, sucking on it until the chip looped through it flew backwards into their mouth. They proceeded to chew on it, staring straight into Ethan's eyes. 

He was so screwed. 

Turning away from Inara's gaze with tremendous effort, he wordlessly picked up a chip loop from the tray and tried to slip it into his finger.

"Too small", Tobias remarked, and handed him another. "Try a bigger one."

This time the ring effortlessly slipped through his finger, sitting perfectly at it's base. Ethan stared at it, perplexed, for a few moments.

"Yes! Now consume it with your mouth", Inara's excited cheers continued.

Harper couldn't hold in a scoff, while the youngest doctor in the room remained blissfully unaware of the implications of their phrase.

Ethan's mouth opened in protest, but he realized it's futility immediately and decided to close it. Scrunching up his entire face, in disbelief that he was actually doing this, he lowered his head, and slowly raised his hand to his face.

When his finger holding the chip was well within his reach, he opened his mouth once again to grab it. But just when he was about to take the bite, Inara acted quickly and slipped the chip out of his finger, causing Ethan to bite into his own skin instead. 

"Aahh, Nars what the hell! Are you nuts?"

The three other doctors in the room unabashedly cracked up now, not bothering to hide their glee in Ethan being tortured like that.

Inara began stroking his beard softly, before leaving a quick kiss on his cheek.

Shades of light pink took over it in response.

"You should have acted faster, honey", Inara said, taking his hands into theirs. Another gentle peck landed on his lips.

"Now I'm already running late, there's this patient I have to check on, gotta yeet. But you better finish the rest of those snacks, along with the real food we brought you for lunch, and for God's sake, please look up from those damn papers for five minutes, and take a freakin' chill pill!" 

The last words were shouted as they rushed out the door.

Ethan and Tobias sighed.

"They're the best thing that has ever happened to you"

"Indeed", Ethan said in earnest. "I'll be very inclined to agree."

.

.

(Four months after Inara's board exams)

.

The gorgeous venue sparkled with chandeliers and boujee people in expensive suits. Small round tables, aesthetic chairs, congratulations in order everywhere. No, it wasn't the medical industry's 'it' couple getting married, it was the 'it' doctor, and the chief of medicine's second book getting launched instead. 

Ethan had walked into the Edenbrook atrium that morning like it was a war zone. His expression still spelt terror, as he uneasily shifted his glance between some of his guests, shooting small, forced smiles their way.

"Why do we always have to do this?", he had asked Naveen. "Why couldn't we just release the damn book in stores? Why host a useless social gathering with forty thousand rich snobs who are only any good at showing off and draining your energy?"

Naveen had shook his head and hit him with an assertive "it's necessary."

So currently, Ethan stood awkward to his bones, in the middle of this necessary evil. Until, a certain presence near the door cued him to look up.

It was them.

Pantsuit in a sinful vermillion, the colour glowing bright against their skin. Red bottom wedges, that only aided their boss status. Brunette locks framing their face, so impeccably contrasting the emerald eyes looking affectionately back at him. Those, which never failed to take his breath away.

Inara Hepburn.

His giver, his lover, his Rookie.

And Ethan couldn't be more mesmerized, or reassured.

"Need some help picking your jaw off the floor, Ramsey?" Inara quipped, as they strode towards Ethan, torturously slow.

"I– well…", he stammered, before clearing his throat. "Is that look the reason why you chose to arrive 'fashionably late', and drive separately to my book launch from our own apartment?"

"Yeah, definitely the look, but I daresay some other things as well", they said, placing a playful hand on Ethan's chest. "You'll soon find out."

He smiled warmly at them. "Is that a challenge?"

"Have you ever backed down from one?"

A reckless mistake of letting his eyes slip to their lips, and Ethan couldn't wait any longer. He wrapped his arms around their waist, kissing them hard and deep. Drinking in their mouth, their warmth, their sensations. Aching to draw as much energy as he could to power through this event, from his greatest source of confidence, his only constant supporter. 

"I love you so much, Rookie", he panted, after the kiss broke off.

"Some brand new information there", teased Inara, bumping their nose into his. "You know I love you too, E. Now tell me what's bothering you."

Ethan pulled back swiftly at that, and stared at them in astonishment.

"What?"

"What 'what'? It was all over your face when I entered, and you still don't look quite alright. What's wrong, love? I don't recall you being afraid of public speaking!"

"I'd address an audience in my dreams! I just don't understand what's up with these people who come up individually to congratulate me, and purposefully try to expand those two lines into a whole one-on-one conversation. Scandalous!"

Inara nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Such a mood, b*tch, such a mood."

Peels of laughter were shared again, at their effortless mutual understanding, and at the usage of Inara's all time favourite nickname.

"All the best", they wished, shaking him by the lapels of his coat. "Get out there, and kill it!"

.

.

.

About an hour later, applause sounded from every corner of the atrium. Ethan beamed, as he finished reading the last line of a snippet about his latest research from his book.

Clapping proudly from the crowds was Inara, a lover on a mission.

"Thank you everyone, for joining me here today", Ethan said, amongst cheers and buzzing words of encouragement from fellow doctors and other esteemed medical personalities. "I hope I will be able to add value to patient-care through my efforts behind this book. There are some people I would like to specifically thank for being of immense help on my journey till here, so let's begin. Dad, thank you so much for coming to support me. Means a lot. Maybe because of my personal outlook, I could never comprehend your brand of unconditional love, which you so freely offer without actively needing me to work for it. I know now how valuable and rare that is, and how it has helped me grow into the man I am today. For that I will always be grateful. Naveen, thank you so much. You know if I start listing 'what for', I won't finish."

A lighthearted chuckle spread among the crowd.

"You always keep saying my success is my own, but I firmly believe there was no way I would have been the doctor I am without your help and guidance. Thank you for being the excellent mentor and leader by example that you are, you still motivate me to become better everyday. And, last but not the least… Inara."

All eyes in the audience shifted towards one young attending, who was clutching her glass out of giddiness.

"I really want to say thank you, but those two words will never be able to express the amount of gratitude I hold towards you. Before you, my life was only ever about blacks and whites. Giving my everything into medicine, working late nights and coming back to an empty apartment with scotch in my hand, I thought I was doing it all right. But when I met you, got to know you, I… you left me in utter awe of who you are, both as a professional and as a person. I couldn't stop myself from falling in love, and in respect, with your brain, your mind, and your soul. I am so glad you were patient with me while I was busy trying to deny it. You continued to show that patience even until recently, when I was all cranky with writer's block. Now I know the great Dr. Inara Hepburn is also a published novel writer, so of course that bit might have come out of empathy, but nonetheless, I'm thankful for it. Today, I'm about to release a book I put my all into, the information in which might hopefully change the face of what I'm most passionate about – public healthcare, for the better. And I'd rather not share this moment with anyone else. So Inara, would you please honour me by coming up on stage to receive the first ever copy of 'Prognosis and Evaluation'?"

Inara couldn't speak, stunned into silence for a bit. They had no idea Ethan would be the one for emotional public speeches, and here they were, utterly moved, in for another surprise. So would he be, soon, they reasoned in their head, and gathered themselves. Keeping their drink aside on a table, they strode towards the stage, eyes shining with pride, love, and determination.

Determination to get this right.

Ethan took their hand as soon as they stepped on the first stair, and led them upstage. 

A copy of the book, new and shining, was lying, all theirs to hold.

'Prognosis and Evaluation: A comprehensive study.'

Their heart swelled at the words written on the first page of the book.

Typical Ethan's handwriting, somehow neat and gibberish at the same time.

'My love, my north star, I promise to never let you down' - Dr Ramsey Ethan <3.

Tears. Instantly, a whole lot of them rolled down their cheeks. They clutched the book hard and hugged it to their chest, holding on tight. Ethan held them in turn, locking their shaking frame in his embrace, as the crowd broke into a unanimous applause.

"E, I don't know what to say", Inara began, on being handed over the mic. "Si would have cried so much if she were present here, Naveen's already crying."

Their grandmentor smiled back at them through his tears.

"The thing is, I love success. I love standing in the spotlight, having my own life, and earning my own achievements. Despite that, there is always a deeper warmth in standing next to someone you love, when they accomplish great things, and shouting "my person!" Today, you've given me that opportunity, and I'm so grateful to you for it. I'm proud of you for believing in yourself, and speaking your voice not as a "mechanism of coping with the means of this corrupt world", but as a means to bring genuine change because you believe you can. I've always seen you try so hard to never let your loved ones down, and that effort is what I'm so here for. People like you are rare, and I'm glad I got one to myself, to constantly cheerlead for, now and as long as you'll have me. I'll never leave your side, Ethan. I'd love us to forever be each other's hype person. Not just in practice, but also… officially."

Three distinct gasps were heard in the room.

Alan, Naveen and Tobias let their pinkies lock into each other.

Ethan's eyes widened, as he took in the meaning behind their words, starting to sense what might be coming.

Doubt. Disbelief. Shock. Anticipation.

In the next moment, they were down on one knee.

"Ethan Jonah freaking Ramsey, will you marry me?"

Dead silence in the entire room, everyone taking in what just happened.

Ethan's hands flew to his mouth.

Minutes passed.

One… two… and five...

No one said a word.

Eventually, the entire audience burst into cheers and jubilation. Even in such a formal event as that, quite a few wayward whistles were heard.

And then there was the man of the hour, standing centre stage, shell shocked. Still trying to process everything.

"Inara... Rookie, I–"

He couldn't. Form words or coherent sentences. His entire focus was on the person and the tiny blue box in front of him.

"There's a ring in there for real?"

'Shit', he cursed internally. What a ridiculous question.

Of course this was real. Their love was real, they were real. He was to get married. What? Wow. Really?

Of course there would be a ring for real.

"Depends", Inara said with a wink. "On whether or not you say yes."

"Come on Ethan!" 

Encouragements burst from his acquaintances in the crowd, imploring him to say yes. His three musketeers, however, were heard the loudest.

'Yes', Ethan thought to himself. 'Yes.'

He had to say it.

"Yes", he tried whispering under his breath.

A first time, then a second.

"Yes. YES OF COURSE I’LL MARRY YOU!"

He exclaimed those words in ecstacy before dropping down on his knees as well, and pulled his lover in against him. He engulfed her in his arms, holding her so tight, it could knock the breath out of his chest. 

"Yes Inara, it would mean the world to me if I could marry you", he whispered again into her ear.

"Good thing I asked then, E", Inara whispered back, before squeezing him one last time and pulling away. 

"Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!", the crowd chanted.

The widest smile ever was shot their way, as Inara once again took hold of the navy box. She waited for both of them to steady themselves, and Ethan found himself holding his breath. 

At last, the cover of the ring case slowly lifted, to reveal… 

A bright yellow ring chip sitting right into the slit of the fabric in the case. 

Confused noises of varying degrees filled the room. Only Naveen, Tobias and Alan watched the whole scene unfold with a twinkle in their eye.

Meanwhile, Ethan's expression progressed from utter cluelessness to gradual realization.

Oh! That ring.

"Wait, how did– how come that snack didn't rot in all these days?"

"Of course it did, love. Our original measuring tape probably decomposed long ago in some trash bin outside a gold shop, after having done its job. This is merely a replica, but you can call it a token."

"Nars… what do you mean?"

"I mean…", Inara said, inserting her hand into her suit pocket, to pull out a sparkling golden band, complete with five little diamonds on top. "May I have your hand?"

"Readily, Rookie… you already have my heart. Always, for as long as you'll have me."

Ethan placed his shivering palm on Inara's steady hand, and she took the opportunity to slip the golden band through his ring finger.

A perfect fit. 

With tears in his eyes, Ethan agreed.

"I'm getting married to you."

"I'm getting married to you!"

Inara squealed at the prospect, and Ethan decided on sealing their joyous sentiment by crashing his lips onto hers in a searing kiss.

The audience went wild, but they were all forgotten in the minds of the lovebirds.

"I can't believe I get to call you fiancé", Ethan wondered in amazement.

"Me neither", said Inara, joining their foreheads together. 

"Say what, we should ask Sienna to bake our wedding cake. Three tier, with a big old fondant ring chip on top."

"What? Ethan Ramsey wants a huge a** fondant snack on the top of his wedding cake! Are you sure he's okay?"

"Yes, he is, and he would do anything for his fiancé!"

With moist eyes and full hearts, they buried themselves again in each other's holds.

This time, with a mutual promise of a forever.

F I N.

Oukay so this happened. I kinda posted it. Shh, I need to breathe.

Thank you so much for reading, if you've made it this far. I hope I haven't damaged too many of your braincells.

Thank you @gaeipsstuff for naming Ethan's book. I would have never, seriously! Thanks for proofreading and giving a detailed analysis, it came extremely handy during the my edit sessions. Thank you @adiehardfan, @jeetushmannfeelz, you know if it wasn't for the both of you, this wouldn't be up on my Tumblr.

This is my first proper OH fic, with an actual story and shenanigans, so I've been super apprehensive about this. Hence, it would mean a real lot to me if you could tell me how you found it. Stay safe, do what you love, stan pixelated characters, and take hugs. Peace✌.

Tagging: @adiehardfan @irisofpurple @barbean

Others kindly let me know if you wanna be tagged!

[aphrodisians]

◜     choi  yerim  ,  ciswoman  ,  twenty .     ◞     ┈     through     her     all     -     seeing     crystal     ball,     [     𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳     ]     has     her     winking     eye     trained     on     hestia     jones.     the     ever - enigmatic     fifth     year     is     infamous     for     her     righteous     ways,     but     something     new     seems     to     be     weighing     our     resident     au     courant     down.     a     rumor     is     spreading     through     these     ancient     halls     like     fiendfyre,     &     even     their     erudite     face     can't     save     them     from     the     flames.     she     can     try     to     drown     out     their     sorrows     to     the     tune     of     goddess,     but     xana     can't     fix     everything     ⏤     much     less     something     as     grim     as     [     𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝙳     ].     but     ten     points     to     ravenclaw     for     trying.

hey  besties <3  i’m  cc  &  i’m  super  excited  2  be  here!  i’m  writing  your  local  hater,  hestia  jones,  who  i’ve  actually  never  written  before  but  i’m  really  excited  for  her.  anywhomstdve,  i’d  love  to  plot  w  all  of  you  &  i’m  ecstatic  for  this!

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬.⠀ ⠀

an  accidental  crack  of  a  book  spine  that  echoes  throughout  an  otherwise  silent  library,  never  letting  anything  pass  you  by  –  never  letting  yourself  be  unaware,  unwelcome  surprises  that  you  greet  with  flushed  cheeks  and  clenched  fists,  a  collection  of  skirts  stolen  from  a  mother  that  has  seemed  to  have  forgotten  you,  bruises  forming  next  to  the  scrapes  on  almost - broken  knees,  passing  tears  off  as  just  ‘my  eyes  are  sweating’  &  heavy,  heavy,  bags  underneath  eyes  that  just  never  seem  to  sleep.

⠀ ﹟𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲

birth  name.    jeong  hyun - ae nickname(s)  /  alias(es).    hestia  jones. preferred  name.    hestia  jones,  only  hyun - ae  to  family  +  very  close  friends age  +  dob.    twenty  +  dec.  23 hometown.    belfast,  ireland blood  status.    half  -  blood house.    ravenclaw activities.    fifth  year  prefect,  ravenclaw  chaser,  chess  +  duelling label.    au  courant  –    aware  of  what  is  going  on;  well  informed ethnicity.    korean nationality.    irish gender.    cis  woman pronouns.    she  +  her face  claim.    choi  yerim

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝.⠀ ⠀

height.    five  feet,  seven  inches  /  170cm tattoos.    none piercings.    earlobes  only scars.    a  two  cm  line  that  lays  horizontally  above  her  left  eyebrow  from  falling  off  her  broomstick  during  her  third  year  at  hogwarts hair.    never  dyed,  meticulously  taken  care  of  but  rarely  styled.  naturally  falls  straight  and  is  often  left  down eyes.    round  and  dark,  accompanied  often  by  dark  bags  underneath  and  an  absence  of  makeup usual  expression.    stressed.  just  like,  if  you  look  at  her  you  can  tell  she’s  going  through  it  (  and  has  been  for  like  the  past  three  years  ),,,  she  needs a  break  but  she  will  not  be  getting  one  <3 distinguishing  features.    cheeks  that  always  seem  to  be  flushed  a  rosy  hue  of  pink,  bags  underneath  her  eyes  that  are  haphazardly  covered  with  fake  glasses or  makeup,  brown  -  hued  hair  that  just  always  falls  correctly

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀

( + )  positive.    erudite,  bluestocking,  intuitive,  heedful ( - ) negative.    righteous,  hubristic,  zealous,  moralistic natal  chart.    triple  capricorn,  pour  one  out mbti.    istj  -  a,  investigator moral  alignment.    neutral  good godly  parent.    athena languages  spoken.    korean  +  english likes.    quiet  -  the  kind  of quiet  that  comes  only  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  +  in  restricted  access  zones  where  it’s  close  to  silence  (  but  not  quite  ),  victory  in  all  forms,  feeling  appreciated  tbh,  sleeping  but  genuinely  hasn’t  gotten  a  good  night  of  sleep  in  years,  the  color  yellow,  scarves  that  are  long  enough  to  wrap  her  entire  head  <3,  being  a  hater dislikes.    attention  (  though  she  is  overjoyed  /  obsessed  with  winning  ),  losing  -  a  notoriously  sore  loser,  being  out  of  control  in  any  situation  -  even  if  she  can  have  no  humanly  control  over  it,  nail  polish  (  because  she  bites  her  nails  :/  ),  actually  reading  i’ll  be  honest,  staircases quirks.    as  mentioned  above,  bites  her  nails  often,  doodles  when  stressed  (  which  is  all  the  time  )  -  is  halfway  decent  at  it  too  thanks  to  all  of  the  practice,  can  fall  asleep  in  two  seconds  if  given  the  opportunity,  taps  her  foot  a  lot hobbies.    being  a  hater,  being  obnoxious  enough  to  have  attention  (  aka  dramatic  )  n  then  having  the  audacity  to  complain  about  the  stress

⠀ ﹟𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫

when  he  meets  your  mother,  he  tells  you  it’s  like  the  world  stopped  turning.  she  was  enchanting,  he  says,  like  a  rose  blooming  in  the  dead  of  winter,  a  blossom  of  red  among  a  blanket  of  white  -  and  he  swears  that  he  has  never  loved  anyone  more.  their  romance  is  swift,  a  bouquet  of  flowers  traded  for  an  engagement  ring  and  a  passionate  kiss  exchanged  for  the  start  of  a  family.  your  father  never  says  anything  bad  about  your  mother,  raising  you  on  his  own  with  a  faint  line  on  his  ring  finger.  she  will  be  back  soon,  he  says  with  glazed  eyes  and  love-flushed  cheeks  that  you  seem  to  inherit.  she  will  come  back  soon,  he  tucks  you  in  with  a  faraway  look  on  his  features  and  you  realize  with  a  ceiling  full  of  glow-in-the-dark  stars  that  he  isn’t  okay.  but,  you  hold  his  hand  when  crossing  the  streets  with  you  leading  and  you  let  him  dawdle  about  your  mother  and  you  pat  the  top  of  his  head  when  he  falls  asleep  waiting  for  your  mother.  she’ll  be  back,  he  says,  unaware  that  she  only  visits  when  he’s  not  around.  she  will  come  back  soon,  he  waits  for  her,  a  stranger  in  his  own  body.

you  yearn  for  control  the  way  your  peers  yearn  for  freedom.  freedom,  you  have  enough  of,  but  everything  in  your  life  is  just  out  of  reach.  for  your  entire  childhood,  you  grasp  at  everything  and  nothing,  your  fingers  brushing  past  the  things  you  desire  most.  you  are  a  young  girl  with  magic  in  your  blood,  but  you  watch  from  the  end  of  your  driveway  as  life  seems  to  spin  so  wildly  out  of  control.  your  father  isn’t  okay,  but  you  don’t  understand  why.  your  mother  comes  around  wearing  guilt  like  one  wears  a  birthmark  and  you  can’t  fathom  why.  you  are  left  alone  on  playgrounds  and  with  scrapes  on  your  knees  and  people  whisper  about  you  but  you  don’t  understand  why.  life  goes  on  with  or  without  you,  and  you  think  it  unacceptable.  it’s  infuriating  being  in  the  backseat,  unable  to  control,  unable  to  know.  when  a letter  falls  into  your  hands,  you  swear  to  use  it  to  your  advantage.  you  refuse  to  ever  be  in  the  dark  again.

you  arrive  on  your  own,  a  year  older  than  your  peers,  a  sheltered  girl  from  a  muggle  world  and  you  look  around,  determined  to  change  your  life.  it’s  obvious  to  anyone  early  on  that  you’re  a  bright  girl,  ambition  tied  into  your  intelligence,  potential  pouring  over  every  single  one  of  your  edges.  for  a  while,  it  comes  easily.  you  know  things,  you  understand  things;  most  of  all,  you  learn  how  terribly  things  can  go  wrong.  you  swear  to  never  let  that  happen  to  you,  but  of  course,  life  has  bigger  plans  for  you.  the  first  few  years  fly  by  quick  and  your  hands  build  up  a  reputation  that  you’re  eager  to  upkeep.  you  wipe  the  sweat  off  of  your  palms  onto  your  skirts,  you  might  use  magic  to  make  sure  your  hair  always  looks  good,  you  always  know  the  latest  news,  you  always  pass  your  classes.  then,  you  go  home  during  your  third  year  to  an  empty  house  and  your  father  is gone.

when  you  return  after  the  winter  holidays,  it’s  obvious  that  something  is  -  wrong,  but  you  do  your  thing  and  you  pretend  everything  is  okay.  your  mother  in  all  of  her  magic  and  love  writes  you  a  letter,  telling  you  that  you’ll  be  in  her  care  and  that  only  stresses  you  out  more,  giving  you  gray  hair  and  bags  underneath  your  eyes  that  never  seem  to  away  from  that  point  on.  every  blink  is  heavier  now,  every  sliver  of  information  repeated  as  least  three  more  times,  everything  you  learn  adds  a  little  more  weight  to  your  shoulders.  but  you  soldier  on.  you  become  more  and  more  high  strung,  more  sharp,  more  wretched  with  stress  that  shouldn’t  be  yours  to  shoulder.  you  are  still  an  intelligent  girl,  still  a  bright  witch,  still  gleaming  with  potential;  but  you  almost  permanently  look  like  you’ve  been  handled  an  impossible  task  and  worse,  you  wear  your  flushed  cheeks  almost  as  your  father  did,  a  fact  that  you  dislike  whenever  you  see  yourself  in  the  mirror.

⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⠀ ⠀  ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ has  a relatively  tough  exterior,  but  wow,  words  hurt  and  hestia  is  a  lot  more  sensitive  than  she  cares  to  admit.  say  one  off  thing  about  her  and  she’ll  be  all  “i  can’t  stand  it  here!”  and  storm  off  angrily,  but  she’s  really  just  gonna  go  cry  in  the  owlery  and  talk  to  the  owls  as  if  they  can  understand  her  through  her  snot  bubbles.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ is  this  genius  of  a  witch,  right,  but  is  the  messiest  person  ever.  her  area  in  her  dorm  is  just  .  .  .  yeah,  it’s  messy.  she  comes  to  the  library,  throws  seven  books  down,  loses  ten  pages  of  notes;  is  disorganized  and  completely  messy,  but  at  least  she  always  looks  put  together.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ coming  right  off  of  the  last  one,  because  she  cares  most  about  her  image  +  her  reputation  than  she  does  anything  else,  mostly  because  it’s  all  that  she  thinks  she  has.  so,  yeah,  she  may  be  consistently  stressed  out  and  on  the  brink  of  a  breakdown,  but  at  least  she  looks  GOOD.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ her  style  is  a  little   .  .  .  amateur,  if  i’m  being  honest. very  season  one  rachel  berry.  always  looks  in  uniform  even  if  she’s  out  of  uniform  and  it’s  because  she  has  no  personality  than  being  a  ravenclaw  prefect  idk  what  you  want  me  to  tell  you.  she  has  never  been  normal  once.

  ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧����𝐧.⠀ ⠀ i  laugh  and  kid,  but  she’s  genuinely  a  genius.  might  have  a  bit  of  dyslexia,  but  is  just,,,  a  smart  kid.  also  makes  it  her  entire  personality  though,  so  i’m  not  sure  what  to  do  about  that.

 ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ also,  not  to  be  That  Girl  that’s  so  quirk  n  clumsy,  but  hestia  is  always  injured.  not  gravely,  but  a  scrape  on  her  knee,  a  cut  on  her  cheek,  tape  around  her  fingers,  etc.  etc.  she’s  a  problem,  to  say  the  least,  and  always  hastily  takes  care  of  herself  (  aka,  cleans  it,  leaves  it  ).

 ⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in  general,  is  a  hater,  but  is  so  STRESSED  from  having  a  #missing  father  that  she’s  just  like  :|  in  every  situation.  i  wouldn’t  call  her  awkward  per  se,  but  she  definitely  just  says  what  she  wants  when  she  wants  cause  there’s  “no  point  in  quieting  myself  for  someone’s  comfort”  idk?

⠀ ⠀ ﹟𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧.⠀ ⠀ in  MY  canon,  hestia  actually  conjures  up  a  fox  patronus,  but  it’s  non  corporeal  for  now  simply  because  she  literally  cannot  focus  long  enough  to  cast  the  charm  correctly  –  in  fact,  a  lot  of  her  magic  has  been  suffering  for  the  past  few  years  due  to  her  stress,  something  that  really  only  stresses  her  out  more  rip  in  pieces.

⠀ ﹟𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

academic  rival:   personally,  i’d  love  for  someone  who’s  just  naturally  good  at  academia  to  be  her  rival,  like  the  person  who  doesn’t  study  and  “doesn’t  care”  but  always  just  manages  to  beat  her  in  scores;  yeah,  i  think  that’d  be  fun  to  watch  her  spontaneously  combust.

significant  annoyance:  someone  who  really  just  is  the  person  to  tell  hestia  she’s  wound  up  too  tight  all  the  time  and  tries  to  get  her  to  live  her  life,  but  she  just  sees  them  as  someone  who’s  ANNOYING  HER  because  maybe  her  entire  life  is  being  uptight,  ever  think  of  that?  rabastan

quidditch  rival:  because  quidditch  is  really  the  only  time  she  lets  her  hair  down  per  se,  this  rivalry  is  more  friendly  than  it  is  serious like  the  academic  rival,  but  there’s  still  a  lot  of  trash  talk  involved  and  meet  ups  in  the  corridors  to  talk  shit  <3

best  friend:  the  one  person  who  she’s  like  .  .  .  super  grateful  for  because  they’re  always  there,  no  matter  what  she  goes  through  or  does  to  them  through  her  stress  induced  breakdowns.  you  know.  they’re  bffs  and  always  eat  together  and  spend  time  together  n  gossip  together.  eloise

tutee:  someone  that  either  hestia’s  offered  to  help  or  has  been  forced  to  help,  either  way,  she’s  as  strict  as  any  professor  and  takes  her  job  completely  seriously.  as  in,  will  approach  them  in  the  great  hall  and  ask  if  they’ve  done  the  work  they’re  supposed  to  do.

stress  reliever:  imagine  this  -  hestia  comes  up  to  your  muse  and  is  like  we  need  to  talk,  but  they  just  find  a  nice  seat  underneath  one  of  the  archways  and  talk  into  the  night,  they  make  hestia  laugh,  hestia  makes  them  laugh,  they  have  flushed  cheeks  by  the  end  of  it  and  she  doesn’t  speak  to  them  otherwise.  xenophilius 

their  biggest  anti:  ur  muse’s  #1  hater???  hestia  jones  <3  why?  probably  because  they’re  better  than  she  is  and  she’s  a  nightmare  of  a  person  so  it’s  just  her  being  their  biggest  anti,  probably  runs  a  hate  account  dedicated  toward  them  tbh  <3  rodolphus

The  Ex:  you  know.  the  ex.  didn’t  end  the  way  they  wanted  it  to  so  there’s  A  Lot  There.  longing  glances,  awkward  bumps,  lots  of  what-ifs  .  .  .  a  lot  of  sad  headcanons,  a  lot  of  wholesome  headcanons.  yeah

like  family:  just  someone  who  hestia  is  so  comfortable  with  that  it  feels  like  they’re  family.  and  by  family,  i  mean  like  the  kind  to  tackle  her  on  sight  just  for  fun,  the  sort  to  tease  her  and  make  everyone  believe  it’s  her  birthday.  you  know?

also  a  barely  filled  tag  here  n  anything  u  can  possibly  brainstorm  i’d  love  <3  thank  u  love  u 

[captainjanegay]

Sharp Dressed Man | Stucky | Meet Cute | 2.1k words | Ao3

Summary: 

The curtain is pushed to the side and Steve automatically looks up. The man takes a step out of the cubicle. His head is turned as he looks over his shoulder to check himself in the mirror.

“Oh wow,” Steve breathes out despite himself.

A/N: This one is for my precious Helena @hbalbat​ based on a meet-cute prompt she's sent me. I'm not completely happy with it, especially the ending but hopefully that's just my sleep deprivation talking. Have fun! ♥

Also let's consider this my third entry for the @stuckybingo2020​ because it fits.

.

“OK, I might have overdone it.”

Steve looks up from where he’s going through a rack of t-shirts, each one with a more obnoxious print than the other. To his surprise there’s nobody around. After a moment he realises that the deep male voice must have come from one of the cubicles that serve as the shop’s dressing rooms.

“The suit’s nice but I think the turtleneck is a bit much for it.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, confused. Either the guy likes talking to himself or he came with someone who wandered off, instead of waiting for him to change. So Steve goes back to his search and he shakes his head a bit to himself, realising what the guy has said. Turtlenecks are ridiculous, Steve never liked them and usually they just look weird. On anyone. But pairing them with a suit? That’s a whole other level of ridiculous in Steve’s opinion.

The curtain is pushed to the side and Steve automatically looks up. The man takes a step out of the cubicle. His head is turned as he looks over his shoulder to check himself in the mirror.

“I think I’ll take the suit, though. My butt looks good in it,” the man laughs but then he fully turns towards Steve. The laugh dies on his lips. He looks around, a bit confused and then glances back at Steve.

“Oh wow,” Steve breathes out despite himself.

The thing is, the man in front of him is gorgeous. Unfairly so. He is almost as tall as Steve, his dark hair is long, pulled back into a messy bun, one strand falling onto his forehead. Steve fingers itch to brush it back behind his ear. The man’s eyes are bright and there’s a short stubble on his face that only makes him look hotter. He is wearing a dark brown suit that fits his body perfectly. But the weirdest thing? Underneath the suit jacket he has a bright, mustard-y yellow turtleneck and it really shouldn’t work on anyone. But the man looks good. It makes Steve feel a bit weak in the knees.

“Oh,” the man blinks at Steve, his cheeks going pink. “You’re not Natasha.”

Steve mentally slaps himself across the head. There’s nothing better than to drool at the sight of a random man in a clothing store. A straight man, probably. With a possible girlfriend, if Steve wanted to jump to conclusions and he usually did.

“No, I’m not, I’m just Steve, sorry. I just—Looking for—T-shirts—” Steve says, not really sure where he is going with that. “Your girlfriend must’ve wandered off somewhere.”

Not being able to look at the man's face without embarrassing himself further, Steve glances somewhere above his shoulder. His eyes land on the mirror in the changing room and he sees that his entire face is bright red. Way to go, Steve.

"My girlfriend?" the man asks, raising a brow in confusion. "Oh you mean Tasha? She's not… I'm not…"

The man averts his gaze and rubs at his neck, looking rather uncomfortable and Steve really wishes he picked a different store. But on the other hand, if he did he would never have seen this man and it would be a shame. A real shame. No matter how much of an idiot he's making of himself right now, it is kind of worth it if he gets to look at this gorgeous human for a bit longer. This guy could easily be a model. Or maybe he is, Steve wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. Steve is an artist. He can appreciate beauty. And there is so much beauty to appreciate in this man. 

So much beauty.

Steve wonders how weird it would be to ask if the man wanted to pose for him. Steve has already embarrassed himself plenty already so it wouldn’t hurt any more.

“Shit,” the man says to himself with a breathy laugh. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to—,” he waves his hand vaguely between them and laughs again. “I just thought my friend will be useful for once and give me her opinion but apparently she just left me in the lurch.”

“For what it’s worth—you look incredible,” Steve says, sincerely. He can’t stop his eyes from wandering down the man’s body and then back up. “It—Really suits you.”

To Steve’s surprise he doesn’t get punched for—quite obviously—checking the guy out. It could be because of his size—it usually discourages people from trying to fight him, even though they sometimes want to. Like when he tells them that being racist, misogynist or a homophobe is a very fucking bad thing to be, for example. But the man doesn’t even look like he wants to punch Steve. Quite the contrary, a small smirk appears on his face. He tilts his head to the side and straightens up with confidence, even though his cheeks are still a bit pink.

“You think so? It’s not too much?” the man asks, apparently not noticing that Steve’s about to die.

“It’s great. You look great. And that’s coming from someone who despises turtlenecks,” Steve hopes that his smile is sincere, maybe even a little flirty and not as nervous as he feels.

The guy raises an eyebrow in response and he glances down before saying, “That’s fair. I don’t think there’s a turtleneck big enough to contain all of these muscles anyway. And it would be really unfair to hide those collarbones of yours.”

Automatically, Steve looks down where the two top buttons of his Henley are left open and it takes him a second to fully understand what the man just said. Is he being flirted with? Is the most attractive person he’s ever seen flirting with him? When Steve looks back up, the man’s eyes are already fixed on him, his smirk bigger and definitely more amused now.

OK, maybe Steve was too quick with labelling the man as straight. Or at least he hopes he was.

“I’m Bucky,” the man offers. Despite the fact that it’s a rather unique name—or nickname, who knows—Steve finds it quite fitting. “And you’re Steve, if I got that correctly?”

Steve nods with a smile, not really sure at which point of his mumbling he managed to introduce himself. For a moment they just stare at each other. Steve is not sure whether he wants to run or get significantly closer to the man. To Bucky, he reminds himself. Before he can do either of those things, Bucky shakes his head slightly and blinks.

“Right,” he says, taking a step back. He points his thumb at the changing room behind him and smiles. “I’d better—Gonna change and—Thanks for your opinion, Steve. You’re very—helpful.”

When Bucky turns away and grabs the curtain, Steve decides to take a chance. After all he was never the one to back down from a challenge.

“Hey, Bucky?” he calls.

With his hand curled around the curtain, Bucky looks over his shoulder at Steve. “Yeah?”

“Your butt looks really good in that suit.”

The curtain flutters close but Steve still can hear Bucky’s melodic laugh. He grins to himself.

And that’s when a small, redheaded woman walks over to the changing rooms and raises one of her perfect eyebrows at Steve.

“James? What are you wearing that makes a hot stranger compliment your ass?” she says with her eyes still trained on Steve as she reaches to grab the curtain behind which Bucky has just disappeared.

And that’s when Steve decides it’s his time to run.

Steve wanders around the mall for another hour or so. For some reason, he feels reluctant to walk into any other clothing store. It might be because he is worried he’d bump into Bucky again and embarrass himself further or it might just be trauma. It’s not ideal. Especially because his main goal of coming here was to buy some clothes so Sam would stop complaining about his “grandpa wardrobe”. Which is an obvious exaggeration, it’s not that bad. And Sam owns his fair share of khakis and checkered button-ups, so he is in no position to judge. But Steve figured that buying a new pair of jeans, some t-shirts and maybe a jacket won’t hurt. 

Instead, he goes to a stationery shop and walks out with a new set of pencils and a sketchbook. The one he has is already half full anyway. Nearby, there’s a bookstore and Steve saunters between the shelves for a while, picking up whatever book catches his eye. He doesn’t really intend to buy anything but in the end he gets a sci-fi novel he wanted to read for a while but hasn't gotten to yet.

Steve would totally consider it a successful trip to the mall and called it a day. Sadly, he can imagine Sam laughing at his mumbled explanation as to why he didn't buy any clothes. So instead of going home, he decides to grab a coffee and then try to face the clothing store again. It can’t be that hard. 

Rounding the corner, Steve collides with someone coming in the opposite direction. Automatically, he grabs the other person’s arm to help them regain their balance.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t—” Steve starts and looks up. Just as quickly, he completely forgets what he was meaning to say next.

It’s Bucky.

Bucky’s standing barely two feet away. His eyes are some kind of stormy blue and there are freckles splattered across his nose and part of his cheeks. Looking at him from this close is making it hard to breathe for Steve.

When recognition dawns on him, a smile blooms on Bucky’s face, “Hi, Steve!”

“Hi,” Steve just answers weakly. Only now he realises that his hand is still wrapped around Bucky’s bicep—a very nice bicep, Steve can feel the muscle hidden underneath Bucky’s layers of clothing and tries not to think about it too hard—and takes a step back, putting down his hand.

Obviously, Bucky is not in the outfit he had at the store but he still looks like he'd walked straight out of a fashion magazine. Now he's wearing a black button-up with little white dots all over it and a black leather jacket. His bun is even messier, several loose strands tucked behind his ear, but he still looks as attractive as before. Or maybe Steve is just biased.

"Fancy bumping into you again," Bucky says, seeming genuinely happy.

"You too," Steve finally gets a grip on himself and smiles. "Did you buy the suit?"

Bucky chuckles at that, blushing, "I did, actually. The turtleneck, too. Your…um, feedback was very helpful. Tasha approved, too." He glances to his side and furrows his brows. Turning around in a full circle, he looks back at Steve. "And apparently she ditched me again. I swear I'm not making her up!"

"I believe you, I've seen her back in the store," Steve assures him with a laugh. "Petite redhead, very intense stare?"

"Sounds like Natasha. She's great, at least when she's not busy abandoning me in shopping malls. Did you get whatever you needed? I didn't see you around when I left the changing room."

Tilting his head to the side, Steve just stares for a moment. Did that mean Bucky looked for him? The thought makes his insides twist in a slightly uncomfortable but pleasant way. Steve tries not to get his hopes up. The pink tinge on Bucky's cheeks doesn't help with that.

"Not really, couldn't find anything fitting," Steve says. 

It's not exactly a lie, he just doesn't add that he was too embarrassed to face Bucky after complimenting his butt. Bucky opens his mouth, then closes it and bites the inside of his cheek, deciding against whatever he wanted to say. Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "What?" he asks.

"Nothing," Bucky says. "Just trying not to say something highly inappropriate again to a guy I don't really know."

The hope flutters in Steve's stomach, making him grin. At this point he's pretty confident that his initial assessment of Bucky was wrong. So he feels bold enough to ask, "You know, I was actually on my way to grab a coffee. Maybe you'd like to join me?"

"Sure, that would be nice," Bucky smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably. 

Steve might be a bit gone already. 

"I'm still not gonna say, though. If that's your plan," Bucky adds and before Steve can say anything, he smirks. "It's gonna take more than one coffee to break me."

And this sounds like a challenge Steve's determined to win.“

.

Title: Sharp Dressed Man Creator(s): niallhoranbitches Card number: 065 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961397 Square filled: E2 - Muscles Rating: Teen and Up Archive warnings: None Major tags: Meet Cute, No Powers AU Summary: The curtain is pushed to the side and Steve automatically looks up. The man takes a step out of the cubicle. His head is turned as he looks over his shoulder to check himself in the mirror.

“Oh wow,” Steve breathes out despite himself. Word count: 2118

[dorki-c]

Metanoia

Characters: Dabi and reader

Relationship: Dabi X Pro-hero! Reader

Quote: “Metanoia”

Gift for: @glitterfreezed (Aka photoshop goddess) THANK YOU for being one of my very first moots on this crazy platform! I really hope you enjoy this one shot (as I spent way too much time on it XD) and for anybody reading this: GO CHECK OUT GLITTERS PLAYLISTS!! They are honestly amazing!

Tw: Kidnapping, Use of Guns, Slight nudity

Going on patrol lately has been boring.

Sure, (y/n) wouldn’t pass it up for helping little old ladies get across the road or helping itty bitty children find their parents within a crowd.

But besides that, there was little to nothing to do- no paperwork, no criminals terrorising the streets, or vigilantes on loose- the streets were cleared and scrubbed down from any crime lately.

It was strange.

Nothing has been the same ever since Kamino ward as well.

The moment you found out your lover was a villain; you took great lengths to create distance from him. Not sparing him a second glance or another phone call- let’s not forget you blocked his number- although doing these things made you seem like an asshole; you are a hero.

Heroes do not date Villains.

Its absolutely forbidden.

Though should you have stayed with him, something could’ve happened- he could’ve used you for blackmail, ransom, and maybe trafficking- as terrifying as it sounds, at least your far from your old apartment.

At least your away from that freak. That sadistic freakshow, with his stupid smirk and (beautiful) weird ass scars.

Luckily, the clock had ticked to the hour that announced your release from countless wasted minutes of scrolling through your phone as two feet laid disrespectfully on the hero agencies desk where nobody pointed out the blatant rudeness she was showing.

Even if she wanted to stay here, the female should get home soon. Even if there was no problem during the day, that doesn’t reassure that there will be trouble when walking through the evening.

Where you had the inkling of protection that is provided to you by your muscle memory, nobody should rely on themselves to do a simple task like walking home when there is such a thing as societies creepy-crawly insects withering across the nooks and crannies of cities and flooding the deepest rabbit holes with their sickening ideals.

Just thinking about them brings revolting nausea into the churning acid within the insides of your body as it screams out to stay aware of the footsteps you take, of the glances you throw out, and of your hands gripping the cheap handbag- that you bought on a whim from that one charity shop around the corner of the apartment building- when a hand of yours dipped inside the bag to grip the weapon that laid unaware of whose blood it could spill today.

The three walled mirror room moved down from whatever floor it was on and when opening the doors, a small (and annoying) ping was heard through the (also) small lobby area.

When approaching your apartment door with your guard up and one of your hands swiftly opening the rusted door handle allowing a small gust of air to run into the vacant apartment, the eyes of a human watchdog sporadically darted from one place to another.

Making sure she can securely (slam) open the door, the pro hero steps in one footstep at a time like one of the cliché spy movies before throwing her bag down and yanking the heavy weapon out of her bag.

Its matte black exterior elongated to show the vertical and horizontal bits and pieces of the weapon as (Y/n) rested one of her fingers on the trigger whilst fiddling with the safety lock to make it unlock.

Once unlocking the safety lock of the gun, she leaned it towards the ground, turned around for a brief second to retrieve the key from her apartment door, then kicked said door shut with the heel of her foot.

Even when she investigates her almost empty apartment three times without a peaceful resolve at the end, the female is already sitting on her couch scrolling through another apartment renting website for herself.

It’s pathetic.

She’s on the run from her ex-boyfriend because she knows that if she gets caught by him, there will be a low chance of her escaping from his grasp again. It was quite evident from his group’s little broadcast that if anyone “tries to catch us, you’re going to be caught first.”

What if that applies to people wanting to escape from them?

.

.

.

Stripping herself of the day’s tiredness, the female wore the loosest clothing within her wardrobe and ventured out to the shit-tip of her kitchen- the sink only had a few dishes in it, but, otherwise the trash looked like it got taken out once a year and there were so many letters scattered in piles over the counters.

Sighing at the sight, letting a hand of hers travel up her shirt to soothe an itch on her back, (y/n) shook her head at her own mess and still continued to go towards the fridge to dig through it in order to find the cheap- most definitely shitty- microwavable food she bought from the store only three days ago because to be completely honest, she’s saving up for buying a ticket out of this shit country and living in another one.

Ripping the film cover off of the food’s plastic container, she shoved her shitty food in the microwave and let the annoying beep sound through the apartment while (y/n) went into the small living room, grabbed some shorts that were sunbathing under the flickering yellow bulb and put them on in order to take out the trash.

When entering back into the apartment however, a flash of darkness alerted her body to go limp.

What was this feeling of restraint around her arms and legs? Moving one of her wrists- in an attempt to pull them out of the bindings- a harsh rub of a frictional material bit across the sensitive layer of the underside of your wrist, where it elicited a hiss to very subtly slip from your lips.

That seemingly helped beg a question in your curious mind. “Are my eyes covered?” Although when opening your eyes, a flurry of white blinded you causing a multitude of red freckles to dance across the pale illumination.

Whoever thought not putting a blindfold on you was a smart idea, it seems clear to me that they didn’t watch enough spy movies.

Okay, time to take a look of your surroundings.

First of all, Y/n glanced down to see if she had any major injuries- nope, the only thing missing from her body was her clothes and if that didn’t count as being kinky, then (y/n) doesn’t know what it counts as- along with her feet barely touching the carpeted floor, her ankles were tied to what she assumes to be a wooden chair.

Looking off to the side after shifting her gaze from her feet to her forearm her eyes picked out the surroundings behind her and the type of seat she was sitting in. Wow, whoever kidnapped you, really knows how to do it inefficiently.

Though, if they’ve used cheap ass rope and tied you up to a wooden chair- out of all the chairs in the world, they choose a wooden chair- along with forgetting to put a blindfold on you, they probably didn’t take any precaution when kidnapping you because the criminals probably have back up on hold.

Meaning there was more than one culprit involved and that they don’t expect you to get out of this area due to being outnumbered.

Moving your head upwards once more, the outlines of what seems to be a closet and a drawer were all that you could observe before some sort of jiggling sound was emitted through the silent room.

It wasn’t till the door opened that it revealed somebody that (y/n) didn’t expect. A hitch lodged itself like a six-foot down corpse where only grave looters would be able to find it. Was she seeing a ghost? Perhaps. Did she care? Maybe, however she was trained to not overreact in a situation like this.

“Well, look what we have here…” The metal contraptions that held the person’s tough layer of skin nudged a little in the direction of the muscle’s movement. “…A squirming itty-bitty hero.” The venomous hiss of their voice slipped real close to her ear as the lamp pointing obnoxiously into her right eye was turned off.

“So, this was your doing?” Snapped the hero as the villain sat down on her lap and gently grasped her chin- just like the old days- where his fucked up (handsome) grin shone brighter than the hero on her first debut. Dodging the question, the male let his weight lean onto the female’s thighs as she harshly craned her jutted out facial bone away from his hold.

“Oh, and it looks like your still as feisty as ever.”

“Yeah, I am. Got a problem with it, villain?” The hiss made the patchwork villain only recoil an inch backwards before narrowing his pupils at the nickname and gripping the very first thing his eyes land on, your neck, where the surface of his skin was smouldering to the touch.

“I wouldn’t say that if I was in your position.” He proclaimed as the slimming of her lips straightened out to a thin line, “Now, I’m here to offer you a position and…” From somewhere on his body, he pulled a gun- one of the many similar pistols that you hoarded in your apartment for safe keeping- then pointed it straight at your thinly protected heart where the brush of stainless chilled metal tingled the very fabric of your body.

“…it would be wise of you to listen.” Sure, a gun was pointed literally at her chest- lets not forget that she’s being forced into this position of unwillingness- but hopefully, some otherworldly deity will let (y/n) live one more second.

“Okay, good girl?” You’ve never committed to metanoia before, but at this point, you might as well.

[ifeellikeameowster]

E.V.O.L Chapter 3- Living Dead

Chapter Summary: After a bit of a rough morning, Virgil decides to visit the grave of his long dead best friend... Meanwhile, Patton has finally graduated and is ready to take on his first assignment as a newly appointed cupid!

Warnings: Beginnings of Yandere like behavior, stalking, watching other’s without them knowing, wounds, stabbing, blood.

Pairings: One-sided moxiety.

Word Count: 4k+

Chapter followed by Author’s Note then Tag List under the read more:

Everyday I feel the same.

Stuck, and I can never change.

Sucked into a black balloon.

Spat into an empty room.

The next day Virgil found himself waking before even the roosters themselves would have crowed.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and cursing his wishy washy biological clock, he wondered if it was too early to grab a bite of breakfast. He had missed dinner the previous day, after all, having been too tired from being forced to socialize for so long with someone so new. His parents would probably understand if they caught him. They always did.

He shrugged and slung one of his lighter weighted blankets over his shoulders before taking a few shaky steps away from his bed. His legs felt like jello, making it tempting to just go back to the safety of his little nest and spend all day inside of his room. But the obnoxious rumbling of his ungrateful stomach made that nearly impossible. So to the kitchen it was instead.

Virge tried his best not to step on any creaky floorboards on his way out of his room and down the stairs. If his parents weren’t already awake, then he certainly didn’t want to be the loud, fumbling asshole that actually woke them up. Heaven knows they deserved all the rest they could get. They did so much for him. And for the whole neighborhood, for that matter.

Wonder if there’s any of those blueberry bagels left. He pondered as he descended the final step.

He went past the living room and into the kitchen, where upon after he entered, Virgil was immediately met with his answer.

“You’re up early, V.” Talyn said around a mouthful of their buttery bagel, “Can’t sleep?”

“More like slept too much.” Virgil corrected as he joined them at the breakfast bar.

Talyn was a Banshee, a wailing ghost that had the ability to warn others of approaching death.Though, they usually used their glorious screeching voice for the screamo parts of their band’s songs instead. Once in a blue moon however, especially back when Virgil had done something particularly rebellious when he was a teenager, he had had the pleasure of witnessing firsthand the more negative side to their voice. Between his maddy’s booming voice and the sad puppy dog eyes his pops had sent his way-it was easy to see why his version of a ‘rebellious phase’ had been cut short. 

“I’d chastise you for your poor sleeping habits but I’m honestly not one to speak myself.”

“You’re a ghost, you don’t even need to sleep.”

“And yet here we are.” They waved the hand holding the bagel, sending some crumbs flying, “With me taking afternoon naps and staying up all night like a heathen.”

“God, same.”

“We’ve rubbed off on you too much, little one.” Talyn chuckled, putting a hand on his shoulder, “Me and Joan. Why don’t you take after your papa more too?”

“Pops is too sunshiney for me, maddy. I’m half convinced he’s made of literal sunbeams at this point.” Virgil sneered out with a fond undertone as he gently lathered butter on his own bagel, “I’m more of a punk moonchild, ya’ know?”

Maddy was the affectionate nickname he had given Talyn as a kid. He was pleased to later find out that, unlike with dammy, other kids sometimes used maddy for their nonbinary parents too.

His maddy chuckled at that, patted his shoulder, then returned to devouring their own breakfast. They both sat in a comfortable, companionable silence for a while as they finished up their food and took in the morning sights through the wide kitchen window. Then as the birds started up their autumn songs and the sun started it’s slow trek over the horizon, they both got up to put away their trash and tidy their mess. As he was putting his blanket over the couch for later cuddling-while-watching-tv purposes, Virgil’s eyes unfortunately happened to land on the calendar hanging next to the entryway. The sight of a certain circled reminder of a date he had been trying to forget caused a past pain to resurface just as hot and stabbing as the first time it had ever appeared in his heart.

He reentered the kitchen with a familiar, haunting grimace. Talyn sent him a fleeting confused look before it morphed into one of understanding instead.

“It’s next week, isn’t it?” They breathed softly, “The anniversary.” Their tone held an unnecessary weight of guilt. For even though they were a Banshee, they had not been able to foresee that death. The most important one. The one that had hurt their child so much at such a young age.

“Yeah,” Virgil choked out, tears threatening to brim his eyes, “If...I’m being honest...I’m not sure if I can make it, this year.”

“Well maybe…” They bit their lip and shifted on their feet nervously, “Maybe you can just go now? It might be less pressure, if it’s not the day of.”

“I-I don’t know, maddy. I’m still kind of worn out from yesterday.”

“Ah, the matchmaker meeting. I almost forgot about that.” Talyn moved to lean back on the counter, “How did that go?”

Virge sucked in a breath, blinked away the wetness of his eyes, and thanked whatever higher power may be for the change of topic. “Terrible, I hate socializing. Also it felt like I was being hounded by a teacher with how many questions I was being asked.”

“He needs to ask questions, dear. How else would he know what you like?” They sent him a sympathetic smile that didn’t quite meet their eyes. The mood of the room was still soured by the date hanging ominously on the wall. Taunting them both with it’s ever approaching red circle.

“What I would like is to not have to go to these meetings at all.” Virgil whined. He hopped up to sit cross legged on the countertop beside his maddy. “Why’d you and dammy even talk to him anyways? I thought pops was just going through one of his romance craze phases again, but…”

“But, we all agreed it’s what’s best for you. It’s not healthy to only ever hang out with your family. You need to spread your wings, sweet little baby boy.”

“Ew, baby talk.” Virgil mimed throwing up before crossing his arms and pouting. “Why’s it gotta be some stupid dramatically set up romcom though? Can’t I just go to an online group chat for depressed-emos-anonymous or something?”

Talyn did a laugh somewhere between a giggle and a chortle at that. They playfully swiped at his shoulder. “No, you idiot. Just listen to your parents, okay? It’s time. Way past time, actually…”

“Time to what? Get some?”

“Find someone to love. Someone to...give your feelings too.”

“I give mushy lovey dovey stuff to y’all all the time!”

“Not like that, V. To…” They tapped a frustrated rhythm onto the countertop with their long, pointed nails. “To obsess over. To be attracted to and fawn over. Stuff like that.”

“To bone.”

“Virgil!”

“What? That’s the only difference, ain’t it?” He sighed as he leaned over to place his head on their shoulder. “Why can’t platonic love be enough? I've been doing just fine with just that…”

“Honey…” They let out a sigh of their own before running a reassuring hand through his hair. “That may have been enough until now, but trust me you need this.” The soothing touch of their petting almost calmed  him, until- “We need this.” They ended in a strained whisper, yet unfortunately still loud enough for him to hear.

Virgil jolted away from Talyn and off the counter as if he’d been burned. “What? You’re...You’re all trying to pawn me off or something? Finally tired of me being a fucking mooch?”

“No, no- Little one, that’s not what I-”

“Well if I’m such a leech, maybe I will go hang out in the graveyard with the rest of the rotten worms.”

The tears that had pricked at his eyes earlier decided to return, yet once more he held back the flow of the damn. His eyes reddened with the strain of the repression. Still, he refused to cry around others. Weakness was an ugly shade of color to wear. He wanted to toss out all of his flaws from the closet of his inner self and go shopping for better traits. But maybe, he couldn’t help but think...he was the one that needed to be tossed out right along with them.

Got bubble wrap around my heart.

Waiting for my life to start.

But everyday it never comes.

Permanently at square one.

“Tell the others I’ll be at the church.” He snapped instead as he rounded the corner and stomped up the stairs. He no longer cared if he woke anyone else up. His body was brimming with aggravated energy and his mind was swirling with all the possible negative implications of those few simple whispered words.

The day had barely begun and he already had a massive headache.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After having haphazardly thrown on the nearest clean clothes he could find and all but running out of his house and into the nearly empty street, save for a lone old maid that was bird watching on a nearby bench, he began to make his way over to the cemetery.

On his way there he stopped by Fauna's Florals to pick up a small bouquet of soft and pale yellow roses, the flower of friendship, because that's what he had been to him- the truest friend he would probably ever have. Besides his family, of course, though they were kind of obligated to hang out with him. And he was beginning to wonder if even that reliable, familial obligation had started outstaying it’s welcome.

Miss Fauna, having noticed his red rimmed eyes, had given him a sympathetic smile and a pat on his hand as she handed over the bouquet. He shied away from the unwanted contact and thanked her in a small voice. It was the loudest one he could muster at the time.

When it's late at night-ight,

I'm so dissatisfied-ied.

The weight of an empty life-ife,

Will lessen in the moonlight.

In the light,

In the light,-light,-light.

Shooting Star Cemetery was luckily located in the next street over, making it an easy and short walk. Yet not nearly a long enough a walk to clear his head any from the raging storm it currently housed inside. The graves were all well kept and neatly aligned. The landscaping was done with care and sheer professionalism. The overall atmosphere was more bright and welcoming than one would expect a place housing the dead could ever be.

Virgil moved past the groundskeeper with quick steps, not wanting to have to engage in any conversation with the man whose smile always seemed to stretch too far over his face and whose eyes appeared to linger on his form for too long. Especially not today of all days. He thought as the conversation from earlier resurfaced in his mind. Fresh and unwanted.

His feet took him to his destination almost on autopilot. He had been visiting this particular grave at least once a year for almost seventeen years now. Of course it would be practically hardwired into his system at this point.

“Hey, buddy.” He called out wearily as he approached. Virge leaned over to place the bouquet of yellow roses directly in front of the ivory gravestone before stepping back to sit on the grass across from it.

The stone was the lightest of the ones in its row, almost basking it in an ethereal spotlight. The carvings of angels, ribbons, and roses around it’s surface only accentuated the holy glow. In the dead center, carved in looping and elegant cursive writing, was the epitaph.

It read,

“Patton Sangster:

A young Cherub bright and fair,

Taken from this world too soon.

Now he is way up there,

Dancing between the Sun and the Moon.”

Definitely more fancy and vague than most of the epitaphs around here. Virgil mused, Then again Mrs. Songster was always the poetic dreamer type.

While on the other hand, if he had a gravestone, it would probably say something like "Here lies Virgil Spurling: What an idiot" or "Virgil Spurling: Died of Depression and General Dumbassery".

He let out a long sigh and curled his legs underneath him while crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had, Pat.” He began, “I think my parents have lost their ever loving marbles. Don’t get me wrong or anything- I love them a bunch. But I just don’t...I just don’t get why they’re doing this, ya’ know?”

“They’re insisting I see this stupid matchmaking witch doctor guy, who probably thinks I’m a loser by the way-he seemed kinda stuck up and I kept making a fool of myself as per usual. And like they want me to get hitched to some dude ASAP I guess so I can ‘spread my wings’? Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean?”

He started waving his arms around to accentuate his ranting, ”But a part of me can’t help but think they’re just trying to get rid of me. Just pawn me off to a random guy so I can be out of their hair! But they...They’ve never said or done anything like that before...They’ve always been so nice to me and so supportive and so loving so I just don’t…”

Now, in the sanctum of this empty cemetery and the equally emptily promised presence of his only friend, he finally let the tears fall quietly and slowly down his ever reddening cheeks. “I just don’t get it anymore, Patton. Nothing makes sense. It hasn’t for a long time now. Ever since...ever since high school, really. And I just…”

“I just wish you were still here.” He hissed into the morning air as he closed his eyes and let his eyes finish emptying themselves so he could hopefully return home with them dry and pretend that they had never been crying in the first place.

From several yards away the groundskeeper stole glances at the strange visitor as he worked his usual surveyal of the grounds. However, his gleaming, unwelcome eyes were not the only pair that happened to be following Virgil that day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patton Sangster, newly appointed cupid under Eros, had just finished the last of his angelic training and was lined up with the rest of the lucky graduates about to receive their first heavenly assignments.

Finally! He cheered in his head. A chance to prove that all of his training wasn't for nothing. He may be light hearted, but he certainly wouldn't take his heavenly duties lightly. He would prove without a doubt that being soft hearted didn’t mean he was weak. Far from it in fact. He considered the overflowing love he had in his heart to be his greatest and most cherished source of strength.

Little did the little cupid know just yet, but that unbridled and passionate love of others would soon be his very downfall.

I'm living dead, dead, dead, dead.

Only alive-live-live-live.

When I pretend-tend-tend-tend.

That I have died, died, died, died, died, died.

An elder, more experienced cupid passed back and forth in front of the recruits with a golden clipboard they had summoned. Odiel, patron cupid of dark love ballads, was surprisingly the one giving the assignments to the newbies this year. He listed off each angel and their assignment with a resigned sigh and dramatic flip of the page. He went through many graduates before finally getting to Patton, which had caused the poor angel to bounce nervously on his feet.

"Patton Sangster?"

"Yes, that's me!" He nodded eagerly with a dazzling grin.

"Hm." His superior clicked his tongue before looking at his clipboard. "No official angel name given yet. No patron title earned yet."

Patton's eager expression flickered, a brief frown gracing his features before they turned back into his patton-ted steadfast smile.

"We'll just assign you to your old hometown during life, then. And see where it goes from there."

Patton gasped, bringing his hands up to cup his face. "Heartwish City?!"

Odiel pauses for a moment to check another page on their clipboard. "...Yes."

"Yay! Oh, I can't wait to see everyone again! And help them out!"

"Mhmm. Well, you will have to wait a bit more. There's still orientation to get through."

"Oh, of course." His smile turns more nervous, "Yes, sir."

And with that, the rest of the graduates were assigned before they all headed over to the orientation stadium.

The clouds are thicker and fluffier around the stadium, which is covered in red, pink, and white decorations and gold trimmings. Eros himself stands on a stage floating gently above them. Some of his more well known cupids fly  beside him and his effervescent presence. They give the awaiting crowd reminders of what-to-do's and what-not-to-do's before Eros finally speaks.

"Today is the day you truly become cupids. Go forth and spread love, devotion and admiration wherever you may fly to. Prove your loyalty both to me and to my almighty mother Aphrodite. Be the best angel you can be." He intones in a booming voice accompanied by grand hand gestures. He then bows his head toward the crowd of new cupids in respect and waves them off, officially dismissing them to their new posts.

Patton, having been absolutely jittery with excitement throughout the whole orientation, immediately flaps his small, pink and blue hummingbird like wings and takes off into the early morning sky.

His flight time is shortened by both his familiarity with the destination and his newly appointed status. So much so that to any outside spectator, he would have arrived there in the bat of an eyelash.

As he glided over his old town, he spotted several people he once new. Miss Fauna was putting up a new display in front of her flower shop. Tia and Ana were putting up an ad for their speciality tea of the day. Dr Picani was leaving the Blue Fairy Therapy building while glancing at his watch. And many, many more lovely and well missed faces.

But the one he had missed most of all was currently over at the Shooting Star Cemetery, sitting criss-crossed applesauce right in front of his grave.

Sure, he hadn't seen them in over seventeen years, not since their childhood together. But he would be able to recognize that pale face and protective spirit anywhere! This was his best friend we were talking about, after all. And Patton never took his friendships lightly. So he did a spiraling turn in the air to change directions for this newfound destination. He could worry about his other duties later, he had a dear friend to visit!

He hovered over the cemetery like an excited bee hovering over a group of flowers, staying close to the sparse clouds strewn about the glorious sunrise. Not only had Virgil grown up healthily, but he had even remembered him! And was currently paying respects to his grave, apparently. He leaned forward and focused his hearing on the sounds happening down below him.

"You wouldn't believe the week I've had, Pat." Oh dear, what could have happened? Is whatever it was the reason he was visiting? "I think my parents have lost their ever loving marbles. Don’t get me wrong or anything- I love them a bunch. But I just don’t...I just don’t get why they’re doing this, ya’ know?”

What could they have possibly done? Patton remembered Virgil's parents, three queer platonic partners who had always adored their son. They were loved by the whole neighborhood and Patton himself had also enjoyed their company whenever he had visited Virgil's house for playdates and sleepovers. He couldn't imagine them ever doing anything to harm their beloved child! But, if they had hurt Virgil somehow…

“They’re insisting I see this stupid matchmaking witch doctor guy," Ohhh! A matchmaker, huh? Virgie really had grown up! It seemed like just yesterday the two of them were talking about the other boys possibly having cooties during recess. "Who probably thinks I’m a loser by the way-he seemed kinda stuck up and I kept making a fool of myself as per usual." Well that didn't seem very nice of whoever this matchmaker fellow was. Patton would never think of his assignments as losers...everyone was equally deserving of love after all!

"And like they want me to get hitched to some dude ASAP I guess so I can ‘spread my wings’? Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean?” Wait just a minute...Matchmaker...Wings...Patton was a cupid now! Duh. The solution was obvious!

Patton puffed up his chest and fluttered his wings excitedly. He could be Virgil's new, better matchmaker. And nothing would make Pat more happy than having his childhood friend being his first assignment as an official cupid. It was all falling into place so well, almost like destiny! But Virgil was talking again now, so Patton tuned back in.

”But a part of me can’t help but think they’re just trying to get rid of me. Just pawn me off to a random guy so I can be out of their hair! But they...They’ve never said or done anything like that before...They’ve always been so nice to me and so supportive and so loving so I just don’t…”

Ahhh, this was all Virgie's anxiety getting to him again. He had always been a worrywart, even back when they were kids. He guessed some things never changed, not even when it had been so many years. Back then, Patton had always tried to ease his worries and be the most supportive friend he could be. But even at his best and most empathetic, he had been far too young to quite comprehend the full depths of Virgil's emotions.

He looked back at Virgil only to find tears running down his cheeks now, marring his dark eyeshadow. Oh dear sweet Aphrodite- he was crying! “I just don’t get it anymore, Patton. Nothing makes sense. It hasn’t for a long time now. Ever since...ever since high school, really. And I just…”

Highschool? What had happened in high school? Did someone hurt his dearest friend while he wasn't there to protect him? Patton leaned even more forward and gripped the clouds nervously.

“I just wish you were still here.”

Patton froze. Only holy magic and his grip on the clouds keeping him in the air.

I lay back in a glittering mist,

And I, I think of all the men I, I could have kissed.

I haven't lived my life, I haven't lived love,

It's just a bird's eye view from, from up above.

A part of him wished he was still there too. And that same part of him wished he had been there beside Virgil through it all. Had been there in highschool to prevent whatever it was that had hurt his Virgie. Had been there to tell that rude matchmaker off for him. Had been there to give him a lesson in proper etiquette and respect towards his clients. Had been there to help his parents find a better matchmaker. And even to help Virgil pick only the best partner for a great guy like him.

He released a breath he didn't even know he was holding in the first place. But he was here now! And he could help him now!

Now filled to the brim with determination- He hurriedly fumbled to summon his bow and quiver, which he had been storing in his Grace, and pulled out a red romantic arrow from the bag. In his haste, however, he had nicked the side of his arm with the tip of it. He paused to look at the offending wound, wondering if a nick was considered the same thing as a pierce. It wasn't, right? He didn't remember them saying anything about scratches while in the heavenly academy. Oh well, it was probably nothing to worry about! It hadn't come anywhere near his heart, after all.

Besides, Patton had much more pressing matters to attend to. And a heart that needed a connection only he could create was waiting for him. A connection that would transcend the very heavens themselves! Pat would definitely find Virgil a beloved partner that could kiss his many worries away. Many, many kisses. Kisses for that kissable mouth...and soothing voice...and soft looking cheeks…and pale, elegant hands...

Patton shook his head furiously to rid himself of those lucrative thoughts. Sure, Virgil had grown up handsomely, yeah. But this was Patton's best friend he was talking about! How could he be thinking such scandalous and traitorous things? Besides, he had chosen Virgil for his very first assignment. He had to be more professional than that! He had to prove himself a worthy cupid both to Eros himself and to his fellow angels.

He moved to expertly draw his bow, with the same arrow that had previously drawn his blood, poised in the direction of the huddled figure below him. Just as he was about to finally fire, however…He heard it.

"Patton." Just a whisper. A whimper through tears. Just a mumble amidst other unintelligible cries of sorrow.

And yet it felt like a shout. A cry for help. A plea for him. It rang through Patton's ears with the force of a hurricane and knocked him off of his balance.

The arrow cracked and twisted off it's place on the bow and turned to stab through his heart.

He choked on the blood that had bubbled up into his throat and desperately pawed at the arrow lodged accidentally into his most valuable organ.

The words of one of his superior angels and teacher, Balladeil, flared up into his mind. A cupid was not meant to take a cupid's arrow. A cupid's arrow was not made to be used on a cupid.

"Oh Eros!" He cried "Oh no!"

He grabbed at the arrow and started yanking on it. Trying to pull it out of his chest. But it was being stubborn, latching onto his Grace and using that to keep ahold of him. More blood gushed from the wound only to be consumed by his Grace as it tried to heal him from the intrusion. Tears started pouring from Patton's eyes to match Virgil's.

Then, before he knew it, the arrow had melted into his heart and merged into his Grace. And the connection had been completed.

Patton stared dumbfoundedly at the clean space where it used to be for several solid minutes. The wounds were completely healed now and the blood was all gone. It was too late. He had been too late. He had failed.

He took a shaky breath and moved to collect his bow and quiver.

He stored them carefully back into his Grace.

He looked back down at Virgil, who was getting up from the ground now.

He flew slowly over the graveyard as Virgil walked hurriedly past the leering groundskeeper.

He followed Virgil silently all the way back to his home, often passing by a strange crow that happened to be on the same flight path as him.

He watched over Virgil for the rest of the day and way on into that night.

Did I really deserve it?

It happens when you're hurting.

And cut me at the surface,

Of my heart.

Of my heart-heart-heart.

A/N: Patton, you darling idiot. You would have been fine if you weren’t so clumsy. X3 Anyways, hope y’all enjoyed! The next fic I’ll post will be that Creativitwins one shot I mentioned earlier. And then it’ll be right back into the E.V.O.L au! ;3

Tag List:

@accidental-sanders 

@ren-allen

@noneed4thistbh

@virgil-the-void-kitten

@totalwhovian

@bandgeek82002-love

@allycat31415

@notalwaysthevillian

@cloudchaser7

@iamredxd

@lacrimosathedark

@idon-kno

@darkhumourandfandoms

@phangirlandkilljoy

@nikova-eve

@rebelrewriter

@chaoticpanpastelle

@simreaper98

@adroolingmaw

@corrupt-ink-denials

@all-of-them-sanders

@6-daughter-of-a-witch-6

@angelicakaiba

@blobdad

@bi-sappy

@clara-oswald-333

@friendly-neighborhood-murderer

@randomcrew

@demon-of-sparkles

@transdimentionalapocolypse

@maybe-one-day-i-will-be-okay

@dxlphmax

@aikitty

@comicsimpson

@agatheringofbees

@mediocrity-at-best

@babybunnyquake

@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes

@screechingflapbiscuitpeach

@hunter-shyreen

@randomfactscenteral

@charlineedstea

@bee-a-queen

@thatonepersonwhoshippeople

@virgil-is-baby-boi

@chocococo16

@softboisnek

@forbiddensender

@tinylightthingtrash

@andreaissy

@girl-from-pluto

@loveyousweets

@im-a-space-gay

@kai-the-person

[loveinthebones]

What Makes You Happy

IT’S FINISHED. I was working to finish this today and it was originally going to be something to cheer you up, @bie-lovers (and it still is for that!) but now it is also a Christmas present! :D 

I would like to make a note: Fluff is not my forte and I tried so hard with the handball references. >.

Merry Christmas, Sofie!

Title: What Makes You Happy

Rating: G

Pairing: Phil Lester/Dan Howell

Tags: Fluff, fluff, fluff. Zoo Docent! Phil and Handball Player! Dan, First meeting, Strangers to Lovers with interchanging established relationship parts

-What Makes You Happy-

Dan wonders idly when he has gotten so lucky as he chances a glance into bleachers, jamming his shoulder into the guy who lifts his arm to obscure his vision. He catches the barest glimpse of familiar dark hair and pale hands pressed apprehensively against the lower half of a sharp jaw and sinks his teeth into his lower lip to restrain the joy bubbling like a geyser in his chest.

“Get your head in the game, Howell!” Matt shouts from where he is trying to spot an opening and Dan grits his teeth in response. “We can’t afford distractions!”

“Make him proud, Dan!” Tyler screams from the goal situated behind them.

I just need to…

Dan’s eyes narrow as his concentration snaps back to their match, following the arc of the ball determinedly, as he twists to try and sidestep the player that has been his shadow for most of the game.

We can win this.

-

The first time he spotted the dark-haired boy was after a disappointing loss.

Tyler had been devastated that he hadn’t been able to block the winning point in time and Matthew had been harassing the dark blonde goalie incessantly until their coach stepped in with a, “Keep it up, Matt and I’ll put you on the bench.”

Matt hadn’t opened his mouth after the threat but the damage was done and so, Dan had found himself dragging Tyler to the Chester Zoo to see the new Asian elephant baby that he had been squealing about the week before.

“You don’t have to do this, Howell.” Tyler muttered under his breath as Dan pushed him, refusing to lift his heels. “It was my faul—“

“Ty,” There wasn’t any heat behind the nickname but Dan shoved him again fiercely, grinning at Tyler’s grunt. “Shut the fuck up and walk, your highness.” His hand was heavy as he whacked Tyler’s shoulder playfully, shuffling to join the short queue. “You know as well as I do that if Anthony and Chris had completed that give and go without getting fouled, we would have been golden.”

Tyler refused to respond to his words but his lips peeled back in a small but shaky smile. He fiddled with the zip of his hoodie and kept his eyes on their dusty trainers as they moved.

“Seriously,” Dan lowered his voice as he snickered. “Matt is an ass. Ignore him.” He waved his hand for emphasis as if he was shooing away a droning fly. “We’ll do better next game.”

“I know,” Tyler let out a large exhale of air. “I just- I had it and-“

“-and you’ll have it again.” Dan interrupted easily as he stepped forward to purchase their admission tickets, reaching into the pocket of his trackies for his wallet. “One loss won’t kill us.”

“I know.” Tyler mumbled, shoulders still tensed and raised.

“Then stop being an idiot for one second and listen to me.” Dan rolled his eyes as he turned to the ticket seller with his dimple popping on his cheek charmingly. “Can I get two..uh…”

The first thing Dan noticed about him was that his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut yourself on.

The second is that his lips are stained a cherry red.

Has he been eating ice lollies because no one’s lips can possibly…

The last thing he registered in his already disoriented mind was the fact that the boy’s eyes twinkled as those lips moved.

Fuck. What did he say?

“P-Pardon?” Dan stuttered, feeling the telltale heat scorch his cheeks as he skimmed the tip of his thumb over the bills in his wallet.

“How many tickets, sir?” His voice was deep and nasally with a northern twang. Dan’s tongue darted across his lips nervously just as Tyler jumped in with a horribly timed tease:

“I apologize. He doesn’t know how to handle pretty boys.”

Dan reminded himself that his coach would actually murder him if he mortally wounded Tyler as his face flushed even more.

The boy’s cheeks were rosy as well but he laughed good-naturedly, shaking his head.

“Well…”

Dan hadn’t given him the chance to finish.

He dipped his head with a high-pitched “Sorry!” while he wrapped his fingers tightly around Tyler’s bicep to drag him away. Tyler’s obnoxious but pleased laugh tore through the air and echoed behind them as Dan rushed to the car.

“I changed my mind- it is your fault.” Dan growled as his knuckles went white from clutching the steering wheel so hard.

“Aw,” Tyler cooed, despite Dan’s quiet fuming. “You think he’s cute!”

“I will fucking deck you.”

The first time Dan meets him… his heart doesn’t stop hammering in his chest until they have peeled out of the parking lot and are well on their way back to their hotel.

-

Dan is hopping from foot to foot with even more pent up energy than usual, knowing that Phil is watching.

He takes his opportunity to grab the ball, pacing three steps, before cutting the ball to the left.

He hisses out a happy “Yes!” when it bounces off the wall and into Anthony’s reach, tossing his head to dislodge his curling fringe from his forehead and out of his field of vision.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…

-

The second time he encounters the boy…Tyler had offered to take him as a sort of apology for embarrassing him when he was trying to help.

They managed to make it pass the ticket gate without fuss (much to Dan’s relief and Tyler’s bemused disappointment) and had even gotten to gush over the adorable tiny stomping baby elephant, fuzzy but moody meerkats, and the majestic rhinos when Dan catches sight of him.

He was strolling lazily along the walls, scanning the animals briefly in each enclosure, with a towel draped across his arm.

“Isn’t that your boy?” Tyler whispered fervently, practicallyquivering with excitement. “How lucky!”

“I will murder you,” Dan deadpanned as he locked eyes with Tyler meaningfully. “Don’t say anything or draw atten—“ Dan cut himself off with a yell as he rammed his knee into the corner of an unmoving stone bench. He immediately brought it on the surface, curling his torso over it protectively, as his eyes stung. “Holy fuck. That hurts.” He grumbled lowly, taking a deep breath through his nose.

“Walk it off,” Tyler encouraged, patting his back in the same manner he would if he had gotten winded in their practice scrimmages. “C’mon. You’ve had worse.”

“It still hurts.” Dan seethed, even as he gingerly lowered it back to the ground and took a few wobbly steps.

“Hey,” Dan peered up between his lashes at the boy sauntering to him with worried crinkles carving crevasses into the skin at the edges of his eyes and a full lower (less red) lip pinched between his teeth. “I uh-“ He rubbed his the top of his arm bashfully, mucking up the tan polo to reveal a dotting of freckles. Dan smiled at the flustered, adorable mess this boy was. “I’m heading to a first aid station…they might have some ice- i-if you want?”

Dan shook his head, slapping a hand over his mouth as a snort escaped him unbidden. “I’ve had worse.”

“Oh,” There’s a pink tongue trapped between slightly crooked teeth and if Dan wasn’t gone before, he sure is now. “Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s…y’know…a thing.” Shit. I can speak, I promise.

“Like running away from boys you find cute?” The boy giggled and Dan ignored the blush creeping up his neck and face to cough.

“Hey now,” Dan grumbled, gently pushing against the guy’s shoulder. “Can you blame me?”

“You’re not too bad yourself.” He parried instantly but nearly inaudibly, laying his hand over the towel, before letting out a pained hiss. “I’ve go to go- sorry.”

Dan’s stomach dropped to the soles of his feet at the words but he can see the way the boy’s lips are twisted into a corner of his mouth and-

Dan frowned.

“Yeah…are you okay though?”

“Yeah,” He laughed, pulling the corner of the towel more securely over his forearm. “Nuki- the baby jaguar- got a bit overzealous while she was suckling and snagged me with her claws. It’s not serious.” Dan watched as a dopey smile stretched across his face, tip of that tongue wiggling, and while he wanted to lose himself in that smile…

“A jaguar?”

“Yes?”

“And you’re stalling here?” Dan’s voice rose a few octaves, reaching for a name he didn’t know so he blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You-you spork.”

“Dan!” Tyler groaned and slapped a hand across his forehead.

“I’ve never heard that one before.” The boy hummed, eyes sparking with a bolt of mischief. “Kudos, Dan, but my name is actually Phil.”

The second time Dan runs into Phil…he learns that there is a saying for handling big cats, “Claws hurt but teeth kill.” and he thinks that Phil doesn’t need either because his heart has willingly abandoned him to rest in Phil’s hands as they walk together to get him patched up.

-

“Move!” Dan shrieks at Chris who has had the ball in his hands for far too long already and Chris obeys without any hesitation, passing it to Matthew.

There is sweat pouring down his cheeks and Dan is panting heavily but he sprints and curves his body around the two that are trying to block his movements.

They are hot on his heels but Dan catches the ball with his elbow, snatching it from the air before it can escape.

-

The third time Dan sees Phil…it is intentional and he’s still dressed in his uniform, garish yellow shorts reflecting the sunlight as he sits down.

“Hey, you.” Phil greeted, mouth stuffed of half-chewed bread, cheese, and pepperoni. “Nice hair.”

Dan touched the damp curls self-consciously and sighed, “I didn’t have time to change...if I was going to make it on time. Sorry if I stink.” Dan wrinkled his nose at the knowledge that he did, indeed, reek. He had driven with the windows down but he’s not sure how much it helped.

“I promise I have smelled worse.” Phil reassured, scraping a napkin across his face. “Are you hungry?”

“Not at all,” Dan tried to lie when his stomach gurgled betrayingly. “I-“

Phil slid the tiny order of fries across the table to him with a gentle rumble vibrating in his chest. “Betrayed by your own stomach.”

“I know- rude.” Dan quipped, drumming his fingers uncertainly on the metal table top before tentatively taking a single fry. “I can’t just take your food, Phil.”

“It’s fine,” Phil dismissed, swinging the pizza in his hand. Tiny droplets of grease rained on their table. “I have snacks hidden around.”

Dan shook his head and nibbled on his fry. “Isn’t that against the rules of being a zoo keeper?”

“I can’t take food in the habitats,” Phil clarified with a small pout in Dan’s direction. “There isn’t any restrictions on having snacks and besides,” Phil hummed, clasping his hands behind his neck and stretching. “I’m not a zoo keeper, yet. I’m just a docent.”

“A docent?” Dan questioned, munching on some more of Phil’s fries.

“I’m a volunteer, basically.” Phil explained patiently, laying his pizza on the paper plate and sucking the shininess left behind on his fingertip from the grease. “I want to be a zoo keeper when I finish my degree but I’m not there yet.” Phil’s eyes softened as a tiny smile danced across his lips. “Just a little bit more and I will be.”

Dan snatched a pepperoni off of Phil’s pizza with a slight pang of guilt. He was always hungry after practice and pizza was infinitely tastier than soggy fries. 

He quickly shoved it in his mouth.

“What about you, Dan?”

Dan chewed deliberately, not only to savor the spice skittering across his taste buds but to stall answering. He had never been keen on sharing his occupation because it brought too many questions and ended with most people being one of two things: disinterested or way too curious about his salary. He couldn’t even be sure that Phil had heard about handball before- he didn’t seem very sporty.

“Shame on you, Daniel. Being judgmental is not a good trait to have.” His mother’s peeved scolding drifted across his mind and Dan swallowed. He didn’t want to lie to Phil so he settled for the next best thing.

“I’m an athlete.”

“That explains the uniform.” Phil jested, tearing off a small chunk of his napkin to toss it at Dan. “What do you play?”

Fuck.

“Handball,” Dan answered,smiling despite the hard stone of dread settling in the pit of his tummy. “I love it.”

“I’ve heard of it but,” Phil told him, turning the plate with his long fingers absentmindedly. “I’m afraid I am not much of a sports person but if you enjoy it, that’s all that matters, right?”

The tension at the nape of Dan’s subsided slightly at the shy way Phil was regarding him from beneath his fringe and hope blossomed under his rib cage: scorching, painful, and so, so good.

“I hope so,” Dan murmured, a confession of a sorts that breezed past his lips unbidden. “A more stable career would be a safer option. More steady income, you know.”

Dan winced. I’m just asking for misery. I hate when people ask how much I make.

“Safer doesn’t mean better.” Phil leaned into his space, the light expanse of his eyes darkening a full shade in an effort to mirror his suddenly serious demeanor. “Seriously, Dan. If it makes you happy, stick with it.”

Dan’s mouth was dry and the roof stuck to his tongue as he opened his mouth but the heartfelt thanks he was about to utter turned into a squeak when Phil stole a fry.

“Hey!”

“You should tell me the next time you play,” Phil continued to talk even though he is nibbling on Dan’s (well, it was really his but that’s just technicalities.) fry.  “Maybe I can come watch and see what handball is like.”

The third time he is in Phil’s presence…Dan is a little bit happier and lets whatever is between them grow organically as they chat and snicker until Phil has to report back to his station.

-

“You did it!” Phil is yelling, grabbing his cheeks with energy crackling in his otherworldly eyes. Electric streaks of gold spark in a sweeping crescents in a wide expanse of pale greenish blue and Dan laughs, exhilarated. “You were so good, Dan!”

Dan crushes the hand on the right side of his face and beams at Phil.

“It was nothing,” Dan deflects, even though his heart is still crashing wildly in his chest cavity from the last goal he scored before time was called. “Nothing at all.”

“You’re lying! You were so, so goo—“

Dan’s lips slam against Phil’s. 

They are soft and give under his rough, adrenaline-filled kiss and Dan melts as Phil presses closer, fisting his hands in his jersey. There’s cheering around them, piercing wolf whistles, but all Dan cares about is Phil, Phil, Phil.

He pulls away and leans his forehead against Phil’s, shaking with mirth.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Danny.“

[tsukikokiyomizu]

“Kiyo-cha~n!”

Really, it’s so embarrassing. Even though I’ve told you thousands of times to not call me that, you insist in embarrassing me. That detective nut won’t stop even if I ask her, will she… I would say it’s the Italian blood, but Okaasan was Italian too, so I can only blame her personality for being so obnoxious. Seriously, it’s such a pain in the ass, even if she’s a friend… my pride as a man won’t let me forgive that.

“I already told you, it’s ‘kun’! ‘chan’ is how you call girls, do I look like a girl to you?”

That obnoxious detective nut laughed at me again. Seriously, what a pain. “Hmmm, I don’t know! You’re so small and cute for a 10-years-old, I would mistake you for a girl any time! Besides, doesn’t ‘chan’ also apply to close friends who are younger or something like that?”

“You’re not that much older, and I do not look like a girl!”

“I’m eleven, you’re ten, I’m your senior and older sister~☆”

Even if you say that, you’re just 6 months older than me. Seriously, what a pain, even though you’re my friend. Even if I told you that, you would just keep on calling me ‘Kiyo-chan’ like the idiot you are, so there’s no use on arguing against that. I sadly accepted that fate, just hanging my head in embarrassment, while she kept on talking about her latest obsession. She’s been reading a lot of foreign novels, which is not surprising considering her father is a foreigner, just like my Okaasan was. What was the latest one she liked? I don’t remember the name, but an English priest wrote that one. What was his name again? Renald? Roward? Ronald? Something something Knock? Whatever, it’ll soon vanish and she will jump to the next author. What a pain. I was never good with English anyway…

The obnoxious girl with blonde hair following me was named Antonia. Her surname is Italian, so I have troubles pronouncing it. I don’t even bother trying at this point, so I just call her by her first name. It was too long at first, so she suggested nicknames, but those sounded too embarrassing with my accent. I’ll just stick to what I can do, no thank you…

Even though she has an Italian name, Italian surname, that bright yellow hair and even Italian blood, she’s Japanese. Her father married her Japanese mother here in Japan, like the opposite of my parents. Okaasan, who was Italian, came to Japan so she could finish her education, and she met Otousan, who was trying to become a teacher, and married him. This is why I, too, am an unfortunate victim of the “weird hair color in Japan” syndrome. Seriously, even if it gets repetitive, this truly is a pain. Kids pick on me because I look like a foreigner and am a boy, but when it comes to Antonia, suddenly she’s ‘pretty’ and ‘different’ and ‘cool’. What even? If you’re going to pick on someone, at least don’t be that arbitrary with your reasons, dammit. What, if I was a pretty girl I wouldn’t be picked on? Maybe being ‘Kiyo-chan’ really would be better. I swear, I’ll marry a standard Japanese woman and have kids with normal hair color, eye color and no hint of foreign blood on their faces. That way, they won’t have to be treated like that. And, then, I won’t have to see another victim of “weird hair color in Japan” syndrome in my family.

…Family. I moved in with Antonia and her family, which technically means she’s my older sister. I call her nee-san when we’re home, and I generally try to treat her like an older sister, but I can’t see her as anything other than a friend. I kept my last name, though, out of respect for my deceased father.

Yeah, you can pity me now. ‘Poor orphan boy who has no parents’, right? People either pick on me because I look like an alien amongst dark haired people, pity me because I have no parents and live with Okaasan’s friend’s family, or pretend I don’t exist whatsoever. I try not to care much, but how can you not do that when it’s been like this since you were seven? If it was when I was five, then I probably wouldn’t remember, but it was just three years ago. Okaasan died out of a disease, and then Otousan followed suit not long after. I thought I, too, was going to die out of that damn tuberculosis thing, but I didn’t. Weird, right? I wish I could have gone with them. If I did, Otousan would probably keep picking on me for being too slow with my studies and be as strict as always, so maybe it really was a miracle that I survived.

Antonia is my older sister now, and her father, Mario, is my father. Her mother, Sakura-san, is my mother. She has a lot of siblings, so they’re my siblings too—Renato, Tobia, Niccolo, Ottavia and Laura. Renato and Tobia are obnoxious, but not in the fun—if I can call her constant teasing fun—way that Antonia is. They take my things and hide it, and when I get frustrated, they just get worse. Niccolo is laid-back and lazy, so he never helps around the house, but he lends me fun movies to watch when I’m bored, so I like him. Ottavia is way too energetic for a girl, so we usually play-fight a lot, and Laura is truly a cute shy little sister, so I walk with her back from school so she isn’t alone. Antonia’s grandparents are my grandparents too, and grandpa usually teases me even more than Antonia, until I get red; grandma is nice and tells me lots of ghost stories, besides telling me a lot about how Italy was. They’re a fun family…

Antonia is very lonely, though. She has only one friend at school, and her siblings don’t like her. Even if Tobia and Renato mess with me, they do it even worse with Antonia, and the others ignore her even if she talks to them. I can’t say I don’t respect her for never lashing out at them.

Out of all the siblings, I’m the closest to her. Even if she’s an obnoxious tease who keeps treating me like I’m five and ‘too cute to be a boy’, she never leaves me alone, so I never feel lonely. And, when she sees one of our classmates being stupid to me, she steps in and makes sure that I don’t feel bad. She does have a weird taste in books, but I forgive that—but seriously, detective novels? They’re so lame. If I’m going to read something, I want it to be as removed from normal day-to-day life as possible. So, I read fantasy novels, and she reads those weird murder stories. She says it’s just because ‘I don’t understand the appeal or the plot’, but I beat her to find out the killer in those complicated English books she likes so much.

What was the author’s name again? A… gata? Christ? Something something Christ. Even though she says she’s a master at writing mysteries, I figured out the murderer of one of her masterpieces in seven chapters. What fun is that? That’s why I like books with magic better. …Well, I can’t say I haven’t been reading some murder mysteries just to beat Antonia on the run, but that doesn’t mean I like them or something…! I just like to stay on top of things, okay? Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t be a weird detective nut like Antonia!

So, that was just another one of those hot days, where we both walked together to school, after dropping Laura at her school. But the teacher told me to do something before school. Yeah, I had to drop something on that girl’s house, right?

‘Meiko Megure’. Seriously, what a pain. If you’re going to not come to school, at least pick your own homework, instead of making your classmates drop it at your house.

That was the day a lot of things changed.

[kaoruyogi]

Trial by Fire (Ch. 17)

Now with art by the amazing @merwild!!!

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

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Masterpost

Newly posted to the Ferelden Central Branch Court Office, known to those in the industry as Skyhold, Deputy District Attorney Halise Lavellan, her 98% conviction rate, and her investigator, Sera, join with the most successful group in the entire District Attorney’s Office, affectionately nicknamed “The Inquisition.” Transferred to join the Skyhold Gang Taskforce, she meets back up with an old flame, and her new colleague, Cullen Rutherford. In light of his 97.8% conviction rate, the other DDAs and defense attorneys working out of Skyhold call him “The Lion.” When a major gang homicide lands on their desks, Cullen and Halise, or “Torch” to anyone familiar with her prosecution style, must do everything in their power to lock up a notorious shotcaller, and stay alive while doing it. The old flame also threatens to reignite and consume both of them…and they just might let it.

(Halise’s name is pronounced “Hah-Lee-Say”)

Warning: Depiction of torture below.

Chapter 17:

“No. This is ridiculous.” Cullen looked himself up and down in the mirror on the wall above the sinks in the men’s room of the office. Thank the Maker everyone had already gone home. The idea of stepping out of the restroom, let alone the office, with anyone around to see him dressed so…unlike himself was deeply embarrassing.

He eyed himself disdainfully. Halise had outfitted him to a precise set of specifications—obnoxious ones. He wore an oversized—“slouchy,” she’d called it—black beanie she’d crocheted years before, paired with matching thick-rimmed fake glasses. Under an open red, white, and gray flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a black and yellow tee shirt with the logo for the long defunct Andrastian hair metal band, Stryper, sat uncomfortably over his chest. At least he got to wear his own jeans and shoes.

“Oh, come on. I bet you look great! Well, acceptable,” Halise pleaded through the door. “Passable?” How unconvincing she was.

“Stuff it, General Uptight, I’m with Halise. You have to look like the type of prat who listens to Mumford & Sons and Bon Iver and that other shite.” Sera’s voice was muffled. She’d obviously pressed her face against the door.

“I do listen to Mumford & Sons,” he spat back, his eyes refusing to release him from the torment of his own reflection. The impish elf’s signature scoff and chortle were all the reply he needed to know what she thought of that.

“If you’re not coming out, I’m gonna come in there and drag you out,” Halise warned. “We’re going to be late if we have to wait much longer for you to come to terms with your douchier side.”

A heavy sigh pushed its way out of Cullen’s chest as he squared his shoulders. If he was going out there like that, he would damn sure own it. He turned and opened the bathroom door. Sera narrowly avoided tumbling through when it swung inward, but she caught herself before hitting the floor. Pity, that. Another raucous chortle rose up from her when she looked him up and down as he passed her by, but his eyes were locked on Halise.

He was almost instantly transported back to the day they first met. She wore the very same blue beanie over her loose red curls, accented by similar glasses to the ones he wore. They reminded him of the oversized sunglasses that had blocked his view of her stunning eyes. A loose sky blue shirt with a picture of Audrey Hepburn from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” billowed around her, the wide, scooped neck giving him the slightest peak at her pale cleavage. Skinny jeans and black and white Converse rounded out her trousseau. No bare feet. He actually felt a strange kind of longing to see her duo-chromatic toes. They’d been a constant presence in their tumultuous history. But they were caged away from his view behind cloth, rubber, and shoelaces. In an odd way, it made him feel as though her personality had been hidden away from view alongside them.

That was, until he looked back up to see her lips pressed together and nostrils flared, her shoulders rising and falling heavily as she tried desperately to suppress the grin working away at the corners of her mouth. There she was. Her bright eyes passed over him, a nod of approval bobbing her head as she chewed on the inside of her lip. “I hate to say you look good because I know you’ll never wear this stuff again and I quite frankly hope you don’t, but you look very good,” she purred.

Her tone and the look in her eye shot heat through his body like a lightning bolt. Despite feeling foolish in his state of dress, had Sera not been there and had they not had a meeting to go to, he might have taken her right there. He would have swept her off of her feet, ripped those jeans off, and rutted her into the Maker forsaken wall. Another heavy sigh rattled out of him. This was not the time to be thinking about such things. They did have a meeting to go to, and Sera was there. His hand crept up the back of his neck, feeling a flush rise up his cheeks at the inappropriateness of his thoughts. “T-Thank you, I suppose,” he replied.

Halise arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling under it as though they were both being pulled up by the same string. Cullen smiled back a bit self-consciously, causing her to cock her head at him. The moment between them was shattered by Sera’s brash voice. “Yeah, yeah, everyone looks good, now can we please go?” She passed by him, very intentionally bumping into him with her yellow plaid covered shoulder before casting a wide smile back at him and sticking her tongue out. He chuckled, following her and Halise, and unabashedly watching his girlfriend’s backside as they left the building.

He drove them to the Three Trout Bar, watching his rearview mirror to an almost obsessive degree. They would not be ambushed or attacked again. He knew Sera was still armed, but he’d also stowed a 9 mm handgun in his glove compartment that he planned to slip into his waistband before they went inside. He had a concealed carry permit—easier to get after being a Templar—but he’d never felt he needed it until then. For years he’d really just worried that he might use the gun in a fit of anxiety or one of his withdrawal-induced hallucinations. But in that moment, there were very real dangers that they may have been walking right into.

Halise braided her hair over her shoulder on the ride to the bar. She said it would make her less recognizable, but Cullen thought the outfit and fake glasses would have done that well enough. Still, the long braid cascading down her arm did have a certain charm about it, though she was right, it was very unlike her. She was wild and unbound. Even when her hair was gathered into a ponytail, her curls flowed about freely, their riotous brilliance undeterred by the single tiny binding. The string of knots forming the braid locked all that away from the world. Another piece of her obscured.

When they arrived at the Three Trout, Cullen sought out a parking spot in full view of the entire interior. He rounded the block several times before a woman moved her gargantuan minivan out of the parking space directly in front of the bar. Once parked, he leaned over Halise a bit, opening the glove compartment and stuffing the black handgun into his waistband behind his back. She cast him a worried glance while Sera barked something about being glad she wasn’t going to be the only one armed. He did his best to reassure her with his eyes and a soft touch on her forearm, though it clearly did little to accomplish his goal. They exited the vehicle in near silence, entering the bar as warily as they could without attracting attention.

From the moment they walked in, all he wanted to do was walk right back out. The obvious sense of pseudo-individualism and entitlement was overwhelming. It made itself plain in the aggressively mismatched bar stools, the haphazardly repurposed Maker-knew-what the owner intended to pass off as tables and chairs, and the sloppily written chalkboard drink menu behind the bar. As a group, he, Halise, and Sera made their way to the bar—dirty, unfinished wood, of course—with Sera elbowing some oaf with a man bun out of their way just enough to order from the selection of pompously named drinks. Who’s impractical mind thought of the names for them, anyway? “Get Hissing Wasted,” “Blades of Hess-Ale-Rian,” “The Ferelden Frostback.” Insipid and feckless.

“These drink names are fucking stupid,” Halise whispered as she turned away from the bar to face him. Mind reader.

Cullen smiled down at her, gratified to be on the receiving end of the little turn of her lips. Her eyes left his, scanning the room behind him while he watched his SUV out window. Every time someone walked by, which was all too frequently in this neighborhood filled with phony environmentalists who refused to drive, he held his breath. His body was ready to spring into action at any moment, taking down anyone who meant to do them harm by whatever means necessary.

“Do you think that’s him?” Halise murmured to Sera, who pivoted then to look at whoever the redhead was referring to.

“Fantastic fucking mustache, that!” the blonde elf quietly exclaimed. “He’s lookin’ at you. And at me. And at Cullen. And at the door. Bet you’re right. I’ll go see.”

Cullen turned—his hand in his back pocket, close to the gun—to watch Sera approach a sturdy looking gentleman in his mid-thirties with what was indeed a rather impressive horseshoe mustache. She leaned over with her hand on the waistband of her jeans, speaking quietly to the man before flicking a finger at Halise and Cullen to join them.

Trepidation welled up in his gut with every step toward the mustachioed man. Mercifully, the seat that faced the door was left unoccupied, allowing Cullen to slip in and watch his car whilst maintaining his ability to see their mysterious informant. Halise sat beside him, across from the man, with Sera on her other side.

“Ms. Lavellan, I presume?” the man asked. His accent sounded somewhat Orlesian but had a slight unidentifiable tinge to it.

Halise nodded. “Stroud?”

He nodded in return. “So this must be Mr. Rutherford and Sera…I’m sorry I couldn’t find your last name anyw—”

“Just Sera,” she clipped. Her blue eyes bored into the man next to her.

“Alright,” he said, his tone placating and passive. “I must apologize for the rather…clandestine nature of this meeting, and for my vagueness on our call, Ms. Lavellan. I’m afraid I’ve been targeted in an internal investigation by the FBI Wardens. An investigation which could only have sprung from false accusations made by one Warden in particular.”

Cullen’s eyes shot to his still undisturbed SUV, then to Halise, then back to Stroud. “If you’re under investigation,” she began, “why should we trust whatever it is you have to tell us?”

“I understand your hesitation, but this one Warden to whom I am referring…Well, to put it plainly, I believe he has ties to the Magisterium, and that he targeted me when he found out I was looking into him.” Stroud sighed through his nose, sparing a glance toward Cullen, who just leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. Was the man name dropping the notorious Tevinter cartel to cast off suspicion, or was he telling the truth?

He watched Halise’s methodical gaze slice right through Stroud, feeling a little overly satisfied at the way it so clearly unnerved him. “Okay, say I believe you, and there’s a Magister plant in the Wardens who’s trying to frame you for Mythal-knows-what, what does that have to do with the Corypheus case?” Her fingers laced together under her chin, her intelligent eyes never leaving the Warden.

Cullen was proud of her. He felt it so powerfully in that moment, it was undeniable. He knew she was exhausted, that fear likely sat very close to the forefront of her mind, but there she was, staring down a man she knew would be armed and suspected might harm her. Her face was the picture of perceptive serenity, body language unafraid and imposing. She was unstoppable.

“This Warden is pretending to run Archdemon as a confidential informant.”

It was as if all the air vanished from the bar in that instant. Every sound was silence, every breath a struggle in a vacuum. “There is a Warden…” Halise paused in her disbelief, “who knows who Archdemon is. And he’s pretending to run him as a CI?” Stroud nodded somberly. “And he didn’t bother to stop his C-fucking-I from blowing me to the Void?!” She leaned halfway across the table, and might have sprung the whole length if Sera’s arm hadn’t shot out to stop her momentum.

“You can see, Ms. Lavellan, why I had to speak to you about this in person, and why it couldn’t be at your office.” It wasn’t a question.

Cullen heard the long, shaky breath shudder out of Halise, and saw the thick swallow roll down her throat. He knew firsthand that composure and rational thought could be difficult things to regain when shocked and incensed. But he watched her expression shift, watched her lips come together once more, watched her eyes regain their focused determination.

“Is it safe to assume you have proof of all these accusations?” Stroud nodded again. “Then why haven’t you given it to your boss?”

“The Warden in charge of our office, Assistant Director Clarel, insists she’s following protocol in the investigation against me by not accepting any ‘retaliatory’ accusations or evidence. But I suspect the Magister, Warden Livius Erimond, has something over on her. I’ve checked our policy manual, and there’s nothing in it about retaliatory evidence. I’ve also tried to go over her head, but I either hear nothing for weeks or get a voicemail left on my machine after hours about following the chain of command. I’m getting nowhere.”

“And what about taking your evidence to the Ferelden Attorney General’s Office?” Cullen finally chimed in. There had to be some reason he was seeking out their help.

“Honestly,” Stroud started as he placed a large folder on the table, “I thought, given what happened, you might want to talk to Erimond first. See if he’s willing to give up Archdemon for your case against Corypheus once he sees this mountain of evidence. Maybe he’ll drop his allegations and I can get back to work in the field.” His hand sat atop the file, and he slid it back toward himself by the smallest margin, nearly making the three of them jump to grab it. “If you prefer, however, I can take it to the AG’s Office. But if I do that, I can’t guarantee Archdemon’s identity won’t remain sealed as a CI, or that you’ll have any access to him once the AGs get their hands on him.”

“Trap,” Sera almost shouted, drawing stern glares from Halise and Cullen. “Something stinks. This sounds like a trap. How do we know you’re not playing us, and we meet this Eri-mouth or whatever, and he kills us? Up close and personal-like.”

Everyone turned to Stroud once more. “You should come to our headquarters at Adamant when he’s there—”

“Stupid name for a headquarters,” Sera interrupted.

“Confront him in his office while there are a hundred other Wardens around, myself included,” he concluded, unperturbed.

Halise turned to Cullen, and they shared another communicative look. Her viridescent eyes asked if he thought it was a good idea. Without a word, he told her the he worried it might be dangerous, but she should go with her gut. A tiny tilt of her head said there would be other Wardens there, and they might not get another opportunity to discover Archdemon’s identity. A slow blink and nod was Cullen’s answer.

Halise’s nimble fingers lifted the file from the table and found space for it in her too-large gray leather tote bag. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll come by next week, after we’ve dealt with the Mayor’s diplomatic event this weekend.” Maker’s breath. Cullen had almost forgotten about that. “I’ll call you to arrange a time.”

Without another word or gesture exchanged, Cullen, Halise, and Sera stood and left the table. Cullen experimentally pressed the button on his key to unlock his car, doing his best not to flinch when the headlights gave their chipper blink. Nothing happened. Nothing and no one exploded. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. They were safe. At least for the rest of the day.

*****

Halise sat alone on her sectional the night of the meeting, her exhausted eyes wandering over the contents of the file Stroud had given her—photocopies, phone records, and photographs. She’d practically begged Cullen to come home with her, but he rebuffed her. He had other urgent business to deal with before he went home. What urgent business could someone possibly have at almost eight o’clock on a weeknight? Sera, Dorian, and Iron Bull were likewise occupied, as was everyone else in her office, it seemed. Were they all out having fun without her?

No. The odds were just that everyone was genuinely busy. They all had lives to lead outside the office, after all.

It was probably for the best, though. She only managed to focus on the evidence for about half an hour before sleep weighed her eyelids down to an untenable degree. As she ambled off to bed, she prayed to the Creators and whoever else might be listening not to have a nightmare like the one she’d had the night before.

But no one was listening.

Screams rang out through the empty cell blocks of Denerim Central Jail. Halise ran barefoot through every floor, searching every locked cell and alcove for the source of the blood curdling screaming. The echoing emptiness of the cells bounced the screams into her ears a thousand times over, each one dissipating just in time for the next to begin, making it that much harder to follow them to their point of origin.

Finally, amidst the wails and roars, she managed to find a single unlocked door. She flung it open with a rusty squeak and darted inside only to find herself in an observation room. A single stool, a light switch, and a nearly wall-sized piece of thick glass were the room’s only occupants, their eerie silence almost as deafening as the bawls and bellows emanating from the other side of the glass. Halise’s eyes followed her ears, turning to see what she already knew would be there.

A thick pool of blood, both coagulated and fresh, spread across the floor of the interrogation room. Strong, bare feet and the metallic legs of a chair bore a stark contrast to the smooth, almost placid blood. Halise’s eyes traced up bare legs, noting the soft blonde hair that wisped over their surfaces. Next, she saw the man’s torso and arms, smattered in a myriad of scars, both healed and open, some gushing blood to feed the ever expanding pool below. His face—Cullen’s face—was bruised and broken. The scar she’d always seen as such an attractive feature sat open again, jagged and bloody, exposing his wounded gums and teeth below. His autumnal eyes were blackened, nearly swollen shut by the severity of his injuries. Blood matted down his golden blonde curls, leaving a grotesque texture she could almost smell and feel through the thick glass.

Around Cullen’s writhing, screaming, tortured body strode his captors. His torturers. His tormentors. Corypheus and Archdemon, their bodies hideously deformed and larger than life, swirled around Cullen. Haunting crystalline formations jutted out of their bodies at ghastly angles, rending their sallow flesh in tattered pieces. Corypheus’s body looked as if it had been stretched skyward, his midsection terrifyingly slim and bony. Archdemon’s sharpened smile gleamed beneath skin that had gone almost scaly, his frayed, ratty hoodie stretched and hanging from his arms like wings.

With claws and instruments they cut and tore at Cullen’s body, wresting horrifying, nauseating cries from him with every touch. Tears poured from Halise’s eyes, blurring her vision of the atrocities being committed against the man she’d loved for most of her adult life. Instinctively, she flicked the light switch upward, lighting up the space in a way she knew would let those in the interrogation room see her. All eyes watched her, wry smiles twisting the faces of those evil men. Their grins grew when Halise slammed the side of her fist into the glass and screamed. They continued their victimization and tyranny even as she lifted the steel stool and smashed it into the window. It bounced off, leaving nary a scratch in its wake. She kicked at the clear surface until she felt the bones in her feet break and splinter, though there was no pain for her. No pain for her, but pain immeasurable for the man she loved.

Halise ran with a limping gait to the door of the observation room only to find that it, too, had been locked. She was trapped. Forced to watch as pure evil and malice stole the joy she’d only found again so recently. In a final act of what may have been malevolence or mercy, Corypheus hauled Cullen’s chin up, exposing his neck, and slit his throat from ear to ear, splashing hot blood across the glass. The ichor obscured his death from her view, but she could hear his choked gurgling and final rattled breath even through her own deafening screams.

Her eyes flew open with a sharp gasp. The inky darkness of her bedroom and the thick, sweat-dampened blankets on her bed enveloped her. Tears streaked down her cheeks while choked sobs pulsed through her chest. Suffocating, she kicked the blankets away from her body, exposing her sweat-slicked skin to the cool, climate-controlled air. She rolled onto her side, curling into herself as guilt-grated whimpers eked out of her dry lips.

She thought about calling Cullen—confirming to her mind that he was alive and well halfway across town—but she couldn’t do that to him two nights in a row. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her shins, huddled her chin against her knees, and wallowed in the misery of her visions until dawn brightened the sky on the other side of her curtains.

Her morning routine was an exercise in weary determination. She would get through the day, no matter how sleep-deprived or shaken she was. She would get through her Fen-damned day.

The obviousness of her exhaustion was made plain once more on her arrival at the office. Everyone she passed remarked about how “tired” or “awful” she looked, which by no means helped her self-esteem. Still, they were right. She felt awful, and had very little doubt that she looked it.

Cullen wore his worry in the furrow of his brow, the downcast corners of his lips, and the consternation of his tone. “Maker’s breath, Halise, are you alright?” he asked, letting his hand rest on her shoulder.

“I’m…Um…I’m just tired. I’m fine,” she muttered, walking past him to get to her desk. His gentle touch slipped from her shoulder down her arm, and she caught his fingers with hers for a moment before letting go.

He followed after her, his three or four footsteps audibly hesitant. When Halise took a seat at her desk and tapped her voicemail button, her messages played over the speakerphone as she scrubbed her hands down her face. Thank Mythal I don’t have court today, she thought. A couple of people on her witness list left her messages agreeing to testify against Corypheus. Apparently, standing up to the dick-biscuit after he tried to blow her up had garnered her some street cred.

Cullen hadn’t moved. He looked down at her, helpless apprehensiveness obvious in his eyes. Halise sighed, feeling worse as she returned his gaze. “I had the stupid nightmare again,” she finally murmured in answer to the question he hadn’t needed to ask. Her tone betrayed the shame she felt in her admission. He’d been dealing with nightmares for so long, and she couldn’t even manage for two nights. What a weak person she was.

He rounded her desk, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his arms so quickly her vision blurred. “Why didn’t you call me?” his muffled voice said into her neck.

“I didn’t want to bother you with it two nights in a row,” she answered, the sting of imminent tears making her feel even weaker. She hated crying at work.

“You could never bother me, my love.” His arms tightened, his powerful fingers holding fast onto her biceps. “I want you to call me when you have a nightmare. I want you to lean on me. I’m here to support you, both as your second chair and as your boyfriend. You have to trust that I mean that in every way.”

Halise let her hand come to rest on the back of his neck. “I do,” she replied softly, a few small tears slipping free of her resolve. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. But will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course I will. I’m sorry I didn’t last night,” he said, pulling back just enough to see her face. He swiped a thumb across her cheek to wipe away the moisture there while he continued. “I had to buy a tux for the Mayor’s event. It’s been quite some time since I last wore one.”

A tired grin swept up her lips and squinted her eyes. “Why didn’t you have me come with you? I’m sure I could have helped.”

“I—uh—asked Dorian and some of the other men from the office to join me,” he answered, looking a bit sheepish. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Plus, as it turns out, almost everyone needed something to wear. We saw Sera with Leliana, Cassandra, and Josephine while we were at the mall.”

A single grunt of a laugh pushed its way out of Halise’s nose. “So you guys really were all having fun without me.”

Cullen scoffed, “Hardly. I hate shopping, especially for clothes. Dorian and Solas, much to my surprise, seemed to have the greatest fondness for the exercise. Bull, Varric, Cole, and I sort of sat back and let them do the choosing. I went with one of Dorian’s choices.”

“I am very curious to see what he picked out for you. Though I’m sure it’s ‘of the highest quality’ and ‘painfully handsome,’” she smirked, mimicking Dorian’s voice and cadence.

“It’s as if you were there,” Cullen chuckled. He brushed a light kiss over her lips, but when her eyes closed, they chose to remain that way even after he moved away. “Are you sure you don’t need to go home? I know Cassandra would understand if you did.”

Before she could answer, a whisper of a knock tapped at their office door. Through sheer force of will, Halise managed to open her eyes enough to see Cole and Solas standing in their doorway. Cole’s face was almost expressionless, though his eyes looked just a bit concerned. Solas, on the other hand, let his brows knit together and a little frown curve his lips. Cole had a pillow in his hand. Where had he gotten that?

“I brought you this,” the ethereal young man said, holding up the very comfortable looking pillow. “We keep it for children to hold. It helps them feel better when they talk. But you should use it to take a nap. You’re very tired, and it will help you feel better.” He was disarmingly sweet and hopeful for someone who had to deal with those who, in Halise’s opinion, were the worst of the worst—the dregs of society. He was also a little blunt.

“I’d like to offer you my office for a couple of hours,” Solas added. “I can work at your desk, and you can sleep in the quiet seclusion for a time, if that is agreeable to you.” Always so proper. Somehow even more so than Cullen, if such a thing was possible.

Halise smiled wanly but warmly at the men in the doorway. Cullen gave her one little nod of approval, and another as a gesture for her to go. Reluctantly, she stood, crossed the room, and accepted the pillow from Cole. He smiled at her, a sight she so rarely saw from him. She murmured a quiet thank you to Solas and reminded all three of the men that they should come get her if anyone needed her. She had every intention of being back in an hour and a half. One good REM cycle was all she needed.

When she awoke three hours later, however, she cursed herself quietly. She felt better, to be sure, but knowing she’d missed hours of work dropped a pang of guilt onto her like a cinderblock. She stood from Solas’s too-comfortable chair—no wonder he was in his office all day—and wobbled back toward her office.

She stopped just outside her door when she heard Solas’s voice. “—that you and Ms. Lavellan have grown very close. I can see you care for her a great deal.” What an odd time for him to bring that up. Have they been sitting in total silence for the past three hours? she wondered.

The sound of Cullen clearing his throat almost made Halise laugh. She could practically see his hand at the back of his neck. “I do,” he finally replied.

“That is good to hear. Though, an admonishment, if I may—take care that your relationship does not affect the work either of you do. You are both true assets to Skyhold, and I would hate to see that negatively impacted should anything go awry.” He sounded so sincere, but there was a definite tinge of warning in his tone.

Halise didn’t know how to feel about him saying that. Part of her was flattered that he felt so strongly about their work, while another part was irritated that he would insert himself into their affairs in such a way.  Cullen’s voice interrupted her thoughts before they could spiral any further. “Rest assured, Solas, nothing will go awry.” He sounded so certain, and that certainty grounded her as she stepped through the door into their office.

“Solas,” she grinned sincerely, “thank you so much for letting me use your office. I had an awesome nap, and I think I’m ready to get back at it. I really, really appreciate it.”

The elf smiled smoothly back at her, closing his laptop and rising from her desk. “I am very glad to hear it,” he said, darting his eyes to Cullen for just a split second. He took the pillow from her hand as he passed her, leaving their office as quietly as he’d come in.

Halise turned on her heel to face Cullen, putting her hands on his desk and leaning forward to kiss him. When their lips parted, he smirked at her, quirking up his scar—the scar that made him more attractive not because of its alluring appearance, but because of how strong he must have been to endure the pain of receiving it. “What was that for?”

“I just agree with you,” she said. “‘Nothing will go awry.’”

Mild embarrassment flushed his cheeks as she watched him. Silently, she prayed to the same entities that hadn’t listened in the night. She prayed that they would listen, and she prayed that she and Cullen were right.

Please let us be right.

*****