#and how all the people who shoved that stupid fucking clip in my face clearly didnt give a shit aboht listening to me

[dyketubbo]

oh also this is mostly so it can go down on record but clarification with the note abt shipping in my intro post abt not minding shipping unless its done with jaiden: i still consider qprs to be shipping as i always have because theyre still intimate relationships that you dont just like.. have with just anybodu. but if you see (ic) roier and jaiden as qprs i dont mind since they have iirc called themselves partners just not married/romantic. so while qprs are still shipping to me nonetheless since its pretty close to what theyve described themselves as in canon queerplatonic roier and jaiden enjoyers are fine by me

#also in part saying this because ill be honest im still like. affected by what the qpe techza drama did to me #i genuinely still get anxious and like. i dont know i start having a genuine trauma reaction when i think about #how people treated me because of that. all bc i said i saw qprs as shipping and wanted people to think more critically #about how they depicted and talked about qprs and how people would treat qprs as a way to get around shipping boundaries #and how all the people who shoved that stupid fucking clip in my face clearly didnt give a shit aboht listening to me #or even gave an actual shit about qprs. because not a single one of them pointed out how shit the explanation was for that dono #im forever grateful phil researched it on his own and came to his conclusion based off that research #and i forever fucking hate every single person who treated me like shit and genuinely saw no problem with acting like #'platonic soulmate headcanons' was the best way to describe qprs #fuck everyone who treated me like shit for saying qprs are shipping #fuck everyone who spread misinfo and claimed *i* was the one saying qprs are 'just friends' #fuck everyone who cared more about proving a point and having their little white mlm ship #than actually fucking listening to me and the others who were desperately trying to get qprs to be treated seriously #because i can fucking assure you the people i saw did not treat them seriously. not at fucking all. all it was to them was romance /p #and thats disgusting and i hope the qpr roier and jaiden people are better. please be better. and please respect me about this #thank you #mask mews #qsmp #roier #jaiden

[theseerasures]

RWBY V08C14 reaction post

haven’t done something like this for this fandom yet, but the finale was so much all at once that i could not muster any level of critical thinking the first go-around. my thoughts have...settled somewhat with a second rewatch. still nothing conclusive (obviously), but at least coherent enough to be written down.

in rough chronological order:

i am very into it, of course, but i’m still not quite sure what to make of the fact that this finale very explicitly pivots around Winter Schnee, to the extent that the episode (sans prologue and coda) are bookended by her. she begins the episode charging into a fight, and ends it the same way. even putting aside that her in-universe presence has increased by magnitudes, that we end a season where she has mostly been a sparse supporting player with THIS has implications i can’t suss out for her narrative role going forward.

going into the finale i thought that Ironwood vs. Winter would turn out to be another RWBY Flagship Fight (ie long and flashy and indulgent in the best ways), but i pretty much knew that wouldn’t be the case once the fight began in earnest and they immediately started talking to each other.

for what we did get i’m happy to say that the Core Dynamic of the fight was exactly what i predicted: Winter rushing in to melee and not giving Ironwood enough time to fire, Ironwood trying to make room by shoving her away and using his cannon as a makeshift club--even down to breaking the cannon formation BACK to dual wielding to give himself an edge.

i will say that for Winter to have blocked him head-on--this is James Ironwood, who once stopped an Alpha Beowolf cold with one bionic hand, and now he’s got TWO--with her broken noodle arms is...incredibly cool. stupid! but cool.

Ironwood doing the double pistol whip while screaming about how no one is grateful has i wouldn’t have to be doing this if you just behaved all over it.

in retrospect i’m not sure why i expected a RWBY Flagship Fight when just about every fight this season has been extremely different. the camera work is always fucking frantic, we’re often cross-cutting between different simultaneous fights, and there are far fewer shots where both combatants are clearly shown and evenly matched. about the only fight we’ve had resembling that is AceOps vs Penny waaaaaaay back in Strings--even the low-stakes triumphant JNPER + Winter vs. Ironwood fight in Creation was extremely short and crosscut with BRA vs. AceOps.

case in point: the showdown in Grand Central takes up pretty much the entire episode, but combatants are continuously entering and exiting, the setting’s physical dimensions feel wonky and surreal, and the fact that half of the people fighting have flight capabilities means we’re relying on wide shots and oners to figure out what the fuck is going on. it’s a war now, and even though we follow only a handful of characters in it the fights carry that grander and more desperate tone.

Cinder relies twice this episode on just fucking nova-ing herself to overwhelm her Maiden opponents. it’s different from how she usually fights, which is still fireballs and conjured swords/projectiles--she’s learning to use her Maiden powers to wreak havoc on a larger scale, which a) reinforces what we already know of Cinder, but b) complements her recent relearning of subtlety and manipulation. still a tenuous balance of extremes that can and will shatter, though.

Weiss got to save everyone during the fight, and none of it mattered in the end.

the thing about priority one is that they all planned for this. they all went in planning for the contingency where they don’t make it out, where they have to watch others not make it out.

Weiss plucking Penny out of the air and Penny pleading to make the sacrifice play is an EXACT recreation of what happened in Enemy of Trust, down to the saved looking up at the savior while the savior is looking onward. she’s just swapped places with the Schnee in question, and...they are the priority targets this time, unfortunately.

Cinder smugly flipping her hair out of...her eyepatch...she really is living her best life and she knows it

Blake made the right choice, and it didn’t matter at all.

Qrow ending the last episode with a berserker charge at Harriet and then immediately pulling back here and trying to talk her down really got to me, as did him trying to block the bomb with his body. the man is so desperately trying to be better than he was, and it doesn’t take a lot anymore for him to realize the right path.

Elm and Vine--

the thing about Elm and Vine is that both their powers boil down to getting attached. so watching Elm hold Vine in place while Vine holds the two airships together, everyone in this little world, it’s...everything i could ever want, out of how the story of the AceOps would end.

Anairis Quinones for dark horse MVP. why can’t you just let me do my job, delivered in the way that it was, is the perfect encapsulation of Harriet Bree desperately trying to outrun her personal feelings and the grief it has given her.

Elm tells Harriet that she’s their friend, to stop her from killing a part of herself as she tries to kill others. it’s the first time this happens in the episode, but not the only time.

Penny saved Blake so they could save Ruby together, and it didn’t matter at all.

our heroes have GOT to stop falling for the “watch the thing flying in the air! OH WAIT I STILL HAVE A WEAPON IN MY HAND WALLOP WALLOP” trick. it happens multiple times in this one episode.

Harriet, who has the fastest Speed Semblance known, says there’s no time to make it out of the blast range. she doesn’t try to outrun it. she just...stays put, and admits that she brought them all here, to this. i’m sorry.

here’s the thing: they’re soldiers. they were prepared for this eventuality, where they don’t make it out. that’s why Elm let Vine go grab Harriet; because she thought they were all going to die, and if that happened she wanted Harriet close enough to reach.

but--just like with Team Hero--some of them do make it out. they just have to watch.

Vine and Hazel sacrificed themselves in the same way in the end: pulling their loved ones close wasn’t working, so they threw themselves around the thing trying to kill them instead.

Ruby was clever, and pragmatic, and brave. it didn’t matter in the end.

Cinder letting Neo fall as soon as she gets a chance proves that she still lacks patience, and that’s going to bite her in the ass.

the Penny-Blake fastball special and the fall; Penny crying tears for the first time, but not moving immediately to rage, as she had last episode, when Yang fell.

Weiss’ shaking hands around Gambol Shroud, crying berserker tears as she tries, desperately, to pull off another miracle. it’s another role reversal in a way: her sister’s the Riza Hawkeye, but she’s the one emptying useless clip after useless clip into an enemy she can’t kill, because her heart has been ripped in two.

the last time Nora Valkyrie saw Jaune Arc, they clasped hands, and their eyes met with determination, and hope.

it figures that a Schnee would be the last one standing, letting all her friends die first. she was right, but again: wrong Schnee.

Weiss diving past Cinder’s blind spot to slice the Grimm Arm, to save Penny--the same script, but the wrong player. and too late.

at Haven, Jaune went from trying to do harm to unlocking his Semblance, and realizing that he was meant to heal. here, he goes from trying to do what he is meant to do, what he has made peace with, to...

it will take a long time, i think, for him to learn to live with himself, even with Penny reassuring him that this is what she wants. to go from wanting to harm to being the one who does no harm, to being forced to acknowledge a person’s right to die, and carry out the deed himself. it’s a new variation on what he’s always had to wrestle with since Pyrrha’s sacrifice.

Weiss managed to outlast Cinder Fall without an Aura WITHOUT getting her entire body broken, Winter

the boundary between material worlds is made of darkness. the boundary between souls is made of light, and there is no danger of falling.

where...what is this? of course Winter doesn’t know. she never would have, even if she had gotten the powers, because she would have used the Transfer machine.

i thought of you, and here we are. that was all it took. the last time Penny saw Winter, Winter was still loyal to Ironwood. she’s only known abstractly, secondhand from Weiss, that Winter was on their side again and trying to help save Mantle, for about an hour. and yet: i thought of you.

and in the face of this thought that is love, Winter averts her eyes. tries in vain to hide her face, because she knows she is unworthy. she doesn’t deserve this.

but here’s the thing: no one deserves this. Penny. are you...the one? even Penny herself wasn’t sure.

you were my friend. the second time it happens this episode. friends save friends from themselves. friends transform what would have been murder into sacrifice.

remember what Penny said to Cinder, shortly before Cinder killed her? you wouldn’t know anything about friends. she’s right. it wasn’t Cinder’s choice, but she’s right. and now Cinder has learned how to use that.

i’ll be part of you. it is, of course, something that’s been brought up repeatedly this whole season. but it’s also what Winter said to Penny after Fria died: she’s a part of you now.

and i do love this yoking together of arc words. Winter is of course the firstborn Schnee, but Winter is, more broadly, The Firstborn in this new generation. so here we have something similar to the chain that begins with Winter letting her sisters go, through Penny letting Emerald go, through Emerald helping Oscar escape, to Atlas’ however ephemeral victory over Salem. what Winter begins--haltingly and with resentment--becomes transformed into radiant grace in the hands of her younger siblings. and she gets to be the direct benefactor this time. the prodigal daughter returns to her family.

during Enemy of Trust we watched from the outside as Oscar fell and Penny rose, as one set of eyes closed as another opened. during The Final Word, we watch from the inside: one set of eyes close. another opens.

Winter’s leitmotif plays on the piano for the first time since the previous season as she comes back to the world. it makes sense. the piano version is for her sisters, and she just left one of them.

here is the apotheosis of Winter Schnee: she gets back up. she falters and sways but she gets back up, and then she, the person who once managed to convince herself that so long as she could make peace with someone else’s choice it meant she too was choosing, tells the man who has been choosing for her for years: you chose nothing. and she rises.

in the end James Ironwood was finished by his petard thrice over. Atlas had defected against him. his greatest creation had become the Maiden and unshackled herself from him. and there is of course, the cannon: a literal petard, in the other words, which he fires at Winter, and Winter reflects back upon him.

Jaune Arc used the heirloom that his family has held for generations to kill a defenseless girl. he took the blade and sunk it in deep, because Penny trusted him and he had to be sure.

and then it shattered in his hands.

there’s something here in the second fight between Maidens, about Cinder having a named weapon and forsaking it for what she can make on the fly, and Winter insistent on using a weapon with no name at all, but i still can’t put my finger on it.

Winter never got to see Weiss try to Summon her Nevermore.

the thing that gets me about how it turns out is: Winter was winning. she’d managed to get her hands on the Staff, and even with Cinder’s immediate counterattack she managed to get the Staff away from Cinder. but then Cinder saw Jaune and Weiss, and she remembered a few days ago, when Penny saved Winter instead of going after Cinder, when Winter attacked Cinder to save Penny.

so Cinder attacks Weiss and Jaune instead of racing for the Staff. and Winter--

this is Winter Schnee. she saves people despite herself. she runs toward them, despite herself. and it has always, always been what saves her.

not anymore.

last time it had been Winter who was in mortal danger, and Weiss who, with Ruby’s help, drove Cinder off. same script, wrong player. and too late.

Weiss falls and for a moment, the camera makes it seem like Winter is falling too.

she wants to. no one deserves this.

the thing you have to ask when characters leap for the exit and fall just short is: is it about faith, or friendship? in Jaune’s case it’s both. his faith broke with Crocea Mors. and the portal is one-way, so he had no friends to grab him from the other side.

but Nora was still trying. they clasped hands. she promised.

the first time Winter sees her family--really sees them, after years of separation--she averts her eyes. she hides her face from them, because how can she tell them that Weiss is gone? how can she tell Penny’s friends that Penny is a part of her now, when Penny is just a part, now?

there are people all around her looking to her. there are voices within her. she has never been more alone.

(Winter Schnee has never met Pyrrha Nikos, and Pyrrha Nikos never became Maiden. because Pyrrha Nikos never became Maiden. Cinder Fall did that, too.)

this is what Winter Schnee thinks, as she screams and charges, as she kills Grimm faster than they are drawn in by her despair: in the fairy tales, eldest siblings never win.

i failed you again, master. master, but not queen.

Cinder won this. the heroes tried and tried and tried and none of it mattered, and she won this. but here’s the thing: Cinder won because she was LUCKY, and because she made her own luck. that she was able to pin things on Neo and Team Hero depended on things going exactly as planned, and some things going better than planned. and the reason she’d even made it that far was because she cheated, with the last use of a divine relic. it doesn’t take away her from her victory, but what i do know is this: this is her finest moment. she will never win as completely ever again, and she will fall farther than she has ever feared. (and that will save her, in the end.)

and that’s checkmate. i said that i wanted Atlas to fall the same way that Amity rose, but of course they did it like this. of course it would horrific yet unspectacular, with its General slumped in defeat, unable to fire a single shot from his gun. with the city in the sky falling onto Mantle, in Mantle’s palette. from the Dust from which it arose into Dust again.

as below, so above.

#rwby #helen writes meta

[spiked-tea-writing]

and they were roommates?!

SapnapxFem!Reader

Summary: Imagine being in love with your roommate, couldn't be you.

Pronouns: She/her

Warning: Swearing

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: I don’t watch or know anything, I just like these people and I had a concept. Also, he and Dream aren’t roommates in this for the sake of I can’t figure that out. Also also, my timeline is probably fucked but who cares

The dynamic in the apartment was...interesting to say the least

In the two years of living together, it had shifted a lot

In the beginning, you and Sapnap had been... less than cordial to each other

Both eighteen, fresh out of high school, off to college thinking that you knew everything.

There was lots of fighting, to say the least.

All of the “No it’s your turn to vacuum”, and “I swear to god Sapnap I will punt you halfway across the world if you eat my pineapple again”

The only reason you didn’t slit each other’s throats was that if the other person was dead, who would pay rent?

It was the summer before college started at the time, and you were working long hours minimum wage so coming]’/ home to an annoying prick caused a crap ton of conflict

After a few months of being little bitches to each other, y’all got piss drunk in the apartment and it all just sorta fell apart

Got that good drunk therapy, spilling your deepest secrets

(y’all were underage but shhh)

So by the time college started, the two of you had become actual friends and started enjoying each others company

A few months into the friendship, you encouraged him to post the video of “Minecraft, but it’s Raining Cats and Dogs” on a whim

Lmao little did you know what you had created (we’ll get to that later)

You mocked his train of thought constantly, laughing at the timing of it all.

“Ahhh yes, I am Sapnap, the genius who thought it’d be great to become a YouTuber while in my first year of college.”

He’d always just laugh and roll his eyes, playfully shoving you while stealing your chips.

The next few months were a haze of studying, work, and him.

It was truly a friendship of convenience since you guys were so busy, him starting his youtube career, and you working restaurants, then school on top of that, it was just easy to find friendship in your roommate.

Of course, he had his close friends which he spoke to over the internet, and you had your friends from back home, but as for college, it really was only him.

You guys had a fun time just hanging around the apartment, and it became so easy to be friends with him

And it WAS truly platonic (we’ll get back to that as well)

The best thing he brought to the friendship was his animals

You got on fabulously with Cash and the cats

They were all so cuddly and honestly loved you more than him lmao

You guys were just trying to get degrees and not be too stupid, was that too much to ask???

Well to a certain 2020, it was

The beginning of that year was great.

He was sorta realizing that he liked putting himself on social media, but on top of that, it seemed like a great start to a year.

February brought him to twitch, which you loved

You found it hilarious how he would just sorta play games and have people watch him live.

But you were incredibly supportive, as a friend, of course

He really liked it so, you tried to ignore the shouting at three am, and the loud anthems at night

Sure you’d give him hell in the morning, but why kill his fun?

March started great, as it was his birthday.

You got him a glittery lighter as a gag, but it was the perfect gift for a broke-ass college student

Then a certain pandemic came a-knockin’ on y’all’s door

It was a hard hit on both of you.

An executive decision was made that you two would stay put, but being away from your families was incredibly tough.

That spring was the birth of The SMP.

It brought him so much joy, which in turn made you happier.

The rest of the school year was a blur of zooms and test

Nick nearly killed you on multiple occasions when you made fun of the fact that he was learning computer science over the computer or made him help you figure out what the fuck zoom was since it was tangentially related to his major

“SAP HELP ME YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS ITS YOUR FUCKING MAJOR!!!”

“NO, IT’S- AHHHHHHHHH”

Yall got more than a handful of noise complaints shhhh

That summer was fill was spent trying to fill the time in weird ways

Note to self, he can’t cook (which you learned the hard way)

Yall spent so much time trying to cook and bake, then sweating off the calories working out with The Fitness Marshall lmao

As sucky as the situation was, that summer was so incredibly fun for the both of you, and truthfully the only arguments were about what music to blast

“Y/n I swear if I listen to Cosmicandy one more time I will drown you.”

“Well if I hear American Idiot one more time someone’s knee caps are getting harvested.”

(that argument was settled with Elton John.)

When school started up again that fall, something shifted

After a year of actual friendship, you guys were no longer just friends, and the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife

You had watched every single one of his streams since day one, but within 2 seconds of his Love or Host, you felt the need to hurl for some peculiar reason

It was bizarre because there was no way you could ever like him, of course not.

Within the apartment, you guys suddenly got a lot more touchy, but only because it was getting cold with winter and all that jazz.

It wasn’t because yall were secretly in love, what is this, a romcom?

The number of times you guys woke up on the couch, definitely not cuddling was too many to count

You started sitting in his room while he streamed, definitely not watching him with heart eyes because of how excited he got

He always had a pot of coffee full and a 6-pack of monster in the fridge since he knew you ran on spite and caffeine, and definitely not so that he could spend more time with you in the early hours of the morning.

The laundry started getting all mixed around, resulting in just sharing any sweats, hoodies, or socks.

The same thing went for food.

No longer was anything labeled with a name, if it was in the fridge, it was fair game (unless there was a post-it because come on, yall weren’t monsters)

But no, y’all were just roommates, not dating, lets make that clear.

Feelings? We don’t know her.

This entire time, his friends have had to hear about you rip.

But they got front row seats to your relationship development

“OMG my roommate is the worst she ate all of the frozen strawberries”

“Y/n kidnapped Storm all day while she studied and I thought I lost the fucking cat asjvdk”

“I had to run down and talk to the landlord because we dropped a pot of pasta sauce all over the carpet and couldn’t get the damn stain out.”

“She is so nice in preparation for a family dinner zoom, she ran out to the local Filipino food place and pick stuff up.”

“Sorry I’m late I overslept and didn’t want to wake up Y/n.”

They weren’t stupid, and could clearly see how whipped he was.

Dream and Geroge teased him about it constantly.

“Woah, calm down Sap, you should probably tell her you love her before you propose.”

“Yeah Dream’s right, it’s kinda weird that you’re living together before ever dating.”

He always flushed and denied it with a shake of his head.

He wasn’t into you, are they crazy?

Quackity and Karl messed with him in more unorthodox ways

There are a solid number of clips where they are fake crying over how he’s cheating on them, and even more tweets to match

It only got worse when you met them accidentally.

He was chatting post-stream on a video channel with George, Dream, Karl, and Quackity, and just his luck, you came into his room.

Like of all the times you could walk in, it was the time he was with his five closest friends but I digress

“Yo I got some extra tips yesterday so I picked up some extra Red Bull if you want to do one of your weird all-nighter streams.”

“Y/n I’m on channel.”

“Oh shit sorry my b. Catch.”

All the guys heard was a thud and a groan from Sapnap as the six-pack hit him in the chest.

Dream was the one to recognize your name.

“WAIT IS THAT Y/N I WANT TO MEET THEM!”

You could hear Dream’s voice through his headphones

“Sap… who is that?”

“No one. I’ll be out in a sec to help with dinner.”

You could hear a British voice come through.

“Oh so we are no one now, huh.”

Another voice piped through.

“Common... ¿Qué intentas ocultar?”

You cut in.

“Your headset it shit my guy. I can hear everything. I’m down to talk to them.”

He let out a groan.

“Fine. But you’re gonna have to do the dishes tonight.”

“Deal. Now move.”

“What? No.”

“Fine bitch.”

You collapsed onto his lap, plucking the headphones off of him.

“Hello, Sapnap’s friends. I am Y/n. A pleasure to meet y’all. Can you hear me?”

You heard a series of laughs through the headset, and a voice came through.

“Yes, we can see you too. I’m Karl, it’s so nice to finally meet his girlfriend.”

A blush rose on both of your faces, and another voice came through.

“Yeah, we’ve heard lots about you. Plus we can’t see your face in that picture Sap sent us. I’m Quackity”

That remark stopped your embarrassment in its tracks.

“What the fuck? How do you guys know me? I’m not even his girlfriend? And what picture?”

Sapnap grabbed your arm to calm you down as another voice cut in, but his one you recognized as his friend Dream.

“Hey, it’s okay. He just talks about you a bit, and the picture I believe was of you holding like three cats with like a red bull can on your head.”

“Jesus fucking christ why do they have that photo??”

He looked guilty but chuckled.

“Because that photo is a damn masterpiece.”

Karl’s voice came back in with a giggled.

“Soooo, Y/n we’d love to hear about you. Specifically anything funny or embarrassing that you have learned by living with him.”

Sapnap let out a groan from behind you as you went off.

“WELL lemme tell y’all, he has no cooking knowledge, well I mean, now he does, but one time, about a year ago, I had I been keeping a pot of water boiling for about an hour, soft boiling eggs, cooing noodles, blanching bok choy, etc. but this fucking genius is like ‘oH tHe HaNdLe Is StIcKiNg OuT. LeMmE mOvE iT wItH mY bArE hAnD.’ Needless to say, he burnt the crap outta his hand and kept the bag of frozen blueberries on it for the entire night. It took me like a solid five seconds to actually help him because I was laughing.”

By the time you had finished that story, you had seen Nick roll his eyes like 5 five times while the rest of the guys were wheezing.

“Yeah, well remember the time you were trying to imitate Rapunzel after we had watched it over Zoom with my sister, and you swung the edge of the frying pan into our head and got a nasty bump on it? At least I moved quick enough to put some ice on it.”

“Ice? It was the damn leftover Slushy that I had been freezing.”

“True, but you got to drink it after, so it was a win-win situation.”

“Sap, I had a bump the size of a golfball coming off of my temple. There was no winning.”

“Fine, you’re just making me sound like such a shit roommate.”

“No that’s not true, you do all of the talking to the landlord, and you at least tried to muffle the noise when you stream.”

“I guess that’s true, but you do like 80% of the cleaning.”

“Yeah but only because you’re working. Plus in the past 6 months, you’ve made coffee every morning, AND made sure I was taking my meds.”

“Those things aren’t that hard and I do it to make sure you don’t die because I lo- care about you.”

“What?”

“What?”

You heard Dream’s wheeze laugh and remembered that you guys were still on call.

“Smooth.”

You both went red, and Sap moved his arm around you to leave the channel.

The next few moments were complete torture, the two of you just sitting in silence.

You were wondering if he meant what he was about to say and he was scared that you had heard it.

He was the one to break the silence. (mind you you’re still sitting on his lap lmao)

“I’m sorry about that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Should you ask him if he meant it? Because that wouldn’t be that bad. Or just pretend it never happened. Nah that’d be hella awkward. Or-

“I love you too.”

“You what?”

Wow, okay your brain is being a little bitch rn, but fuck it. Balls to the walls baby.

“I love you, and I have for a while now. I just want you to know.”

You finally looked him in the eye, and he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Thank god. I love you, and nearly fucking told you for the first time in front of my friends accidentally. Damn, I’m smooth.”

You laughed and he smiled wider.

“Can I kiss you?”

After a quick nod he swooped in and holy hell his lips felt great. His arm wound around your waist and your hands made their way to his jaw as he pulled you closer to him.

The only thing playing in your mind was “and they were roommates”

#sapnap x reader #sapnap #sapnapxreader #sapnap fluff #sapnap fanfic #sapnap fanfiction #sapnap x you #sapnap x y/n

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (6)

all parts in the master list

I asked who wanted Matt to end up with reader and most people were like “yes but make it hurt” so while I won’t reveal if she ends up with him or not, I will make it hurt! Ya welcome!

--

The kiss was.. unexpected.

Matthew pulled back quickly, out of natural habit, and she immediately did the same, due to his response.

“Oh my god, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking, actually I wasn’t thinking I just-“

“Hey,” he cut her off gently, “relax, you’ve been drinking, it’s no big deal.”

“It kind of is. That was super inappropriate and I don’t know why I did it. I could get in so much trouble.”

She was right. Getting involved with Matthew, not that either of them wanted that, would be a conflict of interest and she could potentially lose her job if the situation wasn’t handled properly.

“Your secret is safe with me, don’t worry.”

He wasn’t sure if her cheeks were rosy from the alcohol or the embarrassment but he allowed himself to find it cute for a minuscule moment before pushing the thought away.

“You know, your assertion that you don’t like me is pretty wobbly now,” he tried to play it off as a joke but when she didn’t say anything for almost a full thirty seconds, confusion set in.

“You don’t, right?”

“No,” she spoke quickly, “I don’t, I just, I don’t, I’m sorry I’m being so weird. It’s the alcohol.”

*

Your head was spinning. What the fuck had you just done? And why?!

“You know, your assertion that you don’t like me is pretty wobbly now.”

Matthew was standing a foot away from you, his piercing blue eyes were staring into your own with that stupid smirk on his face and for a minute you weren’t sure whether or not you could disagree with him.

It had been one of the most tumultuous weeks of your life and you were so close to coming out of it unscathed. That wouldn’t happen now, not after you suddenly gathered all the insane confidence in the world and fucking went and kissed him.

“You don’t, right?”

“No. I don’t, I just, I don’t. I’m sorry I’m being so weird. It’s the alcohol.”

Hopefully he bought it, because if he didn’t there was no other explanation you could offer.

You needed to talk to someone, to vent and air it out and get a different perspective from a fresh set of eyes. You needed your mom.

“I have to go back to the hotel and I have to call someone. It’s kind of a private conversation so will you knock before you come in to let me know you’re back?”

“Uh, sure. Are you okay?”

“No,” you answered honestly.

++

“Hi, honey, you’re calling late, is everything ok?”

“No,” you let the sob that had been trapped in your throat come bursting out, “it’s really fucking not.” 

“What’s going on?” 

Your mother knows who Matthew Tkachuk is. You’ve bitched about him to her probably more times than you can count but she doesn’t expect what you lay out in front of her as you sit on the edge of the bed trying to speak clearly and not cry. 

“I’ve gotta say,” you could hear the smile in her voice, “you really put your foot in it tonight, but maybe this isn’t all bad.”

“Of course it’s all bad, mom, I’m going to get fired.”

“He’s not going to tell anyone.”

“How do you know?”

“He told you so.”

“What do I do here? How do I handle this?” 

“It depends. How do you feel about him, really?”

You didn’t know. You didn’t fucking know. Matthew had spent the entirety of your time working with the Flames, until this week, treating you like you didn’t exist. Since finding out your room assignments he had been pretty much equal parts hot and cold and it was doing your head in. 

There were times he was completely awful to you but sprinkled in with them were the moments where he was apologetic and even a little bit kind. It was then that it hit you. 

He had been cruel to you for years and only in the past week had he shown small spots of kindness and here you were overanalyzing the fuck out of them. You didn’t like him, not in general and definitely not anything deeper than that. The tiny bit of positive attention he was giving you was clouding your head because you’d been single for such a long time and hadn’t had any real male attention in months but you were seeing things clearly now. 

“I don’t feel anything for him, mom.”

“I’m not sure of that.” 

“I am,” a soft knock on the door interrupted your phone call, “I’ve gotta go though, I’ll call you tomorrow on the way home, love you.”

You ended the call and made your way over to the door to unlock the deadbolt and let Matthew in. 

“Holy fuck,” you shouted as his large body collided with your smaller one, sending the two of you crashing to the floor.

“What the fuck Matthew?!”

“Sorry, s-sorry,” he slurred, clearly drunk, “I was leaning on the door, didn’t think you’d open it.”

“Well I did, Jesus Christ,” you shoved him off you and rubbed your burning wrist.

His clumsiness sent him down on top of you with your arm tucked to your side and your wrist took the brunt of fall as it was crushed beneath the two of you.

“Shit, let me see!”

“Matthew, really, I’m fine.” 

“You might not be. I’m not a small guy and we fell hard. Let me check it out.”

You weren’t sure how drunk he was before but it must not have been to severe because he seemed to sober up quickly and the look of concern in his eyes as you babied your wrist was enough for you to let him take a look. 

He was gentle, slowly moving your arm around to get the best look at it. 

“Doesn’t appear to be broken or anything, but you should still talk to someone in medical. I’m obviously no expert.” 

“I’m fine, Matthew, thank you.” 

There was a strained quiet hanging between you as he closed the door and locked it. 

“Who’d you call?” 

Matthew moved away from the door and stripped his shirt, followed by his jeans and you were hit with a flashback of the other day when he did the same thing but this time he knew you were there.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed,” his response was resolute, “who’d you call?”

“Why is that any of your business?” 

Your eyes were trained on his toned stomach and chest as he pulled on a pair of navy pajama pants. 

“It isn’t. I just want to know why you ran for the fucking hills after kissing me and who you so desperately needed to talk to. Also, be less obvious with your eyes.”

That fucking annoying smirk again. You blushed a bit but still managed to roll your eyes at his cockiness.

“Was it an ex? Did that kiss drum up some old shit for you? Realize you missed them even though they’re probably a piece of shit and you know can do better? Turn around, please.” 

You did as he asked, not answering his question, “what are you doing?” 

“Taking my boxers off, they’re uncomfortable.” 

When Matthew gave you the go ahead to turn back around your eyes instantly dropped to his waistline. His pajama pants were now hanging low on his hips, exposing the top of his adonis belt and you knew you needed to look away before he made some shitty comment. 

“Was it an ex?” 

He asked the question a second time and part of you wanted to say yes but what was the point in lying?

“No. It was my mom.” 

“Really? So it’s something that’s fucking with you pretty bad, huh?” 

What the fuck? 

“Why would you say that?”

“We’ve been working together for a while and the only time I can remember you excusing yourself to call your mom was when the Islanders offered you a job with less pay but closer to home.”

“How do you know about that?” 

“I know you’re not exactly friends with me, but you are friends with other people on this team and maybe I asked them about you because maybe I was curious.” 

Don’t fall for it, you told yourself. This was one of those small spots of kindness Matthew had recently started to show you. Now wasn’t the time to lose focus of the bigger picture. 

“It’s nothing serious. I missed my mom, I wanted to call her.”

“You wanted to call her at almost midnight your time, much later her time, after you ran out on me?”

“Yes Matthew,” your tone was clipped, “is that problem?”

“No, no not at all. I get it. I miss my mom, my whole family actually, all the time.” 

You weren’t going to give in and have this conversation with him. Matthew loved his family and was very close with them, it was obvious to anyone who spent even a small amount of time around him. 

“Maybe you should call her,” the words came out more aggressive than you meant, “as far as I know, you haven’t spoken to her at all this week.” 

“I’ve been texting her everyday, actually.” 

If he was offended, he didn’t show it. 

“Well,” you huffed, “good.” 

Matthew was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, his whole beautiful torso on display, with a look in his eyes like he wanted to say something. You waited for him to make his move and watched as he opened and closed his mouth three times before finally saying anything.

“You looked good tonight, really, really good.” 

His confession hit you like a semi truck veering off the highway and into a field of sunflowers. Don’t give in, don’t fucking do it, you willed yourself to ignore his comment but when he continued..

“I’ve never seen you like that, so sexy and confident, I’m honestly really fucking blown away by you right now.”

This was not what you expected and as much as you wanted to believe him, you knew this was just another kind kink in his chain of cruelty and you weren’t going to let him get the best of you again. 

“Don’t say things you’ll regret when you’re sober in the morning.”

The silence between the two of you was heavy, neither choosing to say anything until you decided to break the hypothetical glass.

“Early game and even earlier practice tomorrow. You need to sleep, Matt. Come to bed.” 

#Matthew Tkachuk #Matthew Tkachuk imagine #matt tkachuk #nhl imagine #hockey imagine

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 8/? Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

notes: sorry for such a late update. this also turned out much longer than expected. it's real fluffy though, and quite self-indulgent, but hope you all like it!

CHAPTER 8:

“Was he really that important to her?”

The words echoed in Zeke’s mind as he continued to watch the memory unfold before him.

Hange returned to the room with a steaming hot mug in her hand, and carefully handed it to Levi. She watched in anticipation as he took a quick sniff and sipped on the tea.

“Not bad,” he whispered. And at that, Hange’s face lit up, and it took all her might not to let out a loud “Yahoo!” in her excitement—she heard Levi was quite particular with his tea, and she was feeling absolutely ecstatic that he didn’t spit it right out.

Levi soon fell quiet, satisfied with the drink. Hange sat down at the desk right next to him, keeping him company as she scribbled away in one of her notebooks where she kept notes on her titan research, often speaking her thoughts out loud. While listening, Levi’s eyelids began to droop. To Zeke, he seemed... almost as though he was fighting sleep just to listen to her for a little longer.

The memory soon dissipated, Zeke finding himself standing in a new setting—a gigantic ballroom lay before him, the massive chandeliers glowing dimly above him, hundreds of people wearing ornate, traditional-looking suits and gowns. A sign by his side read, “Annual Sina Military Ball”.

Zeke walked around, trying to find Hange but instead found Levi standing alone, a small cloth bag in his hands.

“The previous commander?” Zeke said under his breath as Erwin and two others approached Levi, clearly teasing him.

“Guys, please. And Mike, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just sayin, if she turns you down, you can join me. Open bar this year yknow?”

“Mike, stop stressing him out!” Nanaba replied, swatting Mike on the shoulder as he laughed.

Erwin stood behind Levi, grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pushed him into the crowd.

“Just go already, she’ll love it.”

As Levi walked into the crowd, the three huddled together.

“He’s hopeless isn’t he?” Nanaba sighed.

“Yup. Erwin and I will wait at the bar,” Mike answered.

Zeke walked behind Levi into the crowd of people, until he saw him hesitate before tapping the shoulder of someone in a long navy blue gown shimmering with gold. Big, beautiful brown curls turned to reveal... Hange?

Zeke’s jaw dropped—he barely even recognized her.

“Oh! Levi! Aw I’m sorry—“ She itched at the fabric on her side. “I wish they’d let me wear a suit or something to one of these things, all this traditional wear or whatever is too much, but I mean your suit doesn’t even look comfortable either! Man, I just—“

Hange paused as soon as she noticed the small cloth bag in Levi’s hands.

“Oh? What’s that! What do you got there?”

His heart was thumping so loud, he was sure Hange could hear it. He reached into the bag, to pull out a yellow hair clip—it was his mother’s.

Hange’s eyes grew wide and nearly sparkled in the low light, and she smiled as Levi pulled the strands of hair from her face, and held it up to the side of her head with the clip.

“Not bad,” Levi said under his breath, his heart almost stopping at how stunning she really was. Hange gave him a quick hug hiding the blush suddenly reaching her cheeks, and the hug sent Levi’s head spinning. She then reached out her hand—

“Levi, the orchestra’s playing my favorite! Let’s show them all what a proper slow dance looks like!”

Levi rolled his eyes, but took Hange’s hand, accompanying her to the dance floor.

Sand began to fall like a curtain in front of Zeke, wiping the scene away to the open sky, sun setting peacefully in the horizon above the water. The smell of salt tickled at his nose, and he stood ankle deep in ocean water. Young voices sounded from behind him.

“We probably should get going soon, right? The sun’s already setting.”

“Aw Jean, just let them have a moment. I haven’t seen them this happy in such a long time.”

“Sasha, Captain Levi never looks happy!”

“Connie shush! You can tell he’s happy underneath! Come on, just look!”

Hange and Levi stood knee deep in the water, and Hange held up a small, cream-colored conch shell. Levi’s face scrunched up in disgust as she held it towards him, but she pulled him close by the shoulder while trying to reassure him, and held up the shell next to his ear. Zeke waded in a bit closer to hear what they were saying.

“You can hear the ocean inside the shell! It’s something I read about once.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Come on, Levi! Just listen.” And when he finally did, his eyes lit up ever so slightly, his mouth just partially agape.

“So you’ll always remember our first trip to the sea,” Hange said. And before she could hand the shell to Levi, she dipped it into the water letting it fill up, and splashed him with what collected inside.

“What the hell, Hange!” Levi grumbled, kicking water back at her. Splashes back and forth escalated so much that they had gotten absolutely soaked—Hange laughed as she tackled Levi into the sea, the two coughing and giggling stupidly as the rest of the kids ran back into the water to join them.

Once again, sand whisked away the scene and Zeke was now standing in a balcony, overlooking a courtyard. He looked back to see what was going on inside—another ball? He then looked down to see Hange and Levi standing together out in the venue’s garden. They looked a bit more mature, older. And Hange was wearing an eyepatch—it must have been a different memory from before.

Zeke heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind him.

“I’m telling you, Mikasa, smelling someone’s hair during a hug means they love them!”

“I guess now that you say it, I suppose that could be true…”

The two walked out past Zeke, and leaned their elbows on the balcony together, looking down at the courtyard and garden. They gasped and crouched when they saw who was standing down there.

“I’ve never seen Sasha so nervous! She wanted to dance with Niccolo, so I took the hair clip off and put it on her—yknow for the confidence boost. I hope that’s okay, Levi?”

Levi looked at Hange, and tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I like it better on you, but I suppose Sasha needs it tonight, then.”

A new song echoed from the orchestra inside—Zeke recognized it to be the same from the earlier military ball memory.

Levi reached out his hand, just how Hange did before.

Hange giggled and grabbed his hand, pulling Levi close, practically in a hug as they swayed together. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his forehead.

“New shampoo, huh? Lavender—you know that’s my favorite, right?”

Jean and Mikasa heads snapped towards each other, their eyes locked and faces red in realization.

“Hange-san smelled his hair—“

Mikasa slapped a hand over Jean’s mouth.

“Shush, they’ll hear. Let’s go before they notice us—“

The scene quickly changed, and it was quite jarring for Zeke this time around.

He found himself staring into the face of his past self, sitting miles above Liberio inside the war balloon the Scouts had taken control of. This time, he could see the room where Hange and Levi walked off to after hearing about a fallen soldier named Sasha, or something like that.

Levi stared at Hange, in his eyes a mix of worry and anger stirring inside him.

“Stop looking at me like that, Levi,” she said curtly, clearly trying to hold herself together.

“Hange…” Levi urged.

He watched her hands shake as she reached into a first aid kit from her bag, pulling out a half used tube of wound ointment—the same one she had always used on him.

“C’mere,” she beckoned, and Levi obliged begrudgingly, letting Hange pull down his shirt slightly to apply the ointment to the lacerations on his shoulder. He watched Hange biting her lip—he knew she was holding back the tears, trying to “look strong” for everyone else, but he thought that was utterly stupid. She was allowed to have feelings… Commander or not.

“Hange…”

“I’m fine, Levi, would you stop pestering me already??” She barked back, though still maintaining her gentle touch as she tended to his wounds. She continued in silence until they landed.

Hange and Levi left the back room, standing together outside the door as the Scouts filed out with Zeke and Eren. Oyankopon nodded at them both, and left. Lastly, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, and Connie, holding Sasha’s body, all of them a tear-ridden mess. Both Levi and Hange saluted them as they walked past.

Hange started to follow behind them but Levi took hold of her hand. She didn’t look back.

“I’m okay, Levi. Really. I have to—“

Levi pulled her and ushered back into the room, now that everyone was gone.

“Go be okay in there for awhile. I’ll stand outside.”

Before she could protest, he gently closed the door behind him, and stood guard outside of it. He knew it was exactly what Hange needed.

From behind the door, there were muffled sounds of glass breaking, boxes thrown, and anguished wailing.

Zeke watched as Levi stood unmoving from the door his head down, biting his lip as a few tears ran down his face.

The memory faded and Zeke was now in a small office. Levi sat before him, holding a familiar cream-colored conch shell. He lifted it up to his ear, listening, and maybe, just maybe, a smile began to form on his lips.

A quick, loud knock on the door startled him, and he hastily shoved the shell into a drawer, slamming it shut.

“Levi, quick!”

He stood up frazzled.

“What’s wrong??”

“A camera, Onyankopon got us a session with a camera!”

“Hange… what the hell is a camera? And you know I don’t trust all these Marley things…”

Hange gave him a big pout. “Aww, Levi! Come on, it takes photographs! Like the one in Eren’s father’s notebook! The one of his old family?”

“My family photo…” Zeke thought, his own past memories now aching at his chest.

The memory dissolved, but the same scenery returned, unchanged. Yet this time, Levi was holding a framed photograph in his hand—a picture of him standing next to Hange seated, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He looked tired, a light shade of purple hugging the skin under his eyes. But when Levi laid his eyes on the photo, his face lit up with a genuine smile as he stared.

Then once again, a quick, loud knock on the door startled him, and he quickly stuffed the photo into the backpack sitting at his feet.

“Hey, Levi! You busy?”

Levi stared back at Hange, both need and sadness swimming in his eyes.

“I know Levi… but I brought you a surprise!”

She pulled from behind her a white, spherical object, and held it out for Levi to see.

“A… baseball?” Zeke said under his breath, emotions tugging at his chest.

“Hange… this is the last afternoon we spend together just us—God knows long I’ll have to watch Zeke in the forest before I get to see you again…” He said, avoiding eye contact with Hange.

“Don’t you trust me, Levi?”

Levi continued to look down towards his backpack, fiddling at it with his foot, only stopping when he felt Hange’s hands on his cheeks, and a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Do you really have to ask me that, Hange?”

She laughed, the sound of it bringing Levi comfort. She backed up and held her hand out towards him, a smile on her face, her eyes beckoning him to come with her. And of course, Levi sighed, and took her hand.

They walked outside, a clearing in the patch of trees next to the barracks.

“Here take this, they’re called mitts! Helps soften the blow when you catch, since the baseball is pretty hard.” Levi took one and wore it.

“So I read a bunch of different Marley novels, and for some reason, playing catch is such a common kind of bonding time? Between a parent and child, or between friends? A symbolic kind of theme, maybe? I thought it was fascinating!”

Levi looked at the baseball—“So what… we just, throw the thing back and forth? And what? We’ll magically become friends??”

Hange threw her head back and laughed. “Good one, Levi! We’re already friends! So, hm, how about we just throw it back and forth for now? If it gets too boring well, we could always just drop it. Sounds like a plan?”

As soon as Levi nodded, Hange grinned and ran a distance away. She waved to make sure Levi was ready, and lobbed the ball over to him, landing with a satisfying thump as it hit Levi’s mitt. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the red laces, and soon pitched it back to Hange a bit too far, so she ran and dove for it, catching it just before it hit the grass.

“Hange be careful!”

She laughed in excitement, and got up to throw it back.

Before long, they were throwing for hours, talking about anything and everything. Sharing memories that hadn’t been touched in years, laughing over inside jokes, the 104th kids, and their past, beloved friends.

Their voices began to fade, and Zeke strained to listen, calmed by how comfortable their conversation felt, comforted by the sound of the baseball hitting their mitts, back and forth.

Soon, the memory went black, a burst of light, and he was back.

Paths.

And there was Hange, laying down in front of him with her back towards him, the sand no longer black surrounding her.

“H-Hange?” Zeke asked.

Hange didnt’ turn around to face him.

“So, you saw all that then too, huh?”

“I… did. Sorry, they seemed like private memories,” he answered cautiously, careful to guard himself if Hange decided to fight him again.

“No harm, Zeke. Not like that was your fault.” She finally sat up, sniffling and wiping away residual tears.

“But we do have to thank Levi—he got us out of a potential mess.” She ran her hands through the sand, now colored a bright white. “Susceptible to our emotions huh. Could have been a disaster.”

Hange caught on quick, Zeke thought. But something she said bothered him a bit—

“What do you mean, thank Levi, though?” Zeke asked, genuinely confused as to how she thought he played any part in getting her out of the black sand ordeal just now.

Hange smiled, knowing exactly what Levi must have done. The box of things she had him pick up—he probably opened it.

“Not bad, Shorty,” she whispered to herself.

She laughed to herself again, but soon stopped as she saw Zeke holding out his hand in front of her.

“Are you… are you deciding to help me?”

Zeke’s chest tightened as he thought about all the memories he had just seen. He was angry at how much it moved him, both personally, and objectively—Hange and Levi had a history he never imagined existed between them, based on what he knew about them prior.

With his free hand, he pinched at the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He hated that he wanted to help. But he couldn’t deny it—he felt for Hange.

“Yeah,” Zeke replied. “Let’s figure this out, together.”

Hange grinned excitedly, and grabbed Zeke’s hand.

#levihan #levihan fanfic #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange #hanji zoe #dreams and nightmares #D&N #chapter 8

[imagineaworlds]

When the World Stopped -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Smoking tobacco. Mentions of underage drinking. Allusion to the use and trade of drugs.

Pairing: Young!Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 2028

When I first saw him, he was hiding behind the school with his friends, passing around a few cigarettes. While they were certainly hiding from the public eye, they weren’t exactly under cover from anyone like myself who would happen upon them. I mean, their whole operation was out in the open. They weren’t even that good at exchanging the sticks and the lighters in their palms without being obvious about it. The least they could have done was use the shed out on the far off baseball field as cover. But, nope. They were right there, sitting on a bench, lighting up for anyone to see.

I guess I shouldn’t have been exactly surprised, either. The kind of crowd he ran in wasn’t exactly breeding valedictorians. Most of them probably saw themselves winding up in prison or a grave six feet under for their ten years after high school plan. They were the kind of kids who were totally nonchalant about school and socializing. It didn’t matter what their attendance was, how well they did with their grades, or who liked them because they all felt like they had been set up for failure in life, so what was the point in trying, right? But he was the worst of them all. From what I heard in the rumor mill, he liked to smoke more than just cigarettes, and he couldn’t have given a single fuck about what would happen if he got caught with it on the school’s campus. He was probably the one who told the rest of them that they should start lighting up then and there.

As I passed by them though, trying to maintain my distance so as to not draw attention to myself, I could feel his eyes following me. There was a point where I glanced up quickly to see if he really was watching me or if I was going insane, and I could see just how out of place he suddenly looked. While all of his friends were still joking around, shoving each other, poking each other, and putting the lighters in each other’s faces, he stopped entirely to just stare at me. His mouth fell agape slightly and I saw his eyes soften. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the kind of kid who would run with that crowd— let alone run it.

“Aaron—” one of his friends laughed, shoving his shoulder back to catch his attention.

He barely wavered, moving with the impact of the hit, but his eyes stayed on mine. I slowed down ever so slightly, just to see if it was me or if something behind me caught his attention. But as I came to a slow and steady stop, he jumped up from the bench they were sitting on, and he ran over to me. His hair bounced with each step, the cigarette trapped between his teeth holding on for dear life, but his eyes were still on mine.

“Aaron!” his friends called after him.

I started walking again. I wanted nothing to do with him or the friends who were waiting for him to go back. They weren’t the kind of kids I necessarily enjoyed, and I was positive that no one would think it was a good idea for me to get caught up in a crowd like that, either. As the new kid, I had been working over time to ensure that my image stayed squeaky clean. I didn’t need students, teachers, or parents of my new friends judging me based on the simple, stupid fact that the wrong kid ran up to talk to me.

“Wait up!” I finally heard him call when I turned on my heels and nearly made a run for it.

I froze in place and screwed my eyes shut as I cursed myself for daring to look up at him in the first place. Maybe it was my fault. He had been watching me for some reason. Maybe it was because he wanted me to give him a reason to pick on me. Maybe he was going to pull a knife on me and tell me to hand over all the money I had— which wasn’t much, obviously. But him and his friends seemed like the desperate kind to steal just to get enough cash for cigarettes or booze.

I turned back on my heels so that I could face him, and maybe get the upper hand by telling him off before he could try something. “What do you want—”

“What’s your name?” he asked, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth to exhale the smoke.

I furrowed my brows. “What’s it to you?”

He smirked. “I just haven’t seen you around before, that’s all.”

“So?”

“So… You’d think that I would have noticed someone as breath taking as you before.”

I chortled. What a line. Geez, I couldn’t believe that I actually thought that this kid would try to rob me. He probably couldn’t even hurt a fly, despite the impression he was trying to give the rest of the world. Between the leather jacket, the black shades clipped to the collar of his shirt, the cigarette between his fingers, the fake diamond ear piercing, and the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, anyone would have guessed that this kid was a low-life, amount to nothing, soon to be high school wash out. Hell, I clearly thought that about him at first, too. But when he stared at me like that, then started talking, then smiled… I realized that he was just a kid like me. Maybe he was lost, or maybe he was just downright stupid for acting the way he did, but he was still a kid.

But that line he hit me with… I couldn’t help but laugh. This act he was putting on for the rest of the world dictated that he needed to be the kind of guy who was a douchebag and could go up to any person with the same line, and somehow get in her pants. Though, I doubt it ever really worked. It certainly wasn’t working on me. It didn’t even roll off his tongue the way he wanted, which was probably a product of the fact that he seemed to cringe himself in response to what he said. It was a douchebag line, and he knew it. He was probably just ashamed that he said it— but more so that he had to play the role that told him he needed to say it.

“I should be going,” I said to him.

“No— Wait—” he insisted, reaching out to grab my hand before I could walk away again.

When his skin met mine, we both froze, staring at my wrist and the grip he had around it. I could feel that I had stopped breathing, yet I couldn’t seem to remember how to inhale. I knew that I needed to breathe eventually, but with his hand on me, I wasn’t sure if I could. There was something about his touch. It didn’t scare me, like I thought it would. It didn’t make me want to scream out for help or to tuck tail and run. In fact, it made me want to stay. Somehow, it made me want to listen to all of his cheesy pick up lines, to give him the chance to make one stick— just as long as he was still touching me. The world felt quiet when he held me like that. It was such an innocent touch, yet, for some reason, it made the reality around us disappear long enough for me to look back up at him and realize that he was just as taken aback as I was. Where he once had an asshole-type smirk, he was now biting his bottom lip, trying to focus on finding his breath again.

My eyes searched his for a moment. I took note of how dark they were. Besides the vivid brown irises, his pupils were dilated to the point I thought that I could get lost in their black abyss. Then I panicked when I actually started to get lost. I pulled my hand away from him in an instant and tried to play it cool by using my palms to flatten out my skirt.

“Who are you?” he asked again, this time more sincere.

I looked at him through my lashes. “Y/N.”

“Y/N… what?”

“It’s a small town. You’ll find out eventually… Aaron.” It felt weird to say his name when I didn’t know him. It felt like whispering the same of a ghost. “I’ll see you around.”

“Wait—” he stopped me again. I rolled my eyes and tapped my foot against the sidewalk impatiently. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Not whatever it is you’re doing.” I glanced over his shoulder to see his friends still lighting up while watching us intently. “Like I said, I’ll see you around, Aaron.”

“Hotchner.”

I raised a brow. “What?”

“My last name is Hotchner. Now you have to tell me yours.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to any such terms.”

“You’re right. You didn’t. Will you at least agree to letting me take you to a movie tonight?”

I chuckled. “Why? So that you can try to shove your tongue down my throat for two hours? I’ll pass, Aaron Hotchner.” I made a step to the side to try and escape our conversation, but he caught me again, and I felt the world disappear once more. “Will you ever let me leave?”

“Only if you say yes.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged. “I’d like to. That’s the whole point, right? And, well… trying to stick my tongue down your throat for two hours is just an added bonus.” He laughed, returning to his douchebag persona as he let go of me. I gagged. “I’m kidding!”

“Hotch!” his female friend called from the bench.

He shooed them with a waving hand behind his back. “Listen, Y/N,” he let my name roll off his tongue, “I’d really like to take you to a movie tonight. No tongue involved. Say yes, and if you like it, maybe you’ll consider telling me your last name. Say yes, and you hate it, you can say ‘I told you so’ and never see me again. Say no, and you'll just sit at home all night, asking yourself why you couldn’t think or breathe when I do this…” His pinkie lightly ran over my wrist, sending a shiver up my spine. Damn him. “What do you say?”

I sucked in a deep breath as his touch retreated. He was right, unfortunately. If I said no— which, I really wanted to— then I’d just be moping around, wondering why the hell I looked at him, why he came running over, why he seemed to be interested in learning my name, and why the hell the world seemed to stop every time he touched me. But, like I said, I had worked too hard to get where I was with people’s impressions of me to throw it all away for a night of answers. Aaron Hotchner was bad news… He really was. He was exactly the kind of person I should’ve been staying away from. Yet, his eyes seemed to capture me again long enough to practically hypnotize me into nodding and whispering, “Yes.”

Hotch, as his friends called him, grinned ear to ear at my response. He fixed his posture, standing up taller than before. He bit down gently on his cigarette, breathing in a hefty amount of smoke. With his hands now free, he brushed his hair back out of his face, then winked at me. From behind his cigarette, he mumbled, “I’ll pick you up at six.”

“You don’t know where I live,” I rolled my eyes and bit back a smile. “I’ll meet you there at six.”

He grabbed his cigarette again. “Fair enough.” He exhaled carefully, pushing the smoke up into his nose… seductively. “I’ll see you then. Y/N.”

I nodded. “See you then. Aaron Hotchner.”

And the world caught up to reality again as he turned to run back to his friends.

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​ @gorgeousdarkangel​ @marvelismylifffe​  @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner imagines

[eury--dice]

history, huh?

chapter one: principium

(or: the Red, White, and Royal Blue TRC AU, but no knowledge of the book is needed to read this! ao3 link in the rb)

Adam knew he was in trouble when he found himself covered in cake, champagne, and shattered glass while clutching onto someone’s sleeve.

Admittedly, the memory of the night as a whole is a bit fuzzy around the edges, softened by jet lag and overwhelming anger and a few flutes of champagne worth more than the house Adam grew up in. But he remembered enough to recall some key details: one, it was no ordinary reception, it was the royal wedding; two, the cake covering him was the 75,000-dollar royal wedding cake; and three, that he clutched onto His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan Lynch-Mountchristen-Windsor, while covered in the remnants of his champagne flute.

It was an international relations nightmare that a rational Adam Parrish, the first son of the United States, would pay to avoid at all costs. Even the slightly-inebriated Adam could feel a distant spark of fear over what Maura and Calla were going to say to him once he was not covered in frosting and brawling with a treasured member of the English monarchy. (Well, “treasured” was a relative term. Prince Ronan was more of a recently-reformed scandal than a treasure.)

But as he caught a glimpse of Blue’s expression, a carefully constructed mask of surprise for the cameras that only those who knew her personally could read the amusement behind, Gansey’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked Adam off of the ground. 

He must have abandoned his conversation with Roger Malory to come and bail Adam out; deep down, beyond the adrenaline and anger and alcohol pumping through his veins, Adam was touched at the gesture. Guilt also hit him with the knowledge that Gansey hadn’t had a chance to talk to Malory since he left England as a teenager and now Adam had ruined that, but he tucked it away to examine at a later moment.

Adam thought he might have heard Ronan mutter “Oh my fucking Christ” from somewhere behind him in his stupid posh accent. Slinging an arm around Adam’s frosting-coated shoulders to steer him towards the Secret Service Agents already surging forward, Gansey leaned his head towards Adam’s and whispered around a smile, “What the fresh hell did you do?”

And, well. It was a good question. He glanced back at Ronan where he lay on the ground, already brushing off the help of the royal guards and climbing gracefully to his feet, the bead of blood on his cheek sparkling in the majestic royal lighting. Just a few minutes before, the Prince had stood by himself, a dark contrast to the pristine tiered cake and tiny buttercream flowers and gleaming champagne fountain behind him. And Adam, who was rarely angry over anything but could easily go too far when provoked, decided to engage.

“If it isn’t His Royal Highness,” Adam had said, drawing Ronan’s eyes to him. He could see the moment Ronan realized he wasn’t himself, taking in the curled hand and slightly flushed cheeks. Adam was a convincingly sober drunk, and something about Ronan being able to see through it pissed him off. And the fact that Ronan had spent more than half the night hiding away from the cameras and drinking himself didn’t help. Adam would’ve expected to find him dead on his feet and barely standing, but clearly Ronan was less of a lightweight than he was.

Ronan’s lips curled in what might have passed as a smile but looked a little too much like a predator baring its teeth. “Mr. Parrish,” he said, all clipped vowels and stiff politeness that made Adam want to scream. His lips lingered on the ‘h’ shape for a moment too long. “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me.”

Honesty was the last thing Adam had expected. “Why, because you monopolized Blue and treated her like some kind of...toy to ignore?”

His nostrils flared suddenly. “No, I do not... use people. But you have been avoiding me all evening when I’ve done my best to be civil.”

Adam laughed too loudly at that. “Civil? Yeah, okay,” he said, his mouth curved into a smile. “Most civil member of your family, I’m sure. Declan and Ashley would agree.”

Ronan went silent, swirling his champagne around in his hand and raising an uncoordinated hand to run over his shaved head. When he spoke, he grit his jaw as though holding back some impulse like the good repressed English boy he was. “I’d suggest you to go drink some water and find your way out before you do something you regret.”

“Or what?”

Ronan stepped closer to Adam so that they were nearly chest-to-chest, his two-inch height advantage only pissing Adam off more. “I said I’d advise you to stop.”

And Ronan, so subtly that he doubted any camera could pick it up, pushed Adam away with one hand. It would have worked splendidly had Adam not back-tracked and grabbed Ronan’s sleeve, sending them both falling.

And now they were both covered in frosted roses and shame, Adam stuck with Gansey’s voice on the plane saying please table your rivalry for one night reverberating in his head.

What the fresh hell, indeed.

***

Silence hung over the West Wing briefing room like a wet blanket. Maura Sargent stared unblinkingly into Adam’s eyes from where she perched on the edge of the table. Adam, from his seat at the head, stared back with every ounce of courage his mother’s PR campaigns taught him. Maura seemed to be studying him, and Adam simply didn’t know how to look away.

“Blue,” Maura said finally. On Maura’s other side, Blue wordlessly handed over a stack of newspapers, her gaze shifting from Maura to Adam as though watching a ping pong tournament. Adam knew of Maura’s “no restrictions” policy at home with Blue, but everyone knew this policy in no way related to her work life. Still, Blue watched attentively with knitted brows as though trying to guess the outcome or will a better one into existence.

“Gansey?” Maura asked, all without removing her eyes from Adam’s. The touch of anxiety in Blue’s expression didn’t even begin to reach the anxiety in Gansey’s face, as he stared at Adam like he was a lost puppy. Still, Gansey had more poise than most politicians did, and he managed to smoothly relinquish a stack of magazines into Maura’s free hand. Maura combined the stacks into one in her right hand before dropping them into Adam’s lap with a dull thwap.

“These are just the ones being sold outside this morning, not to mention what’s circulating in the British tabloids,” she said, finally turning away and reaching for a mug of coffee. “Read them.” She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Jesus, but Adam didn’t try to discern it. He went for the stack instead, glossy pages almost slipping through his thin fingers.

    THE $75,000 STUMBLE greeted him on the front page of The Washington Post.

    BATTLE ROYAL: Prince Ronan and FSOTUS Come To Blows at Royal Wedding

    CAKEGATE: Adam Parrish Sparks Second English-American War

Everywhere he flipped, images of he and Ronan covered in sparkling broken glass and frosting assaulted his eyes. The images and headlines blurred together, and he flicked his gaze back up to Maura. All he could see for a moment was Ronan’s rumpled suit and the sliver of red on his cheek. He blinked three times in rapid succession and Maura returned, her brown eyes cool and calculating over the rim of her travel mug.

“Isn’t this a topic for the Situation Room, Ms. Sargent?” He asked. His mother, seated across from him, and Blue both pursed their lips, although for entirely different reasons; Blue appeared to be holding back laughter while his mother must have been holding back something else. Maura narrowed her eyes, oblivious to Gansey’s tightening expression behind her.

“Don’t Ms. Sargent me,” she replied, her tone cool. “I knew all your secrets, kid. I’ve been watching you since you were five. The sass will get you nowhere.” She snatched the Sun article from out of his hands, flipping it open to the correct page and hiding Ronan’s buttercream-smeared frown behind her fingers. “‘Sources inside the royal reception report the two were seen arguing minutes before the cake-tastrophe. But royal family insiders claim the First Son’s feud with Ronan has raged for years. A source tells The Sun that Ronan and the First Son have been at odds ever since their first meeting at the Rio Olympics--’” here Adam made an odd, strangled noise -- “‘and the animosity has only grown—these days, they can’t even be in the same room with each other. It seems it was only a matter of time before Adam took the American approach: a violent altercation.’”

Adam locked eyes with Gansey at the last line, watching Gansey’s lips thin just as he felt the blood drain from his own face. His eyes slid over to Blue, who yielded much of the same reaction. His mother, surprisingly, didn’t change her posture. If she was thinking of Robert Parrish like the rest of them, she had a better poker face.

“They’re blaming this on Ana’s administration,” Maura continued, pushing on through the stony silence. “Please, explain the joke to me.”

“He started it,” is all Adam was able to say, which was probably one of the worst ways to defend himself. Sounding like a petulant toddler helped nobody, but he had made his bed and so he would lie in it, too. “He shoved me and I grabbed his sleeve to-”

“Adam,” his mother said, raising one hand to cut him off with the smooth, brown skin of her palm. He quieted at once, recognizing her demeanor as half-presidential and half motherly. Ana’s voice was caught somewhere between the sugary drawl that lulled him to sleep as a child and the All-American southern twang that helped win her an election. “You know I trust you, sweetheart, but the press sure as hell doesn’t give a fuck about the nitty-gritty of who started what.”

“Ronan definitely touched him first,” Gansey said, his voice unhurried but his face clearly eager to shift some of the blame off of Adam. Maura shot a cool look in his direction.

“He-said, she-said, that doesn’t matter. The press thinks and we can’t change their mind, we can only prove them wrong.” She held out a hand again, and with a sigh Blue acquiesced a new, thick file. Maura dropped it in front of Adam like a hot potato. “Here’s damage control. This rivalry with the prince of England ends now.”

“It’s not a-”

“Rivalry, we know,” his mother interrupted wryly. The tone was odd from her president-mode self, her wayward curls tamed into a perfect ponytail and her face made up instead of the more casual expression she normally had when joking. “But, sugar, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck. You can call it whatever you like, but it’s always gonna be seen as a rivalry.”

Adam sat silently, flipping through a section entitled TERMS OF AGREEMENT. Maura continued. “You’re flying to England on Saturday and spending the weekend with Ronan.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but once they did he couldn’t stop thinking of them. Dread settled just below the surface of Adam’s skin. He looked at his mother. “I’d prefer to fake my death, actually. Or just really die. I know Calla would be willing to help with either, and Persephone is good with that stuff, right? Death of a son should boost your polling. The voters love a sympathetic case.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she warned. She looked to her watch with a heavy sigh and leaned over to kiss him on the head. “I’m too overscheduled for this. Adam, listen to Maura and don’t ignore her plan. You two,” she gestured vaguely at Blue and Gansey, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything irrational while we’re wrapped up.”

Blue lazily saluted while Gansey nodded reassuringly. With one last glance at Adam, Ana was gone, her heels clicking away from the heavy doors. She slipped away from being Ana Parrish, Adam’s mother punishing him for stupid behavior, to become President Parrish, leader of the country. Adam envied her compartmentalization.

Maura leaned over the table, flipping pages in the file. “We’re releasing this statement in conjunction with the Crown as soon as they approve. It was an accident, no harm was intended, all that jazz-”

Adam lifted one eyebrow. “So the truth?”

“Call it what you’d like. And we’re clarifying that you and Prince Ronan have been close personal friendships for several years despite conflicts in schedule making it difficult to appear publicly.”

Blue laughed out loud at that, clamping one hand over her mouth. Maura didn’t even look over to her, but Adam’s expression must have been similarly dumbfounded because she sighed resignedly, taking another sip of coffee. “Look, it’s better for all sides if your tussle just looks like some...frat boy joshing.” Blue’s laughs crescendoed louder, and Maura shot her a cool look. “If you need to step out, please feel free to, Blue. I’m sure Gansey will fill you in later.” Adam looked to Blue and her wave of dismissal, gripping onto the wrist of Gansey’s blazer to steady herself. Maura turned back to Adam.

“I know he’s difficult. You can hate him for all I care. In privacy, feel free to construct intricate arguments for his removal from this earth. Fantasize about dumping yogurt on his head. Compose songs to drive him insane. But, for the love of God, you will act like he hung the moon with nothing but yarn and a sewing needle whenever there’s the slimmest possibility of a camera or another living being witnessing it. Kapeesh?”

It wasn’t like he was allowed any true reaction, but he nodded all the same. His powerlessness was because of his own actions, not Maura. It was his own fault, and he would own up to the consequences. Even if the thought of willingly spending time with Ronan made his stomach turn.

“Your job is to not piss anyone off and to gush about Ronan. You’ll memorize this fact sheet-” she slid another page from the file and tapped it, “-and be prepared to answer any question with these as an answer. Your deal includes a minimum of two social media posts a day about Ronan and your visit. On Sunday, you have an on-air interview with ITV This Morning, and you’ll be fresh as a daisy with nothing but sunshine to say about Ronan’s competitive yachting hobby. There are only two photo ops, one in private where you can bitch and one charity appearance. That’s it, you’re free.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Maura said before Adam could make a noise. “You ruined the Royal Wedding and a cake that’s worth a year of college tuition. He’ll attend a state dinner in a few months for his part, and you will pay your penance now.”

Adam nodded slowly. He gathered the file in his hands along with all the decorum Gansey taught him over the years. He smiled a small smile at Maura. “Well, it will be an experience, won’t it?”

“I’d expect it, yes.”

“Thank you, Maura. And I’m sorry.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t apologize. Your apology will be not screwing this up even more.”

“I’ll try.”

Adam rose, Blue and Gansey following his lead. As he turned to walk away, Maura spoke again. “Oh, and Adam?”

“Yes?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she looked younger, somehow. Almost amused. Guilt panged in his chest at the thought that he’d caused the tiredness on her face before. “Try to have a little fun. It’s a trip to Europe and you’re not even missing class.”

He paused, thinking of Ronan and his shaved head and cruel smile in front of the wedding cake. He tried to imagine what fun might be for him - whether to trust the fact sheet proclaiming fencing and yachting as Ronan’s pastimes or the tabloids that traded stories of illegal drag racing and getting black-out drunk. He wasn’t sure which version of Ronan sounded worse. “Sure,” he agreed quietly. “I will.”

***

Those who work in the White House know a few things about the First Family’s habits, but they never know the full truth.

They can observe things the average citizen would die to know; they see staffers pacing the halls and tearing their hair out over Instagram captions, overhear expletive-laden and fond familial conversations, and occasionally see the pristine members of the executive branch with dark crescents burning under their eyes and old high-school sweatshirts adorned like the newest fashion. But none were more elusive and two-sided than the White House Trio.

In their case, two-sided didn’t necessarily mean something bad, only something drastic. Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey, and Adam Parrish presented the perfect dynamic for the press to eat up: three attractive early twenty-somethings inside the White House who were notoriously open to the public about their lives. There were veneers crafted and stories concocted every day, all designed to get the perfect media response without sharing too much. There was Blue, the Indigenous American daughter of a single mother and prominent staffer, barely five feet tall but laser-sharp with any numbers you threw at her; there was Richard Campbell Gansey III, better known as the single-named Gansey who came from the billions that funded the Vice-Presidency but wanted nothing more than to give it all away, always ready with his winning charm and a new polo shirt to distract the press from his scathing op-eds; and there was Adam Parrish, a true American Dream born from a father from the Heartland and a mother from Mexican immigrants, a single First Son set to graduate valedictorian from Georgetown amid a political campaign with an ease most of the country only wished to possess.

Together, they hit every demographic that they could without even trying too hard. Their progressive politics were helped along by their identities, and so they aided their parents by nature of existing within the White House walls. White House staff saw these versions of them, but only glimpses of what lay beneath - Blue wandering the halls in self-created shirts and dresses with stacks of newspapers clutched in her arms, the scent of mint clinging to Gansey everywhere he went at all hours of the day, Adam’s frequent requests for coffee at midnight and propensity to wear coca-cola tee shirts.

They all knew very well that no one really saw the full picture of them, but that was how the White House Trio liked it.

The three of them spread out in the music room, one of their only haunts where they could be truly alone. For once, they weren’t a marketing ploy of their own creation or a group of kids on a pedestal; they were just Blue, Gansey, and Adam. After that meeting, they had to be.

Adam sprawled on the couch, laying exactly horizontal, flipping over the HRH fact sheet.

“You’re on the cover of Us Weekly, Blue,” Gansey called across the room, undoubtedly fulfilling his guilty-pleasure hobby of obsessively tracking their tabloids. “Full portrait of your Royal Wedding outfit.”

“It’s about time,” she responded from her perch on the windowsill, a bottle of red wine and a bottle opener in her hands. “I wore that lace to catch attention, thank you very much. It’s been at least four months since a solo cover.”

“Well, they do mention the cake-tastrophe in the corner.”

Blue waved her hand dismissively. “That was bound to happen. Scandal sells, but so do I.”

“Okay, ew,” Adam said flatly.

“They’re speculating about you two again, you know.” Gansey scrolled to a new part of the magazine, lifting a thumb to rub against his lower lip. “‘Tryst with a mystery brunette: Heartthrob First Son Adam Parrish caught sneaking back to the W hotel for an amorous rendezvous in the Presidential Suite. Sources say the brunette is none other than Blue Sargent, the twenty-two-year-old member of the White House Trio.’”

“Less than a month!” Blue exclaimed, popping the wine open. “You owe me, Gansey. Pay up.”

He ignored her, dropping the hand from his face. “You didn’t really…”

Neither Adam nor Blue responded. Gansey knew very well that their short-lived relationship on the campaign trail was due to die a quick death, but something - perhaps the lingering stares he seemed to throw Blue more and more often - was making him touchier to the subject of their former relationship. Of course, Adam and Blue did nothing of the sort, only watched the West Wing and made sex noises at young Rob Lowe with a bottle of champagne passed between them. Confusing the tabloids was an added bonus to their game. Blue took a swig directly from the bottle of red.

“You’d think they’d be talking more about your spat with Ronan than your possible sex life,” Gansey said, returning his focus to Adam. Adam finally looked away from the HRH fact sheet and towards Gansey’s squinting eyes. He really needed to put his glasses on, but far be it from Adam to mother Gansey. It had to be the other way around.

“No one cares about what happens over the pond.”

“Don’t they?” Blue said, scrunching her nose in a similar fashion to Gansey. “They seem to follow the royals pretty well. Tabloids were in a tizzy over the Prince’s lack of date.”

“In a tizzy,” Adam mocked. From where she sat on the floor, Blue stretched her short frame as far as possible to nudge Adam’s leg with the toe of her socked foot. “Why does anyone care? It’s not like he’s, you know, interesting.”

Blue and Gansey were staring again, he could tell. “Adam, honey,” Blue started, her southern accent heavy and thick. Gansey reached for the bottle and she relinquished it easily. “I know you hate him, but he’s probably the most interesting royal out there.”

“Wasn’t he caught in a club with his underage brother right after their father died?” Gansey asked, taking a prim sip from the bottle of wine.

“Apparently has a huge sucker of a tattoo on his back, too.”

“Isn’t that against royal etiquette or some shit?”

“Probably.”

Adam waved the fact sheet around, spinning himself so that his head hung off the edge of the couch. “Explain this, then. He’s more wonder-bread than Gansey, and that’s saying something.” Blue spluttered out a laugh, and Adam slung an upside-down apologetic glance at Gansey. “Sorry, man. No offense.”

“None taken,” Gansey said, reaching for the fact sheet and plucking it from Adam’s grasp. “What’s wrong with these? Charles Dickens as a favorite author? What do you have against Charles Dickens?”

Adam and Blue exchanged a glance. “Nothing in theory. It’s just a bunch of garbage I don’t need in my brain.”

Blue snorted. “No thoughts, brain full of GDP calculations.”

“You know I just finished my macroeconomics midterm.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, snatching the bottle back from Gansey and peeking at the sheet. Her nose scrunched again, squinting her eyes as she always did when drinking. “Mutton pie? Who loves mutton pie?”

“It’s a very versatile meal,” Gansey defended.

“I mean, sure, these are boring as hell,” Blue conceded, ignoring Gansey’s scandalized look. “But this is clearly slapped together by his PR team to make him look like the perfect prince.”

“So?” Adam said, unimpressed.

“It’s not a reason to hate him.”

“Oh, I know. I hate him anyway. But I have better use for my brain space than facts about His Royal Dick.”

“That just sounds like you’re talking about Gansey.”

“To be fair, Adam,” Gansey said, “it’s your fault. You fought him.”

“What happened anyway?” Blue asked. He knew the question was coming, but all the same, he didn’t want to answer. “He was fine when I danced with him.”

“Fine,” Adam said curtly. “Cold and severe sounds more like it.”

Blue’s eyes scanned over him with an uncanny feeling she could see into his thoughts. “So you were...defending me? God, please don’t blame me for this.”

“That’s actually kind of nice, Parrish.”

“No,” Blue interrupted, a hard edge to her voice.. “Not if he does stupid shit because of it. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I know!” Adam rushed to say. “Believe me, I know. It was…” he withered under her look. “...An excuse?”

“Look at me,” Blue said, voice firm. He did. Her lips were thinned with seriousness. “Don’t protect my honor again, please. It’s a weird-ass fishbowl world we live in, but if you do, I will leak to the press that your favorite song is Africa by Toto.”

“Please do,” Adam said, scoffing. “It’s a bop.”

“And do you want it dogging your every step?”

“Maybe I do.”

Blue shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“This is quite Shakespearean,” Gansey said, most likely in hopes of interrupting their budding argument. He gestured grandly to the gaudy tapestry-ridden walls and golden tassels on the furniture, although Adam imagined that Gansey thought it would look more impressive in his head. “Two sworn enemies forced into friendship for the sake of tension between their countries.”

“We’re not enemies,” Adam said. “That implies we’re...on the same level. Have actually spoken.”

“Exactly. Shakespearean.”

“Then let’s hope I get stabbed at the end of this. Blue, will you do the honors? I know you’ll do it mercifully.”

“Oh, cheer up now,” Blue said in a false British coo. “You’ll be the darling of England before Sunday even rolls around.”

“What does it matter?” Adam said, not lifting his gaze from the fact sheet. “They just think I’m another violent American over there.”

He could feel the weight of Blue and Gansey’s stares above his head. No one needed to say the words themselves to invoke the double-wide of Adam’s earliest years, where blood covered most of the carpet. “They don’t mean it like that, Adam,” Gansey said finally, breaking some of the tension with his reverberating voice. “They mean it like… UFC fighters, or rioting after the Patriots lose the Super bowl. Or win.” Gansey’s frown deepened. “I can never figure out how they’re doing.”

“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, lips twisted downwards. He regretted bringing it up. “I know.”

Blue nudged him again with her foot. “Want to watch Parks and Rec and make fun of the Prince’s fact cheat-sheet?”

“God, yes.”

She snatched the sheet from Gansey, reading it over again. “Drinking game: drink whenever Prince Ronan’s interests are laughably terrible.”

“Counter-offer: drink whenever Adam overreacts to his interests.” Gansey offered. Blue passed him the bottle to reach for her laptop instead.

“Either way, we’re getting alcohol poisoning.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“We’ll quiz you,” Gansey offered Adam, just as Blue pulled up an episode of Parks and Rec. “Not season seven, Sargent, what the hell are you thinking?”

“Season seven can be great!” Off of Gansey’s glare, Blue complied, clearly not wanting the fight. “Fine. Season three?”

“Now you’re talking.”

Blue balanced her laptop on an old piano bench and joined their huddle near the couch, beckoning the bottle back.

“Alright,” Gansey began, eyes settled on the top of the sheet. “You better be ready to learn something, Parrish.”

***

None of them succumbed to alcohol poisoning, but they did learn several facts about Prince Ronan.

There was the basic information, things Adam knew already: his mother, Queen Aurora, took the throne with a dreamy demeanor and high hopes at the age of 19 after her parent’s untimely death and her twin sister’s abdication. The year before, she married Niall Lynch, an Irish actor, and practically upset the whole place. Niall died in 2015, not too long before the Rio Olympics, and Aurora’s public appearances had dwindled ever since, leaving the press to have a field day with rumors of illness and mental breakdowns. Ronan had a raven (why, Adam could not fathom) named, of all things, Chainsaw. His best friend, Henry Cheng, was heir to Cheng Industries and managed their charity branch.

Gansey actually knew both Cheng and Ronan, having spent a year at Eton in high school, and Adam just rolled his eyes at Ganey’s relentless knowledge of every human person.

His music tastes were listed as baroque, death metal, and Irish jigs, a combination that left Blue wheezing. “His Royal Highness may be my new favorite person,” she insisted, leaving Adam scowling.

The week came and went, and Adam found himself on a private tarmac following a trans-Atlantic flight with a man in an impeccably pressed suit and a cup of tea nestled into his hands. Calla, one of Blue’s pseudo-aunts and a secret service agent accompanying him, pressed forward to shake his hand and exchange a few words under her breath with him. He almost pitied the man. Calla, with her high bun of perfectly-contained curls and steely gaze, oozed intimidation out of her very being. But to his surprise, Calla actually smiled at the mystery man. She wasn’t quite warm, but he received considerably kinder treatment than everyone else subject to Calla’s jurisdiction. When she stepped back, the man turned his gray eyes on Adam. He smiled without any mirth.

“Mr. Parrish,” the man said, reaching out his free hand. Adam shook it, trying to keep it short and firm as his mother taught him. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in England. I’m Mr. Gray, Prince Ronan’s equerry.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. I apologize for the turn of events that led to this weekend.”

“Well,” Mr. Gray said, turning and beckoning Adam to an Aston Martin with blacked-out windows, “once you reach my age, Mr. Parrish, you’ll find that these matters are quite simple to see coming.” Adam barely had a chance to blink in response before he was sliding into the back seat of the car, the rumbling of the tarmac shut out succinctly with the door’s closure. A lull in conversation settled around them; Adam, after clicking his seatbelt in, favored looking out the window to London’s scenery over making conversation. The blur of grey and white passed for a few minutes before Mr. Gray finally informed him of his role.

“There are a few matters of paperwork to go over before entering Kensington Palace. They’re currently next to you, and signing them is of highest priority before we begin this weekend.” Adam was no stranger to non-disclosure agreements and confidentiality paperwork; he’d expected the practically novel-length stack. By the time he’d finished signing on all the correct lines, the car slowed to a crawl. “Prince Ronan has just finished his tennis practice, and we’re here to escort him to our first activity.”

“Splendid,” Adam whispered under his breath, unconsciously mimicking Mr. Gray's crisp voice.

The English countryside hit Adam full in the face as soon as he stepped from the car; fresh air, the kind you never find in DC, welcomed him like an old friend, and though the English air was nothing like the air he remembered growing up with in Virginia, it felt nostalgic all the same. He suddenly wanted to be back there, in the home he remembered so well. He wanted to be anywhere but England with the goddamn Prince of Wales loping his way towards him in an all-white outfit, a racket swinging in his hand.

Jesus, how pretentious could he be?

Annoyingly, Ronan was not sweating and not fatigued looking in the slightest. He actually looked incredibly refreshed, the harsh lines of his face softened and a flush under his cheeks, his blue eyes charged and alight. Looking into them, Adam felt startlingly as though he was staring out at the horizon on a cloudless day.

“Parrish,” Ronan called, jogging the remaining distance quickly and closing the gap between them. “You've found the directions, I can see.”

“It’s difficult to miss,” Adam replied tightly, holding out a hand for Ronan to shake. “Extensive wealth tends to smell for miles around.”

Ronan took his hand, and his smoothed palm slid uncomfortably against Adam’s calloused hand. An unpleasant jolt started in his stomach. Ronan affixed his same unkind but not terrifying smile to his face, looking ridiculously like Declan for a moment, before continuing their conversation. Both knew to disconnect their words from their faces, conscious of the photographer unsubtly circling them. “It’s a rather pleasant odor, yes? I prefer it to fried food and pollution.”

“London, known for its fresh air, right?” Adam laughed, the charming laugh that beguiled TV hosts and entranced his mother’s constituents. “Excited for the days ahead?”

“I’d rather lie on the NASCAR racetrack, or even concede an argument.”

Adam slipped his palm from Ronan’s, choosing instead to slap him jovially on the arm. “I never thought I’d see the day where we agree on something, Your Highness.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan said, the words slipping through his unkind but certainly camera-friendly smile with practiced ease, and oh, there was the difference between this weekend and all their other interactions: Adam couldn’t speak of their interactions at all, locked behind an NDA. Ronan could swear as much as he pleased and not face retribution from his family.

“Gladly,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“The car is ready if you’re ready, then,” Mr. Gray said from behind Adam.

“Perfect,” Ronan said, any hint of his bleached teeth disappearing. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”

And they set off, side by side, for the car.

#trc #the raven cycle #pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #rwrb #rwrb au #rw&rb #rwarb #wip #wips #au #my writing #currently writing #richard gansey #richard campbell gansey iii #gansey #gangsey #blue sargent #maura sargent #calla lily johnson #calla johnson #mr gray #dean allen #declan lynch #the raven boys #the dream thieves #blue lily lily blue #the raven king #henry cheng

[voidwaren]

so it’s been an entirely unintentional five months since I last updated my Sterek fic, Oak and Mistletoe, but the starting scene for chapter six has been finished since I published chapter five and I figured I should at least put that bit up even if the following scene is being a monster to finish. (she real thicc and she’s only getting thiccer, because I don’t know how to shut up and let a scene end.)

anyway, if anyone happens to pop by here looking for what tf happened to that WIP, here’s the first scene of Oak and Mistletoe, chapter six, just for you:

He showed up three days later, arrogant as always, disdain for everyone in the general vicinity written all across his features, and completely alone.

London had done nothing for Jackson’s shitty attitude towards anything either not earning his approval or not worshipping the ground he walked on, and Stiles had found this out the hard way by barging into the loft on the day they were all scheduled to meet and figure out what the hell was going to happen, only to find Jackson borderline posing in front of the giant windows and left utterly to his own devices, which spelled nothing but trouble for Stiles and his big mouth.

“You’re still alive?” was Jackson’s chosen greeting upon noticing Stiles as he stumbled over the threshold of the door and into the room, spoken in such a way that the fact Stiles was still kicking was clearly something he considered to be a great dismay to his own livelihood. Apparently, Deaton had been very minimalistic with his reasoning to get Jackson back in America if he didn’t know Stiles was even alive anymore.

Or Jackson just being a dick. Which, honestly, would be very on-brand for Jackson anyway. He didn’t trek all the way back to America because he missed them, that much was certain.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Stiles countered drily, dusting himself off like he could brush away the fumble.

“It’s what you’re best at,” Jackson returned, sighing halfway through the sentence, with the most blithe tone Stiles was pretty sure he’d ever heard Jackson use. He turned his head slightly, like he was dismissing Stiles’ presence altogether, and it took a beat for Stiles to realize it was actually because Derek was coming down the stairs, and Jackson had heard him far before Stiles had and just hadn’t said anything. Stupid werewolves.

His back straightened slightly as soon as Derek was fully in the room, like, despite the fact Derek was not his alpha, Derek’s presence demanded the minute attention. Maybe it had something to do with their former relationship. Stiles didn’t care enough about Jackson to wonder much beyond that, though, so he didn’t.

Instead, he lifted a finger and, with the utmost of maturity, pointed accusingly at Jackson. “Douchebag McGee over here doesn’t know why we called him home. Also,” he tacked on quickly, flipping the pointer finger into a middle one without changing the subject of who he was directing the gesture at, “he wants me dead.”

Derek, only just barely having made it over to them by the time Stiles had stopped talking, crossed his arms and turned to Jackson. Before he could say anything, though, Jackson said, “I’m here because you went and got cursed, Stilinski.”

Stiles threw his arms wide in a “what the fuck” gesture. “What? Then why were you acting surprised that I’m alive?”

“Surprised?” Jackson scoffed. “That was disappointment and you know it. I had just hoped it had killed you before I got here.”

The noise of offense Stiles made in return would have done a valley girl proud. In the very least, it made Derek give him one of those half-alarmed looks that he outright ignored as he said, “Is that why it took you so damn long to call us back?”

“No,” Jackson corrected, rolling his eyes. “I had to locate the person you were looking for before I flew over. And, do you have any idea how long flights are from Britain to America? California, America?”

Stiles stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. Derek, who had been turning his attention back and forth between the two of them as they talked, continued to watch in silence.

“Wait,” Stiles said after he’d had a moment to process that. “Wait, wait, wait. You already knew who we were looking for?”

Jackson gave Derek a look. “Did you knock his head against a wall one too many times?” he asked, outright Stiles from the conversation. “I don’t remember him being this stupid.”

“No,” Derek offered. “That’s just his age catching up with him.”

“Then where is she, Jackson?” Stiles cut in through gritted teeth, one arm flying up between them like it could do anything to stop them from talking to one another like he wasn’t there.

Jackson sighed. “Do you really think she’d get here faster than me? I know you’ve seen a map before. Guess which country is closest to America in Europe. Go on,” he urged sarcastically, waving his hand in a pseudo-encouraging gesture, “guess.”

Stiles opened his mouth to tell Jackson just where exactly he’d be shoving that hand if Jackson didn’t stop taunting him, only to be thwarted by the loud arrival of Scott, Isaac, and Erica as they burst into the room, arguing profusely about something Stiles couldn’t discern as they overlapped each other without allowing any one sentence to be finished.

“Oh, good,” Jackson said with no small amount of sarcasm as Boyd quietly strode into the room a beat later, smirking at the cacophony the others were making, “everyone’s still alive, then?”

“Nice to see someone’s still a pompous asshat,” Erica greeted, halfway through whatever she’d been saying to Isaac and Scott, leaving both of them visibly blindsided.

Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but was overlapped by Scott when he looked around and said, “Wait. Where is everyone else?”

“Who are we missing?” a voice said from the door, and in strolled Lydia with Allison by her side. Allison raised her hand in a silent greeting, smiling at what was probably only Scott. “Hello, Jackson,” Lydia continued stiffly as her eyes locked onto him and her expression immediately flatlined into the same person she used to be before Allison arrived and cracked her shell.

“Lydia, Allison,” Jackson returned, clipped, but with an underlying vein of something Stiles most definitely wished he couldn’t detect. Unresolved feelings? Hell no. Stiles would sit that one out, thanks. Jackson pursed his lips for a moment as everyone in the room exchanged looks, counting out who might still be left before they got started retconning Jackson’s arrival and involvement, and then turned to Derek and said, “Where’s that creepy uncle of yours?”

“Definitely didn’t miss you,” the creepy uncle in question said as he plodded down the staircase like Jackson had summoned him. If Jackson had also heard him coming and was pretending he hadn’t, he didn’t look like it. If anything, he looked more than slightly put off that Peter was indeed accounted for. “Cora’s at work,” Peter continued as he joined the weird conglomeration they were creating in the main room of the loft, “so that should be everyone accounted for.”

“Who the hell is Cora?” Jackson asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said at the same time Scott said, “Derek’s little sister.”

“There are more of you alive?” Jackson said in legitimate surprise as Derek leveled Scott with a glare.

“Save it for later,” Derek ground out, clearly already aggravated by all the people in the room. “We have a matter at hand here, and Cora’s not necessary at the moment. We have to lay out the game plan while we have the time to and discuss what information Jackson got for us.”

“Wait,” Scott cut in, just as Jackson was opening his mouth. He shut it again with a click even Stiles heard, but Scott paid him no mind as he continued, “Where’s Deaton? Shouldn’t he be here?”

“He’s waiting for Morgan to show up, isn’t he?” Isaac said, but he sounded unsure of the fact.

“He is,” Derek confirmed, nodding his head at Isaac. Isaac nodded his head back, then made a face like he was just realizing that was a stupid move. Stiles did him the favor of not offering scathing commentary, just that once, and only because he was in the process of opening his mouth for another sentence.

“Shouldn’t we, I don’t know,” was the start of said sentence, spoken in a way that he hoped clearly articulated how he thought the fact they weren’t with Deaton was extremely useless, since they’d just have to rehash everything for the man who was basically in charge of them all, “wait for him? I thought we were meeting to discuss Morgan with Jackson.”

“We are,” Derek said, again in confirmation, because, apparently, that’s all he was good for right now. And then, as if sensing Stiles’ internal snark, he continued, “We don’t need Deaton for that.”

“We might need Deaton for that,” corrected Peter, and Derek just gave him a look. “What? The spaz has a point. Deaton’s taking the mantle of liaison from our lizard boy, he should probably be here if we’re talking about the very thing he’s going to be liaison of.”

Stiles fought a grimace. He never much enjoyed being on the same side as Peter, especially when it was the side with less support overall. He didn’t miss the way Jackson threw Peter a very pointed glare, clearly not happy with the nickname he’d been bestowed, though the fact Scott was standing between them dampened the effect just a little. Scott didn’t seem to be aware of his intrusion, and Peter ignored Jackson all the same.

“Jackson can relay his information to Deaton later,” Derek said.

Peter made a noise of annoyance and flung a hand in Jackson’s direction. “I’m sorry, we’re trusting that guy to handle something that could possibly wipe us off the map with one wrong move?”

“That guy?” Jackson repeated, affronted. He reached out and grabbed Scott’s shoulder, wrenching him out of the way, and Scott spluttered something incoherent as he stumbled into Isaac and nearly wiped out. “I don’t know if you noticed, old man, but I’m risking my skin just as much as you are. I’m the one who found her in the first place, and, let me tell you” —he barked a harsh laugh, and the sound was so very Jackson that Stiles almost had a moment of nostalgia before realizing just who exactly was inciting it— “that was neither fun nor easy, and I absolutely would not have done it if it was your ass on the line.”

“Charming,” Peter spat.

“You’re doing it because it’s my ass on the line?” Stiles asked, a little wistfully, as the meaning of Jackson’s ire hit him. “Aw, Jackson,” he cooed, just as Jackson’s expression darkened, “I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t,” Jackson hissed.

“Evidence points to otherwise,” Stiles said, one finger up and dangerously close to Jackson’s chest, like Jackson hadn’t literally greeted him with disappointment over the fact he was still alive and kicking not twenty minutes before.

Jackson just looked at him, his lips parted slightly like he was gearing up to say something and just wasn’t sure exactly what it was he wanted to say yet, but then turned to Lydia and said, “He really has gotten stupider. How is that possible?”

“Don’t bring me into this,” said Lydia, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Maybe we should wait for Deaton,” Boyd chimed in, apparently deciding he no longer wanted to simply watch the garbage fire raging right in front of him. Very unusual for Boyd, actually, and Stiles wondered if that wasn’t a decent indicator of just how bad the quality of conversation was getting. “I don’t think this is getting anywhere fast.”

Derek shook his head, his arms now crossed tight along his chest like they did when he was getting frustrated. “We would have to wait for Morgan to arrive. He’s the one meeting her first to make sure she checks out.”

“Wait, she’s not even here yet?” Isaac asked loudly, peering around Scott, who was still pretty much being held up by him, to look at Jackson in confusion. “I thought she was coming with you. Didn’t you both come over from Europe?”

Jackson threw his hands up in exasperation. “Does no one understand how air travel works?”

Allison made a face, tilting her head in that way she did when something odd was occurring to her. “Morgan le Fay, the great sorceress of legend, is flying in a plane to get here?”

That seemed to stump them all, because the whole room abruptly went quiet. Even Jackson, who had suggested the idea in the first place, seemed to suddenly realize how ridiculous that idea was.

“Well,” Isaac said, breaking the silence first, “how else would she get here?”

“Teleportation?” offered Scott.

“I don’t think that’s a real thing,” Derek countered.

“That has to be a real thing,” said Stiles immediately, shaking his head. “Maybe not across continents and oceans,” he amended quickly when Derek only gave him an exasperated look, “but too much weird shit has happened to us for there not to be some kind of teleportation in the world.”

Derek made a gesture with his head to indicate Stiles had a point, but it was overshadowed suddenly by the sharp alert of a cell phone. Derek fished it out of his pocket and tapped on the screen, already frowning. Peter took the chance to be, well, Peter.

“One wrong move, lizard boy,” started Peter the second Jackson was within his line of sight, his hand already held out in as accusing of a gesture as possible, “and I will not hesitate to off you and make up for all that lost time. I don’t care if you technically died the last time we saw you.”

“Peter,” Derek warned without looking up from his phone, but Peter held up a hand.

“We’re not negotiating this one, Derek,” he retorted. Then, before Derek could continue, Peter dropped the hand and turned his attention back onto Jackson. “How about you get us our magic lady as promised and then shut up until further notice?” Peter nodded his head once, not waiting for an answer. “Yes. I like that deal. End of discussion, I think.”

Jackson’s face took on an expression that explicitly conveyed an attitude of “not today, bitch” as he tilted his nose up, eyeing Peter scathingly, and said, like everything that had just came out of Peter’s mouth was nothing more than noise on the wind, “I don’t think so. I think I’m calling the shots here, and you know what I say?” In true Peter fashion, Jackson didn’t even wait a beat for anything resembling an attempt at an answer before he continued, “I say your existence is intruding on mine. I’m going to need you to fuck off.”

Surprisingly, Peter barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m using that one. Kid’s got good lines,” he said, apparently to Derek specifically, jabbing a thumb at Jackson. Behind him, Jackson narrowed his eyes dangerously at the back of Peter’s head.

“Alright,” Erica said cautiously, “let’s not poke the bear before we have a chance to get things straight with the sorceress who could easily obliterate us if we don’t get our act together, yeah? Something tells me she won’t appreciate playing counselor to us, and I’d like to live to see my college years.”

“He started it,” Jackson accused at the exact same time Peter did, before they each turned to glare at the other.

“Are we all going to die?” Isaac asked.

“Possibly,” Boyd replied, utterly nonchalant.

“Hey,” Stiles barked, throwing his hands out like he was breaking up a wrestling match. “I’m the one gagging up florals. I’m the one in immediate peril here, okay? Stop trying to encroach on my thunder here.”

“That’s not how the saying goes, Stiles,” Lydia muttered in exasperation.

“Florals?” Jackson repeated, the previous grievance with Peter suddenly pushed aside in favor of what was apparently new information. Jackson frowned at Stiles, clearly confused. “You’re cursed with flowers? What?”

“He’s throwing them up, actually,” Isaac offered helpfully. It didn’t make Jackson look any less confused, but it did give him the added benefit of also looking disgusted. Stiles, for once, couldn’t really blame him for that one.

“What kind of curse is that?” asked Jackson.

“A stupid one,” said Boyd.

“Clearly. Of all the things to be cursed with, you had to go for flowers, Stilinski?”

“You’re acting like I asked for it,” Stiles retaliated. “Do you really think I walked up to the witch and went, ‘Hey, ma’am, you know what I could really use right now? A good stabbing and a curse that makes me choke up flowers without any semblance of rhyme or reason to it, and I think you’re just the lady to do it to me.’ No, Jackson, I didn’t!”

Jackson turned his attention onto Lydia again. “Stabbing?”

Lydia nodded. “With a necklace.”

Closing his eyes like he was in pain, Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m suddenly remembering why I was thrilled to get away from Beacon Hills and all of you. A necklace?”

Instead of offering anything more by ways of verbal information, Stiles sighed, held up a hand to tell Jackson to wait, and dug the necklace out of his pocket. He’d been tasked with keeping an eye on it back when they’d realized nothing beyond the name was any help, and had unceremoniously shoved it in the pocket of his jeans without a second thought, meaning to look into the lore behind the flower of choice at a later date and never actually getting around to it. Honestly, it was pure luck he wore that same pair that day, because he’d kind of forgotten all about it up until he was already halfway to Derek’s place and realized, maybe, Morgan might want her necklace back. Jackson watched warily as the pendant unfurled from Stiles’ fist with a quiet tinkling rattle of metal chains snagging on metal petals.

Stiles held the pendant out at arms length in Jackson’s direction. It swung with the motion, reflecting back the dying light of the day behind them, and everyone seemed to take a half step back. Jackson tilted his head, looking almost, strangely, pleased at the sight of the flower-shaped bauble.

Weird.

“Are you checking yourself out in the reflection or something?” Stiles accused, making no effort to disguise his disgust at the idea.

Jackson scoffed. “You wish. That’d be the only time you’d ever have anything remotely appealing about you.”

Stiles took a step back, his mouth dropping open in shocked offense, and next to him Scott barked a half-restrained laugh that he clearly hadn’t meant to let out. Allison smacked him on the shoulder, but the damage was done. Stiles rounded on Scott, who only gave him a sheepish smile and a very guilty shrug.

In the background, Erica sighed dramatically. “One day I’ll have someone who looks at me like Jackson looks at himself.”

“Looks like you gotta step up that game, Boyd,” Isaac said as Jackson pivoted and leveled Erica with a glare that did absolutely nothing to wipe the smarmy smirk off her face. Beside her, Boyd just rolled his eyes.

“No one in the world looks at anyone else like Jackson looks at himself. You’re setting me up for failure.”

“You’re right,” Erica agreed, sounding distinctly disappointed. “There needs to be an ego of unparalleled proportions attached to something like that, and Jackson already lays claim to the title.” She crossed her arms and shook her head sadly. “Maybe in another life.”

Jackson cocked his head and scrutinized Erica in that ruthless way he had. “Try a little harder at being a bitch, would you?” he said silkily. “You’re not quite meeting my standards.”

“No one meets your standards, sweetie,” Lydia chimed in, pating Jackson on the back in such an obviously demeaning way that Jackson had no choice but to glower silently in her direction as she moved the conversation along.

With one deft movement, Lydia snagged the pendant out of Stiles’ hand and moved behind him. Stiles barely had time to react before he realized what she was doing, and then the deed was done.

“Lydia,” he croaked, hand flying up to the pendant that now sat snug just below the dip of his collarbones. It felt strangely hot, even through the layer of shirt between it and his skin. “Take me out to dinner first, jeez.”

“You shouldn’t be keeping something that important in your pocket,” was all she replied, making her way back to Allison’s side.

“This meeting is becoming increasingly pointless,” said Peter. He gave Derek a pointed look, his arms crossing across his chest in disdain. “Why do our meetings always end up pointless? Aren’t we here to talk tactics and not waste time giving out the information we’re only going to have to repeat once the witch is here? You’re wasting my precious time here, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Sorceress,” Lydia corrected, just as Derek’s phone started to ring. Shooting Peter a quick glance, Derek swiftly answered the call and made his way to the edges of the room, like everyone around him hadn’t immediately gone deathly silent at the sudden attempt at communication. They all watched him go, not a word spoken between them, Derek muttering something into the device that was too low for his ears but was likely easily picked up by all the werewolves in the general vicinity, judging by the way every single one of them suddenly had their head slightly cocked.

“I hate you guys,” Stiles hissed. “Just in case anyone managed to forget,” he continued when Scott gave him a confused look. It didn’t lessen the confusion, but it made Stiles feel marginally better.

“Who’s he talking to?” Allison whispered, lilting her head towards Scott.

Scott opened his mouth to likely give the answer she wanted, but Peter cut him off with a sharp growl of a tone as he said, “Why don’t you just ask him?”

Somehow, that seemed to get Derek’s attention, because he looked up sharply the moment the words left Peter’s mouth, the phone still pressed firmly to his ear, and he looked so much like his old self in that moment that Stiles almost did a double-take.

“What?” Stiles asked warily when no one else bothered to open their mouths and ask first.

“It’s Deaton,” said Derek solemnly, almost gravely, and Stiles felt his heart drop to his toes when Derek looked directly at him and said, “Morgan is here.”

“Great,” Peter spat, jerking his head in a viscous eye-roll that was nearly a full-bodied motion, and then he turned and strode from the room. For once, Stiles kind of wished he could do exactly the same.

#teen wolf #Sterek #the hanahaki wip #WIP Wednesday #work in progress wednesday #I'd link the fic but Tumblr goes feral on linked posts half of the time

[retphienix]

It's been 6 years :)

On March 30th, 2015 I decided I wanted a gaming side blog. (so we're early, but shush, it's the month for me)

I didn't know what I'd use it for exactly, but I had ideas- something I always have even if most of them only get as far as daydreamin' or writing out before closing them :P

For proof on the lack of direction the blog initially had- the March 30th date is the anniversary of my first post, an in-depth and lengthy review of Dragon Warrior Monsters for the GBC.

If you know the blog then you know "Extremely long and in-depth reviews" aren't the norm around here. As a matter of fact, that first post is the ONLY one I've done!

The closest I've come to ever repeating that would be the (word of the day) Directionless video I put out on Hades to get a grip on the concept of making videos, but that wasn't nearly as much of a 'review' as that first post is.

Tangent, definitely planning on trying my hand at videos some more for the foreseeable future. Probably not gonna use the tagline Full Impressions that I tossed as a whim for the Hades video but yeah- I'm excited to try my hand at a few videos :) tangent over.

It didn't take me long to come up with what I'd like to do for the blog though :)

A few months later I liveblogged a challenge run of FFT where I used only Ramza- a solo run. - Which maybe only happened because I tried a nuzlocke run a year prior on my main account-

(Nuzlocke | FFT challenge run)

Thanks to that haphazard liveblog experiment I started to realize a couple things which became the primary motivators behind this blog.

1) I LOVE sharing experiences. No brainer, I'm sure, but being able to share my experiences, and compare them with others' experiences, and just that mutual sharing is uplifting and feels good to do.

2) Liveblogging is an EXCEPTIONAL motivator to buckle down and play all those games I said I'd play (cue everyone laughing because I'm still way behind and have an immeasurable backlog).

But I mean that, on both respects. I have plenty of motivators toward the blog today, but if I were to be concise it's pretty much "It's easier to beat games if I liveblog them- otherwise I get distracted and play other games" and "I love sharing experiences and thoughts with people about my favorite thing- games."

Since 2015 I've tackled around 70 games as full playthroughs, and an untold ton as one offs or just to ramble about for a bit.

I've had a lot of highlights over the years, and I don't talk much about it as an overall experience so I thought for the anniversary I'd try to do just that. Not everything- I can't say I have photographic memory that would bring all of it up without prompting after all :P But whatever comes to mind as I browse some of my old stuff- as well as some thoughts on what I'd like to see in the future.

It's gonna be a bit self-centric I assume as I type this preamble to it, so let me say outright that this blog wouldn't be half of what it is without all the people who've given it the time of day over the years.

From recommending games they love or appreciate, to comparing thoughts, to offering kind words for analysis I've done over the years, to pointing out when I'm dumb and misread a situation :P- to, yes, even the people who decided "Fuck this guy's ramble" and deleted my captions before reblogging my gifs way back during Hamtaro (Of COURSE I remember that! It's amusing lol).

This is better because of others, because of the interactions and the people I've gotten the chance to chat with or befriend. It's just a liveblog more or less, my own little bit of fun I toss out for myself if for anyone- so seeing others enjoy this or that from the work I put into sharing my experiences or thoughts is always a joy in itself :)

Anyway, onto selfishly rambling about some tidbits of the past :)

Also sorry but no, opted to not shove a ton of photos in, it does have a handful of links to old posts though :P

This'll be disorganized as heck as I'll add to it over time before I feel it's worth posting (or the tumblr post editor becomes a hassle and more or less forces me to).

First~

FFT Solo Ramza Challenge: Considering it was roughly the first thing this blog has done, it's also something that's stuck in my head a lot more clearly than most of the other stuff I've done to be honest lol.

In truth, this is partially because FFT is my favorite game, bar none. But it's also because the whole experience was pretty new to me. Prior to it I had really only done one self-imposed-challenge that wasn't requested by the game in some manner and that was a nuzlocke run of Blue version.

So adding a challenge to my favorite game was a fantastic experience!

Notes I just wanted to say today about that run: If anyone enjoys FFT I honestly recommend giving it a shot for the unique story it lends itself to. I do recommend skipping the rules until after the second battle but that's up to YOU to decide.

My first post on the subject is me complaining about spending 4 hours grinding out the second fight and, despite hyperbole being my natural state, that was NOT hyperbole.

It DID take 60~ restarts to beat. It DID take 4 hours. The reason is that that 2nd battle is RNG as HECK, you HAVE to have Delita do some meaningful actions, you HAVE to have the enemies miss and make poor plays, you damn near HAVE to crit a few instances to save yourself from taking too much damage.

It's a numbers game to the extreme, so I wouldn't fault anyone for 'cheating' and skipping the 2nd fight for the ruleset lol.

The memory that stands out the most for that run is actually isolated in a post in which Ramza (Purrick in this run) talks like a total badass as just ONE DUDE running into a room full of enemies. I just think on that as a great encapsulated view of what it was like. The run started off face grindingly difficult, but because FFT is a game that offers so much freedom to the player it was extremely easy to 'break' the game into making Purrick overpowered as hell.

That's something I love about some tactical RPGs, I love having the ability to play smart so that I can play stupid later on, and breaking the game into making him one shot god is certainly a good payoff for playing smart early on :P

RetQuick: I miss RetQuick, it was primarily a short experiment I did in 2015 where I'd play a game for a short span of time (REALLY short, like 10-20 minutes) and record that for the purpose of making gifs and saying a short piece on what I thought.

It's one of those formats where the purpose was pretty shallow- but had a reason. I wanted to try making some gifs with some tools that existed online, so I made an excuse to do just that.

I also wanted to play a TON of games, usually through emulation on my sister's PSP, and this let me do that.

These two minor goals came together and so I spent a while making RetQuicks which were honestly more fun to make than they had any right to be. I mean the gifs were tedious but the playing? The thought sharing? The end product ocassionally having more appeal than just a photoset? It was fun.

I'm thinking whenever I have trouble picking a game for the blog I'll revisit the format... sorta.

I already reused it for a short stint to show clips I had no plan on expanding into a playthrough, but that died as well as it was too similar to Tidbits posts (another tag I no longer really use).

My thought is to rebrand retquick as something of a tryout for what game comes next. Play a handful of my backlog games for an hour or so each and say some thoughts before saying which one I'll continue as the main game for that period of time.

Old Tag Stuff: One of those things that only sticks to me since I made the decisions but it's always funny for me to look back on my old posts because I was apprehensive as hell toward making my posts visible. The reason my early playthroughs on the My-Tags page are variants of Ret instead of just "The name of the game so people can find this post" is because I felt like a liveblog would just spam the tag to hell-

Something I don't remotely feel bad for doing anymore.

So I avoided getting any sort of spotlight for quite a while on the blog for little reason.

Why Retphienix?: This is just a dumb thought I wanted to share and I'm sure I've said before.

It stands for retro!

Yeah!

Ain't that dumb and also not a real shorthand? lol

I think I have some sort of deer in headlights anxiety towards naming things, I mean do you think I think Full Impressions is a good summation for a video? I don't. But perhaps that's overshadowed by the other inexperiences and anxiety driven decisions that had- doesn't matter.

Retphienix is Retphienix because I sat there in 2015 and thought "Well... what do I name an alt account?"

My main is Redphienix, which yes, is ALSO a terrible name AND is misspelled. But it's that because of sentimental reasons. As a kid I misspelled Redphoenix when making my gamertag (I knew how to spell Phoenix back then as well, I was too excited about xbox live and misspelled it) and it's become something of a sentimental misspelling.

So I wanted to make a mix on that for my game blog, but I had no idea what. In the end I thought "RetroPhienix? I don't know. Retphienix is closer to Redphienix. I'll do that" and so it was done.

And just like how Redphienix is both bad and misspelled but exists because of sentimental reasons- Retphienix has acquired the same 'flavor' in my eye lol.

Aspirations for the blog: I have no immediate ramp up plans or road map or whatever, and in truth I'll be happy if the blog stays just as it is forever- up until tumblr ends- I cry over lost posts- and I reopen it on another platform.

But I do have blurry half-considered daydreams that I'd like to see happen for the blog through some hard work or shifts on my part.

One is something I'm already doing kinda, hence my embarrassing means of bringing it up a lot lately. Videos- I want those. I wanna make some looks back on series people don't talk about that I enjoy, I want to make videos sharing my thoughts on games I beat for the blog (like what full impressions kinda was, but I don't think they'll have a unified name from here on out). Maybe retrospectives, but mostly when I think of making a video tied to retphienix or me in general it's me looking at a game that said something to me, and saying it louder with my own interpretations on it.

You know the kind, videos where they talk about a video game but not the whole thing- just a singular message they really heard loud and clear from it intentionally or not. I dig those and I know I end a lot of games having plenty to say that could be directed into such a format.

We'll see.

And I'm along for the ride on that one as well- currently I'm keeping my eyes on whatever is directly next, which happens to be "I plan on playing Omori, if it clicks as something to talk about I would like to take a shot at that in a video too!"

The other is that I'd like to build a small community. Wouldn't know the first thing on doing that in a modern sense, but just a little online friend group to chat with and play games together. Something that could open up multiplayer and coop experiences being better shared on the blog and would just in general expand my gaming to what it used to be back on the 360 when I had a large group to play with.

Since the 360 era ended I've pretty much closed off- stopped playing competitive games due to lack of interest- and slowed down to playing all games either solo, with randoms (and no mic usually), or with my cousin. It's a rare instance when I play with some good people like @gamesception or another friend of mine, John.

When I diverted from playing competitive games nonstop toward other genres I didn't intend to also cut out all my online gaming buds, it just kinda happened, and I never really put any effort into rectifying that.

So more or less I'd like to one day sit down and work on a discord server, and then buck up and put the leg work in to make some gamin' buds again, but that's such a vague concept anymore.

Sounds all sad and what not but it's more ambivalent, I made decisions that

changed how gaming worked for me after the 360 and this is just where it landed for better and worse- I'd just like to see if I can make it a little better :P

General things I think when I think retphienix: Honestly? I think of how much fun I've had over the years and how thankful I am to have had an outlet that encouraged me to explore more of the medium.

I REALLY love games. I went to college for games, I've written LEAGUES about games, I've played countless games, my childhood was games, my adult life is games- games games games yada yada yada.

So when I think of retphienix I think of how without it I probably wouldn't have explored a lot of the corners of gaming that I have.

I genuinely, and I mean this, might not have sat down and beaten FF7 for myself and would have considered the amount I played as a kid to be enough.

I might not have played Chrono Trigger yet, and I KNOW I wouldn't have played Chrono Cross, and I'm happy as hell to have played both of those. CT was a mind blowing moment for me that showed me just how good an RPG can be, and CC gave me miles to think of in terms of innovating an RPG and how beholden to the narrative a sequel should be (I don't feel CC should have been chrono at all lol).

I DEFINITELY wouldn't have given New Vegas another chance. And I know I'm a sourpuss on NV, I've been that way since I maxed my achievements on the 360 for it, but replaying it really did reveal to me how exceedingly negative I was being.

My memories had become "It's brown and a boring location >:(" and "The factions all suck and it doesn't do anything with the idea of bad factions >:(" and became "It's... a little brown guys, not a big fan of the area" and "They didn't do enough with exploring the gray factions" while adding "Wait. This is pretty damn fun. And 90% of the additions are stellar. And I forgot about Dead Money, my favorite dlc in any game ever with a story that tears at my heart every time I think of it, NV good actually?"

Faxanadu would have remained a cool game I saw on SSFF and not a game I played to the end and fell in love with the aesthetic feel it has!

Also that's a game I cheated like crazy on lol, I would do it again! Save state scumming games meant to be rudely difficult is only fair :P

I probably would have never sat down to play through Windwaker which was such a positive and uplifting experience that I now get the most relaxed and warm feeling in my heart when I see those blue waves.

There's so many experiences I would have left on the table in favor of like... putting more hours into a live service title or something.

Maybe, and no offense to my cousin or anyone else playing it, but maybe I'd be no-lifing World of Warcraft nonstop just stagnating my interest toward the skinner box mechanics of an MMO?

Some offense, actually but lightheartedly lol.

But beyond the entire games I've played for the blog, when I think retphienix I picture all the time making gifs, all those games I played on the PSP for short stints, buying a retron 5 to add to what I could explore and being stoked when they shipped a freebie box of old controllers to go with it, getting angry at the retron for being a Piece Of Shit lol, crying at the end of damn near every game with an emotional story because I'm a big emotional mess of a person who finds investing and crying at a story way too easy thanks to empathy pulls, oh!-

Getting excited whenever I found that I had a "*controversial*" opinion that no one would care about lol. Like the one that comes to mind is that I thoroughly believe that Dragon Ball Z II: Gekishin Freeza!! for the NES is WAY better than the fandom recognized and appreciated sequel/remake Dragon Ball Z: Legend of the Super Saiyan!

How many people do you hear talking about either game, let alone saying the NES game that is roughly half of the SNES remake is the better one :P But I stand by that! The SNES one is a remake of DBZ1 and 2 for the NES but it loses all the charm and some of the fun of the NES ones by being a lackluster SNES game!

lol

I admitted wholeheartedly that this post would be a lit-

little directionless (gotta love the new tumblr poster making me break sentences like that), but to sum things up.

It's been 6 years. It's been an untold amount of work to be honest- liveblogging a game, at least for me, hasn't been the easiest thing. It's a lot of thinking out my thoughts (heh), it's a lot of learning tools to make the capturing process possible, it's a lot of experimenting, it's a lot of writing and editing, and, well, sometimes it's just tough.

I mean I went to school for coding, not video editing, not writing, not image processing, not this or that- but this hobby has introduced a lot of things even if only at a VERY base level (I admit fully to using online alternatives to make gifs for instance).

I learned a lot about, well, a lot of things in order to use this blog to learn more about games- and all that work has become part of why I've loved all 6 years of this blog.

6 years of gaming, work, and you all- and it's been worth the investment :) Here's to many more and all of you whether you stumble upon this post or not- literally anyone who's interacted in these 6 years, thank you, and anyone who hasn't I offer you well wishes as well.

<3

#Retphienix #gaming #video games #gaming liveblog

[wordstro]

Part II

"mingi + mafia au + you shouldn't have done that"

Read Part I

2.5k, lots of people asked for part 2 to this so here you go! warnings for angst and language! hongjoong is prominent here and also scary lol. thank you!! 

he said they would make an example out of you. mingi said it so easily, without a hint of remorse in his eyes.

so maybe that’s why they put a blindfold over your eyes and duck tape over your mouth, why they shoved you out of your apartment (you think by the one you knocked over the head since he seems to enjoy making you stumble blindly into walls the entire walk out of your building). your hands are sweaty and your fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, on edge.

you hate the silence, it just puts you more on edge, your heart lodged in your throat. even as one of them shoved you into a car, not even bothering to set you upright as they drove to god-knows-where. you almost wish someone would have yelled at you, wish you didn’t have to lay on your side, unable to see or really breathe properly and think too many thoughts about mingi. you missed him and he was going to kill you, or worse, and you were terrified.

by the time the car came to halt, by the time you were dragged out the car (you’d stumbled, scraping your knees on asphalt before getting yanked up so hard, you thought they were trying to pull your arm out of its socket), by the time you’re shoved forward, knees buckling under you, by the time everything seemed to finally stop, you knew you had no more fight left in you. you were still angry, of course you were, but you also couldn’t stop thinking. a part of you didn’t want the blindfold to come off. you didn’t want to stare down the barrel of yet another gun, especially not if mingi was behind it.

but, the blindfold comes off.

you blink, eyes adjusting to the bright lights around you. you can’t quite make out where you are, and your terrified brain seems to only be able to latch on to small details. like a defense mechanism. the floor beneath you a dark cherry wood, the fancy kind you see on home improvement shows. there’s no carpet. you look up. there are plants, green, bright, out of place. plastic. there’s plastic laid out around you, to catch paint. or maybe blood, your stupid brain supplies, making your heart drop.

it takes a moment too long to register the black boots in front of you, but when you do, a chill runs right down your spine as your eyes travel upwards. a man crouches in front of you. he’s small, his features sharp, but a little delicate, pretty almost. his eyes, however, contain a sort of intensity that makes your stomach churn. he radiates a sort of power that looms over him, making him bigger. all your instincts scream at you to run. but you can’t.

he smiles politely, but there is nothing kind about it. your laptop is balanced in his hands as he crouches in front of you. his voice is controlled, pointed, business-like, chilling. “so you’re the one who’s been trying to hack into our systems?”

your words are caught in your throat. you nod, quickly. the man just nods, once, before he slowly sets your laptop down on the floor in front of you, opening it.

“I'm told you have no idea who ordered you to hack our systems.”

slowly, you nod your head.

slowly, he reaches out, taps a single finger against the top of your laptop, and he says, “log in. show us where you communicate with your clients.”

you hesitate, despite everything, fingers curling into fists against the dark wood floors. your nails scratch against the hardwood, just a bit. us, he said. you glance over your shoulder and there are eyes on you, too many. mingi, too, eyes blank, expressionless, as if you’re only a stranger. that causes something to shift inside you. maybe, it’s your sanity. maybe, it’s just anger. maybe, it’s the knowledge that once you log in to your laptop and give them the information they want, you’re dead. you don’t want to die.

“I don’t log communication with my clients. not permanently.” your voice is not steady at all, but it’s the best you can do, especially as you look the man in front of you in the eyes.

“that’s not what I asked of you.” the man stares right back, unblinking, and his tone is sharp, raising just a bit.

there’s a scoff from behind you. you stare right back, straightening up, fists curling in your lap, “i’m not doing it.”

he simply raises a brow at you.

your mouth runs on autopilot, “I usually require payment before I give people information. this,” you gesture at your laptop, barely breathing, “is information. you clearly want that information, so I want something in return.”

there’s a snicker behind you, of disbelief, before silence blankets over the room, so heavy and full that it has you holding your breath. still, you don’t look away first, holding the man’s gaze.

he stares and stares until he breaks into a grin that is all teeth, “let me guess? you want us to let you go?”

"yes." you nod, as steadily as you can, try to lighten the mood, “a couple million won doesn’t hurt either.”

he snorts and, for a moment, you think he’ll agree. but, then, his demeanor changes completely, the polite smile dropping. he’s still crouched in front of you, but his hand shoots out, grabbing your face, making you yelp. he yanks you forward, making you lose your balance, until your face is mere inches from his, and he bites out, “I like your enthusiasm, but I do not tolerate threats.” you gulp, just as he shoves your face into your laptop.

“look,” he continues, “I promised mingi I would let him decide how to kill you. but, if you keep refusing to do as I asked, I might have to hand you off to san.”

he looks over your shoulder and you follow his gaze, to a familiar face grinning, too amused; you recognize him quickly as the one you nearly knocked out with the lamp and you groan internally, because, of course, you had to attack the sadistic, vengeful one. you try so hard not to think about the slight relief at what he had said, at the familiarity of mingi’s name, try not to think about the stony look passing his features before you looked at san.

“now,” he reaches out, taps your cheek, the same way he had with your laptop earlier. you barely suppress the flinch as he says, “be a good little hacker and do as you’re told.”

you hesitate, fists clenching at his tone. he tilts his head, eyes narrowing, nail digging slightly into your cheek. your heart jumps in your chest, stomach twisting. your hands move on their own accord, finding your laptop quickly. you type in your password with shaking fingers. the man’s expression smooths out at your actions, back into pristine politeness.

“good job, sweetheart.” he coos.

~.~.~.~.~

you’re shoved into him. maybe it’s the exhaustion that comes with being forced to unveil the ins and outs of a system you spent years building (to a man named yeosang), maybe it’s the tension that hasn’t left you since the screen changed on your laptop back at your apartment, maybe it’s something else, but you’re angry, scowling at the man for shoving you.

all he does is snort at your expression before looking over your shoulder, gaze pointed. and then someone is grabbing you by the shoulders, pulling you out of the room, and you look up, craning your neck a bit because he’s stupidly tall and -

“I can walk on my own.” you don’t mean to shout. it’s like all the pent-up anger from being pushed around has finally burst after seeing a familiar face. you don’t even know if he’ll treat you the same way his boss was treating you, but somehow your brain still sees song mingi and thinks safe, despite the current circumstances. despite the years.

for a moment, everything is silent, too silent, and you can’t read his expression nor his body language. you cringe when he gestures ahead, his voice low, familiar, as he says, “go down the hall and enter the third door on the left.” you don’t move. he adds, tone sharper now, “go.”

anger boils under your skin, but you follow his directions because you can still see the open door where that man, and san, and yeosang, and the others are and you don’t want to come face-to-face with any of them again.

when you open the door he indicated, you’re surprised to see a bedroom. it looks lived in. you blink, even as he shuts the door behind him, locking it from the inside. he’s so quiet as he brushes past you, to the dresser, and starts digging through the drawers. his movements are all stiff, his back tense, and your anger only grows and grows, as if his presence is allowing you the space and comfort to feel the emotions you had suppressed, both throughout the years as well as this evening.

when he finally, finally, turns to face you, your hands are balled into tight fists at your side, your body coiled so tightly, you’re afraid you’ll break.

he’s holding sweats, a t-shirt, and a towel. he says, tone clipped, angry, even though you think he has no right to be angry, “go change. if you want, you can shower, too.”

“what the fuck.” you burst and you want to scream, but your voice cracks at the last word. you stare at him disbelief. “what the fuck are you doing right now?”

“I’m taking care of you.” he snaps, sharp as a knife, nothing like the soft boy you’d known all your life. his jar is clenched, as if he is holding himself back. “you look like shit.”

“because of you.” you cry, irritated.

“no!” mingi seems to snap then, throwing the clothes and towel on the bed before he stalks forward, pointing at you. “do not fucking blame me for this. you are here because of you, not me.”

“you and your gang kidnapped me. how the hell is this my fault?”

“you’re not supposed to be here.” mingi raises his voice, not nearly as loud as your voice, but still as loud as thunder. “you’re supposed to be somewhere out in the world with a cushy desk job, a nice steady relationship, and maybe a fucking dog. you were supposed to be doing great things. you promised me you would do great things.”

the way his voice cracks, breaks away into a sort of vulnerability, a fear, causes a lump in your throat. you know he’s right. you know it. “shit happens, mingi. life isn’t a fairy tale.” your voice is barely louder than a whisper, hoarse.

“I know.” he stares at the floor, shoulders slumping, and you think he knows better than anyone. the look in his eyes tells you he's seen too much for someone his age. he sighs, “I heard about uncle. I’m sorry.”

“you weren’t there when I needed you.” your fingernails dig into your palm. he meets your gaze and the steely gaze drops, finally, finally. he looks at you the way you imagined he would have if he was there when he should have been.

“I just...I wanted to keep you away from all this.” he gestures behind you, past the door. “from me.”

“that wasn’t your decision to make, mingi.” you shake your head, trying to gulp down the lump in your throat. “not on your own.”

his eyes shine under the fluorescent room lighting and something about the way he stands there, an arms-length away from you, makes him seem so...small. there’s guilt there, in his expression, especially as he nods, “I know, I know.” he takes a deep, steadying breath, reminding you of how much he used to cry, how bad he was at holding it in, how he’s changed so much since then. he whispers, “I really am sorry.”

you don’t know if you’re ready to accept his apology, not yet, but you find yourself slowly stepping forward, until you’re right in front of him. mingi looks down at you, with shining eyes and guilt and regret, and it hurts your heart in ways you never thought. slowly, hesitantly, he opens his arms. you step into his outstretched arms, breathing in his scent, and, for the first time that night, you feel safe. or, at least, safer than you have felt in a long, long time.

“I wish you didn’t end up here.” he murmurs, after a beat, his breath warm against the top of your head, his fingers drawing little patterns along your back as he pulls you in tight. something in his tone sets off little alarms. there’s too much guilt there, too much meaning. he shakes a little under your touch.

your fingers tighten around the back of his shirt, the hairs raising at the back of your neck as you tilt your head back, looking up at him. the realization isn’t a slow-dawning thing. you’ve always been smart. you’ve always been good at reading between the lines.

“he said you’re supposed to decide how to kill me.” you’re whispering. “is that...are you...”

you trail off as his fingers flex in your hair. you search his eyes, notice he’s not crying, like the old him would have. that there’s steeliness there, a hardiness that has your grip around his waist tightening even more.

“you were never, ever supposed to get wrapped up in all this.” he chokes out his words, emotions overwhelming. and you think, despite the years that’s separated the two of you, your history still remains, it still colors your thoughts, actions, and your memories. the love you two held for each other still brings you to your knees, despite how hard you tried to forget it. you think platonic love is harder to forget, harder to erase, and the way mingi looks at you, with fondness and guilt and deep, deep care, reminds you of that. you think he will shatter any moment when he murmurs, “we were never supposed to meet again.”

"it's okay." slowly, you murmur, “maybe, we’ll meet again someday. in another life.”

this new mingi crumbles into the old one, the one you loved so very much, his expression twisting.

“yeah?” he asks, like you hold the secrets of the universe.

“yeah.” you respond and you hope you are right.

(that night you stay up, curled up on your side, and you tell him everything he’s missed. he tells you everything you’ve missed, too. you talk and you laugh and you cry and you pretend like you’re only catching up for the sake of catching up.

you revel in how much you've missed him. maybe, you can’t forgive him (you don’t think you ever really can) but you’ve missed him terribly.

even as he strokes your hair, tears unshed, shushing you gently as the sun comes up. even as he kills you.)

#song mingi #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez angst #mingi angst #requests #i hope yall like this!!! it's ...sad omg #also pls send in more requests!!!!

[lalainajanes]

for the prompt list: 12. “Welcome back. Now fucking help me.” / 1. Coworker AU / 16. "Sit in my lap" :D

Thank you! I was thinking the other day that I’ve never really done a musicians AU which is silly. So I made that happen here though it’s probs stretching “coworkers.”

The Beat Goes On

When Caroline steps on the bus, she stops immediately, only halfway up the steps. She surveys the scene – Kol, Marcel, Klaus, plus about a half dozen fans. Her eyes turn murderous. She hitches her bag higher on her shoulder, yanks her suitcase up the rest of the way, and storms through the living area. She’s whipped the curtain that hides their bunks closed behind her before Klaus can snag her attention.

A pity. He’d been hoping for her help.

He’s in no mood for company either. Partying all night is such a rockstar cliché – and completely unrealistic considering they need to be on the road in a few hours, then unloading their gear in the next city a few hours after that.

It’s their first headlining tour. They can’t quite afford a complete crew. It’s going well, with most shows sold out. They’ve had to put in a rush order for more merch. Klaus has high hopes the next outing will be a little more luxurious.

Higher hopes that one day they’ll have more than one bus. He’s willing to share with Caroline. Preferably something with an actual bedroom – not the claustrophobic stack of cots they’re currently enduring.

He can’t complain too much. Their current accommodations are far superior to the unreliable van and dingy motels they’d piled into on their first tour. They’d been the first of several supporting acts, had considered themselves lucky when they’d turned a profit by the end.

That profit had bought some decent recording equipment, the EP they’d put out after doing well on Spotify. A better tour had followed. Then another. Press, photoshoots. Then interest from a few labels.

Klaus has only spent a few nights of the last few years in his own bed. He has no regrets.

He sets his beer down, stands. Pretends not to notice when one of the women who’d been inching closer and closer swipes it immediately.

He’ll have to check eBay tomorrow. See what the going rate for his saliva is. He doesn’t bother to excuse himself.

Caroline’s stowing her belongings. Klaus would bet they have the cleanest tour bus in the history of the music industry. Caroline’s a bit of a psychotic neat freak. Over the years she has doled out vicious punishments when a “Close Cohabitation Survival Rule” (there’s an extensive list - laminated and prominently posted) is violated.

Kol had been the slowest to learn. To drive the lesson home, Caroline had snipped out the back pockets of every pair of trousers he’d packed. She’ then hidden all of his underwear. Had bribed, threatened or cajoled every man on tour not to offer a spare pair.

She’d timed it flawlessly, Kol hadn’t had time to run out to a shop, and they hadn’t been significant enough to have anyone they could send on an errand. Kol had done a show with his arse – clad only in a pair of Caroline’s lime green lace boy shorts, hanging out of a ruined pair of jeans. The pictures appeared online within minutes, Kol will likely be answering questions about his preference in underwear for the rest of his natural life.

Caroline’s plots had done the trick. Their belongings tend to stay organized, their floors are never sticky, and the bathroom is perfectly sanitary.

Her bunk’s curtain is closed, but Klaus sees a faint glow, knows she’s not asleep. He yanks the curtain aside.

He’s willing to risk stoking Caroline’s anger. He’s exceedingly good at soothing her.

Caroline glares and tries to pull the fabric out of Klaus’ grip. “Go away.”

He gauges how much she means it, finds little heat in her tone. And she shifts over willingly when he climbs in next to her, lifts her legs so he can curl his under them. Caroline had showered at the venue, had her hair braided and off her face. She wears an old pair of sweats (his) and a tank top. Klaus attempts to coax, “Come out and have a drink.”

Caroline’s nose wrinkles, “Pass.”

“One drink.”

“I’m tired. It’s crowded.”

Weak excuses. “You’ll miss the show.”

That piques her interest. Caroline hates to be out of the loop.

“What show?”

“Our lovely manager should arrive shortly, shouldn’t she? Why else would Kol have three girls who’s name’s he hasn’t bothered to learn draped all over him?”

She twists her head to stare at him, and Klaus is sorely tempted by how close her mouth is. It would be so easy to close the minuscule gap and press his lips to hers, to stroke the spot on her neck that always makes her eyes roll back and her hips shift close.

But they don’t do that anymore.

“Are you telling me,” Caroline says slowly, disbelief etched in every word. “That Kol’s concocted some teen soap style plot to make Bonnie jealous?”

“I did try to tell him it was unwise.” Though, if he’s honest, Klaus hadn’t tried that hard.

Caroline presses the heel of her hand to her forehead, a frustrated groan spilling from her throat. “I have been trying so hard to convince Bonnie he’s serious. He’s going to ruin all my hard work.”

“All the more reason for you to come out, hmm? Can’t have all of your most excellent matchmaking going to waste.”

He’s not even upset when she elbows him in the stomach because he knows he’s won. He slides out of the bunk, and Caroline twists, “I need to find my phone and stall Bon,” she mutters. Her tanktop slides up as she rummages through her blankets, and Klaus clasps his hands behind his back because the urge to run his hand over the smooth skin of her hip might be stronger than he is.

He has a plan, well thought out, and practically foolproof. He cannot rush. Caroline pauses when she notices Klaus watching, balances on her elbow, and shoves his shoulder with her free hand. “Get out there. Make sure no one does anything too stupid.”

“No promises.” Klaus knows better. He’s known Kol since birth. Reckless acts of stupidity are one of his brother’s specialties.

Caroline’s found her phone, has settled on her stomach. She’s frantically texting, so Klaus exits.

He immediately notes that several bottles of liquor have made their way out. That more people Klaus doesn’t recognize have joined them. Kol’s lost some clothing, has got one arm raised high, splashes of what Klaus is reasonably sure is bourbon splashing down, onto his bare chest.

It has all the makings of a disaster.

Unfortunately, for some reason, Caroline is slow to appear. Kol’s at his jittery, exuberant drunk stage, unable to sit still or focus on a topic for longer than a few moments. He’s telling stories that are only half true, gesturing wildly. A few of their visitors are enthralled. Marcel had slipped outside with a few people, Klaus hears his laugh drift in through the open door occasionally.

Two women have boxed him in. They don’t seem to mind that he has no interest in the conversation they insist on prolonging. They giggle delightedly at his clipped answers. Klaus has already taken photos, signed skin. Has his fingers crossed their not the type to rush off to a tattoo parlor.

When Caroline emerges from the back, Klaus has a moment of déjà vu. She barely notices Kol; her attention focused on him, and the people invading his personal space. She’s furious again, more so, Klaus thinks.

He’s always been confident in his plan but won’t say no to the ego boost her obvious jealousy provides.

It’s a small space; she’s in front of him in a few steps. Klaus smiles up at Caroline, grabs her wrist. She appears confused for a second – it’s been ages since he’s touched her in front of another person.

He hasn’t attempted it since being photographed, having the images splashed all over social media and picked apart, became a real possibility. Caroline had begun shying away once the tweets and the Instagram comments had started coming in. Some positive, a lot negative. Klaus had followed her lead. Had figured he’d let her get used to the fame, that he’d just have to convince her that they could be together publicly without ruining what they have privately.

He drags her hand to his mouth, distracts her by pressing a chaste kiss to the back of it. He hears a gasp to his left, but he doesn’t care, tugs harder until Caroline loses her balance.

She lands in his lap, and one of the women leaps to her feet with a yelp. Convenient, as it gives Klaus more room to maneuver. He wraps his arm around Caroline’s waist and settles her more comfortably, her side resting against his chest. He pitches his voice loud enough to be heard clearly by everyone in the room, “A bit clumsy tonight, aren’t you? It’s fine, sit in my lap.”

The woman who’d swiped his beer bottle is either drunk enough not to mind her tongue or unconcerned with basic manners. “Are you two?” She lifts a hand in a gesture that’s both vague and slightly lascivious.

Caroline squirms, but Klaus squeezes her hip, cutting off her denial with a whisper in her ear. “You took ages. Welcome back, now fucking help me.”

She pinches his stomach in retaliation. Klaus holds back a wince. Caroline ignores it, turns on the charm, smiling warmly at their nosy questioner. “Nope. We’ve just known each other for ages. Spent way too much time in tight spaces. Not a lot of boundaries when you’ve spent months crammed in a van, you know?”

Klaus could comment about the private time they’d managed to enjoy in that van occasionally but Caroline’s fingernails are sharp. He doesn’t mind wearing their imprints, but he’d prefer to earn those marks pleasurably.

“So, you’re just friends?”

“Bon-Bon!” Kol shouts, interrupting Caroline’s response.

(Probably a good thing. Klaus isn’t entirely sure he trusts himself to stick to his timeline if Caroline tried to claim they were just anything while sitting on his lap and wearing his clothes.)

He’s surprised when Caroline settles back against him, rather than leaping to his feet. Pleased, too. Her arm drapes around his shoulders, her fingertips tangling in his necklaces. She watches the scene unfolding in front of her.

Her touch is familiar, missed. Klaus closes his eyes to enjoy it while he can.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #from the prompts list I reblogged earlier! #I need to write fluff #sorrynotsorry

[artificialqueens]

No Strings Attached, Part 3 (Willaska, Bitney) - Albatross, Veronica

AN: New life, new university, new friends…what more could Alaska ask for? Following the end of her relationship with Jinkx, Alaska has decided to pack up and move to a new college…on the other side of the country. Nothing like a bit of space to get over a break up, right? As she settles in for her new life, Alaska must navigate her new surroundings and of course, her new roommates with some very strong personalities of their own. A collab with the amazing @veronicasanders.

All things considered, Alaska was having a pretty decent start to her school year. Sure, the first couple of days had been difficult. And sure, she still had times when she just wanted to crawl under her covers and block out the entire world. But she thought she was adjusting quite well, otherwise.

When she first met Bianca, she was completely thrown by her particular brand of in-your-face, abrasive humor. But over the next few weeks, she began to see Bianca for who she really was – consistent, reliable, organized to the point of compulsiveness, and (though Bianca would never admit it), genuinely caring. She was the one who brought home orange juice and medicine when Alaska got a cold. She was the one who kept the liquor cabinet stocked and the kitchen clean and made a schedule for the bathroom on busy mornings to keep them all from losing their minds.

Alaska had to admit, also, that they had a bit more in common than she first assumed. Even more than the fact that they were both gay transfer students who sometimes felt out of place. They could both appear a little judgey and uptight. But once they trusted you, both of them were ride-or-die loyal. And both, with just a little arm-twisting, could be persuaded to really cut loose, having no problem keeping up with their life-of-the-party roommates.

Alaska had written Courtney off that first day as a vapid, overly familiar busybody. The type of person who sailed through life with a pretty face and shallow charm. But quickly, she realized that Courtney’s sometimes endless questions were just a sign of genuine interest in other people, a desire to get deep – maybe a little too quickly for Alaska’s comfort, but certainly with the best of intentions. Her bubbly personality, rather than annoying Alaska, soon became endearing, and Alaska found herself looking forward to their chats, to getting recaps of her favorite lectures and even to opening up.

And then there was Willam. Alaska still hadn’t quite figured Willam out. She liked her; she knew that much, but she remained a bit of an enigma. For starters, Willam never seemed to crack a book. While the rest of them would be stressing over papers and exams, Willam would be out shopping, partying late into the night and then up at the crack of dawn to go to the gym. Of the four of them, Willam seemed to be the only one who regularly brought home any overnight guests. (As far as Alaska could tell, Bianca’s liaisons were discreet and off-campus. And Courtney, despite being the most flirtatious person Alaska had ever met, seemed to keep her romantic adventures limited to above-the-waist making out at parties.) More than once, Alaska had stumbled out of bed in the morning to find a “friend” of Willam’s being entertained in the kitchen. Usually by Courtney, with Bianca offering them coffee and a complimentary STD test. As for Ms. Belli herself? She’d be at the gym or the mall, content to let her forgotten tryst fend for themselves.

And that was the other thing. So far, every one of her one-night-stands was with a boy. Which was fine, and Alaska was usually the last person to judge someone’s romantic choices. However, Willam had been pretty clear about being bi, so it made Alaska wonder. Why only guys? Was she actually attracted to girls, more than just in theory? And if so…what kind of girl would she like? Alaska tried not to dwell on all the questions, especially the last one, but it was hard. Willam was just such a mystery. One she found more intriguing than any others.

But in spite of that, and the elusive weirdness of how Willam earned her money (thankfully, Alaska still didn’t have more details on that), there was something truly compelling about her. Her wicked sense of humor, her surprisingly soft heart, her ability to make any and every situation fun.

Although occasionally, her need for fun got a bit out of control. Like tonight. Alaska and Courtney were sitting in the living room studying when Willam waltzed in with a healthy buzz and a man on each arm. Tall, dark, identical men, like a pair of Ken dolls.

“Jeremy, that’s Courtney. She’s the one I told you about,” Willam said, then added in a stage whisper, “No gag reflex.”

“Hey Bill,” Courtney said with a wary smile. “What’s going on?”

“Not much. I just thought you’d like my friend Jeremy here. He’s got a nice dick.”

“You haven’t seen my dick,” Jeremy laughed.

“No, but you guys are twins, right?” Willam smirked, then turned back to Courtney, saying, “It’s real nice, trust me.”

“Good to know,” Courtney said, voice just slightly clipped. She might have had a tense, polite smile on her face but Alaska could easily spot the growing irritation in her eyes.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Alaska muttered, gathering up her things. Time to go hide in her bedroom, she figured. Hell, she’d almost rather study in the dorm’s parking lot than stay in the living room for whatever this was.

“You sure?” asked the Not-Jeremy Twin with a wink. “You don’t wanna stay and party?”

“She’s a lesbian,” Willam informed him. “But Lask, if you’re curious-”

“Uh, no thanks. Have fun, kids.” Alaska saluted and hightailed it into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door firmly behind her.

As soon as she had dumped her belongings on her bed, she dug out her headphones and blasted some music in preparation for what she’d likely be hearing later on. The only thing she had wished she’d remembered was to grab a snack from the kitchen. Likely Willam and Courtney would be busy entertaining for the next few hours and the last thing she wanted to do was walk in on something. Especially given how loud she’s already heard Willam being from time to time, even when knowing one of her roommates was still around.

Oh, well. It was only a few hours. Could be worse, she figured. Now to figure out what playlist to use this time.

*******

Hours later, Willam emerged from the bedroom, yawning, hair a mess, expecting to find Courtney and Jeremy on the sofa. Instead, her roommate was curled up beside Bianca with a huge bowl of popcorn, watching some bullshit on Netflix.

A bit miffed, Willam marched around the side of the couch in front of the pair of giggling women and put her hands on her hips. “Uh…hello?” she asked, annoyance tinting her voice.

“Hey,” Courtney replied, neck craning to keep her eyes on the TV.

“Where’s Jeremy?” Willam demanded impatiently.

“Gone,” Courtney replied simply and with a pleasant smile to boot.

“Yeah, I see that. What the fuck, Courtney? You were supposed to keep him entertained!” Willam was getting even more irritated at the way Courtney practically ignored her.

“Yeah, well, for some reason, he was under the impression that I was gonna blow him, so things got real awkward real fast.”

Bianca snickered in the background, then noticed Willam’s angry glare and looked away quickly, shoving some popcorn into her mouth. Still a grin was still present on her lips as she undoubtedly listened with bated breath for what would happen next.

Willam stepped closer towards, arms crossed and asked, “So why didn’t you just blow him?”

Courtney rolled her eyes and said irritably, “I’m not gonna suck a dick just because you tell me to.”

“You should be thanking me!” Willam exclaimed. “You haven’t gotten laid all semester and he was hot. I was doing you a favor.”

“Thanks, Bill. You’re so generous,” Courtney said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Whatever, you’re such a baby!” Willam flounced from the room, beyond annoyed and not wanting to look at Courtney’s stupid face anymore. She just didn’t understand how Courtney could turn down such a hot piece of ass (who was clearly up for anything) in order to just laze around on the couch with Bianca! She thought Courtney would be grateful to her for bringing home such an easy score. God, the nerve of her sending him off! She could have at least given him back to Willam.

******

“Hey…” Alaska nodded to Willam as she approached the coffee maker. She’d obviously just come home from the gym, and per usual, hadn’t gone straight for a shower. Instead, she was sitting at the table, sipping some hideous-smelling vanilla protein shake.

“Morning,” Willam replied.

Alaska poured a generous mug of coffee, blowing on it softly while she leaned against the counter. She looked at Willam again, questions from last night still swirling around in her head.

“You and Courtney still fighting?”

“Huh?” Willam blinked in confusion.

“Bianca said you guys were fighting last night,” Alaska replied slowly and carefully, “Over the whole Jeremy thing?”

Willam’s brow furrowed. “Who’s Jeremy?” she asked, as if she really had no idea who Alaska was talking about.

Alaska’s jaw dropped in amazement. How could Willam not remember this? “The twins!” she exclaimed, “The one you brought home for Courtney?”

“Ohhh.” Willam waved her hand dismissively. “That wasn’t a fight. I just didn’t understand why she’d turn down perfectly good dick. She’s basically been celibate all semester, it’s weird.” Alaska raised an eyebrow, and Willam quickly added, “She doesn’t have a reason, like you.”

“Maybe she just…isn’t interested in dick right now. Even if it’s good,” Alaska offered. Her nails drummed against her coffee mug.

“Pfft. She is, you should have seen her last year. She’s just…I don’t know, punishing herself for something.”

Of course, Alaska had noticed how Courtney hung on Bianca’s every word, laughed gleefully at every joke, eyes sparkling with adoration. She noticed the way Courtney’s touches would linger on Bianca’s skin, the way she leaned into Bianca with every chance, had to force herself to leave Bianca’s side. She thought you’d have to be blind not to notice. And Willam, it appeared, was blind.

“Right. Well…I’m glad you guys are cool.”

“Yeah, we’re always cool,” Willam laughed. “Even when she’s a spoilsport.”

“While we’re on the topic of dick…” Alaska began tentatively, and Willam’s eyes lit up.

“Reconsidering that threesome idea?” she asked. Willam’s stomach flipped in anticipation of the answer.

“Definitely not. No, I was just wondering…” She hesitated, unsure if she really wanted to go down this line of questioning. It was potentially invasive, and she knew that Willam might very well get defensive. Or worse.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Alaska said, wrinkling her nose and taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s probably offensive.”

“I dare you to offend me,” Willam challenged, eyes narrowing slightly, but still shining with joy.

“Well…you’re bi, right?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve only ever seen you with guys though,” Alaska said carefully.

“So?”

“Well…so…are you sure you’re into girls, too?”

“Wow. You’re right. That is offensive,” Willam deadpanned.  

“I just mean…you know, you talk about dick a lot,” Alaska said. “But I’ve never heard you express any…you know what, it’s none of my business.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Willam stirred her drink violently, lips pursed.

“Okay then.” Alaska began to back out of the room. “Sorry.”

Willam heaved an aggravated sigh. “Alaska.”

Stopping in her tracks, Alaska replied softly, “Yeah?”

It took a few beats before she answered. Her eyes had dropped to her smoothie, suddenly having lost any desire to finish it. Her stomach felt like it was in knots as she debated letting Alaska see this more vulnerable side of herself. There was a reason she didn’t really like to go on about girls. A very good reason. One she doubted Alaska would truly understand. “I guess I just have a harder time with girls. I don’t really know how to read them. Even flirting sometimes just feels…risky.”

“I can’t imagine you ever having a hard time flirting,” Alaska said, a cautious smile curling at the edges of her lips. She took a few steps closer to Willam and cocked her head to the side as an invitation to continue.

“Well. It’s relative,” Willam began to babble, “I mean, guys are so easy. They’re like…simple, basic, dumb creatures. You know? It doesn’t take much. Usually nothing more than a smile.” She looked up for a second, then back at Alaska, eyes clear and bright. “So I don’t have to work hard, or be intuitive, or sensitive. Women are more complicated than that. And…it’s a lot harder to brush it off if they don’t want me. So…” she trailed off. 

Alaska sat down next to her, saying quietly, “That may be true. But…what if it’s worth it? The extra suffering?”

“Good question. I dunno.” Willam chuckled wryly, shrugging.

“Just some food for thought,” Alaska said, giving her a big smile and quick wink.

******

“Come on, please?” Willam pleaded as she shadowed Courtney around the tiny kitchen space. “For $500? It’s such easy money!”

Briskly preparing her tea, Courtney replied firmly, “I said no, Bill!” Irritation was beginning to creep in at the edges of her voice. But Willam was relentless.

“But you’re not even getting naked.” Willam argued with a heavy sigh, causing Bianca and Alaska, sitting at the kitchen’s island to exchange a look of confusion and curiosity with one another. “Just sitting on your bed, reading. You said you had a lot of reading to do.”

Courtney swirled in a dash of almond milk with her tea, clanging the spoon quite deliberately against the sides. “Yeah, I do! And I need to concentrate,” she stressed, raising the cup to her lips. After taking a shallow sip and deciding she needed one last glug of milk, she huffed out, “I don’t need some gross dude heavy breathing at me while I do it.”

Now things are starting to make more sense, Alaska thought to herself. Bianca shared another expressive look with her and returned back to flipping through the study packet in front of her. Taking that as her cue, Alaska pretended to find something much more interesting on her phone. In truth, however, she was listening in quite acutely and she had a guess Bianca was probably doing the same as well.

Groaning in frustration, Willam pointed out, “He’s not that gross.”

“High praise,” Courtney muttered as she rolled her eyes and returned the milk back to the fridge.

Willam watched in bewilderment as Courtney settled in at the island with their roommates. How could Courtney refuse such easy money? It was literally getting paid to just sit somewhere and go about her business.

But she needed Courtney for this appointment! She had her eye on a pair of new Louboutin heels that were supposed to be released in the next month or so and she had to get her preorder in now! They always ran out of her size by the time they actually hit the shelf and who knew how long it would be before they were restocked?

This one appointment, if all went well, would be the last chunk of change she needed in order to confirm her preorder. This client had been a long standing one, scheduling regular sessions every few weeks, especially if Willam could entice another cute co-ed to join her, even if it was just in the background. And when she saw him reaching out at the most absolutely perfect moment, Willam immediately offered pull in a second person. 

Normally, Willam would have simply reached out to Tatianna, a flirty sophomore she met last year at some frat party. Tatianna never had an issue joining Willam’s appointments for a cut of the action and was always up for a quick make out session, on or off camera. She was absolutely perfect for this client but as Willam soon discovered, she was working off-campus today with absolutely no chance to get back in time for the appointment. Even Willam’s second, third, and fourth choice all had plans or simply weren’t interested.

Fuck!

But maybe…she might be able to entice a certain roommate of hers…she hoped.

However, Willam could see that Courtney was absolutely not going for it. Wincing to herself as she made this decision, she offered, “Fine, a thousand.” Good bye, matching sunglasses.

“No!” Courtney squealed out. God, Willam was persistent today. But even Alaska had choked a little as she heard the amount.

Perking back up, (and confirming Alaska’s suspicions she’d been listening with bated breath), Bianca was baffled, “You’re turning down a thousand dollars?”

“Would you do it?” Courtney countered, staring at her with a pointed look in her eyes.

Not even having to think twice, Bianca answered, “Hell yeah.” Turning back to Willam as she gathered up her text book, study packet, phone and pen, she asked, “Right now?”

Seeing some light at the end of the tunnel, Willam’s beaming smile returned and offered up a high five, “Alright, B!” She stuck her tongue out at Courtney for good measure.

Nose wrinkling, Courtney asked with disbelief, “You’re really gonna let some disgusting mouth breather watch you study just to make a few bucks?”

“It’s a thousand dollars,” Bianca pointed out as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. And really, wasn’t it?

Even Alaska had to admit she had not seen this coming. She’d given up all pretext of staring at her phone in order to watch this exchange instead.

But before Bianca could scamper off with her things, Willam piped up with, “Whoa, whoa, whoa…I said I could get her a thousand dollars. I don’t have an offer for you yet.”

Bianca opened her mouth in indignation to begin arguing but Courtney cut her off with a very confused, “She should get more than me. Her tits are bigger.” 

“That’s not exactly how the pricing works,” Willam laughed out. If only Courtney knew the half of it, she thought to herself.

Drumming the fingers of her free hand against the counter, a smooth, rhythmic clicking sound filling the kitchen, Bianca remained thoughtful for a moment before asking, “So how much would I get?”

Even Alaska was curious about the answer. “Probably at least five hundred,” Willam shrugged before unlocking her phone. “Gimme a minute.”

How does that conversation even go? Alaska wondered. But then her thoughts drifted back to Willam’s entire business venture. How did Willam find her appointments, book them…talk to her, um,… clientele. 

Maybe some day she’d ask about that. Maybe even what, ahem, “services” she offered. Willam would probably be more than happy to tell her but somewhere deep in the pit of Alaska’s stomach, a twisting winding knot was starting to form. It often happened when her thoughts trailed towards questioning Willam’s side job and she learned pretty quickly just to let it drop after that. The twisting wasn’t exactly unpleasant but it was more than weird and Alaska just didn’t have the energy most of the time to figure out why.

As she thought about this, Bianca scurried over to Willam, looking over her shoulder and down at her phone. “I’ll do it for a thousand,” she said, trying to read Willam’s tiny ass messages running across her screen, “Why can’t I get a thousand?”

“Well, she’s blonde and she looks 16,” Willam replied simply as she messaged her client and answered his questions. 

Courtney let out an emphatic groan of disgust, “Gross!”

Bianca’s eyes narrowed at the implication Willam was trying to make. Pursing her lips, she asked testily, “Are you saying I’m too old to be a cam girl?”

“No!” Willam said all too quickly, head popping back up. “It’s just…you know, you look…like…early 20s?” There was a slightly apologetic tone to her voice that Bianca didn’t care for.

Annoyance creeped into her answer as she stated, “I am early 20s.”

“Right.”

“Rude,” she huffed out. “I could totally be a cam girl if I wanted to.”

“Of course you could, dearheart.” 

“Fuck you,” Bianca grumbled. “Bet I’d make a better one than you .”

“Look, just chill out, okay?” Willam muttered. Not her best attempt at smoothing things over but that was alright. “I can get you…750? But only if we kiss,” she quickly added in.

Bianca went thoughtful and silent for a few moments, mulling over her options. Courtney and Alaska watched her carefully while Willam returned to typing away on her phone. What’s she gonna do? Alaska mused. Seems like she’s really thinking about it.

Courtney looked to be holding her breath as well but her expression was a bit difficult to decipher. Cloudy, certainly, but not angry. No…maybe even- 

Finally, Bianca broke her silence to ask consideringly, “Would I get the money today?”

“Bianca!” Courtney gasped out.

Ignoring her, Willam answered in her most professional-sounding voice, “Yeah, they send it by Paypal.”

“Okay,” Bianca decided, “but I want the money first.”

“Fine,” Willam muttered, tapping away at her phone again, “Jesus.”

Bianca waltzed off with her belongings towards Willam and Courtney’s bedroom, smirk on her face and lazy thoughts of what she’ll do with the money, but Willam’s voice quickly interrupted her as she called out a strong suggestion of ‘prettying herself up a little’. “They love to think we just lounge around looking perfect all the time, waiting for them to call.”

“Ugh,” Bianca groaned, “This is turning into work.”

“Welcome to my life, bitch!”

******

Two hours later the women emerged from the Willam’s bedroom, laughing their asses off. Bianca was even wiping away the traces of a tear from her eye as they wandered into the living room. Both Courtney and Alaska looked up at them; Courtney from her text book and Alaska from her laptop where she may or may not have been streaming a podcast instead of reviewing her class notes.

“Appointment went well, I’m guessing?” Courtney spoke with a hint of suspicion in her tone. Or was that bitterness, Alaska wondered.

“Definitely,” Bianca assured her with a laugh.

Willam grinned as well and added in smugly, “Told you it was easy money.”

“Now I know why you do it,” Bianca quipped, resting against the arm of the couch nearest Courtney, addressing both of her roommates. “And I already checked; money’s in my account. $850, ” she boasted proudly. “He even tipped, the sleazy little sweetheart.” Then elbowing Courtney lightly in the side, she said with a smirk, “Betcha regret skipping out now, huh?”

“And having to kiss Willam for it?” she replied, her ears beginning to heat up. “Hard pass. I regret nothing.”

Bianca and Willam shared a brief look with one another and broke out laughing once again. Now feeling her cheeks beginning to grow warm, Courtney huffed out, “What? Didn’t you do it? Or was it just a stage kiss, like where you kiss your thumbs?”

At this, the women laughed even harder. Bianca even clutched onto the fabric of the couch as she tried to remain upright. Courtney’s eyes shot over to Alaska but even she had no clue what was so funny. All she could offer up was a very confused shrug after pulling out her ear buds.

“Care to let us in on the joke?” Alaska asked, her voice managing to sound both curious yet uninterested at the same time.

A teasing glint rose to Bianca’s eyes as they narrowed in on Courtney. Her voice was sweet and mocking as she leaned down and cooed, “Why don’t I just show you what we did?”

Courtney’s mind began to short circuit as a myriad of questions ran rampant through her thoughts. Was Bianca going to kiss her? Did she and Willam actually kiss? What did she mean by ‘show her’? Wait, was Bianca leaning in closer?

Every little detail felt like it was magnified by 100 as Bianca’s face slowly crept closer to hers. Then in an instant Bianca was on her feet again, one hand buried deep in Willam’s wavy hair while the other gently tilted her chin up and guided her lips towards Bianca’s. Willam’s own hands were gripping onto Bianca’s hips and pulling her in tight as they closed what little gap remained between them. Almost as soon as their lips touched, a low, drawn out moan echoed deep in Willam’s throat. The hand in Willam’s hair retreated, pulling a few strands along with it, as Bianca moved to carefully cup Willam’s cheek, stroking the skin softly with the pad of her thumb. Her other hand dropped to the curve of Willam’s back and kept her neatly in place; pressed tight against Bianca. Courtney had enough time to witness the subtle flexing of Willam’s fingers before a flurry of emotion swept through her.

All at once it was like a tidal wave had crashed over her as she sat dumbstruck on the couch watching their little show. Each emotion felt like it was clawing its way up through her stomach, trying to make itself known, only to be pulled back down again by another before Courtney could truly figure out what she was feeling. She was just beginning to recognize the growing sense of jealousy when her roommates broke apart, giggling like mad. Even Alaska didn’t seem much better off, her lips slightly parted in shock as she watched Willam and Bianca. She felt a strange burning in her chest. No, not exactly a burn but something heating up, overheating, twisting and knotting, feeling heavy and unmoveable.

“Definitely not stage kiss,” Bianca commented with a little wink for good measure as her hands finally withdrew from Willam’s body.

An awkward laugh escaped from Alaska as she noted, “Good job. Looked pretty real.”

“Thanks,” Bianca chuckled, smoothing out the hem of her shirt before settling in on the couch between Alaska and Courtney. “I’m a great actor, what can I say?” she added in dramatically before her giggling got the best of her. “But really, I did do a little theater work in high school.”

“Don’t recall any high school plays calling for that, ” Courtney remarked stonily.

Bianca rounded on her with a curious expression, as if trying to will Courtney to explain a little more. Even Willam raised a brow at her while she made herself comfortable in the recliner. But as Coutney’s gaze travelled from one pair of eyes to the next, she found herself withdrawing under the scrutiny. A strange sense of irritation was beginning to build in the back of her mind and was certainly not helped when Bianca mocked her with, “Something you wanna say, sweetheart?”

“No,” she grumbled all too quickly, then thinking better of it added in, “I just don’t remember any of my high school plays calling for something that…provocative.”

“‘Provocative’?” Willam repeated in that seal-laugh voice of hers. “The fuck do you mean, ‘provocative’?”

“I just-I don’t see any kissing like that in you know, Grease or Wicked or Our Town-”

“All straight couples,” Willam pointed out in a perfectly demeaning and mocking manner. “I see how it is. I’m sorry our rampant lesbianism offended your sheltered, innocent eyes.”

“Wow, Court,” Bianca added in, dramatically feigning a tone of surprise. “Didn’t take you to be such a prude.”

“I’m not!” Courtney interrupted, high voice climbing in pitch.

Willam pretended not to hear her and directed another “innocent” suggestion to Bianca, “Maybe she really is just homophobic?”

“I am not homophobic!” Courtney protested in a loud squeal. Alaska could see her becoming more and more frazzled but she was still trying her best to sound calm and level-headed.

She might have succeeded had Bianca not piled on with an incredibly disappointed, “Damn, Courtney. Homophobia in this day and age? I gotta say, I expected more from you.”

“Mh-mm,” Willam agreed with a nod of her head. “Cancelled!” she noted in a singsongy voice. 

Alaska picked up on the little smirks on each of the women’s lips but all of it went over Courtney’s head. She simply let out an angry huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “Whatever,” she grumbled moodily, “If you guys wanna be porno actors, go-”

“Oh!” Bianca interrupted with a scandalized gasp. Turning back to Willam with wide, appalled eyes, she said, “Did you hear that? She’s attacking sex workers now!”

“Double cancelled,” Willam stated all too seriously. “Very disappointing.”

Shaking her head sadly, Bianca continued to mock Courtney with a sugary sweet, “You wanna go for a triple? Say something about women of color, too?”

It was here Courtney completely lost it. She sputtered out protest after protest, or rather that was what Alaska imagined those stuttered, half choked off words to be. Courtney didn’t seem to know where to begin, what to say, anything really to defend herself. It was as if her brain had short circuited and every time a thought appeared that she tried to vocalize, in just another second, it would disappear without a trace and she’d have to start again.

Willam and Bianca found the whole thing to be hilarious; they were now outright laughing at her frustration as she tried to speak. Alaska however felt a sense of pity…and just a hint of irritation. Her stomach had grown uneasy as the teasing had built up and now it was just downright annoying. They just didn’t know when to stop and poor Courtney looked like she was nearing tears as she tried to explain herself.

“That’s enough,” Alaska interrupted through the loud laughter. Her voice was steady and clear. Polite yet firm. Leaning past Bianca, she placed a comforting hand on Courtney’s knee and assured her, “We know you’re not homophobic, Court. They just don’t know where to draw the line.”

She cast a pointed look towards both Willam and Bianca. The latter actually received quite a withering glare. Willam might be used to teasing Courtney like this but Bianca really ought to know better, Alaska reasoned.

Before withdrawing back to her seat, she offered a reassuring smile to Courtney. To her relief, Courtney didn’t seem as overwhelmed any more. She was able to return the gesture with a shaky smile of her own but she didn’t seem to trust herself to speak just yet.

Alaska’s glare seemed to have some kind of effect on Bianca, thankfully. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat then offered up a small apology to her roommate.

“It’s fine,” Courtney replied blankly, picking up her textbook again and trying to find where she last left off.

Alaska tried sending another glare down Willam’s way but she only rolled her eyes and pulled out her phone. Alaska gave a heavy sigh and shook her head. Lost cause, she figured. But to her surprise, only a second or two after she turned her attention back to her laptop, she heard Willam saying in a shocking bout of sincerity, “Sorry, Court.”

It was reluctant, that much was clear in her voice, but she meant it. Courtney seemed equally as surprised by the apology as Alaska was. Her acceptance sounded rather stunned and amazed, if a bit cautious still. 

When Alaska glanced back towards Willam, she found her roommate staring at her with an odd expression. It was difficult to decipher but it almost looked…embarrassed? No, not quite that. Not ashamed, either.

Contrite.

That’s what it was.

Alaska had actually managed to make her feel guilty for teasing Courtney. A feat that seemed almost impossible to the both of them. And yet here it was.

Willam’s eyes darted away for a moment but once they returned to watch Alaska, the latter gave her roommate an approving nod of her head before returning to her business. If Courtney would accept her apology, then so would Alaska. Though she couldn’t deny there was still some queasiness in her stomach…especially when her thoughts trailed back to Willam and Bianca’s kiss.

But those thoughts didn’t belong in Alaska’s head. Instead she forced herself to think about other things. It didn’t sound as if Courtney had completely forgiven Bianca yet. They actually remained quiet towards one another for another hour, even after Willam turned on the TV and traded loud, sarcastic commentary with everyone else.

But by late afternoon, when Courtney had gotten up to retrieve another drink from the kitchen and Bianca followed, Alaska had the chance to witness their true reconciliation. She was a bit suspicious that Bianca had followed so closely behind but she noticed that again, Willam seemed blind to it. She was so focused on the trashy reality show on the TV, Alaska doubted that even realized anyone had left the couch.

Craning her neck, Alaska was able to subtly watch her roommates talking in the kitchen. She couldn’t hear them but she had a guess as to what they were saying. Bianca looked truly apologetic, even a little upset herself, while Courtney’s gaze was focused solely on her drink. Her eyes seemed a bit sad and dull to Alaska.

She watched anxiously as Courtney lifted her gaze to look Bianca dead in the eyes. Then those magic words played out on Bianca’s lips; “I’m sorry.”

Alaska didn’t need to hear them to know that was what she said nor that she truly meant it. There was a tense pause…then a slow, bittersweet smile rose to Courtney’s lips. She nodded her head just so and said something back that set Bianca’s nerves at ease. Bianca visibly relaxed at what she had heard and pulled Courtney in for a hug. As it was returned, Alaska would swear she saw Bianca’s lips moving once again but what she could be saying, Alaska could only speculate.

Shifting back to the TV, Alaska tuned in again just in time to hear another one of Willam’s hilarious, if slightly ridiculous,  commentaries. She laughed along with Willam, returned a jab of her own at the played up drama, and let herself relax with the newly restored peace.

******

The fear of midterms were now looming on the horizon…well, it was still like a month away but as Alaska found out all too dramatically freshman year, these kinds of things have a way of sneaking up on you. If you weren’t careful that is. 

Bianca was careful. Alaska was careful. Hell, even Courtney was somewhat careful. Willam though…

Alaska had yet to see her crack open a textbook for more than 10 minutes. Often she’d just pull one aside, sometimes open, sometimes not, and leaned over it with her phone in hand. She probably spent more time posting about studying than actually participating in it.

That frustrated Alaska. By now she knew all too well that Willam still had not chosen a major yet. She seemed to feel no pressure to pick out any particular field of study, or even just to study. Her grades seemed decent enough…so what was the problem?

She knew it wasn’t any of her business but she felt some concern for her friend. She wanted Willam to do well. She knew she could, if she had the right motivation. That was why Alaska kept reminding her about midterms, hoping she’d take the hint and finally look at her textbooks. But Willam’s only response was a carefree shrug, maybe a small noise of acknowledgement, and then she’d go right back to staring at her screen. 

All of this would cause Alaska to groan in frustration but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet. She kept reminding Willam of the upcoming exams and finally Willam agreed to accompany Alaska to the library. Unsurprisingly, however, she failed to bring a single book or a laptop with her.

While Alaska diligently took notes from her psychology textbook, Willam scrolled through Instagram, chuckling to herself and trying to find the best light for selfies.

Well, at least she got Willam through the door. That was some kind of progress, right?

After about two hours or so of being bent over her textbook, Alaska stood up to stretch, and Willam immediately perked up. “You done?” she asked gleefully, “Wanna go out? It’s two for one margarita night at Twist.”

Alaska shook her head, chuckling.

“I don’t think midweek margaritas are the best choice for me,” she said. As Willam’s expression fell into a pout, she added, “But I could go for some coffee. Wanna walk over to the café?”

“Yeah, I guess that’ll do,” Willam said, standing up and helping her gather her things.

By the time they finally sat down at the cafe with their lattes, Willam was practically dancing in her seat.

“Have you checked Instagram?” she asked giddily, blue eyes sparkling.

“Oh god, what have you posted?” Alaska asked, picking up her phone. She opened Willam’s story, and soon found herself scrolling through multiple selfies, followed by an elaborate, goofy stop motion story of two of her own highlighters going camping under a dictionary. The second to last frame was a shot of Alaska herself looking up from her notes.

‘You’re not taking a picture of me, are you?’ she asked, head tilted. An animated crown gif sat atop her head, the foreground filled with fat adorable bunnies rolling around.

‘Of course not!’ Willam said.

The last shot was Willam, flipping the camera back to herself and giving a mischievous, lopsided grin.

“You’re so dumb,” Alaska laughed, shaking her head.

“So, you liked it?” Willam asked, smile spreading across her face.  

“Yeah, very creative,” Alaska said. 

Willam was beaming by now. A perfectly happy smile that even reached her eyes. It was cute, Alaska realized, Willam was cute. Impulsively, she then leaned forward and planted a kiss on Willam’s mouth. Her finger tucked itself under Willam’s chin for just a moment before pulling back.

The first thing she saw was Willam’s comically widened eyes; she was in a state of complete shock. “What…what do you…I-” she stammered, and Alaska giggled.

“Calm down,” she assured her roommate, “I’m not asking you to marry me.”

Willam let out a braying laugh at that. “Touché, bitch.”

With that goofy grin back on her lips, she leant in for a kiss of her own. Each could feel the other smiling into the kiss. Willam could’ve sworn she must have been drunk or fallen asleep back in the library in order for this to make sense. But every brush of Alaska’s fingertips across her bare arm or the feel of the material of Alaska’s skirt in her hand as it traveled up her thigh told her it was no dream.

Pulling away, just enough to speak, she suggested in a low voice, “Car?”

Alaska’s nod was immediate and in seconds they had grabbed all that they brought and were rushing back to the parking lot. They had the small presence of mind to relocate to the back of the lot, far away from where most cars would usually park, but following that, there was hardly a rational thought left between them. The hook up was messy and quick, neither of them getting any more undressed than necessary. Part of it was fear of being spotted, most of it was simply impatience.

It took very little for either of them to get worked up. Between the frantic, sloppy kisses, the desperate pawing to remove just some of their clothes, and the drunken high of just being able to touch one another…it was all over much too quickly. Their hair and clothes were in an absolute state by the time they managed to separate themselves enough to realize what they had done.

“That…” Alaska began, “That was something.”

“Yeah,” Willam agreed vacantly. Her mind felt elsewhere. She knew there were things to ask, things to be discussed but it was so hard to think right now. Not just because of the after-sex buzz but also because she truly and genuinely happy right now. She didn’t want to shatter that illusion, not yet.

“I had no idea how much I needed that.”

Willam let out a huff of a laugh. “Really?” Alaska nodded. Her lips curled into an almost self-conscious grin. It was kind of adorable, Willam had to admit. Scratching the back of her head, she commented airily, “Well, anytime.”

Alaska’s eyes lit up with cautious consideration. “Yeah?” she inquired.

There was a loaded pause. Willam could hear the blood pounding in her ears. As much as she tried to ignore it, something in her felt giddy and overexcited. She wouldn’t have thought Alaska would consider this to be more than a one time thing and yet…just maybe…“Yeah,” she finally confirmed, keeping her voice level and steady.

That seemed to be all there was to say for the longest time. Each was slowly coming down from their high and trying to sort out the mess that was their hair and makeup. Or at least Alaska was. Willam still felt in too much of a daze to care at this point. 

She remained lost in her thoughts until Alaska ventured, “We…Should we tell the others about this?”

“No-Yes! I mean…eventually, yeah, we have to but for right now, maybe just-”

“Our little secret?” Alaska proposed with a sly grin.

“Definitely,” Willam agreed with relief in her voice, glad to be on the same page. She really wasn’t sure how she could even explain this to their roommates. But that was a problem for another day.

She figured that’d be the end of this, at least for now, but Alaska managed to completely shock her by saying, “I really don’t want this to be the only time though. Is that okay?”

Willam’s heart was racing. She looked at Alaska long and hard trying to find any trace of this being a joke. She couldn’t get her hopes up like only to have them dashed away. But Alaska looked sincere, honest…She really wanted this…As casually as she could, Willam forced out, “Um, sure. Whenever.”

The smile she received shot straight through her soul. She was absolutely fucked and she knew it.

#rpdr fanfiction #willaska #bitney #alaska thunderfuck #willam belli #courtney act #bianca del rio #college au #lesbian au #fluff #angst #eventual smut #eventual romance #friends to lovers #very light smut (finally) #no strings attached #just friends #albatross #veronica #submission

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Re-sublimity: A Critical Role Fanfic

I swear, I was just planning on writing a few small fics for @shadowgast-week. I swear. And then, this happened and I basically shoved all of the prompts into one gigantic fic, which will have to have a second chapter...at least. I do this to myself. So essentially...this is a Jupiter Ascending inspired fic. 

...enjoy!

Read on AO3

Preview: 

>Journey Log #105

>Entered Intergalactic Standard Time 23:04 

>Order: Read Transcript

Dear Traveler, 

You should have seen me today! We dealt with what Fjord calls a “clusterfuck” with no problem! It was space pirates, you know, like Avantika except these ones weren’t cultists to a Deep Space Snake thingy. Yasha said we should call them bandits, but I remember you telling me that all crime in space is actually piracy because space counts as international waters. So I’m going to call them space pirates, okay! I was able to channel your energy through my STAFF, and do some serious damage. Caduceus is getting pretty good with his STAFF, you know, he was still using an actual wood staff to channel the Wildmom’s energy when we first met him. The techno-staffs are so much easier to use, and I’m excited about showing him how to update his later just like you showed me.  

But the funny thing about these space pirates were that they were kobolds! Caleb said that kobolds originate from a planet called Darastrixhurthi, which was really hard for him to pronounce. I took a guess at how to spell it here, hopefully I did it right. He had never heard of them piloting a spacecraft before, but their ships were these super duper rinky dink ships that Fjord said they most likely stole from the nearby planet and fixed up to be barely space-worthy. I’m sure you’ve seen kobolds before, but they were so cute, even though they were stupid and still tried to shoot us down after we gave them food. Anyways, Nott’s getting really good with her vibro-crossbow, and Beau’s lightning punches really saved the day. And you should have seen Yasha, she just about cleaved a ship in two with her vibro-sword! But I promise, I made sure to give them food and tuck in a statue of you as we scared them off. I’m trying to give something just as you always teach me. 

It was too bad about Frumpkin getting punted, but Caleb said he could fix him up again once we get to the nearest planet. Everyone said that because we saw the kobolds and passed by Darastrixhurthi, we’ll be reaching the Xhorhas System within two days, so long as we don’t have any more run-ins with trouble. I really hope we don’t because this has been the longest we’ve journeyed without stopping and I’m getting reaaaaaal bored. It’s so much easier when we have a hyperdrive that actually works to, you know, space travel! But I don’t really want to explode or anything. I’ll find something to do for the two days, besides rewatching my holo-dramas. Maybe I’ll have Caduceus teach me how to use the wand that I picked up on that planet with the fish-people. 

As always, I hope I can see you sometime soon when you aren’t too busy. Please look out for Mama, and my friends, and me. 

Bye!!!

[Record, included below is an image of kobolds wearing funny hats and flying on ships shaped like dicks]

 >Postscript 1, Added by Captain Fjord: Jester, I'm begging you, please stop putting dick drawings in the official journey log. We have to turn these in at port sometimes. 

>Postscript 2, Added by First Mate Beauregard: Oh come on, Captain. These are so fucking dry, I’m sure people would find it entertaining. 

>Postscript 3, Added by Nott the Brave: I personally think that kobold on the far right needs a bigger hat. 

>Postscript 4, Added by Jester Lavorre: >:D

>Postscript 5, Added by Navigator Caleb Widogast: It’s 24:00

>Postscript 6, Added by Nott the Brace: ...your people did this to my people.  

>Postscript 7, Added by Caduceus Clay: Imjuhbdwpqidnamap

>Postscript 8, Added by Yasha Nydoorin: I don’t think Caduceus meant to enter that. 

>Postscript 9, Added by Captain Fjord: No, he told me he meant to ask Jester to please call the Wildmother by her name if she can...you know the Wildmother. Alright everyone, go to sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. 

The solar system of Xhorhas was the place where the Kryn Dynasty had been born, a rising power that’s influence was only dampered by the ever expanding reach of the Dwendalian Empire. When the starship SS Balleater docked on the planet of Asarius, two things were made extremely clear. First, based on the look that the officers gave their ship, they were a bit worse for wear. Second, they took bureaucracy to a whole other level here. They had been waiting in a long twisting line at the Customs office for exactly two hours and twenty seven minutes, in darkened rooms only slightly illuminated by low green lights. It had frayed on all of their nerves, to be honest. The Mighty Nein had never done well with long waits, and tended to get into trouble when they weren’t doing something of pressing importance at every moment. The past twenty days of deep space travel without a functioning hyperdrive had made that extremely clear. To make matters worse, Caleb was sore over the loss of Frumpkin, who had been kicked to shit by one of the kobolds who had managed to board the ship. Familiars, or animal companion droids, could be hard to maintain but he would be able to repair him, as long as he could acquire the necessary parts.  

 Caleb was relieved when their crew reached the front of the line, and came face to face with an overworked and obviously underpaid Kryn officer who looked at them all like she was awaiting her last breath. She was drow, an alien species that was related to the elves that had colonized so many planets during the first space expansion. However, unlike the other species of elves, they were originally an earth-dwelling species. Their coloration was dark and their sensitivity to light kept everything dim in the official buildings like the one they were currently in.   

“Welcome to the planet of Assarius, is this your first time entering the Xhorhas system?” the officer asked, her voice dull and bored. 

“Yeah, it is,” Beauregard said, not sounding impressed by this officer’s obvious existential crisis. 

“Very well, then you will have to undergo the registration process. I will need to prick your finger and gather a blood sample, and ask you a few questions so we can complete the registration questionnaire. Denial of this means you will not have access to the Xhorhas System and we will have to ask you to leave immediately.” 

“So...we all have to register our DNA to get anything here?” Beauregard demanded of the Kryn officer behind the glass, who looked like she wanted nothing more than to slide the glass closed on Beauregard’s face. “Isn’t that...like...extortion or something?” 

“Clearly you are not from around here,” the Kryn officer said pointing to the sign above the desk...written unhelpfully in the language of their culture. None of them spoke it, and with a quick type into his wristband STAFF he was about to cast Comprehend Languages for a translation when she seemed exasperated by their quietness and did the translating for them. “What you need is a Kryn certified Identification and Navigation Aid, or INAV, which you utilize to transfer credits and license your spacecraft. You only receive an INAV once you have registered with our offices, and to be registered you have your DNA filed with us. Not only is this process used to prove the legitimacy of our monarchs and members of our dens, but also, yes, to prove you are who you say you are when you are paying for goods and services. Unless you want to give blood every time you go to buy food, you get an INAV.”   

“How do we know you aren’t using our DNA for shady shit,” Nott asked suspiciously. 

“Lady, I just work here,” the Kryn official snapped, motioning to the ever expanding line of annoyed and tired travelers behind them. “Either let me do my damn job here or leave the solar system.” 

“Let’s not make her life more difficult than need be,” Fjord said as he held out his hand. She put a device like a heart-rate monitor on his finger and Fjord flinched as it made a small “psst” sound. She clicked the device back into the desk, and typed something into her computer. “My name is Fjord.”

“Last name?”

“Tough,” Nott supplied, and Fjord gave her a long look. 

“Tusktooth!” Jester chirped. 

“Just Fjord,” Fjord clarified. 

“Planet of origin?”

“Nicodranas.” 

“Business here in the Kryn Dynasty?”

“Ship repairs, and mercenary work.” 

“Take two steps to the left and maintain a neutral expression.”

Fjord did as she said, and a picture was taken. The woman tapped her screen, and a confirmation ding was made. Out popped a drive that was about the size of Caleb’s index finger. She demonstrated how it extended and a tiny holographic image of Fjord’s face and his basic information as well as the genetic marker appeared. It was then handed off. 

“Alright, next,” the officer said, voice somehow more clipped than it had been moments before. They went down the line, Caleb taking up the rear as they did. He wasn’t excited for this at all...after all the last thing he needed was more traces of him where the Empire could find him. But sometimes you had to take a risk, after all, it would be far more suspicious to tap out of the process here surrounded by Kryn officers. 

Caleb held out his hand and felt the pinch of a needle before it was retracted. 

“Name?” 

“Caleb Widogast.” 

“Planet of origin?” 

“Outer territory Rex-33, Settlement BLU-MENTHAL.” 

“Business here in the Kryn Dynasty?” 

“Mercenary work and droid repair,” he said, showing her the currently out of commission Frumpkin who was in his side-satchel.  

“Take two steps to the left and maintain a neutral expression.”

Caleb did so, and heard the sound of the picture being snapped. However after she tapped something into her screen there was a different noise. An obvious alert noise that had him immediately tense up. The officer stared at her screen for a moment, then back at Caleb and then back at her screen...clearly doing a double take. Before anyone could move, she waved at a senior officer behind her. He was a tall bugbear, and made a strangely funny picture as he leaned over the small drow. He frowned. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Can you check this? I must have entered something in wrong,” the officer said, her voice confused...but not angry or suspicious as she pointed to something on the screen. The senior officer looked at what she was pointing at and then popped out the INAV and extended it, inspecting the genetic code. He double checked it with the screen, seemed content with whatever he saw, and he exited out from the glass door separating the officers and the lines. 

“No, that’s correct. Nothing wrong with the intake,” the senior officer said before addressing Caleb and inspecting him closely. “Sir, have you ever registered DNA with our system before?”

“No, I’ve never been to this system before.”

“And how old are you?” 

“I’m 33 according to the Intergalactic Universal Standard Calendar,” Caleb said, frowning. 

“Human, right?” 

“I would be.” 

“Yeah, Minryna, that sample was catalogued approximately 850 years ago. There’s no way it’s been accidentally re-entered. It’s legit,” another senior officer called back to the one inspecting Caleb. Other clerks had stopped what they were doing and had gathered around the screen, and Caleb felt the pinprick of a thousand eyes behind him and a rising tide of whispers. 

“Well, Luxon bless me,” whistled the officer before looking at Caleb. “I guess it’s someone’s lucky day isn’t it?” 

“Lucky day?” Beauregard asked incredulously. 

“Forgive me for the long wait. Congratulations on your Recurrence,” the officer said holding out his hand. Caleb, numbly, took it and let it be shook before the officer opened the INAV and signed the bottom with his finger. It glowed a silver color, as opposed to the blue of the others. 

“Recurrence?” Caleb asked, feeling more and more confused by the moment. 

“Follow me,” the officer said, and the whispers behind him grew louder. Officers moved out to seperate them from the obviously curious crowd. 

“My friends…”

“Of course you may bring them as well. We’ll make sure your ship is taken care of post haste, we’ll probably need to take off from here within an hour..” 

“Wait where the hell are we going?” Beau demanded as they all walked. 

“Why are you saying congratulations?” Nott asked as they all entered an elevator, and the officer punched the 110th floor. It was traveling up at a dizzying speed, totally glass so you could see the work on each platform as they rose. 

“Genetics carry a sacred connotation in our society,” the officer explained. “I’m sure you have heard of our practice of consecution...of the soul being reborn through the power of the Luxon Beacon. However every person is unique. In the vastness of space and time it is of course possible for a genetic code to be reproduced exactly. We consider that to be a true rebirth, a Recurrence.” 

“So...my genetic code has occurred once before?” Caleb asked. This was far less incriminating then he had feared, but also that idea was terrifying on so many levels. He could barely handle himself...the idea that there had been another one of him running around at one point was dizzying and horrible. Who knows what he had gotten up to, knowing him. 

“Yes,” the officer said simply. 

“And Caleb was someone really cool before?”  Jester asked, sounding excited. “I read a holonovel sort of like this once! Of course the discovery was wayyy sexier but-!” 

“I don’t think this is very sexy,” Yasha said softly. 

“It is neat,” Caduceus said, sounding extremely impressed. 

“So where are we going right now?” Fjord asked, trying to get them all back on track. 

“I am taking you to the upper deck, where they handle Genetic Inquiries. We just get an alert that a Recurrence has occurred and the year of the genetic sample taken of the previous life...in theory that is. We certainly haven’t had any recorded cases of Recurrence within my lifetime. Anyways, they will be able to assist with other questions, including and not limited to who your previous incarnation was, and matters of any titles they may have left you in their will." 

“Wills? Like money?” Nott asked, her interest thoroughly peaked. 

“It’s common to leave parts of your will for a future recurrence, especially amongst the nobility.” 

“This is all strangely morbid,” Caleb said, unable to help the way his mouth quirked. 

“That’s very thoughtful,” Caduceus said with a nod. “We should all be considering our futures and how we would like our affairs put into order.” 

“Of course you are into that,” Fjord said with an incredulous shake of his head, though the look he shared with Caduceus was fond. Caduceus was from a race of aliens who worshiped a nature deity and were essentially stewards of the dead. His interest didn't surprise Caleb in the least. 

They were brought to an empty looking office...well, in comparison to the line they had just been in it was downright barren. A single goblinoid looked at them from behind a desk that was laden with stacks of tablets and papers. Behind her was a seemingly endless sea of files. 

"This is the one?" she asked, looking at Caleb and his flashing silver INAV. She held out her hand and he handed it to her. She opened it, inspected the contents and the signature and then signed it herself before turning to her computer. "Very well, let me just type in this and...here we go. C-12B-Jg73_E05_8." 

She suddenly pushed with her legs and went skating down the hall with her chair. It was attached to the ground glided along easily and then with a tap of a button she was sent up to a second level. The goblinoid tapped in some code, opened a file, retrieved a holodisk, and then with a lever pull she was returned. She plugged the external drive of the holodisk into the computer checking it and reading it quickly. She then reached to plug the holodesk into the INAV. She pointed at a long document that Caleb skimmed before going to the bottom and signing with his finger. 

"Very well, congratulations, my Lord," the goblinoid said. "This highlighted section is the section of the will devoted to you."

Caleb felt the others crowd him as the goblinoid spoke on the com in Undercommon. It didn't truly surprise him to see this script written in Proto-Zemnian. That means the person had been alive Pre-Calamity or at least 800 years ago. It made sense considering talk of 850 years ago. And of course if he did share DNA with someone, it also was somewhat comforting to know it was with another Zemnian. He recognized some of the script, but utilized his techno-magic to translate typing into his STAFF and approving the magical sequence. 

"What does it say?" Jester asked excitedly. 

"He isn't gonna tell us," Beau bemoaned, now officially caught up in the excitement. 

Caleb ignored them and read it out loud. 

"And to my future recurrence, if one should ever appear and claim my title, I leave two things. First, my journal of spellcraft. If you are anything like me I am sure you will find it interesting. Second, I leave my second home on the planet of Rosohna to you if it is still standing. Both can be collected from the arbiter of my will...my…" Caleb nearly choked over the next words. "My beloved. If he still lives." 

"Oh, he lives alright," the goblinoid said as grim looking guards appeared from the side door. "Best of luck with meeting you husband again!" 

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

>Personal Log Entry #365242

>Entered Intergalactic Standard Time 01:11

>Order: Record. 

Current success on project RESONANT ECHO has continued, using my STAFF I am capable of pulling a version of myself from a discarded timeline for limited amounts of time. This has been not only thrilling, but also frustrating. They are still limited in what they can accomplish. I may have to go back to traditional spellwork and iron out the details there before attempting again with a STAFF. Sometimes raw mana cannot substitute for good old fashioned components. 

On a more personal note, I have decided to bench my idea of pulling a Resonant Echo of another willing creature for now. Firstly, I have no willing creatures to test this idea on. My solitary nature has thwarted me again, unfortunately. And secondly...I am not sure I could bear the idea of success. I do not care much for the moral quandaries of such matters, and that isn’t what stops me. I only worry that it might put me on a path that is ill-advised for my mental health. The only thing more important than progress is being able to enjoy the fruits of my hard work. I am still my own greatest resource at the end of the day. 

>Postscript: Add obsidian to shopping list, to be delivered to my personal address. Order for the delivery service to leave the package with TOWER. 

>Completed transcription, would you like to save, override, or delete this file? 

>Order: Save. 

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

Essek Theylss was in the most boring meeting of his whole life. Economics had never been his interest, though of course he understood them. He had been given a thorough education at his Den's hand, and being a long-lived species meant you had time to become knowledgeable in anything you desired. But, as always, he wished to be doing his own research as opposed to attending meetings. 

Just as he was making this wish, the meeting was interrupted by Taskhand Adeen.

"My Queen, forgive me for my interruption," the Taskhand said, as always his face was an impossible to crack study of ice. "But an urgent matter has just occurred, I was just informed of it by the guards. 

"Then speak," the Bright Queen ordered, now sitting at attention. 

"My Queen, it is news of the most importance. Shadowhand," he said suddenly, and Essek was thrown off guard because-him? What had been discovered? What one of his moving parts, his schemes, what-"there has been a Recurrence.  Congratulations, your husband returns." 

"What?" Essek asked as he stood and floated, the words hitting his skin and freezing over like icy rain. His brain, oddly, felt slow on the uptake. It was a thoroughly disorientating and dizzying experience. The words churning in a strange fog and then a rising panic. "I'm sorry, could you...could you repeat that?" 

"There has been a Recurrence of your husband, Shadowhand. He returns now, brought from Asarius. We have genetic confirmation from the Solar System database-" 

Essek knew his levitation dropped because suddenly there was a burst of pain in his knees. It was strange...suddenly he had no strength in his limbs...and his sight was swimming. Recurrence? His husband? No, it couldn't be true. His husband was gone, gone forever. Whoever this was...it wasn't him. It couldn't be him...he was just a stranger wearing his husband's face. Another ghost to torture him, to leave him behind-!

"Essek," a gentle, concerned voice said. "By the Luxon give the boy some room!" 

"Deep breaths," came another voice, echoing in his skull and rattling in his brainstem. "Deep breaths, Essek. In and out."

"Do we need a medbot? Merciful Light! What were you thinking, just springing that on him in public!" The Bright Queen...he knew it was the Bright Queen who chastised Adeen. He was following instructions, breathing in and out, and it was becoming easier to discern who was around him. The lights ceased their strobing, his heart receded from his throat and made it easier to swallow. The one keeping him from melting into the ground was Quana, the Dusk Captain and wife of the Bright Queen. The one coaching him through the essential process of breathing was the Skysybil. He was in the Bright Queen’s throne room. He wasn’t dying. He was having a panic attack. 

"Forgive me for my unsightly display," Essek said breathlessly, trying and failing at pulling himself together, welding the shards of his icy-exterior back where they belonged. This show of weakness...how could he have let himself succumb to that in public regardless of what was happening? There was always time later. 

"This is of course emotional for you," Quana said, with a gentle pat on his shoulder. "Your husband returns. Of course the feeling is overwhelming."  

"It is a joyous thing, a holy occurrence," the Bright Queen said, crossing the room and looking as radiant as a newly born star. "It is no weakness to be overwhelmed by the Divine. The Luxon has seen it fit to return your husband, and to give us all a sign of His favor. You must go and prepare for him, just as we must begin preparations to welcome him." 

The Luxon! As if the Luxon had anything to do with this! It isn't him, Essek wanted to scream. It isn't him! He's gone from my side forever. This stranger...it won't be him. This isn't divine...it's a cruel trick of fate and genetics. It isn't him, it isn't him. 

"Prepare, yes, I...I must prepare," Essek said before nearly fleeing the chamber before anyone could stop him. He must have teleported back, though all he felt was a blur of noise and light and suddenly he was there. Everything felt so strange. Nothing was right anymore. His usual sanctuary had been breached by the abnormal, and all he wanted was to make it stop.  

The hum of his levitation seemed to be the only noise that echoed from the halls of his home as he arrived. He sent the droids that acted as servants away, and slammed the door to the study close and locked it with a wave. For a moment he paused before continuing on in spite of his racing heart. The ocean between him and the desk seemed immense as he crossed it. Opening the locked compartment he removed his husband's will from inside gingerly. 

It has been at least a hundred years since he had looked at it. It was written on parchment...because of course it was, his husband had always been old-fashioned...even back then. He had kept it in a temperature and moisture controlled capsule to prevent decay ever since it had been written. He had memorized every line a long time ago, he was sure, and yet now looking at the last section he paused. The spell book and the summer home and that was it. On paper it was nothing. Hardly a blip on the radar of the vast wealth that Essek commanded at his fingertips. But he would have to give it up...more remnants of his husband that he clung to would disappear from his grasp forever.  

It wasn't fair, Essek thought, breathless with grief as he pulled his husband's spellbook from the same controlled compartment. He held back his tears stubbornly. Essek was unwilling to stain the cover of the well-loved book as he cradled it to his chest. Inside was his husband’s soul, the work that Essek had founded his magic on. This interloper would take from Essek what little he had left that he held sacred.

"Sir, your heart rate is elevated as is the saturation of stress hormones in your blood," TOWER, the AI that ran the home systems reported. The screen of his INAV lighting up the alert for Essek to see. "Are you in need of assistance?" 

"TOWER, what is the rate of Recurrence in the general population?" Essek asked, refusing to answer that question. There was no good answer, after all. Why waste his time? 

"The rate of Recurrence in the general population is one in ten trillion."

"One in ten trillion…" Essek murmured, truly grappling with that statistic for the first time in his life. He had heard that number before of course. Back when he was in school, in his courses meant to educate and indoctrinate him into the faith of the Luxon. But now it seemed so vast, so unlikely. Bards sang songs about this, subscribed entertainment was based on this. And yet somehow it was really happening to him. "And do these Recurrences...when they happen, is it reported that the person is...similar, to their previous incarnation?" 

"Physically identical, however the rate of Recurrence is so low there has not been the opportunity for true scientific studies on the phenomenon, sir. Only anecdotal accounts." 

"Give a general summary of the anecdotal accounts, TOWER,” Essek said with little patience. 

"It is theorized that though the core of a person may be written in genetics, environmental factors such as planet born, levels of sustenance during formative years, chemical and radiation exposure, family structure, socio-economic standing, and other psychological factors and epigenetics will have an effect on the individual. As such, the Recurrence may not be the exact same individual as the previous incarnation." 

"Good," Essek said as he finally drew in a breath. "Good...then this will just be an unpleasant meeting. But who knows? He may not be interested in the book and I'll be able to keep it." 

"Are you unhappy, sir? By my database's reading this is supposed to be a happy event." 

"Of course I am unhappy!" Essek snapped at the AI. "Some...some ghost wearing his face is coming here. A ghost who by sheer dumb luck is given a title to land and my husband's spellbook...and...well...my hand in marriage." 

"Would you consider it better or worse if he was the same as your husband, sir?" 

"Oh by the Nine Hells if I know!" Essek groaned. But he was lying to himself. Of course it would be worse if he was the same. If he was the same...if this ghost truly was his husband...Essek would fall apart at the seams. After all, there wasn't a worse fate than being happy, for all happiness turned to ash and ruin. He had a husband for only ninety years. In the lifespan of his people that was hardly a season, nothing worth fretting over. And yet, he was still so cold at night without him...he still woke some nights, expecting his husband to be beside him.  

Essek wouldn't go through it again. Not again, not ever. He wouldn’t allow it. 

"Contact the Theylss arbiter and have them prepare documentation for an annulment," Essek ordered TOWER as he stood. He looked towards the wide windows, the violet-blue interstellar clouds that shimmered with the radiance of distant stars. His garden called to him, his sanctuary pulled him to it like the indelible force of gravity.  He was one with it...drifting quietly as always. "I would like this to be over and done with quickly." 

Essek was about to say something else when the sound of a call going through interrupted him. He knew who it was without even looking, which is why he didn’t bother to say hello as the voice came through.  

"Essek," his Denmother said, her voice cold and commanding as her image appeared on the screen. "Congratulations. We have much to speak about."

---------------------- 

“What do you think your husband is like?” Jester asked curiously, bouncing in her seat in the flight deck. 

They were currently being escorted to Rosohna by the Echo-Knights, who’s speedy Moorbounder ships kept in tight formation around them. They had had their ship’s general needs repaired in record time, their ship restocked with supplies, and had been told that when they reached Rosohna their ship’s hyperdrive would also be taken care of free of charge. They had actually been offered a completely brand new ship that was so beautiful it had almost made Fjord cry. They had refused it, because as Beauregard pointed out if something was fucked with on their own ship, they would be able to tell easily. For now, considering the results of Nott and Caduceus’ quick investigation, it seemed like everything was fine and in working order. All of this somehow and for a reason that Caleb was still grappling with was due to the fact that Caleb was apparently married. 

“He’s not my husband,” Caleb murmured, arguing for the sake of arguing the point, though his protests sounded weak to his own ears the more he read about Recurrence and the significance it held to Xhorhassian society. 

“According to the laws of this Solar System, yeah, he is,” Beauregard said as she slid the holodisk at him and rotated the image so Caleb could read it. “Right there. Xhorhas General Law, Part 2, Title 3, Chapter 507, Section 258 on the validity of marriage. The clerk shall require written notice of intention of marriage, on forms furnished by the state registrar of vital records and statistics, containing such information as is required by law and also a statement of absence of any legal impediment to the marriage, to be given before such Xhorhassian accredited clerk under oath by both of the parties to the intended marriage. After a marriage is solemnized by an approved Dynasty religion or other official method, the marriage is considered binding until a time when an annulment is performed, see sections 280-320 for specifics. And then I looked down and here, in Section 283 it says, if one party to the marriage dies, the marriage vow is considered null and void and the living party shall receive the benefits given within the will, can apply for a remarriage, and shall be able to file for government aid if needed. However, if a Recurrence is found of the deceased the previous marriage shall be automatically renewed in the system and upheld until the time that both parties file for an annulment.”  

“Congratulations?” Fjord offered weakly. 

“Caleb isn’t married!” Nott half screamed. 

“It sounds like Caleb is married,” Yasha noted.  

“We don’t even know if this guy deserves Caleb!” Nott argued, nearly frothing at the mouth. 

“We are technically married until we file a divorce then,” Caleb clarified, feeling like his stomach was twisting in his belly. He wished desperately he had Frumpkin to hold, but the guards of Assarius hadn’t been able to supply the specialty parts he had needed. He had been told that they would be provided easily by his “husband’s” family.

His mind came back to the concept at hand. Marriage. Caleb wasn’t against the idea of marriage as a social construct. He had once even dreamed of marrying. He had wanted to marry the girl he loved more than anything else in this universe. He had planned to marry her, and die beside her in the name of his King and Empire in the great battles against the evil that threatened the security of that Empire. Of course, things didn’t turn out the way one planned… and apparently he had been married all along.  

“You are going to divorce him?” Jester asked, sounding heartbroken and drawing Caleb from his strange thoughts. “But what if he’s wonderful? What if you love him?”

“I can’t love someone I’ve never met before,” Caleb said, apologetically. 

“In a past life you did though,” Jester said, her pout deadly in its force. “That’s what Recurrence basically is, right? Being reborn.” 

“We would refer to it as reincarnation,” Caduceus added as he appeared with a teapot. He poured a cup for Caleb and gave his shoulder a gentle pat. Caleb accepted it, if only to have something to do with his hands. 

“It is a genetic anomaly,” Caleb argued, motioning at the page he was reading. “I understand that genetics and rebirth are an important aspect of the Dynasty’s religion but it’s just that. It’s just a religious belief. I don’t know this person that shared my DNA, but you wouldn’t assume that if I married someone that person would also be married to my identical twin, right?” 

“You have a twin?” Jester asked, her tail swishing excitedly. 

“I don’t have a twin,” Caleb sighed. 

“Twins don’t count as a Recurrence,” Beau mentioned. “Chapter 436, Section 23.” 

“I don’t...it was just an example. Besides, I’m sure it’s...I’m sure that person’s husband wouldn’t want to be married to me. I am not the person they loved.” 

“It must be painful for them,” Yasha said softly, eyes drawn dark with grief. “But I’m sure they might be grateful too. There isn’t much…”

Yasha trailed off, but Caleb didn’t need to hear the rest. After all, Caleb was also well versed in the language of grief. Yasha was right, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for the chance to at least glimpse at the faces of the people he had loved the most again. 

"Den Theylss though, I've heard they are a huge deal in these parts," Fjord said quietly, tapping the steering thoughtfully. "They are one of the three most powerful families in the Kryn Dynasty, second only to the Bright Queen's den. When I was running the merchant routes back in the day, the merchant ships that came out here always said that the three dens own thirds of the Dynasty." 

"Maybe you ought to stay married to this dude," Beauregard said seriously. "He's rich. Their family did just totally mostly fix our ship in a day." 

"I want to be kind to him," Caleb said, and left it at that. 

They arrived shortly after. Rosohna was a distant planet, it’s orbit kept it approximately seven years out of the light of the sun and gave it one year with seasons. In space, it showed like a glittering jewel. It was the founding planet of the Kryn Dynasty, where the Bright Queen raised her people from the shadows underground and led them to the space age. As they entered the hemisphere Caleb immediately noticed the brightness of the city that built itself silver into the dark exterior as they landed on the loading dock.  

“Alright folks, gear up, let’s rock and roll,” Fjord said standing up. 

“Aye, aye Captain Tusktooth!” the rest of the crew shouted back, before grabbing the necessities and disembarking off the Balleater. 

They were met immediately by a group of Drow, one of the natural inhabitants of Rosohna. There were all dressed in robes, shaded darkly but with touches of glitter and shimmer, enough to catch the low light. That separated them from the woman who walked before the rest of the group. She was dressed the most exquisitely, in a dress made like it was gathered from violet clouds that moved and shimmered with an almost iridescent quality. Her silver hair was pulled back high on her head, and her ears were decorated with what had to be thousands of credits worth of jewels. 

“You stand before Deirta Theylss, Umavi of Den Theylss,” one of the group said. Fjord immediately bowed, and everyone else followed suit. When Caleb rose from his bow, he saw Deirta’s eyes raking over his face intensely. She was an attractive woman, older in the almost imperceptible way elves aged, but cold and austere. Something about her gaze set him on edge immediately. 

“How fascinating,” she said, reaching out to take Caleb’s chin. She turned him this way and that, and Caleb resisted every instinct in his body that screamed at him to shy away from this woman. He didn’t like looking people in the eye normally. This forced contact made his skin crawl. “It is truly, utterly breathtaking...how much like him you look. An absolutely perfect match if my memory serves. There is no doubt, we have been blessed by a true Recurrence. The Luxon truly shines it’s Light upon us and our den on this day.” 

She released him and folded her hands in her sleeves. Caleb could feel the rest of the Mighty Nein draw close to him, a semi-circle of protection that grounded him the present and kept him from scratching the skin off his arms. 

“It has been...a lot for a day and a half,” Caleb admitted, swallowing nervously. He understood the wariness of the others now. There were eyes on them everywhere, almost all of the movement in the hanger had ceased. 

“I am just happy to welcome my son in law home,” Deirta said with a smile that did not reach her eyes. “There is much we must discuss, of course. But the first order of business is the Reintroduction, the second is the will.” 

“Reintroduction?” Jester asked. 

“Between him and Essek, my son,” Deirta said. Essek. No one had yet said his name to Caleb. Essek Theylss was his husband by law in the Kryn Dynasty, a man that Caleb had never met before. He had the insane urge to speak it out loud, to run the name over his lips, as if that might spark something in him other than crippling anxiety. “This will be followed by the meeting with the Bright Queen tomorrow.”

“The Bright Queen?” Nott and Jester and Fjord and Beau all demanded at once, one with suspicion, one with excitement, and the other two with abject disbelief.

“You all clearly do not appreciate the cultural significance of Recurrence,” Deirta said lightly as they all walked to the transport ship. They were seated in a flying craft, with a large see-through lid that was sent up through a channel and then ported them out to the city itself. For a moment Caleb was too dazzled by the silver city itself, and almost didn’t hear Deirta’s command. “Smile for the cameras.” 

“Cameras?” Caleb asked before nearly yanking his own head back at the sight of the huge holo-screens lining the streets that lit up with their image. There was the sound of cheering audible from even up there. Jester waved manically, as well as Cad and Yasha...a bit more shyly.  

“You, child, are a phenomenon that occurs 1 out of 10 trillion,” Deirta said cooly, though she smiled sweetly for the camera that tracked her wave and the movement of the craft. “And even less likely to be discovered. You demonstrate the most sacred law of our deity, the chance for true rebirth. In such times as these, you are proof of the divine nature of our lives. And as if that were not enough, you are husband to a Theylss. Not just any Theylss either, son of the Umavi, Shadowhand to the Bright Queen, and considered to be one of the great beauties of our people. Any one of them would kill to be in your position." 

“You’re wrong,” Caleb argued as they passed the holo-screens and continued on, towards a castle of silvered metal towering from the ground. “I’m just...I’m just Caleb.” 

A murderer, a fugitive, a crazed lunatic, a self-made orphan, perhaps. But proof of the divine? Only if the divine was looking for a cosmic joke. 

“Perhaps before today,” Deirta said as she looked towards the castle. “Not anymore."

Soon enough they were out of the city proper and into the Firmaments District, as the captain of the ship informed them. The Bright Queen’s Cathedral was a massive castle-ship, currently docked in place and surrounded by the high pearly white walls that separated her and her court from the people of Rosohna. In the district behind were the houses of the other most prominent dens, laid out amongst the maze-like streets like small treasure chests. 

“Your friends shall stay with me in my household as honored guests,” Deirta Theylss ordered as they moved down to street level and moved through the city streets. She turned her seat to face them. “We shall go to your home to meet with your husband.” 

“No! Caleb doesn’t go alone!” Nott argued fiercely, planting herself firmly in front of Deirta as if she were three feet taller. “Either I go with Caleb, or he doesn’t go anywhere.” 

"The same goes for me," Beauregard said, crossing her arms in front of her chest, flexing the muscles there. She made a much more terrifying picture as Yasha sidled up beside her and echoed the same motion. Jester joined with Nott. 

"The Might Nein stays together," Fjord said, placing a hand on Caleb's shoulder, as did Caduceus. 

"Very well, I'm sure Essek will make the appropriate arrangements," Deirta said before turning to the officer who was piloting the transport craft. "Fine, go to Essek's residence." 

"Yes, my lady. Sit down, we'll arrive within a few moments,” the pilot of the transport ship said before closing the hatch and separating Deirta in the Captain's quarters from the Mighty Nein. 

"I don't think I like her," Jester hissed as she plopped down in her seat again and crossed her arms over her chest. "Your mother-in-law is mean." 

"She doesn’t have to be kind, she is an Umavi," Beau grumbled. "That’s like super nobility, but besides that she's a politician first, did you see the way she set us up?" 

Besides just the political boost, there was a more obvious reason now that he thought about it. Of course she wanted his face plastered on every holo-screen in the Dynasty. Now everyone would know his face, Caleb realized. She was far more shrewd then Caleb had given her credit for. If he tried to do something stupid, like escape without a functional hyperdrive in his ship, everyone on this side of the universe would know who he was. Tightening the noose, Caleb thought, his breathing suddenly funny in his throat. 

"This is all very complicated now," Caduceus said worriedly before stopping. "Are you alright, Caleb?" 

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," Caleb admitted, gripping his hands hard to keep them from shaking. 

"Oh no, Caleb," Jester said, immediately taking residence at his side. 

“It’ll be alright,” Nott worried his shirt quietly before gathering his hands in hers. “It’ll be alright. I promise. We’ll find a way to get out of this, I promise.” 

“Thank you, my little friend,” Caleb said weakly, letting Nott press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Let’s be prepared, who knows what could happen,” Fjord said, looking seriously out at the street. 

They arrived at a residence that was really three towers connected by walkways on the ground and above. The towers themselves had a uniquely antique feel in the city so smooth and chrome, built to resemble stone. However in the flickering low lights they revealed a glittering effect. On the top of the tower spun some sort of mechanism that shifted like gears and seemed to be measuring something. Caleb’s curiosity was thoroughly peaked, though, he wasn’t sure that this was the appropriate time to sate his curiosity. 

A servant-droid greeted them at the door to the front tower, bowing before Lady Theylss. She didn’t give the droid a single glance. 

"Where is my son?" Deirta asked shortly, brushing out her skirts though there were no folds or wrinkles to be seen. 

"In the gardens, my Lady," the droid stated. 

"Of course," she sighed tiredly. “Lead us there.” 

They walked through the tower to the walkway between the towers. There was a garden, filled with Glowing Nightblooms, a flower that when blooming cast soft blues and violets and whites into darkness. He had read about them before. They were a staple in the cheap credit a dozen novels he brought from outposts or second hand merchants, but seeing them in person was another. The path led them past crystal statues of geometric shapes that made light fracture into rainbows and painted the air vibrantly. The garden circled a pond, a dark tranquil pool that was so still that it was almost a perfect mirror with the star-filled sky. A single small shrine stood in the middle of it. And there in the center a person standing before the shrine...almost appearing like a ghost as silver incense smoke curled in the air.  

"My son, come and greet your husband," Deirta said. The figure turned from the shrine, he crossed the lake. Caleb had been to the edge of the galaxy itself, and yet he didn’t think he had ever seen a more handsome man before. He was composed of sharp edges and elegant lines, his skin a smooth and peerless dark plum, and his hair perfectly tamed and coiffed. There were no ripples as he moved-no-skimmed across the water’s edge as weightless as fog. He arrived on the stone path, and immediately knelt, expensive dark robes shifting as he did. 

"Welcome home, my beloved," Essek said, bowing deeply enough to press his forehead to his fingers. Geometrical earrings caught the light, as did an impressive, elaborate mantle that was settled upon his neck."I have been awaiting your arrival.”

“Please, lift your head,” Caleb half-begged, feeling flushed and oddly ashamed. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this act of devotion from this complete stranger. 

“I hope you have found everything suitable," Essek said as he continued to bow, pointedly ignoring his request. Caleb could almost sense Deirta gloating from where she stood a few feet behind him. 

"Your home is...it's beautiful," Caleb said, not sure if the words even came out past his panicked choking. 

"It is your home as it is mine, I am happy it pleases you," Essek said as he stood effortlessly, robes swaying as he did so. The silver of his eyes illuminated his face, flecked with pale blue and violet in the shifting light of the pond and flowers. His expression was hard to read, though his mouth curled up in a soft almost-smile. "I am Essek Theylss, son of Deirta Theylss, Shadowhand of the Bright Queen."

"Caleb. Caleb Widogast," Caleb said softly. 

"Caleb," Essek said, something flickering upon the surface and dissipating just as quickly. "And your guests?"

"My friends. The Mighty Nein." 

"TOWER," Essek called, and a screen lit up along the wall. "Make sure the service droids prepare rooms for my husband's friends." 

"Your will shall be done, sir," the AI stated. 

"In your room you shall find both the spellbook and the deed to the home as stated in the will," Essek said, tone businesslike...formal. Caleb wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Perhaps crying? Screaming? Anger or sadness or grief? And yet Caleb saw none of that as he looked at this stranger. There was only politeness...a cool sort of acceptance. "Both already confirmed by the arbiter and myself. Are you capable of translation or will you need assistance?" 

"Ja, I can," Caleb said lifting his wrist to show his staff. Essek reached out his hand and offered it expectantly...and Caleb did the only thing he could think of and laid his wrist in Essek’s grasp. His touch was cold and fingers soft, and just that was enough to raise goosebumps along his skin. 

“I have never seen this model of a STAFF,” Essek said, inspecting the device, interest sparking in his gaze. It was the first truly genuine thing he had seen from this man who was meant to be his husband, and it soothed something in his heart. Caleb caught a glint of a STAFF upon Essek’s own wrist as well. 

“I...ah...I built it myself,” Caleb admitted. “I could not afford one with the specs I desired, so one has to do what they must.” 

"Then we have that in common, I also built my own staff. You are a techno-mage, I see," Essek said, sounding unsurprised. "Wizard speciality I assume?" 

"I...yes, how did you…?"

"He was the same," Essek said quietly, releasing Caleb’s wrist. Essek didn’t need to say who “he” was, they both knew. Caleb drew it back, and resisted the urge to stroke the place where Essek had touched. His skin still tingled from the touch. “Is there anything else you all required?”

“Ah...my familiar,” Caleb said, opening his satchel to show the limp body of the companion-droid. “I would like to fix him, do you know where I can get the materials?” 

“As you may have noticed, I employ droids heavily. I have droid-repairing materials here, TOWER shall acquire for you whatever you need,” Essek promised. He paused before looking to Deirta. "I am sure you have more you wish to discuss with me, Umavi."

"Yes," she said, without a scrape of anything resembling maternal love or affection. Instead there was only business. 

"Very well, we will speak in my office. I shall take my leave now," Essek said, turning to address them all. "If there is anything you require, you may call for the home AI, TOWER." 

And with that, he drifted past them with the Umavi, leaving them all alone. Caleb felt that he could finally breathe as soon as he was gone. 

“Wow...this is just like that scene in Tusk Love,” Jester said, steepling her fingers and looking starstruck. 

“What part of Tusk Love?” Nott asked curiously. 

“The scene where Genieveve meets her fiance, you know, the one her dad wants her to marry instead of Oskar?” Jester asked. “And the fiance totally tries to seduce her over dinner by giving her that beautiful red dress and the necklace made of lumincrystal?” 

“Oh! I love that part, especially when the fiance put his hand-” Nott started. 

“I don’t think this is like that,” Fjord said, interrupting warily. 

“If anything I don’t think it was horny enough,” Beau complained. “Like...did this guy even like his husband? He sure as fuck didn’t act like it. Like, if I spent two weeks away from the person I loved the most I would be shoving them into the nearest supply closet with me. Imagine hundreds and hundreds of years!” 

“Would you?” Fjord asked incredulously, and Beau elbowed him hard. 

“We all deal with loss in our own ways,” Caduceus said as he looked on at the shrine still settled in the pond like a cloud in the sky. “But he loved his husband...that’s for sure.”

“What makes you say that?” Caleb asked, swallowing in an attempt to wet his tongue.

“Such a fine grave could only be upkept with devotion,” Caduceus said, motioning to the small shrine. And as Caleb watched the single curl of white smoke still rising from the incense, carved words upon marble meticulously polished he realized that Caduceus was right. This wasn’t a shrine...it was a grave. “It’s beautiful.” 

 Caleb looked away, unable to quell the ache in his chest. 

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

 He spent a good portion of the evening tinkering and repairing Frumpkin with the materials provided. He was unable to explain his relief when the usual start-up menu appeared in their shared link. The feline-droid meowed happily at being reawoken, and spent a long time cuddling up with Caleb and performing his usual therapeutic routines, before settling to be charged. After that he worked on reading over the spellbook that had been given to him, marveling at the notes (trying not to think about the handwriting that was his own from the way he crossed his z’s to the dashes he used for his i’s). The Mighty Nein ate dinner together, with Essek noticeably absent from the halls and rooms. They were given a spread of traditional Xhorhassian cuisine prepared by the servant droids, and Caleb came to the realization that there was not a single living servant in the home. They were all given their own rooms, and set to retire in them. It was decided to play nice...to make the show of gratitude. If there was one constant in almost every culture across the universe, it was to know better than to trample on hospitality given. 

“What do you want to do?” Nott asked him nervously before they separated for bed. 

“I don’t know…” Caleb admitted, scrubbing at his face with his hands as he watched Frumpkin charge. “I get the feeling they aren’t going to let me leave so easily.” 

“They said the hyperdrive would be fixed in seven days. That’s the soonest we’ll be able to escape,” Nott said softly, close enough that any bugs that may have planted in the room wouldn’t have caught it. “Think about it, but don’t worry, you're stuck with me regardless of what you want to do, alright?”

“Alright,” Caleb said, catching Nott’s eyes and smiling. And he tried to sleep...he did. But his mind was racing, and finally he could do nothing but leave the room. He figured a quick walk around would settle him, and did his best to memorize the corridors and stairs and rooms he could enter. All information at this point was power, things he could use to get the upper hand in a game that he felt completely outclassed by. 

Eventually though...he found himself back  in the cloisters...the high arches and beautifully carved pathway to the garden. And he wasn’t alone, as he soon discovered. Essek stood solitary, next to a pillar looking out onto the pond and the grave. The flowers themselves were pale as a moon, glowing with a soft ethereal iridescence that almost seemed to float up to the clouds of violet and amber dust. 

Caleb drew in a breath, and Essek stiffened. A slender dark hand curled against the pillar, but he didn’t move. 

"I'm sorry," came the voice from the figure. The accent was smooth, voice soft and thoughtful. He did not turn, and somehow just that felt more genuine then any words they had exchanged thus far. He sounded exhausted, and so very apologetic...as trapped and frustrated as Caleb did. "I'm sure this all must be very difficult...I know this has been the strangest two days of my life." 

"Ja, I would say so," Caleb said, and watched as the figure cringed. Oh...his voice. It must be the same or at least similar to...to his real husband. "I am the one who should be apologizing...I'm sure this has been harder for you in more ways than I could ever comprehend." 

“If you are as alike as I fear, I would say that isn’t true,” Essek said, the tired tones of his voice biting into Caleb’s skin. “My husband was always an intelligent man...and always managed to surprise me with his inopportune insights. If you are like him...then there is little hope that you wouldn’t understand me...and I’m afraid that’s far more terrifying than the alternative.” 

“All I can do is apologize it seems,” Caleb murmured. “Apologize and hope that you accept that as my truth.” 

For a long moment Essek didn’t respond, and he wondered if this was Essek’s way of asking him to leave. Caleb was about to...to say something when Essek shifted instead. 

"My husband…" Essek started, faltered and then straightened his shoulders, still refusing to look his way. "I can’t explain it, no matter how much I desire to. His love sustained me through so much. He was one of the first humans to voyage to the stars and come to this distant shore. He was brilliant and kind and so much better than me in almost every way. I love him...even so many years after his death...he has been the only one I have ever loved." 

"I do not...I wouldn't ever presume…" Caleb started...but faltered. What could he say to make this better? There were no words he could summon in this language or his mother tongue to even scratch the surface of this situation. Instead his voice petered out, running out of gas. 

“There will be many things asked of you soon,” Essek said, retracting his hand from the pillar and slipping it into his sleeve. “I am just sorry I will not be able to spare you from it...from all of it.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned around, and Caleb’s breath left his lungs. He was as beautiful as the heavens unfurling in the hours of twilight, a single solitary figure against the quiet light. Instead of drawing near, he seemed to recede further into the shadow cast by the pillars. His expression was empty...there was nothing there, simply a reflection. 

“I have been informed there will be no annulment,” he said cooly, as if he were talking about the weather. “We shall have a Vow Exchange and Marriage Ceremony in seven rotation’s time.”

“They would have us married?” Caleb asked in shock. 

“Remarried technically, as by law you are my husband.”

“Do they have no concerns for your feelings?” Caleb asked, suddenly infuriated for Essek’s sake. 

“I have none to be concerned about...not anymore,” Essek said softly as he drifted forward. He didn’t walk, that was certain. Instead he moved as if buoyed in his own gravitational field. “I am a loyal subject to my Queen first, a child of my mother’s den second, a citizen of the Dynasty third, and a person last. I have a duty I must fulfill...and by marrying you, I shall be furthering the aims of my government through the greatest single act of propaganda we have seen since our Queen’s famous speech at the Breach. Though I have nothing to do with that, after all, I have been told that I am living the romance of the millenium. I should be very grateful.”

“Seven rotations?” Caleb echoed. A week, a single week. That was how long it would take for the hyperdrive to be fixed. The same day...of course it had to be the day that he was sure the entire solar system of Xhorhas would be watching him. Nothing could ever be easy...he didn’t deserve that much. 

“If you are planning on escaping...well...I wish you the best of luck,” Essek said with a wry smile, a glint of fang twisting up Caleb’s heart. “I doubt you will get far. My mother has told me that this shall be the single most lavish affair our people have seen since the last marriage between the Bright Queen and the Dusk Captain, and no expense will be spared for things like security.”   

“It isn’t right,” Caleb argued, blood pulsing hot and rapid in his veins. The injustice of it wrenched at his insides. “It isn’t fair, that they should treat you like some...some tool! I-”

Suddenly, Essek crashed right into Caleb’s chest. Hands balled into Caleb’s shirt with bruising force, and he stood there dumbly as Essek pressed his face more firmly to his shoulder and shuddered as if he carried the weight of the whole planet upon his shoulders. 

“It’s not fair,” Essek gasped, voice fracturing into a million pieces. Bitter and desperate and hopeless and overwhelming. “Why does it have to be this way? You even feel like him...smell like him! Please...please stop being kind to me. Push me away...run from me, hurt me. Stop sounding like him! Stop...stop talking like him. I beg of you...I beg of you. If you stay...I won’t be able to let you go again. I’ll do anything I can to stop you. I’ll be cruel, and vicious, and I’ll hurt everyone and anything that gets in my way. That’s the way I am. I am the most selfish creature that ever crawled upon the surface of any planet. So please...abandon me.” 

“You are a victim too,” Caleb said, instinctively wrapping his arms around Essek’s waist. He felt so slender in his arms...so delicate, like he was a shard of the universe...like he would disappear if he held him too long. And despite everything...it felt so right. It was just an illusion, brought on by the stress. He had never held Essek before...but he could almost imagine it with how wonderful it was. “Will you forgive me...for trying to find a way to save us both?” 

“Never,” Essek said, looking up at him. His eyes were silver like the moon-dust freckles that shimmered upon his skin, glittering with tears. “I’ll never forgive you. Just gazing upon you gives me a glimpse of that which I most desire, and even if you are just a shade if you stay I will pursue you. Don’t you understand? I am your greatest enemy. So you must go...you must escape without ever looking back at me.”

“Won’t they hurt you? How could I just leave you?” Caleb demanded. “You are innocent. I won’t damn an innocent again for my sins...never.” 

“Innocent? Ha! Abandon that pride of yours, Light damn it! Why don't you understand? The only thing I can do is protect you from me!"  

"I won't. If I leave you here...like this, what will happen to you?" 

"Nothing I don't deserve after everything I've wrought," he said bitterly, pulling away and leaving his arms so empty and bereft of purpose. "Caleb...I have done everything to deserve this fate, I see that now. This is my punishment, but it is not yours. Escape, Caleb. Escape the Kryn Dynasty. Escape my fate. Escape me. That alone...it will be enough for me for the rest of eternity." 

Essek disappeared into the shadows, leaving Caleb behind. 

#critical role fanfic #shadowgast week #shadowgast #essek theylss #caleb widogast #sci-fi AU

[theperksofbeingbarbie]

Sweet Words (Diego x GN!Reader)

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood; Mentions of gunshot wound; Alcohol use; Suggestive Themes; Language.

WORD COUNT: 2,509 

PAIRING: Diego Hargreeves x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: A HALLOWEEN MIRACLE!!!!!!!! I’m so sorry this took so long but I am eternally grateful for your patience! I really hope you like it and that the wait was worth it. I really liked this idea and feel free to send more my way. (And hopefully I’ll get them done faster lol) 

@myraticm​

Love at first sight was bullshit, but goddamn the person at the bar was testing Diego’s belief in that. 

He wasn’t even meant to be here, really. He won a boxing match and was feeling pretty good and for once in his life, he accepted the invitation to get drinks after with a few of the guys from the gym. Any other day he would’ve said no, gone back to the boiler room, go out to see if there were any crime scenes to crash. There was something that told Diego to go, and when he looked at the person laughing with their friends, he started to believe Klaus’ stupid rants about fate. 

Diego clinked his glass with his friends, tipping his head back as the liquor passed his lips. He began to walk toward the bar before he had even set his glass back down on the table top, ignoring the comments from the guys he was with. 

A hush took over the little group at the bar when Diego approached, everyone looking at the newcomer with apprehension. 

“Hi.” 

“Hey,” they greeted with a slight smile that made Diego’s heart skip a beat. 

“I’m Diego.” 

“[Y/N].” 

“Mind if I buy you a drink, [Y/N]?” 

[Y/N]’s eyes flitted over Diego’s body as if they wanted to take inventory of the man to decide his worth. Apparently he was worth something when they finally agreed. 

The pair separated from both of their groups as they shared a drink. One drink turned into two, two turned into dancing, dancing turned into kissing behind the bar, kissing behind the bar turned into them stumbling through the door to [Y/N]’s apartment, hands exploring each other’s bodies with a sense of desperation. 

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

Diego groaned when the pounding in his head woke him up, rolling over to hide from the pain before realizing he wasn’t in his bed. He sat up, memories of the night before finally catching up with the rest of him. The space beside him was already cold and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. Was [Y/N] still around? Was he just supposed to leave? Did they trust him that much if they were already gone? One night stands weren’t his thing for a fucking reason.

He rolled out of bed and started to put on his strewn clothes, following them like a trail of breadcrumbs through the little apartment toward the front door. Diego blinked when he was finally faced with the bright light coming from the kitchen. 

“Morning.” 

Diego ran a hand through his hair before pulling his shirt back on. “Morning.” 

“Sorry if I woke you up, I have work early. Help yourself to some coffee,” [Y/N] offered with that smile that made Diego’s heart all fluttery again. 

Diego nodded and moved around them to grab a mug, noticing their bookbag on one of the kitchen chairs. He plucked the security badge off the top, smiling at the picture. “You’re an ER nurse?” 

[Y/N] quickly grabbed it from Diego’s hand, though their smile was still playful. “Are you always this nosy with people you sleep with?” they asked over their shoulder as they clipped it to their scrubs. 

“Only the really cute ones.” 

They snorted, shaking their head in disbelief. 

“I had a lot of fun last night.” 

A blush started to creep up the other’s neck and Diego just wanted to kiss all over it like he did last night. “I did too,” they finally admitted, taking a bite of the breakfast burrito they prepared. 

Diego took a sip of his coffee as he weighed his options: make this a strictly one time thing, or try for a repeat. 

“We should do this again,” he said as casually as he could, leaning back against the counter. 

[Y/N] slowed down their chewing, clearly going through their mental pro-con list at his offer. “I’m not really looking for anything serious,” they finally answered with a little nod. “But if you still wanted to do that again, I’d be down.” 

Diego decided to take what he could get and scribbled his number on the pad stuck to [Y/N]’s fridge. “Thanks for the coffee.” He left a kiss on their cheek before giving his mug a rinse, grabbing the rest of his clothes as he made his way out. 

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

Diego didn’t want to do this, but he didn’t know where else to go. He groaned as he pressed the bleeding wound on his side harder. He attempted to lift his other arm to knock on the door but couldn’t stand the pain, so he kicked the door he had become familiar with. Repeatedly. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, I will call the cops!” he heard from the other side of the door, sighing when [Y/N] flung it open. 

“Diego? What the fuck?” 

Diego didn’t answer, pushing past the person he had started to consider a friend. “Got shot,” he finally managed to mumble, shuffling toward the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry, did you just say you got shot?!” 

Diego dropped down onto the edge of the bathtub with a huff, letting go of his wound to unbuckle his harness. 

“Diego, you need to go to the-” 

“No.” 

“You got shot, though!” 

“You treat gunshot wounds before?” 

[Y/N] looked on in horror as Diego peeled his blood soaked shirt, hissing as the fabric stuck to the wound. They finally stepped foward to help, sighing when they could get a good look at it. 

“Please,” Diego whispered, grabbing the towel he was handed to apply pressure on the gash again. 

They huffed, leaving the bathroom to rummage around in the kitchen. [Y/N] was back in a moment, dropping all the supplies onto the counter. “You’re telling me what the fuck happened after, though.” 

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

“You seriously want me to believe you’re a superhero vigilante?” 

“You can google the Umbrella Academy. I was the cute one.” 

Diego was now laying in [Y/N]’s bed, all sewn up and bandaged. Luckily the wound was closer to his back and he was able to turn around for them to sew him up; he didn’t have the fun and embarassing experience of fainting at the sight of the needle. 

He watched [Y/N] grab their phone to fact check his story, raising an eyebrow when he saw their lips quirk into a smile. 

“What?” 

“You said you were the cute one but that isn’t matching up with what I see here. Number Four, though...” 

Diego rolled his eyes, picking the pillow up that was beside him to throw it at [Y/N]. They just laughed and batted it away. 

“You better not be going out there again for a while,” [Y/N] said more seriously, properly replacing the pillow beside Diego. 

“It was just a graze,” Diego protested. 

“I’m not stitching you up again!” 

Diego could see their genuine worry and it caused him to step down from the fight. “How long do I wait?” 

“A few weeks.” 

Diego groaned dramatically, reaching out to grab their hand. “Fine. But only if I’m able to come over... I can just lay here and let you do your thing.” 

[Y/N] laughed, crawling forward to kiss Diego softly. 

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

Diego, for the first time in his life, actually listened to medical advice. He was aching to get back out on the street but he found things to fill his time. He started to coach the little kids at the gym, helped Al out more when he needed it, and spent more time with [Y/N]. 

Their relationship wasn’t something he was really used to, but he was enjoying it. It usually centered around sex, but they would also just spend time together. Maybe watch a movie or talk about work. Diego even started to do little handyman projects around [Y/N]’s house while they were at work so they wouldn’t have to wait for their landlord. 

Diego huffed as he flopped himself on the sofa in the Academy mansion, already dreading this ‘family meeting’. He nodded toward Klaus as the Séance joined him with an overdramatic groan. 

“Can we get on with this? I have plans,” Klaus announced with a flair of his hand. 

Allison started to speak, Luther interjecting every so often with details that she missed. Diego grabbed his phone and started texting, unable to hide the smile that was taking over his features. 

“I’m sorry, are we bothering you, Diego?” 

“Usually, yeah.” 

Allison huffed, snatching the phone out of her brother’s hands, ducking when he immediately threw a knife at her head. 

“Who the hell is this?” 

“None of your fucking business,” the vigilante growled. 

“His lover,” Klaus lamented, laying himself across Diego’s lap with the back of his hand gently placed on his forehead. “The cute little thing that has our grumpy asshole in love.” 

Diego rolled his eyes, pushing Klaus onto the floor, which just made Number Four laugh. “It’s not that serious. We just hook up.” 

“And fix their water heater, apparently,” Luther pointed out, holding up the exchange of messages about the project. 

“We have sex and I fix up their apartment because their landlord is a prick. Happy?” Diego grabbed his phone back, shoving it back into his pocket. 

“You like them,” Vanya realized softly. “Genuinely.” 

Diego just glared at the violinist. 

Allison returned to her chair as she thought about her next question, “How long have you two been doing this?” 

Diego knew there was no getting out of this. He was going to fess up or they’d dig and make it a hundred times worse. “A few months.” 

“Friends with benefits don’t usually last that long without becoming real, darling Didi,” Klaus pointed out. 

“Do they seem to actually like you?” Luther asked, his features showing genuine concern for his brother. 

Diego just rolled his eyes. “It’s just sex and favors. They patch me up and I fix up their place. That’s it.” 

“You need to talk to them. See if you’re actually their boyfriend or if you should end it.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to take relationship advice from you, Allison,” Diego snapped. 

Everyone sat in silent shock, Diego taking the chance to leave the mansion once more. 

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

Diego would rather die than admit that maybe, just maybe, his siblings were right. He had fallen for [Y/N], almost instantly. They were charming and fun and kind. He smiled whenever he thought of them or saw something that reminded him of them. He adored doing boring little things with [Y/N]. Just laying in bed together was quickly becoming Diego’s favorite pastime. 

But he was fucking terrified. After Eudora, Diego didn’t want to get burned again. He was still just a vigilante with twenty bucks to his name. [Y/N] was a successful nurse who, for some fucked up reason, put up with his shit. 

Well, Diego knew what that ‘fucked up reason’ was. Everyone did. [Y/N] was willing to put up with him just because the sex was good. That’s all he was to them and he would just have to be happy with that. 

The voices of his siblings didn’t stop floating around his mind. Every time he wanted to pick up the phone to call [Y/N], Allison was there telling him to admit his feelings and end it if they didn’t feel the same. 

The days started to build up to weeks since the last time Diego stopped by. [Y/N] would send a text to invite him over, but he always made up some stupid excuse to avoid it. They would move on and he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of actually ending it and knowing that he wasn’t more than a cock and some tools. 

Diego really didn’t want to do this. The thought of crawling back to this door when he had essentially ignored the person on the other side for a month and a half made his stomach turn. He huffed, knocking on the door until he could hear shuffling from inside the apartment. 

“Seriously?” [Y/N] asked when they opened the door. 

Diego only managed a sheepish smile, mumbling his thanks when they stepped aside to welcome him. He made his way to the bathroom like he had countless times before as the nurse rummaged through their kitchen. 

“If you got shot again-”

“Just beat up.” Diego sighed as his shirt was pulled off, the cool air soothing the searing hot pain around the cuts and gashes. 

“You have so much fucking nerve,” [Y/N] mumbled as they began to clean him up. “Ignore me for ages and then expect me to just patch you up. You could’ve been dead and I wouldn’t have known.” 

“I’m sorry.” Diego wasn’t even sure if he actually said the words out loud, but [Y/N] paused to survey his face. 

“I just worry.” 

They stayed silent, only the sound of water splashing as [Y/N] dipped the bloody rag in the sink. 

“Why?” 

Diego looked up, taking a deep breath as he tried to think of an excuse. Maybe pulling the band aid off would be best. “Someone told me you were only in this for sex and free labor around your place and I was being an idiot.” 

[Y/N]’s eyebrows shot up. “And what? You’re not only in this for sex and no questions health care?” 

Diego smirked, looking down at his boots. “I wish that’s all it was sometimes.”  

Silence filled the air once more. [Y/N] placed their finger under Diego’s chin to lift it, dabbing softly at the abrasions there. 

“Do you want more?” 

He pulled away from the hands, gently pushing them away from his face. It didn’t matter if he wanted more, he didn’t deserve it. Not from [Y/N]. 

“Diego.” 

Their fingers were cold from now red water in the sink, sending a shiver down Diego’s spine when they gently brushed over his cheeks. He let [Y/N] tilt his head back up, a knot forming in his stomach at the sight of their beautiful face. 

“Be honest. Please.”

He couldn’t find the words, and the words he did find he was sure wouldn’t come out properly. Diego nodded, looking back down at the ground, afraid of the response from the person he cared so much for. 

There was the feeling of soft lips on Diego’s temple, then his cheek, slowly leading to his lips. He leaned into the kiss, noticing that it was softer than he had ever experienced. It was filled with love. 

“I want more too.” 

Diego kissed [Y/N] again, unsure of what else to do with this feeling that was building in his chest. 

“I love you.” The words came out surprisingly simply, passing over his lips like their name on a warm night. 

[Y/N] paused before saying, “I love you too.” 

The pair shared another kiss and the words tasted as sweet as they sounded. Diego didn’t want to go a day without hearing those simple words. He didn’t want to live another moment without their gentle kiss after speaking those words. 

Diego didn’t want to go a second without [Y/N] in his life as his love. 

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy imagine #tua #tua imagine #tua imagines #umbrella academy #umbrella academy imagines #umbrella academy imagine #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves imagines #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves x reader #reader x diego hargreeves #the kraken #tua kraken #00.02 #diego hargreeves x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader x diego hargreeves #self insert fic #self insert imagine #self insert imagines #diego hargreeves one shot #the umbrella academy one shot #tua one shot #umbrella academy one shot

[aquasteps]

Nancy is real!

Everyone has a ghost story. I’ve always been sceptical of them. No matter how much everyone else around me shuddered or went pale or clutched at their chests, I’d always rolled my eyes. They were stupid, obvious even. 

It wasn’t a ghost that had stolen Mrs Henderson’s nightie from the clothesline, it was the dog further down the street who liked dragging clothes through the mud. 

There was no ‘Beetlejuice’ situation at Little Timmy’s sleepover, just an older brother playing tricks on gullible little kids. 

Flickering lights - check the fuse box, it was probably on it’s way out. Wailing screams of the undead - the wind sneaking through the cracks in an old house. 

All of it could be explained away.

Or so I thought.

Unlike so many other ghost stories I’ve heard, this one started innocently enough. Just a joke, a harmless prank, my stream chat trying to spook me as I played a scary game on Twitch.

“It didn’t move,” I scoffed. “Prove it, show me the clip.”

They still insisted that my chair had moved when I went to the bathroom, claiming my house was haunted. Comment after comment flew through the chat, people screaming in all caps.

DUDE, IT MOVED I SWEAR

RUN! RUN!

GET OUT OF THERE!

IT’S NANCY BRO!

I knew better than to believe them, but just in case, I checked the clip I was sent, rolling my eyes when the chair had so clearly stayed in place. The comments died off, though a few of them tried to keep the joke going, still insisting over an hour later that they had seen the chair move.

That night when I went to sleep, nothing felt different. There was no eerie feeling of being watched, or objects moving on their own. Just a dark room, and me burrowing under my blankets, closing my eyes.

I can’t tell you what woke me up. One second I was asleep, the next, my eyes were open, my heartbeat thudding in my ears. I was terrified, but I had no idea why. If I’d had a nightmare, I couldn’t remember it.

When I tried to reach for my phone to light up the room, my dread only increased.

I couldn’t move.

My breath started to accelerate as I tried vainly to move my fingers or toes, anything! But I was stuck in place, gravity holding me in place as surely as if I had a tonne of bricks sitting on my chest.

My eyes strained against the darkness, but the only faint light came from the power light on my computer, slowly blinking red. I couldn’t see anything. The hair on the back of my neck began to prickle, and my eyes focused on a dark shadow at the foot of my bed. I held my breath, eyes widening as adrenaline surged through my frozen body. 

Was that a person?

No. I tried to push the thought down. It’s just your chair you idiot. There’s no one there.

I tried to calm my breathing. I’d heard about sleep paralysis before, though I’d never experienced it personally. It was just a temporary state of being awake but unable to move. If I closed my eyes and calmed down, it would go away in a few minutes.

But as I slowed my breathing, as my pulse began to settle, I heard it.

The sound of jagged, rattling breaths were coming from the other side of my room, reminding me of the Phasmaphobia gasp my stream could redeem for 400 bits. But my stream had ended hours ago. My computer completely shut down before I’d gone to bed.

Just a hallucination, I told myself. It’s not real.

I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to wriggle my fingers or roll over or something. How long had it been now? Surely more than a few minutes. Why couldn’t I move?

Those gasping, liquid breaths moved closer. I wanted to open my mouth, not to scream, or whatever, but to tell them to fuck off, or get the fuck away from me, but I couldn’t make a sound. 

As I felt the stirrings of breath on my cheek - had to be the fan, right? - I felt bile rise in my throat at the stench. It was like nothing I’d ever smelt before, but I knew, somehow, that it was the putrid scent of rotting flesh.

Not real. Not real. Not real. “Not real. Not real.”

I could talk!

“Who’s there?” I demanded, feeling more than a bit hysterical. I didn’t believe in ghosts, I swear, but my room smelt like a fucking graveyard. Part of me was starting to wonder if I’d been wrong after all.

If this was a ghost, a real one, then it must want something.

“What do you want?”

Its voice was like nails on a chalkboard. “Kill,” it hissed, another wave of that nauseating smell hitting me. 

The faint light on my computer started flickering faster, letting me see the ghost hovering over me - showing the grey rotting flesh splattered with blood, milky white eyes staring at me, it’s mouth opened in a snarl that showed off every pointed tooth.

It reached for me, one deathly cold hand grabbing my wrist in a tight grip, squeezing hard enough to make it feel like the bones were grinding together. 

But it was like its touch shattered whatever spell that had kept me frozen, and I shoved it away from me, fighting free of my sheet and blanket and clambering off my bed. I was taking off out of my room not even a second later, my thudding footsteps doing nothing to hide the heavy footfalls as she followed me.

I had to get away from her. I had to hide.

I bolted to the bathroom, one of the few rooms in the house that had a lock, and slammed it shut behind me, locking it and backing away from the door, my heart in my throat.

The door rattled but miraculously stayed closed. 

A few minutes later it gave up, and the sound of its footsteps moved back down the hallway. I waited for what felt like an age, moving closer to press my ear against the door. The sounds were muffled by the wood, but I could still faintly hear her rattling breaths and the sounds of doors opening and closing, objects clattering to the ground.

I moved over to the far wall, sliding onto the ground, cradling my sore wrist against my chest.

An aeon later, the faint light of dawn began to brighten the room. I was exhausted and sore from sitting against the cold tiles all night, but at least I was alive. As the room got brighter and brighter, I began to hear my parents moving around, and I got to my feet, my body sluggish and slow. 

In the bright light of day, I began to feel a bit stupid. It was sleep paralysis, like I’d thought. Just my mind playing tricks on me.

I reached for the lock, my eyes catching on a shadow around my wrist. I held it up to my face, heart racing.

There was a bruise wrapped around my wrist, dark purple against my skin, in the shape of a hand, each long finger clearly evident.

#scary story #sharkylq #ghosts #phasmophobia

[magioftheseas]

Chiaki & Yasuke

Summary: Nanami Chiaki’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. Yep. They’re almost completely different from canon.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and references to gore/hospital stuff because Matsuda.

Notes: I was just super into the mood to write more FTEs and I went for Nanami since her relationship with Matsuda is fun. It’s also one I noticed the most people (about three) voicing interest in. It’s pretty drastically different but I still tried to make them parallel the original somewhat. Do the two of them actually get closer? Well, I won’t give you the answer so easily. Anyway Nanami talks like a House of Dead 2 character. She does.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, A, B, start.

Matsuda woke to the sound of furious button presses. The hotel air was as stale as ever. His neck fucking hurt from how he had slouched against the couch. At the very least, his manga had been carefully set down on the table, but he nevertheless found himself irritated at how he just fell asleep while reading.

Just because I got tired of my cottage. The hell was I thinking?

And that creepy otaku was happily booping away on the tabletop game. Although Matsuda was pretty damn sure the lobby had been empty when he entered. He’s sure because when he goes out, he goes out of his way to avoid people if he can help it.

And yet, the gamer chick is here. When he’s sure she has a million other things to do. How irritating.

Huffing, Matsuda pushed himself up. His neck throbbed and creaked and he groaned loudly as he tried to adjust it. He might need a neck pillow or something. Anything.

“Ugh. How annoying,” he mutters, grabbing his book. “I wasted all that time on a shitty nap. I doubt my brain flushed out the chemicals properly. No, I’m sure it didn’t. Great.”

Stretching doesn’t alleviate the aching of his joints, but he’s ready to head out regardless. He pops his lips as he starts with his best foot forward, only for someone to call out.

“Hey, why don’t you play a game with me before you go?”

Matsuda paused, turning to Nanami with a withered, unimpressed look.

“Just one,” she said, not looking at him but at the stupid fucking screen. “Or two. Or three. Or four. Maybe more.”

The fuck? Oh. The hell kind of bizarro world is this?

He thinks that, he thinks that, but he throws his hands up in preemptive defeat.

“Sure. Fine. Why the hell not.”

And that was the start of it. As well as the select, the downs, the ups, and the game.

--

The losing screen flashes in his face. He’s not surprised at it. He wasn’t surprised the first time.

“Another round,” Nanami droned at him. “You didn’t even try in that last one, Matsuda-kun.”

“What do you mean? My strategy of just pressing random buttons hasn’t changed a bit,” he pointed out. “I don’t have the time or brain space to learn the technicalities of this cheap-ass fighter game. Especially when the characters are all so ugly.”

“You consistently pick the same one,” she replied. “If it didn’t matter at all, you’d change things up a little.”

Matsuda stares darkly at the character in question as if it had betrayed him. What met his glare was an annoying innocent smile obscured by strings of red.

“I guess this fugly speaks to me on some level. Not that I’m remotely interested in what it has to say.” He selects them just as before. “Whatever. If you’re that fucking bored, then I guess I’ll pick the stage. Although does it really matter? They’re just different backdrops.”

“It helps with atmosphere, I think.”

You think. Games are supposed to be your fucking forte.

He ended up selecting the gothic horror-styled one. Not for any particular reason beyond it feeling right at the time. He immediately started his losing strategy of random button mashing, and while he got a few hits in due to unpredictability, Nanami Chiaki was perfectly capable of wiping the floor with him. To call it one-sided would be generous.

Another defeat. Another loss. Another smug winning animation of Nanami’s character, cheering and prancing around like a fucking deer.

He pressed start to skip through, but the screen lingered as the other player hadn’t done the same. So he waited because whatever, almost drifted off, and snapped back to attention when Nanami was the one who yawned.

“Am I boring you?” he asked, huffing. “What did you expect? Obviously, I’m not a match against you. This is your field, not mine. Or was this part of a sad attempt at psychoanalysis?”

“Um...” Nanami rubbed at her eye. “I do love games. I love playing games. And playing games with others is fun. It’s fun even with it’s with you.”

Even when it’s you. He wonders if he should be flattered. Ultimately, he doesn’t really care. He shrugs.

“Games are as good as a recreational activity as any, I suppose,” he mumbled. “But still between games and manga, the manga is the obvious victor for me. I’d rather not have to use my head unnecessarily when it comes to entertainment.”

“Unnecessarily?” Nanami parrots.

“Because gaming requires an engagement unlike any other,” Matsuda explained, perhaps a bit snappier than needed. “It’s interactive. The game cannot proceed without a player. It’s more...versatile, I suppose? That’s the main appeal of it, and I definitely see the value there, but, still.” He shook his head. “Not for me.”

“So that’s why you’re not really engaging,” Nanami muttered, puffing her cheeks. “Not really, I think.”

“If I asked you to go reading with me, you’d definitely fall asleep before finishing a chapter.” He paused for a moment, mulling that over. “But I guess maybe you’d put more of a show at participating.”

“Maybe. Books are okay. I guess.”

Matsuda twitched a little.

“Video games are okay. I guess.”

“But video games encapsulate all kinds of experiences,” Nanami said. “So I think you’re being a bit close-minded. There’s surely a game out there that speaks clearly to Matsuda-kun’s interests. Maybe we should give that a try.”

Matsuda perked. Nanami had clicked start so that the screen could change, but her gaze was more intense than before. Matsuda couldn’t help but let out a snort.

“I don’t doubt that, but I’m still not exactly interested in playing through it.” He waved his hand. “I’d rather watch someone else play.”

“I guess I can play it, then?” Nanami’s head tilted. “I guess we’ll both have fun that way. I think so, anyway. So, let’s go find that game. Um. There are simulations of surgeries.” Matsuda remembered those. He remembered those well.

I’ve actually played through those for training. It’s meant to ease you into the idea of cutting open a real person, but it doesn’t fully capture that. Doesn’t capture the feel of pulsing at your fingertips, the weight of that person’s mind and life on your shoulders. How a person can twitch and break if poked the wrong way.

And with all that in mind, he was really, incredibly, exhausted.

“Not right now. I’m going back to take an actual fucking nap.” He stands, and he does a half-assed salute. “Sayonara, bye-bye.”

“Later, then?” Nanami asked. She didn’t even sound hopeful. It was cold and robotic, like a coworker after a long, long day. It lowkey pissed him off, so he didn’t even respond.

--

“Ohhhh, it’s Matsuda-kuuuuun.”

“It’s meeeee.” Matsuda waved his hand dully. “I didn’t have anything better to do so here I aaaaaam.”

“Yaaaaay,” Nanami droned with no mirth whatsoever. “So, let’s go to my cottage, then. I dug around through my games and I found stuff that aligns with Matsuda-kun’s interests, I think. I also asked Usamonomi for other stuff.”

“You can just ask the rabbit for shit like that?” he asked, blinking. “Well, shit. I should’ve been taking advantage of that a long time ago. I could’ve cut down on time spent within the proximity of other people.”

Nanami blinks back at him. She already looks bored. And tired. What a mood.

“Were you serious about finding a game I’d like?”

“Absolutely,” she answered immediately with quite the serious expression. “Games are everything. If you can’t find a game you enjoy, what are you even doing with your life?”

“Other things.”

“Come on,” Nanami insisted. “I will drag you if I have to. Probably.”

I don’t want to go but having someone remark on the weird gaming otaku trying to shove me around isn’t exactly my idea of a better time. The best time would be reading manga. And not going crazy due to a lack of being able to work. God.

“Okay. Sure.”

He could only shrug his shoulders and move on along. And make faces at Nanami’s back all the while.

They got to her cottage easily, and Nanami was even walking a bit faster than usual to make the trip shorter. She had to dig around for her key, but it was only a minute before she unlocked the door and beckoned him within her gaming domain. Matsuda, unaffected as ever, just muttered platitudes as he followed in after her.

“Please excuse me.”

He scowled as he had to step over several cables and nearly flipped over the rug that happened to be the same shape as the hair clip Nanami wore. How obsessive was this chick? Even he didn’t have a specially designed rug. And the shape was impractical, too, it pissed him off.

God, what would life be without such useless luxuries, indeed.

“Ba, ba, baaa,” Nanami droned in a poor non-attempt to drill up anticipation. Before Matsuda could ask, she had shoved one of the handheld consoles into his face. It was pearly pink and well-worn, and also flicked on with the screen blinding. Squinting, Matsuda first heard the steady, synthesized heartbeat before he saw something pulsing in the depths of painfully light cyan blue. On closer inspection it was a heart, tubes and all. How quaint.

His eyes flickered over the title printed on the screen, and he exhaled.

“Yeah. That’s a video game alright.”

“You can play it,” Nanami said. “Or you can watch me play it. I guess.”

“I’ll watch you.”

“Okay.”

Nanami plopped onto the ground. She patted the spot beside her but Matsuda elected to just keep standing. He had no interest in getting overly cozy, that just...made him feel uncomfortable.

This chick in general makes me feel uncomfortable.

And she had already started the game. She was utterly fixated on the screen immediately, even when all she was doing was scrolling through dialogue and watching inane cutscenes. The music droned on, and Matsuda wondered if Nanami would notice him just leaving.

Tempting idea. But if I’m going to waste my time here, I better fucking commit.

He noticed that she used a stylus to navigate the various screens. It was definitely old, but in good shape. Hadn’t even been gnawed on the way most of Matsuda’s pens had been. If anything, Nanami had no idling or ticks as she played. It was as if every atom of her being couldn’t focus on anything else.

Creepy.

Really creepy. Totally inhuman. She’s not even blinking.

“Your eyesight’s going to go out,” he muttered under his breath. But she had started the stage, and Matsuda could only stare at the digitized rendition of a patient on the surgical table. Nanami drew the lines with her stylus, and the ‘skin’ split open, revealing the pulsing masses underneath.

There was music ticking, blaring and frantic. It annoyed him. If any music played during surgery, it was almost always classical. Fucking classical. It’s like he was back watching during his internship. He had been fascinated back then, watching how the body pulsed with life in spite of being cut open. The thrill of a person’s warmth when their inner intricacies were in his hands. The throbbing and spasming of those insides...and Matsuda only snapped out of it when the stage was cleared and triumphant music played.

And Nanami was looking up at him, bright-eyed and expectant. She offered him the game.

He shook his head. He felt twitchy all over. Anxious. Here he was, wasting his fucking time on this. There weren’t even any lives on the line. No excitement at all. He wouldn’t even learn anything. A simulation had nothing on the hands-on experience he used to be so familiar with.

And if I’m here for so long that I forget how to rewire a person...what will I do?

“It’s nothing like the real thing. It doesn’t even make the slightest difference.”

“Matsuda-kun?”

He leaves without another word.

--

He looks through the files in his cottage of weird animal-dressed people, and even mulling over them and trying to act like he’s working isn’t the most satisfying of activities. So, he heads out, reading his manga as he does, and sometimes irritably shielding himself from the sun. It’s painfully bright regardless of what he does, so he ends up in the hotel lobby once again.

And Nanami Chiaki is sleeping on his favorite spot, her handheld placed gently aside. She doesn’t sleep with any grace and is muttering about flying pigs and evil octopi. Matsuda shuts his manga irritably and he nudges her arm dangling over the side with the tip of his slipper. Nanami mutters something incoherent in between weird humming that may or may not have resembled classical music, and Matsuda smacks her head none-too-lightly with his book.

“Oi. If you’re going to sleep, do so in your fucking cottage not out here in the open. Do you have any self-preservation at all?” He smacks her again. “This is also bad for your back. And you already slouch so much. Geez.”

“Mm. The one who orders us. Cannot be negotiated with. Do not call.”

“What weird game are you playing in your head now?”

Nanami’s face scrunched up briefly. And quickly. Almost too quick to observe. Her eyes drifted open lethargically, wide and blank. Slowly, she pushed herself up, and there was only recognition in her dull gaze as she blinked at him.

“Matsuda-kun.”

What the hell was that about? Ah.

“Morning,” he greeted, not that curious. “Do you ever go anywhere else? Shut-in.”

“Mm,” Nanami mumbled, rubbing her eye with a yawn. “I feel most comfortable with games, but I suppose I should go to other places, too. Do you have any ideas, Matsuda-kun?”

“I don’t care. Anywhere should work.”

Her cheeks puffed, clearly displeased with the answer but Matsuda didn’t care enough to take it back.

“Is it that you’re getting bored of games or that you feel like there should be more to life? It’s none of my concern either way, but if you’re going to bother me about such nonsense, the least you can do is be clear about your motivations.”

Nanami stared at him, and after a while, her head tilted.

“It’s because you’re so difficult.”

Matsuda raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Out of everyone here, Matsuda-kun is the most difficult,” she said simply, tugging up her hood. “At least, I think so.”

“That’s...a pretty fucking lofty claim, considering.” He said that, but in all honesty, he’s not that shocked. People have been calling him difficult all his life even amongst others with objectively worse traits. He’s used to this kind of bullshit.

It’s still annoying as fuck, though.

“That’s also not much of an explanation,” he pointed out. “Why the hell am I a factor in how you spend your free time? You don’t have to pay me mind.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change, but he wondered if he imagined a shadow flickering across her gaze for the slightest moment.

“I spend a lot of time playing games, and I love games.” A pause. “Of course, games are about having fun. But there are other good things you can get out of it, too. Like, a greater understanding of yourself and the world around you.”

“That’s what it means to be art,” Matsuda replied dully. “So, what? What does this have to do with me specifically?”

“There’s a particular genre I have trouble with, I guess,” Nanami said, although she seemed kind of lost in thought about it. “It’s a genre that hinges on understanding others. Other, um, living people I think.”

Living people? The hell is up with that signifier? Is she actually a zombie?

He couldn’t ponder that further because Nanami was now pointing at him.

“And you, Matsuda-kun, are the most difficult person. So, I think I want to understand through you.”

“What a normal thing to say. And do.” Matsuda twitched. “It’s not my fucking responsibility if you have a social disorder.”

Although I wonder if that’s what it is. But it doesn’t matter. This doesn’t involve me.

“When I invited you to play games, I thought playing something that pertained to your interests would get you to open up,” Nanami explained next. “But you didn’t. You just got upset. Why?”

Ah. Okay. That’s a curiosity I can entertain.

“It’s because you assumed that my field is meant to entertainment.” He didn’t look at her, but he wasn’t going to run away. “I got into medicine and neurology out of necessity and purpose, not because I thought it’d be fun. Yes, it can be enjoyable but that’s such a selfish and stupid fucking way to look at it. Even the fucking narcissists don’t care about that.”

It’s about control. The control needed to save a person’s life.

“Narcissists?” Nanami parroted.

“Never mind. What I should be saying is that if you wanted to pick a game I’d enjoy; you should have picked something with magical girls.”

She perked up. “Oh, so Monomi.”

“Something a little more dignified would be preferred, but yeah. I guess. I can’t say I’m that rabbit’s biggest fan.”

If not for her shitty timing and shittier competence level, I’d at least tolerate her, I suppose.

“Um. So.” Humming, Nanami bounced on her heels, likely to keep herself awake. “What’s something that Matsuda-kun enjoys that I can take part in?” She looks at her book. “I can read with you, I guess? That’s sort of like co-op.”

“It’s nothing like co-op,” he snapped. “And I’d rather not have your creepy dead fish eyes staring holes over my shoulder.”

“I’m not a fish. I think. Fish can sleep underwater. And I’d drown if I tried that. Probably. But maybe I could survive if I collected enough bubbles.”

Matsuda stared at her for a long, long time. 

“How about I look for a second copy of this book and you can read along or something?”

“Oh, I guess that’s also an option, huh.”

And such was what they went with. And so, Matsuda’s frustration and confusion with the one called Nanami Chiaki increased. But off to the library, all the same.

--

“Matsuda-kun, Matsuda-kun.”

Nanami was the one who waved him over, although she hardly looked happy to be doing so. Neutrality as always. It seriously weirded him out.

“Let’s go somewhere again,” she said. “Where would you like to be?”

“A...hospital. With patients. Where I’d be working. Obviously.”

Nanami frowned at him, perhaps a little put out. He couldn’t really tell. Maybe she was actually judging him or something. Considering how much time this chick spent on luxury activities, he wondered if she had any concept of work.

Then again, she doesn’t understand much. Isn’t she pestering me in the first place because of a game?

“That game you’re using me to get good at...it’s not unsavory, is it?”

“Unsavory?” Nanami parroted, like she wasn’t sure what the word meant. He shuddered a bit at the implication of such a scenario. “I do want to understand other people. That’s important, right?”

“I guess. But normally a person’s intention would be social climbing.”

“Like gaining social links?” Nanami seemed to think that over. “Well, there are benefits to that. New abilities. Matsuda-kun would grant greater precision. The ability to better aim. Sharp Precision. That’s what it’d be called.”

She’s now talking through me rather than at me. Fucking rude.

“Right. Precision granted, then. Good-bye.”

He turns on his heel and walks away. It’s not all that dramatic, because Nanami just trots after him without missing a beat. One might compare it to being followed by something cute, like a puppy, a kitten, or a duckling. Matsuda felt it more akin to the security cameras.

“That’s not how it works,” Nanami finally spoke after they walked a good distance across the island. “I feel like concluding here would be a bad ending, I’m sure of it.”

Bad ending? So like...a dating sim route?

Gross.

“Alright. So, a question.” He distracted himself with one of the monitors. And one of the cameras. What he’d give for a rock to break both of them. “You’re pretty good at games, right?”

“Mm?”

“Like, it’s your talent. You must be really fucking absurdly good at games.” He still didn’t look at her. “How much do you think I’d have to mess with your head to make you bad at them?” A pause. “One practice during open brain surgery is having the patient playing a game while you poke around. If they go from doing really well to really poorly, you have an idea that you’re doing something wrong. So how about it?” He glanced back. “Wanna test that?”

Nanami didn’t look disturbed. She didn’t even look displeased. She did, however, visibly size him up and shook her head.

“Even if I was bad at games, I’m sure I’d still enjoy them. It’s not about winning or losing, after all.”

That’s...absolutely not what you should be concerned about. Creepy. So fucking creepy. She has the sense to not go for it, but seriously?

If I lost my capabilities for even a moment, I don’t know what I’d fucking do with myself. If I couldn’t focus on something that important, what would I even be living for?

“Oh.” Nanami sighed. “Matsuda-kun looks upset again. At this rate, I’ll never get a good ending.”

Gross. Gross, gross, gross.

“Life doesn’t have any endings,” he bit out. “There’s also no milestones, not really. No plot points. Certainly no impeccable strategy. Don’t you get that?”

She blinked at him. Once. Twice.

“Mm.” She shrugs. “Matsuda-kun, I have a magical girl game we can play together. It’s a fighter. The combos are really simple. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“It’s always about games with you, isn’t it?” He rolled his eyes. “Look. The second we get off this island, I’m going to throw my everything back into work. There’s no point in building a relationship that’s just going to fall apart. Especially when the person you’re looking to build it with is as difficult as I am.”

Nanami blinked at him again. This time, she was quiet.

“I’m going back,” he said, rubbing at his nape. “Thanks for joining me on the walk, but no thanks to your weird, detached advances.”

“It’s because I want to understand you, Matsuda-kun,” she replied simply. “Because it’s difficult for me, too. I think.”

Is it? Is it really?

No matter how he looked at it, it was a fucking weird sentiment to express. It wasn’t normal. Not at all. Nanami Chiaki wasn’t remotely normal.

I actually...do kind of want to split her head open and get a look for what’s inside.

But he can’t really do that, so for now he just brushes her off.

“I’d rather just not be bothered.”

“Hmmm. Well,” Nanami hummed, shrugging as well. “Maybe you’re tired? I’ll talk to you later, Matsuda-kun.”

This time, she’s the one to walk away. Like it’s that simple.

How exhausting.

--

He’s lying on bed, manga draped over his face and hands laced behind his head. He’s decently close to being asleep, but there’s a knock on his door. Pulling the manga off and setting aside, he groaned loudly.

“Leave a message.”

And then, he heard someone stuffing just that under his door. Pushing himself up, Matsuda stared at the folded-up paper now on his floor. Sighing, he went and retrieved it. The handwriting was surprisingly neat.

Matsuda-kun,

Hang out with me?

He had half a mind to crumble it up, but instead he just opened the door. Sure enough, she was still there.

“I hear letters can be a good starting block,” Nanami said simply. Like it was just common knowledge. “So they really are effective, huh.”

“Did you just have this on you?” Matsuda shook his head. “Don’t actually answer that. I don’t want to know. What I will ask is why you’re bothering me. Again.”

“I’ve hung out with other people,” she responded, head tilted. “And I think I learned a bit about human interaction. But, Matsuda-kun is still the most difficult. I think.”

“Mmgh.” She really is an odd one, isn’t she? That said. “You really think we can get along, huh? I don’t remotely understand how but to be honest, I don’t understand how you think at all. Sure I can’t cut open your head?” He snorted. “Kidding.”

Nanami’s expression still didn’t change. He still couldn’t get a read on her.

“Walk with me, Matsuda-kun?”

“Alright. Sure. Whatever.”

There wasn’t any point either way, so he figured he might as well. It wasn’t often someone sought him out willingly, right?

...right?

His head hurt a little.

“We can stop by the supermarket, I think,” Nanami says after he shuts the door behind him. “If your head hurts.”

He waved his hand to brush off the remark and followed her lead.

“When talking to many people, I guess I learned a lot of things,” she rambled on ever dully. “I know quite a bit from games, but that can only teach me so much about the world, I think.”

Matsuda said nothing to that, rubbing his temples.

“There was something in particular that frustrated and confused me,” she added. “Something that I wanted to understand.”

“Dating sims?” Matsuda asked wryly, unimpressed.

She didn’t respond, either to confirm or to elaborate. Matsuda huffed, but he expected as much.

“Y’know most games that simulate interaction miss out on a lot of nuances to actual conversations. Just like most thing,” he found himself saying. “No matter how intricate the control screen, there’s an ocean of difference between playing a game about a subject versus engaging with it in the real world. That’s another reason why your doctor games don’t do much for me.”

“I suppose that makes sense, huh.” Strangely, Nanami almost sounded wistful. “But, it’s still something I’d like to understand better. Interacting with others, building relationships, falling in love, things like that.”

They’re at the beach now. Nanami pauses to stare out towards the ocean. Matsuda wondered what he saw beyond the sunlight broken and scattered across the surface. The seagulls flying overhead, and the rolling waves.

“I don’t understand love, but... I don’t think you do, either, Matsuda-kun.”

Matsuda’s eyes narrowed sharply and he would’ve snapped back except suddenly his head hurt and he nearly choked. He gagged, too, feeling sick and light-headed.

“U-Urgh. Urgh.”

“Matsuda-kun.” A gentle hand on his head. “Forget I said anything.”

He flinched, but, his mind went blank for a moment and he swallowed back both saliva and bile. Noticing how close Nanami was standing to him, and how her stare was the most unsettling it has ever been, he scowled.

“What was that? I felt like you said shit that was seriously fucking rude before.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Liar.”

Nanami shrugs and from there it’s whatever. Just whatever.

“Hey, Matsuda-kun.” She tugs at her hood. “If you do ever leave, do you think you’ll be bothered to remember everyone?”

“You’re a difficult bunch to forget,” Matsuda snapped. “But as for you, I really can’t be clearer about my lack of interest. By the way, getting to know someone because you want to score fictional lovers on a game is kinda shit.”

“That was actually an excuse, but I figured it wouldn’t work on you.” She shrugged again. “But we spent enough time together that there must be something between us.”

“What a gross remark.”

“So difficult,” Nanami muttered. However, something tugged at her lips. “But I would like for you to get along with everyone, I think. Despite everything. I’m sure.”

“You really do sound like that obnoxious rabbit sometimes,” he responded, puffing his cheeks. She did the same.

“Because getting along with others is important, Matsuda-kun. You should know that.”

Of course I do. But the idea is such a hassle. Such a headache. I have to wonder if it’s worth the trouble.

But, he won’t deny that the idea of a future alone and isolated was a chilling one. He was still human, after all. Humans are social creatures by nature. It was how their species survived, as stupid as it was.

Even if I can’t begin to understand someone like the gamer zombie, it won’t be that way for most other people. And for all her faults, I suppose she’s capable like any other person. I suppose there are a couple of things about her that I can get, even if it’s not everything. But before all of that, one thing is certain.

As both he and Nanami stared out across the endless blue of the ocean waves, he could only truly seek after what laid beyond.

I have to get out of here.

#yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #chiaki nanami #nanami chiaki #Protag Matsun #Magi fics #sdr2 #dr0 #sdr2 spoilers #hinted at #This ended up a lot longer than Hiyoko's but I enjoyed writing it #should I tag the pairing even though it's not really a thing #I didn't for the last one #well #whatever #MatsuNami #I want to do another one before we get back to updating the main story #i-it's not to give myself more time to finish Chapter 2 #I swear