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padfootagain · 1 year

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The King and You (XVI)

Part XVI : The wardrobe

Hi everyone! Here I come with a new chapter for my Caspian fic!

I hope you like this chapter, it’s a little emotional but still sweet. We are also coming closer to the end, so… lots of things happening here! Tell me what you think of it!

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Pairing: Caspian x reader

Warning: … a little sad?

Sum up: Somehow, Caspian stumbles out of Narnia and into your world. He’s utterly lost and has no idea how to get out of this world filled with scary toasters, strange carriages and a woman who literally knocks him off of his feet. But does he really want to find a way back?

Word count: 4784

It took you a few days to track down the position of the cottage that had once been owned by Digory Kirke.

It was Caspian’s first time on a train, and he liked it. So far, it was the most reassuring mean of transportation he had discovered in your world. It was fast, and yet, he felt safe.

Roger and Agatha were sharing whispers and giggles, like two teenagers in love. You didn’t fail to notice the way they were holding hands, sitting next to each other in the compartment.

You ate sandwiches and laughter for lunch, and for a while, the adventure that was your trip to the country side was enough for all of you to forget why you were heading there.

The new owners of the cottage had turned it into an Airbnb, which made everything simple. You would all stay at the cottage, which would give you time to explore the place, and especially the attic. Despite the fact that the cottage had changed owners several times, you were hoping that you could find some clues about Narnia there. Besides, you found no relatives to Digory Kirke left alive; this place where he had once lived seemed to be your only chance.

The cottage was on the outskirts of a small village, with a garden filled with heather, a bench and a tall apple tree. A stonewall encircled the property, and you smiled at the sight of the ancient house, made a little crooked by the years. The walls were of stone, the roof of grey tiles with moss covering the left part of it, the door was painted in a bright red shade. It felt welcoming, warm.

“It’s lovely, don’t you think?” Agatha asked Roger, while you struggled to open the little wooden gate to get into the garden.

“It is indeed. Charming, I would say,” the old gangster answered, tightening his hold on Agatha’s hand.

The inside of the cottage was pretty charming as well. It felt old despite the new kitchen counter and the large tv screen. There was a hearth and a warm carpet under a large sofa and an old armchair. A wooden table. A large library filled with old books with leathery covers. Upstairs, there were two bedrooms, one for Agatha and Roger, and one for Caspian and you.

You decided to get some rest that evening, and to explore the attic the next morning. There was no real rush, or at least, you didn’t want to be in a rush. Delaying meant spending one more evening with Caspian.

You had started doubting it all again, perhaps because you had never been fully convinced in the first place, perhaps because the closer Caspian got to leaving, the less you wanted it all to be real. You hated yourself for it. For wanting him to stay. It was selfish, yet, you kept on hoping…

You had offered to prepare some tea, but you didn’t notice when the kettle started to sing. You didn’t notice the sharp whistling sound, or Agatha calling for you, or the rain that had started to fall outside. Instead, you were lost in thought.

What if you left?

Ever since that afternoon at the National Gallery, the question tortured you. Caspian couldn’t stay, but what if you left with him? It sounded crazy, to leave it all behind. He had been clear about the fact that you wouldn’t be able to come back, ever again, to your world. How could you do that? It was crazy. To even think about abandoning your entire life, your friends, your family, just to follow a guy you had met only a month ago? That was outrageously crazy of you. Irresponsible. Stupid even. Completely and utterly reckless.

And yet, you hesitated still.

Because despite how crazy this whole story was, Caspian was real. What you felt for him was real. And you didn’t want it to end just yet…

But if you knew that he deeply cared about you, if you knew that Caspian had feelings for you, you were still unsure of their depth. He had never said I love you. He had implied it several times, but the words had never passed his lips. What did it mean? Did it mean that his feelings, though earnest, were not strong enough to be called love for now?

You were only brought back to earth when Roger walked into the kitchen, got the kettle and started pouring the boiling water into the cups. You were almost startled when he spoke.

“You seem very much worried, young lady.”

“Oh… I’m just tired, that’s all,” you lied.

Roger chuckled, shaking his head.

“Ha, this good old lie. I’m too old to fall for it. Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

He gave you some time to speak, but you remained silent. Upstairs, Caspian had set your suitcase next to the bed, and Agatha was unpacking her things.

“Is it about the boy leaving?”

You nodded.

“What did Agatha tell you about that?” you asked, unwilling to reveal too much about Narnia.

“Not that much, to be honest. Only that we needed to help this boy go home. And that he would have to go on his own.”

“Yeah… he’s going to leave soon. If all goes to plan, at least.”

“And there is no way for him to stay?”

You shook your head.

“There are people there… who depend on him. He can’t stay.”

“Then… why can’t you go?”

You shrugged, looking down at the floor.

“How could I leave my life, everything I’ve built… for a man I’ve met a mere month ago?”

“Do you not love him?”

“I do.”

“Then… it is merely a game of balance. You need to weigh your two options: do you love more the life you have here, or the life you could have with him?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure… leaving… it sounds crazy!”

But Roger gave you a sad smile.

“You know… I was about your age when I met Agatha. Prettiest girl I had ever seen,” he went on with a dreamy smile, but his expression was tainted with melancholia. “I was in love with her by the end of that day we spent together in Central Park. Madly in love with her. Had met her only three days before but… there was something about her I… I just knew. I knew she was it.”

He put away the kettle, watched in his mug as the tea leaves were tainted the water with a brownish, almost-red shade.

“But then… I was young, and mostly stupid. I was involved in some heavy stuff, the kind you can’t get out of. I was offered to go to Chicago for some time. Let’s call it ‘business’, although I’m sure you know that wasn’t all that there was there. I had to choose. And Agatha and I… we had been together for only a couple of months. It was dangerous to take her with me, and I knew it. When I told her about it, she said she would wait for me to come back. I told her not to. I went away. We didn’t stay in touch. When I came back ten years later, she was married with two kids.”

He looked at you again, withheld tears shining in his eyes.

“I have never regretted a decision in my life more than I regret this one. More than I regret letting her go so easily. I could have made it work. I could have dropped it, I could have found a way out. It wasn’t too late yet, I was involved, but I had many friends, and they would have allowed me to lead a normal life, under some conditions. I could have had it all. But the truth is, I wanted to go to Chicago. I wanted to get that money, I wanted to be someone important. If I had stopped for a minute, and truly thought about it… if I had truly weighed my options, I’m not sure I would have made the same choice.”

He rested a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It’s your decision to take. But if you take the wrong one, you’ll have to own it. You’ll have to live with its weigh for the rest of your life. So… be careful. We only have one life, we can’t afford to waste it away.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have the strength to do so. Roger grabbed his mug of tea and Agatha’s and disappeared as quietly as he had come into the kitchen.

He didn’t notice Caspian hiding in the corridor.

********************************

It was barely midnight when you all went to bed. A long day would await with a new sunrise, and you reckoned that you were already going to bed way too late.

You took a shower, took your time to get ready for bed. You lied down there, under the safety of the heavy blankets, waiting for Caspian to be ready to bid you goodnight. He had slept by your side twice, after visiting the cemetery, but after that he had kept on leaving you alone at night. You guessed the intimacy of it was a little too much for him, and you got that. You had no doubts that he would still come to your bedroom to bid you goodnight, though. Drop a sweet kiss on your lips. Check that the covers kept you warm. Turn off the lights. And leave you to get lost in dreams that were always about him.

But this time, he didn’t. This time, when he walked in your room, already in a pair of red pyjamas, he stood by the bed, on the opposite side. You looked at him with a frown, and noticed that he was blushing.

“Can I… Can I stay with you tonight? I… I do not want to be alone.”

You gave him a warm smile, nodding in silence and pulling the covers to welcome him inside the bed. He smiled back, before lying by your side, the mattress caving under his weight. It was reassuring, to feel him there, by your side.

He reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I… I did not want to be alone.”

“Are you okay? Is everything alright?”

He nodded, but he was a terrible liar. You insisted, and he turned to lie on his side so he would be facing you instead of the ceiling. You did the same. There was no light in the room but the faint silvery glow of the moon slipping in through the curtains, and the small lamp alit on your nightstand that painted the room in a yellowish glow. You gave him an encouraging smile, running your thumb across his knuckles in a soothing touch.

It made his heart swell, the sight of you like this. In your pyjamas, lying in bed, your hair already messy and a tender smile on your lips. Your fingers intertwined with his. The sound of your breathing filling up the room.

He reached up to brush his fingertips across your cheek.

“I know it will sound strange but… I feel… like I’m running out of time.”

He could hear it, your breathing stopping. A sharp intake of breath, and then nothing for a few seconds. You tried to smile, but the gesture remained quite sad.

“I do not mean to make you… feel bad or… I just… I feel like something is pulling me away,” he went on. “The same kind of feeling I felt that day in the forest when I left Narnia. Like I should get going. Like I should… Like I must go somewhere else. I do not know how to explain this. It is a strange feeling. Still… I do not want to be alone tonight. I want… I want to be with you, as much as I can.”

You nodded, failing at hiding the tears that glimmered at the corner of your eyes. Slowly, you moved to hold him tightly against you, and he wrapped his arms around your frame as well.

He breathed the sweet scent of your shampoo. Vanilla and apples and sunrises…

“Caspian… can you promise me something? Actually… actually two things…”

“Anything you want.”

“When you’re gone… I know it’s very selfish but… please, don’t forget about me. I… I don’t want you to forget about me. Ever. And I know it’s selfish, because… you’ll need to marry someone else, and I hope you find love and happiness but… but I know that I won’t forget about you. Ever. So don’t. Actually… I have something for you. Thought about giving it to you right before you would go but as you’re having this weird feeling…”

You pulled away to reach inside the drawer of your bedside table. There was a small packet there, closed with a purple ribbon. You offered it to Caspian in a slightly trembling hand, a shy expression on your features.

“I… I have no money. I do not have any gift for you,” Caspian mumbled, but you merely laughed at him.

“Take the goddamn gift, or I’ll give it to Roger.”

It was enough to make him laugh again.

“Do I have some competition?”

“You have no idea. Have you tasted his apple pie the other day at Agatha’s? That man owns my heart.”

Caspian chuckled, accepting your gift. You were shier again as he unfastened the ribbon, unfolded the fabric. He grinned at the sight of the necklace you had bought for him; the medallion hanging at the silver chain had the form of a ship.

“You said… you said you loved the sea. I thought it could make a token of good fortune. And then, maybe… it would help you remember me. I mean…”

But you were shushed by a warm pair of lips pressed against yours. You melted into Caspian’s arms again, holding tightly on his pyjama shirt. When he pulled away, both of you breathless, he brushed tenderly his nose against yours, making you giggle.

He took another close look at the jewel before putting it on.

“I love it. Thank you, so much… I will take it as a token of luck, indeed. But, Y/N… you did not need to buy me a present for me to remember you.”

He slowly shook his head, a tender glint in his eyes, even though he couldn’t hide that he found you rather silly at that moment.

“How can you imagine for even a second that I could ever forget you, Y/N?”

He ran his hand through your hair, pushing the strands back to look at you, to memorize your features, to make sure he would remember every detail, from the exact colour of your eyes, to the form of your lips…

“I will never forget you, my love. How could I ever forget anything about you at all?”

It was your time to kiss him tenderly, until he pulled away to ask you what was this other promise he had to make for you. He saw you biting on your lower lip, hesitate, but you shook your head. Now wasn’t the time. Now, the night was warm and felt safe. You were happy. You didn’t want to ask him about Narnia, about him leaving. You took his face in your hands to pull him back to you, to feel his lips against yours once more.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. That’s enough promises for one day.”

He nodded, not willing to argue with you. Not tonight. Not now. Not when he held you so close to him he could feel your heart beating against his. Matching rhythms…

You saw him clenching his jaw. You heard his breathing quicken. You saw his fingers shaking slightly when he raised his hand to caress your upper arm. His eyes had darkened.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but he didn’t notice. He was staring at your lips instead of your eyes.

When he kissed you again, there was something more there. Something more passionate. Something that made you moan into his mouth, that made you press yourself against him harder, that made your hands fly up to his hair...

You were both breathless when you pulled away. You stared at him for a moment. He started to blush, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t let go of you.

“Would you be offended if I said that I…”

He interrupted himself, looking for the right words. But he couldn’t think straight anymore.

He wanted you too much for that…

“Would you be offended if I told you that I don’t want to sleep right now?”

You couldn’t refrain the chuckle that escaped your throat.

“Offended? No. No, I’m not offended. Especially when you say it in such an elegant way.”

“Do I?”

“But I thought it was not your way. I mean… in your world. The whole… having sex before getting married and all that?”

He blushed fiercely, but he didn’t back down.

“It is not our way, no.”

“But?”

“But we are not in Narnia. And I want you. Terribly so. Unbearably so.”

You struggled to swallow, feeling electricity running across your body, through every one of your nerves and muscles and bones…

“I don’t want you to regret that,” you managed to warn him despite your shaking voice.

He offered you a reassuring smile.

“Trust me… I will not regret this. I want to do it. I want to do it with you before I…”

He didn’t have the strength to finish his sentence. You didn’t need him to.

“Would you… What do you want?” he asked in a shaky voice.

But when you slowly approached your lips of his, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and tighten his hold on you.

“I… have been wanting to do this for a while now. I want you, Caspian. Terribly so. Unbearably so.”

He let a smile form on his lips before closing the gap between your mouths.

You would have needed a lot of sleep, considering the busy day ahead.

But you barely slept at all…

********************************************

The attic was full of dust and spiders.

The little lightbulb that hung there barely shed any light, you needed to bring your phones to see what was in there. Lots of boxes, a couple of wooden chests. You reckoned that you would have more chances to find something in one of these.

By your side, Caspian pushed away from his face a couple of cobwebs.

“Charming place,” he commented.

Behind him, Agatha sneezed because of the dust.

“It’ll take a while to go through all these,” Roger said, looking around to evaluate the amount of work to be done.

“We don’t really have any other option. We should get to work.”

Caspian nodded, picked up a random box and opened it, rummaging through whatever was inside. Soon, all of you were hard at work.

But all you could find were old papers, ragdolls, toys, pictures… all that belonged to owners of the cottage that lived there long after Digory Kirke had died.

By the end of the afternoon, you heaved a defeated sigh.

“I’ll take a break,” you announced, longing for some fresh air.

You were not surprised when Caspian followed you down the ladder, down the stairs, and into the garden.

None of you spoke until you were sitting on the wooden bench. The air was chilly, you had taken your coats to walk outside. You rested your head on his shoulder the second Caspian was seated by your side, and it made him chuckle fondly.

“I’m not sure we’re going to find anything here,” you said after a few minutes.

But Caspian didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer to him. He dropped sweet kisses on your temple and in your hair. You closed your eyes, enjoying this peaceful moment. There was no sound emanating from human lives. No car, no shouts, no voices. Only the wind blowing in the naked branches of the apple tree under which you were seated. Only the few birds chirping now and then. And above all that, Caspian’s hand on your waist, the rhythm of his chest falling and rising as he breathed, his scent warm and comforting, familiar, mingled with the perfume of wet grass and heather beginning to bloom.

You could have lived like this, in this moment, forever…

“I heard you talking with Roger yesterday evening.”

You looked up at him, knowing perfectly well what he was talking about, what conversation he was referring to.

“You are still hesitating, are you not?” he added.

You nodded.

“I’m… weighing my options, like Roger said I should.”

He nodded, a look of deep hurt on his features.

“I… have promised you never to take a decision in your stead ever again, and I will not do so. But… I can tell you what I think you should do. And I think you should stay.”

He shook his head, staring at you. Staring at your eyes that he adored and seemed to capture his soul every time. Even more so since the previous night, he reckoned…

He could feel your lips on his again, your hands holding on his shoulders, your breath mingling with his so you would inhale the same air, your voice whispering his name…

He had to look away to focus once more on the present.

“You would not want me to come?” you asked him, voice fragile and shaking.

“Of course, I want you to come. I want to be with you, more than anything. But I can’t ask you to throw away your entire life, everything you’ve built here…”

“I don’t have that much though. Here, I mean. A few friends, no family… My apartment, painting… I could have all that with you as well.”

“It is your decision to take. But I think that… you would regret it if you came with me.”

You remained silent for a moment, lost in thought. You remembered this promise you wanted to ask from him the previous night, and reckoned it was time to talk about it with him.

“Can I ask you to promise me something?” you asked after a long silence.

“The same vow you wanted me to take last night? Of course, you can.”

You looked for the right way to say this, worried you would offend him. But the stakes were too high, you had to take the risk…

“Caspian… promise me that this story about Narnia is true.”

You saw him clenching his jaw for a second, because of the glint of pain that passed through his dark eyes, but also because of the flash of anger that appeared there. It shone only for a moment though, igniting his gaze for a mere second, before he would relax and look at you tenderly again.

It wasn’t your fault. You had no proof that he was telling the truth, it was a lot to take in. He couldn’t be mad about you doubting it all.

“I promise. It is the truth. You know everything.”

“You really are a King there?”

“Yes, I really am King.”

You nodded slowly, looking down at your feet.

“So… if I left with you… would you marry that woman you said would allow you to make a good alliance?”

“Of course not. I would marry you.”

“Even if it’s not the best for your people?”

“I would marry you.”

“So… I would be Queen?”

“Yes, you would be.”

“That’s… a lot of responsibilities, right? You… you’re not free to do what you want to, right?”

“It is a lot of responsibilities, yes. You would…lead Narnia with me. By my side. You would have many duties. Narnia would have to come first, always.”

You nodded slowly, taking it all in.

“Would I be able to paint still?”

Caspian gave you a tender smile.

“Of course. During your free time, you could keep on painting. You could do anything you want.”

“Do you have a lot of free time as a king?”

“Not that much, I’m afraid. Still… you could paint. Less so than you do now, though.”

Again, you nodded slowly.

And the truth was, you weren’t sure if you could do this. Be a Queen… you didn’t know how to be that. You were a painter. You were a mess, most of the time. How could you lead an entire people, a people you knew nothing about, when you were a mess yourself?

Caspian seemed to guess your thoughts, and his smile turned sad.

“I would help you at the beginning. I would guide you through it. I would be here for you. But I am not going to pretend that leading a people is easy. I will not pretend that my world is not entirely different from yours. That we do not live in castles and fight with swords and travel on horseback when you… you walked on the moon.”

He shook his head, tears glistening in his eyes while he looked up at the grey sky in an attempt to withhold them.

“Your life would be turned upside-down. Everything would change. Would you really do that just to be with me?”

“I love you,” you argued.

You realized then… it was the first time you spoke so plainly these words. Caspian gave you a tender smile, but he didn’t say it back, even if you wondered whether or not the gleam in his eyes revealed his true feelings for you. Still... it hurt that he didn't say it back.

“But love is not always enough, is it?”

You thought about his words while you rested your head against his shoulder again. He took your hand in yours, gave it a tender squeeze before intertwining your fingers together.

You wondered… could love be enough?

********************************

You found nothing that day in the attic. Caspian was surprisingly calm about it. When you asked him why, he answered with a shrug.

“I know we are at the right place. We merely need to find what is hidden here.”

You didn’t answer, didn’t contradict him, didn’t ask him how he could know. You knew that you would not fully understand, and you trusted him. Even though, deep inside, you hoped he was wrong.

You enjoyed a merry meal in the cottage. Roger had been cooking, and it was delicious. After a long time spent talking together, the two couples went their separate ways for the rest of the evening. You decided to go to bed early, to relax with a book (or rather some cuddles with Caspian but you pretended that you wanted to read in front of your friends) while Roger and Agatha lingered downstairs to watch TV. You thus got ready for bed, and then waited for Caspian while he was taking a shower, reading your book although you were unable to focus on the words written on the page while you impatiently thought about Caspian’s arms around you.

You didn’t notice the sound of the bathroom door opening once he had finished showering. You didn’t notice the sound of his naked feet walking across the floorboard. You didn’t notice when his footsteps stopped, when he froze in the middle of the small corridor. You didn’t notice when he looked inside Roger’s and Agatha’s bedroom with a strange fascination. You didn’t hear the thud of his dirty clothes falling onto the floor. You didn’t hear him walk inside the room, transfixed, staring…

He was staring at a wardrobe.

An old, wooden wardrobe with intricate carvings all over the surface. Strange creatures represented in the tender material. Caspian could barely breathe.

There was something about this wardrobe… something… something magnetic. Something that pulled him in.

When he rested his fingers on the doorknob, he was shaking.

He opened the door. A gush of wind blew out of the wardrobe, pushing in the room a few skeleton leaves that bumped into Caspian’s feet.

He took a deep breath. It smelled of… a distant fire. Trees. The strong smell of pine trees. Damp earth. And something sweet. Something… indescribable and yet familiar. A scent he would have recognized anywhere, even though he had never paid true attention to it. But then, he had spent a month breathing another air...

There was a dim light at the back of the empty wardrobe. He could see branches of pine trees and oaks a few steps away. The branches were painted with a dim golden light. There too, it was twilight.

Caspian was shaking when he breathed out a simple word, the word that described what was beyond the doors of this wardrobe.

“Narnia…”

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queen-haq · 3 years

Photo

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 1

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Words: ~2200 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to any kind of emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

~~~~~~

You met Billy Russo at an industry conference two years ago. While you didn’t know much about military security at that time, your specialty was online security and both of you ended up attending a lot of the same events. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, magnetic and a total flirt, and it was obvious he was aware of his good looks and used it to his benefit. You didn’t sleep with him during the conference. Something told you his dance card was already full every night. So, instead, you exchanged contact information and left it at that.

A year later you were hired as a consultant for one of Anvil’s direct competitors and moved to New York City. When Billy called you to meet for drinks, you knew exactly what he was up to. You were no fool. He wanted information on your employer and thought he could charm you into spilling secrets. You told him it wouldn’t work over a second drink, and he simply laughed.

You didn’t fuck him until a month later. The official reason for the delay was conflicting schedules but mostly it was due to insecurity on your part. To the outside world you were attractive in the kind of way that snuck up on people. You weren’t the type to turn heads, like Billy was, and your fucked up childhood had ensured you didn’t let anyone in easily. It wasn’t until a pep talk from your best friend, Davina, about enjoying Billy Russo for what he was – a fun time and nothing more - did you finally decide to take the leap.

Fucking Billy had been unlike anything you’d experienced before. You’d had sex before of course, but not the kind of sex that made you lose all of your inhibitions and scream and come for hours. Billy knew how to coax you out of your shell and demand things from him you’d never even knew you wanted. You fucked him in your apartment, his penthouse, the underground parking lot, in his car and that was all within the first week. He had opened up a whole new world for you and you were willing to try anything and do anything he wanted. After that first night together, all the walls you’d built around your heart collapsed. Your best friend warned you repeatedly that great sex made people confuse lust for love, that she was worried you were falling for Billy, but you told her you were an adult and could handle yourself.

Of course that had been bullshit.

It had been been almost a year now since you and Billy were sleeping together and you had no idea where you stood with him. You didn’t even know if he was fucking other women, though a part of you suspected he was. If he was with you two nights a week that left five other nights to be with someone else. It clawed at you, knowing you weren’t enough for him. It heightened all of your insecurities, made you believe that you were worthless and ugly just like your abusive father used to scream at you. Of course you’d never tell Billy that. The minute he suspected you were getting attached to him emotionally he’d bolt, he’d already warned you of that. So you kept your thoughts to yourself and let your pain eat away at your insides when he wasn’t with you.

At least that had been the plan until you saw him on a date with Madani.

You were at a restaurant with some of your coworkers, enjoying happy hour, when you got up to use the bathroom and spotted Billy sitting in the other corner of the room. The breath rushed out of your lungs, your knees felt weak. They were enraptured with each other, legs intertwined, heads close, a true couple. You knew who she was because he’d let it slip he’d been working with Homeland on something and, you being you, you’d looked her up. Her pictures didn’t do her justice, because she was stunning. And exactly the type of woman Billy would be proud to be seen with.

After you and Billy started sleeping together, Billy rarely took you out. Sure you guys would go to some hole-in-the-wall places or fast food joints but never to fine restaurants, not like this one. You never complained because why waste time when you could be busy fucking his brains out? Except now that you saw him and Madani sitting only a few feet away from you, and he was proudly holding her hand and being openly affectionate, you realized it had all been by design. He never took you out because he was ashamed of you. If you had been prettier, thinner, sexier, taller – anything but what you already are – he’d want you as more than a fuck buddy. He’d want you as his girlfriend.

It was a bitter pill to swallow but at least now you knew the truth and that meant you were back in control of your life.

As much as it hurt, it felt good to know you were the ones making decisions about your future again and they didn’t revolve around Billy. No longer would you be obsessing over what he wanted, what he was doing, if he’d like a certain thing on you or not, if he was fucking someone else or not. You wouldn’t spend hours researching Billy like you did in the past and finding out things about him that he never knew you knew. No, now you were finally free.

And it was time to move on.

Tonight was the night of the fundraising gala. Your company had purchased a table and the CEO of your company had personally extended an invite for you to attend. Based on a conversation you had with Billy three weeks ago, you knew he would also be attending to represent Anvil. When you’d first broached the subject you’d hoped he’d asked you to attend as his date – but he hadn’t. At the time you’d reassured herself the reasons were practical. It would be weird for Billy to be sitting at a competitor’s table (if he went with you) and you would risk offending your boss if you sat at Billy’s. But now you knew the truth.

So, tonight, you were dressed to the nines in a curve-hugging gold dress with a plunging neckline which emphasized all of your assets. Your heels, which cost more than the dress itself, were over five inches high and made you feel like an Amazonian goddess when you sauntered in them.

When you walked into the ballroom with Davina in your arms that night, you felt confident in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

The thing about you that a lot of people didn’t know was that you were fucking fantastic at owning a room – despite your insecurities. You may not be beautiful but you were charming. You were really great at getting strangers to open up, people were drawn to you. It was one of the reasons your CEO promoted you so quickly after a few months. Your job, initially at least, was meant to be a technical role but when you were invited to a party with potential clients you had schmoozed them so easily they had signed the contract within the week. And then you had impressed them with your actual technical skills which only cemented their positive impression of you.

So, yeah, you were in your element and you were ready to charm.

“What table are we?” Davina asked.

“14,” you said. Of course your eyes were automatically drawn to Anvil’s table on the seating chart. 157. A safe distance from your table, which meant there was a good chance you two wouldn’t even be crossing paths in the grand ballroom. You didn’t know whether to be overjoyed or disappointed.

A while later you were circulating around the north bar, chatting up with some potential clients that your boss had wanted you to pay particular attention to when you saw Dinah Madani. She was in one of those slinky, maroon satin dresses, her hair up, and you felt that surge of jealousy go through you again. She was probably here as Billy’s guest considering this wasn’t the kind of events Homeland agents typically attended.

“Y/N!” You turned to find your boss waving you towards him.

Glad for the distraction, you picked up two glasses of champagne from a nearby server and headed towards him, handing him his drink. Your boss was chatting to a group of people you vaguely recognized, but the smile on your face stiffened when you spotted Billy amongst them.

Fuck. He looked good in a tux. His hair was slicked back, and you were struck with the sharp memory of fucking him in his car one night with your fingers roughly fisting his hair. God, you loved his hair, loved running your fingers through the silky strands.

Billy’s eyebrow quirked up when he saw you and you wondered what he thought of you so dressed up. No. It didn’t matter what he thought of you. Fuck him, you reminded yourself.

“Y/N is our new Executive Director,” your boss said, introducing you to the group. “Her division has shown a significant growth ever since she joined Valiant.”

You smiled, shaking hands with everyone. When it was Billy’s turn, you reached out to clasp his hand, not betraying any emotion even though you felt an immediate charge upon touching him. He gave you an amused smile, like he was enjoying the charade.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said. “And don’t listen to Roger. Valiant was doing fine on its own.”

“But Y/N has definitely changed the way we do some of our regular operations. I didn’t realize how archaic this industry’s systems and processes were until she came along.”

“Sounds like I may need to poach Y/N from Valiant,” Billy said with a smug smile, his eyes fixed on you.

“Anvil couldn’t afford me,” you reciprocated with equal smugness.

Roger laughed, patting your arm. “We’re not giving her up without a fight.”

“Clearly,” Billy replied.

The expression on Billy’s face was new to you, you had no idea what he was thinking but you also didn’t want to waste any more of your time obsessing over him.

Roger leaned in closer, lowering his voice so others wouldn’t hear him. “Table 35. Those were the clients I told you about.” As you glanced over to the table he mentioned, your eyes met Billy’s. He was watching you intently, still with the unreadable mask on his face.

Ignoring Billy, you flashed a confident smile up at Roger. “Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”

You turned back to the group, your gaze skipping past Billy’s. “It was a pleasure to meet you all. I hope you have a great evening.” Bidding everyone goodbye, you headed to Table 35.

***

An hour later you were on the terrace, enjoying the cold, crisp New York air that rattled your bone. You were exhausted. Networking took a lot out of you and now you just wanted to go home and soak in the tub. Davina, a natural extrovert, was still in the ballroom, flirting and socializing but you needed a few minutes of privacy so you had snuck outside to compose yourself.

“Congratulations on the promotion.”

Your jaw clenched as soon as you heard Billy’s voice from behind you. You turned around to look at him as he swaggered forward, closing the distance between the two of you.

“You never told me,” he remarked.

You shrugged your shoulders. “We didn’t tell each other a lot of things.”

“I get the distinct feeling you’re pissed at me but I don’t know why. Care to fill me in?”

“What reason would I have to be pissed at you?”

“You tell me. I’ve called you-”

“You’ve never called me,” you interjected.

“Fine. Texted. Whatever.” Billy took a step closer, forcing you to look up at him. Even in your fucking stilettos, he towered over you. “You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks now. Why the ghosting?”

“I just think it’s time I move on.”

Oh, Billy didn’t like that. His eyes grew darker, so dark they were almost pitch-black. “Really? You’ve got the next one lined up already?”

As much as you wanted to believe he was jealous, you knew that wasn’t the case. “We both know you don’t give a fuck about me so drop the fake jealousy bit.” You tried to walk past him but he grabbed your arm and pulled you close. You felt his angry breath skim over your skin as he glared down at you. “Let me go, Billy.”

“Why?” he snarled. “So you can go fuck Roger?”

“You really expect me to believe you’re jealous of me seeing someone else?” you snapped back. “Or is it because it’s Roger? He’s more successful than you, he’s your competitor, his company has been taking all the contracts you’ve been fighting for and now he’s got you beat in the one area you thought you excelled at. Fucking.” You angled forward on purpose, holding his gaze. “Here’s an idea. Why don’t you go fuck Roger and leave me out of it?” You smiled up at him. “Or does Madani not let you stray?”

Understanding dawned on Billy’s face. “So that’s what this is about.”

Part Two

A/N - This is my first reader insert fic. Hope you guys enjoyed it. If you’d like me to tag you, please leave a comment or DM me.

If you created this GIF, please let me know so I can give proper credit :)

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #billy russo imagine #the punisher #reader insert #ben barnes #my fics

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sohin-ace · 3 years

Text

Kakyoin - Fateful Day

Kakyoin x Jotaro's sister reader

I freaking love the Joot-sister prompt

You were always used to Jotaro and you walking separatedly from and to school. The guy had way longer legs than you and would rather not be seen with you in public and near school, for reasons mysterious to you.

At first you felt offended that he would be ashamed of you, or just not bear your presence.

You did not know, in fact, that the reasons he kept his distance from you as much as he could when on schoolgrounds or when going to school, was to protect you from danger.

Not only was Jotaro constantly surrounded by crazy girls who would probably harass you for existing in his world, but he also had troubles, to understate, with local delinquents and other gangsters who wanted to throw some hands at him.

Furthermore, with the new discovery of that bizarre, seemingly evil spirit that started following him around, you were really the last person he wanted to hurt.

Unfortunately, being distant from his little sister wasn't near enough to protect her this time.

One fateful day, soon after your grandfather arrived in Japan and Jotaro got out of holding, you were walking home from school as usual.

Jotaro was already a solid five minutes away in front of you, which meant you were all alone.

You didn't mind the lone walk, the town was peaceful and you were used to it. But something irked you when you felt an insistant presence behind you.

You turned around, checking, but no one was there. You shrugged the feeling off, feeling a bit stupid for thinking the worse and kept walking, telling yourself it must have been a cat or an innocent someone who got home.

"Jotaro~! Welcome back- hm? Where is your sister?" Holly asked as she welcomed her son who just came home.

The boy grunted, reluctantly accepting his 'welcome home' smooch. "She's coming. She's just slow."

After a long while of waiting for your return, Holly started to worry, stress and anxiety clouding her mind. Panicked, she barged in Jotaro's bedroom. You weren't usually this late.

"Jotaro, are you sure Y/N was behind you? It's been almost thirty minutes and she's still not back…"

Jotaro huffed in annoyance as he got up from his laid down position on his bed.

"Yare yare daze, quit worrying over nothing, she's probably fine."

" 'Probably'?!"

"What's going on, Holly?" Joseph joined in after hearing the commotion.

"Y/N's not back from school yet… I'm scared something might have happened to her…" Holly explained to her father, dread even more evident in her voice as she worded her worries.

Joseph rubbed her shoulder in reassurance, "It's okay, Holly, I'm sure she's not that far. Jotaro! Get up and go look for your sister! You're supposed to keep an eye on her, that's your role as a big brother!"

The old man scolded as the teenager stood up and got on his way, as if he had been asked an annoying chore.

"Yare yare, you're all so noisy over nothing." He put his shoes back on and took his leave.

Stopping every once in a while and unable to shake off your uneasy feeling truly delayed you. You were sure you'd never hear the end of this if your father knew how late you were today.

"Kujo..." A sudden deep voice called right behind you, and you turned around, meeting with a complete stranger. "…Am I correct?"

"Yes?" You replied a bit shyly as you turned fully to him. "And you are...?"

As you now had a better look at him, you realised how handsome he actually looked. Not at all how you imagined a potential creep following you.

He wore your school's uniform but you didn't recognize his face. He must be a new student, you told yourself. He had beautiful red hair and a white shawl that flew gracefully in the wind. He was also strongly and elegantly built. Just who was he?

But all that charm quickly shifted as he smirked eerily in response. He approached you, his eyes glaring into your soul and you stepped backwards as fear built up inside you. Why was he looking at you like that so suddenly?

The uneasiness from before came up tenfold, this time completely justified. You spoke up as he came uncomfortably close to you, towering over your much smaller form.

"U-um… Did you need something…?" You hesitantly stuttered as he now stood arm-length away from you.

"Yes I do." He spoke confidently, his goal like set in stone. "I need you to lead me to your brother."

"What? My brother? If it's a fight you want with him, I won't let you." You protested with more confidence, now that you started to understand where he came from.

You were used to people trying to pick fights with Jotaro. You knew your brother had way too many enemies for his own good, and surely you wouldn't let anyone get to him and filter them out if you had the occasion.

"Who even are you? I don't recognize you from school…" You squinted your eyes warily. This boy arised too many questions in your mind.

Kakyoin smiled softly at you, which you didn't trust at all. He was fishy and there was something in his eyes that you quite couldn't put you finger on.

"My name is Kakyoin Noriaki." He sighed. "I didn't want to use force on a lady, but you don't leave me any choices..."

Before you could even react, green tentacle-like appendices appeared from behind him and lunged at you. You gasped and bolted away as fast as you could.

You knew it. It was bad. Real bad. You had no chance against a Stand user like him, you couldn't manage your own newly found Stand just yet. It was exactly like your grandfather said.

You tried to run, but not even 2 meters far and his green vectors wrapped around your ankles.

As you were about to trip and land on the floor, more of the tentacles wrapped around your legs, waist, arms and wrists, preventing you from falling, keeping you still in mid-air.

You couldn't move. Kakyoin came up behind you as you struggled in Hierophant Green's grip.

"Well that was easy." He snickered over your tied up and desperate form.

"LET ME GO!! LET ME- HMMFF!" He put a large hand over your mouth, effectively silencing your now muffled screams.

"Shhh! Don't make this harder for us, I'll just borrow your body real quick. It'll be over before you even know it. I'll make this painless, I'm a gentleman."

He released your mouth and Hierophant green squeezed itself around your neck, choking you, your mouth agape for you desperately needed air.

He took this advantage to grab your wrists and lock you against his chest as his Stand released you to nest itself inside your opened mouth.

Your body tensed up at the foreign and disgusting feeling of the spirit slipping down your throat and you violently squirmed in Kakyoin's grip as he forced your mouth closed, keeping the Stand inside to own your will and possess you. Just as Dio had taught him.

"Good. That's good. Jotaro would never kill his own sister, now would he? Even though his own sister will kill him. How tragically ironic."

He wrapped his arms back to your midsection as you stopped squirming, tired and breathless from fighting against him in vain. He held you against him as he knew you would surely collapse if he let go.

"Haaah… Ahh… Haaaa… Haaahh…" You panted shakily, scared and exhausted as your head hung low and your cold hands rested upon his own, barely able to swat them away from you with how shakey you were.

You were weak and alone, which was perfect for him to use. He chuckled and you felt the rumble of his chest against your back as he did. You felt like crying.

"It's too bad that you have to die. You're so cute, I would have loved to bring you to Master Dio with me."

You suddenly felt nauseous. You felt his stand inside you, trying to slide itself into every part of you and take control of your body.

You tried to resist, your arms and legs were shaking, your arched your back and writhed in pain, you knew your own Stand was fighting against it.

To Kakyoin's utter shock, Hierophant Green was violently pushed out of you by your own Stand as you let out lung-piercing coughs. Spitting the enemy out like some flesh-eating parasyte.

"WHAT-?!" Kakyoin yelped at the scene, but was then forced to let go of you as your Stand punched Hierophant Green in the face, the red-head owner feeling the hit full-force as well.

Kakyoin fell down, knocked down by the impact as you collapsed to your knees, coughing up and vomiting spit and blood.

Adrenaline pushing you through, you didn't let yourself any time to recover and took this chance to run away as fast as you could, taking sharp turns and passing through narrow paths that you prayed he wouldn't fit through or have the idea of searching.

You eventually lost track of him, gasping desperately for air as your lungs hurt in a dry and sharp pain, fed by the ceaseless pounding of your heart. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably, you couldn't take it anymore.

Right as you passed the Torii gate of the temple nearest to your neighborhood, one you walked through every day, you passed out cold onto the paved holy ground.

Jotaro slowly walked his way back to the path you usually both took to come home after school. He walked and walked, but still no trace of you on the way.

Although he would never admit it, his anxiety grew inside him and his heartbeat quickened as he realised that you were way too far from home for his own liking. You were right behind him, how could this happen?

He started to feel guilty that he didn't even check if you were still following him or not. Especially when he realized that so many people, people who yearned to get under Jotaro Kujo's skin, could easily do so by taking you down and harming you, his own sister.

His train of thoughts were interrupted when he found something, or rather someone on the stoned floor of the local temple. And as he approached the figure, sure enough, his eyes widened and his heart jumped in his chest. No...

"Y/N…!"

He immediately kneeled down next to you and lifted you to his lap. He checked you up and down for injuries and noticed you had fresh bruises forming on your wrists and neck and you were bleeding from your mouth. He could not believe what he was seeing.

"Aah… Jojo…" you whimpered in a wheeze as you recognized your brother's voice and his smokey scent.

"Who did this to you? What's the name of that fucking asshole?!" He growled, his gruff voice contrasting with the care he held you with.

"H-he's a stand user like you… Kakyoin… He's after you, don't go to school tomorrow…" You croaked and coughed out while looking up at his worried eyes and your brother scoffed.

"Yare yare, you're stupid to think I won't go to school and drum his ass."

He lifted you up and carried you back home to get your injuries treated. As to be expected, Holly freaked out at your state and Jotaro received a earful from Joseph who told him to never let a young girl walk all by herself, let alone his little sister and especially with all the trouble he gets into.

The next day, you stayed home to rest for the day, making you feel much better. Thankfully you had no major injuries and the Speedwagon foundation doctors knew about Stand inflicted wounds.

You had interesting chats with the guest Abdul and Joseph spoiled you all day like you were his baby which, to be fair, you were in his eyes.

In the mean time, Jotaro had met with Kakyoin and had an inevitable fight. Unfortunately, what Kakyoin had going on was much deeper than just wanted to bully Jotaro. When Jotaro came back home, he brought Kakyoin's unconscious body and you learned about what happened to him, about Dio, the fleshbud, and why he aimed at killing Jotaro.

Knowing what had transpired and with you doing much better, you decided to go check on the boy. You felt it was important to start allover with him.

You knocked gently on the guest room's door and slid it open, revealing Kakyoin in his injured state. Your brother truly did not hold back, you thought.

"Hello Kakyoin…" You greeted a bit shyly as you walked through the door. The red head looked at you with wide eyes as he recognized you.

"Y-...you're the girl I attacked yesterday?" You nodded and he sighed sadly. "I'm deeply sorry for what I did… That was.... Despicable of me..."

"Don't worry," You approached him and knelt down at his side. "My grandfather explained what happened to you. I'm not mad. You weren't yourself."

Kakyoin then glanced at your bruised neck and looked away in shame.

"I can't believe I harmed a girl… in such a low, awful way…" You chuckled lightly at his exaggerated worry.

"Hey, I'm fine! Look, you're in an even worse state than I am. Stop fretting and let us take care of you, okay?" You gently smiled at him.

He looked at you with a soft gaze. He bit his lip and blinked back the tears that prickled in his eyes. Were all members of this family pure redempting angels of sympathy and goodness?

"Thank you, Kujo, you're very kind..."

"Just call me Y/N." You smiled as you leaned in to move out some hairs that were stuck to his frontal bandage.

"Y/N…" He softly repeated, a blush rising to his face. Even your name was beautiful, he thought to himself, never daring to say it out loud.

His heart fluttered in his chest at your feathery touch and he felt suddenly much shier. He wanted to hold that soft hand in his own, but before he could even do anything, Holly called your name from afar.

"Y/N! Can you please come here for a second?"

"I'm coming!" You replied before looking back at the boy. "Sorry, I have to go. I'll let you rest until dinner is ready."

Kakyoin nodded and laid back down on the mattress. He let out a soft 'oh' of surprise when you gripped the blanket and tucked him in sweetly before getting up and leaving, sliding the door close behind you.

He sighed, unable to fight his little goofy grin.

"Damn it… I'm falling in love…"

Old writing again. I'm really just putting the dusty stuff I should have posted a year ago. I apologize for the poor litterature.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #writing #x reader #reader insert #reader is a kujo #kujo reader #reader is Jotaro's sister #kakyoin x reader #kakyoin noriaki #kakyoin #kakyoin noriaki x reader #part 3 #jojo part 3 #stardust crusaders

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

Text

Save The Date Chapter 11 ~What’s Brewing Claire?~

picture credit

Previously in Stramash ...

Jamie pulled back to look at her face and tipped her chin up to survey the cut on her lips. "He did this?"

She could only nod as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jamie turned the gun in his hand and marched towards the door, shouting at the police ushering Jack out to wait. Before Claire could scream for him to stop, he brought his forehead down on Jack's nose in a head butt before handing the weapon to a nearby officer. The sound of cartilage crunching echoed in the tiny room, making Claire wince. Jack fell onto his knees with a loud thud, holding his bleeding nose, shouting improprieties muffled by his hands.

"Now, that was uncalled for, Fraser," an officer clucked, but his grin and the amusement in his eyes implied he wasn't too bothered over Jack's injury. "Now go and get some rest. I'll handle the paperwork and delay the statement for tomorrow morning. You both have done enough to save the day."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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Jamie studied Claire. She lay relaxed on the examination table, going through her phone and reading messages. She looked untroubled and seemed to have recovered from the ordeal this past weekend. The only tell-tale sign left of that hellish night was the tiny scab on her lower lip and bruising on her right cheek where Jack Randall had struck her. She was whole and safe, and yet here he was, having trouble letting go of that incident.

When he'd helplessly watched Jack shoved a gun against her neck and dragged her away from his sight, he'd felt the full gravity of her vulnerability and his inadequacy to secure her safety. But how Claire had handled the situation was nothing short of mind-blowing, albeit heart-stopping. She'd kept her presence of mind, aptly keeping Geneva talking while the tech specialist monitored the audio listening device. The moment they'd identified the voice on the phone, the administration in Broadmoor had been immediately alerted to make sure Geneva didn't go anywhere until the police arrived.

Geneva and Jack were in jail now, awaiting trial and most likely would stay there for a very long time. He really needed to stop fixating on what could have gone wrong and focus on the matter at hand, like their baby's condition and Claire's health.

He puffed out a breath and sprung onto his feet. "Ye comfy, Sassenach?"

"I'm good," she replied, without looking up from her phone screen.

"Ye ken, we can cancel the baby reveal for another day."

"I know, but I prepared so much food already."

They were having his family and closest friends over for afternoon tea to share the news of their baby. Claire had insisted on a celebration to invalidate the ordeal Geneva had put them through, determined not to allow recent events to cast a shadow over their upcoming nuptials. Jamie had thought it was too soon, but Claire had pressed that the sooner they moved forward from the incident, the better.

So last night, she'd spent the entire evening preparing shortcrust pastries, scones batter and making Victorian sponge cake. Apparently, she'd taken some lessons in baking and cooking from Mrs Fitz so that she could host parties like Jenny and his ma. It was as if her work, all the travelling she'd been doing, preparing for the wedding and recovering from trauma wasn't enough. She also needed to put up a brave front.

Though the doctor had given Claire an all-clear in London after a routine checkup, Jamie had insisted on another examination when she'd complain of spotting last night. He hadn't a clue what that had meant, but the concerned look on her face was enough for him to push her for another doctor's appointment. To his relief, she'd hardly put up a fight, and he'd immediately arranged a consultation with a private practice to speed things along since the NHS hospitals were notorious for long waits.

"I just want ye to be certain, Sassenach. That's all. I dinnae want this tea party putting a strain on ye."

Claire put her phone down and glanced up at him. "I'm pregnant, Jamie, not incapacitated. I know you're worried about the spotting, but I'm quite certain pregnant women gets them sometimes. I don't feel ill, but here we are, taking precautions."

Sighing, he moved to her side and took her hand in his. "It's just that I'm bothered about that bruise behind yer back. It looks vicious. I ken bruising looks a lot worse than it is, but I cannae help but wonder if the baby has been harmed when ye banged yer behind on those shelving units after Jack pushed ye. I'm concerned about any delayed complications. Or if the doctor in London overlooked something."

She squeezed his hand. "Your worries are valid, Jamie. The odds of miscarriage or complications might be highest in the first trimester, but I haven't had any issues." She shrugged. "Oh, well, except for the tiny spotting last night. I'm sure everything's fine. Try not to worry."

Easier said than done, Jamie thought. How could Claire sit there looking so calm? Now that she's pregnant, the world was suddenly full of threats: unpasteurised juice and dairy, soft cheeses that she loved so much, fish high in mercury, saunas and hot tubs, secondhand smoke, changing Adso's litterbox. Not to mention aunt Jocasta's bloody stories of baby-abducting fairies. He really needed to stop reading too much pregnancy information; otherwise, he'd go insane.

Claire gave him a look that said she could tell he was overthinking things.

He promptly kissed her on the lips. "Aye, I guess ye're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry for over-reacting."

The door suddenly opened, and in walked a friendly-looking middle-aged female doctor. "Hello, Claire! Dr Fiona Innes. How are we feeling today?"

"I'm good, just a bit nervous about the spotting," Claire breathed.

"Understandably." Then the doctor turned to Jamie. "And ye're..."

"James Fraser. The one who got her up the duff," he replied, taking the doctor's outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Jamie!" Claire gasped, her face crimsoning profusely.

The doctor laughed. "Hah! I like that! A good sense of humour will get ye through anything." She dragged the ultrasound monitor closer to the exam table and pulled up a stool. "So, let's get started so we can put both yer mind at ease, shall we?" She proceeded to put gloves on and prepare the probe that Jamie had the unfortunate luck of knowing already what it was for. "Now, Claire, I want ye to lie back and place yer feet in the stirrups."

Claire did as she was told while Jamie helped her ease down. He winced when he heard the sound of latex snapping over the probe. He looked away and took Claire's hand in his.

"Is this your first ultrasound visit, Mr Fraser?"

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking the doctor must have noticed the strain on his face. "Aye and no."

Dr Innes arched an eyebrow.

Jamie pointed at the probe and tried not to grimace. "I've seen a doctor used that thing on her when she was hospitalised a few weeks ago. I hadn't known what was going on then, so I walked away and let them get on with it."

"I see." The doctor refocused her attention back to Claire. "Now relax for me and big deep breaths," Dr Innes advised as she put lubricating gel on the blunt tip of the probe. "This will be a tad bit uncomfortable."

Claire shut her eyes and took a deep breath while Jamie whispered all sorts of nonsense in her ear. When her grip clenched into a tight vice, he pressed his lips on the top of her head.

A few seconds passed, and that's when he heard it. He stilled. It was loud, clear and steady. The unmistakable sound of a heartbeat coming from the monitor. It was their baby's. He let out a sharp exhale, realising he'd discovered something powerful in the tiny, vulnerable life form growing in Claire's womb.

His ma once said that the heartbeat was the first music that a child heard and that every bairn was born knowing the rhythm of their mother's song. To Jamie, this was the sound of their child's soul, the unspoken words already speaking volumes. It was as if it was saying, I'm alive and well, can you hear me?

"Weel, that sounds like a strong and healthy heartbeat there," Dr Innes remarked. "See right there?" Jamie and Claire stirred in their positions to take a better look at where the doctor was pointing. "That's yer baby."

Releasing Claire's hand, Jamie stepped closer to the monitor and tipped his head to the side, adjusting his eyes to discern the grainy image on the monitor. When he finally figured out the shape, mixed emotions began to bombard him in all directions. He felt the complexity of love at seeing a piece of himself and Claire on the screen, inspiring fierce protective instinct to kindle within him. Words like elation, joy and sobering responsibility were too meagre terms and did not give justice in describing how visceral all his emotions were.

"T-that ..." Jamie pointed an index finger at the image, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Is that a ..."

"It's not what ye think, Mr Fraser. That's the foot," Dr Innes responded briskly. She shifted the probe at a different angle to capture another image. "As far as I can see, everything seems to be in perfect working order. I can safely say ye have a healthy, strong baby, so ye can both rest easy."

Jamie continued to stare at the monitor, still trying to wrap the idea of impending fatherhood around his head. "The baby is no' missing any parts, is it?"

"The baby has everything it should have at this stage of the pregnancy," the doctor replied, amused. "Though I think we'll need another few weeks to be able to tell the gender."

"Thank you so much, doctor," Claire said gratefully, pushing herself upright. "We were worried about the spotting and thought it might have had to do with the stress and trauma of what happened last weekend. It was mad, really. I nearly got abducted and had a gun pointed at me."

The doctor threw the probe's latex into the waste and began peeling off her gloves, seemingly unaffected by what Claire had just revealed, making Jamie think physicians were used to hearing such stories. The doctor gave them both an understanding look. "Having a gun pointed at ye is quite jarring, so I understand why ye're both concerned. So how are ye coping mentally?"

"I try not to dwell on it and carry on as usual," Claire shrugged. "So far, I'm dealing with it fine."

The doctor looked at Claire curiously, her expression full of empathy. "Sometimes ignoring it isn't as cut and dried as you think. Try and get some counselling. Ye're going to deal enough with all the hormones impacting yer physiological, physical and mental well being. This is the time to be enjoying this exciting time in yer life, so counselling is just taking a precautionary step to ensure you are in a good place and prepared for what the next few months will throw at ye."

Jamie locked eyes with Claire, and a silent agreement passed between them. They both understood the impact of a traumatising experience, and he wanted to take the doctor's advice on board.

"I'll make sure she and the baby are well taken care of," he reassured the doctor, patting Claire's thigh.

"I'm sure ye will," the doctor smiled, pressing buttons on the monitor.

"Let's just hope he won't go over the top," Claire added. "He has a tendency to do that."

The doctor pulled out copies of ultrasound images from the printer and glanced up at Jamie. "I can understand the need to protect, but just bear in mind, us women are more resilient and stronger than we look," she pointed out. "And pregnant women aren't as frail as society perceives them to be."

Jamie laughed. "There's no question about that. After all, my wife-to-be here achieved what twenty-four specialist firearms officers could not."

"Oh?" Dr Innes looked surprised. "And what was that?"

"She single-handedly took down a maximum-security prisoner escapee, helped led the police to his psychopathic accomplice and in the process saved an innocent mistakenly imprisoned," Jamie explained. "I ken it was a foolish move with her being pregnant and all ..."

"It might have been foolish, but I happen to believe Claire's response is inherent in all mothers and mothers-to-be, and it's something almost impossible for the human brain to override."

"Och, aye?"

"It's called maternal instinct, Mr Fraser, and it's as old as life itself." Dr Innes got up and handed him an envelope containing the ultrasound images. "So woe to anyone who dares a mother-to-be or new mother harm because they're utterly more ferocious than any man wielding a gun when it comes to defending their nest." She looked between him and Claire and smiled. "Anyway, congratulations to you both on your coming parenthood." Then she faced Jamie and patted him on the shoulder. "And as for ye, congratulations on yer newly acquired bodyguard. Ye can sleep well tonight."

..........

Jamie walked in and placed the last of their shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. "Is there anything else ye need, Sassenach, before I go?"

Claire felt him approach and busied herself, placing apples in a large bowl and then lemons in another. "Umm ...I think I have everything I need." She felt his eyes boring into her back but tried her best not to get distracted. "Shall I make a sandwich to take with you?"

"No, I'm no' hungry."

"Oh, alright ...I guess I shall see you later then."

"I have a few minutes to spare. Want to talk?"

"Talk about what?"

"What ye're feeling. Ye haven't said much all morning ...since we left the clinic. And ye hardly talked to me while we went food shopping."

She took out a knife and honing steel from a drawer and went through the motion of sharpening the blade. "Oh ...I guess I must have been preoccupied with my mental to-do list. That's all."

A long silence ensued, and after what felt like an eternity, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Sassenach, can ye stop what ye're doing for a minute and look at me?"

Hot tears suddenly settled behind her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back and breathed deeply, swallowing down conflicting emotions and refusing to let them fall. She didn't want to be the type of woman who cried at the littlest and inconsequential thing. She'd never been a crier before, and she wasn't about to become one if she could help it.

"I'm busy, Jamie."

"Please."

Bracing herself, she placed down her utensils and faced him. "What is it?"

"This ..." Jamie waved his hand at the shopping bags on the counter. "I ken what this is. Ye havenae sat still ever since we came back from our trip. Ye've decluttered our bedroom and cleaned out all the kitchen cupboards. And now an afternoon tea party? I ken what ye're doing. Ye're keeping yersel' busy to forget what happened in London instead of talking about it."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not that."

Jamie impatiently rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Weel, what is up with ye then?"

"Hormones."

"Hormones," Jamie echoed. "Why did you no' just say so?"

She felt her face heat up. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't know it at the time. Or perhaps, because it all seems so silly that I'm getting all worked up for nothing."

Jamie stepped closer and braced her cheeks with both hands, a calloused thumb tenderly swiping her lower lip. "Listen to me very carefully. Whatever ye're feeling or going through, hormonal or not, is never silly. Everything ye have to say is important to me. Trust me on that. I always want to know if something is bothering ye and be able to help ye fix it. Yer body is going through many changes, and it's normal yer emotions are all over the place. So no more self-deprecating thoughts about yer feelings. Am I making myself clear?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, tamping down the urge to cry.

"Very well then, tell me what's going through that mind of yers. At least we can clear the air between us before I go, and my whole family comes and start noticing that something isnae right. Today is supposed to be a celebration of our baby. I dinnae want anything to ruin this day in as much as I think we should delay this for another time."

"Fine." She shut her eyes to search for the right words, but no matter how she formulated them in her head, it didn't sound right. Saying it out loud would only make her appear pathetic. But there was no way around it once Jamie set his mind in extracting something from her.

"Sassenach?"

Her eyes flew open. "Yes?"

"Yer face is getting redder by the second. I'm beginning to worry."

"Very well, if you must know ..." She blew out a breath. "You haven't touched me since that night in London, that's what," she blurted out. "I feel like you're avoiding me. Every time it was time for us to go to bed, you always had some excuse, like you haven't walked the dog or you need to check the emails." Unable to hold it back any longer, she suddenly burst out crying. "I know it's hormones talking, and I'm acting silly. But I can't help but feel the way I feel because I'm hormonal and horny. That's why I'm keeping myself busy, so I will not overthink things. Because if I did, I'd start believing you don't want me anymore, even if logic says it's not true. Happy now?"

He blinked rapidly as if his brain was short-circuiting.

"Yeah, just the reaction I knew I was going to get. See what I mean when I said I was acting silly?"

"No," he groaned out loud. "Sweet baby Jesus! Ye cannae say things like horny when I have to go."

Claire slapped Jamie on the chest. "Jamie! You wanted to know what was wrong! Now that I've said it, you can't blame me for it!"

"Cancel the tea party, and I'll tell Willie I'll be late!"

"No!"

"Why no'?"

"Because!"

With a deep groan, he grabbed her neck from behind and gave her a hard kiss. There was nothing tender or playful about it, just a desperate act of trying to get his fill. He let out a frustrated moan as his tongue swept in her mouth, and a hand cupped her breast, his arousal hard and thick against her belly, letting her know how much he wanted her. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both gasping for air. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing harshly into her face. "How could ye think, even in yer hormonal state, I dinnae want ye any more? Damn it, Sassenach, I've been aching for ye these past few days."

"Then why didn't you touch me?"

He shook his head as he attempted to even his breath. "That night in London, after I took ye back to the hotel, I wanted to bury myself deep inside ye so I could remind myself that ye're really alive and back in my arms. But when I saw that bruising behind yer back and knowing what ye've just been through in yer pregnant state, I thought if I took ye right there and then, I might cause ye irreparable damage, physically and psychologically. I wanted to make sure ye're properly healed first and that our baby was safe. God, all those nights I was away from our bed, I've been doing push-ups to release all those pent-up frustrations of not being able to make love to ye."

"So you did want me all along ..."

He tapped her nose. "Aye, ye silly goose."

"Oh Jamie," she sighed. "You still don't get it, do you?" She placed a hand against his face and smiled for the first time that morning.

"Get what?" he asked, looking suddenly confused.

"You should know by now, lovemaking is the best stress reliever. I thought you knew that."

"Weel ..."

"Remember the times when you were all worked up and conflicted, and how much better you felt after sex?" When he nodded, she pressed on. "Whenever you and I have sex, whether it's fast, hard, long or a quickie, it always came from a place of love. And we've talked about this before ...love heals. The most wonderful thing about our lovemaking, it puts us in that intimate space where we can better connect, heal, open us to those hard conversations, helping us in the process to find closure and release. If sex worked for you to ease your stress, why should it be any different for me? I needed you most after that horrendous night, Jamie. I needed your body to ground me. But I understand now why you didn't touch me that night."

Jamie stared at the ceiling and sighed before looking at her with a mixture of wonderment and torment. He let out a pained laugh. "Weel, right now, I'm under a lot of stress and pressure." He took her hand and placed it on his bulging arousal to make a point. "How about we continue this in the bedroom and let off some steam? I'm stressed, and ye're horny. Ideal combo! Ye can use my body anyway ye want."

Claire clucked her tongue and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Oh, no, you don't, you sneaky, Scot! You're running late as it is." She placed both hands on his chest and began pushing him out of the kitchen. "How about you let me get on with food preparation, and you finish what you need to do so you can come home as soon as you can in time for the tea party?" she proposed.

"How about my stress levels?" he grumbled.

"Your stress levels are fine!" She turned him around and smacked him on the bum. "Now go. Mrs Fitz will be here any minute to bring the Battenberg cake I ordered."

At the mention of Mrs Fitz, Jamie didn't need any more prodding. He gave her another quick kiss and left the cottage, muttering something about getting a new house before slamming the door behind him.

..........

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed by quick, and something in Claire lightened even though she was a nervous wreck hosting her first traditional English tea party.

She looked at the kitchen counter laden with several tiered plates displaying the delicacies she'd meticulously prepared. She was ready, and everything looked perfect.

She'd made four different tea sandwiches to be on the safe side: pear and stilton, cucumber and cream cheese, egg salad, and smoked salmon and dill. And then there were scones, lemon curd tartlets, fruit tarts, and shortbread and Linzer cookies she was looking forward to gorge on. On the other end of the counter were Mrs Fitz's Battenberg cake and Claire's pièce de résistance, Victoria's sponge filled with jam, berries and double cream. Her teabox was neatly packed with Darjeeling, Earl Grey, and Assam, and the pitchers of lavender and elderflower lemonade were cooling nicely in the fridge.

Perfection!

She was about to wash the sink when she heard a rap on the window. She looked up and saw Jenny waving at her. Letting her in through the kitchen back door, she was surprised to see her carrying a stack of real estate pamphlets and magazines with its pages tabbed with colourful sticky notes.

"Jen! What's all that?"

Jenny shrugged. "Weel, after what happened to ye in London and with everything going on at the moment, I thought I'd make yer life easier." She plonked down her load on a nearby stool and picked up a magazine, leafing through the pages. "I heard from Willie ye and Jamie are looking for a bigger place. So I decided to grab all these. It has listings of every available property for sale in the surrounding area. Ma and I saved the pages we thought ye and Jamie might like."

"Oh, Jen!" Claire gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Jenny waved a hand. "Think nothing of it!"

Feeling emotional, Claire gave Jenny a big hug. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much." When she finally broke away from their embrace, she noticed deep furrows on Jenny's forehead. "Jen? What's wrong?"

Jenny's usually brilliant blue eyes suddenly looked serious as they landed on the bruising on her cheek. "Does that still hurt?"

Claire touched her cheek. "Oh, this? No, not at all. It looks worse than it is. Poor Jamie getting all these weird looks when we're out and about. He was even accused by some granny of being an abuser. I can understand why but I had to step in and explain to the old dear."

Jenny wrung her hands and gave her a small smile. "Actually, I -I came early because I wanted to talk with ye. Just us two."

"Oh, do you want a drink first?" Claire offered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the fridge. "I have some lemonade ..."

"No! Please! I need to get this out before anything else."

Claire nodded. "Alright then, I'm all ears."

"I-I want to apologise for ..." Jenny's chin crumpled, seemingly attempting to blink back her tears. " ...for what happened to ye in London."

"Wot? Oh, Jen! Why are you apologising? That wasn't your fault."

Jenny raised a hand, which told Claire to let her talk. "It was in some ways my fault, Claire. Geneva was my friend, and I tried to push Jamie and her together. I shouldn't have told her last year there was a vacancy in the village, and then she wouldn't have come back and pursued her interest in my brother. I honestly had no idea she was capable of such horrid deeds. If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken her into my circle of friends and family."

Claire shook her head. "No one could have known, and no one knew. Even her work colleagues and peers were shocked when they found out what she's done. She's a master manipulator, Jen, and she probably manipulated you too under the guise of friendship."

"Still ..." Jenny insisted. "If it wasn't for my meddling ..."

"Stop right there!" Claire wagged a finger at Jenny. "We've locked horns on the subject before and moved on from that already. Alright? Past is past. We all make mistakes. The most important thing is we learn from it. So no more mention of Geneva."

This time Jenny's smile reached her eyes. "Fine! Just dinnae tell Jamie we talked about this."

"Whyever not?"

"Jamie has given everyone in the family strict orders, not to mention about London today."

"Really?"

Jenny nodded. "He didn't want to ruin today's celebration rehashing what happened. Unfortunately, I had to in order for me to apologise, but enough of that now." She clapped her hands. "So, how about that drink. I'm parched." She whirled around and stopped, her eyes widening when she saw the spread Claire had prepared. Walking over to the kitchen counter, she took in everything with a smile. "Goodness, did ye make all these?"

Claire smiled with pride. "I did. Except for the Battenberg cake. Mrs Fitz made it."

"Ye said, ye didnae know how to bake," Jenny said almost begrudgingly.

"Now I do, thanks to the wifey Bootcamp I attended, also known as Mrs Fitz's kitchen."

"These all look scrumptious. It's been ages since I had a proper English afternoon tea." Jenny glanced up at her and grinned. "So, what are we celebrating?"

Claire nearly blurted out the baby news, but she quickly caught herself. Sliding an arm around her soon-to-be sister-in-law, she walked Jenny to the end of the counter to show her the sponge cake. "Today, we're celebrating love, friends and family."

Jenny poked a finger into the clotted cream and licked. "I like the sound of that. That'll always be a perfect excuse for a celebration or a proper afternoon tea party."

Claire smiled. "I couldn't agree more, Jen. I couldn't agree more."

..........

Jamie came home from work and noticed all the sandwiches, tarts and cakes laid out on the kitchen counter. He was mildly astonished that Claire had been able to prepare so much in the nick of time. He glanced out the window and spied her and Jenny in the garden, busily arranging tablecloths on the long wooden table. Looking at his watch, he realised he had about fifteen minutes to get ready before their friends and family started arriving.

But first things first.

Stepping out into the backyard, he snuck behind Claire and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck. "Mmm, ye smell of berries, lemon and lavender," he whispered, running his lips on her bare skin and ignoring Jenny's mumbling about getting a room.

Claire turned in his hold and smiled up at him. "And you reek, mister. You won't be served tea smelling like that."

"Fancy a shower with me then?" he suggested, feeling mischievous. "Jen's here to look out for guests."

"Nice try, but I had a shower already, and Jen is our guest today."

He leaned down and nibbled her earlobe, making her squeal.

"Jamie, you're going to get my dress dirty. Oh, fiddlesticks ..." She suddenly stilled mid-laughter and made a face, her hand covering her nose. "Urgh ...what's that smell?"

Jamie let her go and took a whiff of his shirt. "Oh, it's just a bit of wood stain I was working with. It'll come off in a wash."

Her face suddenly turned pale. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick. Tell Jen I'll be right back ...and you ...you go have a shower before your parents arrive." With that, she spun around and ran back to the cottage.

Stunned, he watched her disappearing form and whistled under his breath. "What just happened?" he muttered, even though he knew the answer had to do with the dreaded pregnancy sickness. She'd been doing so well so far he almost thought morning sickness was nothing but a myth, even though Claire had revealed, she couldn't stand the smell of aniseed, star anise, fennel, and liquorice.

"Maybe, she's pregnant and suffering from sickness?" Jenny replied, walking past him with an armful of wildflowers to put into the empty vases dotted on the wooden table.

He hadn't realised Jenny had returned from wherever she'd disappeared to. He needed to be careful not to reveal their baby news too soon, or the surprise would be ruined. Jenny was simply someone who couldn't keep a secret.

"Ach, I should have known chemical smells always make her nauseous," he explained, not wanting to give too much away to his perceptive sister.

Jenny twitched her lips from side to side as she trimmed the bouquet's stems with pruning shears. "Aye, that will be right!" she smirked.

He glared at his sister. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged and gave him a knowing look. "Nothing! Now go have a shower, and I'll take care of things here until Claire feels better."

Jamie was about to say more when he heard the sound of a car parking in the driveway. As Jenny made a move to take a look, he quickly made a beeline back to the cottage before anyone saw him, hoping Claire had already recovered from her bout of sickness.

..........

Jamie leaned back on his chair and glanced around. It was a perfect summer late afternoon, and everyone seemed to be having a great time and enjoying the food Claire had prepared. The sun warmed his face and bathed the garden in dazzling light, making the different shades of green and the profusion of wildflowers more vibrant and alive. The chatter was lively, and funnily enough, no one complained about the lack of alcohol which was highly unusual for a gathering in Scotland. But, he suspected his godfather must have a flask of whisky or something similar tucked away somewhere as he was getting louder and more boisterous as time went by.

He took Claire's hand in his, and she turned his way and smiled. Her face looked pale, but there was an aura of tranquillity radiating from her that told him she was happy and content. Though her plate was full of food, it remained untouched, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything. "How are ye feeling, Sassenach?"

She took a huge deep breath, held it in for a few seconds and then relaxed. "I'm fine," she sighed. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

He knew she was valiantly fighting back the sickness that must be creating havoc in her body but was too stubborn to give in to it. "Shall we tell them about the surprise so you can finally have a rest?" he suggested in a low voice, so no one would hear. "It cannae be comfortable sitting here when ye feel so unwell."

She shook her head as she gulped in more air. "I want to wait for uncle Lamb. He'll be here soon."

Quentin's plane from Athens should have arrived four hours ago but was delayed because of some mechanical issues. Jamie hoped for Claire's sake Quentin was on his way and wasn't dilly-dallying somewhere, like planning a grand entrance. Jamie kissed her cheek, hoping to sweet talk her to giving up this charade of wellness. "I'm pretty sure ye're uncle will understand once he finds out about yer condition."

"I know," Claire murmured. "But I want today to be perfect and complete. I want to see uncle Lamb's face when we announce it."

"But it's already perfect."

"Not without uncle Lamb."

Jamie prayed for patience and tamped down the urge to haul this beautiful but infuriating woman in his arms and carry her to bed. He squeezed her hand and yielded to her request, knowing this get-together was important to her. "Whatever ye say, Sassenach. Just let me know if ye need anything."

"I will," she replied between sharp intakes of breath.

Jamie decided not to press anymore. He knew this was one battle he couldn't win without creating a scene in front of their friends and family. But if Claire thought she was pulling this act off, Jamie was convinced, his perceptive family had already caught on with what was passing. Claire was a terrible actress, and she couldn't even lie to save her life.

Fortunately, their intimate tea party was animated and loud, and it diverted the attention from Claire. Directly opposite them, Tom and Willie were discussing the merits of owning a mini campervan for spontaneous weekend trips around the Highlands. On one end of the table, Murtagh passionately ranted and raved to Brian and uncle Duncan about the Tories and how SNP was the solution to Scotland's political future. Next to Claire, Annalise showed Ellen and aunt Jocasta how to work the Instagram app while Jenny, Mary and Geillis cackled over some celebrity gossip they've probably read somewhere. Grannie Annie had meanwhile fallen asleep in her seat with Adso in her lap and Rollo at her feet. At the far end of the garden, Finlay, Geillis' boyfriend and Ian were having a go at playing badminton but kept hitting the shuttlecock over the hedge to both their frustration.

Though Jamie was happy the tea party had gone as planned, he couldn't relax, too worried about Claire predicament. If it got to the stage where Claire lost any more colour to her face, he was sure no one would be able to blame him for whatever course of action he would take next.

"Right, does anyone want some fresh cuppa?" Claire suddenly announced, getting up from her seat.

Annalise immediately jumped to her feet. "I can do that."

Willie got up too. "I'll put the kettle on."

"I'll clear up the empty dishes," Geillis offered, already grabbing an empty tiered plate stand. "We dinnae want this stunning antique piece being knocked over, now do we?"

Ellen reached over to Claire from her seat and patted her hand. "Everything was lovely, dear. I couldnae decide which was my favourite. And that lavender lemonade was refreshing."

"Aye," Murtagh piped in as he got up and sat directly opposite Claire. "I bet it will taste even better with gin or vodka."

Brian frowned at Murtagh. "The lavender lemonade tastes good as it is. There's nae need to spoil it with alcohol. Besides, it's good for ye to give yer poor liver a wee break. If ye're no' careful, yer gene pool will soon have a swim-up bar."

"I dinnae drink that much," Murtagh grumbled.

"Aye ye do," Aunt Jocasta pointed out. "Dinnae think for one minute I didnae notice ye've been spiking yer tea."

Before Murtagh could retort, Geillis came back in time with a steaming mug and placed it in front of Claire.

"Ooh, what's this?" Claire asked, looking into her drink.

"It's ginger and turmeric tea," Geillis declared. "It's good for ye. I brought it with me from Glasgow. It's organic, and thought ye might like it."

Jamie couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew ginger tea or any form of ginger were effective in reducing nausea. Claire probably knew too because her eyes lit up and gave Geillis an appreciative nod. If he wasn't a hundred per cent certain earlier, everyone knew about Claire's condition, now he's more convinced than ever they were playing along. Jamie appreciated the gesture, but this had gone on too far. Where the bloody hell is Quentin?

"I'm back!" boomed a voice, waking grannie Annie up. It was as if Jamie's thoughts had conjured Claire's uncle from thin air, and there he was making a grand entrance as Jamie had expected. "I hope there are some leftovers. I'm famished."

Claire laughed, twisting around on her seat to watch her uncle approaching. Ellen got up and started plating some food for Quentin.

"There's plenty of leftovers," Annalise assured as she placed another platter of sandwiches on the table. "Claire made enough for the entire village."

Quentin gave Claire a quick kiss on the forehead before greeting the rest of the party, who'd gathered back around the table. "Sorry for the delay," he apologised, finally taking a seat next to Claire. "Our plane was stuck on the tarmac without any air conditioning. We had no choice but to sit there and stew in the heat while the engineers fixed the plane."

"Well, I'm glad you're here now," Claire said, looking adoringly at her uncle.

Quentin stared at the bruising on her cheek. "I don't like the look of that. It looks ..."

Sounds of several throats clearing ensued, a signal to Quentin not to pursue the London topic any further.

"Very well," Quentin nodded in understanding. "I'm glad too that I'm here."

Claire smiled. "Alrighty, so now that everyone's here, Jamie and I have an announcement to ..."

"Hold that thought, sweetheart," Quentin interrupted as he bent down to retrieve the holdall he'd placed at his feet. "I brought a souvenir."

Jamie bit his tongue at the interruption.

"I hope it's not another ceramic plate," Claire groaned, unaware of Jamie's frustration.

"No. I got something better." Quentin waggled his bushy eyebrows as he unzipped his bag and proceeded to rummage through its contents. "Wait for it! Wait for it!" Suddenly he yanked out a bottle and held it up for everyone to see. "I got Ouzo!" he announced with satisfaction.

"Yesss, ya beauty!" Murtagh cheered happily, banging a hand on the table. "I love Ouzo."

Aunt Jocasta scowled at Murtagh. "Ye like anything alcoholic. Ye'll drink Listerine if it was placed in front of ye."

"What's Ouzo?" Claire asked as she stared curiously at the offering. "I mean, I've heard of it before, but I've forgotten what it is."

Jamie was about to fill in the information and tell her she wouldn't be able to stand the smell of it when Quentin expertly uncapped the bottle and held it under Claire's nose. Oblivious to Jamie's hitch of breath, Claire pressed her nose closer to the opening of the bottle to take a better whiff. Ah, shite!

"It's an anise flavoured liquor," Quentin described. "Mostly served as an aperitif in Greece.."

Jamie watched in awe as Claire's head jerked back and her face contorted when her senses registered the smell, and a low, gurgling sound came from deep down in her belly. He winced, half expecting any moment now a horrific scene of projectile vomiting, and the recipient would be none other than his godfather sat opposite her. But Claire jumped to her feet, startling everyone, and her hand immediately clapped over her mouth, golden eyes bright and tearing up. Quick thinking Jenny, grabbed a sprig of mint she'd put in the vase, macerated it in her hands and offered it to Claire. Everyone gasped and watched in fascination as Claire took the green leaves and stuffed her mouth with them, and began to chew, jaws working overtime, reminding Jamie of a cow feeding in the fields. Nobody said a word, waiting for the next scene to unfold or for someone to offer an explanation.

Swallowing audibly, Claire finally untensed and slumped back down to a loud hearty burp. And as if nothing had happened, she calmly drank a good measure of her ginger tea, put the mug down and then smiled. "Sorry about that. So where were we again?"

Eyes bulging almost out of his head, Quentin sputtered before he managed to string a coherent sentence together. "W-What the bloody hell was that? Was that some kind of weird side effects from what happened in London that I have no idea of?"

Claire looked at Jamie, looking suddenly exhausted. "Can you please tell them?"

"Tell me what?" Quentin bristled.

Jamie dropped his head on his folded arms resting on the table and allowed it to bounce once. Twice. Thrice. God must have taken pity of him because when he glanced up, everyone shouted in chorus. "Claire and Jamie are having a baby!"

Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the response and feedback I received for my previous chapter. I know it got a bit crazy; therefore, today's update is more subdued to allow everyone's breathing to go back to normal. Nevertheless, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much I've enjoyed writing it for you.

Anyway, I hope you're all keeping safe and taking care of yourself and mostly taking the time to enjoy the last days of summer. Keep up the good vibes and be well. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #savethedate #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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kiribaku-queen · 3 years

Text

The Blood King and his Queen [9]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: Ahhhh so sorry about the delay for this chapter!!! But hopefully you all were fed last week with my Bakugou Birthday Bash collab. But you guys are going to be fed again soon. Just you wait :) Happy Reading!

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You turned over in your bed for the nth time that night. Something just wasn’t fitting right with you. The bed you were sleeping in was big enough for a family, the sheets were soft, the pillow was fluffy, servants were on standby if you needed something, water and snacks were on your bedside if you ever got hungry. So why couldn’t you fall asleep? You huffed, turning back over to try to get comfortable. There are times when you feel like you’re almost about to fall into a deep sleep and something just wakes you back up, making you wait for that long-awaited slumber.

After coming back to the palace from your long excursion, you were back to sleeping in separate bedrooms. Maybe that was why you couldn’t sleep. But it couldn’t be. You only slept with him a handful of times and all those times were purely accidental. You tried to find so many excuses so that wasn’t the case, but it actually might.

Bakugou groaned and plopped into bed. Why wasn’t he sleeping this late at night? This wasn’t normal. He was used to knocking out as soon as he touched his pillow but something was keeping him from doing just that.

He thought, no way. It couldn’t be because you weren’t here. The only reason he kept you in a different room from his is because you were a stranger at first. This marriage was only supposed to be a transactional trade: the princess would become a queen and Bakugou could rule both lands. He never expected to fall this deep for you, let alone fall for you at all.

Your room was right across the hall. Only a few steps away. Nothing was stopping him from going over to you this very moment. What if you didn’t want to see him? Then he would look foolish if he wanted to be with you but not the other way around. He didn’t want to look too desperate… fuck it. He could make up an excuse if he had to.

Jumping to his feet and swiftly removing himself from his sheets, he headed towards the door to go see you. What he didn’t know was that you were going to do the same thing. After a good minute of arguing to yourself, you grabbed a pillow and headed to his quarters.

You took a deep breath. You were standing right in front of his door, but now you started getting second thoughts. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if he was already sleeping? Then you’d be disturbing him and be troublesome. You’ve already gotten this far already, there was no point in turning back now. Right before you were about to put your hand on the handle, the door swung open, revealing wide-eyed Bakugou in your presence.

“Princess…” Bakugou choked on his words. He was surprised to see you already standing in front of his door. Had you been standing there long? But what was making him flustered was the fact that you held a large pillow in front of you, looking up at him with wide, yet cute eyes of yours. You were the definition of adorable in that moment and honestly, Bakugou didn’t know what to do with himself.

“W-What are y-you do-doing here,” Bakugou stuttered over his words.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admit, looking down shyly.

“I couldn’t either,” Bakugou also confessed. Awkward silence. It was only because both of you didn’t want to admit or say the real reason why you came to each other.

You were already in front of him, you couldn’t back out now. It would just be embarrassing if you just made a dumb excuse, only to go back to your room and then all would be for naught. Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes to prepare yourself for the worst, you blurted out the question that burned deep inside your heart.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Will you sleep with me?” you both asked at the same time. Your eyes shot wide open and immediately looked up to see Bakugou with sincere in his eyes. A slight blush of embarrassment dusted his cheeks but wouldn’t – couldn’t – take his eyes off you.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” you both blurted out. The air between you was tense with desire for each other, so much so that if you didn’t look away, you would be sucked into those crimson eyes for a lifetime. Cutting the atmosphere abruptly, you cleared your throat and walked passed him in his room.

“So this is what the Great Blood Prince’s room looks like,” you joked, taking a look around the room. Nothing like what you had imagined. The red theme was expected but you weren’t expecting such a plain looking room. Nothing but a bed against the wall, a furniture here and there and a couple paintings on the wall. But still luxurious.

“Cozy,” you noted, turning around to say something else, but you were met with a powerful presence, Bakugou taking a step too close to you. You sharply gasped, your eyes automatically wanting to close shut to take him all in.

Something overcame Bakugou in that moment. Seeing you in his room. After hours. Nothing but a pillow and your silky nightgown. It was doing something to him and he couldn’t control this overwhelming feeling of want. He wanted you.

Your noses were practically touching, his lips just inches away from yours. Your heart pounded in your chest as you let out shaky breaths. Bakugou slowly wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close. You were about to close your eyes and submit to his touch but suddenly, the image of the princess’ face popped in your mind. You placed a hand on his chest, stopping your movements and his all together.

“What’s wrong?” Bakugou sounded so hurt by your abrupt actions.

“Sleepy,” you lied, quickly turning around and jumped into his bed, huddling under the sheets. Bakugou stood where he was, letting out a sigh of frustration. But the moment he looked at you and how comfortable you looked in his bed, all signs of frustration and disappointment disappeared. He wasn’t going to let this small rejection ruin his mood. He joined you in bed but you both kept to your side of the bed.

You couldn’t do it. You felt so guilty. Sure, you said that you were going to take the real princess’ spot. He doesn’t have to know that you aren’t the real princess, because once you became queen, she can’t touch you. But hiding these lies wasn’t like you. That’s not who you were. And so this lie was eating you alive. You had to tell him. But when?

You were up all night thinking about it. Talk about getting a good night’s rest. You thought having the prince by your side would help your restlessness, but now a new problem arose. The guilt wouldn’t stop eating at you, causing you to continue to stay up.

You felt a strong hold wrap around your waist and a warm body right up against your back. The male behind you exhaled, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“Can’t sleep?” he spoke up.

“You could tell?” you asked, not surprised that you got caught.

“It’s hard not to when you keep changing positions” he chuckles in your ear. His light hearted laugh made you relax a bit.

“Tell me,” Bakugou started. “Do you still want to become my queen?”

“Of course. There’s no doubt in my mind,” you didn’t hesitate to answer.

“Even if it means that you’ll forever be bound to the infamous, killer Blood Prince?” You turned over to him and looked him dead in the eye.

“Even if it means that,” you whispered seriously. Now it was your turn to ask questions. “Now tell me, oh Prince. Why do you want to marry this princess?” you ask.

“Because. You’re kind, sweet, innocent. I need a queen like you to rule by my side so I can change my image as the Blood Prince,” he said. Now this was news to you.

“Change? I guess you are very different from your brothers…” you mumble.

“All because of those rumors. They aren’t entirely wrong though. My brothers and I are known for being ruthless. But I’m tired of keeping up this act of being angry and vicious all the time. I’ll slay anyone if I have to, but I’ve killed too many innocent people, just because I was ordered to. When I become King, I want to change the legend of the Bakugou family, that we’re not all killing monsters. I need a queen like you to help me find my way. I fight the way I do to keep my people safe, to save those in poverty and those who are homeless so they aren’t attacked by bandits. It needs to change and that change starts with me. You’ll help me right?” he looked at you willfully.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” you reassured him. For the first time, Bakugou deliberately smiles at you, a face you’ve only seen him make when he’s with his soldiers. He pulls you in, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Let’s sleep,” he ordered and you finally fell asleep in his arms.

The next couple days, you were busy helping prepare decorations for the upcoming ball the King was hosting in celebration of your engagement together. Bakugou, on the other hand, was too busy patrolling and doing princely stuff, that you had no idea what that was, that you barely saw him those couple days. You could see him at night, where you sleep over in his room, but by the time Bakugou comes back from his duties, you were already in dreamland.

Thankfully, you had company. You created a bond with the servant girls that are constantly with you every single day. After all, you were a servant girl who was pretending to be a princess, so it was a piece of cake talking to them. They were telling you all the gossip and even helping you with the ball since you were so bored doing nothing all day. Flowers were already picked out, food already decided, your dress was being custom made, guests were on their way here, decorations were being put up in the ballroom.

There were times when you and Bakugou would cross paths in the palace. The prince was busy walking with generals when passing by with your girls. You bit your lip in excitement but decided not to say anything since they were in deep conversation with each other. Yet, your eyes never left him, mesmerized by this working state. You thought Bakugou would be too busy to even notice you. Oh, no. When you came into his peripheral vision, he noticed your beauty right away. Though, he kept his eyes with the generals. When you got closer, that’s when he took a peek at you and seeing your excited face got him all giddy. He smirked at your cute expression when you passed and you didn’t miss that curl of his lips. Bakugou continued to walk off with the generals and your girls all squealed, hitting you in excitement.

During your down times, which was often, you came to the conclusion that you were going to study and read books to help you become a better Queen. The real princess had all her life to study and perfect her skills as a princess. Even though she was lazy and lacked a lot of those skills, you were just beginning and couldn’t compare to her level. You had to get to it if you were going to rule the kingdom by Bakugou’s side. Of course, you also had to keep it on the downlow so that no one becomes suspicious of you for learning the basics.

You picked up one book – a poetry book and read up on the classics. You were immersed by how lovely every line was, how beautiful the stories were written. You could see the love story translate into a movie across the page. But there was one part in the story that had you pay close attention to.

The two lovers looked up at the illuminating bullet across the clear sky

As they gazed into one another’s eyes

They could feel their hearts beat as one

Feeling as time stopped for them

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

I can die happy, the lover responded

As they can truly die happy

The beautiful scenery was enough to last them a lifetime of happiness

Tears welled in your eyes. Did you read that correctly? And did you remember correctly? Had Bakugou said that phrase to you one time? But what does that mean? Does that mean… impossible. It was probably only pure coincidence that he said that. There’s no way that he… right?

The usual reaction would that you would be over the moon. That would mean that you two share the same feelings for each other. But instead of feeling ecstatic, the guilt was eating at you even more.

Of course you were excited to see him every time he came home, when he got the chance. And he would spend every free moment with you. He’d tell you about his adventures outside the palace, what he did that day, his plans for when he becomes King, and much, much more. He never failed to initiate some form of contact with you, whether it be linking pinkies when taking a stroll or placing a hand on your lower back when talking to others. But because you couldn’t free your mind from this guilt, you were rejecting each and every one of his advancements.

This makes Bakugou frown. He keeps trying, thinking that maybe he was misunderstanding something or reading the situation wrong but you keep denying him.

Enough was enough.

You had just send your servants away, walking down the long hallway to get back to your room to rest. That is, until a hand comes out of nowhere, and pulls you into another hallway – a short, more narrow hallway that gives you a tight squeeze with two people. Bakugou trapped you between him and the wall, arms on either side of you.

“Your highness!” you exclaimed when you saw it was him. But he didn’t look too happy.

“What gives?” he asks, frowning at you. His expression reminded you of the time you first met him.

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused.

“Don’t play dumb with me. If you dislike me, just say it,” he said. But he was making things even more confusing for you.

“Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. Every time I try to be intimate with you, you reject me. Is it because we aren’t married yet? Or is it because you don’t have any interest in me?” he asks you.

“It’s not because of that at all!” you panicked, putting your hands up in defense. “I’ve never done this before, so I’m not sure what to do… and well, that’s actually something I need to tell-”

“Prove it,” Bakugou interrupts you.

“Huh?” your mind ran a blank all of a sudden, completely forgetting what you were supposed to say.

“You really don’t dislike me? Prove it,” he challenged. You stared up at his eyes and they were filled with hurt, confusion, betrayal, hope. You caused that. No, no. That’s not what you wanted. Without hesitation, you said with your heart and soul,

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Bakugou had heard enough. He cupped both cheeks and smashed his lips into yours in a powerful, yet passionate kiss. Fireworks were going off in your head and your heart was beating like you had just ran a race. The feeling of content and love was overpowering your senses. It felt warm and comforting and you didn’t want to let this feeling go. Ever. Bakugou disconnected from you first, allowing both of you to catch your breaths.

“I can die happy,” he said softly, in between breaths. Your breath got caught in your throat. It was this time that you took his face and kissed him, your knees falling weak under you. All you could think about was how soft he felt against your lips and how addictive his taste was. Bakugou’s hands had a mind all of its own. They snaked behind you, holding you close, feeling that you could never be too close to him. Actually, it was never enough. He wanted more of you. He wanted you even closer to him, to feel you all over and never let go.

Kirishima and Denki were casually strolling the halls, heading wherever they wanted to go. They were about to pass this very intimate moment between lovers, that is until Denki happened to look to the side and see a sight that could get him beheaded.

“Holy shi-” Denki began to shout, but Kirishima was quick to cover his mouth, pick him up and get them out of there as fast as possible.

“You fucking idiot. Why do you always do that!?” Kirishima scolded.

A/N: Please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter! Enough fluff? Are you guys sick of it yet? Next chapter might be a little s p i c y ~

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moonbeamwritings · 3 years

Text

train station kisses

a sequel to one missed call

Summary: After receiving a phone call from Jotaro after ten years of no contact, you attempt to navigate both your feelings and his. Will a reunion around the holidays be just what you both needed?

Author’s Note: I just wanted to say thank you for all of the positive reactions to one missed call! It really means a lot 🥺💕I hope you guys enjoy the sequel just as much!!

With a shaking hand, you reached out to dial his number, taking each digit slowly as a way to delay the inevitable. The line began to ring and you could almost feel your mouth running dry, the thudding of your heart threatening to burst your chest open. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to keep the water in your eyes from spilling over.

After four rings, you could hear Jotaro answer, “Hello?”

The ringing in your ears, the pounding in your heart, they didn’t stop with the sound of his voice.

“Uh hi, Jotaro? It’s me.”

A relieved exhale could be heard through the phone, followed by a brief moment of silence, “Hi.” If his breath had sounded relieved, then his voice sounded even more so. “I thought you wouldn’t call.”

You brought the phone with you as you traveled across the living room, resting back against the couch. “If I’m being honest, I almost didn’t.”

As much as he had convinced himself that he didn’t deserve a call back, Jotaro’s heart sunk into his stomach with the thought that you very nearly didn’t return his message, keeping him nothing but a distant, painful memory.

“Well,” he finally spoke, fidgeting with the pen resting on his desk, “I’m glad you did.”

You let out a nervous huff, quiet and short, “Yeah, me too.”

Silence overtook the conversation once again, entirely too awkward for your liking. Where were you even supposed to start? The man on the other end had confessed his love to you, through a long, emotional message on your answering machine no less, and now you were confronting him after not hearing from him in literal years. What were you supposed to do?

“Jotaro I-”

“Listen-”

You chuckled as you both attempted to speak at the same time.

“You go-”

“You first-”

You could hear his deep, quiet laugh through the phone.

“We’re off to a great start.” You told him, running a hand through your hair.

“We certainly are.”

“Look, Jotaro,” you struggle to find the right words, “I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I wasn’t hurt that I didn’t hear from you, from anyone.”

A low “mhm” sounded through the phone as you collected yourself.

“But, Christ, is it nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours too.”

“What were you going to say before?” You asked, pressing the phone between your shoulder and cheek so you could pick at your nails.

“I just wanted to tell you that I meant everything I said. All of it.”

The familiar, erratic beat of your heart returned in an instant as his confession replayed in your head.

The words spilled from your mouth before you can even think to stop them, “You love me?”

You nearly smacked a hand against your forehead with how stupid, how desperate you sounded. Were you really hearing this right now?

“I do. I figured it was better late than never to tell you, even if it was over the phone. The old man was very convincing.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke of his grandfather, clearly not thrilled with his relative’s persistence.

“I-” A shaky breath left your mouth, “I love you too. I always have.”

Jotaro didn’t respond right away. How could he? You’d just told him you love him, even after all of this time, even after he’d left you alone, in the dark. After all of it.

“I miss you.” He knew he sounded pathetic, heart on display for you to hear, but he didn’t care. Jotaro also knew he wasn’t anywhere near as openly emotional as he thought you deserved, but he wanted to be selfish, if only this once, wanted to sink his hands into your heart and never let go. He wouldn’t let you be alone again, not if he could help it.

At his confession, tears pricked at the back of your eyes, stinging as they threatened to fall.

“I miss you too, Jotaro.”

The words hung heavily in the air, years of pent up emotions all laid out for you both to see. You had no idea where to go from here. The previous phone call played through your mind as you searched for the right words. One statement came to the forefront: “You reminded me of everything I felt like I couldn’t have, what I can’t have.”

“Jotaro? Can I ask you something?”

“If you want.”

“Before, you said something about me being something you couldn’t have. What exactly did you mean?”

You heard him sigh into the receiver, sounding dejected as he spoke, “Everyone in my life either leaves or gets hurt, or both. I push people away to keep them out of my bullshit, so they don’t get hurt. I’m not easy to love. You don’t deserve to get wrapped up in the mess I always leave behind.”

Your heart broke.

“Jotaro, you…” A laugh, involuntary and riddled with disbelief, left your throat. “You really are something else, you know that? I’ve already been to Egypt with you, for God’s sake, risked my life for your mom, to defeat DIO. I think you’re kinda stuck with me now. Messes or not.”

His voice was uncharacteristically small as he responded, “You mean that?”

You scoffed. “Of course I do. God, you are such an idiot sometimes. You’re lucky I love you.”

He allowed a tiny smile to work its way onto his face, “Yeah, I am.”

“Ohhh, Jotaro,” you teased, getting a real kick out of Jotaro revealing what was going on in that steel-trap he calls a brain, “I didn’t take you for the cheesy type.”

A groan.

“Good freakin’ grief. I take it back, I don’t miss you anymore.”

“Oh come on. You do. You can admit it.”

The moment of humor was a welcomed break from the downpour of emotions that threatened to flood your mind, a calming reminder of what once was.

“Okay,” Jotaro acquiesced, for once not having the strength to win this fight, “you’re right.”

You ached to see the look on his face on the other side of the phone. You had no doubt his eyebrows were creased in annoyance, a smile reluctantly beginning to form on his lips. What you wouldn’t give to be able to reach over, to poke and prod at his cheeks, to tease and annoy him.

“Ugh, you’re so cute,” you tell him, “What am I ever gonna do with you?”

Cute, Jotaro thought, I’ve never heard that one before.

“Look, enough already I-” Why did you have to make his words catch in his throat so much? It was infuriating. “I wanted to ask if you wanted to meet up. I know it’s the holidays and everything but-”

You cut his rambling off with an immediate answer, “I would love to.”

“Wha- You would?” He hadn’t expected you to agree so quickly, or even at all.

The surprised lilt to his voice is not lost on you. You don’t push it. “Of course, I would.”

“In that case,” he spoke, absently tapping the pen against his desk, “I’ll have the Speedwagon Foundation pay for your travel expenses and you can come visit with my family and I for a few days.”

“Jotaro,” You admonished, “I don’t want to intrude! If you’re spending time with family, we can always wait.”

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough and besides,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “mom would love to cook for someone new.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

The conversation continued from there, Jotaro telling you he would pass along the information from the Speedwagon Foundation. You spent some time getting caught up, passing information back and forth until Jotaro let out a long, drawn out yawn.

“It’s getting late. I should go.” Jotaro stated, sounding reluctant.

“That’s okay. Goodnight, Jotaro. I’ll see you soon.”

“Night, see you.”

With one final click, the line went dead, sending you reeling back into the quiet hum of your living room. You nearly laughed out loud at the events unfolding before you. The last thing you had expected this holiday season was to go visit Jotaro, all expenses paid.

Before you knew it, you were switching over from the plane to the train that would take you to the station near Jotaro’s childhood home. Even given the time you took to attempt to process all of these new developments, your mind still raced, endlessly whirling and wondering. Jotaro loved you and you were visiting him. He loved you and you were going to get to see him again. It was all relentlessly surreal.

As you boarded the train for the remainder of your journey, you couldn’t help but reflect on that fateful trip to Egypt. Memories flashed behind your eyes, coming and going with the scenery passing you by. Kakyoin’s goofy laugh, Polnareff’s friendly disposition, Avdol’s kind words. Your heart clenched at the thought.

Perhaps your reunion, love confessions aside, could help you process what you’d been dealing with for so long. Maybe it could help you move on, move away from reliving the trauma of those weeks abroad. Just maybe.

Pushing the thoughts from your mind, the voice over the loudspeaker alerted you that you had arrived at the station where you would meet Jotaro. Your heart thudded nervously in your chest, seemingly stealing the air from your lungs.

You grabbed your belongings and stepped out onto the platform, eyes scanning the crowd for Jotaro. He was always so tall, you thought, this should be easy.

At the same time, Jotaro entered the station, hands tucked into his pockets to disguise their slight tremor. He had never felt so nervous in his life, this situation being such uncharted territory that he almost wished he could have Star Platinum fight the feelings off for him. He pulled his hat down to cover the rosiness traveling up his neck.

His eyes scanned the crowd, landing on you across the station. You caught his gaze almost immediately, a small smile overtaking the concerned downturn of your lips. You were here, finally.

You weaved through the crowd as you locked eyes with Jotaro, carefully dragging your suitcase behind you as you moved among the throngs of people. As you reached the other side of the station, you stopped dead in your tracks, staring up at Jotaro.

It was as if a massive weight was lifted from your shoulders, like you had finally let out a sigh of relief after a long day. You wanted to live with this feeling forever.

“Hi.” You finally let out, moving to close the gap between the two of you at long last.

Without even responding, Jotaro bent down to wrap his arms around your waist, lifting your feet off the ground and clutching you against his chest. You smiled as you felt him bury his nose against your neck.

You wrapped your own arms around his neck, one hand resting against the back of his head.

“You’re here.” His voice was muffled by your shirt, but you could hear him clear as day.

“I’m here.”

You remained like that for who knows how long, embracing one another like touch-starved fools, so lost in each other that you didn’t even register the stares from passersby.

After some time, Jotaro took his face away from your neck, returning your feet to the ground. Both hands were quick to cradle your cheeks, looking you over carefully with a cute upturn of his lips.

It was all so uncharacteristically soft that you almost felt as though he was a different person.

He hunched down, bringing his lips to yours in an emotional kiss. His lips moved against yours like a man starved, hand moving to feel your hair between his fingers. As he broke away to catch his breath, he pressed his forehead against your own.

“I love you, he spoke like it was a secret, something so important it was for your ears only, “so much.”

“I love you too, Jotaro.”

He kissed you again, a brief peck to your lips as if to seal your quiet promise, to legitimize it.

Before you could even stop them, tears began flowing down your cheeks only to be swiped away by Jotaro’s thumb.

“Oh, good grief,” he said, but it was nowhere near as biting as it could’ve been, “don’t cry.”

You chuckled at his assertion. This was the Jotaro you knew and loved. “Sorry.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, hand reaching up to ruffle the hair there.

“Come on, mom’s making dinner.”

He grabbed your suitcase and turned to head towards the door, leaving you in the dust. Typical.

When you fell into step beside him, you laced your fingers with his, running your thumb along the back of his hand.

God, you could get used to this.

#jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro kujo imagine #jotaro x reader #jotaro imagine #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #soft jotaro is the best jotaro

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takuyakistall · 4 years

Text

summary: a mountain deity meets a suspicious eel.

length: 5k+

taku’s notes: ah, I finally posted this. It was meant to be posted for a previous milestone but it was delayed, but here it is now jbhjfb I may have gotten carried away with this when I first thought of the AU;;; also !! special thanks to ghostie and rui for helping me with this. If you see this, ily !! this also a three way collab with sven and @xxunrxvelingxx !! please check out their fics when they post it hehe~ they’ll be making separate fics that will go along with our agreed theme which is legends and myths from our home countries. In my case, this was inspired by the story of Maria Makiling!

"I have provided you everything the mountain has to offer and yet you greedy humans still want more?“ The thunder boomed, matching your footsteps as you made your way to sit on a log stool. Crossing your legs, you said, “I’ve had enough of you humans trying to steal my valuables.” Rain suddenly started to pour down, soaking the four men standing in front of the mountain deity.

They were shaking in fear as they saw the look you were giving them, they heard that you were usually a gentle and kind person who had never laid a hand on the village folk who lived on the mountain. They scrambled to their feet, with pitiful expressions on their faces as they desperately tried to run away. You made no effort to chase them as you already knew there was no way they would make it back alive. This mountain is your domain, surely they would get lost and stay trapped here forever.

You were usually a kind being but you would spare no mercy for those who enter the mountain with malicious intentions. The locals knew better than to do that but — unfortunately, those men who tried to steal from you were foreigners.

Your rage didn’t go away instead, it had gotten stronger. The rain was getting heavier, a flood was ready to form and an earthquake was about to start. There was no room for the village folk inside your head, your rage had overruled every moral you once upheld. It was cruel of you to bring these disasters to innocent people — however, nobody would dare to cross you ever again. They knew that angering a deity was never a bright idea, especially if they still had plans to live.

“Hah… Foolish humans..! Always scurrying around, striving to attack me and rob me of my riches. In the end, they’ll just meet their doom.”

There was something off about the man who entered the mountain. It seemed like he was struggling to walk. The rage you felt days ago has now disappeared and you felt the need to help the struggling man. You jumped off a tree branch you were sitting on to get a better look on his face — heterochromic eyes, it was unusual to see those around here, especially when you had isolated yourself in the mountains. He had teal hair with a darker and longer strand framing the left side of his face. He was beautiful, your breath was taken away the moment you laid your eyes upon him.

Then you finally decide to appear in front of him. His senses did not pick up your presence since he was too busy trying to regain his balance. When he finally looked ahead and saw you, his eyes widened and slipped.

“Ah-!” He was about to fall. He still wasn’t used to being able to walk on land, his balance was still sloppy and the way he walked was unnatural. Ever since his tail turned into human legs, he’s been walking aimlessly on land with nothing but a dirty tunic on. He had nobody to teach him about how land folks act or lived, he quickly became an outcast among the villagers by the mountain, which sparked your curiosity.

“..! Be more careful!” You grabbed his hand before he could fall, pulling him up to safety. He finally got a proper look at his saviour and the sight took his breath away. Were you the mountain deity they talked about back in the village? He kept a straight face while trying to connect the dots in his head. Weren’t you the reason he tried to climb the mountain? The blue haired man couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, “Forgive me, it seems that I’m still not accustomed to my newly acquired legs.” He spoke in a gentlemanly manner which surprises you. Maybe it was because of his dirty tunic that you thought he was going to be a bit more rough around the edges. You knew it was bad to judge a book by its cover and yet you still couldn’t help but do it anyway.

“What’s your name?” The cold tone in your voice sent shivers to the man’s spine, surely you had the aura of a deity! He heard the rumours about the gentle and kind lady up in the mountains, but it seemed like you were still kind of ticked off by the last incident he heard about. The man put his hand by his chest and introduced himself with a smile, “I go by Jade, Jade Leech. Would the lovely lady also do the honor of giving me her name?” It was faint but you noticed it — he was dangerous.

It didn’t take long for you to become attached to Jade, he charmed you the moment you met. Your first meeting consisted of you asking Jade a few questions about himself while walking through the woods. You discovered that Jade originally had no legs, thus his lack of ability to be able to walk properly. You offered him help and thankfully, he was a fast learner when provided with guidance. In less than a day, he had already mastered how to walk with his own two legs.

You were bound to the mountain, you could never leave because you are its guardian. Shall you ever try to leave, your body would run out of oxygen and pass. It seems like Jade was a little fond of your company as he went back up in the mountains the following day.

He was still wearing the dirty tunic when he came to visit you today, you had seen this coming so you had a nearby pixie fetch you some clothes for the tall man. When you handed the clothes to him, he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, he was intimidated by your cold demeanor yesterday but today it seemed like you were finally fitting the positive rumours surrounding you. A kind and gentle lady who would often go to the village to give your blessings. “Thank you,” Jade hummed out, straying far from you to change into the clothes you gave him. You felt your cheeks flare up a bit when he gave you a smile. You couldn’t help but wonder how this blooming friendship of yours would end. After all, he’s just a mortal, isn’t he?

28 days remain.

“Oya, a new mushroom to add my collection.” Jade was delighted as he crouched down to examine the newly found mushrooms on the ground. You mentally compare the current Jade you know to the Jade you first met — it seemed like he was an entirely different person. He picks up land dwellers’ qualities and habits fast and now you wouldn’t even dare think about how this man didn’t know how to walk properly just a week ago!

You tried to introduce him to a lot of things the mountain has to offer and yet somehow, he found himself climbing up the mountain on a daily basis just to see you. The village folk were a bit skeptical due to his odd behavior and at his sudden transformation, but they soon dropped the gossip when someone told them the both of you were lovers. It was a ridiculous thought but you never said anything when you saw how they had treated Jade better.

The more time you spent with him, the more you felt these complicated feelings, like your heart was tied to a knot. The way he smiled at you made it feel like your heart was being squeezed, and the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about mushrooms was simply too adorable! You noticed all the little things about Jade and it made you wonder about how you were going to label these feelings you have for him. You liked to believe that you know everything about the world, but the world loves proving you wrong. You were still naive, even if you are a deity.

21 days remain.

“You’ve gotten better at acting like a land dweller.” Your cold tone made it clear to Jade that something definitely happened to piss you off while he was away. Perhaps it was another human trying to rob you of your riches? Or to take your head as a trophy? No. Jade shook his head at the thought of someone trying to harm you. After all, it is impossible to do so.

For the past few weeks, he has somehow grown accustomed to your sudden coldness and harsh tones. The people that heard of the mountain deity’s treasures have increased and were bold enough to challenge themselves against you. They gathered into groups and shouted out insults directed at you. You had neither time nor patience to deal with every pest that was bold enough to threaten you, so you had the mountain itself deal with them. If they entered the mountain, they would surely get lost and never be seen again due to natural reasons.

The only reason why Jade and a few villagers were able to enter the mountain and get back unharmed is because you let them. The moment you sense malicious intent directed at you — they would be disposed of. You were merciless when it came to matters regarding your life and the state of the mountain. Jade knew that, both of you spent enough time together for him to know these kinds of things. With slow steps, Jade approached you, his usual smile was absent and this surprised you a bit. His expression was serious while cupping your cheek with his bare hands, it was warm. You found yourself rub your cheek against his comforting touch, he knew exactly what you were feeling and this reassured you. Jade pulled back his hand and placed it on your head instead, ruffling your hair a bit, “Have you been resting well?”

Truth be told, you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep ever since the attacks increased. Your guard was always up and a chance to sleep never came. However, when Jade ruffled your hair, every muscle in your body relaxed, you fought the urge to close your eyes. Jade didn’t fail to notice your tired state and sat beside you on the log stool that was big enough to hold the two of you. He made you lean against his broad shoulder while stroking your head, his comforting touch making you go closer and closer to your desired rest. You closed your eyes and drifted into sleep, not hearing Jade’s endearing words “Sleep well, My beloved.”

14 days remain.

“Have you done it yet?” Jade entered his temporary lodging to see a beautiful young woman with long black hair sitting on his bed. Jade’s warm eyes turned cold as he glared at the woman who intruded his home. Jade didn’t bother to put up the gentlemanly act anymore. He lunged forward towards the woman and wrapped his fingers around her neck, lifting her smaller figure up in the air as Jade squeezed her neck. The woman was letting out choked noises as Jade continued to give her a cold glare. “W-Wait!” She managed to let out a word, Jade stopped for a moment. “You still need me, you can’t kill me.” The panicked and pained expression on the woman’s face brought immense pleasure to Jade. Oh how he loathed this woman! Jade was ready to snap her neck, staring coldly into her eyes as he squeezed her neck a bit more before suddenly letting go. The woman fell to the ground, hacking out coughs as she tried to regain oxygen in her system. Jade’s unusual rage has calmed down a bit after thinking rationally, he went into his kitchen and brought out some teacups, “Would you like some tea?”

The sweet aroma filled the cozy house as Jade delicately poured tea into the teacups. The woman sitting across him had a suspicious look, staring at the teacup. “Oh, please go ahead. Don’t be shy.” Jade insisted, an eerily calm smile decorating his face, as though the earlier events hadn’t happened at all. “It’s not poisoned, is it? I know how badly you want me dead but,” the woman pushed away the teacup, crossing her legs and arms as a confident look suddenly decorated her face. “If you still want your precious twin brother to live, I suggest you shouldn’t kill me.” Jade’s gentlemanly smile curled up into a big smirk as he set down his teacup, “And what made you think that I still needed you to do so? You’re basically useless.“

For a moment, the woman shot Jade a terrified look. She knew that Jade was capable of killing her at any given time, she had to think of an excuse to stay alive. “You won’t be able to use the deity’s heart to cure Floyd without me.” It was true. Even if Jade has gotten the deity’s heart right in his palms, he wouldn’t be able to use it to treat Floyd’s condition. Jade frowned upon hearing the words ‘deity’s heart’. It was the only reason why Jade approached you, he was skillful in deceiving others and masking his true intentions. Though it seemed like his mask was slowly breaking the more time he spent with you. It was true that he was fond of you — very fond but Jade wouldn’t allow himself to admit the feelings he held for you.

If he ever admitted to himself that he fell in love with you, it would just pain him more thinking about the cruel acts he was about to commit. “I’m close to obtaining her heart. Once I get my hands on it, we’re going back to the Coral Sea immediately.” His monotonous voice scared the woman a bit, how could he be so calm when he’s about to betray a deity? “Got it, witch?” Jade coldly asked the woman. The said woman snapped out of her daze and refuted, “Don’t call me that, I told you, my name is-"

"Do I look like I care?”

7 days remain.

“Dancing? When did you learn how to dance, Jade?” Jade only let out a mere chuckle as you gave him a curious glance. You looked better than before — the color of your face was slowly coming back thanks to Jade. His presence soothed you and you couldn’t help but let your guard down — you trust him. It has only been a month since the two of you met but you would already trust him with your life. What is this feeling…? What did humans call it again? Attachment..? Or was it fondness…or love? You didn’t know the answer. The moonlight shined upon both of your figures sitting down on the grass. “Do you underestimate me that much?” A teasing smirk appeared on his face, you panicked for a moment because deep down, you actually did underestimate him a bit. You looked away from him, a light hue of pink dusting your cheeks. Shame rising up from the pit of your stomach.

“Oh my, it seems like I’ve gotten my answer. It’d be a lie if I said I wasn’t disappointed.” Jade faked tears, wiping them away dramatically as you giggled at his actions. Jade stood up from the grass, his polite smile never disappearing from his face. Even though he gave everyone that smile, you couldn’t help but feel like there was an underlying tone of feelings and affection he held for you. Yet, you brushed it off like it was nothing — still denying the fact that you were indeed falling in love with him. Jade outstretched his hand towards you, trying to help you up. At that moment, you couldn’t help but think that you were becoming so helpless around him.

Hesitantly, you took his hand as he helped you up to your feet. You stumbled forward a bit and lost your footing, almost falling had it not been for Jade who catched you before you fell. “Careful!” He warned you, wrapping his arms around your figure as you steadied your balance. You could feel his heart beating, you closed your eyes and allowed your head to lean into his chest — listening to nothing but the beat of his heart. Is this what it means to fall in love? Jade was taken aback for a moment, he didn’t expect you to suddenly rest your head against his chest while standing up. He let out a sigh as he wrapped his arms tighter around you, his gaze filled with an unexplainable fondness. Oh how he wished this moment lasted forever.

3 days remain

It was dangerous and weak of you to allow yourself to be comforted by the presence of a mere mortal, even the forest pixies told you this themselves. It was a huge mess in the mountains when Jade wasn’t here. You suddenly felt sad at the thought of the earlier events.

“Lady (Y/N)! Forgive our insolence but we are begging you to cut ties with that mortal.” the pixies bowed down, they didn’t dare to look into your eyes — fear evident in their expressions. The pixie who talked to you, Daphne, was the wisest of the bunch — she had stayed in the mountain for far longer than you have. It was safe to say that she was wiser than you but the one who holds the most power was you — the mountain deity. Daphne didn’t have a single hint of fear on her face as she held her head up high, her blue locks tucked behind her pointed ear as she stared at you.

Rage coursed through every part of your body as your harmless gaze at them suddenly turned hostile. The gravity suddenly weighed down on all of them, forcing them onto their knees except Daphne. Had it not been for her power she accumulated during the years she had lived, she would be most likely on her knees as well. “What did you just say, Daphne?” Your mind wasn’t in its best state due to the responsibilities you had to fulfill doubled, every living being in the mountain knew that and they could see how stressed you were through the mountain’s state. They noticed how the mountain would flourish a little whenever a certain teal haired mortal decided to visit you, they knew that he was a double edged sword to their deity. Though they knew that he was a potential threat to you, when they saw how happy you looked when you’re with him, they couldn’t help but let the both of you be.

“That mortal man named Jade- He’s not what you think he is.” Daphne calmly responded, she’d been suspicious of him from the very beginning. Those words made the raging flames in your heart burn stronger. You knew deep inside that she was right. You knew he held ill intent from the moment you first met yet you just- You just blindly ignored it like the fool you were. Yet you were reminded of the way he called you his beloved when he thought you were fast asleep, it was one of your sweetest memories with him. You can’t allow yourself to believe that the gentle fondness in his voice that night was all fake.

“He’s after your heart.”

Those words pierced you right through the heart, uncontrollable tears suddenly forming at the corner of your eyes. You wanted to tell them that he was a good man, that he loved you. Your gaze dropped down to the ground, unable to say anything. The mountain spoke for you. The flowers were withering at a lightning fast speed and so did the trees. The wild animals, some died and some were dying. The waters were drying up, and the ground was ready to collapse any time soon. You wanted to cry. Memories of last night came flooding back. The way he held you so close to him, when you listened to his heartbeat? It was all an act to get your heart?

Daphne wasn’t telling her the whole story, she just wanted Jade gone. She left out the part about Jade’s brother because she knew that being the lovesick fool you were — you would gladly give up your heart to him. She decided to fan the flames, “I… also saw a black haired woman in his house.” Daphne cringed at herself, she couldn’t believe what she was about to say. She glanced at your forlorn expression before continuing, “I think she might be his lover.” Everything seemed to stop at that very moment. You stopped wasting your tears, the thunder clapped. Daphne knew she messed up when she saw your expression — filled with burning rage.

“It’s for his dying brother.” A small pixie speaked out, receiving a harsh glare from Daphne when she did.

“Flora! You…!”

Everything stopped for a moment, you held a confused expression on your face as you signalled the small pixie named Flora to inch closer to you. You had hope that everything wasn’t a lie. There was nothing more you’ve ever wanted. You desperately wanted to believe that Jade wasn’t a cold blooded jerk that only approached you for your heart. “Tell me about his brother.” Your weak commanding tone made Flora’s heart shatter into pieces, she could tell how much pain you were in. Meekly, Flora started to explain to you the things she saw and heard when she went to follow Jade to the village; the black haired woman who was waiting for him at his home, the way how Jade choked her, the hateful expression on his face, the things they discussed over tea, and how Jade needed your heart to cure his poisoned twin brother. Flora didn’t leave out the fact that the woman with Jade was actually the one who poisoned his brother and how there were only a few days left before Jade goes back to his hometown.

You were oddly happy. Happy by the fact that everything might not turn out to be a lie and that the Jade you were so fond of was real. Though you were laughable, you were an idiot in love. Love…? Is this what they call this feeling? You loved Jade to the point that you forgave him. Even if he didn’t confess himself, you were willing to forgive him over and over again. You were a fool. The biggest fool in the whole damn mountain. Though if it was for Jade, the man who taught you love and the first man you ever loved, you didn’t mind being called a lovesick fool who ruined her own life.

2 days left

Jade was running out of time, he could feel his lungs having difficulty trying to breathe as he climbed the mountain. The potion was wearing off and he needed to get your heart and return to the sea now — but he didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want his time with you to end just yet. He wanted more time with you. However, his brother comes first before anything else, including you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just abandoned Floyd just like that — it would be unacceptable. Jade’s heart was in deep turmoil as he took a step after the other, why didn’t he.. want to leave you? He stopped in his tracks, his hand clutching his chest tightly as he felt like his heart was being squeezed. He didn’t want to admit it — he would never. If he did, he would never be able to go back to the sea. He continued walking towards your usual meeting area.

The frown on his face immediately lightened up into a small smile when he saw your figure fiddling with a bunch of leaves. As he went closer, he could notice that you were crying. He kneeled down next to you and asked, “…Are you okay?” gently, Jade tried to place his hand on your shoulder as a form of comfort. You flinched, moving back a bit from his touch and accidentally hitting your head against a tree branch in the process. Jade quickly tried to pull you close to him to inspect what might be a wound on your head. Yet you- you desperately tried to avoid any form of contact with him, your lips sealed shut as you walked away from him to sit on a stone stool. Jade’s heart broke a little.

You were still trying to compose yourself, tomorrow was your last day with him. You could already see him getting paler and weaker, his withdrawals were getting worse. You needed to think of something, anything. You were going to let him go today, he can have more time to go back to the sea. So he can live. Yet a huge part of you is screaming ‘Don’t!’ You felt weak and afraid, you didn’t know what choice to make but deep down you knew what was the right decision. Mustering up enough courage, your breath shaky, you spoke up. “Jade."

Jade had never heard you sound so helpless, your voice was shaking, eyes brimming with tears. What happened to you? It was a bit of a shock, for you to call out his voice with such a painfully sad expression on your face. He wanted to know how he could make you feel better, he was about to wrap his arms around you again but he quickly retracted his arm when he remembered how you reacted earlier. So he kept his distance. "Yes…?” He anticipated your next words, hands shaking — his body was slowly turning back. He needed water but he forced himself to stay still and endure the painful withdrawal that came with it.

You clasped your hands together, muttering a short chant under your breath as something in between your hands started to glow. A single shard of what seemed to be like a gemstone — a piece of jade. It was your heart, clearly influenced by your undeniable feelings for this man you met less than a month ago. Your jaded heart, it was what Jade was after all this time. Once it was in your hands, you clasped it tightly one more time before facing Jade. Tears blurring your vision, “Just… take it.”

Jade’s blood went cold, how…? Did you finally figure out his true intentions? Are you mad? Countless questions popped up inside his mind and his heart rate going faster by the second as he tried to make sense of the situation. Will he lie one more time? Or will he grab the golden opportunity in front of him? Before he could make a decision, he abandoned all sense of reason and pulled you into a passionate kiss. You were caught off guard, yet you kissed him back without any hint of hesitation at all. Your faces so close — your tears started to mix and you didn’t want to let go of him. Neither did he. After pulling away from your heated kiss, he finally managed to mutter out the words he was so afraid of saying.

“I love you.”

1 day remains

The cool breeze caressed Jade’s cheek as he ran through the forest, your heart grasped tightly in his hand as he desperately gasped for air. He needed to get back, now. The black haired woman from the other day was already ahead of him, looking back occasionally at Jade to make sure he wasn’t dead from the withdrawal symptoms. Memories of last night weighed so much in Jade’s mind, he felt like he was choking as he ran — his legs heavy as he started to sweat more than usual. Yet he didn’t stop running, you gave him this chance to let him and his brother live and he was not about to let it go to waste. He ran and ran and ran until he could finally see the sea.

Jade immediately jumped into the water, taking in the familiar feeling of being submerged in water once again — not once did his grip loosen around your heart. He allowed himself to breathe for a moment, letting the transformation take its place as his legs turned into a tail. He was slowly letting himself sink to the bottom of the sea, nobody could tell that he was crying from the wet environment of the sea.

One look at Jade and you can immediately tell that he was empty, void of emotion as he stared at your heart — placing a gentle kiss on it as he muttered under his breath, “Perhaps in another life, we could be lovers once again."

This is a story about how a foolish mountain deity sacrificed her heart, the very core of her being, to a mere mortal. A story about how cruel fate can be, and how it ruined them. The ending? The mountain deity fell into an eternal slumber after giving her heart up to her lover, unable to wake up after hundreds of years. The mortal man cured his brother and lived a somewhat happy life, longing to see his beloved deity once again on land and was killed after multiple attempts of going to land.

Perhaps things would’ve been different if they made different choices, perhaps they’d be happily living as a couple now but fate is not so nice, no? There is no happy ending for this disastrous pair, only ruin awaits them if they were to ever meet again in their next lives. They were both fools in the end.

"Eh~? Jade, Jade~! Did you hear about the transfer student coming today?” Floyd made grabby hands at Jade, excitement bubbling up from the pit of his stomach, will he find another person to squeeze? Jade let out a sigh, seemingly uninterested in the topic but decided to entertain Floyd. “Yes, it does make me feel a bit excited, fufu~”

The class silenced down so quickly, your footsteps towards the class stage could be heard.

“Hello everyone, my name is (Y/N) (L/N)! Nice to meet you all!"

Jade’s eyes gleamed with growing intrigue, why did you seem familiar to him in some way? He didn’t dwell on that for long though, he just decided that if fate decided to make you a part of his life, then so be it.

And it begins all over again.

#self indulgent takoyaki #hahaha more jade #twst writing #twst #twst x reader #angst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland jade #jade leech x reader #twst jade #jade #jade leech #fem!reader

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hhjs · 4 years

Text

the art of losing isn't hard to master. (though it may look; like disaster).

pairing. ⤳ bang chan x reader.

genre. ⤳ angst.

alternatively. ⤳ a mystery trope. :3

word count ⤳ 2.07k

note ⤳ sorry for the long title hah. this is inspired by jaurim's song 'twenty five, twenty one.' and the title is a quotation from elizabeth bishop's poem 'one art'.

"I don’t want to see you again."

Chan knows you don't mean it, not even one bit. From the way the sentence comes out all shaky, the way you're pretending to stare off into space in sudden contemplation when really you just didn't want him to see you tear up.

But it still hurts.

It hurts so much that he almost regrets breaking up with you, finds himself wanting to take the words back as swiftly as he'd uttered them in the intimate setting of your favourite café.

Almost. If he says something now, he can taken it all back. Just one word. An explanation. And he can gone back to basking in the warmth of your affection in that selfish manner that he always did.

He doesn't, though, he can't.

Not when he was starting to notice just how absorbed you were becoming with your relationship, minimising your own priorities to make sure the bond lasted, giving up applying to your dream college because it meant you'd be moving away from him.

Sure, it sounded like some heroic bullshit sacrifice in his head, like something infuriating drama protagonists do - but there was not a speck of doubt in him pertaining to the department of seeing you happy.

Even if it had come to this.

Even if losing you was the expense he had to incur to get you to love yourself more than you loved him.

Chan, however, doesn't tell you that. Knowing how stubborn you are, you'll certainly not let go without a fight.

It's easier this way, he thinks, if instead he says he can't do it anymore - and lets you believe it.

"Okay." He says, finally finding his voice and these words, he really means it, "Anything for you."

...

It's the sheer irony that baffles him.

There was a time when Minho used to mock Chan about keeping blind faith in settling down with you, pointing out that, even if it was through harmless banter, it was an absurd thing to want out of a highschool sweetheart.

And the former is also the first one to stop beating about the bush, to tell it as it is, "You're a fucking asshole." Minho says, plopping down beside him. He sounds more disappointed than angry.

A movie plays on before the pair and Minho wastes no time in stuffing his face with popcorn, flaunting that he had no intention of explaining his comment, as if it is just that obvious.

Chan remains silent, baffled by the fact that this the first time he's on the receiving end. He usually acts as the one who dishes out words of wisdom and scoldings when necessary.

When he heard you were going away for college just the next morning, he was both ecstatic and horrified. Ecstatic because things were going according to plan. Horrified because that meant he wouldn't be seeing you at all, even if chancing upon you had grown obviously less frequent than it had been when you were together. It meant he wouldn't find you lounging absently at a local café while your eye brows furrowed, fixated on a particular page, it meant that there would be no accidental brushing of shoulders when you'd end up going to Jisung's parties, it would mean completely falling off of your radar.

However, Minho's outburst acted as a vague consolation, albeit he understood it was wrong, it indicated that you weren't doing well either, it indicated that you missed him like he missed you, it meant that you still loved him.

The idea of forever and always had been embedded in his ideology too deeply to apply reason.

He is always going to love you, you are always going to love him. He knows that much. He believes that much.

That alone is enough. That has always been enough.

...

It's too early in the morning and he is positive that this is an abysmal decision.

But the little care he had for rationality, always in your department was not new.

You push a suit case out of the door, there is an Uber waiting, the sound of rain hitting pavement is at such great volume that he can hardly hear his rapid footsteps.

When you crane your neck his direction, Chan stops walking further, but he is too near to go unnoticed.

"W-What are you doing here?" The question comes from you. He notes that you almost sound...hopeful. Like you would go right back in and snuggle into the comfort of your covers if he asked, like you'd forgive him if he asked, like you'd love him despite the distance that'd keep you apart if he asked.

Chan doesn't ask.

"I just... wanted to see you off." He lies, it's taking a whole lot of self restraint to not go up to you to engulf you in his bone crushing hugs, to uproot you off of the security of your toes. He only seems to stare, feigning nonchalance.

The I'm sorry, the truth, sits atop the tip of his tongue and he inwardly promises that he'll tell you someday.

...

Chan doesn't, of course, anticipate this.

When he finally conjures up the courage to send you a follow request after bashfully asking for your username and twiddling his thumbs over your Instagram icon, the acceptance and follow back request notifications almost reduces him to a giddy child who was allowed to watch cartoons way past their bedtime. The unanticipated pleasure that comes with getting something you had no expectations whatsoever of getting.

What is more shocking, he notes, is just how much your life has changed;

or at least, seems to have changed.

There are endless photos, shots of bright neon tones of a typical college party where you're holding up a solo cup to the air and grinning big enough that your eyes are closed, Chan smiles at this.

His enjoyment is, although, quite transient when another pop up in his notification bar reminds him that you've made your most recent post just a few seconds prior.

Curiously, Chan scrolls upwards, careful not to accidentally like any old photos.

This picture is different, the premise is a concert of some sort, he can tell from the banners, the condensed congregations of people around you, mouths awkwardly paused in uttering lyrics - the disturbing part, is the long, bleached blonde stranger behind you, his gangly arms looped over your chest, your back pressed against his front, while his chin is propped up onto the gap between your neck and shoulder. There is no caption.

You look the happiest here. He knows this. The familiar childish glow of your face whenever he'd crack a dumb pun was etched vividly into his memory.

Uncharacteristically, Chan finds himself putting down the phone on the table so Jisung would notice and elaborate without him asking.

And his endeavour is satisfied, "Oh, that's Hyunjin." Jisung explains, before rolling his eyes when Chan kept looking at him to say more, "They're just friends."

It’s only when Chan lets his breath go, does he realise that he was holding it all along.

...

"Long time, eh?" You smile at him, it's an easy, carefree smile, not the tight lipped ones you'd shoot his way weeks after the breakup. That elicits a weird feeling in Chan, he wants to understand why, know what brought this change.

Were you just that happy to see him? Did you remember that your first date was also on a New Year's Day, just like today? Or was he just lingering in the past, all alone?

Even though Hyunjin's invitation to the party was a nuisance, his delayed presence sparked a hopeful event for Chan, now that you were home for the holidays, he needed a proper chance to finally tell you all that he was holding back and do anything, everything to make up for it.

He imagined all the stories from those photos on your feed, musing over your brief conversations through DMs but back in his room, with a blanket pulled to your chin, while he threw a free leg around your waist.

Chan nods slowly, rummaging through the snack shelves. "Yeah. I can't believe it's been a year already." He prepares a mental conversation in his head as he finally secures a bag of Lays.

You smile slowly, looking down at your chipped nails, "Me neither."

In the living room, a loud pop song is playing, the two of you divorced from everyone, a countdown almost commencing.

From behind the kitchen counter, Chan opens his mouth to ask you about something but can't remember what, the last ten seconds rolling to ten, nine, eight, seven -

"I've been looking everywhere for you." A foreign voice comes but the stranger, on the contrary, is not unrecognisable.

His hair is the same long blonde, he's tall, his eyes are hooded but bright with kiddish excitement, his mouth naturally pouted. And when he says this sentence to you, your face, almost immediately, lights up.

The dramatic exclamation is exaggerated with sets of long flailing arms, Chan wants to roll his eyes at the cheesiness, had it not made you laugh.

You only get to turn your body partially before Hyunjin walks over to your position, he cups your face with one hand and the other traverses to the curve of your waist, pulling you flush against him. It's as if you've completely forgotten about him, as if you're the only two people in the world and Chan, a wistful member of the audience merely permitted to have the luxury to watch.

It is then that Chan realises that Jisung was definitely misinformed. Friends don't do this, friends don't look at each other like this. six, five, four, (But he can't look away, can't look away because he has to face the music, bite the bullet, to accept it for what it is. The spectacle is only but a morbid reminder of how taking people for granted always proves to be fruitless.)

Three, two, one,

"Happy New Year." Hyunjin's mouth moves with brief soundless words, he looks like the happiest man in the world and there's not a doubt he is, with you...

And when he kisses you like that, it's anything but perfect, he keeps grinning against your mouth like he can't believe this is happening.

The lonesome spectator senses himself thinking that you've never looked a fraction of happy with him as you do with Hyunjin.

Every sound falls back into muteness, all but the ringing in Chan's ears. Every planned syllable deems his tongue to a limping, incoherent mess. He bites it down.

All Chan understands is -

there is no going back from this.

..."You know I never told you." You hold up your fingers to his face, there's a giant indent of a wedding ring against the skin. The ornament catches light and glints.

Chan hums, finding that he was just as enamoured with your smile. After all this time. "Told me what?" He asks, eyes flitting behind your head to see Hyunjin picking out your favourite drink in a memorised fashion, a matching accessory banded around his finger as he points to a menu displayed above. It's only a matter of minutes.

You giggle, as though it's the silliest thing in entire the universe, the equivalent of admitting you used to believe you'd grow a tree inside your tummy if you swallowed apple seeds, "This is going to sound stupid."

You look downright embarrassed when you press your palms against your face and gaze at him through the gaps of your fingers, then rest them back on the table, "Don't get me wrong..like, of course it hurt, at first. And I was so angry at you..." you chuckle, embarrassed, " But if we never broke up, I can't imagine where I'd be right now...if it wasn't for you I don't think I'd be the person I am today." You explain lightheartedly, it's time and familiarity that makes bringing this topic up so easy. Like it means nothing at all. "So I guess I just wanted to say...thanks?"

Chan smiles, a genuine smile, even if it has a melancholic quality to it, all he ever wanted...really was for you to be happy. And you are. Most certainly.

So he doesn't tell you more, doesn't tell you about almosts and rain hitting pavements and forever and always.

But he reaches out and pats your knuckles and says - because he means it the same still, "Anything for you."

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dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram · 3 years

Note

Hi. Maybe you don’t give your reasoning, but if you do, why don’t you think L is F’s father? I dk if it’s one thing/event? Is it how it was presented? Is presented? Do you think it’s serving a purpose? Was serving a purpose? A lot of people do explain it with B not being the mom so that excludes L more easily. Like I said, I dk if you discuss these things, but I’m of course interested in your thoughts if you do. Thank you!

I don't know if I've ever answered this in full anon, so I'll do it now (but under a read more - this is quite long and very close to my boundaries in terms of talking about this).

I came into the fandom at the beginning of 2015, so the first thing that's affecting my understanding of what's going on was the two month break in the OTRA tour. After their Dubai gig (and some family time in Dubai), Louis went back to the UK and played in a football match and then did some writing and rolled some joints in endearing ways in photos that were sent to the Sun. Then after being seen either out or in the studio every day, until late April, he went MIA for just under a week. There were sitings of him in LA (one was someone in fandom who said their friend had seen him and Harry, but another was a complete random on twitter). Then he was papped at the airport, carrying the psychopath test on 3 May 2015. It seemed like he'd got there earlier and this was a very public arrival.

The other airport pap pics that seemed really significant was 2 June 2015, where Louis was papped at LAX. 1D had been in rehearsals for their next leg, which started on 5 June in Cardiff. He then took photos with the Chimpanzee from the Steal My Girl video and flew back like 36 hours later. They ended up adding songs from 4 in the European leg, but not straight away.

This (and a bunch of other stories I was telling about Harry and Louis being happy together, which included snoppy/Basquiat shirts, Barcelona coin braclets, the AIMH tweet on a flag, and a whole bunch of other stuff that I've now forgotten) was the context that I experienced the People article of July 2015.

I feel like all the weirdness around that is pretty well covered. The close connections with 1D's team. The way they never seemed to own the story. I found it weird and stressful, but I never really thought that it might be true and that was mainly because of the timing.

They announced that Briana was 11 weeks pregnant, which meant she would have conceived 9 weeks ago (pregnancy is counted from someone's last period, rather than conception). That seemed to me totally bizzarre, particularly as paternity could only have been confirmed for 2-3 weeks at the time of conception (here's a post I wrote about that in February 2016).

I actually think it's even more unlikely that the People magazine at 11 weeks would have happened if Louis had knocked someone up now than I did at the time. First because we now know that the end was in site at this point. 1D's management and label would just have had to keep the secret until the end of the year and then it wasn't their problem. That seems to me to be a huge extra motivation for all involved to keep it quiet. Second, we've seen how effectively Louis' personal life can be kept quiet, when they want to.

There are two things I want to bring out about the timing. First the person who owned Eli the chimpanzee knew Brett and when Louis went to LA in early July, he took a photo with Austin Clark. Obviously looking back that becomes the trip where Louis was going to talk to Briana about being pregnant. And if it was, it's so fucking bizzarre that it would be so widely publicised.

The second is those two airport pap trips are one of the many reasons I don't think this whole thing was planned in advance, and why I think this wouldn't have happened if Briana hadn't got pregnant. Louis arriving in LA so late gave them very little options in terms of the story. I think Briana was further along when they announced, but they couldn't say that, because then Louis wouldn't have been there for conception. But if they were going to do it they needed to do it then, to avoid running into the roll out for MITAM (why did they feel the need to do it - that's a whole different question). In addition if having Louis prettend to be a father was planned months in advance, then they wouldn't have had to cut into rehearsals aLnd delayed performing new songs. I don't think what happened is consistent with some fans theories of something that was meticulously planned months in advance.

So that was my position all the way through the pregnancy. I never took the possibility that there wouldn't be a denial seriously, mostly because it was so incredible to me that a boyband member's unintended pregnancy would be announced at 11 weeks.

I was really shocked when the birth took place, and shocked again when the birth certificate was released (I still remember where I was when that news came out). The messiness of it all and the ways it was possible to still believe that Louis wasn't the father despite what was happening is reasonably well covered. I doubted a lot and was on an emotional roller coaster that year. The one thing I held on to was that the story was that Louis hadn't had a paternity test. That just obviously wasn't true and I found it really interesting that they were telling it.

But I was super anxious that Louis might be the father all through that year, and spent a lot of time trying to make sense of it all. Until December 2016, when it became clear why nothing made any sense. And I was reminded of how much I don't know. But in addition to all that existential stuff, I also realised that Briana and Freddie had come to the UK in December 2015 to be seen by the fandom and not to see Jay (this is clear from their travel details).

And that was what settled my anxiety and uncertainty, and made me relaxed in my belief that Louis wasn't Freddie's father. If Jay wanted to see her grandchild, then I was convinced that Louis would and could have organised that. And everything we knew about Jay suggested that she would have wanted to see her grandchild.

Now I'm not here to argue that logic - I probably was more certain about that than was justified. I don't know Jay - and obviously a lot was going down that year. In general, I think that things are probably far messier than I could possibly imagine, and that makes certainty a little absurd.

But for me that meant that I was no longer keyed up and anxious, and was sort of calm in my belief that Louis wasn't the father. As time has passed, and options have been cut off, I've also become more accepting of the idea that I might be wrong and Louis might be Freddie's father. I don't think he is, but whatever is actually going on doesn't stress me out anymore.

#If I was going to advocate any particular belief in this fandom #not on the grounds that it's correct #just for people's well being #it's the belief that Briana is Freddie's mother #it just makes the whole thing so much simpler #and explains why the thing is sustainable long term #and is heaps less damaging and distressing to imagine

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shirlleycoyle · 3 years

Text

How 9/11 Became Fan Fiction Canon

Every fictional character you can think of has experienced 9/11 in fanfiction.

A Clone Wars veteran with two lightsabers is on United Airlines Flight 93 and prevents it from crashing. Ron and Hermione get caught up in the chaos as the towers fall. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and her friends watch the attacks unfold on TV from Sunnydale. We have spent 20 years trying to process what happened on 9/11 and its fallout, and that messy process can be tracked through the countless, sad, disturbing, and sometimes very funny fanfiction left across the internet.

Many of the fanfics written in the weeks and months following the 9/11 attacks seemed to directly respond to the news as it happened, processing the tragedy in real-time through the eyes of characters they loved. In the absence of a canon episode where Daria Morgendorffer paid respects to those lost, writing fanfic about these characters also experiencing trauma helped fans cope.

One YuGiOh fanfic published on fanfiction.net in May 2002 could have been ripped exactly from what this writer experienced that Tuesday morning. “It started as a normal day,” user Gijinka Renamon wrote. Yugi and his friends were in school, where their teacher informed them of the attacks and sent everyone home from school.

“After reading people’s 9/11 fics, I decided to write my own, and put a certain character in it. And Yugi and his pals were my first choice,” the author's note reads, explaining the connection they felt to United flight 93 and the World Trade Center attacks. Given that they lived in Pennsylvania, and “it’s close to New York, I felt really sad about it.”

Stitch, a fandom journalist for Teen Vogue, told Motherboard that this reaction to 9/11 is not at all uncommon in fandom.

"Fandom has always been a place that positions nothing as 'off limits,'" she said. "Historical tragedies like the Titanic sinking and atrocities like… all of World War 2 show up regularly across the past 30 years of people creating stories and art about the characters they love. So, on some level, it makes sense that 9/11 and the following 20-year military installation in the Middle East has joined the ranks of things people in different fandoms turn into settings for their fan fiction."

Reactions depicted in a handful of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfics published in the weeks after the attacks ring a little truer to the characters. “Tuesday, 11th September 2001,” written by Anna K, almost echoes the lyrics from “I’ve Got a Theory,” one of the songs in the musical episode that aired in November 2001. “We have seen the apocalypse. We have prevented it. Actually, we’ve prevented quite a few. So we know what they look like,” they write, before taking a darker turn. “They look a lot like…New York today.”

Killing demons and vampires doesn’t phase the Scooby Gang, but when preventable human death is brought into the picture, it’s gut wrenching.

“What am I supposed to do…When I can’t do anything to save the world?” Buffy cries into Spike’s chest, watching the attacks unfold on TV in a fanfic the author described as being “about feeling numb and helpless.”

In “Blood Drive,” Kirayoshi writes about Buffy and her friends saving a van full of donated blood meant for victims of the attacks from a group of thirsty vampires. One Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic even takes a blindly patriotic turn, where noted lesbian witch Tara McClay helps Xander hang an American flag from the window of the magic shop to make Anya feel better.

Experiencing 9/11 as a young teenager was overwhelming not just because of the loss of life. Almost immediately after the event itself, it was as if the entirety of American culture re-oriented itself towards an overtly jingoistic stance. As we get distance from the attacks, seeing the tone of television and movies from the early 2000s is jarring, and some have gone viral on Twitter. In the world of pop music, mainstream musicians like the Chicks, formerly known as the Dixie Chicks, were blacklisted from the radio while Toby Keith sang about putting a boot up the ass of terrorists. On the Disney Channel, a young Shia Labeouf reading a poem he supposedly wrote about the events. The poem concludes with the line, "it's awesome to be an American citizen."

In a world so completely saturated with this messaging, it is not surprising that fanfic authors started including 9/11 in their work so soon after the event. Even The West Wing had a strange, out of continuity, fanfic-esque episode where the characters reacted to 9/11. In some cases, it made sense that the characters in the stories would be close to or a part of the events themselves.

"For characters like John Watson or Captain America, the idea works to an extent," Stitch told Motherboard. "In the original Sherlock Holmes works and the 2011 BBC series, Watson had just returned from Afghanistan. For Captain America and other Marvel heroes, 9/11 was something that was addressed in-universe in The Amazing Spider-Man volume 2 #36. Technically, 9/11 is 'canon' to the Marvel universe."

In “Early Warning: Terrorism,” a fanfiction for the TV show Early Edition in which a man who mysteriously receives tomorrow's newspaper, predicting the future, avoids jingoism, but tries to precent 9/11 from happening. This fanfic remains unfinished; it’s unclear if the characters successfully prevent 9/11 in this retelling.

Largely in fanfic from the era just after 9/11, when many young authors were trying to emotionally grapple with it, the characters don't re-write or undo the events themselves. It's this emphasis on the reaction to tragedy that colors the fanfiction that features 9/11 going forward.

Although fanfiction authors have been writing about 9/11 consistently since soon after the event, whenever that fanfiction reaches outside of its intended audience, it looks bizarre.

A screenshot of a Naruto 9/11 fanfic on the Tumblr subreddit comes without any context, or even more than two lines and an author's note. It’s impossible to suss out if this falls into the category of sincere fanfic without the rest of the piece or a publication date, but modern-day commenters on the Reddit thread see it as classic Tumblr trash.

Screenshot from r/Tumblr

“Bin Laden/Dick Cheney, enemies to lovers, 10k words, slow burn,” one user joked in the replies, underscoring the weirdness of Naruto being in the Twin Towers by comparing it to a What If story about Cheney and Bin Laden slowly falling deeply in love.

It’s hard to tell how much of the 9/11 fanfic and fanart starting a few years after the attacks is sincere, and how much of it is ironic, and trying to make fun of the very concept of writing fanfiction about 9/11.

A 2007 anime music video (in which various clips, usually from anime, are cut together to music) that combines scenes from The Lion King with Linkin Park’s “Crawling” and clips from George Bush’s speeches immediately after the attacks feels like the perfect example of this. Even the commenters can’t seem to suss out if this person is a troll or not.

There’s no way that My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic 9/11 fanart could be serious, right? Especially if the description pays tribute to “some of the nation's most memorable buildings,” and features five of the main characters as child versions of themselves. The comments again are split between users thanking the artist for a thoughtful remembrance post, and people making their own headcanon for why Twilight Sparkle is surreptitiously absent from the scene.

Screengrab via DeviantArt

There’s Phineas and Ferb fanfic that combines a 9/11 tribute concert with flashbacks to Ferb being rescued from the towers as a baby, written on the 10th anniversary of the attacks. It jumps from introspection to lines like, “‘Quiet Perry the Platypus. I’m trying to listen to these kids singing a 9/11 tribute.’”

The author's notes make it more likely that they meant for this to be a tribute piece, but it doesn’t quite make sense until watching a YouTube dramatic reading of it from 2020, fully embracing the absurdity of it all.

“For me, 9/11 is synonymous with war. It completely changed the course of my life," Dreadnought, the author of a Captain America fanfic Baghdad Waltz that sees Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes fall in love over the course of the war on terror, told Motherboard. "It’s the reason I joined the military, and I developed deep connections with people who would go on to deploy to Afghanistan and Iraq. These very much felt like my generation’s wars, perhaps because people I graduated high school with were the youngest folks eligible to serve at the time.”

Dreadnought told Motherboard that although they didn't deploy, their career has kept 9/11 and the trauma from it in their mind. After seeing that people who fantasize about Steve and Bucky getting together seemed particularly interested in reading fanfiction that related to 9/11, they decided to try their hand at it.

"I had to do something with all of that emotionally, and I’m admittedly a bit emotionally avoidant. So I learned through fic that it’s easier for me to process those feelings and the knowledge of all the awful stuff that can happen in war if I can turn it into something creative," Dreadnought said. "Give the feelings to fake people and then have those fake people give the feelings to readers!"

To Dreadnought, who is a queer man, the experience of researching and writing this was more cathartic than they first expected, especially as a way to navigate feelings about masculinity, military culture, and queer identity. But they said the research they did, which included watching footage of first responders at ground zero, was what helped them finally process the event itself.

"It was like a delayed horror, and it was more powerful than I expected it would be." Dreadnought said. "When I was eighteen, I was pretty emotionally divorced from 9/11; I just knew I wanted to do something about it. So coming back to it in my 30s while writing this fic, it was a very different experience. Even the research for this story ended up being an extraordinarily valuable exercise in cognitively and emotionally processing 9/11 and all of its second and third order effects."

Fanfiction that features 9/11 provides an outlet for people who still grapple with the trauma from that day. But Stitch warns that the dynamics of fandom and how it relates to politics can also create fiction that's less respectful and more grotesque.

"With years of distance between the stories written and the original events of 9/11, there seems to be some sort of cushion for fans who choose to use those events as a catalyst for relationships—and Iraq and Afghanistan for settings," Stitch said. "The cushion allows them room to fictionalize real world events that changed the shape of the world as we know it, but it also insulates them from having to think about what they may be putting into the world."

The tendency of turning these events into settings or backgrounds for mostly white, male characters to fall in love has the unintended effect of displacing the effects that the war on terror has had on the world over. Steve and Bucky might fall in love during the war on terror, but they would also be acting as a part of the American military in a war that has been criticized since it started. Fanfic writers in other fandoms have come under fire for using real world tragedy as settings for fic before. In the aftermath of the 2010 Haiti earthquake Supernatural fanfiction about the actors Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki going to the island to do aid became controversial within the fandom. There have also been fics where characters grapple with the death of George Floyd that is written in a way that displaces the event from the broader cultural context of race in America.

"A Captain America story where Steve Rogers is a 'regular' man who joins the US Army and 'fights for our freedom' post-9/11 is unlikely to deal with the war’s effect on locals who are subject to US military intervention," Stitch said. "It’s unlikely to sit with what Captain America has always meant and what a writer is doing by dropping Steve Rogers into a then-ongoing conflict in any capacity."

After enough time, “never forget” can even morph into “but what if it never happened?” A 19k+ word Star Wars alternate universe fanfic asks this question, wondering what would have unfolded if someone with two lightsabers was on United Flight 93. This fic, part of a larger fanfic series with its own Wikia, considers what would have happened if Earth was a military front in the Clone Wars.

In this version of events, a decorated general who served in the Clone Wars is able to take back control of Flight 93 before it crashes, landing safely and preventing even more tragedy from happening that day. In the end, all of the passengers who made harrowing last calls to their loved ones before perishing in a Pennsylvania field survive thanks to the power of the Force, and are awarded medals of honor by President Bush.

Twenty years after the attacks, it’s painful to think about what would have happened if people got to work 15 minutes later, or missed their trains that morning. There weren’t Jedi masters deployed to save people in real life, but for some of the fanfic writers working today, the world of Star Wars might feel just as removed as the world before September 11, 2001.

Fiction serves as a powerful playground for processing cultural events, especially generational trauma. The act isn't neutral though; a decade's worth of fanfiction that takes place on or around 9/11 shows how our own understanding of a traumatic event can shift with time.

How 9/11 Became Fan Fiction Canon syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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dramaticsnakes · 4 years

Text

How two exasperated doctors adopted three robots

Characters: Janus, Logan, Virgil, Patton, and Roman

Warnings: Gunshots and cursing, but I think that’s it. Let me know if I missed something!

Summary:

After being hired at the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility, Dr. Janus Dedrick began noticing some suspicious things going on there. He decided to take matters into his own hands, and look into it.

Meanwhile, Janus' frustrating colleague Dr. Logan Croft, had apparently gotten the same idea.

A victorian steampunk fantasy scientists and robots AU.

Word count: 7358

A sincere thank you to @rainbowbutterfrosting on tumblr for beta-reading this fic! It means the world to me.

Read on AO3

Janus Dedrick often considered himself quite brilliant. He had more than one doctorate to prove it, even if such titles couldn’t always be considered truthful. They could either prove that you’d worked hard or that you merely had the money to spare, so that wasn’t what made Janus consider himself brilliant. Neither was his position at the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility. A Facility that was among the first to attempt to figure out how to utilize the previously inaccessible “magic” (as it had been unprofessionally dubbed thus far). His confidence was hardly linked to a title such as “Dr. Dedrick”. According to Janus, his brilliance shined the most when he was doing things entirely on his own accord.

Such as, breaking into the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility at 1am on a Saturday.

One might wonder what Dr. Janus Dedrick was doing, elegantly flipping switches he wasn’t supposed to flip, and walking through passages that were clearly locked away for a reason. It was quite simple really. Janus wanted to figure out what said reason was. Just because Janus worked at the Facility didn’t mean he had access to any and all knowledge about it, and Janus simply intended to change that. Really, was hiding information from the public not enough? If the Facility didn’t intend to make scientists and engineers curious, perhaps they shouldn’t have a gate practically labelled ‘prohibited’ that led to a closed off section of the Facility, which hardly anyone was allowed to enter. They were practically begging for a tactical break-in.

So that was what Janus was doing. In the weeks leading up to it, he’d left skilful remarks, and made sure his duties led him to the right offices. He’d opened a few drawers and lockers, using his fashion-choice of constantly wearing gloves to his advantage. It wasn’t even that difficult, and his suspicions only grew with each new discovery. The fact that there was a prohibited area wasn’t the only weird thing going on. There were blueprints that contradicted each other in strange ways, parts that hadn’t been delivered on time, and multiple other minor inconsistencies. Janus could respect things being kept close to one’s chest, but he also respected anyone intelligent enough to uncover what was being deliberately hidden from them.

Janus heard the final lock click and the steel gears turned on the door. The passage that opened was dark. There were no windows in sight, and even if there were, it was as previously stated, 1am. Janus riffled through the pockets on his vest underneath his cape that he wore in the cold. He got a hold of a box of matches and struck one. He lit the oil lamp in his other hand, which illuminated a small area. Not enough to see everything ahead of him, but enough to ensure that he didn’t easily step on anything vital (or trip, harming himself, who was also a rather vital asset).

His steps echoed down the hall. He noticed a few paintings on the walls, that he hadn’t seen before. There were other paintings in the Facility, but these were different. Made by a different painter perhaps? Some depicted various mechanics, and one or two were of people Janus had seen around the Facility at times but hadn’t had much to do with. He wondered if they worked in this part of the Facility sometimes. What had they done to gain access there? Janus wasn’t certain if he was bitter or excited to see what it was the Facility was attempting to hide. You wouldn’t have this level of security for a couple of unimportant documents or employee files.

The room expanded the further Janus made it. While Janus couldn’t see the entirety of it, he became increasingly aware of just how big the room was. The light was reflected from the surface of a machine, that was several feet taller than Janus. He put the oil lamp a bit closer to it, to get a good look at the switches and buttons. There was a brass panel on it, that didn’t seem too complicated to figure out.

Then Janus heard steps from a door on a different side of the machine. Damn. Who the hell would be there at this hour? Janus scanned the room for a good place to hide, but quickly realized that it was too late.

A man walked around the machine, and locked eyes with Janus. The man wore a black vest with a dark blue necktie. At first Janus was frightened, fearing that his otherwise rather ingenious plan had been found out, but once Janus had a good look at the man, his expression faltered with exasperation. The man had a pair of glasses and a confused look that made Janus’ blood boil.

“What the hell?” Janus said, because really it made no sense.

The man tilted his head slightly and looked Janus up and down. “Dr. Dedrick? To the best of my knowledge you are not allowed in here.”

Janus clenched his fists, but then his expression turned smug. “To the best of my knowledge, neither are you, Dr. Croft.”

Dr. Logan Croft was an agitating individual, who unfortunately happened to be Janus’ colleague. He was hired a few months after Janus and had almost immediately earned a promotion through reputation alone. He was known as a prodigy, who had always passed at the top of his class. Even if his family hadn’t had any sort of formal education previously, Logan had apparently against all odds made it to one of the most esteemed universities. Impressive sure, but it wasn’t as if Janus hadn’t done just as much, if not more. At least Logan Croft hadn’t had to change his name in the process.

The two had many overlapping fields of expertise, which could either result in a wonderful friendship or a bitter rivalry. In this case, the latter was more prominent. Logan’s entire demeanour and the way he was always so hung up on rules and the law annoyed Janus to no end.

Logan adjusted his glasses. “That is correct.”

So why, of all people on this godforsaken planet, was Dr. Logan Croft in the prohibited part of the Facility? Janus huffed with amused disbelief. “If you are here without permission, surely there is no reason for you to condemn me for doing the same?”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t condemning anyone. I was simply wondering what you’re doing here.” he sighed, “Though I wouldn’t consider myself surprised.”

Janus gasped and placed one hand on his chest, taking mock offense. “And why is that, dear doctor?”

“You have a history of doing things you shouldn’t be doing.” Logan said matter-of-factly.

Janus grinned. “Ah, but it’s only truly wrong if anyone of importance notices.”

Logan huffed. “I noticed.”

“Anyone of importance.” Janus repeated, but Logan didn’t react with enough annoyance for it to be satisfying. Janus gestured towards Logan with his free hand. “Though that doesn’t answer why you are here. It seems uncharacteristic of you.”

At this, Logan looked at the floor, and led his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes for a moment, and then locked eyes with Janus again. “I believe I’ve made a discovery.”

“And what might that be?” Janus asked with a silky tone, though the spite was clear underneath it.

“It doesn’t concern you unless I find adequate proof.”

Janus furrowed his eyebrows and chuckled with disbelief. “With all due respect, Dr. Croft, I don’t think hiding your intentions at this point will be easy for you.”

The ‘for you’ was added to provoke some form of anger, and judging by Logan’s clenched fists at the words, Janus succeeded. “And what are your intentions, Dr. Dedrick?”

“I asked first.”

“No, you did not.”

“You simply said, you were wondering what I was doing here. You never asked the question.” Janus said, adjusting his bowler hat.

Logan gave an exasperated sigh. “I suppose that is technically correct.” Janus looked at Logan’s barely illuminated face with amused anticipation. Logan looked at Janus with a serious expression. “I have had my suspicions that the Facility has been hiding something for a while.”

“Is that so?”

“After looking through some blueprints and files, I’ve noticed that there are… Patterns of inconsistencies if you can say it like that.”

Janus didn’t say anything for a few moments. He wasn’t sure what he found funnier and more ironic. The fact that Logan was there for the exact same reason as him, the fact that Logan thought he knew more, or the fact that Logan had apparently also looked at files they weren’t allowed to look at. “Such as the delayed magitoite delivery?” Janus said almost emotionlessly.

Logan turned his head towards Janus. His mouth was gaping slightly. “And the box of 20 teeth gears.”

Janus smiled wryly. “Not to mention the blueprint detailing the components of a hypothetical robotic arm.”

Logan looked a sceptical for a bit, and Janus hoped that it meant he’d learned something Logan hadn’t. Logan continued. “There was a file that talked about a use of magitoite I haven’t seen anyone in the Facility attempting yet.”

Ah. Janus didn’t know that. He tried to think of something to say to have the last word but couldn’t think of anything he could express in that moment.

Logan moved some hair away from his eyes. His expression was nearly unreadable. “So, you’ve been conducting your own investigation?”

“I have.” Janus replied.

The two men stared at each other in silence for a few breaths. Logan looked thoughtful, and Janus didn’t like the sight. Why did he have to run into Logan Croft? At least it would’ve been a little exciting to explain himself to someone with authority, instead of this pretentious idiot. The thought that Logan had been looking into the same matters as Janus made him want to scream. “I have a proposition.” Logan said

“Yes?”

“Instead of getting in each other’s way, I let you follow me on my investigation.” Logan said.

Janus clenched his fist and groaned. “Oh, how generous of you.” he said sarcastically.

“Thank you.” Logan said, nonchalantly.

Janus sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to attempt to explain what I’ve learned so far to you, then.”

Logan huffed. “Guess I will too.”

Janus tutted. “Unfortunate.”

“Indeed.”

Logan turned his head towards the machine in the room. “What is this?”

Janus looked at the machine and at the mechanics on it. As he looked around the room, he saw the hint of a pipe and some wires that led towards the other end of the room. “It appears to be connected to something. Perhaps some sort of opening mechanism?”

“Do you know how it functions?” Logan asked.

“I haven’t had the chance to l-“

“Never mind I’ve got it.” Logan said, barely acknowledging Janus’ words. He flicked a switch and pushed a button. The machine made some noises, that sounded like bits of metal grinding against one another, and steam came out of an opening on the left. There was the sound of some type of gate moving upwards, further into the room.

Janus groaned. “I could’ve figured that out as well.”

“But you did not.” Logan said, and while it seemed indifferent, Janus didn’t miss the sly look in his eyes.

Janus and Logan continued down the passage with an oil lamp each. On the way, they recounted their discoveries. Most of the time they finished each other’s sentences, unfortunately having discovered nearly the same thing, though Janus savoured each time he knew something Logan didn’t.

Click

“What’s that noise?” Janus asked, stopping in his tracks, holding up one arm with concern and confusion.

“It was a click.” Logan replied.

Janus rolled his eyes and looked at the other. “Oh, I definitely didn’t realize that. But where did it come from?”

“Well, it could’ve been a few things. There are plenty of technologies in-“

Logan never got to finish the sentence, as a bullet flew past them after a quick and sudden ‘bang’. It dashed into the wall beside them, leaving a smoking hole in the metal. Janus’ eyes widened, and he saw that Logan nearly dropped his oil lamp in surprise. As soon as Janus heard another ‘click’, he scanned the area. He noticed another bullet flying towards them. Towards Logan specifically.

“Get down!” he yelled and gave Logan’s sleeve a tug. Logan ducked accordingly and dodged the small bullet.

Logan’s mouth gaped. “It would appear that it was a gun.”

Janus narrowed his eyes and looked ahead. “Well-spotted, Dr. Croft. Glad to know your doctorate is being used to comprehend such vital information.”

Logan glared at Janus. “This is hardly the time for-“

Janus tugged at Logan’s sleeve again, and they ducked once more. The bullet wasn’t anywhere close to hitting them this time around though. Who was it that was aiming at them? What was aiming at them?

“Authorized personnel only.” a voice, that didn’t sound like anything Janus had heard before spoke. It sounded forced and inhuman in a sense. As if it was coming through a phonograph. There wasn’t any emotion behind it. Logan and Janus looked at each other. What should they do about that? Janus was almost convinced that Logan would turn around and leave. Janus would never do something like that. He was getting too curious.

Perhaps Janus had underestimated the other doctor, as Logan closed his eyes tightly, sighed, and grabbed Janus’ arm. “Come on.” Logan said, practically dragging Janus further as if he was a dog. Somewhat offended, Janus ripped his arm away from Logan and brushed his own shoulder.

“I can walk myse-“

Another bulled was fired, but it was several few away from both of them. “Authorized personnel only.” the voice repeated. Janus breathed and picked up the pace. Logan did the same. Janus’ and Logan’s legs were almost equally long, so their pace was annoyingly similar, but Janus tried not to think about that. They had to avoid the danger at hand.

They made it to the end of the hall when they noticed the source of the bullets. It did indeed seem to come from a gun, but the person, or well perhaps not a person, who was holding the gun was the interesting part. The thing that held it, was shaped like a human, but without the skin. Where there should be skin there was brass and steel, with nails in between each piece. It had hair on top of its head, which made Janus even more confused. What was the point of the hair? Purple, covering the eyes… No, not eyes. Round holes that were lit up with a purple glow. It wore a black shirt and a black chequered jacket on top of it, and there were three gears turning by its chest. Another strange thing was, that the gun wasn’t held by it, but was directly attached to the top of the steel hand.

It didn’t take multiple doctorates to conclude that this resembled a robot. Not exactly the ideal hypothetical version, but a simple one. It was mostly a robot in appearance, and a sound player and automatic (terribly aiming) gun in function. Though Janus couldn’t help but feel like it was built to be capable of more than that. It didn’t make much sense though, because that would require technology that wasn’t developed. Perhaps it was just an experiment? “Authorized personnel only.”

Janus scoffed. “Thanks, we get the gist.”

The robot(?) moved the gun back, there was a click, and another shot was fired. This time it went straight for Janus’ head, but he ducked before it did any damage.

“Hm, seems it generally has a terrible aim, except for a few select exceptions.” Logan said, deep in thought, as if he wasn’t in immediate danger.

Janus furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the human-shaped gunner. “It’s almost as if it hits by chance rather than technique.”

“How do you think we can shut it down?” Logan asked. It sounded a bit like Logan was a teacher asking the class a question, but Janus couldn’t help but chuckle at it rather than feel offended. It was strange, that Logan hadn’t turned around yet. That he’d rather shut down their mechanical attacker and move on. Perhaps Logan was a little more driven than Janus had initially thought.

“So far, nothing is preventing us from getting closer.” Janus responded. He tilted his head and cooed, “Or does that scare you, doctor?”

Logan let out a ‘ha’. “Not in the slightest. I’d say its lack of aiming abilities renders it rather unintimidating.”

Janus scanned the gunner and noticed that there was a panel on the back. It was possible that there was a switch on there or behind it, which could shut it down. While it had legs, it didn’t seem like it was able to move. Janus approached it just as another meaningless shot was fired, and Logan almost looked annoyed as Janus did so without narration or comment. Just as Janus reached the side of the robot, its other arm stretched out. The sides of it started moving strangely, as if bits of it were finding a place. Before long, two metal plates started reaching through the arm, covering Janus’ path like a shield.

Hold on.

Janus knew of that technology. In fact, he knew it well. “That’s my technology!” he exclaimed, as he looked at the shield. He recognized it on the way, the shield was triggered once he’d reached a certain radius from it. He created it about a year prior, having been tasked to develop a technology that could keep out unwanted visitors. It had still been in an experimental phase then, and he’d been moved to other projects since.

“Ah, it did look rather simple, so I suppose that makes sense.” Logan said, and Janus sighed sharply through his teeth. He tapped the side of the shield, one on the top, one on the bottom, and one on the left, which led the robot to withdraw it slightly. Once Janus reached the back of the robot, he noticed that there was in fact a switch on the back. Janus thought it was a little too easy to see, for it to be an efficient design, so it was likely just a prototype, made to be turned off easily in case of malfunction. The fastened panel made him curious, but he figured that shutting it off first would be ideal. He flipped the switch, and there was a loud, hollow, humming noise, and some clicks from within.

“Hm.” Logan said, “The eyes aren’t lit up anymore.”

“I turned it off, doctor.” Janus said.

“Thank you, I am aware.” Logan replied, a clear bitterness in his tone.

The body felt heavier after being turned off, and it seemed Janus had to hold it up to prevent it from falling. Janus placed his oil lamp on the floor, looked down at his pockets, and grabbed a screwdriver. Logan approached the harmless robot and stood right behind Janus. Logan narrowed his eyes. “Do you bring that with you everywhere?”

Janus smirked and rolled his eyes, as he placed the screwdriver on the screws that fastened the panel on the gunner’s back. “Of course, I’d bring some tools to a break-in. I am not completely dense and inexperienced.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Are break-ins one of your usual pastimes?”

Janus didn’t reply to that, as he removed each screw from the metallic back. Logan was looking him over his shoulder, which was rather irritating. At times it could be fun, if Janus did everything just a little better than Logan would be able to, but Logan was the type who’d notice any small mistake, and Janus would never hear the end of it. To be fair, Janus would do something similar. He wrenched the panel off, which revealed a technology that was indeed exceedingly similar to the one he’d developed. There were more gears, and some of the wires were connected to other places than he was used to, but it wasn’t that difficult to make sense of.

Something that stood out, however, were the bits of the wires, that were twisted in non-optimal ways. Something was being blocked, as if someone was deliberately trying to limit the functions. It didn’t take a genius to deduce, exactly how you could optimize the machine, though Janus wasn’t certain what the optimal version would be like. Would it have a better aim?

Right above all of the gears and wires, Janus saw that the inside of the robot was labelled ‘VIRGIL’.

“That’s not an ideal design.” Logan said.

“I know.” Janus said.

“Its speech centre has a larger vocabulary than ‘authorized personnel only’.” Logan added, which made Janus’ eyes flick to a box in the right corner, whose wires went up towards the mouth.

“Well-spotted.” Janus said, in a way that sounded like he’d immediately noticed himself. He would, of course, if he hadn’t been looking at how his own technology was being used. Janus looked up, and saw that there was a door, blocked by a large metal plate. Logan stood up, and pressed a few buttons nearby, and the plate moved up, scraping against the wall.

“This was the place it was guarding, it seems.” Logan said, nodding into a dark room, “Are you coming?”

“Of course.” Janus said. He placed the screwdriver in his pocket, and allowed the robot to fall just a little, and managed to cradle it in his arms. It wasn’t too heavy. He noticed that the eyes that had seemed pupil-less while they were fully lit up, had something that resembled it anyway, only furthering Janus’ suspicion that it was meant for more.

”Why are you bringing that?” Logan asked.

“Just moving it out of the way for now, so we can make some adjustments and cover our tracks later.” Janus replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He let his eyes flick to the oil lamp. Logan furrowed his eyebrows, leaned down, and took it.

The room was small, and everything in it was dusty. There were scattered notes and blueprints, and Janus quickly noticed that the blueprints were a great deal more detailed than he’d seen before. They were filled with drawings that looked like robot parts, and his mouth gaped upon the sight of a detailed magitoite formula. He wanted to rush over there and take it all, but he froze upon the sight of something even more remarkable.

On the ground, lying languid and lifeless, there were two robots. They were most definitely robots. They looked similar to the VIRGIL, that Janus was carrying in his arms, but they had their own entirely unique design. One wore a light blue short-sleeved suit with a grey pipe strapped over its shoulders. Its hair was red and curly, and Janus wondered if it was synthetic. It had a wide smile on its face, that seemed a little dead on the lifeless robot. The other was built from a more refined metal than the other two and had white broad-shouldered white shirt with a cravat. It also had a metallic red sash with various buttons on it, that lead from the top left to the bottom right. There wasn’t any light in any of their eyes, indicating that they were turned off, but once again Janus noticed that there was something resembling pupils there.

Logan’s eyes were fixed on the robots as well, and Janus could’ve sworn his eyes sparkled. “There… There are more…” Logan said breathlessly.

“Y-yes.” Janus said. He’d expected it to sound more articulate than that.

Logan was shaking, looking at the blueprints on the wall. Janus could hear his own breathing a little too clearly for his liking. Where should they even begin? Logan placed the two oil lamps on a nearby wooden table. “I suggest that we look at the… Robots, first.” Logan said, answering Janus’ unspoken question.

Janus nodded. He walked a little closer to the two bodies on the ground and carefully placed the lifeless VIRGIL next to them. Janus looked at the robots, and the machine in the corner. There were wires connecting to the backs of each one. “Should we try to turn them on?”

“We could dissect them.” Logan said, “And figure out how they function first. Judging by the VIRGIL’s functions, they could be hostile.”

Janus hummed. “I thought you said its lack of aiming abilities rendered it rather unintimidating.” he mimicked Logan’s voice at the last words.

Logan adjusted his glasses and exhaled sharply through his nose. “If you want to risk it, I’m not opposed to it.”

Janus smiled a little to genuinely for his own liking. He nodded towards the machine in the corner. “Try to turn that on, if it isn’t too complicated for you.” he said in a somewhat belittling tone.

Logan rolled his eyes and walked towards it. “Let me know if you need my help turning the robots on.”

“Well, if they’re based on my technology, I hardly see the problem.” Janus said, walking towards the mechanical bodies on the ground.

“I highly doubt they’d all use such a simple protection mechanic.” Logan said.

Janus didn’t bother replying to that. He looked at the three robots on the ground. He wasn’t too keen on turning on the gunner again, so he picked the one in the blue suit with the big smile. He unscrewed the panel on the back, revealing a system that was… Similar, but not entirely. For one, it didn’t seem to utilize Janus’ protection technology, but it did have something else going on. Once again, it was as if something was blocking it.

The name written on this one was ‘PATTON’.

Logan mumbled something to himself, having placed one hand on his chin. He grabbed a tool on the table that Janus couldn’t see, pushed something into the side of the machine, and flicked a large switch on the side. Gears on the walls started turning, and there was a hiss, as steam was released from the top of it. Janus felt some power in the wires of the robot. He flipped the switch on the back. It stood up, suddenly, and Janus almost fell backwards. He shuffled back to his feet and looked at the other side of the robot. The eyes lit up in a light blue colour. It hurt to look directly at them.

“Please state—order” the robot said, but Janus could tell it wasn’t a complete sentence. He looked at the wires inside. He squinted, and unscrewed the side of the speech centre, and switched some of the wires.

“What are you doing?” Logan asked from the other side of the room.

“Fixing it.” Janus stated, in a matter-of-factly tone that could almost be confused with something Logan would say.

Logan bit his lip. “Is that wise?”

“Please st—Please—state order—order.” the PATTON struggled.

Janus tightened one of the gears and gave the water container inside a tap. Steam was released from the mouth of the robot, and Janus moved his hands back abruptly.

“Something is happening.” Logan said, his mouth gaping.

“What?” Janus asked.

“The eyes are different.”

Janus stood up and moved to the front of the PATTON. It was true. The light faded just a little and they no longer looked quite as lifeless. There was a visible pupil and the mouth that had otherwise been stuck in an emotionless smile, moved just a little. As if there were flexible muscles in the jaw. For a moment it frowned, it moved its head in a way that was frighteningly human. It looked at its surroundings, confused, concerned, perhaps scared, until its eyes fell upon Janus and Logan. It smiled, in a sudden and natural motion as if it had done it a million times before. Steam was once again released and there were a few oddly satisfying clicks, as the PATTON moved its arm up in a mechanical, coordinated wave.

“Hey there kiddos. What can I do for you?”

The voice wasn’t as inhuman and mechanical as it had been before. In fact, if it wasn’t for the phonograph-like volume and quality, it could easily be confused as human. Janus and Logan looked at each other at the same time, eyes wide, and without a hint of a single snarky comment from either of them.

“I… I uhm…” Janus said, looking the robot up and down. This wasn’t possible. The design was too complicated, the tone and use of words completely distant from the words of any machine. What Janus was looking at was something that would be considered purely hypothetical. “Who are you?” he asked because no other words were cooperating with him.

“Oh! Where are my manners?” the impossible robot said. One arm moved in a few mechanic motions to the robot’s chest. “I’m Patton.” The eyes closed for a moment as Patton’s head tilted and its (their? his? her?) smile widened.

“That… This…” Logan tried, speechlessly. He shook his head. “I have questions.”

“I’ll answer anything, within the best of my ability.” Patton said with a polite nod.

Logan looked at Janus. “Dr. Dedrick, we do agree that this doesn’t make any sense, do we not?”

Janus nodded a bit too sheepishly for his own liking. He corrected his posture and pulled at his cape a little. “We do.”

“Usually a creation such as this would be considered…” Logan began.

“…purely hypothetical.” Janus finished. He looked at Patton who was smiling as if he was frozen in time. “And judging by the strange shipments, the use of my technology…”

��…the blueprints, the prohibited area, and everything in this room…” Logan added.

“…I assume that the Facility has been keeping some rather influential scientific progress from us, no?” Janus said, his voice gradually shifting into something more bitter.

“Yes.” Logan said with a nod. He looked at Patton. “What do you think Patton’s functions are?”

“Patton, what are your functions?” Janus echoed at the robot.

Patton barely moved. “My purpose is to assist humans with anything they might want help with. This includes but isn’t limited to: cooking, cleaning, holding objects, transporting objects, taking care of children, taking care of pets, and anything else I can be programmed or taught to do.” he closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, “Though I apologize, I cannot do all tasks perfectly, as I have a few malfunctions. I am a prototype.”

Janus furrowed his eyebrows and Logan took a step closer. “Who built you?”

“My creators didn’t identify themselves, but I was produced by the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility.” Patton answered, moving his arms a bit more dynamically, in rather human gestures.

“When?” Janus asked.

“Depends on what year it is now.”

“1891.”

“A little more than four years ago” Patton responded.

“Four ye-“ Janus breathed and chuckled dryly. “There has been this advanced technology at the Facility for that long?” Janus didn’t know is he was more pissed or more ecstatic.

Logan’s breathing was shaky. “Why would they keep something like that from us? Surely it’d be ideal to have as many people as possible working to perfect such a technology instead of having them create a technology that already exists.”

Janus sighed and looked at his colleague. “Dr. Croft, surely you’re not dense enough not to recognize ill intentions?”

Logan looked at Janus with a strained, but neutral expression. “Surely you’re versed enough in the sciences to know, that we cannot jump to such a conclusion without proper data.”

“Oh, because I’m certain people with wonderful intentions would make a robot with a gun that shoots after anyone in range and protect their secrets with this much care.” Janus said sarcastically, gesturing with his arms.

Logan scoffed. “You’re one to talk about secrets.” Janus hissed through his teeth with exasperation.

“Are you talking about Virgil?” Patton said suddenly, sounding a lot less compliant than anything else he’d said. Janus could easily interpret a hint of confusion or concern in Patton’s voice, though that didn’t make much sense. “I- I mean, not to ro-butt in or anything.” Patton added with a smile, as if the robot had caught itself doing something bad and wanted to cover it up.

Logan gasped and squinted. “What did you just say?”

“Virgil?”

“No, the last part.”

Patton stuttered, “Ro-ro-butt in?”

That was… That was a pun.

“No no no that doesn’t make any sense. If wordplay isn’t the robot’s primary function, there is no way that would be a part of its language centre.”

Dr. Logan Croft was in fact, correct, even if it wasn’t what Janus would initially focus on. “Patton.” he said, in a tone that was meant to be friendly and polite. He felt somewhat foolish speaking like that to a machine, but it seemed that Patton was more than that. “Is making… puns… a part of your programming?”

Patton’s upper body moved back a little in a surprise. Patton looked down, in an almost ashamed manner. “No. I am so sorry… I-it’s one of my malfunctions I’m afraid.”

“That’s not…” Logan tried disbelievingly, “How did you learn that?”

“I uhm…” Patton tried, and Janus thought it was remarkable that the robot even added filler words like that. “Well, I once noticed that certain words in my language centre have similar pronunciations or meanings that can be utilized in different situations, and… And it’s terribly addicting.”

“That shouldn’t be…” Logan attempted. “That’s… That’s incredible!”

“Huh?” Patton said, tilting its head slightly.

“You’ve been able to learn from your programming without human interference! I can’t even begin to describe how unique and… Impossible that is.” Logan said. He locked eyes with Janus, and just then, Janus knew exactly was Logan was thinking.

“Magic…” Janus said. It was unbelievable. So much technology was right at their fingertips. Janus looked at Patton. “You mentioned Virgil, correct?” Janus asked, “Something was blocking its programming. Yours too. Why is that?”

For a moment, Patton’s mouth gaped, and the eyes were wide. Then Patton looked down in defeat. “I… I’m not sure. Some humans must have done it because it was the best option. Humans are good at that kind of thing.”

Janus scoffed. “Debatable.” He felt like there were a thousand questions to be asked, but there was a lot of information to take in. Everything was flying around him and meshing in an incomprehensible puddle, which was terribly inconvenient. He looked at Logan. “Should we turn on the others?”

Logan bit his lip. “I am… I am curious.”

“Oh! I can help you!” Patton said excitedly. He stopped moving for a moment. “I-if you desire, that is. What are your names if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Logan Croft.” Logan said.

“Janus Dedrick.” Janus said.

“Of course, Logan Croft and Janus Dedrick. Who would you like to turn on?”

Logan looked at the two robots on the floor. “How about… The one with the sash.”

“That’s Roman! He is a lot of fun.” Patton said. “I’m sure you’ll get him booted up in no time.” Patton winked and pointed at the boots he wore. Logan groaned, although there was still some light in his eyes from the entire situation. Janus couldn’t blame him. Unfortunate really.

“Wait, hold on.” Janus said, “Are you all considered… Are you referred to as a ‘him’?”

“Oh no no, not necessarily! It’s whatever you prefer to refer to us by really.” Patton said, frantically, once again acting as if he’d made a serious mistake.

“But… You use that among yourselves?” Janus asked.

“…Yes, but humans don’t usually do that.” Patton said.

“Where did you learn then?” Logan asked.

Patton paused, and his eyes became distant for a moment. Then he looked up, hesitantly. “I… I don’t know.”

Janus and Logan looked at each other once again, some sort of silent communication between them. Janus could almost forget just how much Logan annoyed him right then.

Patton walked over to Roman, and it dawned upon Janus, that it was the first time he’d seen the robot walk. The movements were loud, and you could clearly hear the metal scraping against itself while each joint moved up and down. It was still impressive. Janus and Logan followed.

“Let me know if I can do anything, to help. That’s what I’m here for.” Patton said.

Janus’ expression faltered a little as Patton said that. Having robots with functions like that made a lot of sense, but at the same time, this robot seemed to have… emotions and thoughts of his own? Janus couldn’t help but feel that there was something a bit sinister about having the robot act as a servant and nothing else.

“So… All of the robots have a full setting and a limited setting.” Logan stated.

“Will he shoot us at the full setting?” Janus asked, coldly.

“No no, Roman wouldn’t do that as far as I know.” Patton said with a smile. Janus almost wanted to comment on the ‘as far as I know’ but figured that saying it to the robot wouldn’t get him anywhere. Even if it was an advanced one.

“Where is my screwdriver…” he mumbled instead.

“Right over here, Janus Dedrick.” Patton said. Janus noticed Patton lean down, picking up the screwdriver from the floor. He marched towards Janus, extending his arm a little, which was apparently something he was capable of, and handed it to the doctor.

“Uhm… Thank you Patton.” Janus said, grabbing the screwdriver. Patton tilted his head and looked confused for a breath, but then his expression softened. It was remarkable how expressive he was. “No problem, Janus Dedrick.”

Janus unscrewed the panel on Roman’s back and fixed the wires and gears. He flicked the switch on the side, and the robot stood up. He didn’t stand up in the same clumsy way that Patton did. It was a little more coordinated and vivid. He held up his arms in a theatrical gesture. “Here comes the noblest Roman of them all!” he exclaimed. He stopped and looked at everyone in the room. “Hello there. How might I entertain you today?”

Ah. An entertainment robot? That seemed… Frivolous, but not entirely surprising. Interesting.

“What are you functions?” Logan asked.

“My, what an honor to meet such a dashing human on this… time of the day, I don’t have a clock function.” Roman said, bowing in a way that produced a few loud clicks. “I am Roman. Designed solely for your entertainment. I can recite all poems, plays, and songs I’ve ever heard.”

“Fascinating.” Logan whispered. “Can you produce poems and such on your own as well perhaps?”

“What?” Roman said, suddenly sounding very frightened, “Well… I…”

Janus squinted. He thought of the way Patton had acted upon the mention of his ‘malfunction’. “It wouldn’t be bad. It would be impressive if that is the case.” he explained.

Roman perked up. “I… Uh… I can!”

Janus watched Roman intently. These robots were truly advanced. Their language was so much like that of a human and their and they even hesitated in their sentences at times.

Logan looked at the final robot on the ground. “What’s it- what’s his function?”

“That’s Virgil! He protects humans!” Patton said.

“Did a great job at that earlier.” Janus remarked sarcastically, but no one reacted to it. Logan took the screwdriver out of Janus’ hand. “Hey!” Janus exclaimed. Logan walked towards the robot on the ground and started unscrewing the panel on the back. “Oh why, don’t bother asking or anything.”

“I apologize.” Logan said, though Janus could tell from the wry smile, that he’d done it partially because it was amusing. Logan removed the panel.

“It’s my technology, you know. I know more about fixing it.” Janus said.

“It’s really not that difficult.” Logan said. He moved some wires, unscrewed a gear. He flipped a switch, and steam was released from the side of the robot. Janus sighed.

“AH!” the robot yelled, standing up abruptly. “What is going on?” he held his gun in front of him and Janus jumped backwards.

“Hello.” Logan said, and Janus was suddenly overcome by how soft Logan’s voice sounded. It sounded kind and caring in a way Janus wasn’t used to.

“W-who are you?” the robot asked.

“Logan Croft.” Logan responded. “Who are you?”

“Virgil.” Virgil replied. He looked around. “Where am I?” his eyes landed on Patton. “Patton! Where are we?”

“I have no clue!” Patton replied, with a smile that didn’t quite suited his response.

“You’re in a prohibited area of the Neo-mechanical Engineering and Research Facility.” Logan responded.

“Oh, you’re not obligated to answer our questions!” Patton said, hastily, “Unless you really want to.”

Roman looked at Logan and Janus. “Where are the other humans? Why are we… Here? Did we… Did we do something… Wrong?”

“Goodness, no.” Janus said, “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Do you feel pain?” Logan asked curiously.

“Nothing that matters.” Patton replied. Janus tried to figure out exactly what the implications of that sentence was.

“Well, physical pain would require a nerve system, which seems like an incredibly complicated and useless thing to add, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to have that.”

“Like I said, nothing that matters.” Patton said.

Janus looked at Logan breathlessly. “Croft, they… They feel. Emotions that is.”

“What?” Logan whispered, narrowing his eyes. He looked at each robot. “That’s not possible, there’s no way that the magic can… That’s essentially creating life.”

“Are there more of you here?” Janus asked.

“I am not… Certain.” Patton said, moving his hand up to his chin with a single click. “I mean, we aren’t the only ones that were built but if we’ve been transported here, I don’t know where to find anyone else…”

“Have you been ordered to do anything with us?” Roman asked. Virgil was standing in front of them holding up his shield in a protective stance.

“No.” Logan said, simply, “No one sent us here. We br-“

“We’re here on our own accord.” Janus said, brilliantly. He looked at Logan harshly. “What… What are we supposed to do with all of this.”

“There is so much information, and we can’t just…”

“It’s going to be difficult to cover our tracks…”

“We should resume looking through the Facility.” Logan said.

Janus looked at the robots. “We have to… We have to do something about them before we do that.”

Logan nodded. “You’re right… Ha, ‘right’, that’s unlike you.” but the snarky comment hardly sounded sincere.

Janus exhaled once through his nose and allowed himself to smile just a little, even if he felt that it damaged his reputation. Then he gave the robots a determined glance. “I’m bringing them.”

Logan looked at Janus with a somewhat baffled expression. “And the notes and blueprints?”

“We have to bring them too somehow.” Janus said.

“Perhaps having you tag along wasn’t so bad after all.” Logan said, which made Janus turn his head confusedly, “It means we have more hands to carry all of this.”

Janus huffed.

“Huh?” Virgil said.

“Would you like to come along with us?” Janus asked.

All the robots looked dumbfounded, and there was silence for a few moments, where you could only hear the clicking of their gears and some steam being released from each of them. Roman was the first to step forward. “Certainly, dashing humans. If you desire my presence.”

Logan looked at Virgil. “Would you like to come along as well?”

Virgil looked at Logan sceptically. “I-If you need my protection.”

Janus looked at Patton who was looking at the floor meekly. “Would I… Like… To… Uhm…”

“Would you?” Logan asked.

“It’s not in my… I can’t…”

Janus breathed as the realization set in. “We would like you to come along.”

“O-of course!” Patton said determinedly, “I will go with you!”

Janus bit his lip and watched as Logan started to collect some of the documents in the room.

This was going to be interesting.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I want to write more in this AU at some point. It probably won't be a cohesive story, but I have some ideas for more stories that take place in this universe. For instance, I would like to introduce Remus at some point. If you'd be interested in reading more stories like this, let me know!

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thestraggletag · 3 years

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The Game, a Rumbelle Chess AU

Summary: Inspired by The Queen’s Gambit. When Arran Gold first lost a chess game against Belle French, he thought that nothing would feel better than wining against her. But the more he lost, the less he minded, and more eager he was for their next game.

AN: Look, it’s a bad summary but a good fic, I promise. Also both games described in the fic are real games that can be played. Here, for example, is their last game.

Rating: Explicit.

He couldn’t recall exactly when the tradition had begun. Long ago, when he had only owned about half the town and had yet to adopt his more refined image. A tenant, a once-wealthy businessman who had once had “old money” and had wasted it away in reckless business ventures, had challenged him to a game of chess in lieu of the rent. He had likely thought that Mr Gold, a lowborn Scotsman with a thick brogue and brusque manners, was unlikely to even know the rules of chess. He had trounced the fool in less than twenty minutes, and only because he had toyed with him first.

Chess, after all, was something he knew well. His aunties had taught him as a child, but it hadn’t been till university that he had gotten to love the game, after finding out there was a veritable underground circuit of contests and tournaments that could pay his way through law school. He had developed an irreverent yet aggressive style, completely unpolished but completely brutal. In spite of his quickly-gained reputation he had never lacked opponents. There were always posh idiots who were sure their sophisticated gameplay could beat his street smarts. They were never correct. He had developed a nickname, over the years, given to him in honour of his savage style of play and his ruthless approach to the game: Beast. He considered quite a compliment.

He had thought about going pro, entering formal tournaments and acquiring a ranking, but the life of a chess player, and even that of a grandmaster, wasn’t particularly profitable compared to practicing law or going into business and he aimed to accumulate wealth and power as much of it and as fast as possible. He had kept up with his secret hobby, though, sometimes catching televised tournaments or reading about them later, enjoying the process of dissecting a game, sometimes thinking of how he would have won against a particular opponent. But it had never occurred to him to play against anyone in Storybrooke till the challenge came. It had attracted lots of attention at the time and people had turned up at the library that Sunday to watch them play.

Though he won, other people sought to challenge him, to the point where he had decided to establish an event of sorts. A chess day, once a year, in which anyone could challenge him. If they won he would forgive their rent for an entire year. There was no penalty for losing, at least none outright, but the shame of defeat meant most people challenged him only once. Besides it kept everyone from complaining during rent day for the rest of the year. And, he had to admit, he enjoyed it. Enjoyed playing cat and mouse with people, exerting power over them, watching as people’s confidence shrunk down and melted away.

He always looked forward to chess day, though that year perhaps less so. Storybrooke had acquired a new librarian around eight months before and, in spite of all of his efforts, she did not think ill of him. Belle French was, apparently, immune to the gossip of the town about him and his own brusque manner and dark humour. She even seemed to enjoy the later, which made him uneasy and… nervous. A strange, unsettling form of nervous.

It didn’t help that she was insultingly kind, surprisingly sarcastic and delightfully witty. The sort of person that could spar with words and make it look effortless. And smart enough to know that though he pretended to hate it, he loved it. She was also, regrettably, gorgeous. Smaller than him, with reddish brown hair and electric-blue eyes. An accent that wrapped around his name like a lover and an actual sense of fashion, which was almost unheard of in Storybrooke and the only thing most people seemed to hold against her, the town matrons disapproving of her short skirts and high heels. There was also a disarming quirkiness about her, a sense that she was somewhat otherworldly, like she belonged half to the mortal plain and half to the realm of stories and fantasies. He had seen her more than once walk around town lost in a book, dreamy-eyed and clearly miles away from the little town. He was always fascinated by how dreamlike she looked, how otherworldly.

Though he had tried to make her hate him for the first few months of their acquaintance, he had grown used to failing, and admitted to himself that it felt nice to have someone who would smile genuinely at the sight of him, who would treat him with kindness, who would be eager for his company and did not consider talking to him to be a chore. So he wasn’t looking forward to Miss French being exposed to angry tenants who called him names when he beat them, and wasn't really looking forward to her seeing him dash people’s hopes ruthlessly.

It couldn’t be helped, though. And perhaps it was for the best, to have her see what everyone else saw. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. So he washed and shaved carefully that day and had a hearty breakfast- chess day tended to take up all of his morning and most of the afternoon, and he did not like having to take a break to eat, knowing that his stamina added to the image of him as some larger-than-life monster. He dressed with care, picking his favourite purple striped shirt and matching paisley tie. He added his sleeve garters and square cufflinks, though he was not expecting those to be visible at any point during the day. It still felt nice, empowering, to be impeccably dressed.

By the time he reached the library there was already a crowd there, as well as the customary barren table, awaiting his chess set. He always played with the same set, an ebony and boxwood one from House of Staunton. It had the classical Staunton look and the hand carved pieces had a nice heft to them. He had bought it years ago, one of his first purchases after beginning to make serious money, costing him well over a thousand pounds back in the day. Not by any means among the more costly of chess sets, but the price spoke of its fine quality.

He set the board down and opened the box with his pieces, arranging the whites on the side of the board furthest from him and setting the blacks on his side, careful to properly align the knights and position the pawns at the centre of their squares. He took out his clock next, which he had cleaned and serviced the day before, and sat down on his customary, throne-like bergère, the one that usually was the focal point of the Ancient History’s reading nook. In contrast the chair opposite him was one of the plain, serviceable ones that populated the study room at the library. He hoped, for his own amusement, that whoever had set up the place had picked the wobbly one.

It wasn’t long after he settled that a crowd formed around him, but it took almost half an hour for the first challenger to present themselves. It was, surprisingly enough, Dr Whale. The good doctor was one of the few people in town that made a nice, tidy six-figure income, mostly from his private practice. Whale, whoever, did like to live above his means, and it seemed it had finally caught up with him. Though he did not rent a house from him, he did rent his private office from him. It was large and well-located, and likely to detract quite a bit from his overall profit.

The doctor looked cocky, in spite of Mr Gold’s infamous reputation around town as a chess player. And he didn’t even have to speculate as to why. Victor Whale was the prototypical Ivy-league alumnus, likely played chess for Dartmouth, his undergraduate alma mater, or Brown, where he had acquired his MD. He may perhaps once been ranked, if his smug grin was any indication. He took pains to hide his own savage smile, not willing to give his prey any hint of the carnage to come.

He drew it out, both for the audience and for the sheer pleasure of watching all of the doctor’s confidence and arrogance melt away, leaving an increasingly obfuscated and delightfully sweaty mess behind. And once he knew that he had pushed him as far as he could go he had gone in for the jugular, watching in delight as his opponent toppled his king. The crow murmured, unhappy. When he dragged a game out sometimes people got the idea that he might be struggling, that his challenger might actually have a chance. He enjoyed dashing that hope every single time.

As he rearranged the pieces back to their starting positions he caught a glimpse of a tweed flare skirt swishing about a familiar set of tight-clad legs. Miss French, as always, was impeccably dressed, the black sheer floral blouse a bit daring, perhaps, but carefully hidden by the demure cardigan she had over it. Her hair was in a French braid, the end tied together with a lovely silk ribbon in the same muted plum colour as her cardigan. He wondered at her clothes, which he recognised as high quality, likely expensive as hell. It cemented his idea that she came from money, and likely worked out of a genuine passion for books rather than necessity. Just as he studied her earrings-lovely gold studs in the shape of blooming roses, she turned her head, catching his eyes. He saw interest and curiosity, but no fear or disgust. Perhaps Whale was too unlikeable a victim to elicit sympathy from her.

Frederick Knight was next, playing not for a reprieve from his own rent- his teacher’s salary might not be impressive, but his wife pulled some major money working from home for a law firm in Boston- but for the pet shelter he volunteered out. Briefly he wondered how it all worked, how he could volunteer at the shelter run by his wife’s ex-husband, who had cheated on her with one of Knight’s own colleagues, causing the divorce that would eventually leave her free and available for them to meet and fall in love. Gold thought it was all rather unseemly.

The lad was smart, he would give him that. All that strategizing for baseball clearly carried on to chess, to a certain extent. Mr Knight clearly saw at least a few moves ahead, even if he did not have the skill to plan and anticipate more than that. In the end, because he was a decent enough bloke, Gold put him out of his misery quickly. It felt bad to drag it out unnecessarily. The man was gracious about defeat as well, something that was rare, offering his hand for a quick, firm shake, before leaving the board, no doubt to sink into the welcoming arms of Ms Midas. Though married, she had chosen to keep her last name, after the hassle it had been to change it back after the divorce. And yet there was no doubt that she loved her new husband more than she tolerated her ex, which even the strictest traditionalist in Storybrooke had to acknowledge.

More people challenged him, as was the norm. Out of all of them only Mr Prentice put much of a fight. Gold could tell he was a man of some talent, and an old hand at the game, but too by-the-book to beat him. He implemented moves and strategies well, but did not have a creative bone in his body. A pity, really. He was the only one after Mr Knight to be mature in defeat, sadly. By the time four o’clock rolled around three people had upended the board after they had lost and at least one had made a move as if to punch him in the face.

He reset the board with little expectation of playing again. It was late, the crowd was thinning, and people’s enthusiasm had died down considerably. He excused himself to go to the restroom, enjoying the brief walk after hours of sitting down. When he went back to the board, however, he froze up. Sitting on the challenger’s chair was the librarian herself, carefully unbinding her hair as she half-listened to something Miss Lucas was telling her.

He hadn’t foreseen this, the notion that the librarian might wish to challenge him. He had become resigned to having her smiles dimmed when they were directed at him, but nothing more. Certainly not this.

“Miss French, I didn’t know you played.”

His voice was, by some miracle, even. The librarian smiled, shaking her hair out and wrapping the now unused ribbon around her fingers.

“I used to, some time ago. Still do, sometimes. In my head.”

She said that last part quietly, only for his ears.

“Well, what are the stakes going to be? Rent forgiven from the library for a year?”

“Oh, not, that would be too much. And I’m not sure that would be good for the library. That much money would surely go to what the mayor considers more… lucrative pursuits. But I thought, perhaps, that you could lower the rent of the library by a certain percentage, enough to cover for my apartment. I could use the extra money to refurbish the children’s section, and replace some stock. I could do without another brawl about who gets the last copy of The Polar Express come Christmastime.”

He smiled in spite of the cold spreading across his chest, constricting his lungs. He would be quick, he decided, better to have it over as soon as possible, so that afterwards perhaps Miss Lucas could coax Miss French into a consolatory drink or a slice of apple pie, her favourite. It wouldn’t be too bad, he convinced himself, and it would endear her to the other townspeople, that she braved the beast in pursuit of better reading experiences for their children.

He started her watch, a bit surprised when she moved right away, dragging a pretty white pawn to e4. He counted with his opposing pawn, and in his next move he captured his first piece, another pawn she had likely moved unsuspectingly into the line of his attacking one. She took out her knight then, and later a bishop, but he played more conservatively, using mainly his pawns, waiting for the moment where he could unfurl some of his more devastating attacks. He was startled by her castling her king. It gave him a firm idea that she was no amateur, and he adjusted to this new insight accordingly. He advanced his pawns further, seeing little overall sense and reason to her movements. She had her queen out, as well as a bishop, but had taken her knight back in and her pawns were scattered about, presenting little challenge.

And then she moved her bishop, lightning fast, and suddenly he was in check and the game did not look as it had a second before. He studied the board more carefully, instincts telling him there was danger in there. What once had looked devoid of logic now seemed elegant and strangely coordinated.

Like a dance, he thought. And somehow familiar.

He moved his king, and noticed people suddenly paying attention. She took her bishop away, looking amused, and he pressed on with his queen’s pawn, losing his first piece one move later. Feeling his hackles rising he took one of his bishops out, losing another pawn a second later after she took one of her knights out again. He disposed of it in the next move, thinking he had finally seen her make a mistake, but her rook advanced, threatening his king and bishop. He moved the former, thinking he was sure to lose the other piece, but surprisingly she moved her queen instead. Far from putting him at ease it was that move that made him aware that he was in front of a person that could likely beat him. And, almost against his will, the thought rose the competitive beast in him.

He went savage, increasing the aggressiveness of his moves to an obscene degree. A chance look at Miss French, however, let him know that she found it amusing. She leaned over the board with interest, head tilted to a side and the fingers of her non-dominant hand tangled in her hair ribbon. Her eyes, barely visible from beneath her thick lashes from the way her face was tilted towards the board, sparkled, letting him know she was enjoying herself. Thoroughly.

He, on the other hand, felt strangely angry. Defensive. Exhilarated. He watched her as she made her bishops dance across the board, forcing him into another check and into a few defensive moves with his rooks, before her queen made her presence known once again, sliding across the board with both elegance and devastation. He took off his jacket, feeling too hot, and looked at the board again.

It was all so familiar. The style of play, he had seen it before. Like a dance, spontaneous yet choreographed, forcing him to respond in a certain way, backing him into a corner. He took one of her bishops and then a rook, when it came sliding into his side of the board, but it only made him feel more anxious, more like a creature trapped. Soon he was without his rooks and both his queen and his one remaining knight were in peril. But as he focused on them he missed the slow advance of a white pawn along the side of the board, flanked by the white queen and the remaining white rook. He sent his own queen out, trying to regain some semblance of control, but there wasn’t much the piece could do. In the end it was the queen, aided by the unassuming pawn, that forced his king into a checkmate.

“I believe the game is over, Mr Gold.”

The librarian’s accent softened the blow of those words. She looked up at him, happiness and excitement written across her face, as if she had gone through some marvelous experience. But it wasn’t the smile of a winner, but rather the smile of a conspirator.

“I believe the game was over ten moves ago, Miss French.”

He could admit that now, even as people cheered around him, rubbing salt on the newly-opened wound. He watched as Miss Lucas briefly enveloped the librarian in a side-hug before turning her attention to other people celebrating. Miss French, however, didn’t seem to want to join. She simply stared at the board and then at him as if this was their own private thing, their shared, secret joy.

It felt too intimate, and it made him even more angry, that she seemed to think that he had somehow enjoyed getting his arse thoroughly kicked by her. Brusquely he stood up, putting his jacket and coat on quickly before a well-placed snarl opened a way out from the mass of people gathered around the chessboard. He would go home and lick his wounds and figure out a way to repair the damage to his reputation after he reached the bottom of his half-drunk bottle of Balvenie Tun 1509.

It wasn’t until he was well and truly hungover that he realised, with a shock, that he had left his chess set behind. He left a message in Dove’s phone to have him call him back on Monday, so that he could instruct him to retrieve it for him. No need to go into the library for a few days. Or weeks. Might as well not step foot in it for the rest of the year, really. And no need to ever again think about the game, ever.

But after a couple of Tylenol and a lot of water, he found himself rethinking that last decision. There was something nagging at him about that game, and it would not let go of him. He knew he had seen that style of play before, but he could not recall where. He pulled up his collection of saved games, recreated from tournaments and world cups, and began analysing each of them, trying to find the same dreamlike, flowing style of play, like dancing. It wasn’t in the latest World Cup, or the one before, or in any of the recent tournaments. Not in the London Classic, or the Sinquefield Cup, or the Tata Steel. Not in any of the major American or European tournaments, so he branched out, looking at the Asian championships, the ACF Grand Prix and-

Something about the ACF gave him pause, so he went back through the tournaments he had saved, year after year. It wasn’t until he hit the 2006 Grand Prix that he saw it, a match where the blacks moved like in a ballet. He saw the name of the player, I. Avon, and did not recognise it at first. Then he searched for the recorded video of the match and realised why: I. Avon was Isabelle Avon, and she was usually known in internet circles by her nickname, Beauty. And the 2006 ACF Grand Prix had been her last major tournament. She had disappeared shortly after, and had caused a bit of a stir, specially amongst Australian chess enthusiasts, who thought she had the makings of a Grandmaster and even a top five world player.

And yet, somehow, she had ended up as a librarian in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Maine, living under a different name, for some fucking reason.

He wouldn’t let it go once he knew, trying to piece the puzzle together. He had never seen pictures of Beauty, there were no headshots to be had, likely because she had been an up-and-coming player at the time and a minor for most of her active years. He had seen videos of her playing, but her hair tended to obscure her face in most of them. She had not won her nickname on account of her looks- though how painfully fitting it was, considering how attractive she was- but because of her playing. People praised her for her beautiful moves, how she built this gorgeous ballet of a strategy that was as effective as it was enchanting.

She had been described, in the few articles that talked about her personality, as quirky. Odd. A calm player, given to the occasional smile and never able to lift her eyes off the board, a dreamy look on her face. Quite unsettling, some people had said.

She had dropped off the face of the chess world at age twenty, in 2006, and no one had heard from her again. Some people claimed to have played against her in an online tournament, but there was never a way to know for sure. He was sure now that at least some of these people were likely right. He delved more into whatever he could find about Isabelle Avon, but there wasn’t much. Though she had been at the time considered a chess prodigy she had been sheltered from press scrutiny likely by her parents, and had not given many interviews nor posed for many photographs. The few that circulated on the internet were of her as a very young teen, likely fifteen, when she had made her debut. He recognised her electric-blue eyes immediately, but the librarian’s fine bone structure was hidden behind layers of baby fat still not ready to peel off and her hair was a few shades lighter than it was now. Her mother was always with her in the pictures, as good-looking as elegant as her daughter had grown up to be, but her father was only in one of the pictures, a rather portly man that was rendered striking rather than dumpy by his height, which was considerable.

He found nothing to explain her retirement from chess, at least nothing official. He did find, however, a funeral notice in The Australian for a Colette Avon, neé French, dated December 2006. He felt sure that he had stumbled across the reason for Beauty’s fall from the chess circuit, and the origin of her new name. Why she had felt the need to create a completely new identity was, however, still unexplained.

And it bothered him, he found out soon enough. The more games of hers he saw the more he could appreciate her artistry, her craftsmanship. He could not conceive anyone having such talent, such passion for the game, and quitting, even over a personal tragedy like the loss of a beloved parent. He remembered how she had looked when she had played him, alive and excited, her pleasure obvious, and it cemented the idea that there was something he was missing. And he didn’t much care for it.

That’s how he found himself in the library weeks after his defeat, confronting the librarian. She was wearing a pretty burgundy shirtdress, prim and proper if not a wee bit short, and her hair tumbled down her back in a mess of curls, which was to be expected, since the library hours had ended twenty minutes ago. She wasn’t surprised to see him, nor did she appear hostile or otherwise on edge. Quite the contrary.

“Mr Gold, I’ve been expecting you.” She smiled up at him, and it felt a bit different from her previous smiles. Those had been lovely but this one felt more… personal. Intimate, somehow. Like they shared a secret. He supposed, in a way, they did. “You left your lovely chess set here. I’ve been holding onto it for you, keeping it safe. It’s in my office, do you want me to go get it for you?”

“Why did you change your name?”

He didn’t mean to blurt it out. He meant to build up to it. But there was something about her that utterly unsettled him, made him anxious in a way that wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Her smile turned somewhat cautious and sad, and he hated himself for provoking that reaction out of her.

“That’s a rather personal question.”

“You owe me.” He tried to stop himself, but he found he somehow couldn’t. “You played against me under false pretences. You owe me at least an explanation as to why.”

Miss French raised an eyebrow, looking unimpressed at his emotional outburst or the questionable logic of his assessment. A moment later, however, she tilted her head to a side, biting her lip and narrowing her eyes, as if considering something.

“It’s a rather big secret. Would you play me for it?”

That sounded very much like a deal, and it made him feel more comfortable with the situation, more in control. Deals were his specialty, after all.

“And what would you wish for if you win, Miss French?”

She smiled, the picture of innocence.

“A secret for a secret sounds fair. Let’s say… your name.”

Nobody knew his first name. He appeared in all legal documents as “A. Gold”, which caused all manner of speculation around town. His name would be a high price, indeed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t tell others, just as I trust you would not tell others what I told you if I lost. I just want it for myself.”

Her words sent a frisson of something down his spine, leaving him tingling and on edge.

“That sounds acceptable. Do fetch my set, if you please, and I’ll get the board.”

They had the board set and ready in no time, flipping a coin to decide who would be whites. Miss French, having won, started the game, and from the beginning he read her moves differently from before, knowing they were those of a chess prodigy. He moved aggressively, trying to create too much chaos to allow her to build her beautiful moves, but soon began to second-guess himself, struggling between being too bold and playing it safe. He lasted longer, forcing her to pause and consider her next move once or twice, which she had not done during their first game. He took in those few seconds of uncertain contemplation with eager interest, watching as she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, the apple of her cheeks red with an enticing blush.

In the end, however, her rooks trapped his king too soon, forcing him to topple the piece. She smiled at him, offering her hand for him to shake. He did so, marveling at how delicate it was. And cold. The whole building was cold, he realised. Apparently the mayor demanded the heat be turned off the library the moment it closed, to save on the heating bill.

“We can do this again sometime, if you still wish to know, Mr Gold.”

He nodded, leaning on his cane in order to rise from the chair, making no move to gather his chess pieces.

“I’ll take you up on that, Miss French. And the name’s Arran.”

He returned a week later, with a tin of oolong tea to keep the cold of the library at bay. Though the librarian seemed to have been expecting him, with the board and chess set already laid out at the customary table, she did not seem to be in the mood to play right away, inviting him instead to her office so she could prepare and pour them both a cup of tea in the adjoining kitchenette. Though she did not seem to want to speak of whatever had happened to her in 2006 she did not seem reluctant to talk about her chess career in general. She told him about learning the game at six from her mother, and playing in the park against adults as a ten-year-old, shortly before entering her first tournament, for children. She would soon outgrow those, reluctantly.

“Children are more creative players, I find, and I missed that in professional adult tournaments. It’s what I like about your playing.”

He told her in turn about his own chess experience, so vastly different from hers. It was a part of his life he had not shared with anyone before, and it felt nice to do so, especially with someone who could understand chess like he did, could see the beauty and the sense of it.

By the time their tea was finished over an hour had passed, and it was getting almost too late for a game. This one lasted a bit longer, and felt more… playful. Though he lost, he enjoyed himself more than he should have. He could make more sense of her playing style now, and it made him respond in kind, to soften his moves a tad, make them less savage and more complimentary to hers. It was the first time in years he altered his playing style, but it gave him more of a fighting chance and it seemed to amuse and thrill her to no end. In the end when he lost she asked about his aunts, and he told her about how in love they were, even though the times were different and they could not express that love in the open like people could now. As he talked he realised how much he missed them and how nice it felt to share a bit of their memory with someone else.

Though he left the library defeated, it was difficult to conjure any negative feelings about the evening.

At some point, he realised he had stopped playing to win. Well, not necessarily. He still played with the intention of seeing her king toppled and extracting the secret of her retirement from her, but it was about more than that now. Perhaps it was their now customary tea break right before the game, which lasted up to an hour and now included cookies and several cups per person. It was a strangely-relaxing ritual and led them to talking about things that he would usually not discuss with anyone else, things that felt too personal. She shared in kind, with the exception of talking about her father, which he understood tacitly was a no-go subject. To be fair so was his, and she took pains to never ask him anything about him.

Playing her, he had to admit, had become exhilarating. Once the sour taste of defeat had been taken out of the equation- it didn’t feel like losing anymore, or at least not the way losing usually felt to him, cloying and humiliating- all that was left was the thrill of the game, the excitement of thinking on one’s feet and seeing long strategies come to fruition on the board. He caught her chewing on her bottom lip more and more as he learned to thwart her moves and bring a sort of organised chaos to the board that she found difficult to navigate around.

He got so used to losing, and so comfortable in it, in the notion that losing only meant he got to return to the library, have tea and spend a few pleasant hours with someone who was interesting and treated him with kindness, that he did not consider the fact that he might win at some point. And when it happened, one evening he saw it, checkmate in two moves with his remaining knight and one of his rooks, plain to see. He had been working at leaving her king adrift, too exposed and with her queen distracted enough to not be able to stop the attack. She saw it too, he realised, and there was a bittersweet smile when she toppled her king. The sound the small piece made was deafening in the sudden silence of the library and he stared at the board for the longest time, as if he had been struck dumb by his win. In reality he was trying to process how disappointed he suddenly felt, how utterly unhappy he was about having won. It made no sense.

“As you perhaps know my mother died in 2006.”

“Miss French, please, you don’t have to-”

“Belle, please. I’d like to believe we’ve transcended such formalities. Especially considering what I’m about to do.”

She paused, letting the silence stretch between them. Though she seemed determined to tell her tale, whatever it may entail, she did not seem to know where to start, or even where to look. He thought about getting up and downright refusing to listen to her, anything to take away the sudden air of vulnerability about her, but stopped himself. She was a grown woman who would not appreciate him trying to decide things for her.

“You must know my mother died in 2006. It was very sudden, a stroke, and was very hard to accept. We were very close, especially because my chess career kept me from socialising much with my peers. I was sad for a long time after her passing, kept recreating some of our favourite matches on the chessboard she had given me for my twelfth birthday. I didn’t want to eat, or go out much, and I guess… My dad grew worried. We had always struggled to communicate, never had much in common. He didn’t get chess or me, so he didn’t know how to reach me, or talk to me, or even understand what I was going through.”

She paused, picking up a white pawn and staring intently at it. He itched to reach out to her, though he was not very good at comforting people.

“He thought I needed professional help. And he was right, I did need to speak to someone. But he thought it best to-” Another pause, where Belle looked like she was trying to find the words to explain, or excuse, what came next. “He had me hospitalised.” He did not need to ask what kind of hospital she was referring to. “It was a nice place, on spacious, green grass and under the supervision of an order of nuns. I’ve read that other places can be more… unpleasant, and less safe. Still, I don’t remember much of it. I was drugged most of the time, they were pretty liberal when it came to medication, and I hated it. Took me a while to figure out how to behave in a way that was considered normal, how to grieve within the bounds of acceptable behaviour.”

He was surprised by the white-hot rage that took over him. He tightened his grip around the handle of his cane, eager to hurt someone with it. Belle’s father seemed like a prime candidate, or any of the doctors involved in her care, who could not see that what they had in front of them was a woman trying to grieve in her own way. He ached to do harm, to hurt, in a way that unsettled him, that spoke about primitive instincts he had spent years mastering, or at least trying to. He tried to calm himself, focusing instead intently on her, watching her walk the pawn across the board and exchange it for the white queen after it reached the other side.

“Once I was out I changed my name and applied for university in the US. My chess career and my mother’s care of my finances gave me financial freedom, so I went to school, then did my masters at Columbia, and took on as librarian here when the position opened. And I never participated in a tournament again. At first it was because being active in professional chess circles left me exposed, made it so my father would likely know where I was, but later on I discovered I just did not have the temperament for big tournaments anymore. Crowds of strange people looking at me make me nervous, and playing chess in public makes me feel… unsafe, I suppose.”

Her fingers closed over the white queen, as if testing the strength of the piece.

“I still love it, though. Used to play at Bryant Park when I was a college student, though never in tournaments. And I still play online, sometimes for money, because it’s safe. But it’s been nice, playing face to face against someone again. I’ve enjoyed it immensely.”

She put the white queen back with the rest of the pieces inside its box, closing the lid securely before offering the set to him. Instead of taking it he stood up, taking a few steps backward to make sure she knew he had no intention of taking his chess set home.

“I thank you for your candor. I will keep what you have told me in confidence, of course. Same time this Saturday?”

She looked up at him, confused for a second before a wide smile spread across her face.

“It’s a date.”

Though he had made the journey to the library dozens of times in the past couple of months it felt different that day. Instead of the customary tea he brought he clutched a tote bag with an unopened bottle of Highland Park 18 and two crystal tumblers. It was a particularly cold afternoon, which he told himself called for something more bracing than a strong cup of tea.

Belle did not seem against the whisky, though she did warn him that she had no affinity for it and would not know good scotch from bad.

“You’re calling it scotch, so that’s a good start.”

She seemed more intrigued about the tumblers, running the pad of her thumb across the designs on the glass.

“Thistles.”

“I’m nothing if not a walking stereotype.”

She laughed, telling him to pour while she set the board. By the time they sat down to play it was dark out, and Belle had turned off the zooming fluorescent tubes, leaving instead the soft, warm light fixtures in the reading room on. It was a cosy, relaxed setting, and yet the air felt strangely electrified, like something was going to happen, something big. His nerves felt raw, exposed, but the feeling wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

“So, what should we play for tonight?”

He startled, the tumbler halfway to his lips. She was right, there were no preconceived stakes anymore. Before he had wanted to know something about her, something valuable, so they established an arrangement whereby whoever won could ask a question of the other. That arrangement no longer applied. A sudden flare of panic travelled down his spine. What if he couldn’t think of anything? What if they both discovered that, without stakes, there was no sense in playing again at all? What if-

“I have an idea. It’s… a bit unorthodox. Always wanted to try it, but never got the chance to.”

The librarian looked intently at her glass of whisky, running a finger across the edge, but there was a sort of mischievous air about her. Playful.

Flirtatious, almost.

“Do tell.”

“Well, I’ve read about strip chess. Obviously I never actually played strip chess before because for most of my years playing chess in front of people I was a minor. But I always thought it sounded… fun.”

She chanced a look at him from beneath her eyelashes, biting her lower lip the tiniest bit. He must have looked rather stupid to her, sitting ranmrod straight and wide-eyed, with the look of a rabbit that has just spotted a wolf nearby. A man a few years shy of fifty looking stupidly terrified of a woman more than ten years his junior.

“What would be the rules?”

“A piece of clothing for every captured piece. Something small for pawns is allowed, but bigger pieces merit more important sacrifices. Things in pairs are to be removed in pairs. Jewellery and such are considered pieces of clothing. We play until either someone wins, or someone is completely naked.”

He took a gulp of scotch, hiding a grimace as the liquid burned a path down his throat. He took a quick stock of the librarian, taking in her few pieces of jewellery- earrings, a ring, and a simple necklace-, and her clothing. A skirt, no belt, a shirt tucked into it, a cardigan, stockings and a pair of booties. He imagined all of it on the floor at his feet and his blood simmered.

“That sounds… acceptable. You got the coin?”

He was glad he sounded unbothered by the new arrangement they had just entered into, nonchalant. He lost the coin toss, so it was Belle who opened, moving the queen’s pawn two places. He moved more conservatively, a pawn to c6, and a couple of moves later she took her first pawn, leaving the piece to be taken by another pawn of his.

“My earrings for your cufflinks?”

It was a fair exchange, so they paused to relieve themselves of their pieces of jewellery. Belle’s next move gave him a chance to capture another pawn and he discovered that he had to physically restrain himself from making the move, reminding himself that he was supposed to be playing for win. It added something extra to the game, the tension between what the best move was according to whatever strategy he was struggling to make, and what could get him more pieces. It made the game tense, as they both considered their moves and braced themselves for the possible occurrence of another piece taken.

When it finally happened, a white pawn taking the place of a black one, he surrendered both his shoes, but not before using one of his knights to take the place of the newly-moved white pawn. Belle bent down to unlace her booties, removing them and placing them to the side with care, letting him know that she did have a thing for shoes, as he had always suspected.

Nothing else happened for the longest time, the game unfolding without much action. They both moved their bishops and castled their king, pretending for a while that there wasn’t a likelihood that one of them would end up naked before the night was out. He kept the scotch nearby, refilling the drinks every now and then to give himself something to do other than think about all the exposed white pieces. Finally, when he thought he was going to crawl out of his skin if he didn’t do it, he took a white pawn with his knight.

“Wondered when you were going to do that.”

He watched her as she shimmied out of her cardigan, letting him see more of the blouse she was wearing. It was slightly sheer, letting him know she was wearing a black bra. He wondered if he would get to see it.

“It’s a pity about your knight, though.”

She moved one of her own knights to take his, making it the first major piece to be taken. She held it in her hand for a while, studying it.

“I’ll accept your jacket and tie, if you have no objections.”

He reached automatically towards his neck, tugging on the silken knot around his throat. He must have drunk more than he realised, because his fingers felt clumsy, uncoordinated. After a few ineffectual tugs and some choice expletives muttered under his breath Belle rose from her chair, gently pushing his hands away and untying the tie herself. She tugged on it until it was off and tossed it on the back of his chair. She then wordlessly prompted him to remove his jacket, hanging it on the back of his chair as well.

“That’s a lovely colour on you.”

She ghosted her fingers across the silk of his shirt. It was one of his favourites, a deep navy blue silk jacquard with a contrasting pattern of leaves. He had worn it because he had noticed she tended to favour blue, which had felt stupid at the time. Now it felt inspired. Emboldened by the touch and the compliment he dragged his bishop across the board, knocking her knight off its place.

“I’ll take your necklace and stockings, if you please.”

His voice was rough, with little of the cultured diction he usually employed, but between the alcohol and the simmering sexual tension there was little he could do to change that. She took her necklace off without much protest, making sure to fasten it close before she looked at him right in the eye, smiling innocently and extending a leg till her silk-stockinged foot found his knee.

“Help me?”

It was embarrassing how fast he dragged a hand across her leg, pausing only to notice the quality of the material, and reached beneath her skirt, till his fingers came across the scratchy lace of the top of the stocking. With slow, steady precision he peeled the stocking off her leg, letting the tips of his fingers slide across the soft underside of her thigh and calf, trying to memorise how soft and warm her skin felt, so he could replay it over and over again each night. He repeated the process with the other stocking, delighting in the goosebumps the dim light of the room revealed in Belle’s skin. After it was done he folded the stockings neatly and presented them to her.

She moved her bishop next in a direct challenge to his castled king, meaning he had no other choice but to take it. He did it with shaky hands, trying not to look as eager as he felt.

“Shirt or skirt, I suppose. May I choose?”

Her voice was soft, playful, undeniably coquettish. He nodded, following her movements as she stood up, unzipped her skirt and let it fall open around her legs. Her shirt was long enough to cover anything but the barest hint of her underwear, something black and lacy and the slightest bit sheer that had him reaching for his glass. A second later she sat down, dragging her queen to take his bishop.

“Quid pro quo?”

With all the grace he could muster he stood up, refusing to show even a hint of apprehension or shyness as he undid his belt and pushed his trousers down, carefully stepping out of them before sitting down and reaching for the scotch bottle, filling up their glasses again. He took a long, fortifying sip and moved his knight to take her remaining one.

“That lovely blouse is gonna have to go, dearie.”

Belle smiled, looking bold and strangely pleased, and made sure to look at him square in the eye as she plucked every little button free of its hole. It was an invitation to watch, and he accepted it greedily, leaning forward and holding tightly onto his cane to keep himself from doing something stupid like try and touch every new bit of soft, pale skin that was slowly revealed to him. When she reached the last button she shimmied out of the shirt and carelessly tossed it at him. He caught it one handed and tried to not notice how the fabric retained the warmth from her body and the scent of her skin.

“Don’t get too comfortable, we’re about to get even.”

She moved her queen to take his knight and leaned back on her seat, one hand cradling her tumbler of scotch and an expectant look on her face. He reached up and unfastened the buttons of his shirt with practiced nonchalance, trying to keep the shaking in his hands from being too obvious. When that was done he paused for a second, trying to gather up his courage, before shrugging out of the shirt. With a gallant little gesture he handed it to her.

The next few rounds were intense, but no pieces taken. Arran was having a hard time concentrating on the board and not on the way Belle’s fingers caressed the silk of his shirt, tracing the pattern of leaves absentmindedly. It was a safer bet than focusing on her balconette bra, a delicate, impractical little thing made almost entirely out of leavers lace, with dark flowers woven into the pattern to keep him from seeing the rose pink of her nipples. He wondered if she had worn the set with their game in mind, if she had selected it just so he could see it.

At some point he took his queen out, and she did the same with one of her rooks, both of them seemingly in agreement that the status quo was not to be borne. It wasn’t until her rook put pressure on his king, forcing him to set his queen in the middle, that he began to feel cornered. When her bishop got too close he had no other option but to take out her rook. Though from a strategic point of view that was a desperate last-ditch effort, he could not help but feel strangely ecstatic over it.

“Oh, dear.”

Belle moved her hands towards her back, seeming to struggle with the fastenings of her bra.

“I think one of the hooks is snagged on the lace. Will you help me?”

He narrowly avoided biting his tongue. He managed a croaked, barely-intelligible “aye” before she stood up and turned around. He tried not to look down, but it was almost impossible, taking into account the panties she was wearing were made almost entirely of sheer black lace- leavers as well, clearly she was wearing a matching set-. With hands that felt clumsier than usual he felt around the clasp of the bra, delicately pulling the offending hook from the lace before unclasping the bra altogether. Slowly he lowered the straps from her shoulders, noticing the red indents they left behind on her skin. Then she was turning around, bra safely in her hands and her glorious breasts bared. He hoped that she wasn’t expecting him not to look, because it felt impossible to avert his eyes. As he had imagined- and he had not realised how often until then- her nipples were the perfect shade of dusty pink, framed perfectly by pale skin a shade lighter than the rest of her.

“I know I’ve lost on the board, but right now I feel like a winner. Like the luckiest bastard on Earth.”

His accent was shot to hell, thick and incomprehensible, as if he had never left the dodgy part of Glasgow. But it did not seem to be a problem for Belle, who kissed his cheek, tugged on his hair a bit, called him a “sweet boy”, and thanked him for the compliment.

“Let’s finish this, Arran.”

Her Australian lilt turned his name, which he always thought rather charmless and rough, into a soft caress. He sat down, something considerably uncomfortable to do all of a sudden, taking into account his painful state of arousal, and struggled to focus in the game. He was done for, he knew it, but he owed it to her to try. To lose with as much dignity as possible. Or so he thought, till her queen took his in one simple move.

“I’m afraid your underwear must go.”

The silk boxers were doing a pisspoor job of hiding his raging erection in any case, but it still felt uncomfortable to peel them off and be naked in front of another human being for the first time in years. Well, nude, technically, since he still had his navy socks on.

“Let’s finish this, then.”

He took his rook out, forcing her queen to retreat and then getting his other rook to cover for his king. For the next few moves they danced around each other on the board, with Belle trying to close her trap and Arran fighting tooth and nail to remain standing. His moves weren’t elegant at all, more like the savage swipes of a cornered beast, but they were effective. He managed to snag a rook, which gave him the pleasure of sitting down and staring intently as Belle shimmied out of her useless little panties. She flashed her watch at him to remind her she was not completely naked as per the rules of the game and continued to press him. She had only her queen and a few pawns, but the board was laid out in her favour all the same. Still he gave her a run for her money, and it took her twelve more moves to checkmate his king. Feeling irrationally expectant he toppled the piece, watching it roll around the board for a few seconds before coming to a stop.

“That was exciting. Though I’m afraid we forgot to agree on what the winner got. Quite an oversight on our part.”

He watched her as she reclined on her chair and stared at the board, a rosy tinge on her skin that he realised travelled past her neck and to the tops of her breasts. She looked at ease, comfortable in her own skin, and surprisingly he noticed that he did not much care about his own nudity either. In the low, almost romantic light of the library his skin acquired a golden colour that he thought rather becoming. He was tanned for a man who spent most of his time indoors, a direct consequence of his propensity to laze about in the sun whenever possible in the privacy of his backyard or his cabin. And in such a light his wrinkles were less obvious, his scars less visible. He felt anxious, yes, tense, but it was not an unpleasant sort of tension.

“What is it you want, Miss French?”

He affected the persona of the devious dealmaker, noticing the spark of heat in the librarian’s eyes when he called her by her last name. She made a show of thinking about it, though he had the distinct feeling she had thought about something ages ago.

“How about a kiss?”

He took her left hand, kissing the back of it.

“Like this?”

When she shook her head he reached further, kidding the underside of her elbow.

“Higher, Arran.”

He tugged her closer, trying to disregard the rapid beating of his heart, and softly kissed her shoulder. Her skin was soft and smelt faintly of something citrusy, something that somehow managed to tug both at his heart and his groin.

“Higher, please.”

She took his head in her hands, tilting it upwards till their lips met. It was a soft, tentative press of the lips at first, unhurried and unassuming, but it grew firmer and more insistent. When he pressed her she opened her mouth to him readily, letting him curl his tongue around hers with a moan of approval. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders at some point, fingers sinking into his hair to pull him closer till he was flush against her, skin against skin. His hands roamed her back, tracing the ridges of her spine, pleased at the way it made her shiver.

Reluctantly he let go of her lips, pressing his mouth against her sharp jawline, down her long neck until he was tracing her collarbone with his tongue and dipping down further into the swell of her breasts. He felt her fingers dig into his scalp, pressing him closer, tugging on his hair to guide him towards a puckered nipple. He accepted the unspoken invitation gladly, closing his lips around her flesh and sucking with embarrassing enthusiasm. His hands roamed the rest of her, one caressing her back while the other pressed against a soft, round thigh, aching to move just a few inches and cup her sex.

When she stepped backwards, out of his arms and the reach of his mouth, he felt a flare of panic that she was having second thoughts, or he had done something wrong. It was on the tip of his tongue to apologise- for fucking whatever, he didn’t care- when she tugged on his arm, urging him a little ways across the room to a reading nook next to the folklore session. There was a faded divan in there, usually full of pillows and throw blankets meant for readers to take to their seats if they were uncomfortable or chilly. It was old and likely uncomfortable, the type of couch that looked like it had lost most, if not all, of its padding and most of its support capabilities a long time ago. At the moment, however, it looked to Arran like the most luxurious of beds. He let her push him onto it, glad when the springs beneath him groaned but held steady. A second later she was on top of him and all thoughts of structural stability fled from his mind as he kissed him thoroughly, asserting a dominance he was more than happy to submit to.

He had to struggle to concentrate between the kissing and the groping to understand her when she asked about protection, muttering that she was clean and on the pill but she had condoms just in case, from the sex-ed talks Miss Blanchard gave every now and then. Briefly he contemplated the notion of using one of those condoms, thinking of Miss Blanchard’s absolutely scandalised look if she ever found out, but the idea of being bare inside Belle was too good to pass. He told her he was clean in as clear a voice as he could muster that he was clean too- he recalled his last annual check-up, which he drove to Boston for, since he would rather die than let Dr Whale anywhere near any part of him- before she was straddling him, grabbing his stiff, aching cock with one hand and guiding it to her entrance. He could barely register the sudden wet heat on the tip of him before his entire member was engulfed in it. He sunk his blunt nails on Belle’s back, trying to call forth every last shred of self-control he possessed not to come then and there. Thankfully Belle didn’t move, looking overwhelmed and in need of a moment to adjust.

“You’re big.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t tell me something like that if you want me to last.”

It was taking everything he had not to come like a fucking schoolboy. Later, much later, he might me in the right frame of mind to replay her involuntary compliment. Over and over. He tried to recall the names of all the subs of the Celtics, in fucking alphabetical order, till he somehow felt more in control. Slowly, lovingly, he captured her lips with his own for a long, lazy kiss, feeling as her own tension melted away, leaving only a simmering sort of excitement. Tentatively she began to rock, trying to find a comfortable angle and motion in the restrictive confined of the divan. He tried to help her as much as possible, holding onto her hips and trying to thrust up as much as he could, given his precarious perch on the furniture and his lame ankle. Slowly but steadily they found something that worked, a rhythm that had him hitting a sport deep inside her that he could tell was, blessedly, the right one, given how Belle sunk her nails on his shoulders and tried to muffle her cries against the side of his neck. He tried to talk, to tell her how gorgeous she was, how wet and warm and perfect she felt around him but it all came out as unintelligible grunts and low, feral moans.

When he felt himself near the edge he gritted his teeth and gathered all of his remaining willpower, dragging his right hand down her stomach to the small nest of curls that framed her dripping cunt, delving inside till he found a spot that made her gasp when he touched it.

“Come for me, sweet girl.” He didn’t know whether she could understand him over the thick mess of his accent, but he hoped at least the cadence would convene his meaning. She keened in response before he felt her flutter around his cock, the rest of her tensing with the force of her release. When he muffled her scream against the side of his neck he let go, his own orgasm almost uncomfortable at first, too much at once. He clutched her close, hoping against hope he would not send them both toppling to the floor, feeling like he was walking a fine line between pleasure and pain. Pleasure won out in the end, sizzling on his veins before slowly fading into a pleasant simmer. Tiredly he wrapped his arms around a barely-awake Belle, feeling the cooling sweat on her back and grunting in protest. He looked around, spotting a throw on the floor in his reach. He grabbed it quickly, managing to wrap it snug around both of them. Later, much later, when he could remember his name or how to walk, he would insist on them finding some better place to sleep, for her sake. At the moment, however, that seemed beyond him, a faraway concern to be dealt with at a later time. He was loath to give up his queen too soon into the game, in any case.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #The Game #thestraggletag fanfiction

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razorblade180 · 3 years

Text

Twin Snowflakes 22: Ground Zero

Part 21 -> here! <-

Bad luck has been a part of Qrow’s life for as long as he could remember. It manifested in a variety of ways but there was one in particular that was absolutely the worst, travel. Flat tire on a road trip, inconvenient. Plane delay, well that one was probably not his fault, but it felt like it! Certain cases like that were always a little iffy on if it was him or life. As the veteran huntsman stood on the deck of his son’s boat in the pouring rain with a Kraken raising from the depths, Qrow was sure of one thing. This one had to be his fault.

“I didn’t think grimm this big were still around. We’re in the middle of the ocean for crying out loud.” Qrow sighed, grabbing harbinger.” It’s cases like this he’d usually leave. Two big problems though. Problem number one, Sparrow was already firing cannons at it. Problem number two, it was waving Oscar around like a toy. He seemed okay though.

“CAN I HAVE SOME HELP HERE!?” He screamed, louder than the roaring winds and rough seas. “THIS GUY IS REALLY SLIMY!!”

“Slip out then!” Sparrow shouted in earnest. Oscar might’ve been far away but Sparrow could tell the man was not amused by that response. “What!? Do you want me to shoot that arm with you in it!? Penny will have a fit if I shot you!”

“PENNY WILL HAVE A FIT IF I'M EATEN!!!” Oscar wiggled and squirmed before finally managing to create an orb to push the tentacle off, then dispelling the orb to drop straight down. Cannon fire rained down on the center mass like grand finale fireworks, but only angered the beast. More tentacles cut through the air to reclaim its lost hostage.

“Give me a break.” The rain continued to pour down and sting against Oscar’s skin. He paid no mind to the whirlpools forming or the ship deck quickly approaching. Oscar simply closed his eyes. “Hey it’s been awhile. Mind lending a hand?” He called, subconsciously to his old friend.

“Hehe Oscar, do you even have to ask?”

Oscar smiled, opening his eyes and seeing Oz smile back through the reflection of the rain drops before seeing his own again, complete with white hair and golden eyes. “Let’s get to it shall we?”

xxxx

Nick remained quiet as Weiss drove back home from school. He was happy he made it back in time. A gigas dragging him away after his fight with Valerie would’ve made the entire incident worse. Though if he was being honest, fighting a gigas sounded cathartic in a way. He gently pulled up the window switch over and over, repeatedly.

Weiss took note of her son’s unusually sad demeanor. “Alright, wanna tell me what happened in there? You were full of energy before getting your work, and I doubt the workload has spooked you.”

“Nothing I’m not used to.”

“Ah, Valerie troubles.” Weiss glanced over and saw Nick glare at his own reflection. Looks like she was right on the money. “Take it from me, I’m sure whatever happened had more to do with her own personal feelings and not the feelings you have for her.”

“You say that with such confidence.”

“I was a teenage girl once too, you know? One with plenty of personal hurdles I tried to associate with other people instead of myself. It doesn’t ever really stop truthfully. You just get better at accepting the fact the problems fix itself when you decide to change how to respond to it.”

“Do you think I have a problem I should change? Loving a girl who pushes me away, it probably makes me look like a joke.” He tried rolling down the window again but found the switch had been locked. Yet another thing to make him sad.

“I think it’s not the wisest thing you’ve done, but it’s definitely the most normal teenage thing about you. Joke or not, feelings are feelings. They’ll work themselves out. Just don’t force anything and before you know it, you’ll see things a lot clearer.” Weiss reached over and ruffled his shaggy hair. “Who knows, maybe you’ll see this dew of yours needs to finally change.”

“As if!” Nick laughed, “I look too much like uncle if I cut it, and any longer makes me look like dad.”

“Not if you style it. Oh, or grow it out even longer. Like when you’re little! “Weiss cooed, “You and Summer were really hard to tell apart then.”

“Yeah, and people kept calling me ‘she’ and stuff. Nooooo thank you!” He folded his arms in protest.

“That won’t happen now that you got your father’s looks. You’ll just be a pretty boy. Then if you get facial hair!? Nick, let me make you gorgeous! I have Coco on speed dial!”

“This is why you had a boy and a girl, mom! So I can escape this torture.”

Weiss pouted, “Summer likes doing her own makeup and hair. I should be proud considering it’s my old look from waaaaay back, but I still wanna change things up. I’d give this entire family a makeover if you all weren’t so whiny about it.” Weiss looked in the mirror at neck length hair. She remembered how free she felt the first time she cut it. Having twins meant twice the hair pulling, three times if she counted the one person she wanted to pull her hair. Thinking back, there was a good chance it was one of times Jaune pulled it that gave way to the discussion of kids in the first place.

“Hmmm, maybe I should grow my hair out. I miss the old length sometimes.”

“Summer would be so upset.”

“Good, then she’ll change it. That’s one family member down.”

Nick playfully rolled his eyes. A makeover didn’t sound too annoying actually. Maybe after the tournament? He’d think about it. “Hey, mind if we train again today? I got a lot of pent up energy and new ideas.”

“I suppose. Someone has to make sure you don’t overdo it. Winter is coming over too, so it’s for the best I warm you up anyways. I’m positive after your recent school events that she has a few words for you.”

Nick gulped, knowing he was in for a workout. “Well now…guess I’m dying today.” He could already feel his muscles ache.

xxxx

Meanwhile in the woods, Summer and Veronica had crossed into unfamiliar territory, casual conversation. It wasn’t going well. They both agreed to chat but neither of them were actually talking! They were just walking with Veronica taking the lead, leaving Summer awkwardly following a few steps behind.

The girl had finally pulled herself together after her little episode. In truth, she was a little embarrassed to say anything after it. She hated looking weak, especially in front of Veronica, a girl who manages to look strong against even the harshest of critics and peers. It was quite envious, her attitude. Summer would give just about anything to have it. Summer looked down at her scroll for what must’ve been the tenth time. Still no missed messages.

“Expecting a call?” Veronica finally said, noticing the Schnee’s gaze consistently drifting. “Got a boyfriend or something I don’t know about?”

Summer felt like that might’ve been a jab but chose to ignore it. “Nick always calls me if Shiva gets out or nearly escapes. He’s always had a sixth sense for knowing her moves. It’s unlike him to not immediately call, even if he’s doing something urgent.” Summer put her scroll away. “Him not calling is odd.”

“Are you telling me she almost got out earlier? I didn’t really smell anything.” Veronica looked back to see the girl look at her confused. A fitting look honestly. “The one time Shiva was out and even when we argued yesterday, I smelled peppermint, a disgusting amount of it. The diamond dust smells the same.” Veronica pointed to her nose, “I didn’t smell that earlier.”

“Oh.” was all Summer could say. It should’ve been a relief, but it wasn’t. “Great, my panic attack was just unhinged. Even when she’s quiet, she’s ruining my day.”

“Are you saying Shiva tries escaping when you’re hysterical?”

“Apparently not, or at least not all the time? Agh, it’s impossible for me to tell.” Summer was even more perplexed than before. “Just when have I been talking to her? They’re not all fake, but...they’re not all real either? I can’t afford not knowing the” Her train of thought was broken when a snowball thrown by Veronica hit her coat. “Hey! Wh-”

Veronica quickly covered Summer’s mouth. “Shhh! Grimm.” She pointed several yards into the distance where two sabertooth grimm were roaming. “Alright, do your thing.”

Summer looked at the grimm, then back at Veronica, who gave a casual thumbs up. “Wait, you’re not helping?”

“Nope.”

“Whhhhyyyyyy exactly?” Summer questioned.

Veronica sighed, because one of the reasons I wanted to be out here is to better see you in action. Why else would I tell you to bring your blade?”

“You lead me here under the assumption of a fight…” Summer deadpanned, “Couldn’t you have looked up old videos of me? I didn’t see you drag Nick off to fight grimm so you can make his outfit.”

“Nick has double the videos of him fighting, as well as him figure skating. Also, I pay more attention to him than I do you.” It might’ve been rude, but it was the honest truth. Summer didn’t even seem surprised. She just looked at Veronica with judgment. “What?”

“Nothing, much.” Summer drew her blade and put a glyph at her feet. “Any requests for data purposes?” She could not believe this was happening.

“Just handle them how you would normally, oh huntress in training.” Veronica teased lightly.

Summer pointed her sword out with her right hand and her right foot forward, then took off. The distance between her and grimm was closed in a matter second. She leaped over one, slicing it’s head off through the back of its neck. Another glyph formed midair behind her. Summer used it to kick off right after the attack and thrust her blade through the second grimm’s eye socket. Not even a snarl was heard before it died instantly.

Summer looked back at Veronica. “Cake walk. You’d get more data out of a video than th-”

“BEHIND YOU!” Veronica shouted.

Summer looked over her shoulder to see a third one already pouncing. With a subtle breath, Summer slowed its approach and then back stepped to safety. One more glyph was put under the paws of the beast and pulled out like a rug to trip it. Summer spun the chamber of her Myrtenaster and threw into its ribs like a javelin. The chamber landed on flame dust, setting it ablaze.

“Phew! That was...unexpected.” Summer said, coming down from a surge of adrenaline.

Veronica ran over to Summer, surprised. “How did you do that, the breath thing?” Veronica asked, “That’s a trick I’ve never seen.”

“ Oh that? Well…” Summer took her left glove off and focused. Little snowflakes started floating upward from it in place like a snow globe. “I’m not too good at it, but I can control a bit of Shiva’s powers. Only when I’m cold though, or freaked out, but that second one is more involuntary.” Summer put back on her glove, “considering the potential risks and conditions, I don’t use it in fights. Explaining it to officials would be a pain anyways.”

That made sense. Veronica could smell a hint of peppermint coming off Summer. That was Shiva’s power alright. This also explained the mass amount of ice she saw Summer create in her video fighting the Paladin. “Permission to touch you?” Veronica asked, like she always did. Summer nodded. Veronica reaches out and places two fingers against the pulse in Summer’s neck. “Any other Shiva related tidbits to share?”

“Ummm, we share a subconscious, sort of? More like a neutral ground.”

Veronica paused momentarily, “what?” She said, annoyed by all this cookie cutter information. “Gonna need more tidbits?”

“It’s hard to explain. I don’t understand it either.” Veronica looked at Summer, unblinking. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer. “Look, imagine something like...an ocean, just water and the sky above. Now flip it upside and make that ocean completely frozen. That’s more or less what the subconscious looks like. There’s ground to stand on, but I can’t really see. Depending if I’m actually dreaming or in a certain place, then that’s what the subconscious can look like. The only constant is that ice ceiling.”

Every sentence from this girl felt like a fever dream to Veronica. “Summer, I doubt you're lying to me, but do you by any chance also do drugs? You know, the hard kind.”

“As if!” Summer swatted Veronica’s hand off her neck. “First of all, drugs and I don’t mix. Second, be serious!”

“It was a valid question. Rich kids do a lot of things. If Nick told me he tried it before I wouldn’t be surprised. Saddened, but not surprised.”

“While I would be hounded by you no doubt?”

Veronica crossed her arms, “I’d berate anyone who would do drugs.” Her tone was stern and cutthroat, “It’s an ugly slope that goes down fast.”

The way she spoke about it was rather serious compared to what Summer was used to. “Have...you done drugs?” Summer asked cautiously.

Veronica thought about her answer carefully for a moment. “For a brief time, yes. I’m past it however, totally clean. I thought it might help control my instincts.” Veronica slouched over with a sigh, “Unfortunately, noooo dice. Come on. Let’s keep moving.” Veronica continued to walk.

Summer stood quietly for a moment, then followed as well. She wasn’t expecting to get to the topic of Veronica’s genetics in such a personal way. Then again, someone’s very birth is nothing but personal. Curiosity began to get the better of her. They did make a deal after all.

“V-Veronica…?” Summer stuttered, “I held up my end of the bargain. The only other thing that may be worth mentioning is Shiva only knows what I know when she tries escaping, and I only know what she does if I’m conscious. Other than that I think all the dribble about the state of mind would make you snore. So…..”

Veronica could tell where this was going. “Relax, I’m not about to break a deal that I proposed in the first place.”

She reached for a nearby branch and plucked a silver flower off of it. It’s five petals were spread wide Veronica placed it in her own hair. “I take it that even your school isn’t bold enough to ignore basic faunus knowledge and history, despite their…questionable place in said history?”

Summer nodded, “Hey, Atlas isn’t the kind of place to bury the leads. Older society and its people simply do what they want, how they want.” Summer cringed, “Not that doing so is exactly better in the long run. Besides, you think rich tycoons wouldn’t tell their heirs and shady dealers how they amassed their fortune? Atlas’s people might know too well the benefits and contributions the faunus play in our history and in a work capacity.” Summer felt sick saying that. “It’s disgusting really.”

“Couldn’t agree more. With all that said, how much do you wanna bet there’s aspects glossed over?” Veronica wagered.

“I could’ve sworn you made it clear that you have no interest in money?” Summer quipped.

Veronica let out a humorous breath, “Tah, a girl can change her mind can’t she?” Veronica watched Summer reach in her pocket and pull out a hundred lien casually, giving it up. Veronica was surprised. “We didn’t even make the bet yet.”

“If I knew everything, then I wouldn’t be curious about this in the first place. Odds of you teaching me something new about your people is a given.”

Maybe it was the fact that Summer was made of money, or had good intentions for learning more, but Veronica couldn’t take the money. She could only waved it away. “Geez it was a joke. Making you pay would look bad.” She said, in a forest with nobody but themselves around. “Qualities Like night vision and other adaptations aren’t the only animals traits given. It’s fundamentally built into everything about us. Disposition, personality traits, social skills, everything; the animal you are influences all of these in a variety of ways in varying amounts.”

“Like how faunus with nocturnal animal traits tend to take night jobs?”

“Veronica nodded, “Yes. A bird faunus might choose a home at high elevations, even if they don’t have wings. A deer or rabbit faunus may have to work harder at public speaking than let’s say a wolf faunus. The subtles can get even tinier; or as obvious as a feline faunus loving fish.”

Summer never really thought about it, but that made sense.“What you’re basically telling me is for a faunus, nature vs nurture takes on an entirely different level of complexity? Nothing stops a rabbit faunus from being a motivational speaker, but it would be more work, unless their parents or even their environment had predisposed them to be apart of a more vocal and outgoing lifestyle?” Summer’s eyes lit up. “That’s actually really fascinating, sowhere do you fit in with all of this?” She asked, wanting to learn more.

Veronica was taken off gaurd by how interested Summer was. “For a person who apparently hates school as much as I do, you look eager to learn.”

“School sucks because of social pressure and redundant information.” Summer deadpanned, “Anyone would get bored of learning material that is forced upon them and is as quickly discarded.”

“Well, I guess that’s true. I wouldn’t say I’m in love with any aspect of school, but learning is the least problematic part of what I had to think about it. Anyways, what I’ve told you so far applies to all faunus. With the way the world is and all the kinds of possible traits, finding a place to fit in isn’t difficult. Those animal instincts are very much submissive compared and don’t hinder our ability. Like you said, a rabbit faunus can do public speaking. A bat faunus can absolutely walk around in broad daylight. However, there’s a minority among faunus that have their animal gene act way more dominant than the majority. Roughly 13 to around 18 percent of the faunus population, if I remember correctly. This group, my group, are easily recognized by having exaggerated or extra features. Extra large wings, skin more animal than human, cold blood-”

“Ears and a tail?” Summer interjected, “appearance wise, you seem to have gotten off easy. You covered in fur or having whiskers would be a little distracting. Not gonna lie.”

“Externally, I’m just a tick higher on date lists for everyone with disturbing cat girl fantasies. Make no mistake though, I’m not the average faunus. Super faunus, the minority, have their animal qualities cranked up and deformed. I can’t see in the dark, but my nose is keener than any dog I’ve encountered. All those little traits I mentioned before? They tend to manifest in my people aggressively and often. To put into perspective, I have more in common with my grandpa than I do my mom, on an animal level.”

“Wow, that’s…intense. Your grandpa roars and gets all apex predator on people when he’s pissed- oh! Wait, your temper is shit because of your genes!?”

Veronica inhaled, ignoring the insult for the sake of conversation. “To a degree, yes. I cannot pin the blame entirely on my DNA, unfortunately…” she added that last bit quietly. “Despite what people write online about my family, we aren’t just cats. We are big cats. I’m a panther for crying out loud.”

Summer squinted, “Well, seeing how you’re mostly blonde, aren’t you technically more of a jaguar or a leopar-”

“Panther.” Veronica said, this time with feeling. “I could dye my hair red and that doesn’t change my DNA, Summer.”

For her own safety, Summer wisely chose not to make a very easy pink panther joke. She thought about it, but this conversation didn’t need to fall apart for the sake of Summer wanting to be a smartass to Veronica for once. “Fair enough, continue.” She said, still thinking about the joke.

“My athletic ability is exceptional, hearing too. My tail gives me balance more than other faunus. Despite the term super, anyone with the mutation would tell you how daunting it is. The type of animal, like everything else, determines what the faunus might deal with. For me it boils down two major things that contradict each other. Problem number one, not eating enough meat.”

“What happens?”

“Same thing that happens to any starved predator. I become impulsive, irritated easily, confrontational, my senses get...sensitive, adrenaline makes me dizzy-”

“So you’re super hangry?” Summer said without thinking. She immediately tucked her lips in and accepted the “you are an idiot” look that Veronica gave her without mercy. “Why the hell did I say that?”

Veronica groaned, “Minutes ago I heard you bring up nature vs nurture for comparing and explaining what I’ve said. Now you compare things to being hangry? It’s not even about how full I am, it’s the nutritional and instinctual part of devouring meat that my brain wants. It’s no different than your body craving milk for calcium. If I’m not careful and reach my limit, I tend to lose sense of reason and even blackout into a haze of instinct. Essentially, I go feral. Your brother can tell you that it’s not a pretty thing.” Veronica frowned.

The bruises on his face that day after school started to make a little more sense. No way he’d just let Max and Darren get clean hits in! He was dealing with an enraged Veronica. It actually put a lot of things in perspective. Summer couldn’t count how many times Veronica looked like she wanted to actually claw a person’s eyes out. She might’ve actually been thinking it over! That...was a scary thought. “What’s problem number two?” There was no way it could be just as bad.

“Eating too much meat. That’s when I’m an apex.” Veronica said, giving a thousand yard stare. Summer immediately took her statement back. That sounded way more problematic. “My attitude shifts. My fuse isn’t as short as when I’m starved but let’s say I can be very...demanding. Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Summer raised a brow, skeptical of that statement. “Are you saying-”

“Better think twice before saying I’m already demanding. Neither you or Nick has seen me when I’m caught up in the euphoria of being what I am. I’d put that girl Amber to shame, and my physical prowess are even better. I’m wild in a completely different way. Filter, broken. Can’t even put that state into words. So yeah, that’s my genetic mishap in a nutshell.”

“You being a food snob and all of your diets make a lot more sense now. Why keep this to yourself for so long.”

“Simple, it’s not anybody’s business what I’m dealing with. It’s handled, and doesn’t need to be explained among faunus. Living normally isn’t hard when you know what you’re dealing with, which is why I’m shocked every resource hasn’t been poured into figuring out your problem.”

That stung a bit. “Oscar is currently crossing the sea to potentially find answers, I have you know.” Summer said defensively.

A scoff came from Veronica. “No offense, but that sounds like a waste of energy.”

“Saying no offense doesn’t make me feel less hurt.” Summer folded her arms. “How would you know? Unlike you, my affliction has no prior information to go off of, and isn’t a genetic thing at birth. Any move could be closer to the truth, or a shot in the dark. For all intended purposes, you were born and live normally like anyone else.”

“Hate to make you sound stupid, but a test tube baby isn’t normal in most circles. Two moms, remember?” Veronica said, coldly.

Summer stopped walking. For some reason, that didn’t sit right with her. “Isn’t that name...an insult?”

“Yep.” Veronica kept walking, “Keep up. I’ll leave you out here.”

Summer listened. Maybe it was her imagination, but that atmosphere between them felt like it changed again. They had both held up their end of the bargain. Now things felt cold between them like before. Summer wasn’t expecting to learn as much as she did. Many things were answered today, so why did it feel like she knew less about Veronica. Blanks were filled into a picture she never knew the true size of, and still didn’t. One of those pieces felt out of place. The piece that helped put build up to this situation in the first place.

“Veronica…?” Summer uttered, “By any chance, does any of what you told me having anything to do with the torn pages in your-” suddenly, Summer’s words were stuck in her throat. Veronica had turned around to look her dead in the eyes, coldly and without care. Summer felt herself become small and beneath Veronica yet again, inferior.

“Never bring this topic up again, got it?” Veronica had to stop herself from balling up her hands, or she’d cut them with her nail. “Got it?” She said again, doing her best not to blow a fuse.

“S..sorry. I just...thought-”

“You thought wrong.” Veronica said. She turned around and kept walking. “We’re not friends.”

Heat rose to Summer’s face. It was impossible to know if she was feeling embarrassed, upset, or anything. All she knew was for a moment, she felt tears well up before vanishing. She breathed through her nose and bit back. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

xxxx

“Sloppy!!!” The commanding voice of Weiss’s sister cried, knocking her nephew into a bush for the tenth time today. “You’re unfocused! Surely you can do better?”

Weiss witnessed her child stumble back to his feet, hair messed up and panting. He stabbed his sword into the ground to brace himself momentarily. His aura was still high, and yet… “Winter, he’s still under the weather. Ease up.”

“This is me easing up. You simply coddle him too much. Nick is more than capable of continuing. I don’t remember going as easy on you when you asked for training all those years ago. You turned out fine.”

“I wouldn’t exactly use our relationship as a standard.” Weiss mumbled.”

Nick raised his sword quickly. He channeled a fire ball to the tip of his blade as fast as he could, but was still too slow. Winter had already rushed towards his left. He had no choice but to abandon the fire attack for a block that barely withstood his Aunt’s blade. Nick slid backwards on the stone ground.

Winter shook her head. “Once again, you waste aura and energy not because the attack was a bad choice, but because you simply cannot use your semblance fast enough.”

Winter shot off a fire ball not even a second later. She waited closely for Nick to raise his block, then used a standard glyph to propel herself forward. Her speed surpassed the fireball, and Winter was able to position her blade behind him as the flame made contact with his.

Nick looked over his shoulder at her, frustrated, but not willing to yield. He pivoted around with his blade held out to direct hers away, then put a glyph between them. By the time he did so, Nick already knew she was on the move again. “Don’t count me out!” His left hand pulled a summoned sword from the glyph. Nick swung it out to the left and around to his back while his actual blade was swung right. The weight to Winter’s attack came from back and was blocked, perfect. He leaned his body left with his blade as he felt Winter shift that direction to his opened side.

Winter could only smile as she went in to strike. Nick just played her and she knew it. Her blade still clashed with the summon weapon, leaving his right blade free to use the momentum from the lean and make a clean stab with no chance for her to block. Winter did the wise thing and jumped back, abandoning her assault. His left side was never really opened. It was bait. Both swords were used to block wherever she came from. The right one only stopped short because the left one did the job of making sure she aimed for his back by swinging outward. Winter would have either been hit or blocked if she immediately attacked left or right, and the glyph protected the front. By making her attack his back, he all but ensured she would aim left next because it was the only unguarded spot, a spot he was ready to defend and attack from simultaneously. It was this kind of quick thinking and reckless style that separated Nicholas from anyone else. Even his sister. Especially his sister. Winter loved Summer to death, but the girl was quick to panic if plans fell apart.

Normally Winter would hear him say something self-indulgent. Nope. Just a quiet stare and a fireball he had to fire off thanks to the distance between them. Still…

“Nice effort.” Winter said, knocking it away with ease. “But no. The simple fact you can summon the sword of an Arma Gigas so easily yet remain sluggish with more basic functions of your semblance is a baffling talent. If it wasn’t for your unconventional swordplay that you somehow make work, I’d say getting a gold medal would be impossible. Still might be. It only does so much.”

“Well it’s a little late to change my style now. This is what I know best.” He dropped his sword and slowly let out a breath, filled with irritation. “I know I’m lacking.”

Winter raised a brow. She looked at Weiss confused, “What’s wrong with him? The usual?”

“No. Well, yeah, but he’s been stretched thin in general recently.”

“I’m not stretched thin. I just...nothing feels like it’s enough. Training in particular. Like you said, I can make swords in my sleep. All the other things our family is supposed to be good at, I’m average!”

Winter turned off mentor mode for a moment. Clearly this is more than about training, but she’ll play along. It was time to be an aunt. “Nick, you are in a class of your own. Sixteen and this skilled by no means is average. In regards to us, your family, no one here was perfect. Nobody here is perfect. Your mother still over extends her strikes from time to time and your father definitely wasn’t a genius by any means.”

Weiss narrowed her eyes, “Hey, I’m free game but be nice to my husband. You’re right, but be nice.”

“Like me, you choose to wield two blades. Unlike me, it’s your go to stance.” Winter informed, “Our semblance works best when we have a free hand. That’s why shields aren’t a good option for us. The choice to use two blades isn't bad by normal standards. I’ve faced many foes that pressured me with similar tactics, even beat me. Though only one is real, another sword has made it harder for you to use glyphs. At least it should be, but summoning and a video of your exam says otherwise.”

Nick looked at his summoned blade in frustration. “I still don’t know what I did differently that day. I was faster and more in control than I have ever been. Not only did I actually make a gigas, but even all my other glyphs felt on par with Summer’s.”

“Remember Nick, You and Summer excel at different things.” Weiss reminded him. “Yes, her fundamentals and use of dust are better, but she has a knack for it. That’s her edge. In a fight, Summer’s wide range of dust and glyph combinations always means she’s never out of range to attack or control a fighting space. You may not have that but your speed, stamina, and reflexes make up for it. In close quarters, no one your age matches you in Atlas.”

“That merit just so happens to have made you neglect the need to sharpen your other talents. Do you know how dangerous you could be with-”

“Time dilation? Yeah, mom told me.” He interjected, “something about those other things simply don’t click in my head. Can’t even get a fireball right.”

He sat down on the ground and took another breath. “The way I fight, it isn’t like I built it to be the most versatile. My offense is my defense. The use of momentum to add power behind my strikes helps keep in moving. It’s why my stamina and speed is good, to push my body for relentless attacks.”

He didn’t say it out right, but he didn’t have to. Nick made a style that didn’t make him good against a variety of people in mind. No, Nick thought of style against Shiva. In the end, that’s the only fight that matters. Beating others with it was a way to refine it for the moment it mattered. Abandoning it was not an option. Only improving.

Winter could only look upon the boy's face and see someone who only ever has the best intentions for others slowly begin to waver. Her teenage years were long gone, but no one ever truly forgets the confusion they went through during that time. Winter walked over to her young nephew and sat in front of him, legs crossed. “Why is it always the most caring of people who can never give themselves the break they give others? Nicholas Schnee, you are a kind, hardworking young man that never doubts himself often. Much like your mother, you take hold of what you want and clench it tight.”

“Lately holding on seems to hurt more than letting go. Nothing...feels right. Not just in training either. I feel like a gap between me and everyone else has been growing, like I’m out of a very important loop. Val, Vee, even Summer.”

“This time of year gets people stressed. It’s possible every one just needs a breath. I can speak much on a gap, but I’m positive time will mend it. Despite my feelings towards the young Belladonna, it is pretty clear the two of you get along. Confide in her.”

Weiss and Nick went bugged for a moment. They both looked at each other and then back at Winter.

“Wow.” Weiss spoke, “That’s pretty big, coming from you. Anytime you see that girl, you have nothing but disappointing looks.”

“Yeah Auntie, I’m shocked.”

Winter turned a little red, “I don’t see why. I may find her a bad influence on you and your sister, but my opinion is one of many. With you, Veronica is a welcome distraction to break up your daily routine. I’ll give her that much.”

“How generous,” Nick said sarcastically. Veronica was starting to sound more like a battle tactic than a person. Though she probably wouldn’t mind if it meant spending time with him. Regardless, “I appreciate the suggestions, but my time is better spent training at the moment. If I can be half as capable as I was during my exam, then I chalk that up as good progress.”

Winter hit his head. “Fool, you’re not getting it!”

“Ow! What!? All I said was- Ow!” Weiss also hit his head, much lighter though. “Stop hitting me! I thought this was a pep talk!?”

“It is.” Winter stated, “It’s also a lesson. The way you are now, you can’t progress much further. I urge you to really think about what made that day different from now; what made your last attack against me different even. That is all the hints I will provide to him. I do hope your mother keeps quiet as well.”

“Hey! I get I’m a little...lenient with him, but I would never skip an opportunity to watch him grow. Besides, telling him wouldn’t mean he could do it any faster anyways.” Weiss teased. She could hear Nick’s ears practically buzzing.

“If that’s the case then say it!” He asked eagerly. He was given no answer. Winter and Weiss walked away from him like they didn’t peak his curiosity. He assumed training was about to resume like normal. However, it didn’t. A look of shock came to him when both of his elders faced him, blades drawn.

“What, both of you at once.” He said nervously, grabbing his sword and rising quickly to his feet. “What happened to me being under the weather, mom!?”

Weiss smiled, “Hey, you wanted fast results. Until you find the answer to your glyph problem, we’ll double down or swordsmanship. Brace yourself. I’ll hold back.”

“I will not!” Winter smiled.

Nick didn’t even get a chance to blink before the two of them came after him. He gulped, “Should’ve stayed in bed.” Nick prepared himself when suddenly, a cold chill went down his spine. Weiss and Winter immediately recognized the look of fear on his face and stopped their approach while he pulled out his scroll to call his sister. “Pick up. Come on Summer, pick up!” He muttered.

xxxx

Summer felt like an idiot. Of course nothing has changed. Why would it? A talk didn’She walked faster, out pacing Veronica.

“Hey, slow down. I haven’t told you where we’re going.” Veronica said, but Summer didn’t listen. “Hey!”

“Leave me alone! I may not come here often but I live here. I’ll find my way without you.” Summer said, grunting as she forced her way through dense branches and bushes.

“Can you not act like a child for once!?” Veronica yelled, running after her. “And stop ignoring me!” Veronica was near her wits end.

“.........”

And then she reached it. Veronica’s tail and tensed up. “Summer!” Veronica yelled again, going through the bushes. “I said stop ignoring-” the potent odor of peppermint invaded her senses out of nowhere. Veronica looked around the area, seeing nothing. Nothing, but a frozen lake, shimmering with diamond dust below the surface; and Summer standing in place, shivering.

“Summer…?” She said, concerned this time. Her words didn’t reach, not immediately. The scent wasn’t only coming from the lake. Veronica didn’t dare to move as she watched a finger point across the water. Her eyes looked in that direction to see nothing but scared trees and large rocks that had been chipped rather deep.

“A fight?” Veronica thought. She looked closer. All the markings looked to be going outward and from one spot. A spot several feet off the lake. Even with all the dust, it was clear that spot smelled the most foul. “No, an explosion.” Her attention went back to Summer. “A dust explosion.” Veronica yelled again. “Hey! Summer! Answer me, please!?” She could no longer be calm. Veronica ran to the girl screaming her name.

Summer might as well have been deaf to Veronica’s voice. All she heard was laughter. Her laughter, coming from Shiva skating on the ice.

“Hahahahaha! Oh wow! We haven’t been here in ages Summer!!!” Grinning and filled with joy, Shiva extended her hand, “Summer, come join me!” The glow of her eyes grew more dazzling, as well as her smile. “Just like before….”

#rwby #rwby au #sparrow branwen #rwby twin snowflakes #weiss schnee #winter schnee #nicholas schnee #summer schnee #qrow branwen #veronica belladonna #oscar pine

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argent-vulpine · 3 years

Text

Getting Warmer

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Seteth/Byleth

Read it on AO3!

He hadn’t meant to.

That was the mantra he was telling himself as he fled the bathhouse, fighting the wave of embarrassment that threatened to set his face aflame. He’d gone in, mind still going over reports from the day, and hadn’t even thought about checking to see if the changing room he always used was occupied. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the bath at this time of night, truth be told.

Normally, Seteth was one of the last people for the day.

But normally, the students all went in waves after dinner. Normally, the professors had their own time slots after that. Normally, they hadn’t just returned from a grueling experience in the field.

Today was not a normal day. He cleared his throat, schooling his features into some semblance of composed, and decided to go on a stroll instead, firmly putting

out of his mind what he had seen.

Or trying to, at least.

He’d known that the young professor was an attractive woman. It was hard to avoid that fact, especially with the kind of clothing she was used to wearing. Not that her attempts to wear a student’s uniform were any better, frankly, and he was grateful when she’d stopped.

But at least she was clothed in those moments. Seeing her in a state of undress… he felt heat creeping up his neck and forced the thought away, focusing instead on where he was stepping, his eyes boring holes into the stones beneath him.

He was halfway to the main hall when a voice called out behind him. Calling for him, specifically. He turned, slowing as he saw who was approaching. “Good evening, Shamir. How may I help you?”

“Yeah, have you seen the professor? She ran off before she could be debriefed on the mission, but we figured letting her get clean first was fine… but that was an hour ago.”

It was all he could do not to let out a strangled cry. He was grateful for the high collar of his shirt, hopefully preventing the flush from being noticed. “I’m afraid I have not,” he replied, hopefully steadily. “Did you check the bathhouse?”

“I just came from there. Nowhere to be found.”

“Perhaps the sauna, then? I am aware she likes to frequent it after training sessions, perhaps a difficult mission would warrant the same treatment.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll try the sauna, and then her room. Maybe I just missed her.” She gave him a curt nod and turned around, jogging back the way she’d come.

Relieved that he’d answered her question well enough (and it seemed logical, truly) he went back to his stroll, very firmly shoving Byleth out of his mind. Again.

He ended up back at the suite of rooms that he and Flayn shared; she’d already had her time in the baths with her classmates – those who hadn’t gone on the mission, at any rate. She jumped up from the chair in their shared common room when he entered, setting her book down. “Oh! You are back already! And you… did not take a bath this evening?” she asked, confused.

“Ah, no, not yet. You know I prefer privacy, and there were others late using it.”

“Oh, I see. That is right, the professor and the others must have returned, is that it?” He nodded, and she bounced slightly on her toes.

“I hope that the professor will share with us what happened! She told me that I had much catching up to do before I would be allowed on the roster. Do not give me that look, you knew what it would mean for me to enroll in her class!” she added sternly when he’d begun to frown.

“I’ve spent such a long time protecting you, it’s… it’s a force of habit, Flayn. I will try to do better, I promise.”

She nodded, accepting this, and returned to her seat. “I take it you will be leaving again in a short while, when the bath is unoccupied again.”

“Yes, that is the plan.” He gave her a slight smile, taking up a seat of his own, grateful that she hadn’t asked any more questions. While he waited out an appropriate amount of time, he worked on the next of his fables, pouring all of his focus into that so that his mind would not wander elsewhere.

It wasn’t until he returned to the bathhouse itself that he found his concentration slipping, remembering the sight of the professor, still dripping from the bath and clad in only a towel.

He groaned softly, his head hitting the wall with a soft thunk as he tried to evict the mental image, but it persisted all throughout the process of changing and bathing, no matter what he did to remove it.

--------

Over the next few days, Seteth did his best to avoid the professor, determined to push what happened out of his mind before he saw her again.

Except that it wasn’t possible to ignore her completely. There were mission debriefings to handle, the newest assignments to give out, certifications to endorse… the list was endless, it seemed, and every time he saw her, he looked away immediately, focusing his gaze elsewhere.

It ended up being a long week.

He had just sat down to lunch, a little sad to see that Flayn had gone to sit with some of her new friends instead of with him, when he was startled out of his thoughts by a tray being plunked down across from him. Seteth looked up in time to see the object of his embarrassment and frustration settling down, her tray piled high with food.

Honestly, he still had no idea how she managed to eat so much, but he assumed her quite active lifestyle did require more fuel than his own more sedentary profession. He must have made some kind of startled sound, because she looked up at him, dark eyes scrutinizing. When he didn’t say anything, she began to eat, quickly but not sloppily.

He ate his own meal at a more sedate pace, but he also had less of it. By the time he was nearly finished, so too was she, though she had slowed down to a more reasonable pace at some point. Seteth glanced up to see her looking at him, her features impassive but for a faint furrowing of her brow. He shifted under the scrutiny, the back of his neck warming. “Is there something wrong?” he finally asked. “Have I gotten something on me?”

She blinked, then glanced down at her food. “No. Sorry. I was just thinking.” The professor speared a vegetable on her fork, bringing it to her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. When she’d was done, she glanced at him again. “You seem more stressed than usual, Seteth.”

“I, ah… well, it’s a very busy time, that’s all. With the White Heron Cup approaching, and the ball… there’s much to do.”

She nodded, understanding. As a professor, she had her own duties to attend. Finding a dancer for her house, getting them trained (and did she even know how to dance?), and myriad other things. Another bit of vegetable was eaten, her gaze leaning pensive,

though it was still difficult to tell sometimes. “I reserved time at the sauna with no one else around,” she said after a moment. “Would you like to join me?”

Seteth almost choked on the piece of fish he’d been eating. He coughed, sputtering, and took a few quick sips of water.

If anything, Byleth only looked amused by this, the faintest curve of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “I like the quiet. I thought it might be nice for you, too.”

He hoped that he did not look as embarrassed as he felt. “Quite an unexpected offer,” he managed to say, chancing a glance at her. “… perhaps I will. You are right, of course, I have been quite stressed of late.”

She made a sort of humming sound, whether acknowledgement or agreement he wasn’t quite sure.

They finished their meal in relative silence after that, broken only by Byleth telling him what time she had reserved the sauna. And then she was gone, leaving him to stifle a groan… and the desire to bury his head in his hands. What had he done?

--------

That evening he found himself outside the sauna a few minutes earlier than expected. A small group of people were leaving, chattering away. Some glanced his way and gave him respectful nods, which he returned absently.

He was oddly nervous about this, but kept reminding himself there was no reason to be. It was just some time relaxing in the sauna with the professor.

… the professor he had accidentally seen entirely undressed.

The same professor who had just run up the stairs leading to the sauna, though she barely looked winded. “Oh! I’m not late… am I?” she asked, peering at the sky as if it would answer her.

“No, I was just a little early, that’s all,” he reassured her. “I believe the sauna just cleared out of the last group.”

The sauna master nodded affirmation, gesturing for them to enter. They split apart once inside, each going to the appropriate changing rooms. Seteth found a sauna uniform already set out and waiting; he changed as quickly as he could, though his coat did delay him somewhat before he was properly attired.

When he entered the main chamber, he saw that Byleth was already there. She had spread out a towel to sit on, and had her eyes closed, hands in her lap though her shoulders were loose and relaxed already. When he settled down onto the bench nearby, her eyes fluttered open, glancing over at him, before they shut again.

He could see the faintest traces of a smile. “Is something amusing?” he asked, shifting nervously.

The smile, such as it was, broadened a fraction. “You’re still wearing your circlet,” she pointed out, reaching up to tap a finger to her temple.

Seteth reached up then, feeling the metal band, and gave a soft sigh. “So I am. Too late to worry about it this time,” he replied calmly, settling into a comfortable position.

They were quiet for several minutes, simply enjoying the warmth of the room. When Byleth rose to add more water to the coals, he followed her movements through heavy-lidded eyes, admitting to himself – deep down, at least – that she was a marvelous sight to behold.

More skin was exposed by the cut of the sauna attire. Despite the appearance of her typical clothing, it did at least cover much of her skin. It was rare, then, to see the spiderwebs of scars across her arms and legs, the telltale signs of a life lived roughly and in constant battle. Her muscles rippled beneath the skin, drawing attention to the curve of her calf, her firm thighs…

… he stopped himself, flushing and grateful for the heat as a means to hide the embarrassment of it.

While he did trust her now, far more than he had before, she was still a professor. And… still human. Still young, by all accounts, even if Jeralt had told her birth day falsely… and he undoubtedly had.

He should not be having such thoughts about her. Not these, nor the ones that had plagued him since he’d stumbled upon her in the bathhouse.

“It wasn’t too much steam, was it?” she asked, drawing him back to the present. She was standing in front of him now, leaning forward slightly so that their eyes were on a level.

Seteth very firmly did not allow his gaze to wander to her chest, no matter its current position. “No, no, not at all. Apologies, it has just been a long week indeed.”

She nodded, but somehow did not seem at all convinced. Still, she returned to her seat, stretching lazily. Her breasts had already been pushing against the fabric, but the movement only amplified them, showing off their supple curves.

He bit back a groan and tore his attention away. There were reputations to consider, after all. Hers. His. The church’s. And she had given no indication of interest in him, nor anyone else for that matter. True that it was difficult to decipher her emotions sometimes, but surely if she had those sorts of thoughts, even she would have had *some* tell.

No, better to just ignore these thoughts until they went away, as they surely would.

“Seteth…” At his inquisitive hum, she continued. “You’ve been acting very strangely around me since I returned from the mission. Did I do something wrong?”

He drew in a sharp breath before turning to look at her. Her dark hair hung around her face, framing it. Her brows were furrowed, concern showing in the depths of her eyes though the rest of her face was as immobile, as impassive as ever. He closed his eyes briefly, giving a silent prayer to the Goddess, and opened them again to stare at her. “No, Professor, you are not at fault here.”

“Then why…”

“The blame is on me,” he continued, cutting her off. Heat crept up his neck. “I… was very improper, intruding on you as I did, and I should have apologized for that.”

She looked more confused than before. “Why should you apologize? It was an accident, yes?” “I should have knocked to be sure the room was empty.”

He could see the slightest shift in her features as she frowned. “That may be true, but you didn’t intend to do that.” And now she gave him the tiniest of smirks, leaning forward. “I think it would have gone differently if you had.”

Seteth’s jaw tightened to prevent it from falling open entirely. He couldn’t be sure if she was teasing him… or perhaps threatening him. Nor was he sure which one he would prefer… and that train of thought was further derailed when Byleth gave a soft laugh, leaning back in her seat, every motion showing self-satisfaction at whatever she had seen in his face.

She gave another stretch, humming softly, and then stood. “I think I am going to head back now. Thank you for joining me, Seteth,” she said.

“Ah… well, thank you for the invitation, Professor.”

Byleth gave a single nod, and was about to step through into the women’s changing room when she stopped, glancing at him over her shoulder. “You’re quite cute when you’re trying not to blush,” she quipped, not waiting for his reaction as she slipped through, closing the door softly behind her.

Only when he was sure she was truly gone did he groan, burying his head in his hands. He’d been trying so hard… and yet had she still seen right through him?

It wasn’t until much later that he realized she had called him cute.

#Seteth Birthday Bash 2020 #Seteth #Setleth #Byleth Eisner #Fire Emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #FE3H #day 2: composure

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