Thank you For making me feel alive again For making me believe in myself again For making me have passion again For saving me There's no words out there that can describe how I feel without me sounding cheesy and corny, but you have no idea how much you helped me rediscover myself. I wish there were more times when I could see you. Maybe one day.. we could do it all again Thank you so much for that day of January 8th, 2023 @jampreserves @banyanas

[ID: Sketch in mostly greyscale with coloured fire and blood of Parker running over and starting to drop to her knees beside Eliot, who is lying amongst rubble, holding one hand to his abdomen, which is severely bleeding, and starting to push himself up onto his elbow. He also has blood on his head and face and elsewhere on his hands and chest. End ID]

-

Day 21: Blood loss

Eliot with very severe and rapid blood loss after an explosion causes him to acquire shrapnel wounds.

Ficlet below the cut

-

It was the sharp pain on the palms of her hands that Parker noticed first, the only clear sense in that confusion of noise and heat and swirling smoke.

Gravel.

Rough, sharp, gritty gravel underneath her hands and digging into her knees.

It had left bloody grazes where she had caught herself on the ground after Eliot propelled her behind the crate, throwing her to safety no more than a second before the explosion.

She hadn’t even really registered that there had been an explosion at all until she looked around and saw the fire, the smoke, the twisted fragments of metal and concrete scattered over where Eliot lay.

Or had been laying.

He was already pushing himself up from the ground, shards of glass catching the firelight from within his hair, glistening like the rich red blood that was rapidly darkening his clothes.

Parker stumbled to her feet, head feeling too heavy and body overbalanced, but within a couple of steps she found her limbs complying properly, and managed to get to Eliot’s side before he could get as far as standing.

As the thief dropped down, her knees landed in wetness, in Eliot’s blood, pooling rapidly beneath him as several deep wounds seemed to be determinedly pumping out his blood with each beat of his heart.

The worst, or where most blood could be seen, was his abdomen. He had his left hand pressed there, clutching the fabric of his undershirt tightly, both it and the clothing already covered in that shining red.

Knowing Eliot, knowing he would never just stay there like people actively bleeding out should do, she ducked under his arm to help him up, and together they stumbled back behind the crate that had protected her.

There had been three explosions in quick succession. More might be coming…secondary explosions as other things ignited and blew up.

Worse yet, she could already hear the wail of sirens, faint in the wake of the deafening explosion.

They needed to disappear.

Now.

If they were found there would be ambulances, hospital, police questioning, and Parker would either have to run and leave Eliot to be held prisoner in a hospital until they could break him out, or be arrested under suspicion herself so Hardison would need to get them both out.

She had to get out of there. Had to get them both out of there.

“Park,” Eliot, hoarse and close and quiet.

Next to her ear, not in it.

The earbuds?

She felt her ear, the device was still there but tapping it offered no feedback and she heard no reply as she called out Hardison. He always responded over comms, if they were working.

“Earbud’s fried,” she said, shifting it to her pocket.

Eliot reached for his, “Mine’s gone.”

Somewhere amongst all the debris.

Parker turned to Eliot, the motion making the world spin again for a moment, and she wondered if she had hit her head. Her brain felt too fuzzy.

“We have to get to Hardison,” she said, aware that he was probably thinking exactly the same, “Can you walk?”

He nodded, gaze fixed on her’s, assessing something that she didn’t understand.

“Okay…” she looked away, out at the gradient of lessening destruction as it went away from the epicentre. Somewhere out there Hardison would definitely go to park the van and wait to rendezvous. Did they wait?

“There!” Eliot pushed himself up, gripping her arm tightly and pointing towards an area some way off.

The deep shadow from one building was interrupted by an intermittent light. Regular sequence. Morse code, Parker guessed, and something that made Eliot smile slightly.

“Hardison?”

Eliot nodded, wrapping his arm back around Parker as she helped him to stand.

It was only a short distance - a hundred and twenty three metres - to the deep shadow, but it felt like twice or even three times that with Eliot practically a dead weight beside her, his steps slow and faltering, and having to hold one hand over his bleeding abdomen just unbalanced them more.

He stumbled and very nearly brought them both to the ground as they reached the van, saved by Hardison sprinting in to prop up Eliot on his other side.

“Dammit man!” Hardison took most of Eliot’s weight, freeing Parker to sprint ahead to get the van door open, “Please tell me you went and slaughtered a chicken or something on the way and that is not all your bl-“

“Hardison!” Eliot growled, cutting off his growing panic.

The hacker looked wide eyed and more than a bit ill as he got Eliot into the back, “We are taking you to a hospital this time.”

“No…just…” Eliot fumbled in his pocket, getting a hold of his phone, the screen cracked and blood in the fine lines of the glass.

More blood smeared over the phone as he dialled, fingers shaking on the buttons and making him mess the number at least twice. But he dialled what he intended and switched the phone to speaker, letting it fall gently onto the floor of the van, his hand limp beside it.

“Eliot Spencer. Got another imminent terrorist threat for me to have to deal with today?”

The familiar voice of colonel Vance.

“Discrete medic in West Michigan,” Eliot said as loudly as his failing strength would allow, “You got anyone?”

A brief pause, then, “I’ll text you an address and let them know you’re coming. Nature of the injury?”

“Shrapnel wound to the abdomen, severe blood loss.”

Vance abruptly hung up. Moments later there was a text, an address, and without a word between them, Hardison grabbed up the phone and jumped into the cab, kicking the van into motion almost immediately.

Through all this, Parker had been focused on the injuries that were quickly threatening to kill their hitter. The conversation, the suddenly moving van, her own bleeding hands and arms were distant. Like something happening elsewhere, out of the bubble of her and Eliot and all that blood.

He had taught her basic first aid, and how to slow bleeding, how to clean and stitch up wounds. Bullet wounds and knife wounds. How to stabilise a broken leg or arm…not this. Not this jagged, deep, metal-flecked mess.

But she had grabbed their first aid kit anyway. Well stocked. Eliot had a medic friend who designed him the sort of first aid kit he would need, kitted out for the types of injury most likely in his line of work.

She had pulled on nitrile gloves over her own scraped up hands, grabbed gauze, sterile and bundled, and packed some in the wound, applying pressure over the top with more gauze. Her pressing over Eliot’s abdomen made him wince, but nothing more.

“How long?!”

Hardison glanced back over his shoulder, “Twenty minutes. If we’re lucky.”

Parker looked back down at Eliot, fading fast, almost colourless as his blood kept seeping out through the gauze and between her fingers.

“Tie this down,” he slipped a shaking hand over one of her’s, “Make it tight.”

She nodded, letting him take over applying pressure as she scrambled to get another roll of gauze from its packet. She looped it round over the wound and behind his back a couple of times, tightening it until she saw him tense from the pain, then fastening it with a knot probably not meant for bandages but it was what she knew.

“Good…now IV…” Eliot rasped, clumsily pulling up his left sleeve to expose a vessel she could use, “You remember…how to…?”

She nodded and returned to the kit. The only time she’d done this before, he had been more conscious than he was now, and they were only doing it to deal with severe dehydration. He had been able to help more than he was now, and there wasn’t all this blood on his skin already and they weren’t in a moving vehicle and…

“Parker,” his voice brought her back, “‘s okay. Instructions…on the…”

She looked at bags, neatly packed in beside the lines and sterile needles. Taped on each was the clear name of the fluid in the bag, when to use it, and stepwise instructions for how to set the IV up.

Eliot had planned for situations like this.

So she followed the instructions, blocking out the sight of the blood and the sound of Eliot’s breath growing more ragged, and Hardison’s panicked updates on how long it would take.

She couldn’t focus on all of it at once and she needed to get the fluids into Eliot. He was losing a lot and he needed more. Blood pressure getting too low was bad. She knew that.

And she did it.

She got the IV hooked up, the fluid moving into Eliot’s body…

He smiled that soft smile that made her chest tighten, “Good job.”

She fought back a wave of fear.

Not good enough.

Eliot was still bleeding out, still getting paler and paler.

Parker held his hand in one of her's, using the other to try and put more pressure on the wound.

After about seven and a half more minutes, his finger's uncurled, hand falling limp and unresponsive in her's.

"Hardison!"

"Almost there," he replied shakily, catching her gaze in the rearview mirror, "Just hold on. A couple more blocks."

It felt like ten, twenty, a hundred more, every passing second making it less and less likely that Eliot would survive this.

But he was still breathing, he still had a faint pulse, when the van stopped.

The back doors opened and Hardison jumped in.

Parker looked beyond him, to the concrete parking lot and the white building beyond. A door was already opening and two people pushing a gurney towards them.

She heard them say something, Hardison call something back, but the words didn't really register, and suddenly they were in the van too, taking up too much space and too much air and she couldn't breathe.

"Babe," Hardison's voice in her ear, his hands on her arms, "Parker, they got Eliot. You gotta let go."

She looked down at her hands, still holding Eliot's hand and the gauze tightly, both red but the blood was drying and getting darker.

Mutely, she nodded.

These were the medics Vance had said were okay, and they were going to help Eliot.

Parker let Hardison guide her back out of the van into the too-bright world outside.

His hand was shaking where it rested over her shoulder. She held it to make it stop.

The medical people had Eliot on the gurney now, wheeling him into the building at a run. Parker wanted to follow but she knew she wasn't supposed to. She could watch from a vent maybe, but that would mean leaving Hardison alone, and he was breathing quickly, panicking now everything they could do was done.

"Would you like to follow me?"

The kind voice, with a smile that was completely inappropriate, came from a tall person wearing Crocs and multicoloured scrubs.

"We have a staff area where you can shower, and I can find you some clothes to borrow."

Parker looked down at her once-white vest top, now a reddish brown over almost all the front.

They didn't need to borrow clothes since they always had plenty spare in the van, which was good because Parker wanted something comfortable and safe and ended up, after a long shower, engulfing herself in one of Hardison's hoodies.

After they had both showered and changed, the kind person in Crocs brought them some water and offered them hot drinks and cookies. They were now sitting in a cheaply furnished room with hot chocolate and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, staring at the same door Croc-person came in through before, waiting for them to return and offer some sort of update on Eliot.

Last they had heard, when the kettle had been boiling for the hot chocolate, he was still in surgery and that was all Crocs knew.

An hour later, they still had no new information, and the sun was starting to set.

Parker finished her drink, long-since gone cold, and rested her cheek on Hardison's shoulder. She let her eyes fall shut, the white of that door lingering behind her eyelids, until it faded with the creeping darkness of an exhausted sleep.

She opened her eyes to a dimly lit, horizontal, world.

Her pillow had changed from the wool of a sweater to coarser denim, and the hood over her head had been replaced by a familiar hand resting lightly on her hair.

From this vantage point of Hardison's lap, she could see very little of the room.

The coffee table, part of the counter beyond, and a leg that she knew with a very distinctive boot at the end of it.

She slowly slipped out from under Hardison's hand, registering by the lack of response that he was asleep, and sat up to get a better look at their hitter.

Pale but not covered in blood, and wearing clothes that had to belong to the clinic, except for his own boots, which were not quite as cleaned of blood as the rest of him. He was sitting in an armchair with a beer in one hand and an IV hooked up to the other arm, watching her calmly.

"Hey," he whispered, voice still as weak as it had been when they first got him into the van.

"Hey," she echoed, the image of him sitting there all clean and bandaged felt less real, less tangible, than the bloody, bleeding out, Eliot she had been knelt beside for an unbearably long twenty minutes.

She was clean but her hands still felt dirty. She still had some of his blood caught up in the corners of her nails and on her shoes, like on his shoes.

He had nearly died right there in the back of Lucille, and Parker couldn't stop it.

She opened her mouth, but shut it before making a sound.

How could she voice the reality that she - they - could never bear to lose him, that it would destroy them both, and that they would neither of them survive the overwhelming grief...she couldn't form the sentence that conveyed it.

“You doin’ alright?” he asked softly, something in his expression and those words telling her that he understood perfectly those words she couldn't say.

She nodded, swallowing down tears she hadn’t realised had been welling up, “You need to apologise to Hardison. You got blood all over Lucille.”

Eliot bowed his head, “I’ll apologise when he wakes up.”

“You’ll clean her when I wake up,” Hardison mumbled groggily, not moving.

Parker smiled as Eliot let out a small, tired, laugh, “Never gonna happen, my man.”

-

Oh wow some of these were made in half an hour?! That’s incredibly impressive to me. I especially find it admiring because I used to write when I was younger, and I’ve recently tried to get back into writing now. Admittedly you’re  one of the two writers who’ve unintentionally influenced me to do so, of course I heavily enjoy the works of other writers but your work is very compelling in a way that I’ve only felt about one other writer. My favorite of yours will undoubtedly always be Like A Movie, you really are a f*cking poet that username you have is not a LIE not to sound like such a fan but I AM IN FACT a huge fan lol. I usually don’t know how to start off a chapter, and I have trouble with coming up with something that feels original I was wondering if you have any advice concerning that ? I wanna write again but I feel unsatisfied with whatever I come up with, consider me a shadow of yours because I definitely would like to be a poet like you 💚

Yeah lol I have this tendency of disappearing on people when my thoughts get kinda heavy. Actuallyyyy I was wondering if I could make a request with Jenna ? I’m the kind of person who has trouble accepting compliments, the example I wanted to refer to for this request is when somebody calls me pretty. I’m incredibly insecure so it’s not something that I believe I’m capable of. (Sorry if the rest might sound a bit personal and confusing at first, totally respect if you can’t accept the request) As of this month it’s officially been one year since my abuela has passed away, she suffered of dementia. My abuela did not like strangers, in fact she’d always mug them and overall was unfriendly to anybody who wasn’t family or a family friend. Because of her dementia that meant there’d be times where she’d forget us so she’d be mean to people she knew. I’ve been told many times by family that my father and I are the only ones who resemble my abuelo, I never met him he passed away when my father was a baby and I’ve never seen any pictures of him because we don’t have any. I’ve only ever seen a painting of him someone made using my abuelo’s ID picture. I consider this to be very bittersweet but the times I’ve only ever felt pretty is when my grandma would say “who are you?” with a smile on her face, she didn’t know me but she somehow she knew I was family and I was so grateful for that. I was wondering if the request could somehow involve a little bit of that and maybe Jenna becoming or being someone that makes the reader feel pretty? A sweet comfort fic? Honestly I’d even be alright with a paragraph or two. 

Anyways I hope you have a great day ᵕ̈ 

-R🍀

Hey babes!! First of all, this was so sweet and I really appreciate you taking the time to write it. When I wrote Futbol or Football and Kissing Lessons they took me around thirty minutes to write, probably another 15-20 to edit and review. If you’re ever unsure where to start, just start in the middle! Like right where your idea begins, start there. I’ve literally written stories from the end first and went backwards with my ideas. If I’m REALLY struggling for something I’ll start with dialog, and just have a conversation with myself basically. Sometimes writing is as easy as breathing, and other times it’s like mining for coal. The important thing is that you KEEP MINING when it gets hard.

That story about your Abuela was so achingly sweet and I’d love to write something that invites that feeling, but I think YOU could write it better than me. Give it a try! If you don’t want to post it you can send it to me privately, or even just write it for yourself and keep it close to heart. But I will keep the request on my list, and find a way to work it in somewhere as well 🖤

Who do you think would turn more insane if their child disappeared tho? Forever or Baghera?

-White

im a bit biased because we haven’t actually seen baghera in a situation of distress yet . But i think based on what he HAVE seen so far, its not far-fetched to think forever would take a turn to the extreme (more… than he already has) if anything were to happen to richas. i think we’d be looking at a server-wide panic — like the energy of slimecicle’s rampage to kill the eggs, except forever would direct it at the federation. after the episode with leo, i think he had a good enough wake up call to never risk hurting the other eggs again but this would only place his focus somewhere else. maybe he’d become increasingly hostile to the members of the order, his own allies. depending on the circumstances of richas’ disappearance he might even grow distrustful of the islanders, paranoid and ever-expecting of betrayal — maybe he’d get to the conclusion of a pre-existing fed agent on his own. maybe he’d suspect everyone and anyone he’s even spoken to, thus isolating himself more and more until there’s no one he can count on.

also id like to say I honestly think the eggs DISAPPEARING would probably hit the parents harder than death. just the uncertainty, having their faiths on the hands of the federation…. I think that would break them more than anything we’ve seen so far

has anyone ever written anything for the duck au? id love to read about ti

there’s a few things actually!

this fic by @anarchy-schmanarchy based on my lil training comic

this one (or at least it was tagged with 🐷🤝🦆)

and this one sent in by an anon :V. there might be more, but i’ve either not been @ ed, or they’ve not been tagged with 🐷🤝🦆

He’s Missing?

Out in the forest a pointed ear flicked, there was a crunch in the snow. Someone was coming. Quickly Technoblade snatched up his small companion, shoving him into his pocket and out of sight. Actively ignoring the confused squawk. He knew what happened to pets on this server. His poor cows, and then Carl. He would not allow the same fate to befall his duck if he could help it.

“Hullo. “ “Hey Technoblade! have you seen Quackity around? “Nope, can’t say that I have. Why.” “He’s been missing, for quite awhile now actually…” Why did they always come to him whenever people disappeared? “So he’s just, gone?” “Yup, and we were wondering if you’ve seen him?” “Huh. Well I haven’t, but hey!  let me know if you do. I’ve Been looking for someone to stab. Heh.” The duck in his pocket began to shake and techno discreetly slipped his hand around the shivering animal. “…oh uh, yah. I’ll um, I’ll do that. I just realized I have somewhere else to be. Haha gotta go!” “Really? But ya just got here, why not stay awhile?” Techno Flashed his weapon and they visibly paled. “Oh no it’s uh really important! BYE!!!” They bolted. “Bye.” With any luck they wouldn’t be coming back for a long time. He waited until they’d disappeared to pull his little friend out of hiding. “Now What’s gotten into you?”

If ducks could have emotions, he would almost say it looked, scared.

“Aw, did they scare you little guy? You don’t have to worry. Quackity’s not a pet murderer, and even if he was,” Techno brandished the axe that Ranboo had given him. “He’s easily dealt with. So yer safe with me. Ok?” Despite his reassurance the duck only seemed to shake harder. “Not convinced huh?”

A duck being afraid of Quackity was mildly funny. The man was barely a threat. Though, Techno supposed that a duckling was probably the, Only, thing that could possibly find Quackity terrifying. Chuckling, he let the duck back up onto his shoulder and began the trek home. They had enough wood by now anyway. As he walked he let his mind wander.

Quackity was missing. Well that was an interesting development. One that might become a problem, he had executed him after all, and threatened Carl. But after blowing up his country he supposed they were even now. He’d have to bring it up with Phil some time. It was weird that he just disappeared though. Techno briefly entertained the idea of checking under his house for tunnels. What do ya think Chat?

Tommy all over again! XD Quack!!! 🐣🐣🐣🐣 Duck Boi Scared! BLOOD Quackity behind you!!!! Duck pog

I highly doubt he’s behind me chat.

Technoblind DUCK DUCK DUCK Shhhh No snitching! SITCOM POG! Technolost Technolost technoLOST!!!!

What do you mean no snitching?! Hheeeeh!! Lost?! The, The house is right there! “My God, You guys are idiots.”  The voices were useless as usual. The duck curled up against his neck let out a disgruntled quack. “Not you, I was talking to the voi- ah never mind.” In the end he didn’t really care anyway. Quackity could do what ever he wanted as long as he left them alone. Techno had Phil and he had his Duck, and that was all he needed to focus on for right now.

hi hi hi i'm new here but i just got through your entire (at least i think so) accidental crime boss mari au and i love it so much!!! also my imagination went wild and here's what it came up with (this is so long, i'm so sorry 😂)

so, Jason teaching the kids street stuff, like pickpocketing and such, nobody can Ever pickpocket Mari (not that they'd try, i think, hahaha), somehow it's just not possible. you think you have her and then find out otherwise. furthermore! she'd probably actually know how to do A Lot of what Jason is teaching (look, saving Paris that many times and seeing the shit she's seen must have taught her something about street smarts, okay?), but whether she's aware of all of it or not remains... unanswered. she absolutely surprises everyone, jaws-on-the-floor style, the first time she does it, especially when she does it consciously. every time she does something unknowingly (and still in the Nicest Way Possible, how even--) Jason probably quietly gathers the kids around so that they can watch and learn in real time from an example. and also, even though she's The Responsible One between the two of them when it comes to this stuff, sometimes Mari helps the kids do something, like maybe pickpocket someone in the family, as a prank

now about the Rules!! more specifically the sword fighting and duelling etiquette rule: auntie Kagami teaches everyone who wants to learn fencing every time she visits. there are tournaments. there's probably a pocket dimension designed specifically for that. it doesn't help lessen the amount of Shenanigans happening all the time but boy does it get competitive

also also also i love the name Mother of Heroes!!!! it's so cool!!! The Brood too!!!

if you've got any, i would love to see some more headcanons with the Sirens or the other dark/darker characters of the city (i'm not that well-versed in the DC universe, so idk what to call them if they have a name, sorry)

also, we already know she's called the Pixie and that she's kinda considered a mob boss and etc., but like, what about the point of view of an outsider? the way it all came to be really must sound like something from legends or fairytales out there on the streets. something so sudden and kind, and if you look a bit closer magical and just so unexplainably other???? kids just disappearing off the streets in that area and then resurfacing again looking well fed and taken care of???? to those disillusioned enough with life it must literally sound like an urban legend or something. but she's real. if you need help you just gotta find her.

HI HI HI!!! oh my gosh all of it??? thank you so much!!

1) i think that Mari knows theoretically a lot of things about being on the streets, but not a lot practically. living on the streets has less to do with being able to fight and a lot more to do with instincts and experience and all these little tics you pick up when all you have to count on is yourself.

there are, of course, certain ‘street talents’ as i call them, like being able to pick locks and con people and having a sense for danger etc, etc.

mari knows that tangible things, because she’s bound to pick them up, obviously. the kids just don’t forget what they’ve learned, so often she sees it in action. Jason also teaches her street talents as well, sometimes on purpose, most times on accident.

there is a difference though, in how Mari uses said talents. when the kids use them, there is an edge to every movement. they use their talents like weapons, like they are shields, all bared teeth and fingers like claws. their talents come from pain and necessity and there will always be something a bit vicious about it.

Mari doesn’t have that, and never will. her talents are tools and tools only, one more to add to her vast repertoire. it’s as impersonal as it gets for her, which means its soft and sweet and used with care. her talents, even in combat or duels, are velvet over steel.

2) Oba Kagami, unfortunately, can’t visit often but when she does, oh boy is it intense. Mari and Chloe are always delighted when she and Adrien visit, but mari spends most of the trip running around and quelling fights and making sure no one loses a finger

3) thank you! i’d like to say id been planning the Mother of Heroes for a while but i came up with it mostly on the spot lol. it fits really well though and makes a lot of sense imo

i quite like it

4) hmmm. im not sure about much of that. despite being thought of as a crime boss, she stays away from the other rogues mostly. I think, if given the chance, Mari would likely adopt killer croc without question, and I think she’s on okay terms with Riddler in that they like to exchange brain teasers and the like, but other than the Sirens, mari stays away from crime.

for the sirens though, i very much like the idea that Harley basically thinks of Mari as a younger sister and is liable to just take her out on the town and leave Selina and Ivy to watch the kids while they go cause trouble for whatever group has caught Harley/Mari’s ire this time.

Ivy and Mari have a comradery in their shared love of plants and similarity in their powers. mari is more expansive and flexible than Ivy’s, but they share the same roots and the two spend lots of time gardening and keeping crops for the kids. (though, harvesting is often a chore for the older ones)

5) Mari being an urban legend is the truest thing I have heard. god, i’ve never really considered the outsiders perspective but yeah. could you imagine the stories people would whisper about the faerie living near crime alley? in the beginning, just after things start picking up and Mari has somewhere upwards of a dozen kids, I think it’d look something like this:

“People say there’s faeries living near crime alley. Magic folk settling back into the city that tried to drive them out. No one knows what they want, but they keep taking kids. The strange ones, the ones that are like them, that aren’t quite human.

“They say that they’ll help you, if only you ask. But be careful. There hasn’t been a kid to go in there and not come out different. They’re stronger, normally. And well-fed. But they also talk of strange creatures and stories no one’s ever heard of and you stop seeing them on the streets so much. (They say they live with the faeries now.)

“No one knows what the faeries want, but we know this: they help when you ask and they keep taking kids. I suppose, in the grand scheme, it depends on how much your willing to risk for some help.”

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 13 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer finally meets Reader’s roommate while the two prepare for a picnic. After Spencer lectures Reader on the dangers of the outdoors, the two face a different kind of danger at the bank.

Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader 
 Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Gun violence mention Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Although I’d been inside (Y/n)’s apartment several times now, I couldn’t say I’d ever actually looked much at my surroundings. It felt strange to admit that, mostly because I felt like I was doing something wrong; like I was a traitor to my job.

But then again, it felt worse to try to profile her. The few times I had made it obvious, she had made it very clear it was unappreciated. I could understand why.

So, before we even got to her door, I tried to quiet the voices screaming in my head, telling me to look for clues to all the unknowns about her. It wasn’t because I was expecting her to be hiding anything; I just wanted to know everything about her.

I could simply wait for her to tell me, though. We had all the time in the world, right?

“Laura, I’m home!” She called out immediately after breaching the entrance, following the exclamation with a very hurried request. “Spencer is here so please don’t be weird!”

The response was a calm, steady series of footfalls down the hall. The girl stuck her head around the corner, peeking at the two of us with a devilish grin.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Reid.”

I told myself I probably shouldn’t be this nervous. If she was friends with (y/n), she was most likely a decent person. But let’s just say women around that age had never been particularly kind to me. They brought to the surface a lot of memories I’d tried very hard to bury.

She didn’t put her hand out to shake, which told me they’d already probably talked about me more than I’d have liked. ‘Wait,’ I thought to myself, ‘Is it okay to profile her roommate?’

“I’m going to go get a basket together. Wait in the living room, my kitchen is a disaster.”

Before I could argue, she had already disappeared, leaving me stranded in the hallway with her roommate who looked ready to cause trouble. I just hoped it wouldn’t the kind that revolved around me.

She waved a hand in front of her, motioning for me to make my way into the living room. Once we were there, she immediately took a seat, but I remained standing. Felt better to be able to escape.

The silence was awkward and suffocating. I could feel her staring at me, but she wasn’t saying anything. It felt wrong to look back.

“She says you read people for a living.” Her voice had a hint of skepticism in it I’d grown used to. “Sounds kind of like what psychics say.”

“Yeah, we use a lot of the same strategies, too. They just aren’t as honest about it as we are.”

“What do you see here?”

That was what got me to turn around and face her. She looked so comfortable, curled up on the couch.

“Pardon me?” The question caught me off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. I’d heard it so many times.

“What does our apartment say about us?” She asked, clearly not understanding why it was an inappropriate thing to ask. Or more likely, just didn’t care. Curiosity is a powerful thing.

I cleared my throat before looking back away and saying, “I agreed not to profile (y/n).”

“Well, can you at least tell which stuff is hers?”

I’m sure she was just checking to see if I was legitimate or just scamming her. Maybe she was checking to see if I was too good at it.

She didn’t need to worry. (Y/n) could handle herself. She wasn’t tricked easily. In fact, most of my intrigue and concern surrounding her unknowns was just how good she was at hiding things.

It wasn’t until I had registered that question and was staring at her walls with a newfound sense of purpose, that I realized how little I knew about her past. Then again, I don’t really care about her past.

It had made her who she was today, and that was the woman I loved.

My fingers brushed over old, cracked plastic on DVD cases displayed on a shelf beside the console center.

I didn’t even notice I was smiling at first, realizing that she’d kept the physical cases despite all the streaming services. She clearly still used the discs, too.

“These... are hers.”

“How can you tell?” The response in the form of a question told me I was right, and only made me feel even more deeply. Despite my greatest efforts to not look so excited by something so silly, I turned back around with my lips still curled in an awkward smile.

“Educated guess. Adrenaline.”

“What?” The confusion in her voice reminded me that she wasn’t aware of one of my deepest personality flaws.

“Research shows that only about 10% of the population are so called ‘adrenaline junkies,’ people who enjoy roller coasters and horror movies. It’s more often men than women, but it’s hard to tell because of the way we’re socialized.”

If I had turned around to face her, I probably would have seen the dead stare she was giving me during my rant.

“Regardless, people tend to either love horror or hate it. So, I considered the fact that (y/n) seems to enjoy things like... sneaking into bars with fake IDs and… other risky behavior.”

Well, that was close.

“But what really gave it away was the fact they’re not dusty, which means they’re still being used despite all of these movies being available on streaming services I know for a fact she uses. Considering how patient she is with my own Luddite tendencies I just figur—“

“Wow.”

The word cut off my train of thought, and I realized that I had barely breathed since I’d started. Wincing in response to the dumbfounded look on the poor girl’s face, I gave a nervous chuckle.

“Sorry. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A little bit,” she said with her own little pity laugh. I’m sure (y/n) had told her enough about me that this wasn’t that big of a surprise.

“I do that when I’m nervous.”

“You shouldn’t be nervous,” she said like it was the easiest advice in the world, “You’re right about her, you know.”

Staring down at my feet, I wondered why the confirmation from her roommate meant so much to me. I hadn’t been actively trying to figure out things about my girlfriend — it felt wrong. But for whatever reason, knowing I had the ability to figure it out meant more when it was about her.

Laura laughed again, craning her neck to look around the corner before she quietly spoke. “She says it was the other way around, but she’s the one who convinced me to streak the lawn.”

Ah, the age-old tradition of UVA students. It was so easy to picture her stripping down to nothing in the dead of the night to prance down the length of manicured grass. My own personal little pixie.

If it was just an attempt to calm my nerves, it was working. Putting the focus back on (y/n) was a surefire way to bring out the best in me. She just had that effect on me.

“I am entirely unsurprised by this information,” I said before walking over to the other side of the room, noting the distinct lack of pictures of family among the shelves that clearly belonged to her.

Don’t read into it, I told myself, she might just keep them somewhere else.

“She also drank an entire water bottle of vodka during a full day of classes one time, just because I bet that she wouldn’t.”

I scoffed at the image of her drunk. It’d been a while since I’d seen her like that, and both times had been remarkably unique. She’s a dead giveaway; I was surprised she hadn’t been caught.

“I can’t say I relate to that,” I sadly admitted. Sometimes it was hard to realize that if I’d known her at the same age, we probably wouldn’t have gotten along. I used to hate people like that.

Granted, they had usually also hated me.  

“She did mention you were a genius or something. I kind of figured. That’s her type.”

Well, that was information I couldn’t just gloss over. I furrowed my brow with a disbelieving smile, finally looking at the girl who was avidly watching my every move.

“Is it? I always pictured her with someone with more… Kinaesthetic intelligence.”

She gave me that look people give me when I said something weird, but continued nonetheless, “I don’t really know what that means, but she takes school pretty seriously. Honestly, probably a little too much. Part of why I dared her.”

“It’s strange to imagine her in class.” I hadn’t meant to say it, but once it was out there, I couldn’t take it back. And I was glad I couldn’t, because I was very curious about the answer.

“She’s the girl who knows all the answers and shuts down all the stupid guys trying to talk over her.”

I knew that those behaviors weren’t exactly favored in classrooms, having myself been the one at the brunt end of the bullying that followed.

“It’s pretty impressive.” She was being genuine when she spoke, and I was inclined to agree. At the same time the thought crossed my mind, I found a picture of her perched on the lap of the Thomas Jefferson statute.

God, I loved that girl.

“I bet she is.”

Almost on call, (y/n) poked her head into the room with wary eyes, looking at me as I awkwardly waved before looking back to her roommate.

“Laura, are you being weird?”

The girl rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to me like it was my question to answer. Afraid to spoil any tenuous, newly formed loyalties, I shook my head no.

“Okay…” She only barely accepted my answer, “But if you say some dumb shit and get arrested, I’m not bailing you out.”

Briefly sticking out her tongue as she walked past me, she continued on her way. I couldn’t help but give that lovestruck, idiotic grin I always gave when she was around. If you’d told me I would’ve ever felt like this about someone who felt the same about me, I wouldn’t have believed you. Part of me still didn’t believe she could ever love me the same as I loved her.

Turning back to the girl cringing at the blatant intimacy shared in a simple glance, I immediately became awkward again.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring my handcuffs.” I joked, showing my hands in a strange display of innocence.

She… took a different approach.

“I know for a fact she has a few pairs in her room if you need one.”

A high-pitched whine nearly escaped my throat at the casual mention, and I cleared my throat and turned to look at her with a very unconvincing laugh. “W-what?”

“You have to know it’s impossible for her to keep her sex life a secret,” she droned with a bored expression, “I live one room over.”

“Right,” I nodded.

There was an extended, never ending silence as she just let me stew in my own discomfort. It didn’t seem to bother her one bit, because the longer I avoided her eyes the more she seemed to smile.

“I’m uncomfortable.” I finally admitted, and she just shook her head, running her hand through her hair before giving me one final hard look.

“You’re sweet. You make her happy. I appreciate that.”

My mouth scrunched in a humble half-smile, my hands finding their way back into my pockets as I tried to consider the reality I’d found myself in. Of all the infinite possibilities, I got to exist in the version of the world where I loved a girl who loved me back.

“It’s all her,” I finally said with a voice that crackled far too much for my liking, “I don’t do anything. I’m just the lucky one she decides to keep around.”

Laura flashed an approving grin, but then got up when she heard the familiar, happy feet beating down the hallway. (Y/n) burst out from around the corner, her arms full with a picnic basket and a blanket she clearly owned for just these occasions.

“Ready to go, babe?”

“Lead the way.”

I’d have followed her anywhere.

—————————————————

It was the perfect time of year for a picnic, despite Spencer’s insistence that there was no such thing. Once we were in the park, his whining dramatically decreased. Maybe it was the sunshine, or maybe it was the smile on my face, but he was certainly in brighter spirits.

He even let me rest my head on his lap, his legs crossed underneath me while he alternated between staring off at the trees slowly losing their color to autumn and my quiet contentment as I nibbled on an assortment of fruits.

There was no awkward silence or hidden darkness in this day, and even the sweetest strawberry couldn’t be more refreshing. To be here with Spencer, soaking in the late Summer sun, was all I could ever ask for.

But I was also eager to take advantage of the uncharacteristic softness between us. It wasn’t often we could share moments like this. Between his job and all our problems over the past few months, I wasn’t sure when we could be like this again.

“Let’s talk about something fun.” I blurted out, earning an intrigued look from my boyfriend. He readjusted his position, leaning back on his hands so he could look down at me easier.

“Okay, like what?”

“Don’t make fun of me…” The way he was looking at me gave me no hope he would actually listen to me, but I continued anyway, “I have conversation starters I looked up.”

He snorted while trying to suppress his chuckle. “Of course you do.”

Dropping my mouth open, I reached up to lightly smack him on the face for immediately doing exactly what I had asked him not to.

“What? Like you’re the epitome of sociable, Dr. Reid?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stop the laughter that kept bubbling in his chest over something that was decidedly not that funny at all. We were just that stupid kind of happy where everything was wonderful.

“I’m just not surprised!” He reminded, then nodded for me to continue, “Go on, tell me one.”

“Tell me something you’re scared of.” I shot back, excited to hear the answer.

“The dark.” It was the most anticlimactic, stereotypical answer I could have imagined. It was my turn to scoff now, hardly believing the answer to be real.

“Seriously? You’re an FBI Agent, Spencer.”

“You told me not to make fun of you, but then you make fun of me? Unfair. I didn’t sign up for this scrutiny.” His legs started to move under me as he pretended like he was about to dump me from his lap and leave me here.

“Fine!” I shouted, reaching my hands up to grab his face. Although they fumbled awkwardly from my strange position, he took the time to lean to the side and kiss my palm lightly. “Favorite memory of the two of us.”

He blew out a long breath, his eyes squinted like they always did when he was in deep contemplation. But something told me something actually jumped straight to his mind, but he was holding it back for some other reason.

“That’s not fair. There are too many.”

I wasn’t falling for it. I flicked his nose before pulling my hand back, smiling at the way he jerked away like it actually hurt him. Giant baby.

“No cop out answers, old man. Favorite one!”

Spencer just sighed, letting his head fall back as he actually thought about what he was about to say for once in his life. I took the brief moment without his scrutiny to reflect on just how lucky I was to be able to see him like this.

“Okay. So, remember when we went to the bakery in Downtown?” He asked like I could have forgotten.

“Pauls? Yes, I remember.”

They’re legends in the area, but a total pain to try and get. You have to get there first thing in the morning and wait in a ridiculous line. But they were always worth it. Spencer had told me he’d never been, and I just couldn’t let such an injustice stand.

“While we were waiting in that ridiculous line, I remember looking at you and just seeing how excited you were for a donut, even at 7 in the morning.”

“That’s objectively the best time for a donut.” I interrupted with the most matter-of-fact tone I could emulate.

“Right,” he laughed, recalling how I kept reminding him of that fact while in line, “Well, we got to the front and before I could even talk, you had already ordered one for me.”

It took me a second to remember exactly what had happened. So much had happened since then, the memories were becoming muddled in my mind. But once I did remember, I smiled.

“Chocolate frosted with sprinkles. For the child in us all.”

“That’s it.” His voice had gotten soft so quickly, his hand brushing over my cheek while he played with the strands of hair blowing back over my face. “That’s my favorite memory.”

If I didn’t make a joke of it soon, I was scared my heart would burst.

“Really? That’s your favorite memory? Of all things?” I asked with a playful grin, clasping both of my hands around his and holding it against my chest.

“Yes.” For a man of so many words, it meant so much more when he spoke so little. You could feel the truth in the way the sound hit your ears.

Even as I bit on the inside of my cheeks to withhold my excited giggle, he was looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Spencer, that’s so lame.”

In that way he always did, he so charmingly replied, “How fitting for us.”

“Rude,” I muttered, finally finding the strength to sit up from my position on his lap. The world only spun for a second as I reoriented myself. He seemed equally grateful, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“What else do you want to make fun of me for?” Spencer said with a smile, watching as I reached into the small basket and pulled out a small clementine. I ran through the questions in my head, trying to decide which one to spend our limited time on.

“Okay,” I decided, “What did you think the first time you saw me?”

His face scrunched up with the leftover embarrassment from our very first meeting, during which the first thing he had ever done to me was lie. It had been a flattering one, though.

As I popped a section of the small citrus fruit into my mouth, I noticed the way he licked his own lips. The sight caused butterflies to flurry in my stomach, and I wondered which was more appealing to him; the mouthwatering scent of oranges or the idea of slipping something else between my lips.

“I thought... that you were beautiful and intriguing. And I was right.”

I got my answer to my preceding thought, because he had quickly wrapped his hand around the back of my head, pulling me into a kiss with crushing force. For someone who wasn’t the biggest fan of public displays of affection, he certainly didn’t mind kissing me like this.

Despite how deep and hard it was, it ended far too quickly. I sucked on my bottom lip as he left, staring up at him with wonder and devoted attention.

“Why was I intriguing?”

He clearly hadn’t thought that far ahead, probably hoping that the kiss alone would distract me from asking any more questions about that night. Unable to get out of it now, though, he just shrugged with a nervous chuckle, “You... were looking at me?”

My laugh, on the other hand, was full bodied as I pushed him away from me with just enough force that he actually almost toppled over.

“That was it? Because I looked at you?”

It seemed so silly, but I could tell by the way he responded that he meant it. He had told me before, on that night actually, that he wasn’t used to women showing him attention. But surely, he must just be missing it. He was an amazing man.

“I don’t know. There’s just something about you.” He paused between his words, taking a deep breath before attempting to work through his thoughts, “Like... like things just revolve around you. You have this intense gravitational pull that just told me that I had to get closer to you or I wouldn’t be able to survive.”

Fighting back the blush quickly forming on my cheeks, I struggled to maintain my typical aloof nature. I couldn’t have him getting a swelled head just because he could string together a couple cute sentences.

“Are you calling me a star, Dr. Reid?”

“I guess I am, yeah.” He hit me back with that confidence he rarely displayed outside of our play. I loved to see it like this. It made me feel like I was actually with him, rather than any manicured person he’d created to suit the needs of the current situation.

“If you felt that strongly about it, then why lie and say you weren’t checking me out? I could’ve left, you know.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. There had been a couple of times during that night that I almost cut my losses—admitted that we were just too different to ever be compatible. Thank god I’d ignored that flawed instinct.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you. Have you looked at your boyfriend? I’m so weird.”

The ease with which he flouted his eccentricities brought a smile to my face, and I shook my head as I tried to fight back in his defense. “You’re not that weird.”

“Are you joking? Look at yourself. You’re—You’re normalcy personified! No, actually, you’re not even that. You’re this... beautiful, smart, talented young girl and I’m just an old man who’s hoping to keep you around long enough that you forget you have better options out there.”

The longer he spoke, the more my jaw dropped open. Eventually, I had devolved into a fit of laughter.

“Dr. Reid, you can’t seriously be telling me that you think I am out of your league!”

“I mean—!” he started, but I wasn’t going to allow him to even entertain the thought. I clapped my hand over his mouth, nearly climbing onto his lap to hush any noises he attempted to make.

“No way!” I shouted, “Shut up!”

Instead of trying to wrench my hand away, his hands came to rest on my hips. I could feel the smile spreading across his cheeks under my fingers.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Spencer. Fucking FBI Agent with three PhDs. Get out of here.”

He began bouncing his leg under me, and when I looked down to see what he was doing, I was shocked to feel a wetness on my palm. Ripping my hand away, I looked at my hand to see the swipe of saliva over the skin.

“Did you just fucking lick me?!” I screeched, unable to comprehend what had just happened, staring at my boyfriend with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I touched the ground with this hand! What are you doing?!”

“Yeah, I’m definitely going to rinse my mouth with bleach when we get home. But it was worth it, to see that look on your face.”

He went to wipe his own face, but I still couldn’t get over the fact my hand was fucking wet. So I took my hand once more, wiping the residue of his own spit back over his cheek. Surprisingly, he just let me do it, laughing as he only slightly tilted his head back.

“Nasty old pervert,” I joked, rolling my body off him and sitting on own once more.

“You’re very mean when you’re nice to me.” Spencer pouted.

I was distracted, trying to get my hair to stay out of my face and mouth as the wind started to whip through the park. Still, I managed to say a few very important words of warning.

“Yeah, well, get used to it, bud.”

Taking pity on my obvious distress, he reached out to grab my arm, tugging me back over to him. “Come here, little girl.” he instructed while I crawled over on all fours to sit between his legs.

I was going to ask him what he was planning when I felt his hands begin threading through my hair. I sat patiently, recognizing the pattern he was weaving.

“... When did you learn how to braid hair? Did your mom teach you?”

“My mom has short hair.” It was an evasive, but truthful answer, so I didn’t press it. I was sure I would find out more about his family as time went on. I just had to keep reminding myself that we had all the time in the world to get to know each other.

“I never learned how to braid hair specifically. I’m just applying the same pattern I would with a knot or a puzzle.”

“How romantic.” I gasped, tucking my hands between my legs as I enjoyed the way it felt for him to play with my hair.

It was always bizarre, to consider the way he could be so soft in moments like this. Or rather, that he could be so far the opposite at other times. In my heart, he was always the kind, goofy man I had met that night at the bar.

But I’d seen him angry, depressed, and in pain. I’d seen him desperate and scared. Basically, the only way I hadn’t seen Spencer Reid was however he was at work. Part of me wished that I could; it was obvious he was good at it and, to a certain degree, enjoyed it.

Then again, when I know he does things like get shot at, it makes it a little bit harder to be interested in. I couldn’t imagine getting that phone call one day while they loaded him into the back of an ambulance... or worse.

“Ah, the things I do for love.” His calm, smooth voice tore me from the destructive thoughts and back into his warm embrace.

“Hey, Spencer, I have a serious question.”

“Well, that’s terrifying.” He joked, holding out his hand for my hair tie, which I happily gave him. I hated to admit that he did a better job at braiding my hair than I’d ever done. Freaking stupid genius stuff.

“When do I get to say it back?”

I swear, I felt a chill spread through the air between us. His entire body froze, his hands stuck mixed with the elastic as he tied off the braid.

It was an intense, unwelcome flashback to the second night I’d spent with him, when we had talked about things too serious, too soon.

Terrified, I immediately cut off anything he might have been able to say, muttering, “Never mind. Forget I asked.”

Letting my hair slip from his fingers, he let his hand drag along my spine. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I didn’t dare turn around.

“I’m sorry.” He said after another moment of silence, and it physically pained me the way the words fell from his lips.

“Don’t apologize,” I said in the cheeriest tone possible, trying to lighten the mood, “I just wanted to test the waters.”

With that, I spun around dramatically, noting the way his face lit up once it saw the smile on my own. “And they are frozen solid!”

He laughed at the enthusiasm I displayed, swiftly throwing his arms around me in a tight embrace.

“Well, I’ll just have to warm you up, then.” My whole body in his arms, he yanked me off the ground and onto himself. I struggled playfully under his arms, not paying any attention to the other people in the park watching our childish antics.

“Hypothermia is very dangerous, after all,” he lectured, “Let me take your temperature.” Burying his face in my neck, I felt the familiar overstimulation that accompanied frantic, light touches of my sides.

“Stop!” I burst with laughter, “You’re tickling me!”

The movements all halted, but only to be followed with a terrifyingly devious tone of Spencer’s voice. “You’re ticklish?”

“Don’t you dare—”

“Oh, I love this information.” And just like that, he began his onslaught. His fingers danced over every inch of my sides, his lips pressing quick, frenzied kisses against the underside of my chin. The harder I laughed, the more he continued.

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” I screeched like a banshee, trying to slip from his hands or turn around—anything to get the upper hand again.

After nearly wrestling him, I managed to get both hands on his shoulders and shove him back against the blanket. The force with which we hit the ground knocked the air from his lungs, and he groaned at my body weight on his chest.

“Okay, okay! You win!” He yelled, holding his hands in front of me while struggling not to touch the ground with his head. “I’m not risking more surface area of contact with the ground to fight you.”

“(Y/n) emerges victorious!” I grabbed hold of both of his hands, shaking his arms with all my leftover adrenaline while I cheered myself on.

“Dork,” he muttered under his breath before he grabbed my sides, laughing at the way I instinctually jerked. I threw myself off of him to avoid the potential tickles, landing clumsily next to him. And Spencer, being the genius, recognized it as the perfect opportunity to pin me against the ground.

Wasting no time, he pressed the same instruments which had begun the great tickle war against my own lips. My hands found their way to his cheeks, pulling him closer as his tongue easily found mine. Just like it always did with us, it felt like the world was disappearing around us.

All I could feel, smell, taste, think, was Spencer Reid. His love and admiration flowed from him with ease, and I was happy to take it in. After a few minutes, we had to break apart. We might like a little bit of exhibitionism, but I was pretty sure neither of us actually wanted to tear the other’s clothes off in a park.

Could you imagine if people knew he was an FBI Agent? I was sure they already thought our age gap strange. But I didn’t care what they thought. Because right now, we were happy.

“I’m the dork you love, though.” I whispered against his lips.

“Indubitably,” he mumbled back, starting to laugh at the way the word sounded in our teenage love-like delirium.

“Now who’s the dork.” I teased as I smoothed my hands over his shoulders.

“Hm. Still you. And a little bit me, too.”

Laughter was bursting from me again.

“You have grass in your hair, idiot.” Before he could do anything about it, my hands were all over it, ruffling his hair wildly out of place. He just squeezed his eyes shut, letting me ruin any semblance of maturity or control from his appearance.

“Wow. Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” I chirped, accepting the small peck he gave me before he started to retreat from his spot above me.

“You ready to head home?”

“Yeah, just about,” he sighed like it was a terrible thing to do. He hadn’t even wanted to come on this picnic!

“I promised to check you for ticks, after all.”

Ah, the real thing we were both looking forward to. Although, I was sure he was going to take it way too seriously for a few minutes before we devolve into sex on the bathroom floor.

“Mmm. I’m thrilled.” I replied honestly, struggling to sit up now that my body had already slipped into Spencer Reid is on Top of You mode. It was one of those rare moments when I wondered if there really was a female version of blue balls, because I was almost certain I had it.

“I have to stop at the bank first, though. I’ll go throw this stuff in the car and we can just walk over.”

“Sure thing, old man.” I huffed as I stood up, holding the much lighter basket while he collected the blanket. Once he took it all from me, I glanced over at the nearby bench with a pout.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“You’re cute,” he smiled, kissing my cheek like it were a more serious goodbye, “I’ll be right back.”

While I waited for him, I cautiously watched the large, dark clouds rolling over the horizon. They threatened to swallow the sunshine that we’d basked in less than hour before. I tried not to think anything of it.

It wasn’t a metaphor; it wasn’t an omen. It was just the weather.

Spencer must have seen the anxiety, because when he came back, he gingerly placed his arms around me from behind, resting his head on my chin.

“I guess we have good timing. It looks like it’s about to storm.” I absently spoke, my eyes still fixed on the sky.

“Yeah, typical finicky Virginia weather, I guess.”

I wasn’t sure if I actually heard it in his voice or made it up, but I swore Spencer was also trying to stop himself from thinking something of the rain. I was probably just being paranoid. It was just a storm. They happened.

“Well, let’s get going so you can cash your check in person like an eighty year old man.” I joked, grabbing his hand and dragging him back towards the exit to the park.

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. There are other people my age who don’t trust cell phone banking transactions.”

“Are there, though?”

He just shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth it to get into it with me. Typical young kids, he must have thought, so irresponsible. But he didn’t say it, just held my hand on the short, quiet walk to the ornate building on the corner of two busy streets.

I swung our hands dramatically back and forth, earning an unamused, but still playful, glare from him.

“Your age is showing,” he pointed out before licking his lips and avoiding my eyes. I glared right back before responding, “Your stick-in-the-mud-ness is showing.”

“Not a word. Not a phrase. Not a thing.”

He stopped our hands dead in their tracks as he crossed the threshold, and for a second, I thought he was going to seriously be a spoilsport. But right when I least expected it, he swung our hands again and I nearly smacked into another person.

We both laughed, with me blurting out a frantic, “I’m sorry!”

“So immature,” he chastised, shaking his head with disapproval.

“I can’t believe you. You are such an asshole!”  

The familiar hum and beeping of the metal detectors threatened to dislodge memories from the back of my mind, and I shook my head to try to get rid of them again. Spencer glanced over with concern but didn’t mention it.

I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk about it. Once we had passed security, he settled into the line like he’d done it a million times before. But me, being a normal person who used my banking app to cash checks, felt strangely out of place.

Figuring it might be a minute, and that the ride home would be significantly longer, I decided to go get any residual dirt and grass out of my hair. After all, it would get in the way of our tick searching activities.

“Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere.” I pointed an accusing finger at him as my arm slipped from around his. His hand followed me until he couldn’t hold on any longer, an innocent, lovesick smile on his face.

“You know I could never leave you behind.”

As cheesy as it was, it still made me smile. My heart ached with the saccharine sweetness of his affections. I’d gotten so used to them so fast; I couldn’t even imagine a world without them anymore.

“Don’t miss me too much, Dr. Reid.”

“You know I will, little girl.”

That storm cloud feeling was brewing in my chest again as I pressed a kiss to my fingers, blowing it across the ever-growing distance between us. Why did he feel so far away so suddenly?

I tried not to pay it any mind, humming You Are My Sunshine and imagining Spencer’s terrible singing voice instead. Looking at my reflection, I realized why my cheeks had been getting sore. Because there, staring back at me, was a smile on a neutral face.

I don’t even know when it happened, but it hit me in that bathroom of a bank at 12:47pm on a Saturday that I had fallen madly in love with Spencer Reid. And it suddenly made sense, why he didn’t want me to say it yet. Because I hadn’t realized it yet.

But now I had, and it filled every cell in my body. The blush on my cheeks was evidence of just how much I needed to let it out, to scream it from the rooftops, or at least in the lobby of this old bank.

There were so few things that could overwhelm the emotions I was feeling and rob me of this moment. My brain rioted against any sign of darkness or despair, clinging to the hope that I would be able to tell him soon.

So, when explosive booms rang through the bank, for a long second, I tried to convince myself they were thunder.

But they weren’t. The storm had indeed come, but it wasn’t responsible for the sounds that caused my heart to tear in two and shatter against the floor. The people outside the room were not screaming at the wrath of God, displayed with lightwork in the sky.

It was not thunder.

They were gunshots.

 —————————————————

| Part 14 |

Saved by the Devil (13/?) - Thomas Shelby

Summary: Its time for Epsom, what could go wrong? (Sorry about my summaries they are terrible) 

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Fem!reader (romantic) 

Warning: S*xual Assault  There is a  scene where the reader is put in uncomfortable position with the general. Reader takes the place of Lizzie in luring the General. And stuff does go down but i was not graphic in writing it cause i was a bit uncomfortable writing anything beyond what i did write and i didn't want to trigger anyone. When the scene does come up i will put a another warning to let you know. 

A/N: Hello, this chapter was so so so fun to write. I am so excited for all of you to read and hopefully tell me what you think cause i think this just might be one of my favorite chapters so far... Have a lovely night and see you soon :)

It was time. And for the first moment in your life you were beyond scared. It didn’t show as you got into the back seat the Shelby boys, Arthur and John, in front. No sign of Thomas Shelby anywhere.

“Boys, its good to see you.” You say genuinely. You hadn’t seen them since the last little mission at the horse auction. This time though will be different, you had a lovely knife strapped to your thigh. All your injuries healed and you were beyond prepared for this. You liked the brothers, though you didn’t know them too well. They seemed to take kindly to you too as they nodded at your statement and asked how you were.

The ride felt short. Though it had to have been longer since you were far from London. You didn’t even know what you were thinking about the entire time. You knew that Thomas was waiting for the three of you and more. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him. The other night when you guys had almost-

You shake your head of the memory. Remembering that you were just a second choice in all this. Grace had rejected him. Then he called you and like a dog you came running. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. But never again would that happen. He didn’t want you and neither did you. And after all this was done, you would never have to see each other again.

 You already had word with Trinity, you were leaving tomorrow. Everything was planned and ready to go. Thomas never told you about a new passport or id, you had requested. But you couldn’t wait for him. The nightmares were getting worse and you swore that when you talked on the phone the past week, you could hear breathing on the other line. There was no time to waste, it was time to go.

 The two brothers and you head up to the front of the Epsom gates, there you see Tommy Shelby and the rest of the gang. His aunt Polly in attendance eyeing you up and down but no saying a word. Her stare this time not making you nervous, instead you see it filled with curiosity.

 “Alright everyone’s, here,” Thomas says not making eye contact with you as he claps his hands together, “here’s the agenda.”

 And he takes everyone down to the plan, leaving out of course the part of the assassination of the general. All he says is that he will provide a distraction for everyone in order to take Sabini racetrack licenses. No one asks questions as he finishes the meeting. Everyone scatters to different parts as they enter the races.

 “(Y/n)” you hear your name fall out of his mouth. You look at each other and theres a pause. There’s million things unsaid at this moment that you both want to say. But don’t.

 “Keep an eye out.” He finally says moving past you, disappearing in the crowd.

 And that’s what you do. You keep an eye out. You thought you might have more significance on this day but maybe not. Maybe this is all you get to do. You remember back then when you had worked for your father. The man had always let you in on the action, no matter how dangerous. You didn’t care either because that was life, it was normal for you. Your mother, rest her soul, was the only one who had ever fought for you to stay home, go to school, date and live normal. But she never got her way.

 You watched some of the peaky blinder, the ones that you could pin point walk around the arena. They all were tailing some of Sabini’s men which you have seen maybe one or twice. You tried to keep an eye out for Sabini but couldn’t find the man anywhere. You did see an inspector Campbell, the man who had brutally beat you not too long ago. You stare hard at him remembering the moments as if it was yesterday.

 “Got a vendetta against the man?”

 You turn around and come face to face with Polly, she smokes a cigarette like a royalty into the air. Her eyes never leave the inspectors either. You can see the pain and rage in her eyes. You don’t pry.

 You turn your gaze back on the filthy man who walks with his cane, laughing and smiling with the people in the crowd.

 “Men like that shouldn’t be allowed to walk on this earth.” You say.

 She nods and for a split second there seems to be a connection between the two of you with your shared pain and hatred for the man. You both don’t say anything else as the man leaves out of your views.

Polly leaves first, without saying any other words. You stay in you spot scanning the crowd. Probably taking your job a bit too serious.

You can hear the laughter and cheerful cries of everyone. The experiment in the arena could be felt by everyone. You spot military men in a group together laughing and talking. You know that the tallest one is the general from the photos Thomas had showed you.

You also see a blonde curls and pink hat looking lost among the sea of people. It was a face you had only recently come to known. Grace. You leave your spot feeling the embarrassment from the other night all over again. You wonder around the place feeling bored and just wanting to leave.

“(y/n)?” a tall man who looked to be a preacher came toward you. You had never met him before.

 “yes?” you say cautiously, remembering your in a public space, no ones gonna do anything.

 “Tommy’s looking for you.” He says.

 “what does he want?” you ask. The man just shrugs. And you sigh and follow him through the crowd.

 Thomas stands on top of the staircase, looking anxious and pale.

 “Found her boss.” The man says leaving you with him.

 “Alright, good. (Y/n) come on. And unbutton the first two buttons.” He demands flicking the end of his cigarette he had just finished.

 “Excuse me?” you say crossing your arms and standing still.

 Thomas stares at you and looks baffled at your disobedience as if this was his first time meeting you.

 “Please, (Y/n). I’ll explain inside.” His tone quitter and pleading.

 You follow him but don’t unbutton anything of yours. He leads you into a room that looks like only the rich and royalty would eat here. You felt out of place immediately. You both don’t talk as you sit across from one another. You watch him put another cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he talks.

 “Look, I didn’t want to ask you this…”

 “Just tell me, no need to prolong it.”

 “I need you to get him isolated.”  You hear his words and double meaning behind them. You can feel your stomach turning in disgust of what’s he asking you. Your face is kept neutral as you talk.

 “What happened to following him till he was alone to piss?” You ask

 “Doesn’t matter.”

 “Look, I’m not-“

 He grabs your hand across the table and holds it tightly. It burns but you don’t let go. You stare at your intertwined hands.

 “I don’t want you to do this. I don’t want to think of you anywhere alone with him. But right now, I trust you and only you to do this. Please. Or else I’m fucked.”

You wanted to be snarky and petty. You wanted to say “Ask Grace”. You wanted to say screw you and leave. You wanted to slap him or kick him. But you saw the sincerity in his voice. You saw the fear in his eyes that he always seemed to hide.

 “okay fine. Ill do it.” You say.

 His grip doesn’t soften as he continues to hold you. “Thank you.” He says softly.

 Thomas leaves you in the fancy room by yourself. He went over details of where to lure over the general. It was a place that would be very private, no witnesses. Thomas said that he would be there in 15 minutes, he promised that nothing would happen to you. You could tell he wanted to keep that promise but you weren’t sure if he could.

You saw the general at another table with other military men. He noticed you right away. His eye never leaves your figure as you sat by yourself.

 ‘too easy’ you thought to yourself as the general himself came over to you.

 He introduced himself, kissed your hand like a gentleman might, and sat where Thomas was not minutes ago. It was light conversation before you decide to break it. There was no other way to lure him, other than sex. And that what you did. Pretending to be a prostitute wasn't hard. You had been around some your whole life. You knew the lingo and prices and tricks. But not everyone could do it. You knew that. As you took the mans wandering hand off your knee from under the table and guided him away from the fancy room. You took him down hallways and corridors, trying to properly remember the map Thomas had shown you.

                                           *********Warning*********

“Where are you taking me?” The general asks flirtatiously.

 “Somewhere private.” You answer.

 Finally you found the spot of no witness and people. It was quite and literally no one around. You feel the Generals hot mouth on your neck, biting at you. You fake a giggle at the action but your stomach was turning in disgust. You took a quick glance at your watch. You got here too early. 5 more minutes until Thomas was here.

 You can feel the generals fingers wander to the hem of your dress, rushing to pull it up. You push it down and step away from him, laughing a bit nervously at the contact.

 “Don’t be a tease now, love.” He says

 “I just us to take our time.” You lie and smile sweetly. You had never been in this position before and you were very nervous. You could feel your hands shaking as you tried to gain control hoping to stop  it.

“I don’t have time.” The general says grabbing you harshly and turning you around.

 “Wait, wait.” You say feeling violated like never before.

 You kick him hard in the stomach, causing him to step backward from you. You run to the other wall, wanting nothing but distance from the guy.

 “You bitch.” He sneers coming toward you with an ugly smile.

 You pull you knife out of your thigh holster and point it toward him. He stops upon seeing a weapon. And then he laughs.

 “How adorable.” He says

 You glance at your watch again. Its past the time Thomas should have been here. You feel a bit of dread poor over you. You don’t know how you were gonna fight off some military man. Your skills weren’t up to par on his, you knew that. Maybe enough to cause damage and run. Maybe.

 He stalks toward you with all the confidence in the world. His face gives it off like this a game for him, he likes that you’re not giving in, that you’re fighting against him. It’s an inconvenience but he likes a challenge.

 You step forward, slashing him across the cheek. He doesn’t react to it as he grabs your wrist. His giant hand pushing it back at an odd angle. You try to use your other hand to hit him but it does nothing. You’re forced to drop the knife. He pushes you against the wall. His eyes animalistic and you cry in pain as your head makes contact, hard with the wood.

 You see black spots around your vision as you hear the man say something to you, you don’t know what. His hands roam around your body but you focus on anything but. You hear the zipping of pants and your hearts begins to race at the thought of whats to come next.  Tears slip down your eyes as you think of no one coming to save you.

 “Russell!” You hear a familiar voice yell.

 The general leans off your body, you slide down on the wall looking up to see Thomas with his pistol pointed at the general. The gun clicks.

 Nothing happens.

 “Fuck!” Thomas yells as the General rushes over to Thomas, the pair beginning to fight each other.

 You scramble to your feet, feeling awfully dizzy. You see Thomas gun on the floor. The men continue fighting each other. The general trying to reach his gun on his hip.

 You take Thomas’s gun aiming it, but nothing was coming out. It was jammed.

 You see the general push his finger into Thomas eye, you can see the gun finally in his hand. Thomas knows it too as he grabs at that arm hoping to take it from him. You think fast kicking the general’s legs, making him fall.  The gun that was in his hand now on the floor. Which Thomas quickly grabs aiming it right under the generals chin and shooting without hesitation.

 The two of you pant heavily as it finally is over. Thomas looks over at you and his shoulder slump.

 “Are you okay?” he asks.

 “I’m fine,” you say, forgetting how badly you must look with your tear stained face, “Where were you?”

 He shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” He reaches a hand toward you wiping away the tears that were still falling, “You’re crying.”

You didn’t know what to say as he strokes your cheek, catching runaway tears that you had no control over. You try to steady your breathing, staring into his steel blue eyes.

 “I will never ask you to do anything like that again.” He says.

 You nod at his words, touching the hand that’s on your face and gently pulling it away.

 “We need to go separate ways. Or else we’re suspects.” You say.

 “Meet me by the where- where they take the bets ay?”

 He stares at you like he wants to say more but again, he doesn’t. You both walk separate directions. You pick up your knife on the way out, leaving the rest of the crime scene alone.

  You walk down the way to the betting place. You can see all the police and military men rushing to where you had just come from. You know the peaky blinders, now, were threatening Sabinis men, burning the licenses at this moment.

 You stand by yourself, waiting until you see a familiar face once again. This time she notices you too. The beautiful blonde walks toward you.

 “Hello.” She says.

 “Hi,” You say, “is youre looking for-“

 “I’m not. I’m just here to place my own bet.” She says holding a ticket up.

 You both stand in uncomfortable silence.

 “I did see him earlier,” She says eyeing you from the side. You look forward as she speaks, “I professed my love, told him I would leave my husband for him and everything.”

 You swallow a huge lump in your throat that you didn’t even realize was there. She continues speaking.

 “He told me no,” You turn to her baffled as you always assumed, he was head over heels in love with the beautiful Grace, “I mean I known for awhile what his answer would be but I had to give it one last try. Oh don’t look surprised.”

 “I- “

 “You should count yourself lucky. He doesn’t love too often but when he does,” She takes a pause and her eyes though are focused on you don’t seem to be looking at you. Almost as it she’s lost in a memory. She sighs, “He just really does.”

 Before you can say anything else to the woman, she leaves with a smile. A headache begins to form on the back of your head where you had hit your head earlier. You leave the crowded betting room, the noise and smoky air becoming too much for you.

 You’ll find Mr. Shelby later. With all that has happened today, it was becoming a lot and you needed a moment to just process it all. As you walk alone you spot two men holding a man by his two arms. He had a cap on like the other peaky blinders. You follow them Noticing another man leading them. You finally see his face.

 Your mouth talks before your you can think.

 “Thomas!” You cry out.

 His head jolts up looking for the source of your voice. The men bring his neck down, keeping his face looking at the ground. All of the worst things begin to swirl around your mind. The plan didn’t work, they caught him, the inspector double crossed him, Sabini had men ready to take him out. As well as moments, the two of you had shared that now were going to be just past memories of what ifs and unsaid words that should have been spoken.

You follow them as best as you can, watch them as they put him in the back of some car, a gun pointed towards him as they close the doors. You couldn’t help him. You watched the car drive away feeling useless and guilty. Wishing to have done more. You see his cap on the ground and pick it up. You look around for someone who could save the day but everyone was in their own happy world. And you were holding on to a hat feeling a loss like never before.  

read pt.13b

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Eldarya Come-Back

[Disponibile in Italiano qui]

Eldarya EU servers are back up. For people out of the loop, a fire destroyed both the servers and the backups of Eldarya. It's not beemoov's fault.

BR and US servers, stored somewhere else, are perfectly ok.

The FR server accounts were lost, but the story retrieved.

All the others (IT HU PL DE ES RU) have both the accounts and the story wiped out. ANE has been re-translated/Recovered, but origins is currently only playable in english.

Only the first 2 episodes of ANE have been translated so far. Errata corrige: PL, RU, ES haven't released any ANE episodes yet. DE IT and HU have the first 2 available in english. DE and HU appear to be broken.

Level 7 and episode 6 of origins (completed) are needed to access the market.

BUG REPORT: Currently there is a bug where if you change the name of your companion for the first time after evolving it you lose 100gc. please take care.

BUG REPORT: If you already have a companion and you play episode 3 of Origins you won't be able to hatch the companion Kero gives you and you might get stuck right after "Objective: Go to Kero’s room to complete the Companion Questionnaire" 

Accounts must be recreated. You have to create a new account and, if you ever bought maana or gold coins, follow the instructions below.

I REPEAT, ACCOUNTS ARE LOST ON THE EU SERVERS. YOU MUST MAKE A NEW ACCOUNT. (sorry, I get this one a lot)

FAQ of sort under the cut, original here. Italian translation will be here starting tomorrow. warning: it’s long XD

♦ WHAT DO I GET?

Everyone gets 1000 maanas, 100 gold coins and 350.000 ancient coins upon creating an account. You will also get 5 big exp potions, 10 small, 5 big energy potions, 10 small, 1 evolution potion and 3 incubators. You will also get the companion Sogiluv... it's not very good. You can retrieve some (most?) of the currency you bought by contacting the support (see below), you will be credited maana/ancient coins depending on your purchases; once you get the money back the 3 spin-offs will automatically unlock, along with the bank outfits.

The first companion to hatch will require no incubation time.

BR and US Server got 10.000 AC for their troubles too, but no maana or GC or items.

♦ I ENDED UP IN THE WRONG GUARD.

Please check this page. Re-doing the 3rd episode of Origins WON'T help.

♦ DECORATING GUARDIENNE'S ROOM, EP 5-6.

If you want to know how to get the guy you like AND have the room decorated by him, or other questions along these lines check this link

♦ WHAT'S THE BEST COMPANION TO USE?

Since you can now get any companion you like if you want to get the "best" one in terms of energy/luck ratio you should consider these:

PLESE NOTE: Hatching an adult companion (Chiromagnus, Blobbiathan) has the advantage of giving you an adult companion AND saving the evolution potion. This could be nice to have, for example, during a map event, you can use all the energy of your companion after midnight, then hatch another egg, use all the energy of the baby, evolve with the potion, use all the energy of the adult. If well played , with a baby companion, it means potentially 400-500 energy to use on the map

"Best" Companion, bought food (36 maana): Blobbiathan Energy 170 (already an adult when hatched) Luck 360 - 400

"Best" Companion, bought food (30 maana or less):

1. Chiromagnus Energy 160 (already an adult when hatched) Luck 340-390

2. Zarali Energy 90-160 Luck 350-380

3. Ocemas Energy 100-150 Luck 310-360

4. Ciralak Energy 110-160 Luck 300-350

4. Rawist Energy 110-160 Luck 300-350

"Best" Companion, farmed food (in exploration):

1. Alfeli: Energy 80-150 Fortuna 320 -370

2. Gallytrot: Energy 110-150 Fortuna 320-370

I consider the Alfeli "better" because its food, elven grapes, comes from a 20energy/30 min area, Mont sizhe, compared to the food for the gallytrot, gallyflore, from the Cave (35 energy/60 min).

♦ WHAT CAN I USE ANCIENT COINS FOR?

There is a special ancient coins shop (Until May 9th) with ALL the items ever released in the game. I do not advise using them for Origins illustrations but I suggest you grab some of the rarest items at least. It's among the boutiques.

BANK ITEMS WILL ONLY APPEAR AFTER RETRIEVING THE PURCHASED CURRENCY (? Im not sure about this, some are there from the beginning and I'm still waiting on the email I sent for the currency)

♦ HOW LONG DOES THE SHOP LAST?

May 9th

♦ HOW DO I GET MY BOUGHT MAANA/GOLD COINS BACK?

Go to "your account" by clicking on your name (top right). There is a button to retrieve the credit, for many payment options there is a simple form to fill.

However, if you paid by credit card or paypal you have to send an email to the support (you can get the adress by clicking on "other"). In the mail you should include:

Credit card:

- Old/New Username (if they aren't the same) - The email address associated to the accounts - The date and the amount in €/$ of a recent transaction (max 12 months old, the most recent, the better). - Last 4 digits of the credit card you used. - I'm not sure what happens if you you used more than a credit card, I'd suggest sending one transaction per credit card and telling them about this issue.

Paypal:

- Old/New Username (if they aren't the same) - The email address associated to the accounts - If it's not the same email address, the email address/username of the paypal account. - The date and the transaction ID* of a recent transaction (max 12 months old, the most recent, the better).

* Transaction ID's can be found in the confirmation email you get when you make a payment or on the paypal website, in the payment history section.

One ID should suffice, they can retrieve them all from there.

♦ WHAT DO YOU ADVISE WE BUY?

On a general note, do not buy things that can be found at all times, like explorations items, other than that, anything you like, but I'd at least consider to buy/play the following:

*** PLEASE NOTE: I've heard rumors that during each event, you will be able to find things in explorations from the previous events of that kind, so easter should have the other easter events' outfits on the map. I'd wait a bit to spend the coins to see if we get any confirmation, the store will be open until May 9th.

HOW CAN I KNOW WHERE (SOMETHING) IS FROM?

Wiki. Or This wonderful site. Or the wikinyan (c'est moi!), I don't mind answering specific messages, I'll update this post with any question I get. If you don't know the french name you can find it out in the French shop.

1. COMPANIONS:

Other than the event companions that you like you should probably consider...

GET:

Minaloo and Draflayel. These only comes from the purro'swap. Once the store closes, if you're unlucky, you'll never see them again.

Calunko and Bunraku. They're 2 of the japan expo rewards and with the merchandise boutique closed, they're incredibly hard to obtain, you need a physical code.

Chiromagnus, while you can get this from explorations, the scroll for it is extremely rare, and 2000 AC is stealing it.

ON THE FENCE:

The Seryphon , Poulpatata (both of them) and the chestok. These can be found on AH but require Gold coins to get in exploration. Personally I won't get them, but it's personal preference.

SKIP:

All the normal explorations companions, no matter how rare. They'll start popping up at the market soon enough

2. CLOTHES:

This is clearly completely at your own discretion, Events and ranking rewards should be considered. However there are some times never released before, like the fireflies so...

GET:

Fireflies. A beta-tester reward item, they were never made available to purchase before.

Steam girl set (Total: 1594 AC). It's the japan expo 2017 reward, 9 pieces

Maana demon and its other 3 colorations is a skin never seen in the game, previously reserved for admins. It could however be added to explorations, like other items of this kind.

Frency French was once an inside joke for ChiNoMiko, has not been made available to the public before, you can buy the skin, the hairstyle (it's a special jackson), Frency French Top, etc it's just a joke, but it's still something you won't see again, if you like it.

ON THE FENCE:

Depending how much you hate alchemy, you can consider some alchemy stuff.

Some rare Skins like Nan'vi, that could be hard to find in explorations

Rainbow and Pearly hair colours, if you like them, they can be rare/offered only in rare circumstances.

Crylasm set (526 AC), top, socks, hat. It was a special Christmas outfit released one piece at a time during Christmas events of 2016, 2017, 2018

Healer support Set (400 AC), made of 7 pieces, it was a special gift given at the beginning of the 2020 pandemic)

Rainbow Spirit (1594 AC), released for the 2020 Pride month (sorta)

Guard ranking rewards, the total il 11.980 AC (thanks Desdhi ♥)

SKIP:

Anything normally on the shop, or from (normal) map explorations.

3.ILLUSTRATIONS:

GET:

Possibly the event ones you like the best, there should be 42 event illustrations for a total of 105.000 ac

SKIP:

If you have the time to farm, the episodes' ones. They're way cheaper with replay, with a few exceptions (see below).

ON THE FENCE:

There are a few episodes where it's cheaper to buy the other illustrations than replay, I'll make a list below.

♦HOW MUCH IS... 

EGGS

As "one time" I mean it's either now or never, so exclusive items or event items, unless they come back with their event.

No Explorations is events + rare +the stuff  that you would pay gc to get the bait for

All the eggs: 222.400,

One-time + rare ones: Chiromagnus, Minaloo Draflayel: 164.500

one-time: 158.000

No explorations (+GC/rare ones): 180.700

BACKGROUNDS:

All: why do you hate yourself? don't. it should be around 5660

Events only: 2460

EPISODES:

Event Illustrations are 2500 each, Episodes' 2000

It's generally cheaper to play the episode to unlock illustrations. Coins won't disappear, so if you can slowly make your way up you will end up saving A LOT of Ancient Coins. During episodes, each dialogue is 2 AC

(cost is rounded up) (!) = Replaying is not worth it, money wise (*) = more expensive than 1 illustration, but still worth it in the grand scheme of things

(how much it costs playing Origins VS how much it costs at the shop)

Episode 1 - Free - 1 Illustration, play once (FREE vs 2000) Episode 2 - Free - 3 Illustrations, play twice (FREE vs 6000) Episode 3 - Free - 1 Illustrations, play once (FREE vs 2000) Episode 4 - Free - 2 Illustrations, play once (FREE vs 4000) Episode 5 - Around 1200 maana - 3 illustrations, play 3 times (3600 vs 6000) Episode 6 - Around 1500 maana - 2 illustrations, play once (1500 vs 4000) Episode 7 - 1200maana ca - 4 Illustrations, play 4 times (4800 vs 8000) Episode 8 - 1700maaana ca - 4 Illustrations, play 3 times (5100 vs 8000) Episode 9 - 2000 maana ca - 1 Illustration, play once (2000 vs 2000) Episode 10 - 1500 maana ca - 3 Illustrations, play 3 times (4500 vs 6000) Episode 11 - 1900 maana ca - 2 illustrations, play once (1900 vs 4000) Episode 12 - 1500 maana ca - 3 illustrations, play 3 times (4500 vs 6000) Episode 13 - 1500 maana ca - 3 illustrations, play 3 times (4500 vs 6000) Episode 14 - 1500 maana ca - 2 illustrations, play once (1500 vs 4000) (!) Episode 15 - 2500 maana ca - 3 illustrations, play 3 times (7500 vs 6000, it's better to buy the other 2!) (!) Episode 16 - 2150 maana ca - 1 illustration, play once (2150 vs 2000 it's still worth to play the episode) (*) Episode 17 - 2450 maana ca - 3 illustrations, play ONCE (2450 vs 6000) Episode 18 - 1900 maana ca - 6 illustrations, play 3 times (5700 vs 12000) Episode 19 - 1700 maana ca - 4 illustrations, play 4 times (6800 vs 8000) Episode 20 - 1800 maana ca - 5 illustrations, play 4 times (7200 vs 10000) Episode 21 - 1800 maana ca - 3 illustrations, play once (1800 vs 6000) Episode 22 - 1700 maana ca - 4 illustrations, play 3 times (6800 vs 8000) (!) Episode 23 - 2100 maana ca - 4 illustrations, play 4 times (8400 vs 8000, it's better to buy the other 3!) Episode 24 - 2000 maana ca - 2 Illustrations, play once (2000 vs 4000) (!) Episode 25 - 2500 maana ca - 3 illustrations, play once (2500 vs 6000) (!) Episode 26 - 2200 maana ca - 4 Illustrations, play three times (6600 vs 8000, it's better to play once for 2 illustrations then buy the other 2!) Episode 27 - 1800 maana ca - 4 Illustrations, play 3 times (5400 vs 8000) Episode 28 - 1700 maana ca - 5 illustrations, play 3 times (5100 vs 10000) (!) Episode 29 - 3250 maana ca - 4 illustrations, play 4 times (13000 vs 8000 it's a huge ac loss to replay) (!) Episode 30 - 2400 maana ca - 4 illustrations, play 4 times. (9600 vs 8000 it's better to play once and buy the other 3)

Grand total so far: 93 Illustrations, 71 playthroughs, 58 suggested.  Extimated maana/Ancient coins: 129.000 replay eveything vs  186.000 buying everything. Optimal:  122.750

IF you play everything once then buy the rest you should spend around 146000

* Optimal means buying the illustrations where needed before May 9th, then play all the episodes at your leisure.  The episodes where you'd have to buy illustrations are: 15, 23, 26, 29, 30.

Please remember that if you buy the illustrations then you decide to play the game you will ended up paying not only 186.000 ac for the illustrations, but also roughly 60.000 to play all the episodes. The only case where my racommendation is to buy the illustrations is if you really don't care about origins or you only want a few illustrations

one for sorrow

Pairing: Gen, M!Detective/Mason Word Count:  3483 Summary: Juniper Fenn reflects on memories, nursery rhymes, loneliness, and wanting to be wanted.

Just a little (uh... kinda big, actually?) character study for my soft boy, Juni! It wound up a lot more emotional than I originally intended, but I like having this insight into his character.

CW for (implied) deadnaming, misgendering, coming out, and in the last portion a non-graphic post-sex scene with some allusions to said sex ahfdsjh.

                                     One for sorrow, two for joy.

He thought the needle would hurt more than it did. He closes his eyes and looks away, and the artist gives him the hairy eyeball when he clutches at Tina’s knee, like she’s afraid he’ll jump off the bench and bolt for the door. He wants to ask if that’s happened before, but he thinks he’s made enough of a fool of himself so far.

“You sure you’re good?” she asks, giving him an out. Somehow, that just strengthens his resolve.

He takes a slow breath and nods, closing his eyes.

He hears the buzzing, and when the machine first touches skin, he almost jumps, but he’s more worried about looking like more of a baby than he already does than he is startled, so he bites his lips and forces himself to holds still. And it does hurt, but not like he thought it would. He squints one eye open to watch the progress of the first line over his skin. He expects to be repulsed, like when he’s having bloodwork done, and he has to look away from the needle going into his arm. But this is different, somehow. Doesn’t make his stomach turn.

“This is the quietest I’ve ever seen you,” Tina teases, when the first wing has taken shape. He almost jumps again, but he manages to contain it to a twitch. He’s going to tip the artist as much as he’s able after this is done, just for dealing with someone as fidgety as him.

He chews at his lip. “It’s… I dunno. I wouldn’t say it feels good, but it’s kind of soothing, in a weird way?”

She leans over, watching, and the artist gives her a bit of a look, so she backs up again. “Have you told your mum?” she asks.

He snorts out a laugh and looks away, back at the stencil on his arm that will soon be filled in with black feathers and ringed with flowers. “Of course not. She’d probably kill me.”

“She doesn’t like tattoos?” Tina tilts her head, watching his face like she’s waiting for him to start whining about how it hurts. She’s always been the tougher of the two of them, and he’s got no illusions about that, so he’s sort of proud of himself for keeping his cool—as much as he’s got anyway.

He shrugs the arm that’s not under the machine, and wonders when he’ll get his next tattoo. He’s already got ideas for more, and knowing that it’s not so bad as he was worried it would be is exciting. Not to mention, it’s something that’s just for him. Not for anyone else. He’s… never really done anything like this before. “I don’t know what she likes, but I doubt she’d approve.”

She sucks her teeth and he squeezes her knee again when she gives him that soft, sad look she sometimes does when his mum comes up in conversation. “What’s it going to be?” she asks suddenly. Tina’s a good friend, changing the subject before he can get moody about it.

“A magpie,” he says softly, looking back down to watch the lone bird slowly taking shape on his skin.

                                       Three for a girl, four for a boy.

He asks what happened to all the pretty paintings around the house when he’s ten, because they disappear sometime after one of Mum’s visits, when she seemed more distant than usual. Maybe she hopes he won’t notice, but he misses them immediately. The house is too bare without them, it feels so lonely. It’s always been lonely, ever since Dad passed, but the bare walls make it even lonelier. Mum brushes it off, of course. He’s used to it at this point, so he doesn’t push her, but he’s also stubborn, so he goes looking. He’s even more determined when she tries to shut him up by replacing them all with clean, impersonal prints in neat little frames. He finds them in the attic, tucked away in a box, each one slipped carefully into a protective sleeve or folder and wrapped in tissue paper. He finds a dreamy matted watercolor of him as a baby, fat and freckly and smiling with no teeth, and he has to take a minute to sit down and cry as quietly as possible before he can start going through the rest. There’s a folder of scrawled pencil portraits, too. He finds one of Mum sitting on a pier, peeking back over her shoulder with her hair blowing in the wind. She’s smiling. He can’t remember the last time he saw her smile.

There’s a self portrait that makes him laugh through his tears, because the reflective surface Dad seems to have used as his mirror is a Christmas ornament, so his face is distorted, one eye huge, his tongue out, drawing himself drawing. He keeps that one for sure, and a few of the other ones he thinks he can get away with. An oil pastel of a wooden swing dripping with honeysuckle, a colored pencil drawing of the library, a few studies of people and plants and animals, and another watercolor of the three magpies, sitting in a juniper tree.

There are three magpies painted on his bedroom wall, from back when it was his nursery. Dad painted them right after he was born, before they brought him home from the hospital. They’d waited until he arrived to know what his gender would be. Of course, he went and messed that up, like he did most things. Sometimes he wonders if Dad would be disappointed, or if he’d think it was funny.

They used to be above his crib, and then his bed when he outgrew that, but he moves his bed to the opposite side of his room when he’s fourteen, and covers them with a poster. He thinks for sure Mum’s going to give him an earful about it, but he’s surprised she hasn’t tried to cover them up herself. He supposes it’s not really an issue, since when she is home, it’s not like she spends any time in his bedroom.

And then he's sixteen, and he’s been practicing his watercolor for years at this point. Sometimes, he creeps into the attic when he’s got the house to himself, rifles through Dad’s paintings, studies his style for as long as he can. He’s been old enough not to need a proper nanny for years now, though someone comes to check up on him frequently and make sure he’s got food and necessities, but beyond that he’s got plenty of time alone. He sits in the attic until he's sore from the wooden floor, trying to think of how Dad’s hands might have looked while he worked, the speed and angle of his brush strokes. He doesn’t think he can find anything new at this point, as many times as he’s snuck up here to look at Dad’s work, but out of the blue, he finds what might have been a really nice landscape, if it weren’t marred by fat little handprints in bright yellow and green, as if he’d smeared his hands across the palette the second Da took his eyes off it, and slapped them down in the middle of the paper. He comes back to it a lot, when he spends time in the attic, because when he looks at it, he swears he can hear what he imagines Dad’s laugh sounded like, his voice calling him a little menace with all the fondness in the world. 

And then he’s eighteen, and he’s alone on his birthday. Mum calls, tells him she loves him and she would come and visit him later on, so they could do something together, but she couldn’t take the day off. She tells him how proud she is of her daughter being all grown up, and he winces, but keeps his mouth shut.

And then he maybe gets a little bit drunk, drags out his paints and brushes, rifles through the portfolio hidden carefully in the back of his closet, and finds the painting with the juniper tree and the three magpies

He takes another shot to steady his nerves, and paints in a fourth.

                                      Five for silver, six for gold.

He shouldn’t be surprised Mum doesn't come to his graduation, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. She’s busy, she’s always been busy, she’s been busy since he was a toddler.

He was stupid to believe anything he did would be important enough for her to bother with. To believe that he could matter to anyone enough.

Tina’s stepmum had more foresight than he did, inviting him along to her and Tina’s celebration dinner at a fancy restaurant out of town, and he has to take a minute to cry in the bathroom after they proudly present him with a messily wrapped gift and a card that practically explodes with glitter when he open it, but he can’t even pretend to be annoyed because it has his name in it, and while he's trying very hard not to break down crying in public, Tina hugs him so tightly his spine creaks and tells him she couldn’t have wished for a better brother.

When they drop him off at home, his eyes are still red and a bit wet, he’s full of good food and affection, and he’s smiling like an idiot in spite of the fact that he can’t stop sniffling. The heavy sterling silver magpie skull charm rests against his collarbone, the weight comforting in a way he can’t hope to put into words. He'll never forget Tina’s dewy, smiling eyes as she clasped it around his neck and told him proudly, “Now you’ve got two.'"

He falls into bed holding the charm, reluctant to take it off, but knowing he should put it somewhere safe before bed. He exhales a happy sigh, laughing a bit wetly to himself.

And then his phone vibrates in the pocket of his slacks, and his heart seizes in his chest.

He doesn’t have to check the ID to know who it is. Nobody ever calls him, and his eyes flicker anxiously to the pressed dress in its plastic garment bag still hanging untouched on the back of his closet door. He’d given Tina the expensive name-brand heels for her own graduation outfit, because even if he did want them, he couldn’t walk in the damn things anyway. Lucky for him, they wear the same size shoe.

He takes a moment to calm his breathing, but that means he has to fumble to answer the call before it ends, and he winces when he sees two more missed calls in his log. “Mum!” he blurts, his voice instinctively pitching higher. “Hi! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she tells him easily. “I’m sorry again I couldn’t make it today. There was  a—”

“A big project, I know,” he finishes. It’s always a project, or a trip, or a meeting. The details are always scant, but Mum knows how to make it sound big and important and in need of her attention. He’s tried not to be bitter about it, but there’s always been a part of him that wishes, for once, she’d decide he was important enough to need her attention. “It’s okay, Mum.” It’s not, it never was, but it would be selfish of him to tell her that. She’s got enough to worry about.

“Well, I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten, so I had a gift delivered. It should have arrived today.”

He bites back a sigh. He wonders if it would be easier if she had just forgotten. If it would hurt less than knowing she always made the decision not to see him. “Oh, I’ll go check!” he blurts, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into his voice as possible. He rolls out of bed and heads for the door, poking out to check the mailbox. Of course, inside there is a slim, rectangular package, wrapped in tidy brown paper. The address and names are printed on stickers.

He takes it inside with the phone tucked against his shoulder, weighing the box in his hands. It’s light, and he wants to be excited about whatever it is, but he’s suddenly drained from the day, from crying and laughing and crying some more.

The dining room, somehow, has always felt more lonely than anywhere else in the house, and he’s never been able to figure out why, but he puts the package on the table and starts picking at the neat wrapping. Mum is quiet on the other end of the phone, waiting, and Juni wants to break the odd silence, but can’t even begin to think of what to say. He wishes he didn’t bite his nails, because it takes him way too long to break into the pristine paper, and inside is a long red jewelry box. When he lifts the lid, there is a delicate gold necklace resting on a soft velvet pad, understated and objectively lovely, if not really his style, but it’s the note that flutters out of the box that catches his attention. His eyes skim the note, expecting her usual platitudes that he sometimes wonders if she has someone else type for her.

I am so proud of the woman you’ve become.

His breath leaves him in a painful, strangled rush, his lungs squeezing tight in his chest. And before Mum can speak, he blurts "I can't take this," trailed by a ragged sob.

“Of course you can,” she says gently, kindly. “I know how you get about expensive gifts, but really, it’s no trouble—”

His head fills with screaming static when she calls him what she’s always called him, what she doesn’t know better than to call him, because he’s never told her. He’s never had the chance, it’s never been the right time, it felt wrong not to do it in person, but whenever he sees her in person he feels like he shouldn’t waste the time with her by bringing up something so…

“My name is Juniper!” It explodes out of him, louder than he’s ever been with her, and it stuns her into silence. “I’m not your daughter!” he cries desperately, “I’m your son. You can’t be proud of the woman I’ve become, because I’m not a woman!” He sounds insane, he knows he does, shrill and frantic, but his heart is hammering so hard he feels dizzy, the walls are yawning wide around him, the dining room feels huge and so empty and so bleak. He’s never felt more alone in this dark, quiet house he’s spent his entire life rattling around in than he does in this exact moment, and it’s suffocating. His phone drops from shaking fingers onto the floor, and he drops with it, curling into a ball and struggling to remember how to breathe, dizzily hoping he won’t need to go scrambling for his inhaler. His fingers clench so tightly around the heavy silver charm he’s almost worried he’s going to snap the simple leather cord, but he needs to ground himself or he feels like he’ll dissolve entirely.

He hears Mum calling the name that’s not his, and when he finally manages to fumble his phone with nerveless fingers, he winces seeing the screen is cracked. “I’m sorry,” he sobs weakly, his eyes burning with tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He can’t even be sure what he’s apologizing for, but he knows he has to, especially when he slams the end call button and buries his face in his knees so he can cry alone in the dark.

                              Seven for a secret, never to be told.

Juni’s skin is starting to get clammy, but he’s too comfortable to move. Eventually, he’s going to have to, if for nothing else than to get up and get cleaned up, but for now, he’s happy, if a little chilly. He nuzzles into the soft curls dusted across Mason’s chest, and lets his eyelids fall to half-mast, just open enough to absently count the freckles hidden under the chest hair, inevitably lose count, and start counting again. Mason smells good, cooling sweat and sandalwood, and dozy as he is, it takes a moment for Juni to realize he doesn’t really smell like smoke at all anymore. His room doesn’t smell lke smoke, either, he realizes. His heart thuds hard behind his ribs.

He gets distracted when a shiver rolls over him, the chill suddenly overwhelming against his sticky skin, and he curls further into Mason’s chest in an attempt to leach some of his warmth.

Mason clicks his tongue, and Juni’s whole body stiffens, worry zinging into his gut to rattle around there like a bird in a too-small cage. Mason shifts underneath him, and he starts to roll away, to apologize, to get out of his hair, before a strong hand clasps the back of his neck.

“Hold still,” Mason grunts, sitting up and patting around for the edge of the blanket. He pulls it out from under them both, which almost sends the detective rolling off the bed against his will this time, but Mason's hand shifts down to spread across his lower back and hold him steady until he can get them both tucked underneath.

He flops back against the pillows again, one arm tucked under his head and the other loose at his side, and slowly, cautiously, Juni crawls his way under it. The hand lands  on his hip and squeezes, and Juni settles his head back on the vampire’s chest just in time to hear the pleased little rumble there. He flushes down to his chest and bites his lip, distracting himself by petting at Mason’s chest hair.

And then he pokes his flat, brown nipple and says, “Boop!” on some stupid impulse, and giggles like an idiot.

Mason scoffs and rolls his eyes, but shifts so that Juni’s thigh hitches up over his. “Keep that up, sweetheart, and we’ll be going into round two sooner rather than later.” Juni can feel the truth in that statement against his thigh, and he blushes so hotly he knows Mason can feel it at every point their bodies are touching. He might be approaching supernova levels of heat when Mason smugly adds, “Well, round two for me. Three for you.”

He hides his face in Mason’s chest with a long groan. “I’m going to explode,” he declares. “I’m going to collapse like a dying star.”

Mason laughs, sharp and startled and shockingly bright, and Juni’s head shoots up so he can see his face. His hair is a mess, but of course it still looks amazing, hanging around his face in loose, sweat-damp spirals. His vulpine grey eyes are crinkling at the corners, even his sharp nose wrinkling in a way that makes Juni’s heart almost stop. And his mouth, usually either pinned into a scowl, or twisted into a sly (and stupidly attractive) smirk,  is curled into a smile, breathtaking in its open softness.

God, I love you, Juni wants to cry, his heart pounding in counterpoint to the desperate, silent declaration he traps behind his teeth by digging them into his lower lip so hard he’s almost afraid he’s going to make himself bleed. And it doesn’t stop. I love you, I love you, I love you drums in his chest, hums through his blood, and when Mason catches him looking, he reaches out to push the tangled forelock of curls hanging in Juni’s eyes out of his face, cupping his cheek to pull him into a kiss. Juni shivers and braces his hand on Mason’s chest, feeling the vampire’s heart thumping there, steady and stable and achingly familiar. His own matches it beat for beat, and thankfully his mouth is too occupied for the pulsing plea of love me, love me, please love me to spill out. So he dives into it, clings to it, and when Mason breaks away to let him breathe, Juni buries his mouth against the arch of his throat instead, presses messy kisses to his collarbones, his chest, his shoulders, throttles the words before they can escape him and pushes them into touches instead. Touches can’t damn him the way words can.

There’s a soft, shameful part of him he ignores like he always has that whispers to him that maybe, just maybe, if he pours enough of himself into every kiss, every touch, that the words will finally be understood. That the weak little part of him he buries deeper and deeper every time it cries out will finally be seen, and answered, and cradled tenderly in someone’s strong, freckled hands.

But until then, it will sit there in his chest under lock and key and ache, like all his secrets do.

handmaid - 34

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: i do realise i’m very VERY late with this post but i’m growing too attached to this fanfic. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

    - You know Sebastian, just because your father was a great man, doesn’t mean he was a good one. 

Sebastian watched as she left the room, the trail of her dress disappearing between the edge of the door and leaving him frozen where he was. There was probably not a single person in the whole entire world who could freeze him for what seemed like more than an hour, yet Y/N seemed to hold that power effortlessly, something she could easily control. What looked like someone who’d always be there no matter what was slipping like sand through his fingers. 

He rubbed his face, walking over to the good selection of glass filled bottles to pour himself another glass. What was he doing? Was he really about to marry someone who despised him and who he couldn’t stand when the girl he wanted was asking him to leave? Maybe he could pay off Forrest and move to a new country with Y/N after transferring all his money to other offshores. Surely he could do that without calling much attention.

A loud sound rang through the room and his eyes glued to the phone on his bedside table. He was sure he’d never heard an actual hotel phone ring and that alone intrigued him. He grabbed the phone from the hook, bringing it up to his ear.

    - Hello? - shaky and heavy breathes came from behind and he started to wonder if someone was trying to play a prank on him. - Hello?

    - S…Sebastian, it’s Y/N … - he could almost hear her cry which made him grip the phone. - I’m scared, Sebastian. I’m scared.

    - Are you alright? 

    - I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry. 

    - Angel, whatever it is, you can tell me.

    - I’m pregnant.

For the second time, the same exact person had managed to freeze him on the spot yet again but what was most worrying for him was why she was crying and why she was telling him in the phone. He kept calling her name on the phone but before he could even get an answer the line went dead. Without much of a second thought, he dropped the phone and rushed out of his bedroom, going up the stairs where her bedroom was located. The numbers seemed to mock him as he tried to run as fast as his legs could allow him to her bedroom. Knocking on the dark wood as forcefully as he could, he found no answer and without much prior thought or consideration for hotel staff, he grabbed his revolver to shot the lock open which led to an empty room. He looked around with the agility of a cheetah and eye of a predator but she wasn’t anywhere to be found and with more worry settling on his chest, he ran over to Gwen’s bridal suite where Y/N’s bodyguard was standing.

Surely if he was standing there she would be safe inside and the call was maybe Y/N being playful. Yet again, something in the back of his mind made him unreliably restless and so, much to the groans of some of the women waiting outside the bridal suite, he walked inside the room to be met with girlish high pitched screaming about how it was bad luck to see the bride in the wedding dress. How much bad luck could it bring to a made up wedding he didn’t know but in all honesty he didn’t care and mostly ignored the rest of the bridesmaids as he looked for Y/N who was nowhere to be seen.

   - Where’s Y/N?

   - Probably somewhere else. God, Sebastian could you at least follow some traditions? You could give me at least a few hours of freedom before I become a Stepford wife. - her eyes were mostly focused on her glass of prosecco rather than him which greatly annoyed him. - Y/N wanders around, she’s probably outside or with Jude Dubois, they’re awfully close. 

   - Was she with you a few minutes ago? - he ignored how uninterested Gwen was in her handmaid’s whereabouts.

   - I don’t know now would you kindly leave? This is my bridal party and you’re not part of it. 

Sebastian quickly realised she wasn’t here and Gwen barely care if she would return or not. He returned back upstairs to her bedroom, maybe she had been in the bathroom when he came to check on her. His mind kept yelling at him something was wrong and even the most rational part of him, the one that normally overwhelmed everything else, was telling him that Y/N wouldn’t call him like that, telling him she was scared. What worried him more was she being pregnant, he wondered if she was safe and if the baby was safe, with little to no regard at what consequences her being pregnant would be. 

He paced inside her bedroom but nonetheless it was empty with the smell of lilies and roses belonging to her fragrance lingering around. Sebastian sat down on top of her bed, sighing out of frustration and worry. There was no sign of anything bad happening in the bedroom, everything was tidy and kept to perfection except for one opened drawer of her bedside table. He wondered if Y/N had decided to leave with Jude Dubois and that call had been nothing but a joke but yet again, he could feel something was wrong, he heard it on her voice, her trembling breathy voice. That wasn’t the voice of someone who was playing tricks on him. His heart ached, completely ached in a type of pain that he couldn’t remember ever feeling. Something was wrong, something bad was happening and he couldn’t find a rational reason that would put her in a safe situation.

As he got more lost in his own thoughts, his phone rang. He picked his phone from his pocket to see Y/N’s name as the caller ID. However, before his heart could slow down from the mere stress of not knowing about her whereabouts, his whole body tensed as he recognised the voice way too well.

   - How are the wedding preparations? Busy enough? - Mr. Williams’ voice came through the phone with a pompous tone, almost proud. - Have you ever noticed how Y/N squeals every time someone grabs her? I wonder if that gets you off.

  - Listen to me, if she’s not in my hotel room in less than half hour, you’re a dead man. I’ll ... - anger dripped from his voice.

  - No, you listen to me. - he interrupted. - You don’t have the upper hand in this situation so I would watch your tone unless you want her head as your wedding present. Now ... I am a fair man, I don’t enjoy killing innocents just for it specially pretty girls like her. I’m sure we can reach an agreement.

  - You don’t want to start a war with me. If you touch even a single hair of hers, I swear I’ll make sure both my men and Forrest’s will go after you. 

  - Yes, I’m sure Michael Forrest will love to know his precious daughter is pregnant from you. It must sting, knowing that it was her you were supposed to marry. - he froze on the spot once more, unsure if he was once more playing games on him or if he had dropped. - You’ve always been like your mother, so gullible. You didn’t even bother check on any of the two girls, how they had the same birthday or how she was the only one to inherit a whole family’s estate? It only took a few documents to prove that yet you didn’t do it. I never pegged you to let your guard down for a pretty girl yet here we are.

His head hurt, his heart pounded harshly in a way that made it sound through his skull and all he wanted to do was scream and kill him. Flashes of her face and how she would always smile at him crossed through his mind as his own voice blamed him for her situation. 

   - Meet me at the Lotte New York Palace Hotel in an hour and maybe we can strike a deal. 

   - What makes you think I won’t just kill you? 

   - You don’t know how many people in your inner circle are loyal to me. If you tell anyone or if you try any little games, there’s several of my men who’d love a way with your little mistress and I’ll make sure to tape it so you can watch it later. Don’t cross me. - the line went dead.

He stood there, helpless, surrounded by her scent and belongings which only reminded him more of her. Every single memory he had of her seemed to hit his mind like a freight train from the first time he had seen her from his most recent denial of running away with her. He could almost feel her finger tips on his jaw, hear her little laugh whenever something pleased her, every thing was still so fresh, so recent. His ears were ringing as he noticed the little music box he had gotten to her on her bedside table. His hands reached for it, cradling the box close to him which caused it to snap open, the soft melody of La Vie en Rose flowing into the bedroom.

He promised. He promised her in Paris that nothing could harm her yet here he was, unsure of her state and helpless to fix anything the way he knew. He broke his promise, he broke his promise and for what? A family name? Her safety? She wasn’t safe either way. That thought itself drowned any emotion in his face. It was a blank slate and not even his eyes where Y/N could always find the truth of what his heart was going through seemed to show anything other than the pure void. 

Placing the music box on the pocket of his jacket, he exited her room and, almost mechanically, made his way down the hall, ignoring every single person who tried to talk to him or even congratulate him. Soon enough he was at the parking lot, entering his car so he could ride to the Lotte New York Palace. He was early, much early but all he could think about was seeing her again, see her safe despite anything. 

The hour seemed to go by incredibly slow but everything comes to an end and once the deadline reached its expiration, Thompson Williams walked into the hotel bar, sporting an irritable smile on his face as he sat on the high chair next to him. 

   - Why so gloom? - he taunted, for the first time holding power over the man he considered had stolen his golden opportunity of success. - Might it be because you have no control anymore? You let her be around me, I learned how she acts, I knew she wasn’t gonna scream and I knew if I endangered anyone she would do what I told her. So innocent, I can see why you like her.

   - What do you want? - Sebastian only stared at him, trying to not let the guilt or his comments affect him. At this point, he just wanted her to be back to him safely. Revenge could wait. 

   - Here. - he slide a document file towards him. - You’re gonna reside from your position within the family in my favour. Sign that document and you can go on your merry life with her, maybe use that little house Forrest gave her, have the kid. You were never made for this life anyway.

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Beyond the War | Chapter 1

Setting: DamiRae, Post!Apokolips War, new timeline AU

Inspired by: THIS Comic by chromium7sky and all the Super!Rae fanart xD

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“Do we know that this will work for sure?”

“It’ll work.” Violet eyes looked into green before the gaze was averted, letting a sigh of concern leave the young man’s lips. There were many uncertainties, many questions lingering in the air. As it was expected after everything they had gone through. They’ve had one hell of a time, after all. But there was something else, too.

“Would you rather have the world as it is right now?” She then asked again after a moment, placing her hand over his and bringing his eyes back to her.

“I- Of course not,” he stuttered and took a quick look at the people- the survivors around them before locking his eyes with hers once more. “I just- We only just got each other back. I don’t want to lose you again.” His brows furrowed, he tried his best to hide the immense pain in his chest that he felt just thinking about it. But he knew she felt it regardless. She always did. A sigh escaped her lips as well.

“I know,” she mumbled and looked over at the water before them, her lips curling into a sad smile. “But- We found each other in this timeline. I’m sure we can find each other again in another.”

He looked at her in somewhat of an awe and surprise of how lightly she seemed to take the situation at hand and before he even knew it, he released an incredulous chuckle. 

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t.” A simple shrug and a gentle squeeze on his hand as she could see Flash preparing to start his run from the corner of her eyes. “All I can do is hope.”

And a whoosh sound went past them. That’s how they all knew these were their last moments together like this and it brought a tear in her eyes. As fucked up as the world turned out to be, she had loved so much of it. She found friends, found family, she found love. And all of that would be gone in a blink of an eye. Even if it was for a better future, she couldn’t help but to feel sad about losing all the positives that she had gained during her stay here. 

“Raven-” his voice brought her back from her thoughts and she looked at him teary-eyed, noticing the sadness in his own eyes as well- “what if we can’t find each other in the new timeline? This new- Flashpoint?” The thought of her not being able to find him pained her to the point that it felt like her heart had just gotten pierced by a dagger, but she had to remain hopeful. She had to.

“Dum spiro spero, Damian,” the girl spoke through her tears and lifted her free hand to caress his cheek. “While I breathe, I hope.”

“Dum spiro spero,” he repeated in a whisper in an almost desperate thought that speaking those words out loud would help to make it come true and slowly leaned in until their lips touched for their first and their last kiss in this timeline as the world around them slowly disappeared in a bright light… 

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

Deep breath…  

Be calm… 

You can do it… 

Violet eyes slowly opened as she took in the scenery before her. It was definitely much different than Metropolis. Darker. More grim. Filled with so many negative emotions. Fear, hatred, greed… She hadn’t arrived too long ago and she already hated being here. But she had set her mind on doing this and, well, she was already here, so there was no backing down now. Sporting the signature look of her family, Raven roamed about along the rooftops of this godforsaken city in hopes of attracting the kind of attention she came here for. And she didn’t have to wander around for too long before she heard that very familiar deep voice behind her.

“You’re far away from home, kid.”

She wasn’t startled or afraid of the man in the slightest, so she turned around to face him as if she had expected him. 

“I didn’t know how else to contact you,” the girl responded confidently.

Sure, he wasn’t the friendliest of superheroes she knew. In fact, most people, sometimes even his own friends, were afraid of him. And while, yes, he did give off this dreadful vibe, Raven was more- curious. There was a sense of familiarity with him and she felt comfortable enough around him. 

“Well- Not without Superman finding out about it, anyway,” she added in once his silence told her that her response wasn’t extensive enough. Of course, there were other ways to contact Batman. But not without someone else’s help. Which is exactly what she didn’t need this time. 

“Why are you here then?” Brief with his words, as always, the masked vigilante stepped out of the darker corner of the rooftop.

And that’s when she froze for a moment. Like she hadn’t thought of even getting this far. Suddenly doubting if it had been a good idea to come here after all. Was this the right thing to do? Behind Clark’s back? Not telling anyone? Not trying a different alternative and just going straight to Batman? Who was currently looking right at her, expecting an answer-

“I- I wanted to ask for your help in finding someone,” Raven stammered a bit at first, but found her confidence again towards the end of her sentence.

“There are legal ways to do that.”

“Not for someone who’s got no legal records on the entire planet,” she was quick to respond, but stopped for a brief moment before elaborating with a sigh. “Look, all I got is a fake ID and fake adoption papers. As far as the law is concerned, I didn’t exist until I was fourteen. And even for someone who was born on Earth and dropped at an orphanage as an infant, it could take years to- to find your actual family, so… Please. All I want is a chance.”

Batman looked intently at her, putting the puzzle pieces together the more she spoke. He didn’t say anything- did he ever?- only hummed in thought. Sure, he could ask her why she didn’t just go to Clark and Lois for this. They were renowned reporters, very much capable of helping her. But she had made it clear that she didn’t want Clark to know she was even in Gotham right now, meaning she probably didn’t want them to know anything at all about this. A foster child looking for their blood related family not wanting to tell their foster family about it to not hurt their feelings? He’d seen that all too many times before. Some with less happy endings than others.

“You’ve been on Earth for how many years? Why now?” His raspy voice then finally broke the silence, startling her just a little bit. Of course, she had expected a question like that to pop up. But truth to be told, she had no solid answer for it. Or, what could be considered a solid answer, anyway. There were many things she could tell him in response. That she wanted to know if she had any blood relatives on Earth at all. That her mother had been an adopted child herself and she wanted to do this for her. Or that she could never go back to Azarath because it got destroyed and she missed her mother, even though they were never truly allowed to have a proper mother-daughter relationship, so she was seeking a way to somehow connect with her through others of her bloodline. Or that there was just something constantly missing in her life and she felt like she was always searching for something- someone, not even knowing what or who that was, so she was hoping that finding family would perhaps quench this feeling. But- It was all so complicated, even for her.

“I just want to know.” That was a simpler answer. 

Raven shrugged and hid her hands behind her back, thinking for a brief moment as her gaze grew distant, not focusing on anything in particular. “I’d like to think that getting to know both sides of my family would do me good.”

A part of that was true, too. All she ever really was recognized as by those who didn’t know her was the demon’s daughter. A hellspawn, born to an interdimensional beast that almost destroyed this world just like he had done with countless others, had her adoptive family and the heroes of Earth not intervened and helped her stop him. Having a nice, quiet, normal family somewhere sounded nice sometimes. But again, it wasn’t the main reason.

The Bat’s “hm” almost sounded like a growl as he contemplated the sincerity of Raven’s explanation, unsure if he should trust it or not. Well, she didn’t blame him for not trusting her. Not a lot of people did. Her eyes returned to observing the masked man before her in anticipation of his response. Luckily, however, she didn’t have to wait for too long. Glancing sideways for a second as if hearing something, he looked back to her and swiftly turned around.

“Follow me,” he said as he started making his way to the edge of the roof. “It’s not wise to parade around Gotham with that “S” on your chest.”

“It’s- not an “S”...” The girl mumbled quietly under her nose, but quickly levitated after him as the two of them got down into one of the many dark alleyways where he’d hidden the Batmobile. It was for the best not to argue with him since he seemed like having agreed to her plea, even if he didn’t outright say it.

It wasn’t a no either.

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

FF.net link || AO3 link

(and I'm feeling like) it was only ever you

a little voice fic pairings/characters: bess/samuel, general ensemble, ella the pupper being loved the most warnings: language, excessive sexual tension episode tags: fills in some of many gaps between 1.08 sea change and 1.09 sing what I can’t say cause I got wine drunk instead of finishing this before the finale as planned. +post-finale rating/warnings: explicit. read: resolved sexual tension aka les sexy times.  lyrical title courtesy of: part of me – by the coast (watch their fanvid set to this song and prepare to cry)  notes: so @brilligbraelig told me there was no fluffy fic in the tag, which– sorry. we’ve been in sad time hours for WEEKS and I blame the writers for never giving bess a moment’s peace. I’ve never really been one for cavity-inducing sweetness, not because I don’t love some pure joy, but as a writer I’m always a little more interested in the messier moments that just enough longing brings. if the question is ‘how many times do bess and samuel need to share a bed?’ the answer is yes.   this is for the samuel and bess protection squad on twitter (join us!) for being the coolest group of people ever throughout this wild ride, and also for @missgoalie75 and her love of colton’s bedroom eyes.  p.s: sometimes I ignore capitalization rules at will because of the vibe. 

*

bess is tired.

saint c’s is quiet tonight; al shoos her away from the bar with a stern, surprisingly fatherly firmness and hands her a tray of shots. she blinks at him. there aren’t any parties of four left. he points at samuel, prisha, and benny loitering at the back of the club until she finishes. bess doesn’t follow. al sighs. “go have one with your friends on me, okay kid? i swear, watching you stress out sometimes is gonna give me an ulcer before my next birthday.”  bess stammers a thank you and walks off with the alcohol before he can change his mind. she should apologize, she thinks. he’s been nothing but kind to her despite all the ways in which bess is hardly employee of the month right now. she should start an apology tour at the table, where prisha’s head is thrown back with laughter at something benny is saying, his hands outspread. these people are too good to her and she doesn’t deserve it, sometimes.  samuel notices her first (like always it seems), tracking her progress across the room. he tilts his head, a silent okay? and she moves her mouth in an approximation of a smile. his own lips quirk, like he’s trying to smother a laugh. she should be annoyed; she’s just grateful they aren’t fighting anymore— or worse yet, that it’s weird.  they still haven’t talked about that night. samuel seems perfectly content to pretend it never happened, except for the way he touches her with so much more ease than before— like he no longer has to hesitate before he’s pulling her in, taking her hand, squeezing her shoulder or the bend of her elbow in a way that’s more reassuring than bess can really describe.  maybe there’s a song in there somewhere.  “special delivery,” she announces at the approach. “drink fast, before al regrets giving us these.”  “my man, my man,” benny croons. “we love you boss!” he calls, twisting to find al rolling his eyes from behind the register. the shots clink on the tabletop. bess hesitates, just a second, before leaning in to toast prisha. samuel’s eyes meet hers again over the rim of his glass. she tosses her head back before she can overthink any of it. “anyone want another?”  benny and prisha grin; samuel shakes his head. bess does the mental math back to her last meal. one more certainly wouldn’t tip her over, but she’d be a fool not to recognize her own unsettledness. she springs for second shelf tequila; al smacks her hand away from the limes she’d cut herself not two hours ago.  “no reaching over, you know that.” the closing porter pours and dishes lime and salt with disinterested, immaculate practice. bess presses an extra five into his hand and gets a silent tap on the inside of her wrist in thanks. she’s not normally into the whole process of tequila, but benny enjoys it. something silly in bess hopes that the bursting sting of lime will just wash all her chaos away. by the time she’s tilted her head back down a second time, samuel’s eyes are sliding away. her throat is curiously warmer than liquor normally manages. it feels like she’s caught him at something.  “earth to bess!”  “hmm?”  prisha looks amused, damn her. “you up for it?” “up for what?” benny’s smile is equally conspiratory.  “dancing?” her first instinct is god, no. she and prisha haven’t gone dancing in what feels like years— bess still has a fake ID from the one and only time they snuck into a club at 19 years old, skipping the bar entirely for the pulsing beat of the dance floor. but she deserves this, doesn’t she? after everything? everyone’s looking at her now, probably expecting her to say no (samuel’s definitely expecting her to say no), and maybe bess needs another shot after all because, “sure.” tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. prisha and benny high five. samuel’s muted surprise is oddly delightful; bess wants to keep pulling it out of him, suddenly. “you coming too?” she asks. it’s not supposed to be a challenge but he raises one eyebrow as though bess had just asked him to duel. “well i’d be lame if I said no now, wouldn’t i?” that settled, bess excuses herself to grab her things from the back room. when she returns, benny is chatting with their night porter as he divides tips. she has to swallow an anxious lump before she can walk over.  “hey.” “hey.” he returns her tentative smile and she hates herself. “ready to go?” “i’m sorry,” bess blurts. “about the other night. i was so awful to you and you were just—” “bess, hey.” benny’s hands land on her shoulders. “don’t worry about it, okay? i know you have a lot going on right now.” “that’s not an excuse,” she insists. “you’re just being a good friend and a great manager and i shouldn’t have bit your head off for...” for not letting me give up. shame locks the words in her throat. how is it that she was the first person to let go of her own dream? bess has to take a deep breath. “i’m just really sorry.” he just looks at her for a long moment.  “if i forgive you,” benny begins gently, “will you forgive yourself?” the question feels like a sucker punch.  “cause i do, bess.” she can’t remember the last time one of her dearest friends was so serious. “i forgive you, and you gotta forgive yourself now cause we got work to do, yeah?” good god, do not cry. “okay.”  “okay.” benny pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight. “we got you girl, alright? i told you, we’re in this together.” those are familiar words. bess lets them wash over her. how had she forgotten? where had she let herself fall that her friends couldn’t pull her back into the light?  “c’mon.” bess accepts her saint c’s envelope with a grateful smile and benny steers her out of the club, his arm around her shoulders. “there’s fun to be had tonight.” “let’s go, bess!”  she lets prisha drag her forward, laughing despite herself and looping her arm through her best friend’s as they head out into the warm night air.  “where the heck are those boys?” prisha asks at the next corner. benny and samuel of course, are following at a more sedated pace to her one track mind. bess catches samuel’s eye and he smiles in that crooked, amused sort of way she hasn’t seen in ages— not since they shot more love, it feels like. relief is such a strange feeling for the moment, but there it is.  * bess isn’t tired anymore. she has no idea when she became such a homebody (though louie’s social worker may thoughts) but her exhaustion from the day seems to disappear the moment the bass finds a home behind her ribs. prisha presses a tiny glass into her hand and bess doesn’t think.  the vodka sears on the way down. it makes her gasp a little, like a livewire shock to the system. bess can only look up to see samuel wave from the bar before benny’s dragging her onto the floor; she loses sight of him in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music carries her away.  samuel’s still there, some two or three songs later. just before they lock eyes, bess notices something very serious in his expression, something she can’t put into words fast enough, that draws a strange shiver from the base of her spine.  then he smiles, familiar laugh lines and narrowed eyes, and it’s gone.  bess remembers the way he’d so easily coaxed her into a silly dance set to their own music. have things gotten so strange between them that they could never go back there? not if she has anything to say about it. “I’m not drunk enough yet,” he objects, but his fingers close around hers even as he says it and she knows she’s won. samuel follows her so easily back to benny and prisha– like he’d follow her anywhere maybe, if she asked, and then suddenly bess is the one not quite drunk enough—  and then the beat pulls them in again.  it’s silly at first, just like before. at one point samuel and benny do the chicken dance to a hip-hop song and bess thinks she might die with laughter. she presses against prisha, hips and shoulders. her best friend spins her out; bess nearly stumbles but samuel is there, catching her by the elbows, drawing her in with that same teasing smile that had eased her nerves on that warm summer afternoon. she can see the memory of it reflected in his eyes. bess wants to fall into it headfirst. she steps closer just as samuel pulls her in; her hand lands on the back of his neck; his fingertips slip under the hem of her top and brush the shy skin of her hip.  samuel pauses, like a silent question, until bess coaxes his body back into the swaying rhythm with her own. her head feels heady, her body overwarm almost, but bess doesn’t want to stop because there it is again, that serious look— bess wants— “dance, dance, dance is my lung—”  “fuck no!” the moment—or whatever that was—grinds to a halt. samuel laughs so hard that she can feel his shoulders shaking. for several seconds they just look at each other, then over at benny who’s having the time of his life, and then bess is doubling over too.  samuel leans close to be heard over the din. “drink?” his breath brushes her ear and bess tries not to shiver, nodding enthusiastically in a vain attempt to cover for herself. they’ve lost prisha and benny to the worst song ever, so samuel keeps a firm grip on her hand as they snake their way back to the bar.  there must be some kind of special on shots tonight. bess can only stare at a bartender pouring no less than twelve in a perfect row for a huge group of women. one is wearing a tiara and white sash. that trying not to laugh smile tilts samuel’s mouth while they wait their turn. the sardine pack of people presses them together from hip to shoulder but he doesn’t seem to mind. the bar curves around in a skinny oval, drinks being served on either side. as servers slide back and forth, bess notices a guy looking at her from across the way. staring, more like it. the glint in his eyes makes her stomach turn. before bess can glare, turn away, or even shudder, samuel’s arm slides around her. his fingertips trace the curves of her rings on the bartop— affectionate, possessive almost. bess turns her head and samuel winks before leaning forward to touch their foreheads together. “pretend i just told you something hilarious.” his mouth hovering over hers is almost too distracting— his free hand pinches her side to help her along and giggles jump out. bess doesn’t resist when samuel tightens his grip and pulls her closer against him. he presses his mouth to her temple just above her ear. “he’s gone.” bess does shudder now, though for a different reason altogether. “thanks.” samuel just squeezes her once before releasing her. their shots arrive finally, amber liquid glowing strangely in the light.  “still good?” he asks, and bess nods firmly. “still good.” she meets his eyes as she brings the shot to her mouth. samuel is still looking at her when she puts the glass back down. inside her, it seems. “c’mon.” he says. samuel looks almost fond now. bess blinks; a trick of the light? is she that tipsy already? “we’d better go find those two.” she just takes his hand and follows.  * bess is... well. she’s not sober.  benny had waved goodbye from an uber outside the club. they’d made it three quarters of the way to the subway station before ananya had called, quickly devolving into an impassioned conversation and prish too, vanished into a cab and promising to call when she got to her— girlfriend’s? house.  “have fun you two!”  and now: “i’m fine, sam.”  his mouth twitches. “don’t think so, b.”  yikes, she hates that. bess rolls her eyes, pointing at her station stairway. “you’re literally going in the opposite direction. it’s like...” she has to look at their cross streets and do the math. “eight stops. at the most.” samuel nods. “all about figure eights. love an even number. let’s go.”  bess knows she should just let this go and stop being so stubborn. but something in her just can’t be stopped. samuel sighs, dragging her by the elbow across the sidewalk, out of the way of a clearly aggrieved businessman who disappears down the steps.  “bess. just tell me something.” it’s hard to meet his eyes, intent as they are. “would you let prisha take the train home by herself tonight? if you were going... I dunno, home with me?”  her stomach flips, surprising, terrifying, thrillingly pleasant. it’s all the shots.  samuel’s ears go pink under the glow of the streetlight. “you know what i mean.” she’s stubbornly quiet; he ducks his head, refusing to be deterred. “bess.” “ugh, no. of course not!” “because you think she can’t take care of herself?” bess rolls her eyes. “she’s my best friend, you know that. it’s just what you do.” “right.” she hates the way samuel’s looking at her now, the way he had when he’d laid all her fears out bare in the close space of his apartment: so certain and so kind. “so why do you think i’d let you take the train home alone?” for a moment, she can only stare. maybe it’s the alcohol, but samuel has never quite looked so vulnerable. bess doesn’t have the right words (maybe there aren’t any) so she just drags him forward by the shoulders. samuel exhales sharply, a faint laugh in her ear, but he wraps both his arms tight around her— an embrace that somehow feels more intimate than their pretence from hours before. bess endeavours not to think about it too much. “c’mon bestie,” she says when she pulls back. samuel does laugh fully this time, wide enough to show his teeth. bess thinks back to the night of their first gig, the sound of his valerie chasing hers in echoes. it’s a wonder anyone’s more stubborn that she is.  samuel ushers her down the stairs with a sweep of his arm and bess laughs too. *   bess loves her dog. she’d convinced samuel he should probably come in for water, or tea, maybe an advil. ella had poked her head out from bess’ room and when she turns around from her perusal of the fridge, bess finds samuel fully sitting on the floor, ella laying between his legs, stroking her head. “who’s my sweetest girl?” he coos.  her heart something funny inside her chest. samuel looks up, his obvious joy so bright in the dim light of the kitchen and bess is nearly choked with the possibility that she’d nearly pushed him too far away to ever see it again.  “bess,” he says, his cheeks dimpling, “her ears are so soft. like, they’re the softest thing i’ve maybe ever felt in my life?”  wonder of wonders.  she can only nod in emphatic agreement. how many shots have they had?  “you’re lucky,” samuel continues, still making ella’s night by never stopping in his affection. bess’ eyes get stuck on his hands, the motion of his fingertips and the turns of his wrists. “my parents never let us have pets and my building doesn’t allow them either.”  “you know ella would love if you came over and pet her all the time.” she gets that muted surprise again, which melts into something bess isn’t sure how to name.  “would you like that, el? hmm?” he leans down to kiss the top of the dog’s head. “wanna spend more time with uncle samuel?” how is it that her most loyal companion is somehow more intimate with samuel than bess is? and why on earth would she ever have a thought like that? “so,” she says, maybe a bit too high-pitched for her own liking (ella looks up at her and bess wants to glare), “we have water, tea, popsicles, half a bottle of jack.” samuel laughs and shakes his head. “i thought we were sobering up?” bess shrugs. “so, popsicle?” he laughs again and it warms her inexplicably all the way to her toes.  they have water, following ella into bess’ room, toeing out of their shoes when she jumps onto the bed. the dog puts her head on samuel’s lap and stares balefully up at him until he resumes his gentle stroking. bess leans back against her wall. she’s looking at ella and pretending she can’t feel the heat of samuel’s gaze on her face. if she thinks too hard about it, bess remembers wishing she could share a moment like this with someone else. she doesn’t regret anything that lead her here, but something in her is too afraid to meet samuel’s eye, like he’d be able to read the truth of that in her face and that she’d have somehow ruined tonight, this quiet moment of warmth and contentment. she leans her head on his shoulder and he turns his cheek into her hair. when bess finally looks up, samuel’s face is vey close.  is he looking at her mouth? is she leaning?  “are you drunk, bess?” he asks softly. she stops. considers. “yes. you?” samuel’s smile is a little rueful. he nods. “i should go.” bess understands. it’s late. they’re tired and inebriated. he has to go all the way back to his. they almost... and yet she says, “stay.���  he blinks. “what?”  this might be a terrible idea. “stay.” “but—” she rolls her eyes. “what makes you think i’d let you go home alone either?” the surprise is plain now. he looks that almost-vulnerable again. bess is oddly satisfied. “are you sure?” it’s strangely hard to keep his eye even as she points out, “we’re fine, right?” he nods again, a little slower. “and it’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.” when bess finally manages it, samuel’s gaze is very soft. “true.” and just when she thinks he’s going to refuse her still, he says, “okay. thanks.” how do you tell someone out that you just don’t want to be alone out loud?  thankfully samuel doesn’t make her voice it. he just smiles as bess gathers something approximating pyjamas and crosses the room. “sorry i don’t have anything that would fit you,” (he snorts and she’s warmed) “but you know, make yourself comfortable however. come get a toothbrush from under the sink.” and so that’s how they end up side-by-side in the cramped bathroom of her and prisha’s apartment, brushing their teeth. samuel makes faces at her in the mirror and it should be strange, to be t-shirt and shorts/boxers open with him. but he’s seen down into the root of who she is, so isn’t all this less? he’s humming something familiar as she washes her face, catching her surprised reflection.  “it’s yours.” bess casts her mind back. “from–” “that first night, yeah.” she nearly drops her face towel. bess has never shown him that song. samuel shakes his head with a chuckle, a familiar you’re a weirdo. “it would be just like you to play something that gets eight bars stuck in my head for months and never sing it again.” “i...” bess can’t pinpoint a reason besides her own fear, like a karmic penance for one of the most humiliating nights of her life. “i can’t believe you remember.” there’s a truth in his eyes that neither of them are willing to admit they can see.  “wanna work on it?” she asks impulsively, determined now to redraw a better memory, “maybe tomorrow?” samuel’s grin is so wide it’s almost hard to take in all at once. “this mean you’re gonna actually do that open mic?” bess shrugs. she needs to escape this tiny room all of a sudden. “maybe.” he doesn’t push her further and she’s grateful. samuel hesitates at the edge of her bed as bess pulls up the cover.  “oh my god, just get in the bed samuel.” and he does. their knees touch. bess turns out the light but there’s still just enough to see him looking at her. drunkenness has made her warm and sleepy.  “what?” “for the record,” he says, “i know what i think of you.” it feels like they’re teetering on an edge. “cool grandpa?” they laugh so hard that ella jumps from the foot of the bed. samuel looks so fond that bess doesn’t know what to do with herself. “yeah. that’s it.” “night samuel,” she whispers.  “night bess.” * (she wakes up before the sun, tangled up in him.  for once, rather than overthink it, bess just closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.) * bess can’t stop smiling. before she could even look at samuel after getting offstage, benny had lifted her off her feet and proceeded to all but bulldoze everyone in the club to get her in front of jeremy’s record label contact. could he tell that she’d just been kissed within an inch of her life? it feels like it’s written all over her face. bess can barely remember what she said, but his personal contact card is currently burning a whole though her purse. al buys them a round. (she finds ethan lingering in the back. what he says to her is somehow a surprise and not both at once. what she says to him, in the end, feels long overdue.) prisha insists everyone come back to their place to celebrate, and they pile into ubers. louie exalts her as a true artist the entire ride and even phil seems impressed. true to form though, he’s a roledex of weather facts as bess and prisha frantically pull out every candle or flashlight in the apartment; their lights flicker ominiously every so often as the storm beats down their windows. benny puts a playlist together and tries to order pizza. by some miracle, it actually arrives; everyone pools together for a 150% tip. so it feels like ages before bess looks up to find samuel leaning against the alcove of her living room, watching as louie begins a spirited debate on the best numbers in hamilton.  bess nods her head toward the door of her bedroom. she’s expecting him to make a silly face with his eyebrows or hesitate, but samuel’s mouth just curves up on one side, like that’s all he’s allowing himself, and follows. “for the record,” he says as the sounds of the party fade a little behind them, “the answer will always be satisfied. no contest.” god, how had she never seen him before? her bedside lamp is still working. bess fishes out a pale white whale from childhood, one that changes colour as you tap. she grins at samuel, who’s leaning against her closed door and smiling like he’s not even sure what to make of her.  “you’re incredible, you know that?” her face heats, pride and embarrassment both at once. “so are you. i can’t believe we got through that song.” “all you, bess.”  she wants to roll her eyes, but refrains. “the electric was a great idea.” samuel’s eyes drop when he smiles; the familiar humility in it reminds bess of the reason she wanted to talk to him in the first place.  “i know what you did tonight. before you showed up.” he looks up then, a little sharply. samuel’s always had a good poker face but bess can see it still, that guarded look. “what did i do, bess?” saying it out loud makes her feel like she’s in a movie. bess steps forward. “you told ethan to come. for me.” “are you upset?” “no. i just want to understand why.” samuel’s gaze is as steady as it’s ever been. “i just want you to be happy.”  she feels unraveled, somehow.  “then why did you...” even in the poor light, he flushes. “why did you kiss me?” samuel looks at the floor, then back at bess. her heart beats in double time. “he didn’t show, or so I thought. and I didn’t want to...” he laughs lightly, almost at himself. “throw away my shot. I guess I wasn’t really expecting you to—” try to press him into the wall? “to kiss me back, or even what that might mean, but I wanted to show you, or tell you that—” she’s close enough to touch him now. samuel’s hands cup her elbows, very gently, like he needs to ground himself. but he looks bess right in the eye. “even if you didn’t want me, i’d choose you first. every time.”  her heart free-falls.  “bess.” he squeezes a little, catching her eyes. how long have they been standing in this moment of after? “please say something.” “i told him we couldn’t work,” she says in a rush. “and i don’t even know if it was really because you and I—” bess stumbles but samuel hangs on, his grip on her unwavering, “but i think part of me always knew it was just...like, a fantasy? we barely even knew each other and i always hated myself a little for being that girl trying to steal someone else’s partner and i wasn’t dealing with any of my shit until—” samuel just waits. the realization feels too big, but there’s no going back now. “until i met you.” he looks almost stricken. bess lets out a strange, wondrous kind of laugh. she puts her hand on samuel’s chest. she’s the one who needs steadying, now. he draws her closer without looking away from her face, like he’s helpless to it.  bess can’t remember the last time she felt so sure of anything. all those those expressions that always felt hidden in his eyes seem so plain, now: surprise, fear, hope. “i choose you, samuel. though i probably don’t even deserve to.”  she can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. samuel’s hand brushes her hair back away from her face, tracking the curve of her ear. just before she’s about to freak out, he asks, “are you drunk, bess?” she nearly laughs. “no. are you drunk, samuel?” he shakes his head. she understands that serious look, now. it’s wanting. he wants her.  samuel goes to pull her the rest of the way in— “bess!”  louie’s voice and a loud knock on the door springs them apart. the lights go out.  “bess, we’re going now. and the lights are out. do you have a source of light in there? are you coming to say goodbye?” samuel lets out a long, low “fuck.” she has to clap her hand over her mouth. his nearly silent laugh ghosts over her skin as he presses his face into the curve of her neck.  (samuel kisses her there, just once, but it’s enough that her knees tremble a little and she can feel the shape of his smile too.)  “i’ll be right out!” bess calls to her brother. his shadow moves away from the door. hysterical giggles shake her shoulders. samuel’s hands slide up to hold her face. “do you wanna—” “come home with me.” she can barely make out his features in the dark (except for the want) but bess’ stomach drops anyway. the irony of no electricity is funny when she feels like sparks might burst from beneath her skin.  “okay.” * bess is deliriously happy. samuel puts down his guitar and barely lets the door close before he’s pressing bess against it with both hands. his palms are heavy and warm on her hipbones; bess wants to rock up against him but there’s a certain thrill in it, how strong he seems.  she has no idea the last time she was kissed like this.  despite how fierce it feels, samuel lets her lead. he doesn’t open his mouth until she does, touches his tongue tentatively against hers at first pass, tugs so gently on her lip with his teeth until she makes a noise like a whimper.  she should tell him maybe, that samuel made her completely forget herself, back in the alcove at saint c’s. but then bess just lets her hands find their way back into his now slightly damp hair. she’ll just relive it instead. she scrapes her nails over his scalp and samuel’s breath comes up short; it returns in something that sounds like a groan, or a snarl, and oh.  bess has to take deep breaths of her own when he pulls back, a wide-eyed glance to her face to make sure she’s alright. she can only nod. samuel’s fingertips squeeze her waist as some of that urgency seems to fade from his eyes. he trails his mouth slowly from her lips to her jaw; she tilts her head instinctively to give him room and samuel finds that same spot on her neck from her own bedroom.  his teeth and tongue press a little harder than before; he gets a gasp for his efforts. her legs feel unsteady again. bess grabs at the open sides of his button-down until samuel shrugs out of it. it drops to their feet. he doesn’t protest when bess pushes him gently, walking backwards across the apartment with his arm tight around her.  he doesn’t let go when his legs meet the edge of his bed. bess would fall into him if not for samuel keeping them upright. he drops to sit, pulling them apart, and finally bess has to take stock of herself. samuel’s face is so open, his smile so wide in a way she’s never seen before.  “still good?” he asks. bess nods.  “still good?” samuel laughs lightly. “i’m great, bess.” he reaches for her hand, his thumb brushing each of her rings in turn. “we can stop whenever you want.” she’s the one standing but bess feels smaller, strangely. instead of replying, bess steps out of her shoes. samuel’s eyes seem to darken as she slides her jacket from her shoulders and lets it pool on the floor. bess leans down and brings one knee to the bed, by his hip, balancing herself with one hand on his shoulder. samuel’s inhale is impossibly loud as he instinctively supports her with a sliding grip up the back of her thigh. bess’ skirt isn’t that short but she’s glad she didn’t trade it for jeans before she left. samuel’s face betrays how pleased he seems by her choice.  once she’s finished effectively straddling him, bess looks down from her perch.  “hi.” samuel’s knuckles stroke up and down her leg. goosebumps ripple and he smiles. “hi.” bess takes his face in both her hands and leans down as samuel tilts his chin up to meet her. she’ll never tire of kissing him. it feels like she can’t get close enough; he must have the same idea because his arms wrap around her back until bess is sitting firmly in his lap, their hips slotted together.  “can i touch you?” samuel asks against her mouth. bess nods, maybe too quickly, but she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed.  guitar callused fingers slide beneath her top. samuel reaches the slim band of her lacy bralette. he pauses, but bess leans into his hand and then he’s tracing the curve of her breast. his thumb brushes a little roughly over her nipple; bess feels an abrupt ache between her legs. “that seems pretty,” samuel murmurs in her ear, like a casual observation. “it’s a matching set,” she replies, trying not to sound too breathless. “for luck.” he pulls back with wide eyes. bess wants to laugh but she’s too busy dealing with this rush of blood to her face. she sits up carefully so they don’t knock heads and reaches for the edges of samuel’s t shirt first; he drags it over his head in one smooth, practiced motion. shit, he’s hot.  he’s staring as bess unfolds herself to stand back on the floor (her legs are still unsteady but he doesn’t need to know that) and goes to pull off her own shirt. samuel’s eyes don’t leave her face until the fabric coming over her head pulls her from view. when bess blinks him back into focus, he’s gone a little slack-jawed. she nods at his jeans and the speed at which samuel divests himself of them has her biting back a giggle. bess’ face feels hot but there’s a frisson of pride that straightens her spine. she’s not even half an arm’s length away from him. samuel touches her stomach, just above the waistband of her skirt. “can I?” bess has to swallow before she can nod. just like before, samuel stares at her face until the last half of her outfit joins the rest of their clothes in a heap. samuel’s eyes trail from her eyes to her feet and back. it takes everything in bess not to fidget. she expects to see heat in his expression but there’s only wonderment and tenderness.  “fuck, you’re so beautiful.” she has no idea what to do with that. samuel tugs her into his lap this time, intent. his kiss is searing. bess rocks into him, just once, just a little. that grip on her thighs returns, tighter. bess can only gasp a laugh into his mouth when samuel stands, holding her up against him, and turns to lower her with a kind of breathtakingly slow care onto his bed.  bess lands on her back, samuel now the one leaning over her. desire coils low in her stomach. he gently shifts her hips so they’re both actually parallel with the long edges of the comforter.  she feels inexplicably, unbearably, fond of him.  then samuel looks away. he exhales, like he’s embarrassed.  bess frowns in concern. “what is it?” samuel shakes his head. “when you look at me like that, I can’t catch my breath.” oh. it feels so strange to be the steadier one. bess reaches for his cheek, drawing samuel’s eyes back to her. “guess you’ll just have to distract me, then.” he laughs, but then as he leans down, samuel’s smile fades and bess remembers. he wants her. she can feel it. his hand slides, pleasantly rough, over her skin, sliding beneath the band of her bralette. bess seizes samuel’s lip in her teeth as he strokes back over her breast. he teases her nipple and the moment bess manages to wriggle out of the garment and tosses it away, samuel’s swapped his hand with his tongue, her other breast now teased by his clever fingers. she gasps again and she can feel him smirking. samuel diverts his mouth’s attention to her other side. bess focuses on her breathing. the storm still lashes against the windows but it feels like nothing compared to the roaring in her blood. bess slides her fingers up the nape of samuel’s neck and a few things happen at once: samuel’s free hand finds the damp junction between her legs; bess pulls his hair a tiny bit harder than intended; his teeth catch her nipple with just enough firmness that bess’ back nearly arches off the bed, along with a keening noise she didn’t even realize she could make. samuel freezes immediately. he looks up and bess has no idea what her face looks like, but all she can say is, “do that again.” he leans back down, his teeth scraping over her other breast; when he tugs, bess does too, so hard that samuel hisses.  “sorry,” she pants, “sorry.” he shakes his head, a firm denial. it might be the dark, the lightning, or the fact that bess is so fucking turned on, but samuel’s expression has veered far past wanting— into hunger. he practically leaps back up to her mouth, a kiss so fierce that their teeth nearly clack together. “your hands,” he says, like it enrages him almost, “in my hair, holy fuck.”  oh was right. “you’re one to talk about hands,” bess retorts. “can you please just–” samuel leans back. “can i please just what?” he looks smug the bastard. it would be like them to bicker in the middle of sex, wouldn’t it? but his tone is so serious when he says, “tell me what you want, bess.” that she has to squeeze her thighs together.  “please touch me.” “where?”  bess is going to kill him. samuel touches her cheek with surprising gentleness, and kisses her there. “here?” he does the same to her neck. “here?” her shoulder. he marks the valley of her breasts, the slope of her navel, the jut of her pelvic bone. “samuel,” bess says. it sounds like a plea but she doesn’t care. she can only reach his shoulder now, the back of his neck. he may have shivered but she can’t tell because she’s too busy trying to keep it together.  he finally finds the elastic of her underwear.  “okay, bess?” this question isn’t a joke. bess makes sure to meet samuel’s eye; the mixture of that desire and care makes her dizzy. “yes. please.” when his fingers have finally slid inside her, bess says “samuel,” at a level of breathlessness she only ever gets when she sings. he touches her with the same care and confidence as he does any of their instruments, until her legs tremble; samuel finds a beat with his tongue against her clit that’s so good bess has to cover her mouth when she comes.  samuel crawls back up the bed towards her. he leaves a kiss on the inside of her knee, and her shoulder, just an inch or two from where he had the first night she’d stayed here. bess feels very safe, suddenly.  “still good?” samuel asks again, a more raw edge to the question this time. bess can only affirm silently as she leans up a little to kiss him. she can taste herself in his mouth, can feel the weight of his arousal against her. bess presses up and samuel groans.  heat pulses again between her legs. “do you want,” bess starts, putting her hands on him, straining against his boxers. samuel’s whole body seems to twitch. he pulls her wrists away though with a bruising kiss.  “i’m just dying to be inside you, if that’s cool.” her stomach flips.  “very cool.” samuel smiles and goes willingly when bess rolls them over. he reaches blindly into a bedside drawer. bess catches sight of a pair of glasses and makes a mental note to ask about them when her mind’s not currently so occupied.  “shit, are these even in date?” samuel squints at the packet in his hand. “god, have i not had sex in this long?” bess can’t help but laugh. they giggle their way through confirming the expiry date, getting rid of samuel’s boxers, and rolling on the condom in the dark. for a moment they just look at each other. bess hasn’t ached like this for anyone in a long time.  “tell me what you want, samuel.” his adam’s apple bobs as he sits up. “c’mere.”  samuel pulls her forward and bess lifts her hips to line them up. he swallows her tiny gasp as she sinks down onto him; it’s been a while for her, too. samuel anchors her with one hand splayed across her back, waiting silently until bess has adjusted to the stretch.  bess rocks down experimentally and he makes an almost strangled noise in the back of his throat. a soft kiss lands on her forehead, a starkly tender inverse to nearly everything that’s happened so far, and maybe even to what they’re about to do. it settles bess and breaks her open both at once.  “okay?” he asks carefully. she nods, wrapping both her arms around his neck. “you’re amazing, you know that?” samuel murmurs over her lips. his own hips swing up towards hers and wow. “bess.” she was right, before. he’s strong.  they get a rhythm going quickly enough, like another harmony that comes so easy. the angle has bess’ clit pressing with beautiful pressure against samuel’s pelvis; she clenches down just as he thrusts up. he curses and it just stokes that flame hotter inside of her. after a certain point bess can’t even speak anymore. she has both her hands in samuel’s hair and he’s latched back onto the curve between her neck and shoulder, teeth and tongue and words like, fuck and tight and good and bess— “samuel i—” he looks up at her face like he wants to commit it to memory.  “bess.” and she’s gone again. * when they’ve caught their breath and tidied up, bess and samuel find themselves side by side in his bathroom, a sweet reflection of that night from weeks ago. she’s glad she thought to bring her toothbrush. samuel keeps staring at her in the mirror.  “what?”  does she have toothpaste on her face? he just shakes his head, the way he does when he laughs to himself.  “nothing. you just look better in my t-shirts than i do.”  bess rolls her eyes but her face feels hot anyway. “weirdo.” it feels good not to have to wonder as they head back to his bed. samuel drags her immediately towards him beneath the covers, his cool hands greedy beneath her borrowed sleepwear as her back curves against his chest. he plants a minty kiss above her shoulder-blade where his shirt’s slipped down. bess shivers and he leaves another on the back of her neck. “sorry,” he murmurs, and bess flips around to look at him.  “for what?” the storm broke finally, and amber light of the street through his windows feels just as safe and warm as it had before. but samuel is the one who seems afraid, now.  “i don’t want to freak you out.” “you’re not freaking me out,” bess insists. “tell me.” samuel hesitates. bess reaches out to touch his face.  “hey. i don’t scare that easy either, you know.” he exhales a faint laugh. it’s so rare to see samuel seem unsure, or fragile. it makes bess feel thrillingly off-centre.  “i don’t think i’ll ever be able to stop wanting you.”  she’s falling.  “and not just—” samuel nods vaguely at their general closeness. “this. i mean all of it. the music, your family, everything. i know it’s probably a bad idea to start things with bandmates or whatever but i just—”  bess doesn’t let him finish. she can only pour all her affection for him into a kiss, taking samuel’s huff of surprise in her mouth even as he reaches for her waist to pull her closer, then on top of him.  when she pulls away he seems a little dazed.  “you make the bad days okay,” bess says firmly and samuel smiles with such near-adoration that she understands it now, that loss of air. “so we’ll figure it out, okay? one day at a time.” samuel nods. “okay.”  and he pulls her back down. * bess wakes up with words in her mind.  samuel’s grip is so tight that at first she doesn’t think he’ll let her go. but bess manages to slide away, picking up his hand gently and lifting his arm. she looks at his sleeping face and kisses his knuckles.  samuel’s lips curve a little and if she looks too hard she could be in love with him already.  she knows where he keeps blank sheet paper in his production area. bess finds a pen and a coffee table book about new york parks; she sits on the edge of the bed to scrawl, humming to herself.  she doesn’t realize he’s up until a familiar press of lips lands on her neck. bess will never stop shivering and samuel will apparently never stop smiling about it.  “hi,” he mumbles. his voice is low and gravely with sleep. bess files that away under the list of things that does something to her. samuel hooks his chin over her shoulder and bess lifts her work to accommodate his arms sliding around her waist. “new idea?” bess nods. “thinking about what you said to me.”  she’s circled can’t catch my breath at the top of the page. samuel goes very still. it feels like it could crush them, the weight of this kind of intimacy. but at least bess doesn’t have to carry it alone. “wanna write with me?”  she turns her head to look at him; samuel’s surprise will never not be thrilling.  “will you let me add a back beat?”  he’s already reaching for his guitar. bess laughs.  “i could maybe be persuaded.” the way his eyebrow lifts makes her stomach jump. “duly noted.” (they do finish the song, eventually.  the morning just gets away from them first.) 

Too Late - by Alinda

There are chains around his ankles and wrists. They keep him locked in the chair he was forced to sit in. He knows this chair. He sat in it once before. Years ago. When Dumbledore was still alive and there to save him. Back when the world still made some kind of sense. Before it had turned against him and took everything he ever cared about.

Ron had been there when they arrested him. He had looked at Harry as if he was a stranger. And maybe he is that now. A stranger. A killer and murderer. He’s no longer the boy Ron became friends with. He hasn’t been that boy for years. Just like he hasn’t been Ron’s friend since he made his choice and ran with the only one that mattered.

Hermione is somewhere in this room. He’s seen the paper when she was elected into the Wizengamot. Harry was proud of her. Still is. But that doesn’t matter now. She will not give him any favours. She will hear his testimony and know she won’t be able to claim he’s innocent. Because he isn’t.

Not that it matters anymore. None of it does. Not since the moment they took him. Not when Harry found out he was too late.

Harry doesn’t look up when Shacklebolt stands up and starts to talk. Another person Harry let down by running. By becoming an accomplish to a wanted criminal. Always on the run. Always looking over his shoulder. Until they made a choice and found a way to live their lives in peace.

At least they didn’t take his ring. His only reminder of the life he had before. Of the time he was truly happy.

“Harry James Potter, you are brought before the Wizengamot to be trailed for the crimes you committed. I understand that you have waived the right to have an attorney present. Is that correct?” Shacklebolt says.

Harry nods his head.

Shacklebolt scrapes his throat. “Please speak up for the court,” he says.

Harry closes his eyes. He can see the smile he woke up to for the last fifteen years. The smile that was stolen from him not that long ago. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Then he opens his eyes and looks at Shacklebolt. “I don’t need an attorney,” he says.

“Harry, don’t be stupid,” a familiar voice says. Harry looks to Shacklebolt’s left and sees Hermione sitting there. She looks older. More mature. Life has done her good. Harry wonders if she and Ron have stayed together. He can’t remember if the article about her appointment into the Wizengamot that he’d read years ago said anything about her private life.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry says. He’s ready to take whatever punishment they want to give him. It’s not like he has anything left to live for.

Shacklebolt continues as if Hermione hadn’t interrupted them. He looks at the parchment in front of him. The man is hard to read. Is he disappointed in Harry? The man he once thought would take over the Auror department. Maybe even become the next Minister of Magic. Now a criminal, on trial for the murder of some former Death Eater children.

“We’ve received your request to plea separately for the crimes you are on trial for, is that correct?” Shacklebolt asks.

“Yes,” Harry says.

“Mrs Granger, would you please list the crimes one by one,” Shacklebolt continues.

Hermione stands up. Her hands shake a little. “Harry James Potter, you are charged for abating Draco Lucius Malfoy’s escape from prison. How do you plea?”

“Guilty,” Harry says. It’s no secret that he was the one that escorted Draco out of the Ministry and fled the country with him. Not that Draco was guilty of the crimes they convicted him for. But nobody believed Harry back then. Said he was just upset and confused. Nobody cared that Voldemort would have won if it hadn’t been for Draco.

Hermione swallows before she continues. Harry wants to tell her that it’s okay, that it doesn’t matter. She can continue without feeling guilty for not believing him. It’s his fault for never being honest with them about all this in the first place.

“Harry James Potter, you are charged for murdering Pansy Parkinson. How do you plea?” Hermione says.

Again the word guilty rolls of Harry’s tongue. She deserved it. Draco trusted her. Was happy when she reached out to him. But she betrayed him.

The next two charges also follow a guilty plea from Harry. He found Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle in the room with him. Their wands pointed at the love of Harry’s life. His husband. Who lay broken on the floor. The rage Harry had felt in that moment had burst out of him. He didn’t have a wand anymore. Hadn’t used one in years. But he didn’t need it. The spells just left his fingers. They screamed and begged until Harry had heard enough and green lights had filled the room.

But this will be all he will plead guilty for.

“Harry James Potter, you are charged for torturing and murdering Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Hermione says. Harry closes his eyes. He fights the tears that threaten to escape him. His voice seems lost as he opens his mouth to respond. He scrapes his throat and tries again.

“Not guilty,” he whispers.

“Please speak up,” Shacklebolt says.

Harry looks at them. His eyes lock with Hermione. They are moist as if she knows. And she probably does. She always knew what it was that Harry wasn’t saying. But it’s too late now.

“Not guilty,” he says again.

There is some commotion around them. Had they all hoped that Harry would just plead guilty to everything and be done with it? Now they have to prove that Harry killed his husband. The man he gave up everything for. And it will stretch this out. But even though Harry wants it all to be over, he couldn’t. He would not betray his love. He will not plea guilty and betray Draco. He will have justice for him before Harry can give up.

Pictures are shown of the murdered victims. Parkinson bled to death after the Sectumsempra hit her. Harry didn’t stay and watch. He had rushed down to the basement where he had found him. Draco his eyes had been open, but they didn’t see anything anymore. His clothes were torn and his bones broken. Harry had been too late. Compared to him, Goyle and Nott got off easy. They didn’t have to suffer to days of torture until their bodies gave out. They only had to endure a short time under the Cruciatus curse before Harry couldn’t stand the sound of their screams any longer.

Ron is questioned at some point. Harry is scared to look at him. He was the first Auror on the scene. The one that arrested Harry.

“Mr Potter was found holding Mr Malfoy’s body. He cradled him, as you cradle someone you love,” Ron says. “He was crying when I arrested him. The only hesitation he had was when he had to let go of Mr Malfoy’s body. Other than that, he came willingly.”

Later they examine the wands of Parkinson, Nott and Goyle. The last spells they fired are all dark and unforgivable. The pain they put Draco through was even worse than Harry had imagined. If only he had found them sooner. Not that they would have survived it. But at least Draco wouldn’t have had to suffer as he did. Tears fall now. Harry can’t stop them. He closes his eyes and tries to think of the good times. Of the day they bought fake Muggle IDs so they could get married. The moment they apparated back to their home after the I do’s. The perfect eggs Draco used to make for breakfast. The walks through the forest around their home. The days spend in the garden, growing herbs and vegetables. The nights spent in front of the fire, Draco reading a book out loud so Harry could listen to his voice. A voice he will never hear again.

A healer goes over the wounds on all the victims. Harry tries not to listen to the words spoken. He can’t stand to hear in even more detail how Draco had suffered in his final days.

“I would like to add that Mr Malfoy wore one piece of jewellery when we examen him. A golden ring with a date engraved on the inside, together with the Harry,” the healer says.

Harry looks at the ring on his own finger. The same golden ring they found on Draco. Only here the name Draco is engraved next to their wedding date.

“Would you say that this was a wedding ring?” Shacklebolt asks.

“It appeared so,” the healer answers. “Only the Aurors couldn’t find any registered marriage for Mr Malfoy.”

The lead investigator is brought in. They only searched the magical records. Shacklebolt orders them to look to the Muggle records. And when they come back they hold a piece of paper stating that Harry James Potter married Draco Lucius Malfoy twelve years, four months and six days ago. Three years after they ran from the magical world when they didn’t believe that Draco wasn’t a Death Eater. On the day they had been together for exactly six years. Eighteen years ago, when Harry hadn’t though and just reached out and kissed Draco. And all it had taken was Draco saying he didn’t believe that the Dark Lord was the great saviour everyone thought he was.

They had been together for eighteen years, two months and four days when Draco disappeared.

It had been eighteen years, two months and twenty-seven days when Harry found him.

Harry had only been minutes too late.

Minutes he can never get back. He can never catch up to them and save Draco.

“Mr Potter, is this true? Was Mr Malfoy your husband?” Shacklebolt asks.

“He was,” Harry answers.

More commotion follows. The Wizengamot gets adjourned. Harry is transported back to his cell. Time passes while he stares at the walls around him. Draco always said the cells were a horrible place. Cold and clamp. Harry never thought about it after he’d helped Draco escape. Now the words of those conversations flood his mind.

“You shouldn’t have rescued me,” Draco shouted on that first day. “You’re throwing away your life. And what for? A school crush?”

Harry had grabbed him and pulled him close. “For the injustice done to the man I love,” he’d said before they had kissed.

Draco would complain from time to time. And then Harry would remind him of all the things Draco had risked when he agreed to become a double agent. How he’d betrayed his own family for the person he loves. How he’d helped Harry find the Horcruxes and saved his life over and over again, until the final battle. How Harry had come back for him. How he’d fought to let others know that Draco was one of the good guys.

But everyone who had known was dead. Sirius had passed soon after the agreement was made. Dumbledore fell. So did Snape and Tonks. There was nobody but Harry who knew of Draco’s mission for the order. The only one still alive that had seen Draco struggle with the fact that he had to take the Dark Mark. The mark that stood for everything he was against. The mark that clouded the Wizengamot’s judgement and just claimed his guilty without a proper trial.

The next day, the Wizengamot questions Harry. Why didn’t he contact the Auror department when his husband went missing? Why did he even marry a Death Eater? Harry tells them he wasn’t. He shows them his memories when they ask for proof. It’s the only proof he has. The meetings in Dumbledore’s office with Sirius and Tonks. The talks about what it would mean for their relationship. The sneaking around, the meetups after Harry had to go on the run, the information Draco provided, the way he got Harry out of the Manor when they got captured.

“I was too late,” Harry says in the end. “I found him too late.”

He looks at Hermione. Tears are on her cheeks, a hand on her mouth. She finally understands how Harry had always known where to go next that final year. Why he never minded having the graveyard shift on watch. It was the moments he would meet up with Draco.

Nobody will ever know why they took Draco after all these years. Did they blame him for the destruction of Voldemort? Was this their way of revenging their parents? Harry doesn’t care. He only knows that they took the love of his life from him and that they broke his heart beyond repair.

The verdict, in the end, is expected. Shacklebolt says he understands, but they can’t condone murder, not even when it’s to revenge a loved one. Life in prison is the best he can do. Harry is taken to Azkaban. He stares at the ceiling of his cell until his broken hearts gives out and he can fly to the place where he will be reunited with his Draco.

VIGILANTE/S IV

part four // 2.8k words // superpowered!au // (sort of) gang!au // series masterlist

summary; in which you consider yourself somewhat of a vigilante.

warnings; swearing, mentions of death, weapons and killing, gang shit really 

notes; this fic is now 10k words and that's a personal record so damn

“I hear training was a success,” Doyoung says when he returns from Jaehyun’s ‘errand’.

You roll your eyes, your jaw set. You don’t look at him, focusing instead on the camera footage Mark had given you to watch. A notepad sat in your lap as you sat cross-legged on your bed, the computer in front of you. The footage was over 12 hours long, showing only a large gate leading to an estate that looked to be the size of a museum. The leader of the Red Crown lived there, you knew, and you were supposed to watch and record who was entering and exiting through the gate during the 12-hour time period.

“I’m being serious.” You finally look over at Doyoung, standing in the doorway, and the expression on his face almost resembles pride. He’s never been anything but serious, but he seems more playful now. “You beat Johnny.”

“He beat me about fifty times,” you deadpan, giving him a pointed look before shifting your attention back to your notepad. Doyoung walks in and looks around the room, as if it’s his first time seeing it – like it would help him understand you.

“What was your time?” He asks, his back to you.

“Fifteen twenty?” The worst fifteen minutes and twenty seconds of your life, probably. He looks at you, and for a moment you can’t read the expression on his face.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, but doesn’t say anything. Briefly turning his attention away from you, he stops to look at the drawings and photos attached to the wall, his face stoic again. He’s looking at the detailed sketches of weapons  – disturbingly realistic, in your opinion – that adorn the wall by the door. The others were strangely anatomical – surprisingly accurate hand-drawn outlines of bodies were pinned against another bare wall. One had a skeleton, another vital organs, and one had the bloodstream mapped out beautifully. Hand-written notes were scribbled across the paper – you’d attempted to read them but the messy scrawl was illegible.

“What’s this?” When he turns around, you hold up one of the leather-bound journals you’d found on the bedside table. It was quite possibly the creepiest thing you’d ever read. One of the entries had just read, January 16th, tried knives again. Sixteen stab wounds. Mostly torso, though heart was avoided. Twelve hours exactly. Another, only two days later, was simply: January 18th, bullet between the eyes (removed). 6.4mm. Four hours.

You’d wondered if the owner was an interrogator like Doyoung – or just a torturer. Part of you was glad you hadn’t had the opportunity to meet him. From what it appeared, none of the others really missed him, either.

Doyoung furrows his eyebrows, “Don’t read that. It’s personal.”

“The guy’s dead.”

You’re unsure if Doyoung hears you, as he chooses to focus on the pictures on the walls once again. Your personal favourite was in the closet, attached to the inside of the door, otherwise hidden from sight. It was a mix of charcoal and red paint, barely resembling a face, but it felt more personal than the ones on the walls, tucked away in the closet where no one would see. It wasn’t nearly as detailed or clear as the other posters, and you had stared at it for almost two minutes before realising what it was.

“The first time Donghyuck fought Johnny, he didn’t even get a time.” Doyoung’s voice sounds far away as he recalls the memory. You wish he hadn’t blocked you from using his powers so that you could see whatever he was remembering.

“What about you?”

“About fifteen seconds.” He snorts at your expression. “Don’t be discouraged.” His attention suddenly moves to the door, and you follow his gaze, though nothing is there. With a nod, he leaves.

You’re left alone again, and you wonder what it is with these boys and never saying goodbye.

You’ve managed to speed up the footage just enough to make your task bearable but have to pause it when a familiar black van enters the shot. It’s identical to the one you’d seen at the Den on the night you met the team, but the number plate is different. This number plate is familiar in a different way. Unlike every other vehicle that had passed through the gates, the driver’s window does not slide down. No ID card is able to be captured.

You know exactly who it is – the only person who can enter the estate without having to show credentials. The Red Prince.

Even though the footage is far too grainy to make out anything in the mirrors, you swear you can see his reflection. Eyes that stare directly into the camera, as if he knows you’re watching. You wonder if he knows he’s being watched, that a group of Supers had managed to hack into his security system.

The gate slides open wide, and the eyes disappear. You shiver.

“Y/n?” You’re shaken from your thoughts when a voice calls you from the other side of your door.

“Come in!”

“Wow,” Mark offers you a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Donghyuck never lets me in his room.”

“Well-,” you shrug, then hesitate. You realise you have no idea what to say to him. At least, you don’t have anything to say that isn’t insensitive. Clearing your throat, you push your notepad to the side, “What’s up?”

“I, uh,” his eyes scan the walls, taking in the inside of the room, “Johnny needs the notes from the security footage by tonight. I thought I’d let you know.”

“Thanks, Mark.” You can feel how tight your smile is, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He turns to leave, but just as the door’s about to close, he pops his head back inside the room, “Oh, by the way, don’t be worried about training today. Johnny was impressed.” He smiles. “Have a good night, y/n.”

It’s almost midnight by the time you get to the end of the footage. 14 vehicles entering, 10 leaving. And you know the licence plates and drivers of them all.

You feel uncomfortable watching the footage, being right at the gate but unable to enter. Your determination to get in there and take down the Red Crown is strong, frustration bubbling inside you. Everything they’re doing goes against what you believe in, and there’s something about your anger that makes you stand up and head to the kitchen. The walls of Jaehyun’s office are transparent again, and the light is on , even though you know he can’t see you, you freeze when his eyes snap up from his laptop.

It’s weird being unable to hear or see the other team members walking around, and the warehouse feels much emptier without them. Soft snoring makes you jump, and you smile at the sight of Jaemin passed out on a couch nearby, his breaths steady, though slightly too fast. Part of you was surprised by how fast he seemed to live his life, though he had told you he had to consciously slow himself down most of the time. “It’s like letting someone win in a race by running slower than them,” he’d explained. “You know you can go faster and beat them, but you don’t. Like constantly coming second place.”

“Does it get frustrating?” You’d asked.

“Almost unbelievably so,” he’d smiled at you, though you could see some inner turmoil behind his eyes.

When you’re filling a glass with water, Jaehyun steps out of his office, the door closing loudly, snapping you out of your thoughts. His feet are soft on the floor – you almost don’t hear him coming. “Can’t sleep?” He’s reaching for a mug on the shelf behind you, and you sidestep to move out of his way.

“I just needed to clear my head,” you swallow, and quickly take a drink of water as an excuse not to elaborate.

Jaehyun slides the mug under the coffee machine, and watches it whir to life. Only now can you read the words printed on the side, ‘World’s Greatest Boss’. You snort when you see it. He turns his head to look at you, and raises an eyebrow. There’s something different in the way he does it. Normally, when he does this, it’s questioning, analytical, intimidating. Now? You’d say it’s borderline flirtatious. It takes you a second to realise why it seems so different.

He’s standing in front of you, leaning over the counter top, waiting for his coffee – in sweatpants. He’s mindlessly biting the inside of his cheek, and you realise you’ve never noticed he has dimples. Probably because he never smiles.

“What?” He’s frowning slightly, but when he looks like this, it just looks cute. The furrow in his brow almost looks guarded, as if he’s worried you’re about to say something offensive.

“Uh,” you look down, collecting your thoughts, then a smile appears on your face. “Your mug, I-”

He looks down at it, and there’s the ghost of a smile on his face, “The first birthday present Johnny ever got me.”

“It’s…cute,” you say it more like a question than a compliment. A loud thud makes you both stand tall, staring into the darkness to make out any movement. There’s a quiet yawn, and the sound of retreating footsteps. You turn back to Jaehyun, and any emotion he’d displayed in the last two minutes was wiped from his face. His face is hard again, and he looks more like the man you’d seen earlier. He looks older, authoritative. “I’m gonna get some rest. I hear training tomorrow is going to be intense,” you offer him a smile.

His attention has moved from you again, staring into the darkness of the warehouse. He bids you goodnight without looking at you, carrying his coffee gently to his office, his mind somewhere else.

You leave your glass in the sink, promising yourself you’ll wash it in the morning, before making your way back to your room.

You can hear faint murmurs coming from another room, but the walls are so thick you can’t make out any of the words. Moving the laptop from your bed to the set of drawers next to the door, you prepare for bed.

The door suddenly bangs open, and a duffel bag is dropped onto the floor noisily. You gasp in shock and the person in the doorway looks just as surprised to see you. “Who are you?” He asks, frozen right there in the middle of the doorway.

“Y/n. Who-” His eyes are wide and calculating, searching the room.

“Well, what are you doing here, y/n?” He crosses his arms, looking at you skeptically.

“I’m part of the team. I-”

“I meant, what are you doing in my room?”

You’re struggling to keep up with the conversation at this point. You shake your head. “Your room – ? Wait, you’re Donghyuck? You’re dead.”

His gaze is fierce, “I was dead. I’m not anymore. Now, I’m tired. And I’d like to sleep in my own bed.” He walks into the room, rifling through the drawers of the dresser, looking for something.

Reaching out for his power, you can feel it thread through your body, though it’s more painful than invigorating, very different to most of the power you can feel in other Supers. “You’re immortal.”

“Obviously,” he doesn’t even turn around.

A lightbulb goes off in your head as the journals on the bedside table catch your attention, “So the journals – you… you were killing yourself?”

Donghyuck rounds on you, “You read my – ? Okay, you’re clearly new to the team. Rule number one; never read anyone’s journal.” At the confused look on your face, he rolls his eyes, “We all have them. You’ll get yours soon. To track your drawbacks; track your strength.”

You raise an eyebrow at him from where you’re sitting on your – his – bed. “Drawbacks?”

“Damn, okay. Rule number two; know your drawbacks. The limits of your power. We all have them. Jaemin’s is how much he has to eat and sleep. Chenle and Mark lack control.” He gestures to his journals before turning back to the drawers, “As you can see, mine is time. Takes a long time to come back to life.” You barely hear it when he mumbles, “Surprise, surprise.”

“You just kill yourself over and over again?”

“Pretty much.” He finds what he’s looking for but doesn’t take it out from the drawer. He turns to face you again, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed once again. “What do you do?”

“I mimic other people’s abilities.”

His eyebrows raise slightly and he whistles lowly in appreciation, but he doesn’t say anything. “Drawback?”

“Uh… I guess it’s distance. If they’re too far away, it’s like I can’t reach their power.”

He nods in understanding, then furrows his eyebrows, “Johnny will have you training with all of us, then. Have you done ability training yet?”

You shake your head.

“How long have you been here?”

“One day,” you shrug.

“Wait, you’re the one Doyoung brought in?”

You pause, then nod.

“Ah, Jeno killed me before we could meet, I guess.”

“Jeno killed you?!” Your voice is high and loud. Jeno was much stronger, much faster, much more skilled than you were. You had no chance against him if he ever decided you were his next target. Donghyuck’s eyes widen at the loud noise, and he crosses the room to shut the door, “Shit, calm down. I’m immortal – it’s not like it’s a big deal. Almost everyone here has killed me at least once, though he does hold the record.” The side of his mouth quirks up to the side in a smile that you would almost call cute. Maybe if he wasn’t talking about his friend murdering him, he’d be cute.

You don’t know what to say to that. “You’re insane.” That works.

He shrugs, “Jeno’s always been impatient.”

“So he just kills you. Logical.” The disbelief in your voice makes him laugh.

“Rule number three; never get Jeno angry. His drawback is his anger.”

“Holy shit, where were you when I joined? I could have used some of this information.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Well, first of all, I was dead. Then I had to go out of town for a day – and here I am.”

You nod, “Right.”

Donghyuck grabs his bag and turns it upside down onto the top of the bed. You aren’t quite sure what you were expecting to come out, but it certainly wasn’t guns. You wait for something – anything – normal to drop out, yet it seems like it’s just guns. At least fifteen of them, ranging in size. You don’t say anything.

He takes one look at your face and immediately explains, “I just bought them. Our weapons dealer is based in China – Winwin? He’s a friend of Jaehyun’s – and he just got into the city two days ago. Jaehyun made me go pick them up.” Under all the posters and sketches on the wall, the walls are painted a bright red, and the subtle blush on Donghyuck’s face almost matches them completely.

“I didn’t realise there was more of you,” you say.

“Us.” You look up in confusion, and he offers you a smile, “More of us.” He clears his throat, his attention going back to the weapons on the bed, “Yeah, Jaehyun has connections everywhere. Japan, China, you name it.”

Carefully, he places the guns in boxes and stacks them in the corner of his room. He brushes off his hands on his thighs, “Look, I’m happy to take the couch tonight, but don’t get any ideas. This is my room, and I fully intend on taking it back after –“ He cuts himself off with a yawn and you raise an eyebrow at him. Rolling his eyes, he heads for the door, giving you an awkward bow of his head as he closes the door.

You feel a little bad about stealing his room, but you’re so tired, you don’t have enough time to think about it before you’re drifting off to sleep in his bed.

open always petal by petal (ch 1)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien​, @coslyons​, @treemaidengeek​ and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Day 0 ⋆

The papers are fakes, Song Lan thinks, but damn good ones. It’s really only the feel of the paper—a bit too clean, a bit too smooth—that tips him off. The ID badge is probably fake too.

He examines the man standing in front of him. He’s handsome in a patrician sort of way, if a bit too thin, and nearly as tall as Song Lan himself, dressed in graceful Eastern Sector robes that rustle the way only real silk does. They’re a far cry from Song Lan’s utilitarian jacket and comfortable shirts and pants in shades of constant black, only a small step up from the uniform he used to wear.

Song Lan wonders why this obviously wealthy man would need forged travel docs. He doesn’t really care, of course. Everyone has their secrets. But he doesn’t need trouble with the Goldlighters. It’s already tricky enough to be unaffiliated without drawing the attention of the galaxy’s most powerful economic cultivation guild.

With a sigh, Song Lan fishes the comm out of a pocket and holds it to the tiny neural node on the side of his head.

[Why the fake name?] the comm speaker asks in a cheerful, melodic voice that still twinges painfully in his chest. It’s been five years. He should really get the damn thing re-coded.

Instead of being offended, the man—supposedly named Cao Huan—tilts a wry, weary smile at him.

“I had hoped to be anonymous a little longer,” he says, his elegant accent denoting excessive amounts of privilege and education. “If you require my real credentials, I can produce them.”

Song Lan shrugs and shakes his head. As long as the man is legit, he can call himself whatever he wants, but now Song Lan has another question. Frowning, he lifts the comm again.

[Why not just travel on a Goldlighter transport? You’re headed for Caiyi. It’s a major port. You know it’ll take two weeks to travel through all four sectors in my ship? The trip might be more dangerous than on a sanctioned vessel,] Xingchen’s voice asks.

Song Lan is under no illusions about his typical fares. There’s usually a good reason they want to travel without questions, and usually a good reason they choose Fuxue. He might be unaffiliated, but he’s not cheap. The galaxy is a dangerous place, and he’s very good at his job. In ten years, he’s only lost one person. It was, however, the only one who mattered.

“I am returning to my family after...some time away. I am in no hurry,” Cao Huan answers, with an edge that Song Lan takes to mean the topic is closed.

Well, he’s happy to take the man’s money; he paid extra to be the only passenger. Song Lan shrugs again and motions for Cao Huan to follow him on a very short tour: kitchen, guest bedrooms, sonic lavs, the foolishly indulgent bath, infirmary, bridge, engineering, cargo bay, plus half a dozen corridors that serve as storage, computer terminals, short-term passenger seating, and whatever else Song Lan needs them to be. He’s even strung up hammocks in emergencies.

[Make yourself at home,] he says with a nod and quick, slanted smile.

“Thank you Captain Song,” the man says with a wide, genuine smile that starts in the corner of his mouth and spreads, opening like a flower across his face. It surprises Song Lan in a way he can’t quite articulate, as though neither of them expected today to hold any need for smiles. “I have been told you are the best pilot, and I look forward to the journey.”

Song Lan finishes prepping Fuxue with supplies for the two-week flight, plus extras, because it’s always better to plan for the worst. He checks to make sure his one luxury—six skeins of outrageously expensive qiviut yarn—is carefully stowed in waterproof cases. Having warm socks and something to do with his hands in the long dark expanse of space is worth any price. Cao Huan busies himself with loading his own gear, waving Song Lan away when he offers to help.

“Commander Song! Commander Song Lan!”

Song Lan turns at the familiar voice calling a half-forgotten title, but it takes him a minute to recall the person: Ouyang Ju. They had served together some ten years ago in the war that brought down the Wen High Chancellor. Fat lot of good that had done.

“Man, it is you! Haven’t seen you in ages,” Ouyang grins, slapping Song Lan on the back. “How’s it going?”

Song Lan tries not to flinch. He has never understood the need people have to touch each other when they’re talking. It’s annoying. He smiles and tips his head, the universal motion for a polite and disengaged fine, and hopes he won’t have to elaborate. It’s not that he doesn’t like using the comm. He would just rather not use it.

Alright, maybe it’s that he doesn’t like using it.

The man’s face twists with sudden, embarrassed recollection, and Song Lan knows what’s coming next.

“Sorry to hear about your partner and...everything,” the older man says with an apologetic grimace. “He was a great guy.”

[He was,] Song Lan acknowledges, giving in to the blasted voice box. [Thanks.]

“Hey, I’m XO on the Goldlight Ren,” Ouyang nods at the huge transport vessel resting in the nearby docking bay, just visible through wide banks of windows designed, Song Lan assumes, to show off the might and power of the ships that travel here. Nothing like Fuxue, who might be ninety meters if he squints just right, can be flown by a single person, and only requires a landing pad.

“Anything you ever need, you tell me, okay? I owe you.” Without waiting for a response, Ouyang strides away, whistling a fairly dirty bar song.

Song Lan watches him go, wishing it was that easy, wishing he could reduce the war to favors performed, a series of tit-for-tat exchanges that balance to zero instead of a perpetually-red loss column.

Wishes are pointless. Only the road ahead matters.

Song Lan sees his new passenger idly poking through a bag, head dipped away, back turned, and something about his posture rings a distant alarm bell in Song Lan’s mind. He has flown the route from Sichuan Base to Caiyi Port hundreds of times in his life. It should feel exactly the same as every other trip. And yet this time, he senses trouble brewing, and he does not like it.

⋆ Day 3 ⋆

Other than the unexpected music, it’s almost like flying alone. Cao Huan seems to have a sixth sense for knowing where Song Lan will be and avoiding him. He only occasionally catches glimpses of the tall man, white robes swirling behind him as he disappears through doorways or around corners.

It suits Song Lan just fine, and he laughs to himself about his initial concern. Cao Huan is the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent. Song Lan finishes his first sock less than two days out of port, a record.

The only place he consistently runs into his passenger is in the kitchen. After the third day, it occurs to Song Lan that, as strange as it seems, it must be on purpose. Song Lan gets the definite impression that Cao Huan waits for him to arrive before he eats, as though it’s some ceremony he wishes to observe.

There’s no good reason for it, but Song Lan starts to eat his meals at the narrow kitchen table too. After all, there’s no reason not to, either. He just doesn’t usually eat in the kitchen. He’s grateful to discover that conversation is not the reason Cao Huan prefers company; meals continue to be quiet, peaceful affairs.

“Captain Song?”

Cao Huan’s voice startles Song Lan into dropping the knife he’s using to stir his...whatever this goop is.

“My apologies, but...will you join me for tea tomorrow morning? It is not as enjoyable to drink tea by myself.”

Without meaning to, Song Lan looks at the cabinet that contains the “tea” and “coffee,” thinking, it’s never enjoyable to drink that swill, and Cao Huan laughs.

It’s only a laugh on the barest technicality, a soft huff of air, but it changes things so profoundly, Song Lan has trouble staying on his feet. Suddenly, Cao Huan is a person, not a passenger, not a potential problem. The word no forms in his head even as he feels himself nodding.

Cao Huan smiles and inclines his chin, pleased, and Song Lan finds himself smiling back. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s not usually so soft-hearted. Xingchen was the nice one, he reminds himself, and look how that turned out. The cruelty is the only way he can snap himself out of the whispering camaraderie, a pointless train of thought, and back into his role as captain of a ship, nothing more.

[Captain, your attention is required.]

As if to punctuate the computer’s notification, an alarm sounds—unexpected, as this part of space should be smooth and easy sailing. Song Lan grimaces, shrugging apologetically.

“I’m coming,” he signs to the computer’s security camera, before running back to the bridge.

It turns out to be nothing major, only a debris field. Either a small ship had a catastrophe here or a large ship dumped trash. Neither option is particularly heartening. Bad enough if ships are carelessly leaving obstructions on a primary transit route, worse if a ship has been attacked and destroyed here where it should be safe. He knows the Joint Senate is doing its best, and Hanguang-jun, the new chairman, is by far the best leader the four sectors have had in decades, but it’s hard to protect everyone.

There’s no signs of life anywhere after three scans, and Song Lan steers them out of the mess before he resumes course and autopilot.

He doesn’t go back to the kitchen, though.

It isn’t wise, he tells himself, to think of passengers as anything but temporary. Even if they seem nice, even if they’re friendly, they always reach their destination and move on. That’s what he likes about flying transport.

Like clockwork, at 8 pm the music starts. The first night on the ship, Song Lan had thought he was going crazy, hearing the eerie twang of an instrument he didn’t think still existed outside of private art collections.

But no, his passenger had been seated in the mostly-empty cargo bay, eyes closed, playing the guqin. An actual wooden guqin. The music had echoed through the hold, wrapping its notes around Song Lan and reverberating in his chest. He had listened with a mix of disbelief and reverence to the beautiful melody flowing from the fingers of the obviously skilled musician. He listened, in fact, until Cao Huan lifted his hands off the strings and sighed, a long, plaintive sound of grief that piqued Song Lan’s curiosity more than was healthy, and he’d hurried away before Cao Huan noticed him.

The next night had been the same, the music winding into access shafts, around the bridge, even through engineering.

Which Song Lan knows, because he tried all of those places to escape it.

Tonight, though, he gives up. If he is going to be treated to an impromptu concert by a master musician every night, he may as well enjoy it. He knits on the catwalk over the cargo hold and listens, wondering if the song has words, wondering what it means to Cao Huan, wondering how long you had to practice to make the guqin sound like an ocean of sorrow.

⋆ Day 4 ⋆

Evidently, Cao Huan had not been referring to Fuxue’s stores of tea.

He had his own.

Song Lan tells himself to stop being surprised that a man who carries a guqin and can afford a private transport would have a jar of aged white tea that smells like honey and the summer sun. He sits at the table across from Cao Huan and watches him gracefully pour tea, holding back his draping sleeve with one hand.

Cao Huan notices Song Lan’s raised eyebrows.

“You must think me overly indulgent,” he says, pouring his own cup. “I am not particular about many things, but I do enjoy good tea. I am fortunate that it is something my...my family can provide.”

Oh, Song Lan thinks, his family must be tea merchants, which does explain quite a bit, and he feels a little guilty for judging the man on appearances. He wonders if it’s flash-cloned or actually soil-grown, and he peers into the cup, considering the color and shape of the leaves he can see, as though they will give him an answer.

“It is soil-grown,” Cao Huan answers Song Lan’s curious thought, and smiles when Song Lan looks startled. “It is the obvious question. Unless you were seeking your fate in the leaves?”

Song Lan snorts, and Cao Huan laughs again, again that soft exhale that feels more intimate than raucous laughter. It highlights faint lines around his eyes and softens his usually-tranquil angular features with a hint of playful teasing.

“Perhaps you do not believe in fate? Or perhaps you do not believe tea can tell the future. It is considered a noble art, Captain Song. Could so many fortune-telling market grannies be wrong?”

Song Lan laughs, a sadly rusty sound, he thinks with an internal wince, and shakes his head. The man looks pleased.

“Captain Song, may I ask a nosy question?”

Sometimes when people say things like that, they mean I am going to ask a nosy question whether you like it or not, but Cao Huan sounds sincere. Song Lan considers. With a sigh, he finds the comm.

[You may ask. I can’t guarantee that I can answer.]

The man’s mouth twitches in an almost smile. “That is fair. It is only...I noticed you signed to the camera yesterday. Do you…” he pauses, seeming to reevaluate his question, which is good, because Song Lan has frozen.

He forces himself to relax. Hand sign languages are no longer illegal, but he still can’t stop the fluttering fear from pooling in his gut.

“Does the computer understand your hand signs?” Cao Huan finishes, and Song Lan practices breathing normally.

[Yes. It’s easier to sign than find the comm sometimes, especially if I’m in a hurry,] he says through the little speaker, only a little defiantly. He won’t let this man shame him.

“Would you prefer to speak this way?” Cao Huan asks, lifting his hands and signing as he speaks.

Song Lan just stares at him.

And stares.

And stares until Cao Huan’s eyebrows raise. “If you would rather not…”

“No, I do prefer it,” Song Lan signs hurriedly, not wanting him to withdraw the offer. “It’s just...unusual to find someone who knows hand signs these days.”

The High Chancellor had been a paranoid and suspicious man, and he had outlawed the use of hand signs decades ago, fearing them to be the language of bandits and assassins. He wasn’t entirely wrong; hunters and thieves did use the signs, but so did countless others. His replacement, who preferred to be called Xiandu, wasn’t much better. All in all, almost thirty years passed before the current Joint Senate legalized them again after Xiandu’s death three years ago. In so many places around the four sectors, the sign languages that correlated to the spoken languages have been lost entirely.

Song Lan had learned the sign language after Xingchen died five years ago, after he was left for dead, after he decided he was done with the future. His teacher was a wizened old woman on an unaffiliated space station, Rogue Sky, and she was most likely one of the High Chancellor’s feared bandits. Song Lan hadn’t cared then and he didn’t care now. All he knew was that she’d refused to let him wallow in misery, no matter how much he felt he’d earned it.

Song Lan still takes her snowflake cakes whenever he’s near Qinghe space. It’s the least he can do.

Cao Huan nods in acknowledgement, still signing as he talks. Even though it’s unnecessary, Song Lan finds he likes watching, the words and motions blending together to make something wholly different.

“I have always loved languages. This one is particularly beautiful and unique.” He grins suddenly, eyes twinkling with mischief, and the expression turns his face brilliantly luminous. “Plus, it was an appealing novelty to learn something forbidden.”

Song Lan’s first reaction to the man’s captivating smile is an unwelcome surprise. Instinctively, he covers his embarrassment—which he hopes has gone unnoticed—with something he’s more familiar with.

“I did not have the luxury of enjoying the novelty,” his fingers cut angrily through the air. “I was taught illegally on an unaffiliated station by a former bandit, but it was better than never speaking again.”

Swiftly he stands and goes back to his room to berate himself. He isn’t sure which is worse, yelling at his passenger or feeling a knee-buckling surge of desire for him. He has no business doing either.

Song Lan flops on his bed and stares at the ceiling, at the sword that hangs above his head. Shuanghua, Xingchen’s pride and joy, the sword he brought with him when he joined Song Lan’s crew, the sword that couldn’t save him in the end. Couldn’t save either of them. The guilt throbs in his gut, as familiar as the vibrations of Fuxue’s heart, and he sinks into it. This is an emotion he understands.

[Captain, do you need assistance?] his computer asks, and Song Lan wants to laugh. It seems that even Fuxue thinks he’s being a moody child.

He shakes his head and signs to the camera. “What would you do if I did? I’m the captain and the crew.”

The computer is silent, the question apparently having stumped the AI.

[Zichen, do you want to talk about it?]

“No,” his hands say emphatically. He’s not an expert, but he’s pretty sure it’s not going to help to get a psych eval from a computer that’s using his dead partner’s voice.

“Captain Song?”

And now Cao Huan is on the other side of the door. Why can’t everyone just let him sulk in peace?

“Captain Song, I profoundly apologize. It was a terrible, insensitive thing I said, and I am so sorry. It is not an excuse but...I have not been around...people much lately. Evidently I am still quite bad at it. I will not disturb you…”

Song Lan yanks open the door.

“It’s nothing,” he signs slowly, calmly. “I overreacted.” Song Lan smiles ruefully. “I’m not around people much either. Thank you for the tea.”

Cao Huan blinks in surprise, and his face shifts through a series of expressions Song Lan doesn’t recognize before landing on careful neutrality.

“You’re welcome. I...I would be happy to share tea with you every day. If you wish.”

He looks like he’s considering saying something else, but he doesn’t, just nods his head once and goes. Song Lan doesn’t exactly watch him walk down the passageway, one fist resting on the small of his back, but he doesn’t not watch him either.

⋆ Day 5 ⋆

Song Lan is amused to discover that Cao Huan is insatiably curious about everything on Fuxue. It’s not hard to believe he’s been isolated for a while. He is unfailingly polite, and still mostly avoids Song Lan, but occasionally, Song Lan finds him in the oddest places: staring at the engines, examining at the computer core, meditating on the catwalk, sorting through supplies in the infirmary. Song Lan wonders if he’s bored.

He finds Cao Huan on the bridge one day, running his lithe musician’s fingers over the flight panel, murmuring something to himself. Song Lan knows as soon as Cao Huan is aware of his presence. He doesn’t startle, exactly, but he stiffens and steps back slightly. His face, when he turns to Song Lan, though, is tranquil and uncomplicated.

“My pardon, Captain,” he nods, and steps to the side as though he intends to move past Song Lan, but for once, Song Lan is curious.

“Were you talking to Fuxue?” he asks before Cao Huan looks away.

Cao Huan’s neck flushes, and he shrugs. “I have heard these Jian-class AIs have distinctive personalities, as it were. I prefer to err on the side of caution.”

Song Lan doesn’t understand what he means, but Cao Huan is still blushing, the tips of his ears turning a distracting shade of pink, and it makes him want to know.

“I don’t understand,” he says, and Cao Huan sighs.

“I was introducing myself,” he explains. “It seemed courteous.”

Song Lan can’t help his smile. He wonders if Cao Huan introduced himself to Fuxue with his real name.

“Yes, Fuxue is somewhat unique,” he agrees. “My...my partner was a gifted tech, and he gave her more autonomy than is customary since we flew alone so often.”

Cao Huan nods. “So I gathered. She tells me about him sometimes. Is her voice…” he pauses, noticing the look of surprise on Song Lan’s face. “Is that strange?”

Fuxue talks to Song Lan, and of course, she used to talk to Xingchen—one of the reasons, Song Lan suspects, that his ship is so unusual. Talking to Xingchen for extended periods of time would make anyone a bit odd. But as far as he knows, the ship has never spoken to any other passenger, much less talked to them about Xingchen. He can’t decide why Fuxue would start now, whether it’s a bug in the programming or something about Cao Huan specifically.

“Yes,” Song Lan acknowledges. “She still manages to surprise me sometimes.” He smiles up at the camera in the corner of the room and adds, “Don’t make trouble, my love.”

“I believe she likes the music,” Cao Huan says, stepping around Song Lan and moving into the passageway. “I apologize again for intruding on your bridge.” He smiles, a minute flicker, and Song Lan catches his sleeve impulsively, probably foolishly.

“You are welcome on the bridge any time,” he signs swiftly, before Cao Huan can leave. “Whether I am here or not.”

Cao Huan considers for a moment and nods, his smile a little wider, a little more genuine, and Song Lan doesn’t regret his words at all.

⋆ Day 7 ⋆

“How did you learn this?” Cao Huan asks one day, touching the toe of the sock Song Lan is knitting.

They are sitting in the two bridge seats, and Song Lan is working through a heel turn, shaping the rows to reinforce the curve. He finishes the section before he sets down the sock to answer.

“I learned when I was a boy. I grew up with scrappers, and there was a lot of downtime.”

Cao Huan is silent, rubbing the soft wool between his fingers, and Song Lan wonders why he bothered to ask.

“Would you like to learn?” Song Lan asks, and Cao Huan shakes his head slowly.

“Yes, but I am not certain I will ever...I do not know what my future holds. There may be no point in learning.”

He sounds so bleak and disappointed, dozens of questions pop in and out of Song Lan’s head, and he firmly shuts them behind a door. He isn’t going to intrude on this man’s private life.

“There is always value in learning something new,” he signs instead, and Cao Huan smiles ruefully.

“You sound like my brother,” he says, then snaps his mouth closed and hides the expressiveness of his face behind the neutral mask Song Lan is beginning to recognize, even if he’s still not certain what it means.

“Mm,” he agrees, one of the few sounds he can still make. To his surprise, Cao Huan laughs.

“Now you truly do sound like him. He is not a man of many words, but he is very eloquent with noncommittal sounds,” Cao Huan explains when Song Lan looks puzzled.

“You’re close?” Song Lan asks, and the shuttered expression returns.

Still, the man answers after a pause. “Yes, we were, but...he is gone now, living his own life. I am proud of him, but...it makes going home seem...different.”

Every word is reluctantly spoken, as though giving shape to them makes them dangerous. Song Lan vows not to ask any other questions, but Cao Huan keeps talking, and he can’t very well tell him to stop, either.

“Home used to mean people, but...they are grown or changed or…” his eyes close in obvious pain, and Song Lan wants to tell him to stop or distract him with a starboard nebula, but there’s nothing, just this palpable misery.

“Or gone,” he finishes. “Home is only a place now. It should be enough but…”

Song Lan understands this much at least.

“It’s too quiet.” He finishes Cao Huan’s sentence, and he means that home has always been Fuxue, but it no longer hums with love and laughter and Xingchen. It is the same place it was five years ago, but...it isn’t.

Abruptly, Cao Huan leans forward and squeezes Song Lan’s knee, his face softening in sympathy. It’s only a brief touch, but Song Lan’s body reacts like the brush of fingers is a line of electricity, both sharp and crushing, nothing like he expected, not that he could ever have expected this particular cataclysm. Has it been so long, he wonders, since someone touched him with kindness?

He stands, covering his sudden need to escape by hunting through one of the storage bins for a bigger set of knitting needles and a chunkier-gauge yarn. He sets them on Cao Huan’s lap.

“You may as well learn,” he signs with an easy smile. “We still have a week of travel left.”

Cao Huan laughs in disbelief when Song Lan shows him how to cast the yarn onto the needle, but he turns out to be a quick study, which Song Lan should have expected, given his dexterity with the guqin. Song Lan admits to himself that he likes the way the man’s face lights with the satisfaction of meeting a challenge, even more the way he brandishes a square of fairly smooth rows with such pride.

The quiet stretches out like a lazy cat, broken by the sound of clicking needles, and it settles serenely over Song Lan. Usually on transports, he is busy every waking moment, herding children, answering questions, sometimes even preventing bloodshed. He could get used to this uneventful kind of trip.

As if the gods have heard his thoughts, a piercing blue alarm sounds. Not an environmental emergency. Blue is an enemy attack.

Song Lan jams his needles into the yarn and tosses the whole bundle into the corner before turning to the screens, grabbing the yoke with one hand and snapping the comm headset onto his neural node with the other.

Where? he asks Fuxue through their mental link, and Xingchen’s voice relays the coordinates through the overhead speakers: 403 225 687.

He enlarges the image. Junk pirates. A mini-fleet of five. It could be worse, it could be Red Robe mercs or Goldlighters or soldiers of any major faction, but he isn’t looking forward to a run and gun. He scours the sector for a nearby...anything. There’s an asteroid field and two tiny stations, one in either direction, all so much further than is particularly helpful. He makes a decision and changes course, doubling back on the pirates and surging past them.

[Cao Huan, we have pirates,] he says via the comm. [We’re going to try to outrun them first.] He doesn’t bother explaining what the other option is.

“Give me tactical control,” Cao Huan says, calm and insistent, and even though he has no reason to think this man has ever even flown a ship before, Song Lan flips on the secondary pilot display and unlocks the manual gun controls.

[Fuxue is adapted for neural node. You’ll have to shoot manually, but it might at least scare them off,] he explains.

Cao Huan grins. “Or I might surprise you, Captain Song.”

He does, of course. Song Lan is busy avoiding the pirates’ attacks, so he can’t watch as carefully as he suspects he'd like to, but his new co-pilot seems to be racing through calculating targeting coordinates like he’s half computer. Interestingly, he isn’t aiming to destroy, only damage, and he knocks out the first two ships’ navigational cores with single, identical, virtually impossible shots.

Fuxue is easily faster than one of the ships, and Cao Huan clips its starboard wing, only dislodging the thruster, before they pull away. It’s enough to send the forty-meter ship spinning out of control in the opposite direction.

The last two though...they’re a problem. The smaller of the two has an expert pilot and gunner, and Fuxue takes several hits. One explodes against the side of the lifeboat bay, others destroy sensor arrays and scatter pieces of shielding into space. They’re going to have to do something drastic or they aren’t going to survive this.

[Rolleram?] he asks Cao Huan, not entirely sure if he’ll understand, but he nods once and waits for Song Lan to turn.

Song Lan rolls Fuxue in an arc and flies directly at the larger ship, avoiding a few shots before dodging around the ship on its right side, swooping down, using the ship as a blind. With a hard bank, he brings Fuxue up on the other side of the big pirate ship. The smaller ship is right in front of them, a perfect shot.

[Now!] he yells, but Cao Huan has already fired the phaser cannons, and without even looking, Song Lan knows he’s calculated Fuxue’s path and the pirate’s trajectory perfectly.

[Target disabled,] Fuxue confirms. [Nice shot, XO.]

Cao Huan’s mouth tips in the corner. “Thank you, Fuxue,” he says.

Song Lan shakes his head at them both. Since when did the passenger become his executive officer, and who thanks a ship’s AI?

But there’s no time to celebrate. The last ship, the largest ship, is less agile than Fuxue, but more heavily armed and is throwing everything at them in a last ditch effort. With a jarring lurch, Fuxue shudders, and Song Lan grimaces.

[Port wing…]

[Yes I know,] he snaps. He only barely has enough rudder to pivot Fuxue, pure luck more than anything. They won’t survive one more impact like that.

“Wei Drop?” Cao Huan suggests, and Song Lan snorts.

[Play dead?] No one who has ever seen the Wei Drop is fooled by it twice. But even as he derides the idea, he realizes it might work. It’s going to have to. Cao Huan is a good enough shot, and they don’t have a lot of choices left.

[Fine, but if this doesn’t work, you owe me a ship,] he says, killing Fuxue’s engine, shutting down all the systems, and letting his ship slowly start to drift oh-so-subtly in a circle.

It works. He can’t believe it works, but the pirates stop shooting, probably reluctant to break their new salvage any more than necessary, and coast toward Fuxue.

When Fuxue has made a full rotation, when Song Lan can almost see the attacking crew through the shielded fore windows, he looks at Cao Huan, who nods.

It happens so fast, the two of them working in unison to flip on all the power, stabilize Fuxue, take aim, and fire twice. At the last second, the pirate ship banks, trying to escape the shot, but they’re too close, far too close, and instead of disabling the wing or navigation, or whatever Cao Huan was aiming for, the ship explodes in a blinding blast of nuclear white light.

The last thing Song Lan thinks, the last thing he has time to think before the shockwave hits them, is Xingchen is going to be so mad about his ship.