#'we are going to talk under the stars carrying the shadow of our blood of death and offer ourselves up at the feet of life and hope that we

[shivered-bones]

i thought that for once i would be normal about two middle aged men solving crimes in dubious ways, but the last episode. omg.

[abysscronica]

Feel free to answer 1, 2 or all three \o/

11. Post something from a current wip or concept 12. The funniest comment someone has left on a fic of yours? 13. Inspiration for Captive? I know it's been complete for a while now, but I'm just curious what kicked it off. (Captive played an inspirational role in my first Eustass Kid fic, so I'm curious <3 )

Thank you Quin and sorry for the late reply! Since the answer to no.11 is quite long, I'll reply to the others in another post (here).

From this ask game. (I have some other asks for it, will get to them later)

11. Post something from a current wip or concept

This is from a One Piece fantasy AU that I'm probably never going to work on fully, so it's a good chance to share it. It's just a draft and it's a OP x reader story, even if it doesn't look like it.

Koby held his breath in the humid darkness of the inn. Or what was left of it, anyway.

The stench of death impregnated the air, stale, heavy. It was hard to make out the details of the dining hall in the moonless night, although the young commander was partially grateful for that. He could see the outlines of the corpses, maimed, men and women alike, but not their horrified faces. He could see limbs, feel the mush of their organs under his boots. The wooden beams of the floor were probably covered in dry blood.

_______________________________________________________

He could hear the buzzing of the mosquitos, always preceding them at the crime scene.

His blond companion, beside him, pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, desperately trying not to puke.

“How many?”

“Eleven, that we know of,” Helmeppo grunted, his voice sounding more like a whimper.

No wonder, Koby thought, with his heightened half-elf senses, the blonde was surely worse off than him.

“Bring the torches down, get the men to collect samples and sketch out the crime scene.”

“What for? The murderer is already in our custody,” Helmeppo said from behind the cloth.

 Koby frowned at the floor. A delicate hand lay at his feet, a feminine one, severed below the wrist by jagged teeth.

“It’s the third case in two moons. We need to reopen the investigation,”

“Fine. Ugh, I need to get out of here,”

 Helmeppo rushed up the few stairs that led outside. The faint light of the stars cast clearer shadows in the inn for a moment, allowing Koby a better view of the massacre.

He looked, trying to imprint to his memory as many details as possible. Not that he could ever forget. Then he turned and followed the comrade outside.

It was a relief when the fresh air of the night greeted him, even there in the Rats Heap, where the air always carried a lingering smell of human and animal ejections.

“Commander Koby.”

 Out of the three soldiers composing his inner squad, only Hibari saluted him as he stepped in the small clearing among the buildings. Koby nodded to her and looked at Grus.

The tall man was leaning against the tumbleweed wagon, arms crossed on his broad chest, serious eyes glued to him.

“Is the prisoner secured?”

“Yeah.” Grus banged the wagon with his fist “Chained up like a damn sausage. Not that it matters, given his state,”

“His conditions are pretty bad,” Hibari confirmed “He’s burning up, even for a half-titan. We tried talking to him, but he doesn’t seem present at all,”

“We should just kill him,” Helmeppo shrugged.

 Koby shook his head.

“What? No. We need to find out what happened.”

“With all due respect, Koby, this looks just like another case of half-titans going mad,” Grus sighed “They do that, you know.”

“It’s been too many cases in such a short time. Also, they usually don’t just fall sick and die immediately after, and yet this is the only one we managed to capture alive so far,”

“So? Maybe it’s something with the stars, the seasons, the year. These guys have demon blood in their veins, who knows what’s up with them,” Grus said.

“Even so, I’m worried,” Hibari admitted “These cases will strain the situation with the half-titans in the city… they don’t do well when they feel threatened. We risk an escalation.”

“And so close to the First Blood Tournament! I hate this job,” Helmeppo groaned.

“We need to find out what’s going on,” Koby concluded “Helmeppo, call the other squads and have them analyze the scene, like I asked you. Grus, bring the prisoner to the headquarter and give him to the healers.”

 Grus blinked.

“The headquarter? I thought we were sending him to Impel Down. They have a lot of titans working there. If anyone knows how to make him talk, it’s them.”

“We’ll keep it as last resource.”

 The soldier shrugged, then mounted on the wagon and spurred the horses down the street.

Koby took a deep breath and glanced back at the inn.

“We need to keep the capital safe.”

Three days had passed since the massacre. No progress had been made in the half-titan case, and the rest of the population was growing listless. Two teenage half-titans had been killed in the Rat’s Heap, the poorest district of Sabaody. The militia presence was very scarce there, and daily disorders were the norm, but not at this rate. They were receiving frequent reports of aggressive half-titans from other districts too.

The only information they gathered on the murderer was his name, Gin, and that he was a hunter in the marshes at the Southeast rim of the capital. Like most titans, he was on a watchlist, but his past before arriving at Sabaody was a mystery.

“NEWWS! GET THE NEWWS OF TODAY!”

 Koby walked through the crowded streets of the Sunlight Market, staying large of the people swarming around the news boys.

“PRINCESS UTA’S EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY IS ONLY TWO WEEKS AWAY, AND THE FIRST BLOOD TOURNAMENT WITH IT!”

 Like he needed someone to remind him that.

Humans and half-elves were throwing coins at the boys, papers were being handed over in all directions.

“THE CITY IS GOING TO WELCOME GUESTS FROM ALL OVER THE CONTINENT! ALABASTA! KANO! LITTLE GARDEN! TOTTOLAND! MAYBE EVEN WANO! AND WHAT ABOUT ONIGASHIMA?!”

 Some loud gasps rose from the crowd. Koby winched lightly.

“HOW MANY CHAMPIONS WILL THE OTHER RULERS SEND?? FIND THE UPDATED LIST IN THE LATEST ISSUE!”

 They knew how to sell their paper, Koby would give them that. Those boys were certainly trained by the Lord of Whispers, Morgans himself.

 The commander took a hard turn and put some distance between him and the busiest square of the market.

He had ditched the silver cape of the ground Militia for a casual outfit, a linen scarf wrapped around his chin not to be recognized. He walked for the best part of an hour to a small park by the river. There were very few people around, mostly homeless men hanging in the shadow of the trees. One of them, a blind one, was throwing crumbles at the ducks by the bank.

 Koby opted for a bench right behind him and sat.

“Has the mist dissipated yet?” he asked.

“The fog is all I see.”

 The homeless was wrapped in a ragged cloak, but his frame was still impressive. He didn’t turn nor greeted the visitor.

“I hope you know how great of a risk it is to meet you,” he said, offering some seeds to the closest duck.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I need to know if you have any information on the mad titans’ cases. We are grasping at straws here, and we are expecting the first delegations to arrive in less than a week.”

“I’m working to make sure we don’t get spies from Kaido or Big Mom in the city amid this new influx. Public security is your job.”

“I’m sorry, Sir Diez, but you are the only one that can get me real intel from the streets.”

“Don’t use my name.”

“Sorry. But it’s true. I need… to talk to someone. Someone that can help.”

 The other paused for a moment.

“I heard you apprehended the last titan alive.”

“Barely, yes. He’s in our custody now but he’s mostly unconscious, and when he does wake up he’s hardly more than a vegetable. They’re feeding him through nectar and blood injections, but I’m afraid he’ll die soon.”

“So what are you asking me? I know nothing of this titan madness. Unless you came to me because I’m a half-titan myself?”

“Absolutely not!” Koby yelped, pressing a hand to his mouth immediately after “S-Sorry, I mean, no. What I want is… I’m looking for someone that can get the information out of the prisoner before it’s too late.

…

“You want someone who practices witchcraft.”

 Koby hesitated.

“Yes.”

 Diez remained silent for a while. Of course they both knew that witchcraft was forbidden in the capital, but they also knew that the lower belly of society harbored many sorcerers.

“I could give you some names,” Diez said, rubbing his chin “But there’s no guarantee that you’ll get what you want. These people are criminals, they can be deceiving.”

“Well, at least it would be a start.”

“No.” Diez threw the rest of the feed in the water, and the ducks around him stormed in the river “It’s not a witch that you seek. What you need is a Mind Whisperer.”

 Koby’s eyes widened.

“Wait… we have someone like that in the capital? They’re so rare, I thought they could only be found at the Tree of Knowledge, in Ohara. I put in a request days ago but by the time the crow comes back, the prisoner will be dead.”

“There are illegal Mind Whisperers of course, albeit not many. Usually they are swindlers, or hold very scarce power.”

“So…?”

“I caught wind of someone. Not here – in Water Seven. I’ve only heard of them once, so I don’t know how accurate the intel is. But they say this one is the real deal.”

 Koby’s heart pounded. The free city of Water Seven was just a half-day away by horse from Sabaody.

“Where can I find them?”

“I only know they work as a healer in the Cherry Blossom clinic.”

“Cherry Blossom clinic. Got it.”

 Koby rose and bowed imperceptibly.

“Thank you, sir.”

 As he moved to leave, Diez called him back.

“I don’t know much about this person’s background, but I do know they are discreet and have high profile clients. People that can tamper with others’ minds are dangerous. Be on your guard, boy.”

 Koby looked at the half-titan’s back, then nodded.

“I will.”

[reader is of course the Mind Whisperer]

[haadeswrites]

Elysium

god this fic took forever i’m so sorry!! but hey, first fic on the new blog! <33 also y’all should really thank @iwaasfairy who listened to me complain about this fic for a solid month, she’s the reason it got finished

Cult leader Oikawa Tooru x female reader

tw: indoctrination, extremely dubious consent, blood, yandere themes, religious themes, minor character death, implied abuse & drug use, mild smut, nsfw

The island itself is breathtaking

Pristine beaches with gleaming white sand, vast swathes of lush, green rainforest and waterfalls that cascade into shimmering pools of crystal clear water. Untouched, undisturbed; a paradise. At least, that’s how Ryuji had described it. 

Paradise, but only in the sense that a gingerbread cottage in the middle of the woods is paradise to a lost and hungry child. 

He hadn’t been wrong. Bare feet sink into soft, white sand as you climb from the boat - the warmth just toeing the line between pleasant and burning. Gentle waves ebb and flow behind you, and there’s a light breeze that kisses your skin, the taste of seasalt carrying in the wind. Home, it seems to sing.

A laugh sounds somewhere in the distance, yet the only other figure on the beach is a man walking steadily towards you. He smiles when he sees you’ve noticed him; friendly, non-threatening. It’s a far cry from the swarming welcoming committee you’d been dreading, and you wonder if that’s somehow intentional as well. 

As the boat pushes back out to sea he comes to a stop before you, “I’m Makki,” he says, pushing the fringe of his hair back and giving you a not-so-subtle once over. Whatever he sees must meet approval, because his grin only widens, “Welcome to the Commune.”

Ryuji wasn’t wrong; the island is a beautiful, deadly thing.

—

You’d never heard of the Commune before the phone call. 

And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising. You’ll be the first to admit you’re hardly an expert, but from what you do know, groups like the Commune – cults – don’t spring up out of thin air and start broadcasting their mistreatment and systematic abuse. 

They’re not the kind of people that have sweet old ladies clutching their pearls and mothers shepherding their children away – at least, not in the beginning. Not entirely. They’re not out to recruit extremists to further their cause, they choose to prey on the vulnerable, the lost and the disillusioned. Those easily manipulated. You suspect that’s why when you google the Commune, all you find is a website for what essentially looks like a long term luxury wellness retreat.

‘The Commune is about healing and harmony, about returning to nature, supporting one another to forge a brighter, more holistic future together… a self-sufficient community living apart from technology and other evils of modern society.’ 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you scroll through. There’s a whisper of philosophical teachings woven throughout, a page dedicated to their founder, Oikawa Tooru – smiling handsomely in every single picture, because what would a burgeoning cult be without a charismatic leader – but there’s not enough.

So here you are, on an island hundreds of miles away from home living amongst strangers; because Ryuji wouldn’t have sounded so terrified if this was just some alternate, free-loving bunch of hippies.

And even with all that he’d told you, everything you thought you’d be prepared for, the Commune is like nothing you could’ve imagined. 

Makki introduces you to Asuka, a woman only a few years older than yourself, dark haired and stunningly beautiful, and winks as he tells her to take you under her wing. She smiles brightly, eyes twinkling, and pulls you into a heartfelt hug – as if you’ve known each other your whole lives.

“We’re so glad you’re here!” she beams.

You’d like to hate her. 

It feels like you're supposed to, sometimes; when she gets that dreamy look in her eyes and starts talking about Oikawa and the Commune and how lucky everyone here on the island is. Yet there’s something about her – the genuine warmth she emanates maybe, or the kindness in her eyes – that makes it difficult for you not to like her.

“You should come to the gathering tomorrow,” she hums idly one afternoon, maybe a week or so after your arrival. The two of you are sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling down into the water, tangled fishing nets to be repaired strewn between you.

“I always go,” you reply.

She laughs, fixing you with a knowing look, “And sit right at the very back, all but running off the moment we finish?” 

And your traitorous heart skips a beat. 

“It’s okay to take things slowly,” she says. “We understand that being a part of the Commune is a big change from the life you knew, and that not everybody is able to see what we see and embrace those changes.” 

Asuka sets down the knot she’s working through and reaches for your hand, a gentle smile on her face, “But you shouldn’t be afraid. You’re meant to be here, I can feel it. You just need to stop fighting against it; surrender yourself to us, to the island, and everything’ll make sense, I promise.”

It’s dangerous territory. One wrong word could set off alarm bells, yet you can’t help pressing just a little.

“Do you ever miss it, then? Life outside the Commune?” 

Your family. Friends. The life you left behind before you came here to be brainwashed like all of the others.

“Why would I?” she answers without missing a beat, and it’s hard to ignore the bitter flicker of disappointment you feel at her answer. “The island provides for us, we don’t have to spend our days selling off tiny pieces of ourselves just to make ends meet. It’s paradise here, and we have Oikawa to thank for that. Why would I ever want to go back?”

Silence falls between you as you struggle to think of something to say to salvage the situation. Yet Asuka isn’t even looking at you, instead staring out at the water with a strangely pensive expression. 

“Did you know I was married once?” The words seemingly out of the blue, you can only shake your head. For a moment, she doesn’t reply, watching as the waves rise and crash offshore. And then;

“I was young, eighteen or so, fresh out of high school and he was a small town cop.” Her eyes flicker to yours, and your heart clenches at the sadness and pain echoing there. “I thought he was a good man, once upon a time.”

A chord strikes deep, your chest tightening involuntarily at her words. It’s not the same, of course it’s not the same, and yet… 

No. You stop the errant thought in its tracks. Groups like the Commune prey on the vulnerable, you know this. People like Ryuji, like Asuka, like–

Her fingers squeeze around yours, pulling you back to the present. “Come to the gathering tomorrow. Listen to Oikawa, it’ll help.”

—

She doesn’t give you a choice in the matter – dragging you by the hand to sit right at the front of the gathered crowd that very night.

Oikawa’s handsomer up close; tall and dark haired with pretty eyes and long, sweeping lashes that frame delicate cheekbones, it’s not hard for you to see how a man like him has amassed such an impassioned following. 

Once he starts actually speaking, however, you realise that his good looks and charming smile are just the tip of the iceberg. Oikawa’s utterly captivating as he preaches about the cycle of life and death and the paradise that awaits his faithful. Passionate and engaging, he speaks like he truly believes every word of the lies he’s spreading. 

And Asuka, her friends, the others gathered, they eat up every word like it’s gospel truth, resounding cheers and thunderous applause deafening around you. In the midst of the rapturous din, Oikawa’s eyes flit to yours.

Slowly, he smiles – a dazzling grin that makes your stomach flip – and everything; Asuka, the noise, the others swarming around you, it all fades away.

For one electrifying heartbeat, you’re frozen in place. Just you and Oikawa, trapped in the pull of each other’s gaze.

—

You can’t forget the reason you came.

But it’s… difficult, in a way you struggle to understand. You only have one purpose for being here, one goal; find Ryuji and bring him home. 

And yet, some days it’s like there’s a fog in your mind, and you have to focus to remember why you’re here at all. You catch yourself laughing with Asuka and her friends, the days passing by in a blur of endless, easy distractions. 

It barely feels like work when you’re sitting under the shade of the trees, eating the fruits you’ve picked by hand – ripe and sweet, unlike anything you’ve ever tasted – diving off waterfalls into the crystalline water and meandering down the shore collecting seashells. Even when you are working, mending clothes or cooking with the others, it fills you with a sense of contentment you can’t quite explain. 

Like you’re a part of something bigger. Like you’re doing something that matters.

Ryuji becomes a distant thought. A whisper in the back of your head, a niggling in your gut, easily brushed aside and ignored until there’s a moment of quiet. In the dead of night, the balmy summer night’s breeze kissing your bare skin, you lie awake, lost in memories of the last time you’d seen him. 

Fists angrily pounding at your door, the yelling that gave way to sobs and the hoarse, desperate pleas that followed. Ryuji’s face; pupils blown wide and eyes rimmed in red, darting restlessly around as he held you too tight and begged–

Rolling over in bed, you gaze out your window at the star flecked sky, the shadows of the forest that lie at your doorstep, and wonder what it is that scares you more; that you’ve lost track of the days you’ve been here, and saving Ryuji is starting to feel like an afterthought, or that you could so easily forget all of it, find a place here in the Commune and be happy.

‘The island, it–it fucks with your head.’

Ryuji’d told you that, and you’d brushed it off as paranoia. You need to find him. Find him and get the hell outta dodge.

You can deal with the fallout later.

—

Kiyoshi. 

He’d mentioned the name a few times amidst his rambling – a friend of his on the island. You’re annoyed with yourself for not thinking of it sooner, however much like Ryuji himself, trying to focus and remember the name is like wading through thick mud.

Once you do, though, finding him amongst the hundred and fifty or so inhabitants is the easy part. 

There’s no strict division between genders within the Commune, however Kyoshi, despite his somewhat lean stature, is among the builders of the island and his path doesn’t often cross with yours. 

From Asuka you find out that he’s been a part of the Commune for years now, before even she joined, and that he mostly sticks to himself, though you’ve seen him chatting quietly to a few of the other men, a perpetually angry looking blonde in particular.

It’s the last part that piques her interest, “Why’re you so curious, anyway?” she asks, her face lighting up as a sudden thought occurs. “Do you want me to introduce you two? To be honest, I didn’t think he’d be your type, if you’re interested, though…”

Cheeks aflame, you’re quick to shut her down. “No, no, nothing like that. I’ve just… seen him around and we’ve never really spoken, I guess.”

A lame excuse, though mercifully she lets the subject drop without too much prodding.

Therein, of course, lies the problem. Walking up to Kyoshi and casually trying to drop Ryuji into the conversation without raising red flags is risky, but what other options do you have? You’ve already spent too much time on this island.

Although, maybe Asuka has the right idea. 

While you hadn’t been lying when you said you weren’t interested in Kyoshi in that way, nobody else knew that. Who would really look twice at the shy newbie striking up a conversation with the quiet, easygoing man? He wasn’t unattractive per se, and from the brief interactions you’d seen of him, he seemed kind enough.

You have enough patience (barely) to wait for dusk the following night. There’s a celebration, something about the full moon and a blessing on the island and the Commune– you hadn’t really been paying attention when Oikawa had spoken about it. Still, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. With the fire pits crackling, and the dancing and music and the sweet honey wine flowing freely, nobody will be paying too much attention to what you’ll be doing. Hopefully, the alcohol will also serve to lower Kiyoshi’s guard, and perhaps if you’re really, really lucky, loosen his tongue as well. 

Of course, you’re not banking on him telling you exactly where Ryu is or what happened to him– and that’s assuming he actually knows – but at this point you’ll take anything over the nothing you currently have. A tiny slip up, that’s all you’re asking for. 

As the sun descends beyond the horizon, you play your role well, laughing and chatting amongst friends, sipping carefully at the cup of wine in your hand as you wait for an opening. And perhaps it’s your nerves working against you, but you find that it’s not just Kiyoshi your attention is drawn to. 

Up on the shore, away from the rabble, Oikawa lounges back with a cup of the same honeyed wine you’re pretending to drink. For the most part he seems deep in conversation with Iwaizumi, his right hand, but every once in a while he glances up, letting his gaze roam over the crowd of his followers.

Every inch a king and his general.

And it would seem benevolent, if not for the strange smile he wears – the one that widens when his eyes catch yours.

Swallowing tightly, you force yourself not to dwell on it, to ignore the odd sensation curling in your gut and the way your skin prickles under his attention. Now is not the time to lose focus.

Pushing all thoughts of Oikawa aside, you subtly scan the beach once more, only to find that Kiyoshi’s moved, sitting now on a piece of old driftwood near the bonfire. Alone for the first time tonight. 

Your legs are moving before the thought even fully registers. 

“Do you mind if I sit?” you ask, gesturing to the empty space on the log beside him. 

Kiyoshi smiles, the laugh lines at corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly, and shakes his head, “Not at all.”

“Thanks.”

Taking another sip of your wine, you will your shoulders to relax, your racing pulse to slow. This has to seem natural, and so you force yourself to hold your tongue, let your head loll back and breathe deep, soaking it all in. You can hear the others in the distance, the music and the dancing, the happy laughter and shouts that beckon – you want to go join them. Even your blood seems to hum, a call of something other pulsing through your veins.

But you pay it no mind. There are more important things to worry about tonight. 

Indeed, steel blue eyes have been appraising you curiously for a while now. “This is your first Lunar blessing, isn’t it?” Kiyoshi asks after a moment.

You nod, humming in agreement. Less than a month; you’ve been here less than a month. Is that a good thing?

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

A harmless enough question, and again you nod your head. “Yeah, it’s…” you pause, searching for words that won’t sound hollow. “It’s paradise. I feel like I need to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real.”

He smiles gently. “But?” he probes.

Grimly, you wonder whether Kiyoshi’s usually this perceptive, or if you’re just a really terrible actor. In a way, you suppose it really doesn’t make a difference; you’ve come too far to turn back now – at least not without raising suspicion. 

So you lie with a truth, and pray that it works.

“I had a friend I was supposed to meet here,” you confess quietly, gazing not at him but the crackling flames of the bonfire, the burning embers carried off into the night. “He was the one who said I should come, but now I’m here and he’s not and every time I catch myself enjoying this–”

“You feel guilty,” he surmises, cutting you off. “Because he’s not here to enjoy it with you.”

Wordlessly, you nod – and maybe it isn’t so much of an act when your eyes begin to glisten, your smile wavering. 

Kiyoshi’s silent for a moment, and you take another sip of the honey wine to hide your nerves. “You shouldn’t, you know,” he says eventually. “Feel guilty, I mean. You belong here, with the Commune. You’re happy here. Paradise… isn’t for everybody.”

He doesn’t say it to be cruel, more like he’s simply stating a fact, and somehow that makes it all the more unnerving. And it’s nothing you haven’t listened to Oikawa preach about time and time again. The Commune is for the devoted, the faithful – the lucky few – and you’ve never thought too hard about what he’d meant by that.

The Commune’s small, maybe a hundred and fifty or so people on the island. There’d been no initiation, no test of faith or trial period you’d had to pass when you arrived – at least, none that you’d been aware of. You simply stepped off the boat and they’d welcomed you with open arms. 

An uneasy sensation settles into your gut, goosebumps prickling at your skin despite the heat of the midsummer night. 

That… doesn’t make sense. It can’t. Absolute control’s too important in groups like this, they couldn’t just let anyone–

Kiyoshi speaks again, his calm voice pulling you from your thoughts. “What was his name?” 

You blink at him slowly – stupidly. “Sorry?”

“Your friend,” he clarifies. “What was his name?”

“Oh, um- Ryuji.”

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows in thought for a moment, but he merely shakes his head, “Doesn’t ring a bell, but like I said, not everyone who arrives stays with us for long.”

He looks you right in the eye as he says it.

You don’t understand the cold, foreboding that seeps through your veins, because he’s lying. He has to be. 

Ryuji was here. They were friends, Ryu’d told you that–

Why did you think this stupid plan would work anyway? That he’d tell you anything, much less the truth when this whole fucked up island is full of liars and those too indoctrinated to know the difference?

“You alright?” he asks when abruptly, you shoot to your feet beside him.

And it takes every ounce of willpower you have left to force an easy smile to your lips, raising your cup just a fraction, “Yeah, just gonna go get a refill. Thanks for the talk, Kiyoshi.”

Whether he notices that your wine’s barely touched or not, you don’t care – not as you turn on your heel without another word and head back up the beach. 

Your head is pounding, your body trembling – you don’t hear the call of your name until a hand reaches out and grasps at your wrist, spinning you around.

Asuka greets you with a wide grin, Makki and a tall, broad shouldered man you think is called Mattsun standing either side of her – the former’s arm slung casually over her shoulder. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Come on, we’re gonna go swimming, it’s so pretty out there!”

You glance out towards the ocean. Moonlight bathes the inky blue water, light shimmering off the rippling tide; some of the others are already out there, splashing amongst the waves. 

“Clothing optional, of course,” Makki laughs, and Asuka tugs on your wrist once more. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

But you shake your head, slowly pulling your hand from her grip, “I’m not feeling great, I think I’m gonna head back.”

Asuka frowns, concern marring her pretty features. “Are you okay? Do you need us to call Mizo–”

“No,” you say, cutting her off. Healer Mizoguchi is the last person you need to see right now. “I just– I just need to go lie down for a bit. You guys go have fun – enjoy the blessing, I’ll be fine.”

Makki and Asuka share a fleeting look, but it’s Mattsun who interjects before either one of them can speak, “I’ll walk you back, then.”

Your stomach churns. It doesn’t sound like a suggestion.

And the smart thing to do would be to accept his help; the walk from the beach to your villa isn’t far, and while you’re not as familiar with Mattsun as you are with Makki or Asuka, it’s not like he’s going to hurt you or anything, but–

“Really– you don’t need to, it’s fine,” you smile weakly, shuffling back as he reaches to offer you his arm. “Go swim, I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Mattsun shrugs easily enough, falling back into line with the other two – yet there’s something in the way he grins and holds your gaze for a beat longer. A glimmer of amusement, as if there’s some joke you're not a part of. “I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

The heat that floods your cheeks clashes uncomfortably with the cloying heaviness in your stomach, but somehow you manage to stutter out one last goodbye before turning back to scamper off in the direction of your room.

–But not to lie down.

There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the full moon’s bright. No need for a torch, not unless you decide to venture into the heart of the forest.

You’ve been a fool. Kiyoshi, Asuka, Makki, Mattsun; you can’t trust any of them to help you, even unwittingly. Ryuji’s here on the island – somewhere – and every second that slips away, every second that you allow yourself to forget puts him in further danger.

And so you cling to your discomfort, ground yourself in it. The prickling sensation at the back of your neck, the tightness in your chest as you slip past your villa, keeping low and quiet – they’re a reminder that there is something insidious here on the island, that you have to get out.

You and Ryuji.

He’s here. Away from the others, kept under lock and key as punishment, or maybe being forced to undergo whatever kind of glorified brainwashing they’ve got going on, but here. You need to be smart about this, because while you don’t intend to stop until you find him, tonight will be your best shot – while everyone’s distracted down on the beach. 

For the first time in a long time, it feels like you have a clear head. 

Creeping through the underbrush, you steer clear of the well trod pathways that lead towards habitation. You’ve been there, and to the docks, and the river. 

If they’re still keeping him here (and they are, you refuse to entertain the possibility that it could be otherwise) then it’s not somewhere out in the open. A bird cries out in the distance shattering the calm of the night, and you flinch – but it only serves as another reminder that your time tonight is limited; you cannot afford to delay. You wrack your brain, trying to dredge up memories of the last few weeks, surely you must have seen something–

“Lost?”

The single word, spoken in a deep, gruff voice has your blood running cold.

Slowly, you turn. 

Iwa stands behind you in the thicket, his face utterly impassive. Briefly, you contemplate whether it’s worth trying to bluff your way out of this, but Iwa’s eyes narrow, flashing in the dim light and you think better of it.

A sigh escapes you, your shoulders deflating. “Where is he– Ryuji?” you ask; a whisper rather than a demand.

Iwa’s expression gives nothing away. Did he know, or have you handed him the smoking gun of a crime that’d fallen through the cracks? Does it even matter anymore? You’re just–

You’re tired. 

Exhausted. In the space of a few moments all of that shining determination and resolve; it fled, leaving a gaping hole in its wake. This has to end, you can’t keep fighting against them forever. You can’t keep drowning in this guilt, feeling torn every second that you spend here on this stupid island. You just want to find Ryuji and go home.

… Right?

A tense beat passes as Iwa appraises you, and then; “Come with me.”

The hand he places on your shoulder doesn’t give you much choice. His grip isn’t what you’d describe as gentle, yet he’s careful enough to make sure you don’t trip or stumble as he marches you north. 

In the thick of the forest away from the beach, it’s eerily quiet. Every twig that snaps underfoot, every ragged breath you draw; it feels too loud. Out of place amongst the stillness of the midsummer night. 

And isn’t it ironic, that for the first time since you set foot in this paradise, you feel like you’re trespassing?

A bead of sweat trickles down from your temple and your mind unwittingly drifts back to Mattsun and Makki. Are they still swimming with Asuka? Probably, you reason. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how long it’s been since you left them on the beach, but surely no more than an hour.

And strangely, like water drawn from the depths of a well, an image comes to mind; the four of you standing in the waves, you perched atop Mattsun’s shoulders, screaming and giggling in delight as Asuka tries to knock you down again, two sets of eyes watching from the shore… 

You should have stayed on the beach.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“You can ask,” he replies drily – humouring you, you suppose.

Your lips quirk upwards for the briefest of moments. “What happens on the Lunar blessing? Asuka, the others– no one told me what it was.” 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer you immediately, but you feel his fingers reflexively tighten on your shoulder. Likely it wasn’t the question he was expecting; surely there were others that you could have asked – but you don’t really want the answers to those.

If you’re being led like a lamb to proverbial slaughter, what good would it do you to know it? 

And yet as the seconds pass and no answer seems forthcoming from your captor, you resign yourself to the fact that your curiosity will remain unsated. You don’t even know what prompted you to ask in the first place; knowing Oikawa it’s probably some grand, meaningless spectacle. Pretty, hollow words spoken only to–

A heavy sigh draws you from your thoughts, and you falter in your step, almost tripping over your own feet in the process. Iwa’s quick to right you, urging you forward with a less than gentle nudge. “Walk straight,” he grunts, yet it lacks any true heat. Anticipation flutters through your veins, and he mutters a soft curse behind you. “Fine. It… it’s an exchange.” 

An exchange? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Your eyebrows draw together, mouth opening to press the matter, but Iwa beats you to the punch.

“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough, now shut up.”

You have no response to that, so you do.

—

The two of you walk in silence for what feels like hours. Eventually, the terrain becomes steeper, the worn path you’re treading twisting and winding, and you realise you must be close to the mountains at the heart of the island. 

As your breath comes in heavy pants, your legs beginning to ache, you can’t help but be lost in the beauty of it all.

The flora’s different here, unlike any you’ve seen before. Flowers bursting from the bark of towering trees, blooms of vibrant hues; reds and purples and soft, baby pinks. Even the vines at your feet curl amongst pretty white buds that gleam invitingly under the moonlight. Your jaw falls open as you gaze around in wonderment. 

You forget why you’re walking, where it is that you’re heading. Iwa’s grip relaxes as a quiet gasp escapes you, and he doesn’t stop you when you stray from the path to take a closer look. You can’t resist reaching out to touch the silken petals, leaning in to smell their perfume. Soft and light and sweet, your eyes flutter shut, a smile creeping across your visage. 

It reminds you of home. Not your actual home – the rundown, tiny shoebox apartment you gave up before you came here – but something deeper.

Home, like the long summer days spent playing in your parents’ backyard. Home, like afternoons curled up by the window, watching the rain come down in sheets outside. 

Home, like the comfort of arms wrapped around you; two hearts beating in sync.

“C’mon,” Iwa interrupts after a minute or so, his voice a touch less gruff. “We’re almost there.”

Dazed, you find yourself nodding, allowing him to guide you back to the path. This time, he doesn’t grab you by the shoulder, seemingly content enough to walk by your side. 

True to his word, it’s only another few minutes before you see it; a wooden villa, four times the size of your own and far, far grander, set amongst a clearing of trees on the mountainside. Confused, your eyes flicker from the villa to Iwa and back again. Gossamer curtains billow lightly in the breeze, a warm, inviting glow spilling from the open windows. Surely this cannot be where he meant to lead you… and yet he merely stands at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, watching you expectantly. 

“You gonna make me carry you up there?” he asks, not unkindly.

Swallowing tightly, you shake your head. 

Another glance, and you catch a shadow lingering by the window. Your heart skips a beat, apprehension curling in your gut as you begin to walk, every step feels less steady than the last. You’re almost glad when Iwa takes you by the arm; if only so that you have something to focus on other than the growing tightness in your chest. The villa, with its pretty flowers and airy, elegant grandeur is far from the isolated cell you’d been afraid of, yet the uncertainty of what you’re walking into eats at you all the same.

Is this where they’ve been keeping Ryu, or has he brought you here for another reason?

Nothing, however, can prepare you for what you find inside. Warm light emanates from lanterns that bathe the room, and your eyes widen as you stare around you.

Strange, gold carvings inlaid with mother of pearl decorate the thick, woodens support beams, a pot of incense burns on a table overflowing with fresh fruit. There’s a jug of the same honeyed wine you’d drank earlier in the night and two cups set on an ornate stand nearby – just within arms reach of one of the chaise lounges.

Iwa affords you little time to gape, drawing you further in. Silken tapestries hang from the walls – you’re pulled along too quickly to truly take note, but the brief glimpses you get hint at a story; a divine being cast from his home, lost and wandering.

It tugs at something buried within you, and uncomfortable, you tear your eyes away.

The two of you reach a closed door at the end of the hall, and Iwa pulls you to a stop, knocking once.

“Come,” a familiar voice calls.

You stiffen, though perhaps you should have foreseen this outcome. Who else would Iwa bring you to but to him? Distantly, you register his grip relaxing, the sound of the door sweeping open and his voice at your ear.

“Go on.”

And it’s funny, you think, how two halves of yourself can be so at odds with each other. Because while your stomach twists itself into knots, goosebumps prickling at your skin, your legs stumble forward of their own accord.

Two steps forward, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s a bedroom, that much you can deduce from the decor, but that’s not what captures your attention. Nor is it Oikawa, leaning against the bureau with a genial smile – at least not at first. 

No. In place of a back wall, there’s open space, not so much as a panel of glass obstructing the view before you. And what a view it is; from this height you can see the sprawling forest below, the coastline dotted with bonfires and the moonlit ocean shimmering beyond. Where the floorboards end, there are steps, you realise as you unwittingly inch closer, leading to a cascading spring – likely fed from the waterfall you can hear rushing nearby.

How easy it would be to brush aside your worries, you think, to shed your clothes, slip into the cool, calm water and lose yourself entirely. Even amongst all you’ve seen and experienced on the island so far, this is incomparable. 

“Stunning, isn’t it?” Oikawa murmurs, coming up behind you.

His voice startles you, yet when you turn, you find him not gazing out at the scenery but rather at you, that same strange, knowing smile curling at his lips.

“Some days, I admit, it’s hard to tear myself away,” he continues, unbothered by your stunned silence. “But even I can’t neglect my duties for too long.”

You swallow, tongue darting out to wet your lips. Confusion twists through you at the conversational tone, surely he hasn’t brought you here just to chat about the impressive views, yet there’s no hint of disapproval on his face, no indication that he’s anything less than pleased with you.

It’s unnerving to say the least, but you’ll play along with his game if that’s what Oikawa wants.

“Beautiful,” you say, though the words feel woefully inadequate even as you speak them.

He hums in agreement, something akin to pride flickers in his eyes at your assessment, “A labour of love, I suppose. But… everything you see here, everything I’ve built, it comes with a price. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter.

“Paradise,” he elaborates, his smile widening. “There’s no give without take. Those people down there,” he nods down at the beach, the tiny, ant-like figures still milling about, “the lost, the beaten, the abused – I gave them what they so desperately sought; a sanctuary. A life without struggle, without suffering.” He pauses for a moment, reaching forward to take your hand. You almost flinch, almost skitter across the room to put as much distance between you as you can, but you don’t–

His palm is warm as it envelops yours, a pleasant heat that seems to spread through your veins, easing your tense muscles. There’s nothing to fear from him, you’re safe with Oikawa.

“Aren’t you happy here?”

Yes.

“What about the price?” you ask instead, though it takes more concentration than it should to force the words out. 

Oikawa’s thumb sweeps along the back of your hand. “I never said it was your price to pay,” he soothes. 

There’s something wrong with that sentence, but another sharp knock at the door draws your attention before you can think too hard about it. You turn out of instinct, barely aware of the way his hand tightens fractionally around your own.  

A single finger at your jaw coaxes your attention back to him. “If you built a paradise, wouldn’t you give whatever necessary to ensure it flourished?”

Oikawa stares at you expectantly, deep brown eyes searching your face as he waits for an answer. Agreement would be the logical choice – the one he seems to want from you – but even as your lips part, the only sound that escapes is a breathless, confused noise. 

When you were a kid, maybe six or seven, your parents took you to the beach one day and you waded too far out into the water. The waves were bigger than you expected; all it took was one mistimed jump and you were dragged under.

It wasn’t for long, probably only seconds, and ultimately you were fine – but you remember those few seconds so vividly. The feeling of helplessly tumbling through the water, fighting to break the surface but not knowing which way was up. Your lungs crying out for oxygen, the disorientation and dizziness, the panic.

It feels like that now – like the floor’s dropped out from beneath you and you’re just hurtling through empty air, desperately trying to slow yourself down with nothing to grab onto.

None of this makes any sense. Your emotions are shot to pieces, too many parts of yourself being pulled in different directions and you’re not sure which ones you can trust anymore. How can you be? Oikawa’s still holding your hand, smiling at you, and you just want everything to stop for a second so you can right yourself and breathe–

The door opens.

Iwaizumi appears in your field of vision, dragging a bound, hooded figure behind him. And because this is all some big, cosmic joke, you get your wish. Both of them, actually. 

Time slows. 

Even with a burlap sack pulled over his head, you recognise the man Iwa shoves to the floor and sneers at. 

Hundreds of miles, weeks of uselessly traipsing around this fucking island, and finally– 

Finally, you’ve found Ryu.

There should be relief. Fear, considering his current state, yes, but Ryuji’s here and he’s alive and as the hood is ripped off his head Oikawa squeezes your hand and the only thing you feel is… anger.

Not a heated flash that surges through your blood. It’s slow and seething, insipid. You look at him, locked in place as empty, pleading eyes meet yours and all you can think is that all of this – everything – is his fault.

“Asuka told you why she came to me, didn’t she?” Oikawa asks.

Your brow furrows, why–why is he asking you that now, how did he even–

He slips closer behind you, letting your hand go in favour of your shoulder, his spare dragging lightly along the bare skin of your arm. “She was lost, in so much pain. The physical wounds, they heal after a while,” his voice is right in your ear, a low murmur that sends a shiver rippling down your spine.

It isn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“But the scars inside, well… sometimes those fester.”

Gagged and bound, kneeling at your feet, Ryu doesn’t even try to make a sound. 

He’s thinner than you remember. Face gaunt and bruised; there’s a half healed, mottled yellow one painted across the left side of his jaw, one eye purple and swollen. You glance at Iwa, standing stoically behind him, muscular arms folded across his chest. His work, you wonder, or others as well? You notice the tear tracks running down his face, catching the light of the lanterns, but it’s as if you’re seeing it all through a thick pane of glass. None of it reaches you, there’s nothing but that simmering, ugly feeling in your gut.

Oikawa hums, “I told you that Paradise wasn’t for everyone. It’s a haven, yes, but there are those who simply… don’t belong.”

His body’s so warm, pressed up against yours. Fingertips graze along your side, and this time you don’t bother biting back that tiny, breathless moan. Iwa briefly smirks at it, but there’s no embarrassment. Why should there be? Your eyes flit back to Ryu, bowed on the wooden floor.

Another memory resurfaces; A sharp crack and a ringing in your ears, Ryuji, eyes bloodshot and glazed, falling to his knees, clutching frantically at the leg of your pants as endless apologies spill from his lips. 

It wasn’t him. It was never him. 

“He hurt you,” Oikawa purrs. “He kept hurting you, I saw it.”

The words wash over you like waves breaking on the shore, but you find yourself nodding anyway. It was the truth, wasn’t it? A thousand tiny hurts, piled up on one another until you finally broke.

And you’d still come when he’d called.

Listened to him when he’d begged you not to hang up the phone.

���Iwa.” 

The brunet moves towards a grand chest of drawers pushed up against the western wall. An ornate dagger sits atop, strange and beautiful; the blade isn’t steel or any metal you’ve seen before, but some kind of black stone, the handle intricately carved ivory. You hadn’t even noticed it before, Oikawa’s room filled to the brim with odd trinkets and treasures, but now that you have, it’s hard to tear your eyes away.

Iwa takes it and carries it over towards the two of you, holding it with the utmost care. 

“Obsidian,” Oikawa informs you as he accepts the blade from his friend, bringing it in front of you both to show it off. “Pretty, isn’t it?” And while you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his tone.

He isn’t wrong though. 

Ever so carefully you reach out, the soft pads of your fingertips running along the obsidian surface, surprisingly cool to the touch. The razor sharp edges – wavy and asymmetrical, leading to a tapered point – you’re careful to avoid, almost positive you’d draw blood with the slightest touch. 

“Take it,” he urges, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. 

Obediently, you turn your hand over, your fingers wrapping around the hilt when he presses it against your palm. And as long fingers curl around yours, you idly wonder how old the dagger is – there’s not so much as a scratch on it, yet there’s something about the weapon in your hand that feels ancient. It thrums under your combined touch.

Oikawa jerks his chin at Iwa, and with a short nod and one last, lingering glance cast your way, the latter exits once again. 

Leaving you and Oikawa alone with Ryuji.

“It’s almost time,” he remarks – though time for what, you’re not entirely sure. His lips press against your hair, his arm dropping from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you flush against him. “I know why you came to me, the lies that led you here.”

Both of you turn your attention back to Ryuji at that, the bound man now shaking with the force of his muffled sobs, snot dripping from his nose. That bitter resentment rears its ugly head again, soothed only by Oikawa’s pacifying hum, his thumb now rubbing slow circles at your side. “Shh, I’m not angry – none of that matters now. You’ve found a home here, no? You want to stay on the island with me.”

You swallow, nodding your head rapidly. The thought of having to leave now, of being forced out after everything you’ve seen and felt and experienced here, you– you can’t fathom it. You don’t want to. 

Ryuji’d wrought so much damage, but even before he’d swept through your life… had you ever been happy? Were you ever truly accepted – or loved, for that matter?

You can’t go back to that life. You won’t; he’ll have to drag you kicking and screaming from the shore. The Commune is your home, this is where you belong. Here, with Oikawa.

“Good girl,” he croons, another kiss pressed to the crown of your head. You beam at the praise and Ryuji crumples a little further. “Death begets life, you understand now, don’t you?”

You glance at the obsidian dagger in your hand and then at Ryu, beaten and bruised, bowed in forced supplication before you, and nod.

His fingers tighten around yours, “Then do it.”

Leaning forward, you reach for Ryu, fingers lightly trailing down his ruined cheek, curling at his chin to coax his head upwards. He squeezes his eyes shut, pain and regret etched over every inch of his face, but he doesn’t fight you. 

Baring his throat to your dagger, Ryuji’s pleas take the shape of your name.

Muffled, thanks to the gag, but unmistakable. And for one single moment, you falter. 

This… this is wrong; for all his faults, and god knows there were plenty, Ryu didn’t des–

A wave of calm washes over you, allaying your fears, your doubts. Your breath leaves you in a heavy gust, taking with it the tension in your shoulders, and Oikawa’s voice, smooth and honeyed, reaches your ears once more, “Nothing comes without a price, doesn’t he deserve to be the one to pay it?”

With your hand still tucked inside of his, your arm moves with a will of its own; slashing with inhuman grace.

The dagger cuts deep, Ryuji’s eyes snapping open in shock as a spray of warm blood hits you both. He chokes – a horrid, wet, gurgling sound – wide, pleading eyes frantically shifting between you and Oikawa. Every beat of his failing heart sends fresh blood spurting from the gaping wound. It drenches his front, splatters across your dress, your face, crimson pooling at the wooden floorboards at his knees. His mouth falls open and shut, trying and failing to form coherent sounds and you just stand there and watch, the dagger hanging limply at your side.

It doesn’t take long; seconds at the most. 

Ryuji’s slumps to the floor, his body finally growing still as the light fades from his eyes. There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then–

Oikawa shudders behind you, a strangled, drawn out moan leaving his lips. You try to turn, but his arms lock around you, every muscle tensing, his back arching. The dagger in your hand grows hot, burning the soft skin of your palm, but with his fingers still tightly entwined with yours you can only whimper and endure it.

With a hoarse, guttural roar, a pulse of pure energy surges through the room like a shockwave. Every cell in your body lights up, electrified, buzzing; a dizzying euphoria unlike any you’ve felt before coursing through your blood. 

Across the island, voices cry out in delight, a symphony of life. The trees tremble and shake, invigorated and renewed, fresh buds bursting from the forest floor, blooming under the light of the full moon.

The harvests flourish, even the river swells in response to the call.

Death begets life, just as he promised.

And with every inch of your body alight and singing with pleasure, you can barely think much less protest (and why would you want to?) as Oikawa roughly yanks you around, hungry lips crashing against your own as his fingers pull and tear at your bloodstained dress. He wastes no time with foreplay, and you suspect only begrudgingly takes a moment to hoist you up against him and carry you to his bed.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he hauls your hips to his, sheathing his cock inside of your warm, tight cunt with one savage thrust, but you don’t care.

Not as you cling to him, fingernails raking along his shoulders as he presses your thighs further apart so he can fuck you deeper. It’s hard and rough and brutal, yet you moan for him all the same, his name a prayer swallowed up by feverish, claiming kisses.

Tonight, bathed in blood and the soft glow of moonlight, you offer your god everything.

—

“Look, look!” 

A small hand tugs at your skirt, and you glance down to find a little girl with pretty, dark curls holding up a crown of woven flowers.

“Do you like it?” she asks. 

Carefully, you take it from her, bringing it closer to examine. She watches you intently as you study it, lifting it this way and that to appraise her work, humming thoughtfully for good measure. “I think it’s beautiful work,” you tell her after a long enough pause, and you can’t help but smile at the way she lights up, preening under your praise. “Why don’t you go show your mama? I’m sure she’ll be very impressed.”

The girl nods rapidly, thanking you before skipping off in the direction of her parents. The sun’s hanging low in the sky, the fires already being readied for the night ahead. You’re not unaware of the watchful gaze that carefully monitors your every move, and the moves of anyone who ventures too close by. Soon enough, you’ll return home to the heart of the island – anticipation fluttering in your belly at the thought of what awaits you – but for now, you let your feet sink further into the sand, closing your eyes as you bask in the lingering warmth of the setting sun.

At least until the sound of your name being called draws you back to the present. Yet it’s not Iwaizumi approaching, but rather Makki, two strangers trailing along behind him. 

“Thought I’d find you here,” he grins, throwing a casual arm over your shoulders. “This is Kaneo,” he gestures to the man, “and his wife Manaka. They arrived this morning, I’ve been showing ‘em round.”

You turn to the couple, smiling sweetly as you extend a hand, “Welcome to the Commune.”

[ladyloveandjustice]

Spring 2021 anime overview: Quick Takes

Now for my Spring 2021 anime thoughts! I’ve decided from now on if a season’s like, 20- to-24 episodes I’m just going to wait ‘til it’s done to review it unless I feels super passionately, so though I watched To Your Eternity (it’s good!) and MHA (eh), I’ll comment on them next time. Also, for the record, I watched the first eight eps of Joran: Princess and Snow of Blood but I dropped it because it had clearly crossed the line from entertainingly dumb to boring dumb. 

I will probably give Supercub and some other stuff a shot later, this was a stacked season! May give updates on all that later, but this is what I have for now.

ODDTAXI

Quick Summary: A mild mannered middle-aged walrus taxi driver is drawn into a case involving a missing girl, yakuza, Youtube clout-chasers, manzai comedians and idols with big secrets.

It’s rare to walk away from media and be like “that is a singular experience I will definitely never see repeated again” but ODDTAXI is definitely one of those. A tense noir thriller murder mystery starring cartoon animals that spends an entire episode detailing the one (cat)man’s very fall into darkness triggered by addiction to gacha games and an online auction for a novelty eraser? Also there’s a porcupine Yakuza who speaks entirely in rap? Also there’s tons of meandering conversations about stuff like manzai comedy and the struggle to go viral on Twitter?

Admittedly, I had a hard time getting into the first episode, the dry meandering humor not being enough to hold my attention while I was sitting still, but once I watched this while I was working out at the end of the season, I found it an easy binge. A ton of characters with dark secrets or dangerous ambitions, each with their own part to play in a tableau of intersecting events- and it all actually comes together really well.(As for the female characters, it’s a pretty dude driven story, but they do get nuanced characterization and even some good heroic moments from one of them.)

 It’s a great example of a carefully planned narrative paying off, with all the twists appropriately seeded and foreshadowed to reward viewers who paid attention. Even when it ended on a perfect “OH SHIT” moment and denied me closure, I couldn’t help but respect it. If you that all sounds interesting to you, definitely check out the first couple episodes and see if you like it- you’re likely to have a memorable, satisfying experience!

Shadows House

Quick Summary: Emilyko is a ‘living doll’ who’s told she was created to act as the ‘face’ of her shadow master, Kate. The shadows and their ‘dolls’ all reside on the mansion and are required to pass a ‘debut’ to prove they’re a good pairing. If they don’t pass, they might be disposed of. And so the mystery of the Shadow mansion grows...

This slice of gothic intrigue was my favorite of the season, tied with ODDTAXI. With an interesting premise, slightly tense undertones and a strong focus on character building and relationships, it kept me hooked the whole way through. And for any squeamish fans put off by the hype about it, don’t worry, while there are some suspenseful elements, I wouldn’t qualify it as horror. I thought the relationship between Kate and Emilyko might end up being a completely sinister one, but it’s thankfully a lot more complex than that and it’s really interesting to follow how both their characters and relationship grow. The focus of the show is, unsurprisingly, on the “dolls” slowly discovering their autonomy and personhood as they struggle under the rigid system imposed on them by the mysterious elders of this weird Victorian mansion. Can they develop a more equitable relationship with their shadow “masters” (who are also shown to suffer under this system)? There’s a lot to dig into there, and the show has the characters develop through learning to understand and appreciate each other, which is pretty heartwarming. Our hero, Emilyko, is the typical plucky ball of sunshine (they even nickname her sunshine), but she’s also shown to be clever in her own off-the-wall way and she bounces off the far more subdued and cynical Kate well, not to mention the other ‘dolls’ she ends up befriending. 

What’s more, the show spends plenty of time to developing several other character pairings and combinations, and they all have their own interesting dynamic that makes you want to see more of them. Same-gender bonds are at the forefront of this show, and many of them are ripe for queer readings (I definitely appreciated the healthy helping of ladies carrying ladies), but even outside that it’s nice to see a show where a strong, complex bond between girls is at the forefront. My only real complaints about the show are the anime original ending is noticeably a bit rushed (though it’s not too bad, and leaves room for a season 2) and I wish the animation used the whole “shadow” theme more strikingly (like the opening and endings do)- instead the colors are a bit washed out which makes the shadows blend into the background sometimes. The “debut” arc also drags a bit in places, but it makes up for it by having a lot of good character integration.

I hope to check out the (full color)! manga soon and see more of this quirky, shadowy story. There’s some physical abuse depicted, sad things happening to characters and naturally the whole “oppressive familial system” thing, but otherwise not much I can think of to warn about. I give this one a big rec, especially If you’re a fan of gothic fairytales and stories of self discovery.  

Zombie Land Saga Revenge

Quickest summary: In this sequel season, everyone’s favorite zombie idol group must claw their way back into prominence after a disastrous show- the fate of the Saga prefecture LITERALLY depends on it!

This was a fun follow-up to the first season- if you liked the first zombie-girl romp, you’ll probably enjoy this one. In fact, there were a couple areas it improved on- namely, Kotaro failed, ate crow and embarrassed himself a lot more this season, which made him more likeable (as did the fact the girls gained a lot of independence from him). This season also shed more light on what the ‘goal’ of this zombie raising project is and what kind of shit Kotaro got involved with to make this happen, and it’s appropriately off-the-wall and ridiculous. We finally got some backstory for Yugiri too! I wish it had focused on more of her interiority, but she got to be a badass in it, and it was a treat to see this zombie idol show turn into a period piece for a couple episodes (also her song ruled).

 Tae also got a cute focus episode and there was a particular SMASHING performance early on! Also That revelation last season that had the potential to turn creepy hasn’t yet, and hopefully never will. The finale was heartwarming with big hints of more drama to come- I’m definitely down for more zombie hijinks!

Vivy: Flourite Eye’s Song

Quickest Summary: A songstress AI named DIVA (nicknamed Vivy) is approached by another AI named Matsumoto, who says he’s from the future and they must work together to prevent AI exterminating all of humankind 100 years from now.

This show is absolutely gorgeous visually with some really nice action scenes, but when it comes to the story my feelings basically amount to a shrug. It’s fine! I guess! Vivy starts out as an interesting layered character- and I guess still is by the end- with her stoic but stubborn determination bouncing off her fast-talking bossy partner Matsumoto well. She never listens to him, which is delightful. The way the show took place over the course of 100 years was an interesting conceit as well. However, it bought up a lot of themes and then sort of... dropped them. For instance, Vivy interprets her mission (PRIME DIRECTIVE if you will) as protecting humans at all costs, no matter how destructive said humans are or what their fate is supposed to be, and is perfectly willing to murder her fellow androids to do this, showing she inherently thinks of androids (herself and her own people!) as less worthy. Which is a little alarming! There’s a very dramatic point in the show where they bring this up as a potential conflict for her character but then it’s sort of...dropped. Pretty much.

Actually, despite the premise, the show doesn’t dip into the “AI rights” as much as you think it would with the main theme being more about Vivy’s search to find her own creativity and discover what it means to ‘pour your heart into something’. Vivy herself doesn’t actually care if she has rights or anything. Which is in some ways fine, because ‘AI as an oppressed class’ has been done to death, but IT’S ALSO KIND OF IN THE PREMISE, so that means that the show just shrugs really hard at a lot of the questions it brings up  basically just going “humans and AI should work together probably” and that’s it. There’s a lot that feels underexplored. The antagonists in the show also either have motivations that don’t really make sense or have boring hackneyed motivations. In the finale in particular, it feels like a lot of things happen “just because” and it falls a little flat.

I also have to warn that one of the arcs focus on a robot ‘pairing’ where the dude-coded robots actions toward his partner are straight up awful and rob her of her autonomy, but it’s played like a tragic love story. I suppose you could read it differently too, but it definitely made me go ‘ew’ the story seemed to want me to sympathize with this robo dude,

Overall, I wouldn’t anti-recommend this show, it’s an all right little sci-fic romp (and definitely SUPER pretty). My favorite element was definitely the episodes where Vivy develops an entirely new (an loveable) personality, because it played with the idea of of an AI getting “rebooted” really well and interplay between her two “selves” was done really well. But there are a lot of other parts of the show that just feel...a little underexplored and empty, making me have an ‘eh’ feeling on the show overall. It’s definitely an ambitious project, and while it didn’t quite stick the landing, there’s something to be said for a show that shoots for the stars and falls short over a show that just languishes in mediocrity.

Fruits Basket The Final

Quick summary: The final season of that dramatic drama about that weird family with a zodiac curse and the girl who loves them.

It’s very weird that after not cutting a lot out, they kinda sped through some material for, you know, the finale. I guess they thought they couldn’t stretch this final arc to 26 episodes? Or weren’t cleared for another double cour? However, though there were a couple places that felt awkward, despite being a bit condensed it mostly held together pretty well for a D R A M A T I C and ultimately heartwarming conclusion. I was really disappointed they kept the part where Ritsu cut their hair for the ‘happy ending’, I thought  their intro episode not showing them in men’s clothes meant the anime had decided their presentation didn’t need to be “fixed” but WELL I GUESS NOT. That was the only big upset for me though, otherwise the adaptation went about how I expected, sticking to the source material. Furuba has a lot of bumps, from weird age gap stuff to ...gender, but it also has a lot of important feels and great character arcs. It was a gateway shoujo for many and has its important place in animanga history, so I’m glad it finally got a shiny, full adaptation.

[luxekook]

ego | jjk | harry potter au

⇥ pairing: gryffindor jeongukk x hufflepuff reader

⇥ genre: harry potter AU, smut, fluff, angst

⇥ summary: in which jeongguk is a cocky lil shit and the reader has to take him down a few pegs 

⇥ warnings: 18+, dirty talk, light smut, cursing

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

The wind whirled around me as I careened towards the glistening goal posts, imagining the opposing team’s Keeper darting back and forth in hopes of blocking the Quaffle that was currently tucked under my arm. I feigned left and the imaginary keeper followed suit. I threw right – Quaffle sailing through the rightmost gold hoop.

I smiled and dove down past the posts to catch up with my own throw. Even though it was still the first week of the new term, I was determined to prove my newly acquired captain-status. Hufflepuff hadn’t had a female captain in ages; and, paired with that, I was only a 6th year.

Luckily, I had a strong team behind me with mostly returning players who I knew would fiercely support me. Us Puffs stuck together. It was inherently in our blood to be loyal as hell to our own, and I thanked Merlin for that every day since receiving the captain’s badge.

As soon as I had hopped on the Hogwarts’ Express a few days prior, I had immediately been swept up in a giant bear hug by Jeong Yunho, one of the Hufflepuff beaters.

“Oh, captain! My captain!” he had dramatically cried, spinning me around. His Dead Poet’s Society reference was not lost on me since I had a muggle parent with excellent taste in movies. Similar reactions from the rest of the team followed suit over the course of the train ride and the Welcoming Feast.

Trials for our only open position of Seeker would take place this weekend with practices immediately starting Monday. We had high hopes for redemption this season after being crushed by Slytherin’s team of goons early on in the Cup tournament.

The Slytherin team’s head hooligan Kang Dokyun led his team with a nasty blend of intimidation and violent tactics. I was convinced that Slytherin didn’t even hold trials and that they just lined up the Slytherin boys, picking out the biggest of the lot. Basically, Slytherin was strong, but slow and slightly uncoordinated. We could beat them by exploiting their weaknesses – of that I was certain.

Ravenclaw would be a bit harder to conquer. Their team played with a level of elegance and intelligence that was so utterly Ravenclaw that even us Puffs got annoyed. Ravenclaw’s captain Yoon Jisoo constructed tactical plays so tricky that she was already recruited to play for Puddlemore next year. Their team was smart, but not completely unbeatable. The Ravenclaws sometimes got so ingrained in their methodical maneuvers that they failed to notice some of their opponents’ counterattacks. That was how they lost the Cup last term to Gryffindor.

Gryffindor was our toughest competition. Winning the Cup last term, the Gryffindor team was a nauseatingly perfect balance between brains and brawn. Their captain Jeon Jeongguk, now a 7th year, was renowned for his tyrannical practice regime that he put his team through. We’d only played Gryffindor once in the regular season last year, and we had held our own for a while until we started getting tired and they didn’t. Seems like Jeongguk knew his shit when it came to conditioning. Something that I was determined to emulate with my own team.

Jeongguk was also the best damn Keeper that Hogwarts had seen in a long time, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by the looks of the professional Quidditch scouts that avidly attended his matches. He was way bigger than a typical Keeper – extremely tall with broad shoulders and giant paws for hands. However, the only thing bigger than his stature and talent was his fucking ego.

He carried himself like he was the king of the school, and, unfortunately, most people treated him like it. Girls especially flocked to him – mainly for two reasons: 1) Jeongguk was undoubtedly hot, and 2) he held the promise of a rich future. Personally, I cared for neither of those traits considering his appalling personality and pride.

That damned ego would be his downfall this season. I would make sure of it, I thought as I circled around the stadium and then landed to get a drink.

I was definitely above average on the Quidditch talent scale. Holding the current school record for most assists in a season, I considered myself the glue of the Hufflepuff team – a fact that our Head of House obviously agreed with. However, no one really talked about the glue of a team, they talked about the flashy glitter and the gold stars. I was fine with that. Being the underdog was nothing new to a Hufflepuff, and I planned on using that to our advantage this season. Who said Puffs couldn’t be a little devious?

I smirked to myself as I grabbed my broom, ready to get back to practicing. This would be our fucking year.

“Hey,” a deceptively sweet voice rang out from above me, “You mind sharing the pitch? I need to practice.”

My mood soured. I knew who that was. Kicking off the ground, I flew to face him, “Sure thing, Jeon, just stay out of my way.”

It was almost as if I’d slapped him across the face, “Excuse me?” he choked out, “Do I know you?”

Unbelievable. Jeongguk’s head was evidently so far up his own ass he couldn’t recognize opponents he’d been playing for years. “I guess not,” I countered. And with a flick of my ponytail, I took off towards the opposite end of the pitch.

Unfortunately, he followed, “Are you a Gryffindor? If so, you should come to tryouts tomorrow. You’re pretty fast and we need a new Chaser.”

“Not a Gryffindor,” I called out, dipping low to the ground to scoop up my old practice Quaffle, “But I am a Chaser.”

Jeongguk was still tailing me, and I pulled to a stop to face him, “I thought you had to practice?”

He mirrored my position and crossed his arms. I tried (and failed) to stop myself from noticing how his biceps flexed and how a hint of his famed phoenix tattoo curled up his neck. Merlin, even I couldn’t deny he was hot as fuck. The recent summer months seemed to have blessed his skin with a glowing tan that accentuated the warmth of his dark eyes. It also seemed like he forgot what a haircut was as I watched the wind tousle his slightly curling hair.

“I do,” his eyes were narrowed as he cleared his throat, “I just have to make sure you’re not spying for another team.”

All thoughts of him being fine flew out the Owlery as I scowled. I refused to be intimidated by some arrogant asshole, “Did you not hear me when I said to stay on the opposite end of the pitch, Jeon? What kind of self-respecting spy would ask that?”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Jeongguk declared, his tone too sure for my liking.

He was really aggravating me now, and it took a lot for a Puff to get pissed off, “So, just because I have a semblance of a backbone, I’m a Slytherin? You need to brush up on your House knowledge.”

He was quiet, his expression contemplative, his jaw clenched. His eyes were scanning me with an intensity I was not sure I liked. And then he did something I liked even less: “I propose a game,” his mouth twisted upwards in a smirk, “You say you’re a Chaser?”

I gave a slight tilt of my chin in affirmation. He resumed, “Well, then you must know I’m a Keeper.” He paused, grinning wickedly, waiting for me to react to the double entendre. Eyebrows raised at my pointed silence, he continued, “And we both need to practice… So how ‘bout you try to score on me and for every shot I block you have to answer one of my questions.”

This motherfucker right here. I summoned my inner Helga to give me the strength to deal with this Gryffindor prick, “Say I was to agree to this, what would I get if I score on you?”

The laugh I got in response made all thoughts of remaining a kind and patient Puff evaporate faster than a weak Patronus.

He was still laughing when he noticed I looked ready to Avada him wandless, “Okay, okay. What do you want if you score?” He barely got the words out in between chuckles.

“To come to a Gryffindor practice.”

That shut him up real fast, “No fucking way. I don’t need you distracting my players.”

My nose crinkled, “Distracting? I would just be sitting in the stands, you prick.”

His jaw ticked as he rolled his eyes, “You could be on the furthest corner of the pitch and you’d still distract them, jagi.”

“Don’t call me that. And, pray tell, why I would distract them?” Our brooms were now practically touching as we had instinctively moved closer to one another. I could see the sweat glistening on his brow and the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Merlin, he was potent.

“Because,” Jeongguk paused, acting like this was the most obvious answer in the world, “You’re hot.”

I blinked. And blinked again, “Are you serious?” He opened his mouth to respond. “Nope, don’t answer that, Jeon,” I brushed right over his attempt to answer my rhetorical question, “So, do we have a deal or not? If you’re the esteemed Keeper that you clearly think you are, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to block all my shots, should it?”

My words echoed around us. He looked conflicted, but I knew his ego would not let my challenge go, “Deal. Five shots from the penalty mark.”

He flew towards the goal posts, “Looking forward to getting my questions answered, love,” he bellowed back at me.

I mentally flipped him off as I took off after him, clutching my Quaffle.

Sending out a plea to Merlin, Helga and everyone in between, I pulled to a stop at the penalty mark and pondered how I wanted to play this. He obviously thought he would save all five attempts. I spared him a glance and glower as I notice he was slouching on his broom with a lazy smirk, clearly not taking me as a serious threat.

Fine, I would just have to hustle him. He was asking for it at this point.

I got into formation. As much as it would pain me to mess up this shot on purpose, I knew that I had to in order to make my plan work.

Taking off towards the posts, my movement caused Jeongguk to finally move into a somewhat defensive position. I feigned right, doing so in a way too obvious manner. Hurling the Quaffle towards the top hoop, I watched expectantly as he deflected it with just a slight flick of his hand.

“Come on,” Jeongguk laughed, “You can do better than that, jagi.” He flew over to me and when I stretched to take back the Quaffle he now held in his hand, he shifted it out of reach, “Uh-uh, nope. It’s question time. What’s your name?”

How predictable. “It’s (y/n). Now give me the Quaffle.”

“Last name?” Jeongguk kept the Quaffle out of my hands.

“That’s a separate question, Jeon. You never specified that I give you my full name.” It was my turn to smirk as he threw the Quaffle back at me and headed back to the posts mumbling about loopholes and how I must’ve been a Ravenclaw.

I lined back up for the second shot. I had to make this one a little bit better than the last to show that I was trying, but not too much better that he’d be prepared for my final shots.

I ducked down, twisting around to head towards the right post with my full focus on the hoop. I launched the Quaffle. Jeongguk swooped up to catch it in a way that was entirely too elaborate for such a lame throw. He was clearly showing off – an action that I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the meaning behind.

Jeongguk made his way over to me, grinning, “Second question, jagi. Full name, please.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n),” I muttered, eyes scanning his face for signs of recognition and hands grabbing the Quaffle away from him.

He looked puzzled, “(y/l/n)? Why does that sound so familiar?”

Before he could think on it further, I pushed his shoulder, “Back to the posts. You got your answer.”

Well, I had attempted to push his shoulder. He didn’t even flinch at my shove. His eyes darted to where my hand now laid on his chest. I removed it faster than a Wronski Feint, trying to ignore the tingles that shot up my arm.

Our eyes connected and his were blazing as his mouth crept into a slow smile, “Like your hands on me.” Before I could formulate a reply, he flew off and I resolved that I would make this next shot as if my life depended on it.

We faced each other. I shifted the Quaffle from hand to hand and took off towards him. I gave him no tells, no feints, nothing. This seemed to throw him off for a split second, but that second was all I needed to send the Quaffle sailing through the bottom hoop.

“What the fuck was that?” Jeongguk yelled as he got all up in my face.

I bit back a smile. “Beginner’s luck?” I quipped, loving how his face had darkened perceptibly, “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can pick up some more tips at your practice.”

Unable to keep my grin in check any longer, I smile widely as he lets out a stream of curses that would make even my old crotchety aunt blush.

We resumed our positions. This time he seemed more alert and watchful. He was getting wary of me, despite my claim that it was just luck. Maybe he knew better after all…

“That won’t happen again, (y/n). Don’t get used to it!” he shouted from the posts.

…Or not.

I took off. Luck be damned. I zigzagged back and forth towards him. Throwing the Quaffle up in the air, I quickly rolled off my broom, sharply grabbing its end and swinging it up to hit the Quaffle mid-air through the center goalpost. A perfectly executed Finbourgh Flick. Regaining my seat on my broom I sailed back to the penalty line and turned back to face Jeongguk.

He looked utterly gobsmacked, “Beginner’s luck? Beginner’s fucking luck? Who the fuck are you?”

I grinned victoriously at his wounded ego, “You know my name, Jeon. Now you can use it at two practices.”

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n), (y/f/n) (y/l/n)… fucking hell,  you’re the new Hufflepuff captain,” he gawked at me.

“Bingo, Gryff,” I laughed, “Took you long enough.”

“Why did I think you were a bloke? I would have remembered such a—” he cut himself off, “You hustled me! There is no way I’m letting you into my practices now.”

We were nose to nose now as I responded, “A deal’s a deal. I thought you Gryffindors were all about honor.”

His face was thunderous, “And I thought you Hufflepuffs were all about fairness.”

“We are,” I said plainly, “We just don’t take lightly to intimidation. Now come on, we’ve got one round left.”

A range of emotions moved across his face to settle in a heated look that I couldn’t quite decipher, “Fine, jagi,” his molten gaze darted to my mouth, “Give it your best shot.”

Swallowing hard, I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of entirely too inappropriate thoughts of me and Jeongguk. As much as I attempted to refocus on making my final shot, my attention wasn’t fully there.

And I fucked it up. Jeongguk dove to catch my throw mid-air, and he sped towards me triumphantly, “Slipping already? What was that?”

I blushed. He noticed.

“Come on,” he said, “I need a drink and then you need to answer my last question.”

I followed him to the ground, cursing my treacherous body for reacting so obviously. My subconscious battled:

‘He’s a player!’ the imaginary Dumbledore on my right shoulder boomed.

‘Kiss him. Now!’ hissed the fictitious Voldemort from the other side.

However, all thoughts evacuated my brain at the sight of Jeongguk peeling off his shirt and taking a long sip from his water bottle. My traitorous eyes flew over his torso. I took in his defined abs, his chiseled arms and his fucking beautiful phoenix tattoo that spanned the entirety of his left shoulder, left upper back, and a portion of his neck.

Then I noticed his eyes were watching me right back. And they were all to amused to be innocent… “Are you seducing me?”

He spit out his mouthful of water, laughing, “Why? Is this working for you?”

My eyes now resembled slits as I glared at him, “Is that your last question?”

“No!” His response came so fast I jolted back on impulse, “No, it’s not…”

He trailed off as he prowled towards me. I stepped back. He kept coming. I stepped back further.

“Why are you running, jagi?” his words were too soft and too intense for my liking. I took another step back and bumped up against the stands. His grin in response was predatory as he caged me in between the stands and his body, his arms on either side of my head.

“Nowhere to run now, little Hufflepuff…” he dragged a finger along the hollows of my throat. He definitely felt the rapid pounding of my pulse, his eyes darkening to the point that they almost seemed black.

I glared defiantly at him, refusing to be daunted by his size or his words. He smirked, “Your last question: do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

I stopped breathing. He waited, a look of uncertainty flickered on his face so briefly I almost thought I’d imagined it.

That little flare of vulnerability – that should not have been as appealing to me as it was – helped me to regain some of my bearings, “And how much do you want to kiss me? I need a scale of reference.”

He smiled crookedly as he leaned in even further, lips brushing against me as he whispered into my neck, “So fucking bad.”

His tongue darted across my skin as he dragged it up towards my ear. Biting it softly, he murmured, “Well?”

Fuck it all.

My hands latched onto his shoulders and his head snapped up. Raising to my tiptoes, I kissed him. He let out a rough groan, sounding like I was killing him. His hands slid down my body to squeeze my ass before hoisting me up. My legs circled his lean hips as his teeth caught my bottom lip in a faint bite. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling slightly. His hips pressed into mine, drawing a moan from my lips. He smiled against my mouth.

I nipped his lip now in retribution, but it seemed to only urge him on. One hand came up to remove my hair-tie, flinging it over his shoulder. I made a noise of protest, but he just kissed me harder.

How the fuck was he holding me up with one hand?

I prided myself on being a pretty thick bitch, and he was over here acting like I weighed nothing. My fingernails slid down his back, raking over the hard muscles and feeling how they flexed and shifted under my touch.

I don’t know how long we spent making out against the stands, but soon enough we heard voices coming from around the corner. Ripping my mouth away from his, I jumped out of his embrace, landing on shaky legs.

His arm wrapped around my waist as he steadies me. He was breathing just as hard as me and I could feel his heartbeat racing. I tugged away from him to retrieve my hair-tie from the ground and put my now wild hair back into its ponytail.

I could feel Jeongguk’s eyes on me all the while. I looked at him. His lips were swollen, his hair was a disheveled mess, his neck was displaying a rather nice hickey that I was sure was mirrored several times over on my own neck. A rare feeling of pride shot through me, and as he opened his mouth to say something, I shook my head and placed a finger over his lips.

“I’ll see you at your practice, Jeon.” I placed a quick kiss on his cheek, grabbed my broom and walked off.

As I strode away, I heard him grumbling under his breath: “Everybody warns you about the Slytherins. Nobody fucking warns you about the Hufflepuffs. Fucking hell…”

I smiled all the way back to the Common Room.

[cathrrrine]

RUN | Pietro x Reader

Originally from my Wattpad

CHAPTER 15 - GHOST

----

[2009.]

Cold, unforgiving metal met the tender skin of my arm as I blocked his punch. That's going to leave a bruise. His blows were getting stronger, faster. He was testing my skills, they wanted to see how far I could be pushed. Although I wasn't far from the edge, I wasn't going to let myself fail today either.

"Focus!" He yelled.

I grimaced, ducking under his arm and landing a punch to his gut. Rookie move, but it was all I had at that moment. He grabbed my arm, quick as lightning, and dragged me by the chin so he could look me in the eye. My fists were still clenched but the exhaustion was starting to take a toll on me. I panted heavily as I tried to mask how drained I was.

With my arm still in his grasp, he said, "Who are you fighting for?"

It was almost a mantra that I was forced to reiterate every single time I fucked up. "Hydra."

He said it again, louder this time, his grip on my hand growing tighter. He could break my wrist if I didn't deliver. Hell, he could break every single limb I had. I couldn't fail.

"Hydra!" I scoffed. I belonged to them. I had to die for them. Hydra ran through my blood, and if it was ever spilled one day, it would be justified in their name.

That's what they told me.

Who was I to question them? I was nothing but a vessel, a weapon for these people. If I failed to deliver what was asked of me, I'd be killed. How ironic was that? To kill or be killed.

I hated it.

As soon as he let my arm go, I thrusted the top of my head into his face. I heard what sounded like his nose breaking and true enough, as I regained my balance and faced him, I found him wiping blood from his nose with the heel of his hand. It was satisfying, to say the least, to see that I finally made a dent.

"Perfect." He nodded.

God, it wasn't over yet.

He pulled his knives out of the holsters he wore, spinning them in the air and catching them both flawlessly. It was his signature trick. Honestly, I thought it was a bit too dramatic. But what can I say? Hydra loves their drama.

"Pay attention." He pointed the tip of the knife towards me. "Or you'll bleed."

He pounced, spinning his knives like they were toys and not murder weapons. He thrusted his right knife in the vague direction of my shoulder, I took a half-step back and circled around so I was behind him. It only took a second for him to whip around again, but I expected that move. So, I threw my leg up as soon as he did and I kicked the weapon out of his grip.

The knife spun around threateningly in the air before falling onto the concrete across the room with a thump. He didn't seem to pay any mind to his fallen weapon. That's when I remembered he had another. He twirled it around his fingers before gripping the handle and thrusting his right arm with full force, the gears of his metal arm whirring as he did so.

I thought I had it. I jumped back so he wouldn't catch my rib, but he was quick to calculate my movements. I should have known.

The pain was searing.

Blood oozed out of the newly-made wound on my calf, the knife buried to the hilt. I screamed uncontrollably as the pain of it kicked in, my body going limp immediately.

"That's enough, soldat."

Tears were falling down my face against my will. You know how sometimes your body does things you don't want it to do? I know, logically, tears were just how your body reacted to certain things. For example, being stabbed in the goddamn calf. But I knew, despite literal fucking science, the people around me took it as a sign of weakness. That's how messed up in the head they are.

But I wasn't weak. I just got through 2 hours of intensive training with the Winter Soldier while they just watched.

I'd like to see the lot of you fight him and manage to not get killed.

One of the medics went over to my side and helped me up. The Winter Soldier stepped aside and watched me with disdainful eyes. I knew I disappointed him. That alone could have fucked up my assessment. How did I not see it coming? How did I miscalculate that movement?

The Commander leaned in to talk to him as he watched me limp away. I made eye contact with both of them. The Commander's lips were moving but I couldn't make out a word of what he was saying.

Through pain-ridden eyes and a half-delirious mind, I could almost make sense of what the conversation was about.

Girl...Mission...Out...Threat.

Next thing I know, I was being treated by Dr. Nolan in the Medical Room. I don't think I processed anything yet. My brain felt numb. My eyes were glued to the knife — now on a metal tray — that I failed to dodge.

My mind flickered through all the different scenarios that I could have went with. I was beyond frustrated with myself and with my complete and utter failure. What were they going to do with me now? They couldn't really kill me...could they?

My mind reeled back to the conversation I saw that the Soldier and the Commander had earlier. What were they talking about? Did they finally decide what to do with me? The defective agent?

I wasn't perfect. I tried to be, but I wasn't. Somehow I always found myself disagreeing with their rules and their missions, even if I carried them out anyway. Although, sometimes I couldn't help but protest. I had to. Even if the consequences would hurt me. If they knew that I'd gone against more than just a few of their regulations, there's no doubt I'd be dead within the minute.

Footsteps came through the corridor, yet I didn't even think to look up.

"Your mission." The familiar faded black of a case file was thrown into my lap carelessly, the papers crinkling in protest as it landed. I looked up to see an annoyed expression that was attached to the face of one of the high-ranking agents.

"Mission? I thought I failed the assessment." My thumbs flicked through the papers almost automatically, scanning through the details quickly. I didn't miss the red stamp on the front. This wasn't just any mission.

He–David, I think–shrugged, "The Commander asked me to hand this to you. You're leaving in an hour."

"What?"

I was...thrilled and appalled at the same time. The whole point of the assessment was for them to see that I was worthy enough to be placed on important missions like these. If they trusted me with it, that means I succeeded.

"In an hour?" Dr. Nolan chipped in. "She hasn't fully recovered from her stab wound yet. You need at least two to three weeks of rest."

The red star-shaped stamp looked even more brighter in that moment, even if the room was poorly lit. "I've had worse. I can survive a limp."

"You won't even be able to walk." He raised an eyebrow at me in disagreement. Somewhere deep down, I knew I should listen to him. I wasn't in the best shape for a fight, let alone a mission like this one.

David huffed, "Orders are orders."

Then my brain clicked back into place. David was right. I nodded once. "I'll be at the hangar in 30 minutes."

"You better gear up by then. They wont wait up for you."

Dr. Nolan sighed and shook his head before wrapping my leg up with bandage. "Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you."

———

Snow was blowing in my face. The cold seeped through my coat, prickling my skin like tiny little needles made of ice.

"Any minute now." He spoke through the earpiece.

We were supposed to ambush a S.H.I.E.L.D operation that was a threat to Hydra. I wasn't entirely sure why I was sent along with the Winter Soldier, but I wasn't in the place to argue. Not when I just barely survived the assessment.

"Get in position." I crouched down, trying to smother a whimper that threatened to escape my throat. My calf was burning, but that wasn't a priority right now. Everything was always burning somehow, and I learned to ignore it overtime. I scanned the area through the scope of my sniper rifle. As soon as a car came into view, I steadied my hand on the trigger.

"Now."

Four continuous shots for each tire. Every single one blew out and the car spun out of control, spinning from left to right. It was a narrow road, the plan was bound to work to our liking. After a few nasty turns, the car swerved off the cliff, leaving nothing but dust and debris in it's place.

"They're not dead yet. Keep an eye out."

It was quicker than I expected, but I spotted two figures climbing out of the wreck after a while. Their movements were slow and staggered, but alive nonetheless.

"Target acquired."

I watched through the scope as he stepped out of his position in the shadows. One of the figures moved in front of the other, shielding them with their own body. I knew it was useless. He'd kill them both anyway.

A single shot rang out. I could picture the bullet going through one body to the other. They both dropped to the ground, dead.

"Target eliminated."

"Roger."

He didn't say a word. I didn't hear the usual rustle of his movements through the earpiece. Silence engulfed me. Usually, I wouldn't be so unnerved. He was always silent. But this time it felt...strange. I stayed where I was, unmoving. Something in my head told me I shouldn't move, shouldn't speak.

It seemed too easy.

I don't know what it was, but I didn't take my eyes off him. Something about this whole thing seemed...off. He could have completed this mission alone.

Why did they ask me to go with him?

He turned away from the bodies and faced me. I gulped, hands trembling as I held my rifle reluctantly. What was he doing?

"Sir?" I managed to say. Everything was telling me to RUN. NOW.

Slowly, he raised his gun and pointed it towards me.

Girl...Mission...Out...Threat.

My whole body trembled at the sight before me.

"Take the girl on your next mission. I need you to take her out. She's a threat to us, soldier. She's defective. Eliminate her. "

I was right.

Bang! The sound of a gunshot snapped me back to reality. It was real. They wanted to kill me. The Winter Soldier was standing ten feet away from me with a gun in his hand, ready to kill. To eliminate the threat.

Out of reflex, I pulled the trigger of my rifle that was pointed to his head, only to find it empty.

Four bullets. They only gave me four bullets and nothing more.

Without thinking, I ran. I dropped the rifle and ran as fast as my legs could take me. I heard another gunshot, closer this time. That's when I started to feel a strange sort of stinging at the back of my leg. The pressure felt strenuous as I continued to sprint in the snow.

Oh, God...Dr. Nolan was right.

I could feel the pain taking over once more as my stitches started to pop. Warm, thick liquid ran down my leg and seeped through the pants of my uniform as the wound on my calf bled out. Between the stinging cold and the stinging pain, I was starting to feel hopeless. I couldn't possibly go against him.

Bang!

Closer this time. I was running blindly into a vast, wide-open landscape of infinite snow. Not only that, but I was also leaving behind a trail of blood behind me. Deep scarlet upon stark white. What a contrast. Was this Hansel and Gretel or some shit?

"You cannot run forever." His voice was crisp, threatening. I couldn't take the fear that ran cold through me. If I stopped running now, I wouldn't ever get up again. He was the embodiment of fear, and he was chasing me.

I tore off my earpiece and threw it behind me. How could I have been so foolish today? Of course they sent him out here to kill me.

All along I thought I was playing the part perfectly. But, maybe I didn't hide my doubts of Hydra as well as I thought I had. Did they find out about everything I've failed to do?

How could I have killed those innocent children? How could I have murdered that innocent family? Or that innocent man who just so happened to stumble across a Hydra operation?

I was fine with the blood and the gore. I was used to that. The only thing that never sat right with me was when the innocent had to be slaughtered. The first time I went through with it, they haunted my dreams. Their animalistic cries for mercy, their howls of pain...I couldn't live with myself.

They were right. I was defective. I didn't have the makings of a Hydra agent. I wasn't as ruthless as I should be.

I ran and ran, hoping that he was far behind me. The snow was getting thicker by the minute, it was getting harder for me to see and to navigate.

I ran until my aching feet hit the pavement of a road that led to a small village. It looked homely, with houses and shops lined up along the road. Lanterns hung from roof to roof, providing light in the heavy snowfall. If I didn't know any better, I'd try to hide there. But I knew he would only tear it apart and kill everyone on sight just to eliminate me.

Then I sensed footsteps behind me. There was no time to think. It was my only option.

I sneaked through the worn paths of the area, trying my best to lay low. It didn't help that I was sporting a mean limp and bleeding all over the place. People saw me and they avoided me. I started to wonder why I thought heading here would help me. I scanned the area for anything, anything that would help. A weapon, a car, a spot that I could take shelter in...

Then, out of nowhere, I bumped into a woman.

"Oh!"

I held onto her arms as I tried to keep us both from falling. The woman was wearing a niqab. Her piercing green eyes looked right at me, distracting me from my original plan for a moment.

"Are you alright?" She asked, gently.

I must have looked horrible. Sweaty and bloody with panicked eyes. I didn't notice that her arms were still locked on mine, keeping me upright.

That's when I felt it, the surge of energy suddenly coursing through me. It was a peculiar sensation, but I welcomed it. Her green eyes widened. I knew she felt it too.

"You're-" she gasped, trying to pull away from me. I held onto her tighter, not wanting to let go just yet.

"Please." I begged. "It won't hurt."

I had to go before he came.

I heard gunshots behind me. I couldn't let him get to me, not when I just found the key to my escape.

"Who are you?" The woman whispered, struggling against me.

"Someone you’ll help escape death." I looked into her eyes, trying to let her see how desperate I was. I didn't want to take anything else from her but this.

Her eyes jumped from mine to behind me, before flickering back to look at me again. "You're like me, aren't you?"

"You don't need to do anything." I assured her. "I just need to leave."

It took a second of hesitation for her, but slowly, she nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, but I never heard what it was. Because that's when the screaming erupted.

I closed my eyes and teleported myself the fuck out of there.

[casxmorgan]

Books Books Books

100 Years of Solitude

11.22.63

120 Days of Sodom

1491

1984

A Brief History of Time

A Canticle for Leibowitz

A Child Called It

A Clockwork Orange

A Confederacy of Dunces

A History of the World in Ten and a Half Chapters

A Land Fit for Heroes Trilogy

A Little Life

A Naked Singularity

A People's History of the United States

A Scanner Darkly

A Series of Unfortunate Events

A Short History of Nearly Everything

A Song of Ice and Fire

A Storm of Swords

A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again: Essays and Arguments

A Thousand Splendid Suns

A Walk in the Woods

A World Lit Only by Fire

Accursed Kings

Alice in Wonderland

All Quiet on the Western Front

All the Light We Cannot See

All the Pretty Horses

America, the Book

American Gods

American Psycho

And then There Were None

Angela’s Ashes

Animal Farm

Animal, Vegetable, Miracle

Anna Karenina

Anything Terry Pratchett, But, Mort is My Favorite

Anything Written by Robin Hobb

Apt Pupil

Artemis Fowl

Asimov's Guide to the Bible

Asoiaf

Atlas Shrugged

Bartimeaus

Batman: the Long Halloween

Battle Royale

Beat the Turtle Drum

Behind the Beautiful Forevers

Belgariad Series

Beloved

Berserk

Bestiario

Black Company

Blankets/habibi

Blind Faith

Blindness

Blood Meridian

Blood and Guts: a History of Surgery

Bluest Eye

Brandon Sanderson

Brave New World

Breakfast of Champions

Bridge to Terabithia

Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: an Indian History of the American West

Calvin and Hobbs

Candide

Carrie

Cat's Cradle

Catch 22

Cats Cradle

Chaos

Child of God

Choke

Chuck Palahniuk

City of Ember

City of Thieves

Cloud

Collapse

Come Closer

Complaint

Confessions of a Mask

Contact

Conversation in the Cathedral

Cosmos

Crime and Punishment

Dan Brown

David

Dead Birds Singing

Dead Mountain: the Untold True Story of the Dyatlov Pass Incident

Delta Venus

Die Räuber (the Robbers)

Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

Don Quixote

Dragonlance

Dune

Dying of the Light

East of Eden

Educated

Empire of Sin: a Story of Sex, Jazz, Murder, and the Battle for Modern New Orleans

Enders Game

Enders Shadow

Escape from Camp 14

Ever Since Darwin

Every Man Dies Alone

Everybody Poops

Everything is Illuminated

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Fahrenheit 451

Far from the Madding Crowd

Faust

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

Feet of Clay

Fight Club

First Law

Flowers for Algernon

Flowers in the Attic

Foundation

Foundation Series

Foundation Trilogy

Frankenstein

Freakonomics

Fun Home

Galapagos

Geek Love

Gerald’s Game

Ghost Story

Go Ask Alice

Go Dog Go

Godel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid

Goldfinch

Gone Girl

Gone with the Wind

Good Omens

Grapes of Wrath

Great Expectations

Greg Egan

Guards! Guards!

Guns Germs and Steel

Guts (short Story)

Half a World

Ham on Rye

Hannibal Rising

Hard Boiled Wonderland

Hatchet

Haunted

Hawaii

Heart Shaped Box

Heart of Darkness

Hellbound Heart

Hellraiser

Hell’s Angels

Helter Skelter

His Dark Materials

Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Hogg

Holocaust by Bullets

House of Leaves

How to Cook for Fourty Humans

How to Win Friends and Influence People

Huckleberry Finn

Hyperion

I Am America, and So Can You

I Am the Messenger

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

I Was Dr. Mengele’s Assistant

In Cold Blood

In Search of Our Mother's Gardens

Independent People

Infinite Jest

Into Thin Air

Into the Wild

Introduction to Linear Algebra

Invisible Monsters

Ishmael

It

Jacques Le Fataliste

Jane Eyre

Jaunt

Job: a Comedy of Justice

John Dies at the End

John Grisham

Johnathan Livingston Seagull

Johnny Got His Gun

Jon Ronson

Journal of a Novel

Jurassic Park

Justine

L'histoire D'o

Lamb

Last Exit to Brooklyn

Les Miserables

Lies My Teacher Told Me

Life of Pi

Limits and Renewals

Little House in the Big Woods

Lockwood & Co.

Lolita

Looking for Trouble

Lord Foul’s Bane

Lord of the Flies

Lyddie

Malazan Book of the Fallen

Maldoror

Manufacturing Consent: the Political Economy of the Mass Media

Man’s Search for Meaning

Mark Twain’s Autobiography

Maus

Meditations

Megamorphs (series)

Mein Kampf

Memnooch the Devil

Metro 2033

Michael Crichton

Middlesex

Mindhunter

Misery

Mistborn

Moby Dick

Mrs. Dalloway

My Side of the Mountain

My Sweet Audrina

Nacht über Der Prärie (night over the Prairie)

Naked Lunch

Name of the Wind

Neuromancer

Never Let Me Go

Neverwhere

New York

Next

Night

Night Shift

Norwegian Wood

Notes from Underground

Nothing to Envy: Real Lives in North Korea

Of Mice and Men

Of Nightingales That Weep

Ohio

Old Mans War

Old Mother West Wind

On Heroes and Tombs

On Laughter and Forgetting

On the Road

One Flew over the Cuckoos Nest

One Hundred Years of Solitude

One of Us

Painted Bird

Patrick Rothfuss

Perfume: the Story of a Murderer

Persepolis

Pet Sematary

Peter Pan

Pillars of the Earth

Poisonwood Bible

Pride and Predjudice

Ready Player One

Rebecca

Red Mars

Red Night (series)

Red Shirts

Red Storm Rising

Redwall

Replay

Requiem for a Dream

Revenge

Riftwar Saga

Ringworld

Roald Dahl

Rolls of Thunder, Hear My Cry

Round Ireland with a Fridge

Running with Scissors

Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes

Sapiens, a Brief History of Humankind

Scary Stories to Read in the Dark

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark

Schindler’s List

Sein Und Zeit

Shades of Grey

Sharp Objects

Shattered Dreams

Sherlock Holmes

Sho-gun

Siddhartha

Sisypho

Skin and Other Stories

Slaughterhouse Five

Smoke & Mirrors

Snow Crash

Soldier Son

Sometimes a Great Notion

Sphere

Starship Troopers

Stiff, the Curious Lives of Human Cadavers

Storied Life of A.j. Fikry

Stormlight Archives

Story of the Eye

Stranger in a Strange Land

Surely, You're Joking

Survivor Type (short Story)

Suttree

Swan Song

Tale of Two Cities

Tales of the South Pacific

The Alchemist

The Altered Carbon Trilogy

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

The Art of Deception

The Art of Fielding

The Art of War

The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation

The Autobiography of Henry Viii

The Autobiography of Malcolm X

The Beach

The Bell Jar

The Bible

The Bloody Chamber

The Book Thief

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

The Brothers Karamazov

The Call of Cthulu and Other Weird Stories

The Cask of Amontillado (short Story)

The Catcher in the Rye

The Chronicles of Narnia

The Clown

The Color out of Space

The Communist Manifesto

The Complete Fiction of H.p. Lovecraft

The Count of Monte Cristo

The Curious Case of the Dog in the Night Time

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime

The Dagger and the Coin

The Damage Done

The Dark Tower

The Declaration of Independence, the Us Constitution, and the Bill of Rights

The Devil in the White City

The Dharma Bums

The Diamond Age

The Dice Man

The Discworld Series

The Dresden Files

The Elegant Universe

The First Law Trilogy

The Forever War

The Foundation Trilogy

The Gentleman Bastard Sequence

The Geography of Nowhere

The Girl Next Door

The Girl on the Milk Carton

The Giver

The Giving Tree

The God of Small Things

The Grapes of Wrath

The Great Gatsby

The Great Gilly Hopkins

The Hagakure

The Half a World Trilogy

The Handmaid’s Tale

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

The Hiding Place

The History of Love

The Hobbit

The Hot Zone

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

The Hyperion Cantos

The Jaunt

The Jungle

The Key to Midnight

The Killing Star

The Kingkiller Chronicles

The Kite Runner

The Last Question (short Story)

The Lies of Lock Lamora

The Little Prince

The Long Walk

The Lord of the Rings

The Lottery (short Story)

The Lovely Bones

The Magicians

The Magus

The Martian

The Master and Margarita

The Metamorphosis of Prime Intellect

The Monster at the End of This Book

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

The Music of Eric Zahn (short Story)

The Name of the Wind & the Wise Man's Fear

The Necronomicon

The New Age of Adventure: Ten Years of Great Writing

The Night Circus

The Nightmare Box

The Odyssey

The Omnivore's Dilemma

The Orphan Master’s Son

The Outsiders

The Painted Bird

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

The Phantom Tollbooth

The Picture of Dorian Gray

The Pit and the Pendulum

The Plague

The Prince

The Prince of Tides

The Princess Bride

The Prophet

The Queen’s Gambit

The Rape of Nanking

The Red Dwarf

The Republic

The Rifter Saga

The Road

The Satanic Verses

The Screwtape Letters

The Secret History

The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel

The Selfish Gene

The Shining

The Shrine of Jeffrey Dahmer

The Silmarillion

The Sirens of Titan

The Six Wives of Henry the 8th

The Solitude of Prime Numbers

The Speaker of the Dead

The Stars My Destination

The Stormlight Archive

The Story of My Tits

The Stranger

The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck

The Suspicions of Mr. Witcher

The Tao of Pooh

The Things They Carried

The Time Machine

The Time Traveller’s Wife

The Tin Drum

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

The Unthinkable Thoughts of Jacob Green

The Wasp Factory

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle

The World According to Garp

The Yellow Wallpaper

Their Eyes Were Watching God

Things Fall Apart

Thirsty

This Blinding Absence of Light

Tiger!

Time Enough for Love

To Kill a Mockingbird

To Say Nothing of the Dog

Toni Morrison

Too Many Magicians

Traumnovelle

Tuesdays with Morrie

Tuf Voyaging

Undeniable

Under Plum Lake

Universe in a Nutshell

Unwind

Uzumaki

Various

Village Life in Late Tsarist Russia

Walden

War & Peace

War and Peace

Warriors: Bluestar’s Prophecy

Watchers

Water for Elephants

Watership Down

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Wheel of Time

When Rabbit Howls

Where the Red Fern Grows

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Why I Am Not a Christian

Why People Believe Weird Things

Wizards First Rule

Wool

World War Z

Worm

Wuthering Heights

You Can Choose to Be Happy

Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

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

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH29

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 29: Star Death Reality Show (XII) {cw: brief discussion of menstruation}

This conversation between guys didn't last long. After all, Qi Leren and Du Yue weren’t too familiar with each other, and they wouldn't be as casual as with Dr. Lu. It was almost two o'clock in the middle of the night. It was time for Qi Leren to watch the speaker.

The temperature difference between night and day was not much in the polar region, and the sunshine of the polar day fell on the tundra, quiet and serene. If it weren't for the danger stirring, that was spying on these poor lambs, Qi Leren probably wouldn't be as uneasy as he was now.

When he came to the outside of the church, Qi Leren saw Janet’s bright clothes at a glance. She was breathing on her hands. After a while, she pulled thick gloves on her hands: "This damn weather is really enough to freeze penguins."

—It's cold enough to freeze penguins. Someone had once described a polar environment to Qi Leren like this. When Janet’s words, he couldn’t help but think of that. Qi Leren showed a smile: "There are no penguins here, and we have temperature-control suits. We won’t freeze to death."

"Hey man, this is just an exaggerated metaphor. Can you have a sense of humor?" Janet rolled her eyes at him.

Dr. Lu and Alex came out of the church. Both of them were a little sleepy. They went back to rest after the handover with Janet. Janet walked into the church, sat down on the couch, and chatted with Qi Leren boredly: "You and Lara have a good relationship?"

"Not bad," Qi Leren said perfunctorily.

"Uh-huh, I guess you’re being condescending now," Janet said with a smile.

"You’re not a worm in my stomach." Qi Leren refused to admit it.

"Come on, I still have self-awareness. I never wanted to be likable." Janet shrugged her shoulders and said casually, "Let’s change the subject. What do you think about the disappearances these past few days?"

"...It's hard to say, but I don't think this is a ‘script’. The situation has been somewhat out of control." Qi Leren frowned. "I feel that it’s dangerous. A great danger..."

"Interesting. What kind of danger is it?" Janet asked curiously.

Qi Leren glanced at her. He wasn’t sure what this woman was thinking: "In many ways. Although intelligent life on this planet is extinct, there are still large animals alive, the vegetation is well preserved, the air quality and temperature conditions are suitable for survival, and it may be used as a colony planet or sightseeing planet in the future."

Janet was suddenly taken with him and followed along his topic: "I don't want to come to this hellhole again. Unless some discerning producer invites me to be the heroine and let Lara play the villain, then I may think about it, haha."

"You hate her that much?" Qi Leren was surprised. He thought Lara was easy to get along with.

"It’s the war between women, men wouldn’t understand." Janet spread her hands. "Anyway, I just hate the way she carries herself all the time. She acts like she’s the smartest, most powerful, most understanding in the world. It’s hypocritical, but you men eat this up."

Qi Leren declined to comment.

When Janet saw that he didn't speak, she curled her lips in boredom and found a place to sit down.

It was getting late into the night, Janet complained about the importance of beauty sleep, and absently dozed off. Qi Leren had had enough sleep during the day, so now he was very energetic and wandered around the church. This church should be quite old. If it wasn’t in the polar region, it would have been overwhelmed by lush vegetation and become a green ruin.

Looking out from the church window, Qi Leren could just see He Yi's house in the southwest. He suddenly remembered that He Yi had talked about something. On the first night, he saw...

What did he see? Did someone enter the church? If so, who did he see?

Unless He Yi reappeared, it was impossible for him to know.

This night was calm, Janet slept for a while and woke up after a while. At 7 o'clock, she finally got up. She tidied up her hair and complained: "I have never lived so rough in my life, and I have never desired to before!"

Qi Leren was about to speak when he saw Lara coming with Xue Jiahui from the window, so he asked, "How do you feel?"

Xue Jiahui looked at him in confusion and shook her head: "I still can't remember..."

"It's good that we’re returning to our parent star when the program is over. It should be only temporary," Lara consoled.

When the contestants came one after another, Lara pulled the Qi Leren aside when no one was paying attention and whispered, "When you searched for materials a few days ago, did you find anything like cotton and cloth?"

"Yes, I did. What do you want this for?" Qi Leren wondered.

"I don't want it, it’s Xue Jiahui. I saw that she discarded a cloth in the bathroom with blood on it. I think she probably encountered the same problem as Annie," Lara said.

Qi Leren: "..."

"Even I don't think it’s very good. You may not know this, but this physiological condition can be contagious," Lara said embarrassedly.

Qi Leren felt that, as a man, he didn't really want to know this kind of thing. He was a little concerned that Lara didn't tell others, but instead had taken him aside to borrow necessities. Did he look like a "best friend"?

Probably seeing Qi Leren’s depressed expression, Lara added: "I asked Francis to look after her for a while yesterday and went everywhere to borrow something, but unfortunately none of them had anything."

"Then how did you deal with it?" Qi Leren asked.

Lara gave a complicated look and said, "Xue Jiahui cut up her pillow... The pillowcase was used as a liner."

As the two people whispered, the contestants had already arrived one after another. This time, the atmosphere was more dignified than the previous two times. It even faintly appeared somewhat strange, because this time, what would be announced by the speaker was not the person who had won the Best of the Day, but the person who had knocked out Xue Jiahui and left her in the church. And this man was among them.

Time passed, and at eight o'clock the speaker started. The answer they eagerly wanted to know was given in a mechanical voice: "Now broadcasting the voting results. The winner of the Best of the Day is: Mark."

"Mark?"

"How can it be him?"

"Isn't he missing?"

"It turned out to be him?"

They were all whispering in amazement, but Qi Leren was not too surprised. It had seemed like Mark had gone missing at the beginning, but he wasn’t really missing, he was hiding somewhere... He quietly glanced out of the corner of his eye at Annie who was standing in the shadows, and she was expressionless.

……

……

……

The discussion was still inconclusive, so they had to split up again. Qi Leren was in a faint hurry. Today was the fourth day. If there was no breakthrough, even if he risked being seen through by the audience, he would identify the dangerous creature "amphioctopus", or risk being parasitized or injured. He would forcibly enter Annie's house.

Although Annie's own fighting capacity shouldn’t be strong, Qi Leren strongly suspected that she was already a puppet of the octopus, and he doesn't know anything about the octopus’ fighting capabilities. He didn't have the confidence that he could kill an octopus without using a skill card. Fortunately, after listening to the broadcast results, Annie returned to her house and then left the house again with the axe to go look for materials.

After waiting for the opportunity for such a long time, Qi Leren immediately climbed into Annie's house through the window, focusing on searching for the attic. This time, they had a clear goal and had good luck. In less than ten minutes, Dr. Lu found a dark panel on the second floor ceiling, from which an iron ladder could be pulled down after it was lifted.

Qi Leren looked at the dark attic above his head and was excited. His guess was right. Annie's house did have an attic! Mark and He Yi didn’t disappear, but hid in the attic!

After entering the attic, it was dark inside. Under the illumination of the flashlight, the desks, chairs, and bookshelves here all looked grim. Qi Leren noticed that the attic was also like a laboratory, just like the basement in Jing Siyu’s house.

Dr. Lu also came up, looked around to search, and soon felt that there was something wrong with the floor in the attic. Du Yue came up to help and lifted the floor. It turned out to be a straight, dark passage below, leading underground!

"So the structure is like this," Dr. Lu said, looking at this passage "It's not that there’s a trapdoor on the first floor that’s used to enter the basement, but there’s a passage through the attic, which isn’t connected with the first floor or the second floor, but goes straight to the basement. Um... For example, it’s like an enlarged version of a sewage pipe embedded in the wall."

"Why would they have such a design?" Du Yue asked curiously.

"God knows, I don’t have a clue. Oh, it’s also possible that the owner was a hikikomori and hated to see the sun. His scope of activities was the attic and the basement, so when building the house, he simply made such a passageway," Dr. Lu said.

Although he didn’t hear any movement, Qi Leren was a little worried that someone could be in the basement, so when he grabbed the metal cross section and climbed down the pipe’s ladder rung by rung, his heart beat fast and he was extremely nervous. But after reaching the bottom, he found everything was normal and the basement was empty.

"Wow, what is this? Was there an explosion?" Dr. Lu also climbed down and was surprised to see that there was a pile of messy rubble deep in the basement and a big hole punched out of the wall.

"Do you remember that when we were in Jing Siyu’s basement, there was the sound of an explosion outside? At that time, I thought it was the church or something had collapsed, but now it seems that... It happened here," Qi Leren said thoughtfully.

Du Yue also came over. He was more active. He simply rolled up his sleeves and moved the rocks. However, several huge rocks blocked the hole and couldn’t be removed without tools: "No, I can't move them. Can I explode it again?"

Qi Leren looked at the rocks on the ground that had obviously been manipulated but still blocked their way. He could imagine what Annie and Mark had been busy with these past few days… Hey, but where had Mark gone? They didn't see Mark go in or out of Annie's house all day yesterday. Maybe he was here the whole time, or maybe he was outside the whole time.

There came a squeak sound, the hatch that connected the attic to the basement was lifted. Qi Leren immediately turned off his flashlight, as did Dr. Lu.

Deng, deng, deng, the sound of shoes stepping on the metal rungs came, and Qi Leren felt like his hair was about to fall out. He looked in horror at the metal pipe with its iron ladder. Someone was coming down!

"Did we close the attic door when we entered the pipe?" Qi Leren lowered his voice and asked.

"It was closed, I was the last one, I closed it," Du Yue replied nervously.

"Okay, don't make any noise, stick to the wall, I’ll handle it." Qi Leren said after a pause, guessing that the other party didn't know they were in the basement.

After turning off the flashlights, only pure darkness remained in the basement, almost opaque. Qi Leren closed his eyes, stroked the palm of his right hand with his left hand, and silently counted the sound of the steps on the rungs as he readied himself.

He felt as if he had returned to the sea. The sea water was cold, and the pressure from all directions became stronger and stronger with his dive. He forced himself to slow down his heart, because at this time, panic would only make his oxygen consumption faster and make him closer to death.

Just as Qi Leren constantly adjusted his own state and brought himself closer to his peak level, that person had already reached the bottom. When they were about to step off it, the person fumbled in their trouser pocket and took out a flashlight...

The flashlight’s switch gave a click, and in a moment the light lit up the people hidden in the darkness. It was at this instant that Qi Leren shot out like lightning and kicked their calf! Kicked their face down to the ground!

"Ah!" A woman’s voice let out a painful cry and the flashlight fell to the ground. She wanted to look up and see who it was, but Qi Leren swung his hand down like a knife on the back of her neck! The strength was so great that she passed out instantly!

Looking at Annie, who had collapsed to the ground and passed out, Qi Leren breathed a long sigh of relief. He felt that he had returned to the surface from the bottom of the sea and felt renewed life thrum through him.

Thank you Chen Baiqi, thank you diving training, and thank you three-headed hellhound.

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[ackerfics]

all there's left to do is run — mikasa ackerman.

— mikasa ackerman x female reader (historical setting)

— warnings: none

— summary: love story but it’s gay, basically ;> (bc ever since i heard taylor’s re-recording of love story, i could not get this idea off my brain)

— word count: 4.2k  

> we were both young when i first saw you  

The night was sparkling with extravagance and for such a girl like you, the chandeliers all seemed like those stars you read from astronomy books late at night, all burning and showering brightly that you had to look away. Of course, you continued looking up at the lights until your head got dizzy from tilting your head too high. You can faintly hear your mother scold you for doing something so unbecoming for a lady yet you continued adoring the stars in the ceiling of the castle your family owned, decorated to celebrate your tenth birthday. 

Your parents deemed it necessary to force you to wrap yourself in the most voluptuous gown you had ever seen in your life. As the daughter of the only Marquess in your kingdom, you were always expected to be tamed your whole life — dancing lessons that sprained your foot because of a couple of twirls in your ballroom, etiquette that became the reason for adults to scream at you to be better, tea parties that suffocated you with varying reasons, and all those dreaming in your head every time all of these happened. Being the daughter of the third most powerful person in your kingdom meant that these lessons will decide if you will be a good wife. And now that you are another year closer to being a lady of marriage age (being twelve since it was your birthday), it meant these lessons will double the load and will most likely take away your time.

A fact that you always disdained.

You were meant to be so much more. You always envisioned a life in the countryside, if the Fates were kind enough when they were trying to place you in society. You wanted extravagance but never this.

So you sneaked out of the party thrown for you, giggles flittering in the moonlit night and feet bringing you to the rose garden your mother liked to tend to. The flowers in the garden were one of the rarest to be seen in your kingdom, most of them on the verge of extinction, and the more you admired them, the more they shone before you. Dewdrops were forming in almost every petal inside the garden, the rain a few hours ago the culprit in making this part of the estate calmer than it already was. Swaying to the beat that can still be heard from the double doors, you took a single kadupul flower and placed it behind your ear. You were finally free to twirl however you want and you did just that, laughs searing the night as the moment turned into a memory that could never be forgotten. The grass felt cool under you as you draped yourself on the slightly wet terrain, staring into the dome of constellations you wholeheartedly admired.

The stars seem brighter than they usually are tonight.

“Hello, are you alright over there?”

Just like that, your peaceful night was ruined by a tentative voice coming from one of the bushes. You were told to never stray from your parents and ladies-in-waiting whenever you go to the stores, above all — to never talk to strangers no matter how young they are. Children you don’t know are much peskier to shoo away than those meddlers we encounter on our shopping trips, was what your mother grumbled one time. The voice meekly asking for your condition belonged to a girl around your age. Sure enough, a girl came from the shadows, hands clinging on the red scarf wrapped around her neck.

The girl in front of you looked star-struck. She was staring at you as if you held the universe in your small, dainty hands. The young mistress of the Palace of Flowers was a familiar face in all of the servants, seeing as you were a very adventurous child growing up, always dashing through the halls and paying the servants a much-needed visit. During these visits was the first time the dark-haired girl saw you. Though you were dressed in a more casual dress than the spell-binding gown you wore for the night, the girl thought you were the most beautiful person she ever saw. Her breath hitched when she realized you were waiting for her to speak up. Instead, she nearly hid her face in her scarf and dipped her form in a less graceful bow.

“Y-Young Mistress.”

“You can sit with me if you like,” you whispered to her as if there was someone in the vicinity eavesdropping. Your hands were cupped around your mouth so that the girl could hear what you were saying. “I’m whispering because the night is too peaceful to be interrupted.”

“Oh.” The dark-haired girl became flustered in a second and immediately plopped herself beside you, hands on her lap as she looked at anywhere but you. The children serving the family of the Marquess were told to never address the noble family informally. After a few minutes of silence, she cleared her throat to catch your attention, uttering the words that you heard throughout the night. “H-Happy b-birthday, young mistress.”

“Thank you.” The smile you gave her was brighter than the flower you carried in your hair.

The girl was wringing her fingers to calm down the beating of her heart. “I briefly saw you dancing in the ballroom while I was serving the deserts.” She looked at you straight in the eye with a glint of shyness. “You dance so well.”

You giggled, facing the girl with an eager expression. “What’s your name?”

“Mi-Mikasa,” the dark-haired girl answered with wide eyes.

Leaning back, you took out the flower you placed tucking your stray hairs, and tucked it behind Mikasa’s ear. You stood up with a huff, offering a hand to the gray-eyed girl. You slightly bowed as if you were the boy you were dancing with earlier. Mikasa was watching you with eyes full of wonder, her face flushed at seeing the young mistress of the palace bowing in front of her.

“Can I be your dance partner for the night, Lady Mikasa?”

It seemed like the entire garden was meant to be the ballroom for you two when Mikasa finally placed her hand on yours.

“It would be an honor, young mistress.”

> we keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

“Did you sneak out from your lessons again?”

Three years since your first meeting with Mikasa and she was still the same — tolerating your behavior of throwing away your responsibilities of being the young mistress to enjoy her company. For three years, nobody knew where you disappear off from except for the dark-haired girl’s friends in the village down the hill who work under the head maid of the estate. Your rendezvous with the dark-haired girl always included random things that you came up with but mostly, it was you bringing books and activities you wanted to share with her and Mikasa letting you taste her cooking. At this point, the garden wasn’t enough for the two of you. This made Mikasa open up to you about her safe space, a small meadow down by the lake of your family’s estate. It was closer to where the dark-haired girl was residing and she wasn’t wrong when she said you would love it.

You sat down beside her on the picnic blanket with a huff. “Tell me about it. It was another round of etiquette that I had to master. It sounds like another skill I had to unlock.” The tantalizing smell of buttered bread wafted from the basket laid in front of you two perking you up from your sulking. “You baked bread?”

Mikasa nodded with a small smile, eyes soft as she watched you squeal in happiness. Every day, you grew more beautiful than the first day she saw you five years ago in the kitchens trying to help Missus Springer bake the afternoon treats.

“I tried learning your favorite bread earlier,” Mikasa told you, reaching out a hand to gently brush away the sugar from the corner of your lips. “I hope this was to your liking.”

“Have I ever told you that your cooking is the absolute best, Mikasa?” you gushed with eyes filled with stars dedicated to the girl sitting beside you, leaning forward until inches separated you from the girl’s shocked visage.

The dark-haired girl turned red in the face at the proximity. “About a thousand times now probably.”

You smiled brightly at the information. “And I’ll still repeat it to you until you get tired of it.”

“I will never get tired of it. I will never get tired of you.”

Now, both of you donned an endearing shade of cerise on your cheeks the moment Mikasa finished saying those words. It was a first for the gray-eyed beauty to say such things, you were always the one initiating the physical contact and compliments. However, there was something underlying in Mikasa’s words that reminded you of that night you asked her to dance. You prayed to any deity that she wouldn’t hear how loud your heart was beating. You weren’t children anymore and you were starting to see the tranquil girl basked in another light — the words she uttered were just the catalyst in doing so. Your mother will be out for blood for this. It completely flew out of your head that the distance between you two gradually diminishes as Mikasa also started to lean forward, head tilted and eyes cast to your parted lips.

“Hey,” she uttered your name so softly that it was making your face warmer than it already is, “have I ever told you that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen?”

Always so blunt that it took your breath away.

“If not, I’ll be saying those words until you get tired of it.”

“Mikasa,” you whispered against the softness of her lips.

You faintly registered the hand that nestled on the back of your neck, bringing you closer to her while burrowing her fingers in the unbound locks of your hair. The scent of first love became apparent as the wind breezed through you the moment Mikasa’s lips found their way against yours in a tryst of forbidden storylines fit for a melodrama. A hopeful melancholy was the words to describe the scenario as you placed your hands gently on Mikasa’s cheeks, reciprocating the kiss she shyly yet determinedly gave you, the colors of a first kiss painting the meadow into a memory that will make you two immortal in each other’s minds.

There were no overbearing mothers, no nosy friends, no responsibilities — it was just you and Mikasa embracing, with the flowers as the witnesses of the start of your story.

> take me somewhere we can be alone

You shook your head in disbelief, lips curled in disgust and hands clenching on the skirts of your dress. “You can’t be serious?”

“You must understand that you are of age now. A husband is everything in a woman’s life, how can you say something so outrageous like not accepting Duke Montague’s proposal for marriage?” Your mother all but screamed her frustrations. Every single lesson of proper etiquette and manners, honing you into a lady worth your status, all came down to this moment. Both you and your mother were seeing red for different reasons after the horrid letter was presented by your estate’s messenger, Connie. Your mother growled your name, “Have you lost your mind?! What possessed you if you were planning on denying this opportunity? Not only does this benefit the family but you as well. You’re going to be a duchess, for heaven’s sake, that position begets luxury!”

“Your mother is right,” your father, the Marquess, tried to soothe the growing tension inside the parlor, though his words sent a blow to your cowering resolve. “You are the heiress of the House and we will do everything in our power to make sure you stay afloat the societal hierarchy. By doing that, we will make sure you’re going to marry the Duke.”

“But—“

“We won’t take no for an answer.” Your father looked at you straight in the eye, hands gripping the armrest of the chair, before saying, “You need to bear a son for our bloodline to continue.”

You abruptly stood up, your mind too fogged to conjure a proper response. Instead of taking out your anger on your parents (which will most likely lead to them taking away your only chance of seeing Mikasa), you made your way out of the parlor. Your mother’s calls resonating through the large palace as your heels clicked on the polished hallways. Upon passing by a large mirror on your way to the gardens, the sight of you in one of your day gowns sent bile rushing through your throat. You looked anything like those trophy wives the men adored to parade. Gritting your teeth, you shook your head and continued to your destination.

It was your regular rendezvous with Mikasa. The kiss that happened that day only drew you two closer rather than creating a wedge between your budding relationship. Oh, how you wish you can turn back time and let it loop only at that memory. A dull ache started to form in your chest at the intensity of the news you were about to tell your secret lover. With shaking hands, the meadow that calmed you the years past became foreboding as each step now led you beside a sitting Mikasa. 

“I heard.”

Mikasa’s words made you stop. She turned to you, giving you a view of her conflicted face. Three years have passed since you shared your first kiss with each other. Three years of hiding in the tall flowers of the meadow and behind curtains. Three years and Mikasa looked even more beautiful than ever. 

“Mikasa,” you weakly pleaded.

“You were always destined for something great,” the dark-haired girl started, her emotions now seeping through the carefully-crafted mask she created while growing up. She fumbled with her words as she threw her hands in the air, visibly frustrated at everything (at herself, at the Marquess and Marchioness, at every noble existing in your kingdom — but never at you). “You’re this heiress people were expecting tremendous things from and I’m just me. You’re so beautiful that it pains me to see you being fawned at during balls. You’re so talented that I’m afraid it will be put to waste by being with me. You’re so amazing to me.”

You pleaded for her to stop, sitting down beside her with your skirts fanning out around you, but Mikasa only continued, “Yet here I am — someone who doesn’t even have a family, who was only adopted by one of the maids in the castle, who recently found out I had an uncle that doesn’t want anything to do with me.” The way she uttered your name was nothing like the caresses you were so fond of. Mikasa placed both of her hands over your cheeks, now wet with tears that you didn’t even notice. “I’m nobody compared to you and that’s the truth.”

She tenderly placed her forehead against yours as your breath hitched from quietly sobbing. 

“I’ll find a way,” you pleaded again.

Mikasa shook her head desperately, trying to anchor you to reality. “No. You have to accept this proposal from the Duke.”

“But it’s you who I fell deeply for, not him!”

“You will grow to love him, flower, your heart is so big and kind that it would be impossible—“

“That’s preposterous!” You threw your arms around her neck, her hands finding their way around your corseted waist. “I’ll find a way to get out of this mess. We’ll go far away and live a comfortable life in a cabin or a cottage. I want it beside a lake, Mikasa. I want to run away with you and make this dream a reality because I can’t imagine a life without you in it!”

Mikasa could only tighten her hold around your shaking form, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Under the afternoon sun, you once again sealed your lips with hers, promises burning along with the feelings you have for each other.

> and my daddy said, "stay away,” but you were everything to me

Mikasa was called to the study of the Marquess. Various scenarios passed through the dark-haired girl, her hand poised on twisting the doorknob. She took a deep breath, never noticing how the maid beside her (most likely the chambermaid of the Marchioness) appeared to have a sinister smile on her face. The churning in Mikasa’s stomach intensified as she opened the double doors and let herself in the grand room. The chamber was the size of their entire house and it took Mikasa a full second to reign herself and not linger her eyes on your huge portrait (you looked regal — a competitor against the Queen’s beauty). Straightening her posture, Mikasa schooled her features into that mask she perfected and faced your father with a stony countenance.

The Marquess didn’t pay attention to the presence of one of his staff. The tea preoccupied with his thoughts, perfectly brewed to his liking and figuring that he would thank one of the kitchen staff for preparing the beverage on such a dreaded day. The older man wiped his mouth with a handkerchief before regarding Mikasa.

“Miss Ackerman.”

“Marquess, sir.”

Your father hummed contemplatively. “Have you heard of the proposal of Duke Montague, Miss Ackerman?”

Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed at your father’s words. It was phrased like a casual question but the way that he spoke reminded her that she was only a servant living within his estate. It reminded her of the rift between you two and her breath shuddered. Surely, the Marquess had never ventured to the meadows and discovered their secret, right? That would mean you were also in grave trouble and it was all Mikasa’s fault. Still, the dark-haired girl nodded at your father’s question.

“Very well.”

He leaned back on his chair, satisfied at the pliable nature of the girl standing in front of him. He heard many stories of the girl’s family — slaughtered by bandits at the dead of the night when the child was only nine years old (her parents were also working under him), wherein she was then adopted by one of the maids’ family, and now decided to work as one of the kitchen staff at a young age. It was something he didn’t want to happen to his daughter. He also didn’t want his daughter mingling with the help, much less sharing kisses in the meadow just a short walk from the main palace’s gardens. The maid who led Mikasa to his study was the one who witnessed such atrocity. It was the day when they told you that you were bound to be married. It looked like you sought comfort from someone, and the Marquess didn’t expect that someone to be a female help. 

“You understand that I would have to tell you to stop meeting with my daughter by the meadows.”

The maid at the door was now smiling like Wonderland’s Cheshire Cat. 

Mikasa felt a cold wave rush through every part of her body, her gaze now caught in a daze on the floor.

“If you’re not going to do that, you might as well say goodbye to living in my land, Miss Ackerman. My daughter has an entire future waiting for her and I can’t afford to let it jeopardize right in front of my eyes by some measly servant girl.” The Marquess had the nerve to look sympathetic yet his eyes told a different story by being cruel. “I heard that you found out about a long-lost relative in the countryside so,” the older man paused, “which will it be, Miss Ackerman?”

Mikasa was left with no choice.

> they're tryna tell me how to feel, this love is difficult, but it's real

The slap resounded through the four walls of your chamber.

At the exact time Mikasa was confronted with your father, you were reprimanded by your mother after the maid made use of the scene she witnessed in the meadows after following you out. It was a good thing that the said maid wasn’t inside your room at the moment. You would have thrown the vase on your bedside table at her instead of your mother right now, everything was mentally envisioned of course. You didn’t have the strength to retaliate with your mother, much less lift your gaze to level your eyes with the older woman’s.

“You are an abomination! What were you thinking?! You have been keeping this for how many years? You are a disgrace to the family! You are a lady, for heaven’s sake, and you go brandishing your skirt to another woman. This is a scandal fit for the century! Oh, my, my stress levels.” Your mother then draped herself on the couch at the foot of your bed, leaving you to stand in front of her with your head down. “Stop what you’re feeling for that girl this instant. I don’t want this to travel around the kingdom, unleashing gossip in its wake. A girl! What blasphemy. If only you can show that to Duke Montague as well when you two marry. Maybe I have raised you wrong, your lessons might be lacking in some sense.”

“Mother.” Similar-colored eyes stared at each other, making the room feel smaller. “I will do no such thing. I will never marry a man I know I won’t come to love. I won’t listen to you prattle about hierarchies and social standing. I won’t stop loving Mikasa if that is the last thing I’ll do. I’m so sick of you labeling me as a disgrace if I so ever made a little mistake in those idiotic lessons you forced me to do. I’m so tired of hearing you continuously proclaiming to everyone that I am willing to open my legs to a higher-ranking noble to save my reputation. To hell with that! Call me an abomination for loving someone I truly care about, I don’t care. Mikasa means the world to me and she’s the only person I could ever be real with. Shun me if that’s the only solution but I won’t stop loving the only person who has ever made me feel loved and special in my entire life.”

The silence was deafening and your heaves of breath rang loud in your chambers. Your mother’s posture now straightened, her eyes cold as she dragged her stare over your form. “You’re not to go out of this room until Duke Montague comes to this palace for your hand in marriage. You have no say in this matter.”

That night, you were ready to throw everything you could hold inside your room but a constant tap on your windows made your breath stop. Glancing at the locked doors of your room, you made your way to the doors leading to the balcony. Again, they were locked so you took the vase and slammed it on the doorknob, the sound rattling through your room and into the hallways. You hastily opened the doors and went out to lean over the balcony.

Mikasa’s eyes brightened at the sight of you. She was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt tucked inside a pair of trousers and a dark cloak. Excitement bubbled inside your chest at the prospect of running away with her in the dead of the night.

“Jump,” Mikasa whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

Looking back at the doors of your chambers, you didn’t think twice about slinging your leg over the balcony. You took a deep breath and prayed that Mikasa will catch you safely in her arms. The cold gush of the night breeze sent you shivering as you jumped down the balcony, only to hear the grunt from your lover with her arms securing you to her body. Gray eyes glinted against the moonlight and your mind was muddled with thoughts about her that the only thing you could say was, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Mikasa softly replied before kissing you on the lips. “Come on, Eren already took a horse from the stables.”

“Where are we going?” you asked, letting yourself be carried by Mikasa as she tried not to make a loud noise while walking in the direction of the stables.

The dark-haired girl grinned. “To a place where we can love freely of course.”

> it's a love story, baby, just say, "yes" (we were both young when i first saw you)

“Mikasa, let me tell you a secret that you’re probably tired of.”

A chuckle came from your lover’s lips. “Tell me.”

“I always thought you were beautiful since the first time I saw you.”

“I’ll trade a real secret of mine for that.” She kissed you, basking underneath the sun’s rays. “I have always loved you since I saw you help Missus Springer with the afternoon treats when we were ten.”

“You were there?”

“Yes and I’m so happy I was there.”

“Mikasa, I’m so happy it’s you I fell in love with.”

“I love you more than the stars you always adored.”

[katerix]

Hey @pinyapple​! I’m your Secret Cupid! Here I am jumping from the horse into the last wagon of the event train:D I hope that the story is interesting, and you’ll enjoy it! @rdr-secret-cupid​ 

Pairing: John Marston\f!Reader Warnings: fluff\angst&comfort\a hint of smut - 3in1: a little bit of this and that Words: 3434 (picture is not mine \ credits to the author)

“Morning, my dear girl,” said your father when you approached a big wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. “Good morning, dad,” you smiled, sleepily rubbing your eye.

It was a Saturday morning and today you woke up exceptionally late, about 1pm.

You were living on a small farm with your father. It was located a few miles away from the nearest town and it would’ve taken a half an hour to ride there.

You loved to take an old Travis the horse from the stable and ran away where the sun was waking up early. You liked to dream about travelling, adventures and far lands in the shadow of a big tree not very far from your house.

“I’ve been in town this morning,” said your father. “Did you? You never told me that you were going to. How was the ride? Everything was fine?” “Yes, sure. I saw Mrs. Anderson. She sent her regards.” “Oh, I appreciate that, thank you,” you smiled at him.

Mrs. Anderson was a nice woman who had a small flower shop and always gave you some flowers when you attended the town.

“I will drop in during the next visit,” you said while making yourself tea and sliced some more bread. “That’s what I’d like to hear!”, he replied.

Mr. (y\second name) was conservative when it came to the questions of manners. You were always expected to be a polite girl from a good family and you definitely were. But the young blood always desires venture. May it be caused by the stars location or chaotic decision of capricious gods, but something led you to the meeting with a man called John Marston on that fateful evening.

You opened the newspaper which was on the corner of the table and looked through some articles before you turned to your father.

“Dad? I wanted to go for a walk tonight. I heard that this evening will be special and the starfall must be observable from our part of the world!” “What do you say!” “Yes! I heard it from Mr. Douglas a week ago.” “You want to go out alone at night? You are a grown up lady and it’s not my privilege to tell you what to do, but don’t you think it’s a dangerous idea? There’re criminal elements in this area, you know that." “Oh don’t worry papa, I won’t be alone. I arranged to get together with our former sheriff’s elder son. He likes astronomy, do you remember that?” “Sure I do,” - he kept silent for some moment then said, - “Well. I think I can agree on that.”

Sheriff’s elder son was a man in his early forties and was married to a town girl and had already earned himself time to do astronomy, so there was nothing to worry about. Of course, getting such an alibi was a bold action, because if your father decides to ask about observing the stars, just from the point of good manners, the truth will be brought to the light. Your actual plan was to meet with John today. You also wanted to discuss a family dinner. The truth was that none of them knew about it - that’s why you were feeling a little nervous about the upcoming meeting. You wanted to introduce John to your father, but he always wanted you to unite for life with a noble young man from a prospective family, occupied in, let’s say, sales. Somehow you and John could hide your relationship for more than a year. His lifestyle, his bonds with the gang were making you question the possibility of your fine peaceful life together one day. And the fact that Mr. Marston never protested against these dreams of yours, was inspiring a warm feeling in your heart. 

“So when do you want to leave?” “Around half past nine, it must be almost dark.” “You sure you don’t want me to escort you there?” “No-no, there’s no need for such sacrifice,” you giggled. Your dad gave you a delicate smile and sipped from his cup.

*** There was nowhere to rush now, when the father approved your little prairie voyage, so the rest of the day you spent in the garden behind the house. The territory of the ranch was quite big but the main part of your property rendered suitable land for agriculture. A small piece of it was gifted to you in order to plant flowers there. A lot of seeds were bought from Mrs. Anderson's, and sometimes you even brought her some of your own for sale. Roses of any kind and size, some tiger lilies and peonies- that all made your flower garden look great.

The closer to the time, the more excited you were. You dressed in a shirt and trousers with boots, with a thin fur jacket - for the night ride it was the best option - and took a creamy pink rose to put it in your hair once you are beyond the fence. You went down to find your father and say him goodbye.

“Dad, you here? I’m leaving!”

You looked into the living room, expecting to see him there with a book or at the table, writing another business letter, but it was empty. Then she heard a noise from the second floor and saw your father on the staircase.

“Already going?” “Yes, it’s high time. I’ll do my best to come back before dawn!” “What are you doing to your old man, young lady!” he laughed, making his way down the stairs to give his daughter an embrace. “Don’t worry, I will be fine, I promise. Please, you should think about your heart, papa,” you smiled widely, hugging him in an answer. “Be careful, my dear.” “I will,” you waved with your hand.

*** You almost approached the meeting point, when you felt your horse getting worrisome and saw the skies turning dark quickly. Rains in this area were starting as fast as they finished and you could only wonder “why now?”. Deep dark heavens didn’t condescend to the answer, so you just rubbed your legs in disappointment and continued riding to find a hideout before the first raindrops. You purposely avoided the Thieves Landing, so there were not many placed to hide from the rain on her way. During your and John's last meeting some days ago you decided to meet in the woods in West Elizabeth where there was a perfect spot upon the cliffs to watch the grand river from a distance, where not a single soul could disturb them.

Suddenly she heard a horse neighing then she saw a rider coming from behind the hill. At first you were dismayed as you didn’t have any weapon, but a moment later you recognized a familiar figure.

“Hey, sweetheart, isn’t it dangerous for such a pretty lady to ride alone at night?” then a low laughter followed.

When John’s horse got closer, you couldn’t help but resent:

“You scared the hell out of me! I thought it was a gangster who tracked me down.” “Well, actually I am a gangster, you see!”

As he hoped, your frustration was softened by his silly joke. It always gave him a warm feeling, because his sense of humor left a lot to be desired, but you always found it funny.

His horse drew level with yours, and he leaned down to kiss you, grinning when he saw how modestly you hid your smile.

“Oh no, y\n, do not hide this beautiful smile from me!”

You raised your head and looked at the man. His hand reached out to you and gently touched your chin, leaving a deep kiss on your lips.

“How was the road? Got without troubles?” asked John, picturing the way from the ranch to this point in his head. “As long as troubles don’t follow me - it’s fine by me. Why?” “It’s nothing really. On the way here I saw some gentlemen, heading west.”

John looked up in the sky and his eyebrows got together as he noticed how lightly you were dressed and how the sudden gust made your hair fly. “I know an old abandoned household not far from here. If we move right now, we can reach it before the storm.”

“I feel that something worries you.” “No-no, that’s totally fine,” he replied, taking a last look in the direction you came from.

After a while you finally reached the mansion that John was talking about. In real life it turned out to be bigger and more of a manor than “an old abandoned house”. Suddenly the skies split up in two by bright lightning, then a remote thunder hit your ears. You shuddered. What got into you? You were never afraid of thunder or darkness but this time something was scratching your heart with little iron claws.

You didn't notice that John had already dismounted, came over to you and put his hand on your leg, gently running it up and down.

“We going? Or you prefer to stay under the rain?” “Ah? Yeah,” with these words you tried to get down from the horse, only to end up in his arms, as he readily caught you up. You felt your heart beat faster against his chest, so you even wondered if he felt it or not, when you saw a dorky smile on his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. That, obviously, was not the most non-banal compliment, but he couldn’t help but admire your features and the flower in your hair, which so perfectly accentuated the color of your eyes. John didn’t let you stand on the ground and carried you all the way to the mansion.

When you entered the building, you stood on the floor and looked around. Tall walls were covered in old, almost destroyed by dampness, dull red wallpapers. You walked around the room and stopped next to the beautiful, probably, handmade sofa. John walked up to you and cuddled you from behind. His hand traced along your stomach and slid to your leg. You felt his warm breath on your neck. You turned around and kissed his jawline, moved up to the lips. He answered with a deep, passionate kiss. Then, with a sharp movement, he lifted you up and put you down, pinning down onto the couch.

*** “John?” “Yeah?” his voice sounded low and lazy. “I need to tell you something.” “I’m all ears, sweetheart.” “Do… Do you love me?” you felt how your cheeks were becoming hot. You also realized how silly this may sound, but you couldn’t take your words back.

John looked down at you lying on top of him and thoughtfully twirled a lock of your hair around his finger.

“Of course, princess. Why’d you ask?”

You were not sure how to reply so you didn’t rush to look in his eyes.

“You remember my father? Mr. y\sn.” “I’ve seen him in the town once. But never after that. Is that about him? Did anything happen?” “No, everything is fine. I just wanted to ask if… Would you come for a family dinner tomorrow? I’d introduce you to my father…»

He kept silent for a while. So you started to feel nervous and asked yourself why you even initiated that conversation. But then he answered:

“I’m not in my best shape to show up in higher society, you know..”

Again you looked up at him. Then smiled and gently touched his cheek, fingertips slowly stroking his fresh scars.

“I absolutely love your current shape, John.”

You felt him pressing you against his chest closer, rubbing a little invisible patterns on your bare back.

“It would be a great pleasure to come, but… You sure your father would enjoy my company? Because I’m not sure at all.”

Now it was your turn to make a pause.

He chuckled:

“Let it be.” “So will you come tomorrow?” “I’ll be there. I promise.”

The second you heard that, you felt like a huge rock got down from your shoulders, finally letting you breath.

You spent some more hours together in each other's embrace.

*** You were sitting on the doorsteps when you heard a noise from behind the barn. You didn’t expect John to come so soon and also why he didn't choose an open road to the ranch. After a long talk your father agreed to have dinner all together, so there was no need to sneak. The next moment you saw two riders, coming around the corner, your eyes got wider. Suddenly you heard the sound of a cocked gun to your left and shuddered.

“Hello, ma’am. Mind if I come in?”

You looked at the source of the sound and saw a middle aged man with shirt red hair and a whisker. You never saw him before, but you had no doubt that he was some gang leader. His hazel eyes were looking cold at you and it seemed obvious that an argument was not an option - a weapon pointed at you was a thing to be scared of.

“Move,” he ordered.

Two riders who were supposed to divert attention got closer, and you recognised two customers from the shop a week ago. Their leader with a rifle repeated in low tone:

“Go.”

You followed the order without saying a word. Men entered the house after you.

“Tie her up. I don’t like her sight, and I don’t want any surprise.”

Three more men entered the house and God knows how many of them left outside. One of the newcomers took off a rope and tied your hands up - you felt a slight pain caused by rough material.

“Good. And now, Mr.(y\sn),” he turned to your dad, “let’s talk.” The ginger man made an inviting gesture. You looked at your father and saw fear in his eyes, but he was acting totally cool and calm. Two men, standing next to the door, were holding rifles at the ready. Your dad nodded and went to the kitchen, followed by the ginger man.

You stayed alone in the living room, other gangsters were standing outside. You didn’t hear the conversation and had no idea about the reason for this attack, so you focused on the rope. An attempt to get rid of it has proven unfruitful, so you looked around to find any tool.

When you were about to stand up and search the desk drawers, a loud shot rang out behind the window. You saw three gangsters running out from the kitchen, swearing and shouting curses. You carefully approached the window and looked out. A splash of bright red blood covered the window glass and you staggered back, breathing heavy and fast. You heard a familiar voice from the distance:

“Don’t hide, cowards! Are you afraid of just one man?” taunting his enemies was so much like John.

You already started to worry - what if he would have changed his mind and would never showed up? You were happy that he appeared, and did it right in time. The sounds of battle continued unabated, and you thought that now was the best chance to get to the kitchen. The moment you were already next to the door your sight faced a dark shadow suddenly appeared in the doorway. You looked up and with a horror recognised the ginger man. You wanted to step away, but he grabbed you faster than you could blink.

“Let me go!” you tried to escape this tight grip but he was stronger.

You saw your father making an attempt to hit the bastard, but he didn’t seem to even notice that. He turned around and knocked Mr.(y\sn) down on the floor with his revolver.

“You son of a bitch! You will regret this!” you shouted at him. That was not a wise thing to do, but seeing him hurting your relative made you mad in a second.

“Language, lady,” the gangster chuckled, making an effort to hold you still, as you were kicking furiously, “Relax. I won’t hurt you,” his left, spare of a gun palm touched your cheek.

You were breathing heavily. “Where are you, John» you thought. Another one shot rang out louder , and you heard a voice screaming curses. For seconds you couldn’t hear anything from the outside. All outlaws were probably dead or wounded. But three gangsters were still inside the house - one behind the door corner, two others were next to the windows.

“C’mon, be a good girl,” said the gang leader and pulled you after him. Together you returned into the living room and the man stood behind a small purpur sofa, facing the doorway - the revolver at the ready. You couldn’t see your father was sitting beneath the wall, holding his hand on the forehead, a thin blood line was going down the temple.

The sound of shooting was getting closer, you heard how two or three bullets hit the wall. If earlier the gang leader was a picture of self-confidence, now this confidence of his started fading away. You kept quiet just continuing to fidget slightly.

The minutes seemed endless but the voice ripped you out of your thoughts:

“Hey mister, let the girl go. You don’t want problems, believe me!” “What about you taking your cowboy ass out of here, now?” “I’ll let you live if you free her.” “Put your weapon on the floor so I can see it and step inside. Or I'm gonna shoot this pretty face.”

John hesitated but then followed the order and put the rifle on the floor, slowly pushing it inside.

“I’m coming in. Don’t shoot.”

You felt how the ginger man swallowed loudly. He was nervous. You saw John entering. His right hand was close to body, another one slightly aside, demonstrating that he was disarmed. The gangster revolver was following the cowboy as he was approaching. He said something else, but you already stopped listening. You didn't have time to think that it could be dangerous but suddenly you kicked him hard on the leg with the heel.

Then everything happened too fast. You didn’t notice how John took out a gun with his right hand and shot right between the gangster’s eyes. 

“John!”

He rushed toward you, held your tied hands and hurried to untie them with his hands shaking.

“Shh-shh, you are safe, y\n, you are safe now, everything is fine,” he whispered.

Once you were free, he pressed you against him tightly, burying his face in your hair. You crossed your hands behind his back.

“You came!” “How could I not come?” he looked down at you, cupping your cheeks, and kissed you gently. 

You hardly kept a smile back. You two remained this way for a couple of minutes until your breath became calm and quiet. You were too overwhelmed with emotions that you didn’t even see a bloody wound on his shoulder.

“Oh no, your arm! You are hurt!”

“It’s just a scratch, baby,” he smiled at you, clumsily hiding a pleasure of you being so lovely and cute, and worrying that much about him. “Let’s help your dad,” said John and kissed your hand.

He stepped aside holding your hand in his and headed to the corridor. Your father was already back on foot and, when he turned to you, you saw an expression of relief on his face.

“Oh, you are safe, my dear girl, thank God!” you ran towards the oldman and hugged him.

John was standing a couple of steps aside with his head slightly bent down and a faint smile on his lips, leaning on one leg, left hand on his side. Only now you noticed that he was dressed not casually, but as festive as possible.

Mr.(y\sn) looked at John and you saw respect in his eyes. He approached the cowboy and held out his hand in order to shake in gratitude.

“To my knowledge, our hero must be John Marston,” he gave a fast glance in your direction, “you saved our lives, young man. I can never thank you enough for that.”

John shaked your father’s hand with a friendly smirk.

“Don’t worry, Mr.(y\sn). That was my duty to protect unarmed people from this bunch of bastards.”

“Well, don’t you mind going to the kitchen? Everything was prepared an eternity ago. Do you like whiskey, Mr. Marston?”

You came a little closer to them to be a part of a talk too.

“Sure, sir.”

Your father went away, and John softly touched your waist to let you go first.

[chilling-seavey]

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 6

A/N Out in the open

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

You may think you understand stress, dear reader, but I can assure you that you do not. You do not understand stress unless you have driven around the city in broad daylight with a body in the trunk of your car. There was only so much guilt that a hat and sunglasses could cover.

“We should stop by the bank…take out some cash before we leave the state.” I suggested, my hands tightening on the wheel slightly as I drove. 

Jonah nodded and reached into the backseat to pulled over his bag to shuffle through it. It was always full of random junk from snacks and a water bottle to notebooks and his wallet and phone charger. He carried his life in that bag. He pulled out said charger and helped himself to the port in my car to plug in his phone.

“Jo.” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Why aren’t you…freaked out?” I asked.

“I am.” Jonah answered as he dropped his bag in the backseat again. “My best friend called me out of the single most important studio session of our careers to get me involved in the murder of his wife. Who wouldn’t be freaked out? Why aren’t you freaked out?”

I shifted my hands on the wheel nervously, “I-I am freaked out. I just…I don’t know what happened at all and I think I’m just in shock.”

“Do you think you killed her?” Jonah asked quietly.

I could sense the nervousness in his voice as if he was scared of me too. I honestly didn’t know what to tell him…I didn’t know what to tell myself to reassure either of us. I loved Avalon. I loved her with almost everything in me. So what would be my motive to kill her? Would our argument about my job be enough to enrage my conscious to see nothing but red?

I could only answer my best friend truthfully. After all, he risked so much to come help me.

“I don’t know.”

Jonah nodded stiffly. He probably expected that reply from me. I had been saying it all morning.

“Well, we’ll go to the bank and check out this J person at the Lincoln motel and see where that takes us.”

Jonah and I were by no means celebrities, but our jobs certainly put us in the spotlight more often than we might have liked – especially in a situation as we found ourselves in with Avalon. Owning one of the top record companies in the country was not an easy feat and the publicity that came with it often made going out in public a bit of a hassle. I couldn’t tell you how many times Avalon and I were interrupted on a date for someone to want to talk to me, slide me a demo, or – for some reason – even get my autograph. Even Hollywood Fix seemed to have a soft spot for Jonah and me.

Avalon hated paparazzi. She hated paparazzi more than any other aspect of my job honestly. They made her nervous and claustrophobic and she always felt completely tense the entire night we were out if the paparazzi greeted us at the restaurant. Seemed like no matter the country they followed us everywhere. Even on our honeymoon we couldn’t catch a break.

“It’s just a few cameras.”

Avalon glanced out the tinted window of the rental car to the sidewalk that was swarming with paparazzi and their crew, waiting for us to step out.

“That’s hardly a few.” she mumbled.

“Just keep your head down and don’t say anything.”

“I can’t just ignore them.” she turned to me, “That’s rude.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” I sighed.

“I want to have a date with my husband that’s not riddled with strangers and their cameras.”

“Sorry to be such a burden in your life, honey.”

“Oh, Daniel, stop that.” she scoffed, shaking her head as she turned back out the window.

I stared at her a moment, her bottom lip held between her teeth and her arms crossed over the chest of the tight tropical dress she wore. I slid my hand over her thigh and gave it a squeeze to get her looking back at me. Her brown eyes were shimmering in anxious tears.

“I want to go back to the hotel.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I promise. I’ll be right beside you.” I assured her, capturing her chin in my hand to pull her lips onto mine for a quick kiss before reaching for the handle on the car door, “Come on.”

Thinking about these things only made me realize how much we actually argued. Maybe how dense I was to her feelings. Did that make me selfish? Well, I’m no perfect man. I can only push that fact on you so much, dear reader.

Jonah and I stared up at the brick bank building in front of us. The few steps to the ATM seemed like a mile. I took out my wallet from my jeans pocket and flicked through it to pull out my credit card with a sigh.

“5k?” Jonah suggested.

“Yeah, sounds about right.” I mumbled, adjusting the cap on my head as I scanned the curb we were parked in front of. “I’ll be quick.”

I stepped out of my car before I could psych myself up anymore and hopped up onto the sidewalk towards the ATM outside the building. I stood close to the machine, head down, and slid my credit card into the slot. I typed in my pin number with shaking hands and waited for my withdrawal request to go through while I tried not to think about what I was hiding in my car just behind me.

The sun beat down on the back of my neck as I hunched over the ATM, trying my best to keep myself in the shadows. It felt like ages had gone by until the machine slid out a stack of one-hundred-dollar bills and returned my card. I kept my head down as I turned on my heel and crashed right into a man walking towards the front doors of the bank.

He must have apologized – I remember him saying something to me – but the fear that our sudden collision injected into my veins had me bowing my head and rushing off to my car a few feet away without a word. I was breathless when I closed the door behind me as if I had just hiked up the Hills and back and I tried to play it off as I flicked through the bills in my hand.

I held out half the stack to Jonah so we could split the total just in-case anything happened to either of us, “Twenty-five-hundred for you. Twenty-five-hundred for me.”

“Great.” Jonah reached into the backseat and grabbed his wallet from his back to tuck the cash safely away and I slipped my half into the glove box of the car.

We had to keep moving so I pulled out of the bank parking lot back towards the main roads while Jonah brought up the address of the motel in the GPS and set the route navigation on. We drove in silence, not even bothering to put on any music, and he scrolled through his phone as we hit some traffic on the freeway.

“The place looks musty as hell.” Jonah said casually.

I glanced over to his phone screen to see him checking out the Expedia site.

“It’s like 1 out of 5 stars. Reviews say bed bugs, broken furniture, unfriendly staff. Why would Avalon want to go within five blocks of this place yet alone meet someone inside?” Jonah mumbled and he set his phone back down to charge.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think the interior design what she was particularly worried about.” I muttered as I switched lanes towards the exit for Pasadena. I couldn’t help but let the jealously come out through my tone of voice.

My phone rang through the Tesla speakers and I glanced at the screen to see Christian calling me for at least the third time since the night before. I declined it.

“Fuck. Why does he need to know where I am so badly?” I grumbled.

“Maybe you should just tell him you’re busy at work.” Jonah suggested.

“It’s none of his business where I am.”

“It’ll get him off your back.”

“It’ll get him asking questions. We really don’t need that.” I sighed tiredly.

Jonah kept quiet.

The Lincoln Motel was right off the freeway and was so closely built under the underpass that it could have passed as a troll under the bridge. Honestly, it sort of felt like that same sort of sense as I pulled into the cracked parking lot of the nearly crumbling orange stucco two-storey building. My white Tesla looked like a diamond in the rough beside the motel and I would have been worried about it being stolen if it wasn’t for the body in the trunk already depreciating the car.

I parked in the spot closest to the building and Jonah and I took a moment to prepare ourselves for not only the person we were going to meet uninvited but also to face the decrepit building firsthand. I leaned forward to see up to the second storey balcony – all the rooms being outdoor entry – and located number nineteen. This certainly was not what I had planned when I woke up that morning.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @stuffofseaveyy​ @hopinglimelight​ @tempus-ut-luceant​ @br4nd1s​ @xkelsev​ @hiya-its-amber​ @sexyseavey15​

[thr-333]

Mismatch- Part 5

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Fine if meeting them didn’t give them a clue maybe this will.

First < Previous > Next

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“So Tim said you have a lot of siblings?” Marion asks Dick as they walk down the hall, he chuckles.

“You could say that, we aren’t all blood, but we’re still family,” He guides them down the stairs, the elevator not being large enough for the whole class.

“Doesn’t matter to us,” Marinette chimes in, “We’re adopted too, we never met our birth parents,”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Marion hums, “I don’t think Aunt Selina is actually related to Papa either,”

“People always say that we look like her though,” Marinette smiles, “Although they do say the same about Maman,”

“I’m sure you’ll fit right in with us, you’ve got the whole black hair, blue eyes going for you,” Dick jokes, as they reach the end of the stairwell, “On this floor we have some of our publicity team who manage the image for Wayne enterprises and the Wayne family,”

“It’s still kinda rude for him to ignore you,” Alya was clearly unaware of her own hypocrisy. Dick ignores them in turn and carries on.

“Bruce was just surprised, I didn’t want to interrupt,” Lila explains, clearly not having heard any of the conversation between the newly acquainted cousins.

“Hopefully you get some time with them, if the twins don’t hog it all,” Sabrina glare can be felt.

“I’m sure once the shock runs out they’ll have plenty of spare time to catch up,” Lila gloats, “I have known the Waynes a lot longer, the twins are just strangers,”

“You two do seem pretty strange to me,” Dick whispers teasingly, before speaking out to the rest of the group.

“You have no idea,” Marion glances at his satchel carrying two small gods.

“-I’ll talk to them,” Kim speaks up, speeding up to reach the twins. Lila having said something in the five seconds they weren’t paying attention that caused him to take action.

He walks over to them, to his credit only hesitating slightly under Kagami’s glare.

“Hey, you should know Lila’s pretty upset you didn’t let Bruce say hello,” Kim whispers to him, even though everyone could hear. Marion stops and turns to him.

“Kim, if Bruce wanted to say hello he would have,” Not that Bruce would have, “In case you didn’t notice we were talking with Dick most the time,”

“I just think you should back off, Lila doesn’t get to see the Waynes often,” Kim frowns, glancing back at Lila who was playing her part, looking distraught.

Marion tries not to smirk, thinking; ‘Clearly not as she can’t recognise one right in front of her’

“Kim you know we don’t get to see our Aunt often,” Marion scolds, Kim flinches probably at reminder they were childhood friends, “Mr Wayne can invite whoever he wants, he could be literally anyone, I don’t care, I just want to spend time with my Aunt,”

Marion leaves the shocked Kim behind, he rejoins his sister and friends.

“The idiot doesn't talk to you for weeks but comes running the second Lila beckons, ridiculous,” Chloe is glaring back at the boy who is talking to Lila now, as her frown grows.

“Maybe he’s telling her to back off?” Marinette rubs comforting circles on Marion’s shoulder.

“I doubt it, he’s pissed at me for some reason,” Marion shrugs, Marinette takes the hint and drops her hand with one last pat.

“Probably Lila related,” Adrien says sadly, as Kim rubs his head sheepishly with a quiet laugh.

“Can’t completely blame her,” Marion speaks the most unlikely words, “You guys know how we are with plans,”

“A true friend would not betray you for a few cancellations,” Kagami fumes, as they walk through an office area with a view looking down at the street below, “Adrien and I also have similar situations,”

“That’s right, I’m the only one in this group with any sense of punctuality,” Chloe boasts teasingly, Dick doesn’t interrupt them.

“You were once an hour late for a picnic cause you were doing your hair,” Marion snickers.

“Did you see my hair that day?” Chloe gestures to her hair, “Worth it,”

“It was-”

Kagami was cut off by the loud shattering of glass. Everyone ducked as glass spilled everywhere, shouting or screaming. Marion drops into a defensive stance, Marinette, Kagami, Chloe and even Dick doing the same. Marion watches as a figure lands on a desk with a grunt, an employee hiding underneath it. Marion's eyes go wide as he watches Red Hood- the Red Hood trying to push himself up. His totally-not-fanboying is cut off when a villain he doesn't recognise jumps through the broken window. Marion watches as the villain takes slow purposeful strides towards Red Hood, glass crunching underneath his boots. Marion ignores Dick as he tries to herd the class out of the room, most employees already making their way to the emergency exits. Minus the one who was trapped underneath Red Hood.

“Well Hood, seems I’ve got you,” The villain looms over him, taking aim.

Marion sprints into action, using his momentum to tackle the villain. Sending him off balance, bullet hitting the opposite wall. First order of business; the gun.

“What the-get off,” The villain aims the gun at Marion, the angle making it hard as Marion is standing on the opposite side.

As he turns Marion holds on tighter lifting his feet off the ground. Putting the villain off balance again and keeping Marion out of reach. Marion uses the hesitation to slip behind him, vaulting onto the villains shoulders. He wraps his legs around the villains neck

“You little-” Both arms come up out of instinct to get him off.

Marion grabs the arm with the gun, holding it with both of his. Pointing the gun up to the ceiling. A punch connects with his side, the impact muted by the bullet proof armour he wears underneath. Marion looks behind them, judging if the space is big enough to pull him down without hitting the desks. He also looks further back, making sure no one would be in the path of gunfire. Deeming that both are clear he leans back, making the villain shout as he loses balance, sending them both down. Marion falls as safely as possible in his position.

They hit the ground with a grunt. The villain loses all the air in his lungs because of the impact. Marion doesn’t risk losing his grip on the villain to disarm him. He keeps his hold as steady as possible as the villain starts to struggle. The punches to his side start to give a dull ache, the angel making the blows less powerful at least. Great, this was usually the part where Ladybug would swoop in. In light of any magical Ladybugs marion squeezes his legs tighter, trying to make the villain pass out. The villain starts firing his gun blindly, Marion flinches at the sound, far too close to his ear. Making him realise just how close the gun was to his head, he closes his eyes and turns away instinctually. He braces for another blow but it doesn't come, then the shooting stops.

“Fuck,” The villian shouts, Marion opens his eyes turning his head towards the gun. He sees the heel of a boot pressing down into the villain's wrist. The grip on the gun goes lax and the boot kicks it away.

Marion follows the leg up to see Red Hood standing over them. The angle making him seem much larger, casting a shadow over Marion. The expressionless mask staring right down at him. Marion gulped, yeah that might be slightly intimidating

“Sorry,” Red Hood grunts, pulling the villains arm at an unnatural angel making him yelp.“Getting thrown through a window ain't fun,”

“Tell me about it,” Marion knows exactly how that feels, as Chat Noir, and this guy is just a human. How quickly did he get back up? It couldn't have been over a minute in the scheme of things. And oh wow he was still standing over him and Marion was having a hard time keeping his eyes on his face or rather helmet.

“I think he’s out,” Red Hood says with a slightly amused tone.

Marion jolts, not having even noticed how the villain stopped struggling. He relaxes his grip cautiously, ready to hold back on if he starts moving.

“Pass me that arm,” Red Hood says, taking out a pair handcuffs snapping them around the wrist he was already holding.

Marion just keeps staring until Red Hood starts to just reach down. He startles, thrusting the limp arm into his hand and scrambling up, trying not to blush. Red hood secures the villains wrists before dropping them. He steps to the side and pushes the villain out of the way.

“Are you ok?” Red Hood crouches down to ask, Marion stares dumbly, “What's your name? Where are you?”

“.... Marion…. Wayne Tower….” Marion falters a little(a lot) star struck, before realising why he’s asking, “I don’t have a concussion! I’m fine really!”

Red Hood nods, standing back up. He reaches out an arm to help Marion up. Marion wants to take his hand, he really does, but his arms don’t seem to be moving. He’d probably just trip over anyway. Red Hood lets his arm drop once its clear Marion won’t be responding anytime soon. Instead he reaches down and throws the unconscious villain over his shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re going to get plenty of lectures on how stupid that was,” Marion cringes at the harsh tone “So… thanks…. that was really brave,”

Marion is left to internally combust as Red Hood swings out the window with a grappling hook.

“Marion! Mari! Are you ok,” Marinette rushes to him, followed by the rest of the class.

“What just happened?” Marion is still staring at the spot Red Hood disappeared from.

“Dude, you took that guy down in seconds!” Nino exclaims, Marion fixes his glasses only the magic of the miraculous keeping them on.

“Huh, it felt longer,” Marion turns to his class to see everyone, minus Lila, looking down at him with concern.

“We need to get you checked out,” Dick helps him stand,“There's a medical bay in Wayne tower, lets go,”

Marion just nods, slowly coming to himself to realise he was very much not alright. He clutched his side that ached, armour shielding the majority of the damage didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting. His back also hurt from landing on the ground, luckily Marinette had reinforced his jacket so he knew it wasn't cut up. Apparently he had gotten away with no cuts, as he had kept his head off the ground and was wearing reinforced gloves. His ears were ringing from the gunshots, in hindsight, that hold wasn’t the best idea, but they rarely had to deal with actual guns so he was left unprepared.

They reach the medical bay, Dick trying to get his classmates and teacher to calm down the whole way. Marion didn’t answer any of their questions, knowing he had to consider his answers carefully. He made sure to pass Marinette his baton, for her to hide in her backpack. In the medical bay there were a few employees who were part of the attack getting their cuts disinfected. Marion gets a thank you from an employee who he recognises as the one trapped under the desk. Marion nods in response, being guided to a seperate room only Marinette was allowed into.

The nurse checks him over, revealing a growing bruise on his side. He seems surprised it's not worse after Marinette explains what happened, luckily he doesn’t notice anything amiss about his clothes. He also checks his back, telling him it should be fine in a day or two and if it’s not, to see a professional. Marion knows that even if something is wrong his increased healing ability from his time as the black cat would set it right.

“The ringing should wear off in a few days,” Marion knows it will stop by the end of the day, “It’s a natural symptom after loud noises,”

Marion nods and the nurse leaves him to rest, letting Marinette watch over him.

“That was reckless,” Marinette states simply, as soon as the door closes.

“Can we save the lecture for later?” He rolls over on the bed the nurse insisted he rest on.

“Marinette is right,” Tikki flies out of her purse, followed by Kaalki and Plagg. Plagg doesn't say anything just comes to sit on Marion’s chest. “Your whole class was watching,”

“I know! I just wasn't thinking!” Marion pats Plagg's head, silently telling him he’s alright.

“I don’t know,” Marinette leans back and smirks, “I think you were thinking of one thing in particular,”

“No, go back to the lecture,” Marion buries his face in the pillow.

“So how was meeting him? You seemed a little flustered,” Marinette leans her elbows on her knees and holds her face.

“Ugh, I was totally embarrassing, wasn’t I?” Marion fixes her with pleading eyes.

“Oh, definitely, you also completely ignored him trying to help you," Marion screams into the pillow,

“This seems to be an effective punishment,” Kaalki muses, zipping away with the rest of the Kwamis when someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Marinette calls, as Marion sits up.

“Marion Cheng-Dupain, explain yourself!” Aunt Selina bursts through the door.

“Auntie! Who I love so much, so good to see you, did I tell you that you look lovely today,” Marion shifts back as she approaches.

“Nice try, why did I get a call from Dick telling me you were in the medical wing?” She stops to stand in front of him, hands on hips.

“I assume it’s because of the villain attack,” Marion glances at the door to see Dick peek in before closing it, “But I’m not sure,”

“A villain attacked you!” Selina bellows, Marion realises its probably a good thing he can't give her their name.

“Well no. The villain attacked Red Hood, I attacked the villain before he could attack Red Hood,” Marion rambles making gestures to explain the process. Marinette gives him a flat look.

“So you thought attacking a villain unarmed was a better idea then running away?” Their Aunt looks horrified through her anger.

“Yes that would be the gist of it,” Marion agrees, Marinette face palms.

“Don’t worry I’ve already given him a lecture,” Marinette covers and Marion knows he owes her one.

“What am I going to do with you?” Their Aunt sighs rubbing her face.

“Give me a hug and ask if I'm alright?” She rolls her eyes knowing exactly what he’s trying to do, but sits down next to him anyway.

“Come here you two,” Marinette comes and sits next to her and she pulls them both in for a hug, “You’re not allowed to scare me like that ever again,”

“Ever?-ouch,” Marion yelps as Selina pinches his cheek playfully.

“You’re meant to say ‘sorry I won’t do it again’ and then be sneakier about it next time,” She scolds, as Marion rubs his cheek.

“I promise next time I decide to impulsively fight a villain you won’t find out about it,” Marion swears, making their aunt roll her eyes.

“You’re a brat,” She ruffles his hair, not that it wasn't already messy.

“I get it from you,” Marion grins, Selina sighs.

”... yes you do,” She gives him a sad little smile and they fall into a familiar silence.

This was something their Aunt did often, randomly becoming solemn and closing off for a little bit.

“Marion, Marinette are you ok?” Madame Bustier pokes her head through the door.

“Yeah, nurse said I’m fine, just a few bruises,” Marion sees her relief, "Did you call our parents?"

"Yes I called yours first, I told them you were being looked at," Madame Bustier explains, "You should call them soon,"

"We will," Marinette promises, neither looking forward to that conversation.

“Alright then, are you free to go?” Madame Bustier asks, “The rest of the tours been cancelled and the class is ready to leave,”

“I’ll take them,” Selina steps in, hugging them tighter “I’ll drop them off at the hotel later,”

“Alright then, don’t stay out too late” Madame Bustier gives them a smile, disappearing behind the door.

“She isn’t even going to ask where we’re going,” Their Aunt huffs, glaring at the door.

“Aren’t we going to dinner?” Marion asks, Marinette nodding.

“I was planning on just letting you rest without your classmates bothering you,” Their Aunt admits

“I’m fine, I want to go to dinner," Marion receives an unconvinced look from their Aunt.

"Please,” They chorus using their twin powers, that breaks her.

“Fine, fine," She relents, ruffling his hair again, Marinette's hat sparing her, "But Bruce probably needs some time to sort everything out,”

“Already handled,” Bruce walks through the door right on cue, “I must apologise for this happening to you both in my building,”

“Don’t worry about it, we’re fine,” Marinette answers for him, Marion getting tired of repeating himself.

“I watched the security footage," Bruce tells them, standing at the bed.

'right that exists' Marion thinks, 'I can practically fell Marinette scheming how to steal it', if only to immortalise his pain.

"Where did you learn to fight?” Bruce inquires, neither missing the subtle glance to Selina.

“Um, we taught ourselves, did some self defence classes,” Marinette answers, both feeling their Aunt relax against them

“Plus Aunt Selina has trained us a bit since we were kids,” Marion adds, with a teasing smile.

“Has she,” Bruce states, looking at his fiance.

“You little snitch,” Selina mocks anger, ruffling his hair with both hands now in retaliation, Marion laughs.

“If you aren’t up for dinner we can postpone to a later date,” Bruce tells him, Marion swears he can see a slight smile.

“No, no, I’m perfectly fine, I’d love to come,” Marion tries to push his Aunt away.

“If that's the case, we can go to the manor right now,” Bruce offers, the twins nod, “Just a minute, Selina?”

Selina leaves Marion's hair alone and follows Bruce out the room. Marion starts to go over the events of the last hour in his mind. Coming to a horrible realisation.

“Wait a minute… did Red Hood see me wearing his outfit!” Marion turns to Marinette.

“Oh come on, like he recognises it,” She says through her laughter.

‘He was wearing my MDC outfit’ Jason thinks excitedly to himself, having dropped the criminal off to the police.

‘He seemed scared so he probably isn’t a fan, maybe he just likes MDC’ Jason's thoughts sour, back at his shared safe house with Roy.

His phone rings. Jason is about to ignore it when he sees Alfred's name on the caller Id.

“Hello?”

“Master Jason I would like to invite you to dinner tonight,” Alfred speaks from the phone, as Jason paces around the apartment.

“What's the occasion?” Jason asks, Roy glances up from whatever he's making on the couch.

“Miss Selina’s niece and nephew are in town and it would be nice for them to meet the family,” Jason snorts.

'Family huh?' he doesn't dare say to Alfred.

“I believe you already met Marion today at Wayne Tower,” Jason pauses, recognising the name as the boy gave him when he was checking for a concussion.

“He’s Cat Woman’s nephew?” Jason whispers into the phone.

‘Makes sense his movements did seem similar to hers,’ Jason wonders if she properly trained them.

“Yes, although I doubt neither he nor Marinette are aware,” If Alfred was saying that it was probably true.

“Alright fine,” Jason agrees, drawing Roy's attention again.

“Very good Master Jason, I will see you this evening,"

"Bye," Jason hangs up shortly.

“You’re actually going to dinner?" Roy knows his relationship with the rest of the Bat's is testy at best, plus he broke Bruce's window today.

“Remember the civilian I told you about?” Jason plops down onto the couch next to him.

“The one who saved your butt? The one you haven't stopped talking about? The one who's kinda cute? nope,” Roy pops the 'p' turning back to his newest gadget.

“He’s going to be there,” Jason ignores Roy's taunting.

“Why?” Roy keeps fiddling with a gear.

“Apparently he’s Cat Woman's nephew,”

“What!" Roy drops the gadget, cursing as pieces scatter everywhere.

“I want to check on him, he seemed really out of it,” Jason ignores Roy's outburst.

“Wait so does that make you two like... adopted cousins in law or something?” Jason chuckles without any humour.

“In case you haven't noticed I haven't been Bruce's son for a long time,”

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

To never being parted - Part 2 Chap 4 - The Birthday Party

This is the Chapter 4 of the mini sequel to my flower cards inspired Kitty Fan Fic “Am I Forgotten?”

AO3 Link here.

****

As it turned out, Jace absolutely loved his surprise. He jumped in the pop-out cake to hug Kit, who pushed him away, and they ended up rolling and wrestling amidst the vanilla buttercream, with a crowd of onlookers cheering. The most enthusiastic was Mina, who shrieked with delight during the entire fight.

They both had to change after that, which was a relief. Tessa had to hastily recover Kit’s dress from Mina, who had undertaken to lick the fabric drenched in vanilla frosting.

The party was as decadent as any party organized by Magnus Bane could be. Dark blue velvet banners hung from the ceiling, stitched with the design of stars which seemed to shine, as if the guests were standing under the night sky. Candles glowed from every surface. Magnus had magicked up a small playground for the kids in one corner of the room, far from the chocolate fountains.

Kit carried Mina around on his shoulders for two solid hours before she finally asked him to put him down. When he did, she whispered in his ear. “When I am older, I am going to marry that tall and handsome Centurion bodyguard who has been following us everywhere… He takes such good care of my big brother.” Kit felt all the blood drain from his face.

****

The dinner table was covered with food from all around the world but Kit settled for a burger. He noticed that Julian had made the same choice although he saw him slip his lettuce to King Kieran, who had decided to make an appearance for Jace’s birthday party. He was seated between Mark and Cristina, and both were trying to get him to taste Mexican food. He shot Julian a grateful look.  

“So, has Ty been sleeping in front of your bedroom, as he used to in Los Angeles? That was so cute!” Cristina asked Kit, in a cheerful voice.

“Of course not”, Kit replied. “He is absolutely welcome to my bed now.”

Everyone around the table froze before turning to look at him. Shit. Did he say that out loud?  

Kit moved his gaze towards the only person whose opinion mattered in the case.

Ty, who was seated next to Dru and Jaime Rosales, was staring at him open-mouthed, his cheeks flushed. Oh well, thought Kit. I am not taking it back anyway. If I said I was joking, Ty would take it literally. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?

Kit shrugged and went back to eating his burger.

****

After dinner, there was a cluster of girls around Lily Chen, who was seated on a chair flaunting the Hot Shadowhunters calendar, as if it was the best book of the year.

She had decided to publish a first edition, as an experiment, in an attempt to boost the Clave’s revenues. Alec had been reluctant at first, but even he couldn’t deny the incredible success of the calendar after only a few weeks of sales. It had been sold to both Shadowhunters and Downworlders, entire stalls being dedicated to it in several Shadow Markets around the world.

King Kieran himself had bought several to add to his collection which included kitten and mundane firefighters calendars.

“So, of course we have Jace for the month of January. That one - and Mark Blackthorn’s - were the easiest pictures to obtain,” Lily explained as she enthralled her audience by flipping through the pages of the calendar.

On the front page, Jace was almost entirely naked, a well positioned sword covering his most intimate parts. Mark was just as barely dressed, poetically covered in roses and thorns.

“I had to negotiate with Magnus for Alec’s picture but as it turns out, I am quite happy with what he provided.” Magnus winked. In the picture, Alec was half naked, his muscles flexed as he was pulling an arrow to his bow. His skin was covered with black marks which stood in stark contrast with his white skin.

“Here we have Jem. Although he is officially retired from the Clave, we couldn’t do this without him. He is much too popular with the Shadow Markets’ crowd. He is only half naked of course, but compared to what people used to see of him when he was a Silent Brother, this looks like porn.” Most of the girls giggled.

“This is Simon, it was easy enough to obtain a picture of him. I just had to offer him a limited edition of a light-saver…”

“A lightsaber,” Isabelle corrected.

“Whatever. The most difficult one to obtain was Julian Blackthorn’s, of course,” Lily continued. “I had to hire a professional photographer…”

“You mean a paparazzi,” Emma interrupted.

“Emma almost broke his arm…”

“He was lurking behind a rock, taking pictures of Julian while he was surfing…”

“But apparently you both found an arrangement.”

Emma stared off into space. “He does have talent. He took amazing pictures of Julian on his surfboard… I made an album of them. He’s going to be our wedding’s photographer. Free of charge.”

“That’s my girl,” Julian said, raising his hand for a high five, though not moving his gaze from Tavvy.

Lily turned to Kit and Ty, then, pointing two fingers at her eyes and at them. “Now that you have come of age, I have got my eyes on you boys.”

Ty looked terrified but Kit only shrugged.

****

Kit danced with a lot of people. Mina, mostly, but also Clary, Isabelle, Emma, Dru, Aline and even Lily, who kept giving him a variety of nicknames. Mostly food-related. When he waltzed with Tessa, everyone stopped to observe their graceful twirls, and they were given a round of applause. Kit had to admit he was quite smug about it. Not a single dance with Ty though, who had mostly been hiding in a corner with his headphones on, his arms crossed, though a friend of Dru’s kept talking animatedly to him. He didn’t seem to notice.

After a dozen dances, Kit was exhausted and parched. As he moved towards the buffet to get something to drink, Emma and Cristina appeared out of nowhere to stand in his path, their faces alight with excitement. Kit had noticed that when Emma was not glued to Julian’s side, she was always running around with Cristina and Mark, like an iconic trio of besties.

“Welcome to the club,” they said in unison. Had they rehearsed that?

“What club?”

“The club of fearless warriors who decided to take the hazardous path of dating Blackthorn men,” Emma replied with an ominous voice.

“One word of advice,” Cristina said. “Get as much sleep as you can, while you can.”

“What?” Kit was puzzled.

“Hmmm, how to explain…” Emma put one finger on her mouth, her expression thoughtful. “Have you ever wondered why there are so many of them?”

“The Blackthorns you mean? Er- because they like kids?” Kit answered.

“True enough,” Emma replied, winking at him.

“What else is there?” Kit asked, as he had the feeling he was missing something.

Emma and Cristina burst into fits of laughter, clutching each other for support.

Kit shrugged and considered it as his cue to leave. Ty had already left the party an hour ago and Kit was wondering whether he should stop by his room to watch him sleep. Just a little peek. Ok, no, that was creepy.

As he was heading towards the door to leave the party inconspicuously, Kit was stopped mid-flight by a hand grasping his shoulder.

“Not so fast, Kit Herondale.”

Kit turned to meet Julian’s blue-green eyes. He was a different version of the Julian he had known.

The shape of his face was sharper, his features more chiseled and his luscious Blackthorn waves longer. There were no longer circles under his eyes and Kit had noticed that he had stopped biting his fingernails. He seemed happier, more rested. Almost… glowing.

Kit had to admit he was stunning. But I am already head over heels in love with his brother, Kit was reminded.

According to Jace, Julian had been a close and trusted advisor of Alec for the past few years, the Consul relying on him for war strategy and delicate political matters.

During the time he had spent in Los Angeles, Kit had witnessed how dangerous Julian’s sharp mind could be when he decided to use it. How deadly. And that was tired, restless Julian. Glowing Julian… their enemies would never know what had hit them.

Julian’s gaze moved to Kit’s chest, where the Blackthorn locket was resting.

“I see that Ty has given you his and Livvy’s pendant. I trust that you know what this means.”

His blue-green eyes were now boring into Kit’s, and Kit could not help but feel exposed, as if Julian was not looking into his eyes but straight into his head, accessing his mind.

“I do. This is it, for Ty. I am it . First and last. There won’t ever be anyone else for him.”

“What about you?” Julian’s gaze was still burning holes through Kit’s eyes.

Kit sighed. “You know what they say. Herondales love but once.”

“And you just realized that, where you are concerned, this is true?”

“No, Julian. I had already realized that three years ago.”

Kit turned to move, but Julian caught him by the arm.

“You already know what I am going to say next, don’t you?”

“Julian, I have witnessed what you were capable of in order to protect your family. I’d rather be facing the nine Princes of Hell.”

“Good,” was all Julian said, letting him go.

****

Tagging @darkkitai

[anatrik]

Folklore feels like summers spent in your hometown, wandering barefoot with your best friend all day, coming home to sweet tea set on the porch. You slouch in a deck chair, watching the sun set, your grandmother's soft voice rising and falling beside you.

She tells stories, histories of the people you see everyday, Old Man James and his Betty. James and Betty, Betty and James who'd been together so long everyone thought of them as two halves of a single unit, a living breathing forevermore. But Grammy remembers...there was once another girl. A girl, with startling green eyes and a heart of fire and desire. A girl, shamefully wronged, disregarded, brushed under the carpet with all the lint, lost socks and cardigans, things we wish to forget. The girl everyone remembers and no one mentions.

Rebekah.

And you listen in wide eyed silence, trying to reconcile the image of the bluff honest old man with that of a dark haired philanderer, trying to picture Mrs. Betty- who still looks at her husband like she sees the 17 year old boy she fell in love with- huddled under the bleachers as Mrs. Inez (that old bat?!) confirms that the rumours are true, trying to imagine what the woman would've looked like, this Rebekah, who'd been able to steal a man's eyes from 'Betty the Beauty' and coming up with a blank because some things simply defy imagination.

"How?", you whisper in a strangled voice

"How can she bear to even look at him?"

Grammy smooths a hand over your tousled head and smiles at how young you are, how black and white the world you live in, how innocent.

Because invisible strings tie us to our fates. Because Betty knew the other girl and the shitty hand life had dealt her. Because James had been 17 and hadn't known a single thing. Or maybe, it was something as simple as a sorry at the right time by the right person for the right reasons.

And the other girl? You want to ask. But it feels wrong somehow, after all these years, her memory still tainted, her grave still fresh, her presence always felt.

Grammy hears the question anyway-she always does. Her voice grows softer, her words come out hoarse and laced with bitterness. And she tells you, about a runaway who had left home by moonlight with a twenty dollar bill and the clothes on her back, how she slept her way through bus stops and shady motel rooms, greedy fingered old men who had breathed in her desperation like it was the finest of perfumes. About a lost girl who didn't know better and the men who should have. How finally one summer, she had stumbled into a sleepy little town, 1989 miles away from where she had started, a ghost town she'd thought, marvelling at the silence. And then...him. They had talked politics and got drunk under the streetlights, spent weekends together and he'd made her feel special, kissed all her aches better, really truly saw her. For the first time she felt like she could maybe put down roots, here where the grass was green and the skies purple pink and blue, here where she had been happy for the first time. And then, when the wind turned and the evenings grew longer, he'd finally touched her and it had felt like a goodbye. When she woke up twisted in the empty bedsheets, she was alone. All of August slipped away into a memory .

The school year was a knife to the chest, her love had relegated her to the shadows, abandoned her to the whispers and side eyes. They called her a bad girl, a mad woman, a whore, nothing she hadn't heard before but nothing ever really prepares you to hear it again.

"What happened to her?" you ask in a hushed voice.

She left. The day of James and Betty's wedding, the whole town and it's cousins were at the church, no one missed the freak. She went back to the city she'd run from, back to that house of horrors, the demons had long since died but their ghosts remained in the walls. But she knew what it was to live with ghosts. She wasn't one to fear things that couldn't touch her.

She worked her way through med school, threw herself into her work, reckless, passionate, determined and burned like a star in a sky full of streetlights.

Then came the great war of men, what your history textbooks called the second world war.

"You were there too?" you whisper in awe.

Yes. I was posted with the 104th infantry. It's where I met your grandfather.

She speaks of the guns and the smoke, the trenches of blood and broken men, the white curls darken and the wrinkles fall away, you see your soft Grammy, but also the steely young nurse she had once been.

She speaks of a young soldier, Bill, and a love set to a soundtrack of artillery fire, uncertainty and prayers. A love neither easy nor inevitable, that they had fought for tooth and nail because it was all either of them had.

She tells me of their early days, back when Bill was just one among a thousand struggling young men,the times she almost ran because it was the only thing she knew. How after a particularly vicious fight he had come after her to find her stood on the cliffside, angry, unsure, screaming at him to give her one fucking reason. How he had slowly unpicked the messy knots in her head where love and lies were so entwined she couldn't tell one from the other. How she'd warned him of the storms that lived within her and he'd weathered through them all. How she had finally found it in herself to believe again.

And then the homecoming, the city life wasn't for them and Grammy had missed the sea. So they'd packed their bags, said goodbye to St.Louis by moonlight. Then the house on the beach, parties straight out of Gatsby, card games with Dali. The quiet moments in Grandpa Bill's arms. Their new neighbours, James and Betty who had moved back home to raise their family. How James would sometimes look at her like he was seeing someone else or maybe a reflection of the man he could've been. How whenever that happened Betty's lips would tighten imperceptibly. How he always snapped out of it. Every single time. He always went back to his Betty. Bill would tell a joke to smooth over the tense silence, the moment would pass. Everything would come back to normal. Then she had your mother, your uncle, your other uncle, their dog, Benjamin, Grandpa Bill's heart-attack, the stories start running together and before you know it gentle arms are carrying you to your bed, a soft I love you goes unanswered, summer ends, it's time to go back home.

When you come back next, the porch is empty, no sweating jug of sweet tea on the table. The house is crowded and smells of roses- Grammy hated roses- and expensive perfumes. There's too much black everywhere- Grammy hated black- you search for a familiar face in the sea of weeping strangers and find none. You huddle close to where Grammy lies. She looks so peaceful. Just like you remember from the last day of summer. People come up every few minutes, mumbling words of comfort to your mother as your uncles stand by stoically. No one says a word to Grammy, which is pretty rude you think considering she's the reason they're all here. They hover uncertainly, then attempt to drift away inconspicuously. Mrs. Betty and Old man James are among the last, you look up curiously trying to see beyond the ill fitting suit and the balding grey head, but whoever James had been at 17, was long gone. He stands for a long time, his head bowed, tears slowly dripping down the tip of his nose. He doesn't say a word to your mother. He doesn't say a word to anyone. But from where you sit you can see his lips moving, the same word again and again, like a prayer, Betty, Betty, Betty. You wonder why he'd be talking to his wife right now. But then you see Betty's mouth tighten.

Becky, Becky, Becky...

Grammy.

Rebekah.

Thank you. For folklore. For these stories. For everything. @taylorswift

[withoneheadlight]

| a house (is a home) | (i). the keys | (ii). memories&herons | (iii). old dogs&inheritances | (iv). memorabilia | tinyplaylist |

~

The kitchen’s Steve’s favorite part of the house.

It has this odd shape. Trapezoid. “Fuck, Stevie, so goddamn weird”. Doesn’t make sense in a, on the other hand, perfectly rectangular house (or, well, it does but, they’ll only find out about that later). The cabinets are ceiling-high. The tiles of the wall white and cracked under the repeating pattern of light mint-green-stemmed, yellow-petaled lilies. The whole backdoor is painted on that same shade Billy calls Ripe banana dreams, both so terribly old-fashioned and fiercely cute none of them says a word about repainting it. There’s a wooden piece, built into the farthest end of the counter. It looks disgustingly juicy and mercilessly stabbed when they move in, but Billy insists on keeping it, and sanding, and treating, and varnishing it. Manages to get it back up on shape because “Better than anyone, darling you should know what a little touch of class can make”. And for more than two weeks straight the only goal of his life is to learn to cut vegetables at high speed because “I have to live up to this level of professionalism. Impress our most un-impressionable guests”

(And, to Steve’s surprise –and probably hers– when she finally deigns to pay them a visit, his mom is, in fact, pretty much impressed.)

He learns how to make good casserole. Tries his luck with Mexican and Italian. Fails miserably with Japanese. Will never-ever admit it but, he loves it when flour ends up staining every single surface, making the biggest mess around himself when he bakes. Steve knows why it is. It’s a shared feeling. Floats up till it reaches the ceiling and bounces back down to them, heavy with the warm smell of cooking pie and cinnamon. Tastes docile and tamed like “Maybe not so much vanilla next time. Whaddaya think, babe?.” Tastes savage and daring, like the overwhelming tang of freshly squeezed lemon lingering on Billy’s tongue, when he crowds Steve against the fridge and kisses him, nibbles a shuddering laugh out of him “How the fuck are you able to even think about putting your mouth near that thing, Hargrove?. That was––ugh. That was disgusting”, “Well you know me, whatever it takes to make you squirm” leaving Steve with absolutely no option but lick the sugary dough stain over his cheek to “Cover up that foul flavor” and maybe because he wants to make Billy squirm a little too. 

It’s a heart-warming, welcoming feeling. Like the vivid smells of green tomatoes and parsley and mustard sauce. Like the taste of love on Billy’s lips. The way he loses his breath when Steve kisses the sugary flavor into Billy’s mouth with his:

This place smells like home, tastes like home. Like finally, finally. Home.

It’s Billy’s favorite place, too. But Steve doesn’t think it’s just because of that. But also because maybe,

maybe.

He has also noticed that–

There’s this particular, particular moment. It happens around seven on autumns, right when the day starts to fade. It happens between six and six past twenty-eight on winters, and holds the sleepy cheeks of the newborn tulips on Steve’s garden till they fall asleep on springs, sun already sinking behind the horizon by the time both hands of the clock meet over the spiral of the eight, pointing towards infinity. And then grows bigger and bigger and bigger from there, flooding into summer: the golden sunlight seeping through the wide, double-paned window facing the backyard in an oblique angle, making the yellow flowers of the tiles look like they’re re-blooming in gold. 

It’s the moment the day turns into a fire. 

It’s their favorite moment in time. And in this particular, particular day of July, it happens at ten past nine.

Billy is making Spaghetti Carbonara. The kitchen is damp with the rich smells coming out of the boiling water. Mushrooms and oregano, black pepper and lime. A song is cooing at them from the radio, the beat of the drums a boneless memory of that one echoing around the quarry on faraway almost-night on a faraway July. Water rippling under the quiet sigh of the breeze. Trees cutting the liquid rays in asymmetric halves. 

Billy takes off the apron. Turns the stove down.

Reaches out to Steve, fingers wavering come, come, come.

To me. Come to me. “C’mon, Harrington. Do I scare you or what?“

He has this way of looking at Steve that makes the space between them narrow, narrow: the whole unknown world. And aseptic, non-lived-in flat in downtown Florida. This tiny, tiny town. A mysteriously-shaped kitchen––

“¿Can I have this dance?” 

Steve walks to him, takes his hand. 

––Their bodies, pressed flush. 

Inside his chest, Steve’s heart is running. 

(“Can I at least have this dance, before we say goodbye?”

Mazzy Star was playing. The corner of Billy’s eye felt wet where his skin brushed against the corner of Steve’s mouth. They danced till the daylight faded, till there were teardrops falling from the night sky.

“Billy, I don’t have to––” 

“Don’t, pretty boy. Don’t say it. I’ll make you stay if you do. And I can’t do that”)

They made lovelovelove on the back of Billy’s car.)

In this light, they fell in love, they fell apart. Ran away. Ran back. 

Steve nudges at Billy’s chest, makes him move backward till he’s far enough to tug, draw him in between their tangled arms, hands intertwined. Steve curls himself around Billy’s back, noses at the warmth trapped between his curls. He smells like BillyandSteve, like this home, like past, like future. Like us.

Steve whispers in his ear. Three words. Billy’s neck curves towards him. An instinct. Tickled by their warmth. Steve kisses the curve of his ear. Tugs the collar of his shirt aside, bites where shoulder meets neck and up, up.

“Easy, Prom King” Billy teases, grins at him tender and wild. Knows when to use the one that gets Steve every time “Or you’re gonna make me think we’ll become picture-perfect from this magical moment onwards. A bunch of kids. White fences. You know, the whole shebang” 

(Billy crashed the Camaro into a tree in the winter of two thousand and fourteen. Had left the house in a frenzy. Something happened Max wouldn’t talk about. But she was scared, so she had called,

“Find him. Please.. Make sure he’s alright”

When Steve found him, Billy was in the middle of the Brookville road, feet stumbling on the twin yellow lines, following them nowhere. So weary, so impossibly small like this: head hanging, arms wrapped around himself. A crooked shape, carrying the weight of the shadows the tall pine trees cast on his back.  

So unlike him. 

Steve stopped the car at his side, engine oozing steam, shaking in the icy mid-May air “Billy” he said. Low. Careful. Careful. Billy’s eyes looked wet in the moon-silver night, pupils blown, deceivingly calm, “What are you doing? This is dangerous” And Billy’s spine had bent even lower, forearms finding rest on the window frame. Leveling with Steve. Looking wasted, looking tired, but still, he flashed a grin at him, teeth-shark white, never going down if he wasn’t going down swinging. And Steve–– hadn’t known at the moment, but the blood staining his cheek, the screaming-purple mark around his eye.

Those weren’t from the crash.

 “I was sleepwalking, Harrington” he said, voice dry, laugh harsh. Shrugged “Waiting for a lucky strike”)

“What does it make you think that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

(When he took Billy to his house Max was already there. Had sneaked out. “Neil will kill you if he finds out,” Billy said and she nodded, white knuckles peaking red with how hard she was gripping the handler of her bike, and Steve hadn’t seen her cry before, not ever, but her eyes were swollen and wet and,

“Are you––”

“I’m alright, kiddo. You know me. I’m always alright”

And the lie sat heavy, between them. Two lies, covering the truth. Poorly stitched. But Max had called Steve for help, so that’s what he did. Help. Sent her back home. Took care of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands. Nodded at those same lies, let them do their work while taking care of wounds he didn’t know, back then, couldn't have been for a crash. Made him spend the night. 

Billy still hadn't woken up when Steve left the next day, leaving food and a note on the nightstand ‘I’ll be back soon. Stay’. 

Retraced Billy’s steps down the yellow lines splitting the forest in half. To find it.

The Camaro wasn’t done yet. Howled like a wounded beast under Steve’s touch, but stayed together all the way to Donny’s garage. And Steve paid for the repairs. Covered it all up. Max has said “His dad can’t know, Steve. Can’t know. If he finds out he will--” and steve was starting to put two and two together. To realize some billy was, maybe, running away from something. Someone. When he crashed his car.

Woke Billy up when the hands of the clock met over the spiraling infinity of the eight. Seventeen hours straight of sleep and still looking like he could use a lifetime. Told him “The car will be ready in two or three days. ‘Til then, you stay'' covered his mouth with his hand. Didn't let him complain “And If whatever happened last night happens again, you take it and you run. Back here. And you stay again, ok?”

Two weeks later, Billy showed up at his door. Lit him a cigarette. Offered to teach him how to fight.

“I cannot give you back your money, but I know you don’t need that”

Made him laugh.

They spent almost the whole summer together, after that. Some days. Most nights.

Wasting time. Fighting. Joking. Driving.

Falling.

No ‘what ifs’. No promises. Just,

“Leave the light on if you can’t sleep, pretty boy. If I manage to sneak out of the Old fuck, I’ll pick you up. Promise I won’t stop kissing you until dawn. Gotta make up for what you paid for that ca, uh?”

Because Steve was gonna leave. Wasn’t gonna throw a single glance behind his back.

That was the plan.

And he did. He did. But––)

He spins Billy out. Tugs him back. When their chests bump, his laugh bursts, bubbles up. Weightless. Happy. Because all that matters to him, to them, it’s between these four irregular walls now.

And God this, this, is Steve’s favorite part. 

(–ended up coming back running, hoping the love would re-stitch itself as he followed the road’s yellow lines. 

Hoping Billy was the one letting his light on this time.)

Because the sun’s gonna keep on shining. They can keep on dancing in here, in their weird trapezoidal kitchen (in their house, in their home), for as long as they want. Hearts touching. Lips brushing. Bodies swaying, spinning, cutting through the golden light. 

~