#(​i am always torn between grey or gold eyes for him. maybe a grey with subtle gold tones or pale icy gold is a good middle ground)

[roseoftrafalgar]

Happy International Snow Leopard Day! ❄️ Ft. Law helping a snow leopard cub with a minor arm injury.

-> for some snow leopard facts, click the readmore!

Snow leopards are sometimes referred to “ghosts of the mountains” for their elusiveness and solitary nature.

They are found in the icy mountainous regions of Central Asia (i.e Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, etc.), South Asia (i.e. Nepal, Bhutan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, etc.), Russia, Mongolia, and China.

In northern Dolpo Nepalese folklore, it is sometimes believed that snow leopards carry the sins of their past lives & whoever kills them “inherits” their sins.

Often opportunistic hunters and less aggressive compared to other big cats when it comes to hunting their prey, as they will retreat from a kill if another predator threatens them. However, they are able to kill prey 3 times their own weight.

They’re more related to tigers than leopards.

They can jump 6 times their body length.

They typically have blue, green, or grey eyes & can see 6 times better than humans.

Their short nasal cavity warms the air they inhale before entering their lungs.

Their tails can serve as scarves & they sometimes like to nom on them.

-> Visit Snow Leopard Trust to learn more about snow leopards & conservation efforts, as there is less than around 10,000 in the wild!

[mrs-gucci]

There seems to be a darker, more violent take on Clyde floating around right now and I LOVE it!! I’m working on one for him too!

Since you say open for darker requests, I’d love to hear your take on a more violent Clyde! He could be saving you from a stalker. Clyde can show him what a real bad ass can do and then show you how well he can treat you too lol! He could be protecting you from someone at the bar. He could be showing you his special forces skills after some gets aggressive. You name it lol!

Secrets of the Blood Moon {werewolf!Clyde x Reader darkfic}

author's notes: helloooo! my friend shannon, thank you for this request!! I am also a fan of the darker take on Clyde and I hope I did it some justice!! I worked really, really hard on this one, and I’m super pleased with how it turned out.

**PLEASE HEED THE DARKFIC WARNING!! THIS FIC INVOLVES SEVERAL VERY HEAVY AND VERY DARK THEMES, SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!**

warnings: angst. smut. hurt/comfort. a minor car crash. mentions of alcohol consumption. rut. knotting. breeding kink. werewolf stuff. attempted mating bite. murder coverup. clyde feels guilty.

tw's: noncon touching (not by clyde). involuntary attempted sexual assault (werewolf clyde pins her down & dry humps w/o consent, but human clyde doesn’t know he did it nor would ever intend to do it). blood & gore. graphic depictions of murder and violence. human-hunting. depictions of human body consumption (is it cannibalism if he’s technically a wolf when it happens?). werewolf sex.

**this is a work of FICTION. the author does not attempt to condone the actions/behaviors of the characters written.**

word count: 5.9k

my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)

Last Night

Stepping out of your car, you’re instantly suffocated by the thick humidity of the West Virginia evening. The sun paints cotton candy across the sky as it sets behind the trees on the mountainous horizon, the almost full moon hot on its tail, slowly rising on the other side of the sky.

The blood moon comes tomorrow, and from the old folk tales your mom used to tell about the deep West Virginia countryside, some weird shit goes down under the crimson moon. You never really believed her. What all could happen in lil ol’ Boone County, anyway?

The moment you step into the refreshing, air-conditioned Duck Tape, you’re immediately greeted by a loud call of your name.

“Y/N!” You smile and wave at Jimmy. 

Clyde looks up and smiles at you as you come and sit down at the bar next to Jimmy. He serves the customer before coming over to talk with you and the eldest Logan.

You lean over the bar to give him a kiss, earning a couple hoots and hollers from the bar crowd, which made you both laugh as you pull away.

“How was work, buttercup?” He asks, wiping off some glasses. “Weren’t ya doin’ that one presentation today? How’d that go?”

You’re always so flattered that Clyde actually pays attention when you talk about work stuff. Most guys just smile and nod, but Clyde actually listens and remembers. He even remembered your one year anniversary at the company you currently work for, sending you takeout from your favorite place along with some flowers.

“Yeah, it was alright. Boring as hell, but the partners seemed pleased, so that’s all I can really ask for at this point.”

Both he a Jimmy give a small chuckle, nodding before Clyde mixes your favorite drink, setting it down in front of you a few minutes later. You thank him, and the three-way conversation continues before the bar door swings open. 

Something about the man’s entrance makes you look over, already smelling trouble as he steps over the threshold. His eyes are glued on you, a smug smirk etched on his expression. 

A hush falls over the patrons for a few seconds, all eyes on the leather-clad man. Clyde’s hackles are immediately up, body tense as the mystery man saunters over, plopping himself down onto the vacant stool next to yours. 

Things on the floor continue as normal, the chatter picking back up, and you subtly scoot a little closer to Jimmy. 

“Bartender?” A thick New York accent calls.

Clyde walks over, plastering a fake smile on his face, seemingly the epitome of southern hospitality.

“What can I getcha, sir?”

The man gives Clyde a once-over and snickers. “No, seriously, where’s the bartender? I’d like a drink.”

Your grip clenches around your glass. You absolutely hated it when people were dicks about Clyde’s hand.

“Seriously, I am the bartender.” He states firmly. “So, what can I get ya?”

His tone sends a chill down your spine. Normally, Clyde just shuts down whenever someone starts poking fun at his missing hand, but tonight, there was a certain air of frustration, of dominance.

You just thought he’d finally cracked, after years of dealing with this bullshit. But as you would learn, there was an alternate explanation for his sudden outwardly alpha-like behavior.

The guy seems to back off a little bit, just asking for a cold Coors straight from the bottle. You startle a bit when Clyde slams the bottle down on the counter in front of him, and you could swear his eyes turn a light grey for a second before returning to the dark brown pools you’re familiar with.

Everything’s quiet for a little while, the man sipping his beer in silence, before he turns to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply allowing his eyes to drink in your seated figure.

“What’s your name, baby girl?” The beer smell of his breath is strong as he leans in. “You lookin’ for someone to keep you company tonight?”

You roll your eyes. Douchebag. “Nope. I’m perfectly content just sitting here, thanks.”

Clyde’s watching the interaction like a hawk as he makes someone’s drink. It’s a wonder he can concentrate on the drink when his thoughts and eyes are glued to you.

His slimy hand touches down on your bare thigh, just above your knee, and you jump in your seat. He grins, trailing it up as he leans in even closer.

“Are you sure? I could show you a real good time...”

Glass shatters from behind the bar and then, Clyde’s grabbing the man by his biker jacket, tossing him onto the floor with an almost superhuman strength. You stand up, appalled, as the man on the hardwood scrambles to get up.

An icy grey begins to frost over his sweet chocolate irises as Clyde clenches his fists by his side. 

“Don’t ya dare touch ma girl, ye pervert.” He growls, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Someone ought to show ya what respect looks like.”

The bar has fallen pin-drop silent, all sets of eyes focused in on the developing scene. He cocks his fist above his head, snarling as he readies to pounce on the helpless man. 

It’s then that Jimmy hops up and puts himself between the two men, holding his hands up in front of Clyde. “Don’t do this t’ yerself. Ye know what’ll happen if ya do.”

This seems to bring him back, the warmness flooding back to his irises. His shoulders slump as he huffs softly, pushing past his older brother angrily, storming into his office and slamming the door behind him.

Shakily, the man stands and puts a twenty down on the table before running out of the bar, bell jingling against the wooden door as it eases shut after him.

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

The rare blood moon hangs in its place against the pitch black sky as you pull up to the Logan’s trailer home. There aren’t any stars in the clear night’s sky, despite it being the dead of summer, but you don’t think much of it as you approach the shadowed porch.

Moths flutter around the dimly flickering porch light while you peek through the windows, which were as black as the night. Not a single light was on.

Odd. The Pontiac’s parked in its normal spot outside.

You flip the threadbare ‘welcome’ mat up, revealing the rusting gold key beneath. Sticking it in the lock, you turn until the door pops open, an eerie creak accompanying it.

"Clyde?” You say, looking around the trailer’s living room as you flip the living room lights on.

You call for him again. Maybe he’s just taking a nap. “Clyde?”

Still no response. 

Now, you’re getting worried. There’s no note, nothing noticeably out of place; in fact, it’s almost all too still. It gives you the creeps, how still and quiet it is in here.

The scent of suspicion thickens the air around you, and you just get the most awful feeling in your gut that something bad is happening or is about to happen.

Adrenaline begins to pump through your veins as you quickly walk around, peeking in the kitchen, and in the spare room. The air seems to thicken again the closer to draw to Clyde’s room, and you push the door open with bated breath.

You’re absolutely mortified at the sight before you. 

Shreds of carpet, fabric, and mattress stuffing is scattered the floor, and giant claw marks have torn straight through the drywall. The blankets and comforter, at least the remains of them, are disheveled where they lay across the clawed-up mattress. 

His vanity mirror is almost fully shattered, and the products that once sat atop are now tossed across the floor. The chilly summer’s night air flutters the curtains on the opened window above the bed.

The first thought that comes to mind is a bear attack of some kind. Now fully freaking out, you’re wondering how in the world a bear got into the trailer, and why it only seemed to attack Clyde’s room. You scramble to grab your phone from your purse with shaky hands, dialing Jimmy’s number in haste.

Was this one of the blood moon enigmas mom warned about? No, no, bear attacks are pretty common around here.

 It takes a few rings before he picks up.

“Y/N?” He sounds out of breath, exhausted.

“Jimmy, hey. Do you know where Clyde is? I’m at the trailer, and--”

Something that sounds like a growl rips through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice. 

“Is everything oka--”

“Mellie, I can’t help ya right now! I’ll be there in a second!” He yells in the background. “Sorry Y/N, you were sayin’ somethin’?”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just at the trailer, and I peeked into Clyde’s room...”

“Ya didn’t touch anything, did ya?” His voice is rushed.

You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no, but--”

The growl comes again, louder this time, and it almost sounds like it’s...a voice. A very deep and very animalistic one, but a voice nonetheless. And it was saying something, although you couldn’t really hear clearly enough.

“Jimmy, do you know where Clyde is?” You’re getting a little impatient.

“Don’t worry ‘bout Clyde, he’s okay, he’s, uhh, here with us.”

“Oh, uh, o-okay.”

But tonight was supposed to be your special night together.

“Y/N? Listen real close, now. I need ya to get outta the trailer and go home, right now. Don’t linger, and refrain from touchin’ anything in the trailer. Lock all yer doors n’ close all the windows when ya get back home, okay? ‘N don’t go outside for the rest’a the night.”

Okay, now you’re starting to get fearful. “What--”

“Jimmy!” Mellie’s panicked voice comes through the phone speaker again, this time a bit clearer. He curses under his breath.

Her cries clearly rattled the eldest Logan, and he quickly tells you to just do what he said and then hangs up in a frantic state. 

You’re frozen for a moment, but then you quickly scurry outside to your car, frantically looking around as you scramble to fit the key in the driver’s side door.  By some miracle, you hold your hand steady enough to unlock it, quickly shutting the door and turning on the engine, peeling out of there like a madwoman.

Suddenly, as you go to pull out of the driveway, a strange apparition appears at the edge of the wood across the street. You squint, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Whatever it is, though, it’s panting heavily and looks...inhuman.

It’s standing on two legs, but its large, probably almost seven feet tall if you had to guess, and must’ve had some type of black fur or skin since it almost blends in with the darkened forest.

The reddish light of the moon is the only light that reflects upon this mystery creature, before it seems to notice your car idling in the driveway. The crisp light grey pupils seemingly glimpse into your soul as the creature looks upon you.

Clearly, now, you can decipher what exactly it is, although you’re in utter shock and skeptical to think it real: A werewolf.

You quickly put the car in reverse, slamming down on the gas, flying backwards for a few seconds before colliding with the trailer’s tin wall. Your head slams forward onto the steering wheel, trickles of blood dribble down your forehead and nose as your consciousness is lost.

When you come to, only a few minutes later, you groan as the welt forms on your forehead. You look around, groggily, seeing that your car is in drive but isn’t moving. Surely when you’d passed out, your foot would’ve come off the brake and you would’ve rolled away...

Stepping out carefully, you find that some bricks have been placed in front of all four tires, effectively keeping the car at a dead standstill. 

Who in the world did this?

Then, you turn your head and walk slowly around to the front of your car, seeing the remnants of sharp teeth marks on your bumper. You’re frozen, a lump slowly crawling up your throat as the realization hits. 

A low growl comes from behind you, and your worst fears have suddenly been realized. You slowly, carefully spin around on your heels, afraid that one wrong move may make you tonight’s surprise entree.

Your eyes meet the soul-piercing grey’s of the werewolf, the one you’d seen at the edge of the forest minutes earlier. The one that seemingly saved your life, but...how did a werewolf know what to do?

As you continue to gaze at the large being before you, you’re struck with a sense of familiarity, almost as if you’d met them before. Strange, because you can’t recall ever encountering a werewolf. Hell, you’ve never even seen a wolf before, other than in pictures. Surely you’d remember coming into contact with a seemingly impossible biological phenomenon such as this one.

His presence is scarily comforting, and you find yourself briefly wondering what it’d feel like to be enveloped in his woolen arms. Well, arm, technically speaking. This particular werewolf seems to be missing the lower half of his left paw.

Then, your mind connects the dots, and you’re shocked to your very core. It wasn’t a bear that attacked Clyde’s room, it was Clyde. This werewolf that’s standing before you is Clyde. That’s why Jimmy and Mellie sounded so frantic and breathless on the phone; they must’ve been trying to keep him contained.

But why? Werewolves usually recognize the important people in their human lives...right? That’s why he’d saved you from rolling off...

Your headlights’ reflection was speared by your figure, creating a shadow that covered most of Clyde’s form, except for the very tips of his paws, which had enormous claws emerging from beneath the thick layer of fur.

“Clyde?” You whisper, and he seems to soften for a moment, falling down on all threes.

Just as you swallow the lump in your throat and begin to cautiously approach the creature, hand outstretched to allow him to smell you, his eyes suddenly darken, the once snowy grey now more like the color of storm clouds. 

He snarls, white teeth shining in the moon’s moody crimson-tinted reflection, and you immediately backtrack. Oh god, I’m fucked.

Your bottom collides with the front of your car, the engine thrumming lowly as it idles happily, grille warm from the machine inside. The headlights are now fully shining on the creature, fur shining under the bright lights as he approaches, lines of drool strung between his sharp fangs. 

“C-Clyde, please,” You plead with the creature. “It’s m-me, Y/N, your g-girlfriend. You know m-me, you don’t w-wanna do t-this...”

It doesn’t seem to do much to dissuade him, the animal within now overshadowing the kind, gentle man you know and love. No, this creature is something else. This isn’t your Clyde.

The wolf stops short of the hood, where you’ve crawled up onto and are laying back, raising his nose up in the air, sniffing. You’re perplexed by this action, but it becomes evident when his ear prick and he says, in that same deep, animalistic voice that was in the background of your call with Jimmy, 

“Mate.”

And then, he’s pouncing, trapping your hands above your head with his one arm while his legs scramble to find a good grip on the metallic surface of the car, hips rutting frantically. 

His muzzle dips down, wet nose running along your jawline and neck, teeth scraping dangerously against your thin skin. He quickly settles on a spot behind your ear, growling as his pink tongue darts out to begin lapping at the spot. 

You’re completely still, both physically restrained and unable to bring yourself to even try to move as the creature drags his fangs across the skin behind your ear. Your car is rocking back and forth with his hips’ violent movements, dragging his enormous cock against your lower stomach. 

He pants into your ear, breath hot as he prepares to sink his sharp fangs into your tender skin, marking you as his forever...

“CLYDE!”

Jimmy’s voice pierces through the still of the night. Crickets stop chirping for a moment, and Clyde’s body stills. His head whips around, snarling at his brother.

Mellie’s right behind him, and she peers around him, trying to look at you. “Y/N, are ya alright?”

“YYYeah,” You manage, somehow. “I-I’m o-okay.”

Clyde hops down, all three feet planted on the ground, hackles up as Jimmy takes a step forward. “Mate.”

“She ain’t yer mate.” Jimmy says, calmly. He points to you. “Look at whatcha done to ‘er, Clyde. Would a mate look like that, huh? Look at ‘er, Clyde, she’s all beat up and scared outta her damn mind.”

The wolf visibly stands down, slowly turning his head to look back at you, seeing the scratches on your wrists and the marks on your neck. He sees the bit of wetness on your shirt and shorts, from his slick.

He hangs his head and begins to cry, whimpering and whining as he sprints off, surprisingly agile and quick for a wolf with three paws, across the road and back into the woods.

His blood’s boiling, he’s angry that he couldn’t defend you against Jimmy, mad that his alpha instincts had failed him. Even as a werewolf, one of the most powerful beings in the forest, he was still weaker than and overshadowed by his showboat older brother. 

Loud barks of anger rip through him as he masterfully maneuvers through the forest, weaving through the trees, dodging thorns, leaping over the fallen tree trunks. 

The sky suddenly begins to empty down onto Earth, the cool summer night’s rain a welcomed refreshment on Clyde’s fur. He looks up at the blood moon, huffing softly as he silently curses the orb for bringing this condition to him each full moon, as he did every single moon before this, and will continue to do with every one after.

He reaches his cave a few minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks when he smells smoke coming from inside. He’s on high alert, now, as he moves to peek into the cavern.

There, he finds a lone man sitting by a very small fire, rubbing his hands together over the heat. He’s clad in head-to-toe tree camo with a shotgun laying just out of arms reach.

This man’s scent feels awfully familiar, Clyde thinks, but it takes him a minute to figure out why. And, when he does remember, Clyde is suddenly not so sympathetic for the unwanted visitor in his cave.

The wolf’s mind falls to a certain memory from last night at Duck Tape. This is the jackass that thought he could get away with feelin’ you up. The one that poked plenty ‘a fun at his missing hand. 

Clyde’s still-hard cock presses up against his furry stomach in excitement, tongue licking over his razor-sharp fangs. He couldn’t protect or avenge you last night, again due to Jimmy, but maybe he can now. 

Jimmy ain’t gonna get in my way this time ‘round.

He can’t just come running into the entrance, no, that allows him too much time to grab the gun. He thinks, and thinks, until he remembers the connecting cave that he’d recently found on the last full moon. He bets he can get in there and creep up behind the man, do a sneak attack. 

He’s salivating in anticipation as he bounds down to the opposite side of the cave, paws padding lightly against the soft gravelly dirt floor, trotting along carefully.

The man is none the wiser to the wolf’s presence, and the hum of the loud rain certainly wasn’t hurting. A loud crack of thunder suddenly rips through the forest, vibrating the ground. Clyde freezes briefly as the young man curls up further, chin resting in the gap between his knees. 

Predatory instincts pumping through his veins at an all-time high, he crouches down as he stalks closer and closer to the unsuspecting body by the small fire. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, now right behind the man, moving in slow motion so as to not alert his victim.

When the time is right, just as the next clap of thunder rumbles the rocks, Clyde pounces. He grabs the man’s shirt, dragging him out of the cave with an unprecedented swiftness. The fire is extinguished with the tussle, leaving the cave shrouded in darkness, the shotgun laid abandoned on the ground where he’d put it.

He struggles against the wolf’s grip, fabric ripping violently the further his body’s dragged along. Clyde throws him out onto the forest floor, pawing at the ground like a wild stallion as the disheveled man scrambles to his feet.

His hands are shaky as he holds them up in front of him, as if trying to calm the creature like a domesticated dog.  “E-Easy, easy.”

If he could, Clyde would’ve rolled his eyes at the man’s pathetic attempt to talk down at him. He snarls, watching in amusement at the way he startles and stumbles back. 

Clyde’s got the man backed against the trunk of an old oak within seconds, and he stands up on two legs, glaring at the much smaller figure. He bares his teeth, a wolf’s version of a devilish grin.

“Run.”

It seems like the man is caught in between being shocked that this wolf just spoke English and being chilled to the core by his word. He sputters for a moment, brain smoking as it churns on overdrive, before his legs carry him as quickly as they can down the mountainside. 

The wolf casually trots along after him, in very little rush to catch him. He’s throbbing hard now, the excitement translating into pure arousal. Clyde knows these woods like the back of his hand; there’s no where for this man to hide from his inevitable fate as the wolf-man’s next meal.

His head continuously whips around, meeting the grayish-white orbs tucked behind a thick coat of jet black fur. In a frenzy, he tucks himself behind a large tree, catching his breath.

Twigs snap in seemingly all directions, his breath heavy as his eyes flicker all around the dark, damp wood, the only light coming from the crimson-tinted orb above. He reaches back and wraps his arms around the tree’s trunk, panicked.

A low growl rattles his eardrums and he looks to the side, seeing the black creature right at his side. Clyde’s head snaps to the side, looking directly at his victim.

Crying out in fear, the man leaps forward to make a run for it, but is quickly taken to the dirt by the wolfish creature. The man squirms and screams out for mercy, for God, and Clyde knows what he has to do now.

He quickly sinks his teeth into the back of the mans neck repeatedly, effectively severing the spinal cord, leaving the man completely limp and defenseless. A quick and effective manner of disabling a victim, he’s learned through hunting animals, but keeps him just alive enough to see what’s being done to him. 

Clyde flips the limp form over, now on his back, and his eyes are wide as he watches the wolf above him, black fur now stained red around the mouth, stare down at him with a hungry gaze.

His mouth opens, probably to beg for his life, but it’s too late. Fangs sink through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, just above where his rapidly beating heart lay.

The thump-thump rhythm slows, then stops, the life leaving his body. Sweet copper tang coats the wolf’s tongue as the body is drained of its remaining energy. 

There is little feeling better than watching the life slowly and steadily drain from the eyes of a victim, and suddenly, Clyde’s throbbing arousal has reached an almost unmanageable point.

But, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to devour his freshly-caught prey, especially while it’s still warm. So he digs in immediately, carving further into the hole over the heart he’d already created, ripping out the vital organ.

He holds it triumphantly between his teeth for a moment before setting it aside. His craving is more for the meat, he’s never been much of a fan of organs, so he gets to work separating the good meat from the corpse.

Once he’s done, he lifts his nose in the air, howling loudly. He’s never been this hard before, he swears it, and there’s only one person that can satisfy this urge:

You.

For a wolf on three legs, he reaches your house in record time. He can already feel the wolf-ness fading steadily, the human beginning to peek through the cracks. But, his rut doesn’t give at all, and he bounds up the steps and scratches at your door.

You’re startled by the noise, already a gut feeling you know who it is. When you open the door, Clyde’s wolf figure is sitting politely on your doormat.  Should you let him in?

He pushes past, whimpering as he does so, before you can make a decision. You shut the door slowly before turning around to face the creature. He seems a bit different than when you saw him earlier, seeming a bit more human.

You stand against the door, back pressed up against it, looking down at the wolf in your living room. 

“Y/N.” He breathes, huskily, attempting to ignore the hardness pressing up against his wooly stomach. “N-Need you. Please.”

He’s ashamed as he stands up on his hind legs, wrapping a clawed hand around his oozing cock, jutting his hips out as if to show off for you. The alpha in him needs to show you how suitable of a mate he is, what strong pups he can give you.

“It hhhhurts, b-buttercup.”

The battle going on inside him, animal versus human, is painfully evident on his expression. Your hearts been ripped in half as you watch him struggle with himself, the human trying to overpower the animal, and the animal trying to fight off the human.  He doesn’t even know what he did to you earlier. 

“What do you need from me, Clyde? I’m here to help you, honey, I’ll do whatever you need.”

His eyes widen in surprise, but its quickly replaced by a look of what can only be described as pure, primal hunger.

“Floor. A-All fours.” The wolf-man manages, desperately humping his hand to offer some relief. “G-Get the lube, ffffuuuck, I mmuhhmight hurt ya without it.”

You rush to get the lube, placing the tube next to you as you pull your leggings down, exposing your bare cunt. Clyde watches with an eager anticipation as you spread yourself for him. 

As soon as you’re into position, he practically falls over on top of you, hips rutting uncontrollably as he smoothes lube over his drooling cock and lines up with your entrance. 

“B-Buttercup, I...I’m sssorry ‘bout what’s ggon’ happen. This ain’t me, ppuhpplease remember that, mmkay?”

You nod, tearing up at the pure agony in his voice. “I w-will, Clyde.”

His hips shove forward, a choked howl escaping his lips, balls tightening. You cry out, the burn of your walls stretching to accommodate his girthy length more prominent than usual.

Veins bulge out of his neck, jaw clenched as he begins moving, mercilessly plowing into you from behind. He plants his clawed hand next to yours, loud and desperate scratching noises accompanying the wet squelch of your joined torsos. 

The carpet is shredded, hardwood floor scratched permanently by his feet as he humps you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. This really wasn’t Clyde, but you soon realized that you exactly mind this side of Clyde, this primal instinct, this roughness. It was arousing, bittersweetly so.

When you look over your shoulder at the wooly mass moving behind you, your eyes widen. You didn’t notice the shiny substance from a distance, but now that he’s up close, you see that it coats his snout and has even dripped down onto his breast.

A gripping fear bubbles in your stomach. But then, you rationalize immediately, before you find yourself too deep down in this rabbit hole of worry. He probably just hunted a deer or a rabbit or something. He’s a fucking wolf, remember?

You almost sigh out loud in relief, but you keep it in, instead moaning along with each of his thrusts.

“D-Did ya like muhmmahhmm--ma w-wolf cock?” He asks. 

You nod. “Y-Yeah, ohhh god, I liked it.”

“Gonna gguh-give ya real nice p-pups.” His muzzle rubs over the spot behind your ear, the same one that he’d been after earlier, smearing some of the crimson across your skin. He licks it with as much consistency as possible, considering the speed and intensity of his hips. “F-Fill ya u-up, knot ya gggood ‘n deep.”

You’re almost positive he’s talking pretty much nonsense at this point, his rut brain having completely taken over. You know you’re not gonna cum, but it doesn’t really matter; you’re doing this for him, after all.

“Oh g-god, I’m cummin’, I’m gonna--”

He pauses his hips, howling softly as he cums. But this time, something else begins to swell, and you cry out as it does so. 

“M-Ma k-knot,” Clyde breathes in explanation. “Keeps it a-all inside y-ya.”

You nod, not really knowing what all he’s talking about but not really caring for an explanation right now. 

“‘m gonna h-havta stay inside y-ya fer a lil while. S-Should be ‘b-bout 30 minutes or so.”

His tongue begins moving over your cheeks and neck, something that makes you smile, that helps you remember that your beloved boyfriend’s in there somewhere.

The half hour waiting period passes, and as much as you’ve loved snuggling with your boyfriend (who’s wolf counterpart is relatively cuddly, despite previous reservations), you’re happy to have him off you.

After wishing you a final goodbye, citing the need to ‘clean up his cave a bit’, he trotted back out the door and galloped like a madman (wolf?) back out into the shadowed wood, leaving you alone once more.

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

It’s all over the news when you flip on the TV a couple days later.  Hunter Found Slain in Boone County Woods, Bear Attack Suspected.

You have this awful, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that what happened the other night, when Clyde came to your house still in wolf form with a snout and chest covered in blood, had something to do with this. 

When the picture of the victim came up on the screen, you audibly gasp, recognizing the face. It’s the guy that was feeling you up at a few nights ago at Duck Tape. 

Oh god, no. 

Suddenly, the door flies open, and Clyde’s panting as he rushes in and shuts it behind him. He looks pained, bottom lip trembling. “Have ya s-seen the ne--”

“...Police are still investigating the scene...foul play has not yet been ruled out...”

His entire demeanor falls, and the tears fill his eyes. He’s visibly shaking. You stand up and rush over to him just as he collapses on the floor. 

You’re freaking out, trying to confirm what it is you’re pretty sure you already know.

“C-Clyde, did you...?”

He looks up at you from where his head now rests in your lap. “I c-can’t quite remember, b-but I think...I think I m-might’ve.”

Sobs wrack through his body as he cries hoarsely. You’re in shock, somehow hearing the words makes the reality suddenly hit like a damn semi-truck. You run your hands through Clyde’s slightly matted mane, soothing him as best you can. 

“Clyde, it’s okay, baby. It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You whisper.

“Y-Yeah it i-is, though. I k-killed ‘im.”

You try to stay strong, for Clyde’s sake, but the tears are swelling in your eyes at an uncontrollably fast rate.  “But you d-didn’t do it o-on purpose, h-honey.”

His face seems to drop even more when he sees that you’re about to cry. He sits up shakily, pulling you into a big ol’ bear hug.

“Oh, buttercup, oh god, ‘m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to drag y-ya into all ‘a t-this.”

You sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. It’s hard to believe that this man, this kind, gentle man, could’ve done something like this on purpose. Clyde would never hurt a fly.

From what he’s told you, which granted is very little, the line between werewolf and human for him is quite a blurry one. He seems to only be able to remember parts of what happened, and his subconscious is only there for part of the time.

Which means that he’s technically innocent, since he can’t remember nor could he control his canine impulses or instinct. As far as you’re concerned, werewolf Clyde and human Clyde are two different beings.

“I-If anyone ever f-found out ‘bout ma c-condition...”

You pull away and look up at him, holding his face in your hands. “Clyde, I-I’m not gonna turn y-you in.”

“What?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he’s surprised to hear your words. “Y-Yer not g-gon’...?”

Shaking your head, you swing your leg over his lap, hugging him once more while your face settles into the crook of his neck.

“No, of course not. I know you’re a good p-person, and like I said before, it’s n-not you. Your w-wolf side is not really you, Clyde, at least not entirely.”

Clyde looks down at you with an incredibly grateful expression, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilts your head up with one of his meaty fingers, immediately pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is relatively short, just a showing of his gratitude, of his love for you. When he pulls away, you maintain eye contact.

“Okay, so most of the solid DNA evidence will have been washed away by the rain and tampered with by the elements over the past few days that the body’s been outside. Plus, they aren’t looking for wolf DNA, and even if they somehow knew, your wolf DNA wouldn’t lead to your human identity, at least I don’t think so...”

Hours and hours of watching countless true crime shows, movies, and documentaries are finally paying off.

“But, do you remember leaving anything, anything that could indicate foul play? Really search your memory.”

He puts his metaphorical thinking cap on, closing his eyes as he tries to recall anything of use from that night, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes swell with tears as they blink open and he shakes his head. “I can’t ‘member anythin’.”

“That’s okay, Clyde. They won’t find out, I promise, they won’t.” You kiss his neck. “For now, let’s just try to relax and we’ll keep an eye on the news. Will you come snuggle on the couch with me?”

Clyde smiles softly, nodding as you pull away and stand up, extending a hand to him. He takes it, standing up seconds later.  As you walk into the living room, he says your name, causing you to turn around with a slightly perplexed expression.

“Thank ya.”

You smile brightly. “I love you, Clyde.”

“I love ya, too, darlin’.”

[entityskillcount-archive]

Thoughts on everyone in the realms?

"Short Answer; I made a chart. Not a well drawn chart, mind you, but a chart. Sometimes you don't wanna put effort into drawing 50 something faces"

"Long answer, uh....well lemme go down the list"

Claudette: My Starflower~!! She's so sweet and kind and amazing in trials and every time I see her I swoon a little- I love her so much~ Dwight: He's cute- And he's a good leader, despite his nervous personality, he knows how to bring a group together. Final guy potential. Ash: ....Don't...Tell him I said this? But uh....Evil Dead was one of my biggest comfort series, the thing that got me through losing both my parents....the thing that helped me transition, pick my name, and fueled my FX hobby. And I'm still attached, even realizing he's a real person and all- But...it's weird to just, be upfront with something like that, so I'm just...burying it as best as I can. David: He's a little rough around the edges but he’s good to have in a trial, plus when you can get past the walls, he’s nice to talk to. Kate: Her music by the campfire is calming and she’s such a sweetheart. If we were in a better situation I’d love to learn Guitar from her, but, it’s hard when you’re a moment away from a trial at any given time. Amalthea (@askthewidowstars OC): She judged my entire vibe but jokes on her I’m the one who snagged a cutie for life- Meg: If I had a dollar for every time she left me for dead I would have enough money to paint the entire campfire in solid gold. The only time we’ve ever properly talked was about SAW traps and 90% of it was her admitting she could beat every single trap because she was ‘built different’  Jeff: He’s a sweetheart and really nice to be around. Sometimes when we’re by the campfire in our downtimes I’ll let him draw on my arm. it kinda makes me want a tattoo, honestly. If we ever get out of here, I might get one. Steve: Bros!! We kinda make up team ‘Altruistic Himbo’, Plus the ‘Babysitter/Brother’ Vibes mesh really well. I kinda wanna re-style his hair though, mostly because it looks fluffy, and nice to play with.  Quentin: Bros!! We’re gonna make matching T-Shirts about committing Arson on Freddy in particular. He’s fun to hang around in our downtime, and I hope there’s a chance he can get some actual rest, even in here. He deserves it. Adam: If Dwight wasn’t the leader I feel like he’d take over the Reigns. I feel like he’s the calm type that doesn’t handle energetic types well though. Which, y’know, makes things hard.  Nea: Anytime I see her she’s either sneaking around the map and watching everyone get killed, or doing something stupid to get herself killed. I’d get grey hair if We were actually friends.  Feng: Gamer bros- I got to find out we actually played a lotta the same stuff before we were taken by the Entity. We get a chance to nerd out in between trials- Laurie: Best Final Girl hands down. I kinda hope she can teach me Decisive Strike one day- I feel like its also just a little awkward since again, still a fan of Myers Nancy: She doesn’t agree that Demo’s a good boy, which makes sense, but we but heads over it. Also I’m pretty sure she wants me dead for touching the bones around the map one too many times. They’re just too tempting.... Jake: He’s pretty quiet, but he’s helpful in trials. I heard he’s been to a convention a few times, but I don’t think he’s actually into it as much as I thought...Which kinda sucks. I’d love more cosplay buddies y’know? Yui: Kinda makes me want a motorbike. We don’t talk but she seems really cool. A little too cool to me around if that makes sense.  Yun-Jin: She benefits off of throwing everyone else under the bus. And 90% of the time she will throw everyone under the bus. Even if she needs actual help to escape the trial.  Cheryl: Cheryylll!!  She’s really cool and honestly would add her to the ‘Can kill god if she was not nerfed’ Squad. Especially since y’know, she has- I bet if we got enough of the kids together we could just beat the Entity’s ass. I know she could.  Tapp: Always been a fan of Tapp before I was taken, although I feel like he’d wanna arrest me if we weren’t in the Entity’s Realm. I might be a little too excited for my own good about Kramer’s work. I don’t think he’d believe the fact its a movie either.  Ace: He’s kinda like the Uncle of the group around the campfire, but, coming into trials, He’s still for saving his own skin- You can also only stand dad jokes for so long. Especially in an eternity like this.  Leon: He’s cool!!! I got so excited first realizing He and Jill were here, and I wanna get a chance to talk to him about everything that went down, but Haven’t got the chance. He’s nice inside of Trials though, usually doesn’t leave anyone behind. Not a fan of getting blinded though.  Jill: She knows how to lead the trials well, and I look up to her a lot. She’s always been such a badass!!  Bill: If Bill gets his hands on a weapon the entire Realm would be fucked. Badass as hell and Kinda scary. Another one on the list of ‘Entity needed to Nerf’ Felix: You’d think a Childless Father and a Fatherless son would be able to bond a bit more, but, I think we each kinda get the same vibe of homesickness from one another. He’s kind though, and it’s neat to see his work whenever we’re by the campfire.  Elodie: She’s better at helping out than most of the others, but she’s still in a survival of the fittest mindset. I loved hearing about her studies from before she was taken though. I feel like if we had more time we could dig deeper into this whole world and what its about. But we don’t get that- Zarina: We just don’t really click as much, honestly. I’d love to get to know her better but I think she’s more into digging into the killers and what she can find out about this place. Which y’know, could be better done with a team. Sage (@askthewidowstars OC): HUSBAND!!! My husband. I love him to the Moon and back. He’s amazing and I miss him even when we’re five feet apart-  ...I need a hug now-  Amanda: Best girl hands down!! We vibed a lot in between Trials talking about her traps and old designs, she was impressed by my knowledge, and we hang out in Gideon sometimes!   Ghostface: He’s pretty cute- Also fun to be around, even if he’s kind of a dick when he’s actually at work, it’s better when you’re outside of a Trial. It’s also neat to see he’s not just two idiots in a halloween costume and his own person, as much as I love the Scream Series, too-  Leatherface: Bubba!!! Honestly I’d handle being chainsawed. Fuckin Love Bubba-  Huntress: I wanna learn how to throw hatchets but I know I never will. She’s kinda scary, but also I feel like if she could adopt some of the others in the Realms, she totally would.  Oni: The only times I’ve ever really seen him is just before my skull gets bashed in. All I really have associated to him is the splitting headache.  Twins: I’m gonna punt Victor into the sun. I haven’t been good around kids beforehand and this tiny gremlin motherfucker just makes it worse.  Pinhead: I was so excited to see him!! He’s one of the few that talks more often than not in a trial, and he’s always had this air of elegance about him which makes it so much cooler! I’d be tempted to grab the box to solve it, but, at the same time Dwight’s already been hunted. I just...want to see how it works, really. Maybe if I ask nicely? Nah, probably not.  Pyramid Head: He’s so fucking COOL!!! He’s always just been really fucking cool and I still get stars in my eyes. I wanna re-create his weapon one day.  Joey: Joey’s one of the chill killers to be around, probably my favorite amongst the legion. Also Cosplay gang?? Hello? Susie: She’s cute!! I like her vibes whenever there’s not violence involved. I wonder if she’d ever get into costume making, she has the artistic eye for it. I also wonder if she’d ever dye other people’s hair...I’d kinda want green tips one day- Frank: Still wanna throw a palette at him. He’s one of the more serious of the Legion, and usually the one you’d find with a Mori. Not as Serious as Julie but only because he has the cocky god complex to go with it.  Julie:  She’s definitely the most serious out of the Legion. There’s no real rest whenever we’re in a trial against her. Scary as hell and less of a bastard than the other three.  Hillbilly: I know he deserved a lot better than this, especially after hearing more about him. I...Haven’t gotten to see much than the end of his chainsaw though.  Blight: This dude’s singlehandedly bringing back my fear of needles and I thought I lost that with HRT- Also like, dude spits up orange fuckin everywhere.  Michael: My Mans!! I always get a little excited knowing we’re up against him. It’s habit- It’s kinda weird to see him easily affected by like, palettes or flashlights though.  Spirit: She seems like she could be nice when there’s some downtime. I’m also one of the few that can understand her well enough, which probably makes things easier. I found out she’s basically my age when I survived a trial by myself. I’d hope to hang out more sometime. Nemesis: God he’s so fucking tall. Kinda surprised it was Nemesis out of everyone that could’ve been brought, and also, kinda terrified? Still am kinda terrified. I’m surprised he hasn’t just torn up an entire map yet. His zombie minions are also annoying. Wraith: All this motherfucker does is roll up to pull me off Gens and Exist as a problem. I don’t see much of him outside of a Trial. Trapper: Motherfucker Incarnate. If the Entity lets us throw hands I’m fighting him first.  Freddy: ....Gross. I liked the Nightmare on Elm Street series a lot, but...Freddy as a person? Ew. Especially this iteration.  Demogorgon: Demopuppy!! He’s a good boy and he deserves to get treats. Even if the Treats are flesh....I wonder if he likes candy though. Trickster: Pretty!! He also Gives me DIO vibes because of the Jacket and the Knife throwing...Imagine if a killer could stop time...that’d be terrifying. Deathslinger: I wanna sit down and look at his gun more but I also feel like if I ask I’d just get shot on sight. Intimidating as hell but also cool. Mary: ....Still on the very complicated ‘Ex Girlfriend that murdered me’ State. It’s hard to avoid her though. Especially since she wants to get back together since we’re stuck here. Nurse: She does not help my fear of Hospitals, honestly. While she’s easy to go up against, it’s still eugh. Plague: I really, really hate her power. The Sickness and the Vomit is just- Eughhhhh- It just hits every bad sensory issue at once.  Clown: ...I get killers are Killers and aren’t supposed to be good people but also like....Disgusting. Please Remove from the Realm. He’s just- ...Ew.  Doctor: NOPE. NO. NEVER. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

Ohh maybe 1, 2, 3, and 28? 👀

*takes a sip from my can of soda* Ahhh~! Caffeine for the soul~ >:3

But you know what's better for the soul? Questions! Curiosity! RAMBLING ABOUT CHILDREN! >:D Let's GOOOO!

1. What would your Warden generally think of your Hawke and your inquisitor?

Rylen: 

Now, I kind of see Elise eventually meeting or at least, reaching out to Rylen after the events in Kirkwall. After all, she’s an Amell, and so is Hawke. They’re literally the only family each other has (that’s not ‘found’ family, that is.). So, I think Elise would reach out through a letter or somehow manage a visit to her cousin and...connect. She would see him as inspiring; Rylen always manages a smile and a quip. However, if they were to spend more and more time interacting with each other, Elise would see that Hawke isn’t very well put together, especially after the Chantry explosion. She would question why Rylen chose the templars, why he executed Anders who was a like a brother to her, but eventually she would come to understand the whys. Elise would see it as no different as when she decided to spare Loghain at the Landsmeet; they did what they believed to be right and what would be best in that very moment. Both Rylen and Elise sacrificed their own happiness for the benefit of others, and were still blamed for future complications and there’s something comforting in a finding another who can relate. :3

Fane:

So, I actually have some later fic ideas for a confrontation between Elise and Fane (after Trespasser, kind of Pre-DA4 shenanas~), and suffice it to say, these two have similar ways of thinking, but their methods are entirely different. Fane is rash, prone to barreling head first into conflict without thinking about those around him. Elise is analytical, always assessing and placing the pieces in her head to make sure everyone comes out alive. This isn’t to say Fane doesn’t care about his comrades; he does. There’s countless, countless times he takes a blow for someone else without batting an eye or thinking that he could die. He just doesn’t plan; he acts. Fane can get lost in the moment of battle, in the heady scent of chaos and blood. Elise, at first meeting him, would see him as any typical warrior; eager for battle and a garden of death. But if they were to sit down and talk...I think she might find him endearing and fascinating. More or less she would think, ‘He’s so mature for someone so young. I mean, he’s twenty-four, but...he speaks as if he’s older. His speech is manicured, measured as if decided upon carefully. And his eyes...there’s pain, a deep, deep pain. Like some of the older Wardens, those just hearing the Calling. But also...hope? Conviction? Who are you, Inquisitor? What has the world done to you?’

2. What would your Hawke generally think of your warden and your Inquisitor?

Elise:

Rylen would probably have the same opinion of Elise as she does with him. They’re family, split apart due the misconceptions and fear, and my Hawke cherishes family. He lost everyone else he could rightly consider family. Fenris, Varric, Sebastian, Isabela, and Merrill are the only people he can call family now. (Anders and Aveline are complicated. I won’t go into that can of worms. For now~ >:3) He would definitely feel a level of guilt for what he had to do in Kirkwall with Anders, with the mages, with...everything, but Rylen just tries to make it through another day. If he and Elise started to interact I think it would be extremely beneficial to Rylen. Elise is patient, sometimes stern, and not afraid to lay all the facts out. Rylen would admire that since he’s had to go through life wearing a mask, a smile, a facade just to placate someone else. He would see Elise as another sister and his opinion of her would probably be along the lines of, ‘I won’t let another member of my family be torn from me. Father, Bethany, Carver...Mother.. I failed them. I won’t fail her. I won’t fail her. She’s bright and she keeps her head held high. Heh, now I see how she killed an Archdemon and lived to tell the tale. ...Bet the lightning has something to do with that, too.’

Fane: 

Rylen and Fane, in my head, actually hit it off from the get go. They’ve both had to take mantles of power, even though they never, never wanted to. Though, for different reasons, of course. But Rylen would find Fane inspiring and wholly capable of doing what must be done. He’d be kind of put off that most of his well thought out jokes and pokes would fall flat on Fane, but eventually, Rylen would see why that is. (Draconic nature withstanding.) Also, once my Hawke found out Fane is dragon?  OHHHH, BUDDY. There would be yelling and screeching and cries of, ‘WHY DO I KEEP MEETING DRAGONS, FENRIS?! FIRST THE WITCH, NOW THE INQUISITOR?! ..I’m done. I’m putting my daggers down and stealing away into the mountains. Varric, you wanna come with? I know you’re fed up with this shit, too! Don’t lie! DON’T. LIE.’

3. What would your Inquisitor generally think of your warden and your Hawke?

Elise:

Fane would probably think of Elise as...interesting. Not in a bad way. Just...interesting. Fane isn’t comfortable with Wardens after Adamant. He learns that he can hear the corruption inside of them and that terrifies him. And confuses him. And makes him go, ‘What the fuck am I? I don’t even know anymore. Why do I try?’ But, if he were to get over that and, like I said with Elise, talk? He would have another perspective of the men and women that had let fear take them by the throat. It wouldn’t change his feelings regarding the Wardens entirely, but one level mind, one open mind, is enough to make Fane tap into his nature and consider other sides of a very, very large cube.

‘She’s more...quiet than the others. Maybe because it’s just her? No...Loghain was still loud as fuck when it was just him, so why? Ugh, I’m so sick of these puzzles. At least she’s more stable, but I can see the pain in her eyes; green like mine, but missing the gold. Maybe the Taint is stronger than she thinks? Perhaps, but still she fights, still she claws her way towards something that may be impossible. ...Hmph. How typical. A similarity. This world continues to confound.’

Rylen:

Fane respects Rylen after spending some time to feel him out, know his cues, and piece together which is his actual face. Once that happens, Fane can move into respect with my Hawke. These two have a fairly similar moral compass; pragmatism regarding most decisions. Again, they both have been thrust into a position without asking for it, so that would be a stepping stone upon the bonding path. All in all, Fane’s general opinion of Rylen would be, ‘He’s worn that mask of smiles and bright, grey eyes for too long. It’s cracking at the edges, wearing down to mere mortar. Then again, I have my own mask. I’m in no position to judge and condemn, but...it’s worrying. Even the strongest wings can be torn and all that greets is the earth below. I hope your wings don’t falter, Champion. It would be disappointing for the world to lose someone who cares when those who should are content to point the finger towards anyone but themselves.’

28. What is their favourite location within their own game and what would be their favourite in each others?

Fane: The Emprise du Lion! Snowwwww! Coooold! Ice dragooooon! >:3 ...minus the red lyrium. *snorts* 

Origins: Hmm, I think Fane would like the Brecilian Forest. He enjoys forests as much as he enjoys the cold, the ice, and the snow. He likes the animals, even though he tries not to interfere with them, and he likes the quiet. No chattering, no demands. Only trees, leaves, and the occasional whistle of wind. Also, Fane likes to investigate ancient ruins. He’s not interested in the history, really. He just wants to see if he can find any remnants about his kin that the elves may have left behind. :3

DA2: Probably Sundermount since again, wilderness. Fane doesn’t do too well in crowded areas and Kirkwall would make his heart rate sky rocket. Not just because of the people, but because of the size. Those cramped streets of Lowtown would just make him...eugh. *shivers*

Elise: She adores Orzammar! Especially the Shaperate! The dwarves fascinate Elise since not many tomes in the Circle went into depth about them! :D And if we want to with Awakening areas, I would saaaay...Amaranthine. She’s always like towns and cities due to not being able to experience them until the Blight! :3

Inquisition: Elise would adore the Frostback Basin. Like, really enjoy it! All that flora and Avaar culture and wilderness? MMMM!

DA2: Definitely the Wounded Coast. Hands down. My daughter enjoys the sea so much. The salt in the air, the feel of sand, and the pretty, pretty shells and rolling waves? Every Circle mages’ wet dream. *waggles eyebrows*

Rylen: So, if we’re not talking like open world areas in the game, I would definitely say Rylen’s favorite place is the Hanged Man. The man needs a drink to deal with Kirkwall. Just saying. It’s also where he can just...be himself with the people who know him. 

Inquisition: Hinterlands. He’s a FERELDAN. He wants his MABARI to RUN in native land! He wants to...go home. ;3;

Origins: I like to think the Hawke family went all over Ferelden before settling in Lothering. I mean, they kind of do, but maybe for more than a few months at a time? So, Rylen would enjoy Denerim. He likes to go where people are, where life is. He likes crowds because he can blend into them and not be tracked down until he wants to be tracked down. ...My Hawke just wants to live in peace with his glowy elf husband and run a mabari ranch. Is that too much to ask, Bioware?! Let Hawke REST!

Woo! That was FUN! It really got me thinking, too! X3 Thank you so much, friend! <3

[cassieschaosdimension]

Okay! Here it is the fanfic some of you have been requesting!

Enjoy it!

"Nico!" Will called to his boyfriend. "Put that sweater on right now! You know you want to!" He starts running after Nico with said sweater in hand. He knows his boyfriend wants to wear it, but the goth message is too strong.

Nico is being chased all over their apartment in New Rome by his overly energetic boyfriend who wants to match for their first Christmas on their own. He would have put the sweater on by himself, but it was too ugly to be seen on anyone. Even Hephaestus and the guy was ugly!

Will stopped all of a sudden and stared at the sweater in his hand. "Nico, it's not that bad! Please wear it! For me!"

Oh no Nico thought as he watched his boyfriend turn on that Southern charm and the puppy dog eyes. He tried to look away, but found he couldn't because Will was advancing slowly towards him.

"William," Nico says slowly edging towards the front door of their one bedroom apartment. "Be reasonable, would you want your dad, the fashion guru of Greek mythology to see me in that?!" The horror is present in his tone. "First off, I would not wear it and you know I would wear almost anything to please you. I draw the line at that thing!"

This gives Will a pause as he considers the question. He stares at the jingle bells stripes and Christmas tree underneath them. The green and gold don't work out and the red of the presents aren't helping the poor sweater's case. He thinks back to the time his dad yelled at him for wearing sandals with socks because he was in a rush after being late for cabin clean up duty. He shudders. He does not want a repeat of his over dramatic father flapping his arms while lecturing him on fashion choices.

Will sighs. "Alright Nico. You win this one. My dad's fashion lectures aren't for the faint of heart and I've had enough of them to last a lifetime. But please dress in green or red okay? You would look really good in emerald green." He starts walking to their room.

Nico grins to himself. He's won this round with his mad reasoning skills. Then again, he almost always wins his arguments with Will. Decades in the Lotus Casino arguing over games will do that to you. Then he registers what his boyfriend requested of him.

He starts to run after Will. "Will! I don't have emerald clothing! I have brown, black, and grey! What are you talking about?! William! Get over here!"

Will cackles to himself while going through their closet. He bought his boyfriend colored clothes for occasions with his father and Nico looks delicious in cool, dark times so that's what he bought. He was lucky he hid them on his side of the closet. He turns to see his boyfriend glaring at him.

Nico stares at his poor boyfriend he only knows wants to help him make an impression on Hades. It was only supposed to be the two of them and Hades and Persephone, but of course Apollo had to invite himself. Rolling his eyes at the memory he turns back to Will with his hands on his hips glare still in full force.

With a pleading look on his face, Will is desperate. They're running late and he doesn't want to leave the three gods alone more than they have to be. "Nico," cue the sigh. "We're already running late and I don't want to find a war going on with your stepmom in the middle. She's scary."

"Will… Fine!" Nico says throwing his hands up and walking to grab the shirt from his boyfriend who is now grinning broadly. He walks to the bathroom and changes into the shirt grumbling about Will and if he didn't live him he wouldn't do this.

Meanwhile Will is getting dressed in a dark maroon, fluffly long sleeve sweater and dark blue jeans with black vans. When Nico comes back from the bathroom his heart stops.

His boyfriend stands slightly slouched, uncomfortable with the attention. The emerald shirt sets off his long lashes, dark eyes, and raven hair perfectly. Will wants to swoon, but they have business to attend to.

"Good you're ready to go. Hades confirmed he's ready for us?" Will says coming next to Nico.

In response Nico nods and they head out the door. "Just so you know," Nico says with an undertone. "I'm only wearing this shirt and making nice with your dad because your mom loves me so now I need to win over your dad."

Will doesn't tell Nico his dad was won over the minute Nicon said hello, I'm only here because Will made me. Maybe he might actually behave. One can hope.

They head to the car deep in each of their thoughts. Nico is worried how long his dad is going to last in Apollo's presence. Will is worried how long Hades can stand to be in his dad's presence because Apollo is overbearing.

They have agreed to meet in the Underworld and Zeus has given Apollo permission to head down there to celebrate with them. As Will starts to drive south, the air in the car turns warmer. They banter and whine about the music choice. Nico wants Green Day and Will wants to listen to Blake Shelton.

They left around eleven in the morning on Christmas Day and it takes them about seven hours to get to Hollywood because of traffic in the LA area. They park the car and walk behind the Hollywood sign, Will grabbing Nico's leather jacket in the way behind the sign because even with a sweater on the Underworld is a child, unforgiving place. There Will grabs onto Nico and they shadow travel down to Hades' living room.

Nico wonders why they couldn't shadow travel in the first place and why Will insisted they drive when they walk in and he immediately knows why.

Persephone is standing by the wall her hands over her head while her husband and cousin are going at it.

"This is my domain Apollo you do not have the authority to say what's going to be served for dinner. I can do that on my own."

"But Uncle, you're serving turkey! It's supposed to be ham! Most mortals use ham!" Turning to his son he implores him. "Will tell Hades most mortals use ham for their Christmas dinner!"

Will is torn between getting the approval of his boyfriend's father and his dad. He ultimately goes for the one that will save his life. "Dad, many mortals celebrate Christmas differently or not at all. If Nico's dad wants to serve turkey then let him serve turkey! We are here as his guests and I expect you to behave!"

Apollo looks torn but nods and says "Will, I know you want to make a good impression on Uncle over there, but I am your father!"

"No dad. Mom raised me to have manners and her manners have taught me to accept all food unless I am allergic to it and I have no food allergies. Now sit down and we can eat." Will turns to Lord Hades. "Please excuse my father Lord Hades. I had a talk about this with him earlier, but it seems to have not rectified in his brain."

Hades nods and strides over to Nico. "Nico. Thank you for coming. I am starting to warm up to the boy, but I still need time."

Nico sighs his left hand clenching in a fist involuntarily. "Father you have been given years to accept Will. And it seems you have, but you don't want me to know. Father, the spirits talk."

Hades looks shocked and now angry. "Now listen here Nico. I may have approved of him, but he must be worthy of Maria DiAngelo's child. Bianca wishes she were here, but she is having fun in the fields of Elysium."

Meanwhile Will and Apollo are having their own discussion.

"But Will, Uncle said he didn't mind me coming!"

"Dad, you invited yourself here, remember? I know what mom saw in you, but really. Your manners need brushing up. For real. Just because Lord Hades is your uncle doesn't mean you can barge into his domain even with Lord Hades permission." Will feels like a dad reprimanding a child.

"William," Apollo strikes a pose. "I am the god of music and medicine. This is a celebration with my son and son in law. I had to come." He dramatically sighs and heads to the table. "Come now Will, let's stuff our faces!

As Will follows his dad he wonders who exactly the child is. He looks over at his boyfriend and his dad. They look like they're still having a heated discussion. Luckily for Will he has Nico's jacket so the chill in the air isn't as bad as it could have been. Nico hasn't noticed the jacket is gone until he brings his hands up to tig it around himself and it's gone. Looking up he mock scowls at Will.

Nico walks up to his boyfriend with an air of I don't care. They both know he cares very much. "Will, give me my jacket."

In response Will sticks out his tongue and says no. This results in a banter fight much like the one back at the apartment.

Will doesn't want to give the jacket back because it's warm and he's freezing. Nico says he can get him another one of Nico's leather jackets. But Will isn't having it. He knows this is Nico's favorite jacket hence why it was in the car, he takes that thing everywhere he goes. He wants to wear his boyfriend's favorite jacket. His boyfriend wants to wear his favorite jacket. The two of them are so engrossed in their argument they don't see the three adults smiling at them.

Persephone was reminded of how she first felt arguing with Hades over the fact she was kidnapped against her will by a much older man. She was intimidated by this man yet she felt some sort of weird connection to him. She pitied him because he was older and lonely down here with no one but Cerberus to keep him company. Eventually she came to care for this man unlike her stepson and his boyfriend who genuinely seem to get along even when arguing.

She goes over to break it up. "Boys, you can have this argument later. Nico, let Will keep the jacket, you can feel him shivering. I'll go turn up the fire. Will dear, come sit and stuff your face as your impatient father has been doing for the past half hour.

At this Apollo looks up turkey gravy dripping from his mouth. They all sigh and hope this is over soon. The dinner drags on and on and suddenly Hades can't take it anymore. While the rest of the group has polite conversation, Apollo finds it necessary to butt in and make it funny when it's not.

Normally Will accepts this behavior with grace, but not on Christmas and not when he is trying to get approval from his boyfriend's father who happens to be Lord of the Dead.

"Hey Dad," Will says from across the table where he has watched his dad pack away most of the food on the table. "I don't appreciate this and maybe I'll tell mom about this little gathering and how your Southern manners disappeared." He raises an eyebrow and Apollo's response is hilarious.

He sits up straight and acts like a Southern gentleman the rest of the time. Will signs in exasperation and turns to Nico and Lord Hades.

"Lord Hades, please forgive my father for his behavior," here he pauses while throwing side glances at his father.

Hades waves his hand in a gesture of peace. "Please boy. This is almost tame for my nephew. Did you enjoy your meal?"

Turning to Nico for reassurance Will answer carefully. "Yes Lord Hades. The good was quite delicious. Thank you for inviting us over for dinner."

"You are welcome boy," Hades says turning to his son. "Now, let's get the gift giving over with so my nephew can go home." The two snicker together and Will tries not to join in. It's impossible though as Persephone is talking to Apollo utterly bemused while he sprouts haikus about the meal.

"Father, here is my gift to you," Nico's voice carries as he hands a gift to Lord Hades.

"Thank you son. I appreciate it." His voice also carries. Apollo is beginning to quiet down and not be so energetic. Now he begins to get downright cocky. He's no longer dramatic.

He heads to their end of the table near the tree Persephone insisted on having. "Ahhhh presents. I remember when I was youn-" Apollo is cut off when Nico hands him a gift.

They're all speechless and Will stares at Nico in shock. Looking around at all of them he asks "what? I can give gifts."

A shocked silence falls over the room when Will throws himself in Nico's arms. He whispers in his boyfriend's ear. "He didn't expect to get one from you Nico. Look, you made him cry. " They look over still wrapped in each other's arms. Apollo is in fact hugging the gift while grinning with happy tears running down his face.

The look on Will's face says it all. Nico grins as he watches his boyfriend watch his dad open the gift. Suddenly Apollo is rushing towards Nico and grabs him in a hug. Stiffening Nico is confused but then reaches around the god and hugs him back.

Hades looks on with pride at his son who with Will Solanc's aid will grow to be a fine young man. He already was, but since he met Will he had grown in leaps and bounds in height and personality. He was proud of his boy.

Will is beaming with pride at the fact his boyfriend was thoughtful enough to get his dad a gift. To their surprise Apollo hands a gift right back to Nico.

The night is just full of surprises and after the gift giving and opening, Will and Nico start to clean up to head out. They had fun despite the rocky start and by the end of the night Hades had laughed out loud more times than Apollo can remember and Apollo hadn't felt the need to be cocky or arrogant. He was the man Will's mom must have fallen in love with.

As Nico and Will get up to leave Apollo hugs each of them, but Nico's is especially long. He whispers thank you for everything in his ear. Nico is absolutely shocked. He didn't think Apollo knew the words thank you. But here he was a mere demigod getting thanked by a god! Wow, Will's dad is full of surprises…

Apollo then goes over and hugs Hades and Persephone. He really is full of surprises today. He goes and leaves. In his wake four very confused people discuss what happened.

Hades wants to know how his nephew behaved all nice and sweet. He almost didn't recognize him! Persephone told him it was because he realized he could be himself and not have to put an image up.

Nico says he doesn't know which Apollo he finds most sickening, earning him a slap on the back of the head from Will.

They discuss it more and the four grow closer. The Christmas dinner really was a success even with Apollo there. Nico hugs his father and stepmother then gathers up their gifts. Will goes up to Hades and shakes his hand thanking him for inviting them. Persephone hugs Will saying he must come back soon when Nico next visits them.

Soon the two fade into shadows with the two immortals waving after them. Will takes off the jacket and puts it back in the backseat of the car with a grin.

"Well Neeks, I'd say it was a success though I was worried for a second." Will says getting into the driver's seat.

"Me too Will. Your dad actually seems like a really nice guy. I bet it gets tiring putting up a facade all the time," Nico responds through a yawn. "Will, don't drive all the way home. Stop at a hotel okay?"

Nodding Will turns the ignition and starts to drive. They talk about the dinner and how different it turned out from what they expected. Then they start to banter tearing each other with how they expected the night to end up.

"Neeks, you look really good in emerald holy Hera!" Will glances over at his tired boyfriend who is drifting off.

"Will, don't even start you look amazing in my leather jacket. Maybe I'll let you wear it more often." Smiling to himself Nico thinks he'll let only Will wear his leather jacket now. They can share it. His last words before he falls asleep are: "I love you William so pull into a hotel and we'll spend the night there. You're not driving all the way home this late."

Nico's soft snores fill the car and Will can't help but think he and Nico are made for each other. They complement one another perfectly and he thinks back on all the memories they've made together since they got together all those years ago.

Seeing a vacancy sign at a motel he pulls into the parking lot. He leaves Nico snoring away while he goes and asks for a room. Coming back out he rouses Nico and tells him he can sleep in a real bed.

Half asleep Nico leans on his boyfriend for support. The night turned out better than he could ever expected. Maybe next year they could shadow travel or even stay the night.

As Will supports his boyfriend while walking to the room he thinks of how grateful he is to Apollo for catching the eye of his mother so he could he born and also Lord Hades because he made Nico come into existence.

Opening the door, Will walks over to the bed placing the dozing Nico on it. After giving him a forehead kiss he goes to the other side of the bed. "Love you too Neeks."

Both Nico and Will dream about the wonderful Christmas dinner they just had and wonder what will happen next year.

And that's a wrap (lol) on they fanfic! I hope you guys like it! Please let me know what you think of it!

[shaheenarnitipsyart]

The harper from the past

This is the first time joining this  @flashfictionfridayofficial ! English is my second language and I’m so inexperinced in writing but hope it makes sense. The story is set in the dark-ages like world (the very end of Roman-Britain kind of era). And sorry it went over 1000 words! 

Word Count 1086

TW/ non

Three kids were walking in the meadow. Although the spring had already touched the trees and fields, the chilly wind from the winter was still hanging in the air. Rosula, the eldest of three, tagged her coat tightly and looked back. 'Sulio, Luci, hurry up!' we gotta through the woods over there before the sunset!' Sulio, a year younger than Rosula, replied angrily. 'That's why I said it is a bad idea to use a 'shortcut' in this strange land!' 'What!?' Rosula shouted back, without turning her face towards him. 'You are the one who wandered off when we arrived in the city!' 'It's because I heard the battle of Mount Badon! I heard that our warlord is looking for warriors!' Sulio protested. 'As if you are good enough for the real battlefield! Look what you have gotten us into!' Rosula snorted. She was skilled in the art of the sword and Sulio was always envious. Her attitude made him furious. 'I'll choose what I'm gonna do with my life! Go wherever you like, you coward-heart!' He shouted back to her.

A couple of hours earlier, they were in the middle of the crowd making their way to the city which had slightly better city walls. Their neighboring towns were raided by so-called 'Sea People', forcing their family to join the uncertain journey towards the safe place, which was supposed to exist somewhere on this war-torn island. They finally managed to reach the city, only to find out that it was overwhelmed by other refugees like themselves. Sulio heard the rumour about the gathering of the war host. He couldn't help himself but followed them but he got lost. Rosula and tiny Luci, who miraculously followed her, found him in the end, but they couldn't find the rest of the family. They spent 3 days searching for them but concluded that the rest of the family had already left for the next well-fortified city. 

They left the city quite early in the morning, but now the sun was getting close to the edge of the woods. The meadow could have been quite pleasant as the field was filled with the fragrance of newly sprouted grass. The sky was turning from pale, almost transparent blue to gold, then purple, dyeing the clouds pinkish-orange. Yet, Rosula and Sulio's minds were occupied with soon-coming darkness and frustration. Had it not been for Luci, they would have parted the way already. 'Look, what's that?' Luci finally caught up with the elder siblings, pointed out a huge stone standing ahead of them. 'It's a border stone, marking the border between the regions or maybe something sacred space... I think. It must be very old though' Sulio said. 'Our old aunt once said... if we see something like this, we should respect that, right?' Gently touching the stone, Luci said. His tiny fingers traced some curvings almost completely covered with moss and dust. Usually, Rosula and Sulio would just shrug. But they sensed something extraordinary. Maybe because of the blue shadow slowly wrapping the field. Or maybe because of the vivid orange light, the very last beam from the sun, burning on the surface of the stone. They solemnly touched the stone as their ancestors had done, and enter the new realm, although nothing seemed different.

They pushed on in the dark, and they found remains of the ancient fort of the legions. 'Seems like we gotta spend the night here' Rosula sighed and started picking up some dried grass. 'And Solio, if you wanna choose your way, do as you wish tomorrow. You can go back to the town. It's not too late.' Sulio nodded silently. They made a fire. 'Luci, you can choose whichever path. I know you are a clever one. I'll give you my blessings wherever you go.' Sulio murmured. Luci looked at their stern faces over the humble fire. Luci was a calm child and looked like daydreaming, but he could hear any subtle movements. Actually, it was Luci who found Sulio first. The wind was getting stronger and nearly blew away the fire. It sounded like hundreds of hooves approaching from the distance. Three kids shivered, not only because of the evening chill. They were remembering the story of the Wild Hunt - a troop of ghost cavalry.   Suddenly, Luci heard someone was coming in the roaring wind. Rosula looked at tensed Luci, then put her hands on the hilt of her sword. Sulio followed, although his hand was subtly shaking. 'Who's there?' Rosula asked sharply. There was a tall figure in the shadow. 'Sorry for the intrusions, but could you please let me stay here as I lost my way?' A calm old voice came from the shadow. 'Reveal yourself, stranger.' Sulio said harshly. The person stepped out from the shadow. A rough-looking old man with shaggy hair in a ragged mantle appeared. Three kids suddenly felt sorry for him. 'Come close to the fire, sir.' Luci whispered, and Rosula and Sulio nodded. The man slowly smiled and bowed, then stepped towards the fire. 'Where are you going, may I ask?' The stranger asked as he putting something wrapped in worn-out red cloths on the ground. They looked at each other uncomfortably. Before they opened their mouth, the man pulled out an old harp from the red cloths. 'Are you a harper?' Three of them said at the same time. 'Yes indeed I am, and I'd like to offer you some songs in return for your warm fire.'   He adjusted the strings and smiled. Three kids held their breath and came a little bit closer so that they could catch every single note.

  'The sons of the horse goddess The proud eagles, The warriors fearless, Disperse the evils We, stronger together Marching through the land pathless'

As he sang, he looked younger and younger. His glass-like grey eyes shone like a torch. The kids were listening to the songs and didn't notice the roaring wind had ceased. The harper, now looked like just a little older than Rosula, gently said. 'Now, children, sleep. And remember, we are stronger together. Don't split up as the land here is treachery. Blessings, my dear fellows.' Then he whispered to himself. 'Now my troop had gone, I must retreat to my old world...'

The first ray of the sun woke them up. There was no trace of the harper. The anger and uncertainty they felt had melted away, and they looked at the dawn. The new day was coming.

Thanks to my talented friend and the regular of FFF, @clad-in-sunshine for recommended me to join this interesting prompt! 

[thetravelerwrites]

Geyarajan (Gandharva)

Rating: Teen Relationship: Female Human/Male Gandharva Additional Tags: Exophilia, Gandharva, Childhood Sweethearts, Puppy Love Content Warnings: Blood, Broken Limb, Separation, Memory lapse Words: 4600

A commission for @floral-and-fine​, who did the lovely artwork above of Geyarajan! An angsty story about childhood love that gets torn apart by family, race, and circumstance! Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

In Hinduism, the Gandharvas are male nature spirits and husbands of the Apsaras, the spirits of clouds and air. Some are part animal, usually a bird or horse. They have superb musical skills; they guard the Soma and make beautiful music for the gods in their palaces. Gandharvas are frequently depicted as singers in the court of the gods.

Gandharvas in the historic sense acted as messengers between the gods and humans; today they are depicted as imitators, cheaters, liars and those who have tricked themselves 'into being god'. In Hindu law, a gandharva marriage is one contracted by mutual consent and without formal rituals.

You couldn’t remember exactly how old you were, perhaps six or seven, when you first met Geyarajan. You’d heard singing in the forest as you played in the garden behind your house, and though you knew you shouldn’t go into the woods alone, you couldn’t ignore the draw of the sound. After maybe ten minutes, you stumbled upon a clearing wherein a boy was singing, though he was unlike any other child you’d ever met.

Your village was human only; beasts and monsters were not allowed to settle there. In fact, non-human merchants were discouraged from selling their wares in the area and non-human travelers weren’t welcome in the taverns or inns. In your short life, you’d only seen a person who wasn’t human maybe twice, and only in passing. You didn’t quite understand why, but you were a small child and didn’t think to question it.

Not until you met Geyarajan. When you first saw him, you were mesmerized by his music. You sat and listened as still as a statue, afraid of spooking him, except when he stopped singing, he looked right at you and smiled as if he’d been waiting for you to come. He hopped off the rock where he had been sitting, and you got a better look at him.

He wore no clothing, but from the waist down, he was all feathers. His legs were long and spindly, ending in three-toed claws like that of a purple heron. The feathers extended up his back to his large wings, heather-grey in color, which were folded at rest behind him.

His hair was long and falling around his shoulders in ringlets, the same heather-gray as his feathers. He had a four streaks of black, two on each side, running down his neck, one stripe down his arms to his wrists, the other down the inside of his shoulders and disappearing into the feathers near his hips. His skin was dark brown and his eyes were sharp in shape, amber-gold in color, and hawk-like.

Though he was much taller than you because of his long legs, in his face, he looked to be about your age, perhaps slightly older. He was slender and graceful in his movements, taking careful steps toward you as if not to scare you, though you didn’t think you could possibly be afraid of him.

“Aren’t you from the village?” He asked, his speaking voice as musical as his song suggested. “Won’t you be in trouble for coming into the woods? My parents say that humans are scared of the woods.”

“I’m not scared,” You said, puffing up. “Papa says I’m a big girl. I can go to the corner store all by myself now. I only came ‘cause I heard you singing.”

“Oh,” He said, frowning. “I must be too close, then. I should go.”

“Wait!” You reached out, grabbing his hand. “Stay and play with me, won’t you? What’s your name?”

“Geyarajan,” He replied, not attempting to break away from your grasp. “You’re the girl who lives in the house near the river, right? What’s your name?”

You told him. “How do you know me?”

“I’ve seen you sometimes,” He said, leading you to the rock where he was sitting before. There was a bushel of flowers laying there. He began to weave them into a ring. “When I fly above the town. I know you from the ribbons.” He tugged at the blue ribbon you wore in your hair, which matched your pristine dress. Your mother insisted on dressing you like a doll, always making you wear frilly dresses and putting ribbons in your hair.

“You can fly?” You whispered in awe.

“Well, sure,” He laughed, fluffing his wings a little. “These aren’t fake, you know. I have to fly pretty high, so the only thing I can see of you clearly is the ribbons.”

“Why do you fly so high?” You asked him.

“Mother says it’s too dangerous to fly too low over the town,” Geyarajan said. “She says the people don’t like us, that they’d be mean to us if they knew we lived in the forest next to them.”

“Oh. That’s a shame. If it’s dangerous, why don’t you move?”

“Our kind lived in these woods before those humans ever settled here,” He said, pointing toward the village. “Why should we have to leave?”

“That makes sense, I guess,” You admitted. “I don’t see people like you in town. It’s only humans. I don’t know why.”

“Mother and Father say it’s because humans hate us,” He said morosely, looking at his hands as he continued to weave the garland. “Do you hate us?”

“No!” You said. “You’re so pretty! Can I… Can I touch your wings? I’ve never met a person with wings before.”

He regarded you warily, but said, “Okay, but only for a minute. Mother says our wings are a sign of divinity, that they make us holy.”

“Divine? Like an angel?”

“What’s an angel?”

You tried to explain what an angel was to him, but he just looked confused.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Do you want to touch my wings or not?” He asked impatiently.

“Yes, yes!” You exclaimed. You reached out tentatively and ran your fingertips gently down his proffered wing. He watched you carefully, his hands stilling in their work.

“Wow,” You breathed. “It’s so hard to believe they’re real.”

“Well, they are,” He sniffed, eyeing you. “It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“Well, I’ve never met a human, but my parents said they’re all cruel and heartless. They call your kind monsters, but you seem nice.”

“I am nice,” You replied. “I’m friends with everyone in town. I want to be your friend, too. Can I call you Rajan?”

“Why?”

“It’s a nickname!” You said. “It means we’re friends.”

“Oh,” He replied. “Yeah, I guess so. Can I give you a nickname?”

“Sure!”

“Alright, how about…” He looked around for inspiration and his eyes fell on the flowers in his lap. There were wild daisies, coneflowers, purple poppies, blanket flowers, black-eyed susans, and blush-pink primroses. “What about Primrose?”

“I love it!” You said excitedly. “Primrose and Rajan.”

Rajan giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“Well, my whole name, Geyarajan, means ‘king of songs,’” He replied, finishing the crown of flowers and placing it on his head. “But Rajan just means ‘king.’”

You giggled too. “I like that! You can be the king of the primroses! It’ll be a kingdom just for us!”

“Sounds fun!” He said. “Let’s play Kings and Flowers, then!”

“That’s not a real game!”

“Is too! I just made it up!”

The two of you played until it started to get dark, then Rajan escorted you home. He stopped about thirty feet away from the treeline, where you could hear your mother calling.

“I can’t go closer,” He said, still wearing the flower crown. He took it off and placed it on your head. “You should run home now. I’ll watch you to make sure you stay safe.”

“Alright,” You said brightly, standing on your tip-toe to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you again soon!”

He blushed and touched his cheek, frozen. You laughed joyfully and ran back to the garden behind your house.

“There you are!” Your mother shouted as you came out from around the house. “Where have you been? Look at the state of your dress!” She fussed. “It’s ruined! Do you know how long it took me to sew that?”

“Just make me a normal dress, Mama,” You said. “A plain one I can play in.”

“Nonsense,” Your mother said, taking your hand. “I’ll not have my daughter wallowing in the muck like some street urchin. To the bath with you!”

As she dragged you along into the house, your lovely flower crown slipped from your head and floated away on the breeze.

“Oh, Mama, my crown!”

“Leave it,” She said.

“Oh, but it was--” You stopped short before saying a present. You didn’t want your mother asking from whom. You watched as it floated into the road and was trampled by a passerby. Sighing with disappointment, you followed your mother inside.

Geyarajan became your best friend from that day on. You had to be careful, though; you couldn’t go too deep into the forest for fear of dangerous creatures and he couldn’t get too close to the village, or he’d be seen and possibly captured by the townspeople. As such, you could only see each other once a week or so, and on the days you agreed to meet, often you’d sneak out to play for a few hours after bed.

Having a secret friend was thrilling. It made you feel special and important. He’d told you that he hadn’t told his parents about you, either, because he didn’t want them to be mad at him for getting so close to humans. It was as if the pretend kingdom the two of you built together was real, and you were the only two in it.

It didn’t take long at all for you to develop a crush on Geyarajan, and it seemed to be mutual. He always held your hand whenever the two of you walked together and you often gave him quick pecks on the lips to see the surprise and delight on his face. It was the pure, innocent love of childhood, and though your time together was limited, you were both happy.

Of course, secrets are never meant to last.

Time passed. One evening when you were eleven, after you’d snuck out to see him, the two of you were stargazing in a clearing, making up constellations, your fingers intertwined loosely.

“See there,” He said. “That’s the raven. It’s good luck.”

“Who says?” You asked, laughing.

“I say!” Rajan said. “I’m a king, aren’t I?”

“Oh, right,” You replied. “Papa calls that the eagle. And that’s the dog star.”

“Why do they call it the dog star?”

“I don’t know,” You said. “Tell me another one.”

He squinted. “I can’t see it all that well from here. I usually look at the stars from up in the trees. It’s harder to see them all clearly on the ground like this.”

“How high up do you go?”

“The top, obviously,” He said, sitting up and pointing straight up to a nearby oak tree. “The tallest, strongest branch. That’s the best place.”

“I’d be scared to go that high,” You said, shivering a little.

“I could help you,” He said. “I’d fly you up there.”

“Aren’t I too heavy?” You asked him skeptically. “I was the last time you tried to lift me.”

“That was a year ago! I’m much stronger now.” He hopped to his taloned feet and flexed his skinny arms. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Are you sure?” You asked as you took his hand.

“Come on, you trust me, right?”

You straightened up and smiled at him. “Yeah, of course I do.”

He grinned back. “I won’t be able to take off from the ground,” He said. “We’ll have to climb up a little ways so I can do a drop. I’m really good at those.”

You frowned at the thought, but since he knew way more about flying than you did, you didn’t argue. Swallowing down your nervousness, you followed him up the tree.

You hadn’t known how to climb a tree when you first met him; your mother had forbade such things. Geyarajan had decided immediately that it was inappropriate for anyone to be unable to climb a tree and taught you how to do it the second time you met. You got pretty scraped up the first few times, which you had a hard time explaining away. Now, you were an expert. You were even able to keep leaves and dirt off of your nightgown.

Of course, Geyarajan was much faster than you, since he’d been climbing trees before he could even walk. We was already on the branch he planned to launch from, waiting patiently for you to catch up. He wasn’t above heckling you, though.

“Are all humans as slow as you?” He teased. “I could be halfway to the coast by the time you get up here.”

You stopped for a moment to blow a raspberry at him. In the few seconds that you were distracted, you misstepped, your foot sliding out of your evening slipper and catching you off balance.

Geyarajan leapt, reaching out to catch you, but he was too late. You fell straight down, landing on your right leg. It snapped in half upon impact. The pain shot up your body and struck your brain, and you screamed like you never had before. Geyarajan landed next to you, panicking, trying to figure out what to do. You were crying too hard to speak.

“Hold on, Primrose, hold on,” He lifted you as carefully as he could and began to run through the woods. The pain and smell of blood made you violently sick. “I’m taking you home, just hold on.”

“No!” You managed to gasp. “You can’t go there!”

“I won’t be able to stay, but I can get you there, I promise,” He said.

“No!” You said, beginning to struggle, squealing as the movement made the pain worse. “They’ll kill you! You can’t go to the village!”

Geyarajan stopped in his tracks, breathing hard and looking toward the village and back into the forest.

“I’ll get into a lot of trouble, but there’s only one other place I can take you,” He said, sweating and shaking with fear. “Hold on to me. We’ll be there soon.”

What happened next was a blur of pain, color, noise, voices, and a terrible sick feeling throughout your body, the only familiar thing through all of it was the sound of Geyarajan’s voice and his hand holding yours. At some point, you blacked out completely.

You woke up to the sound of screaming. You were lying in the back garden of your own home, a large, grey feather in your hand, and your mother rushing over to you, checking you frantically.

“Oh, god, are you okay?!” She asked. “Where have you been? What happened to you?” She saw your leg and shrieked. “Who did this to you?!”

Her shouting had attracted the attention of several men, all of whom looked tired and held burned out torches. One of them dropped their spent torch and lifted you up, carrying you into the house. There was noise and shouting and confusion all around you, made worse by your mother’s constant shrill crying in the background. You let them do as they will in silence, clutching Geyarajan’s feather.

Your leg hurt, but nowhere as badly as it had before. You looked down and saw to your surprise that the leg had been wrapped set, wrapped in cloth to stem the bleeding, and was in a makeshift splint made of straight wooden rods and vines.

The physician was called and examined your leg. During this time, you learned you’d been missing for four days. The men with torches were part of the search party, tirelessly searching the woods for any trace of you. When they found blood on the grass and a fragment of your clothes, along with several large feathers, they thought some massive monster had gobbled you up.

The physician determined that your leg had been expertly set, however, meaning it was no monster that had taken you. Since you couldn’t remember most of your time missing, you kept silent, which made everyone grim-faced. They assumed the worst and decided someone had taken you and kept you in the woods somewhere, and you were so traumatized by the incident that you’d blocked the entire event out. You couldn’t exactly argue with them, but you knew Rajan would never hurt you. Not that you could tell them that.

The search began anew, only this time it wasn’t retrieval. It was revenge. You wished you could tell them that it wasn’t necessary, you wanted to stop them, but you couldn’t do anything without telling them about Rajan and his people, and you had promised never to do so. So you could only watch anxiously as the townsfolk worked themselves into a froth, looking for a predator that didn’t exist.

Bedridden and helpless to stop the villagers from their crusade, you spent many nights crying and wishing you could see Rajan. It was too dangerous now; you thought you wouldn’t see him for a long time. You were surprised when, a week later, Rajan came straight to your window late one night. He opened it and hopped down.

“Rajan!” You breathed, elated, and reached out your arms to embrace him from the bed. He stayed out of your reach. You couldn’t see his face well in this light, but his body radiated distrust.

“How could you?” He said whispered, pain seeping into his voice. “I thought you were my friend. How could you do this to me?”

You dropped your arms. “Wha… How could I what?”

“You know what!” He retorted angrily, his voice rising in anger. “You told them! You told the humans about us! You told them where to find us!”

“I didn’t!” You replied, stricken. “I would never, you know that! I never told them anything!”

“Liar!” He snapped. “Men came! They set fire to our colony! We have no home now because of you!”

You ignored the pain in your leg and swung around to sit up properly. “I didn’t tell them anything! I don’t even know where your colony is! I’ve never been there!”

“You’re lying! You were there! My parents cared for you, they fixed your leg! This is how you repay their kindness?”

“What?” You replied, confused. “I… no, I… I don’t… I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything. The last memory I have before waking up in the garden was you carrying me. We argued because I didn’t want you to come to the village. I was worried you’d get hurt--”

“Stop,” He said, raising a hand. “Enough of this. My parents were right. You can never trust a human.”

“Don’t say that! How could you have so little faith in me? We’ve been friends since we were little! I’d never do anything to put you or your family in danger, you know that! Why would I do that?”

The light from the moon caught his face, and the pain in his eyes stopped your heart.

“You tell me.”

He climbed up onto the windowsill, walked out on the roof, unfurled his wings, and took off. You fell to the ground with a loud thump. Your father came in to find you sobbing in anguish. He lifted you and put you back to bed, petting your hair and telling you it would be alright. But it wouldn’t.

You decided that once you were healed, you’d go and find Rajan and keep protesting your innocence until he believed you. You didn’t count on your parents’ plans.

Another week passed, and your mother came into your room.

“How are you feeling, love?” She asked.

You shrugged your shoulders. You’d been sullen and depressed since Rajan’s visit. Everyone assumed it was because of your disappearance and you made no attempt to correct them. The guilt of his family’s home being destroyed weighed heavily on your mind. If only you hadn’t tried to climb that tree.  

“I’m sorry, darling,” She said. “I can’t believe monsters were living right next door to us in the woods. It’s become too dangerous in this place. Look at what they did to you!”

“They helped me!” You shouted. “They’re not monsters!”

Your mother rounded on you, her face pinching in suspicion. “How would you know that? What do you know about them?”

You scowled at her and remained silent.

“I knew you were lying when you said you couldn’t remember anything.” She stood up and looked down her nose at you. “That does it. We’re moving to Dunmountain.”

“What?!” You cried. “No! I don’t want to move!”

“The decision has already been made,” She told you, pulling out your luggage and starting to pack. “Your father and I can’t abide those disgusting creatures living so close.”

“But there are people like them in the city!” You argued.

“There are rules for them there,” Your mother said. “Most of them are ring fighters or laborers. They don’t practically nest  in the backyards of decent people.”

“Who said you were decent?” You screamed. “You can’t make me go!”

“Who’s going to stop me?” She shouted back. “Your father has agreed. We’re going!” She threw your bag on the floor next to your bed. “Pack your things yourself!” With that, she turned and walked out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you to weep bitterly into your blanket.

You had no choice. Within the month, you were all packed and in a wagon headed to the city. You had become withdrawn and quiet, unlike the girl you had been before. Your father worried over you, but your mother told you to suck it up and get over it. New city, new life, new start.

She was more right than she knew. In the city, you were a new person. The cheerful child that was friends with everyone she met was gone. You were shy, introverted, and taciturn, only speaking when spoken to. You found it difficult to make friends and were quick to tears.

Your mother, in an effort to desensitize you to “monsters,” took you to the gladiator’s ring and made you watch them fight each other. You hated it; the sight of them viciously attacking each other for no other purpose than to entertain humans made you physically ill.

As you got older, the people of your neighborhood began to call you the monster girl because of your tendency to go to the ring and talk to the fighters. Just talk. Some of them were willing participants, but there were others who were forced to fight. People with debt, criminals, the homeless, the mentally ill; anyone society deemed abnormal. Their jailers seemed to forget that they were still people.

You’d often sit outside of their cells and talk to them, comfort them, even write down messages to give to their loved ones. Your mother despaired of you, and the humans thought you were weird, but the creatures of the fighting ring called you an angel.

One day, when you were nineteen, there was a new arrival at the jail, a young woman with wings and bird feet. When you were told, you immediately went to see her first.

“Hello?” You called softly, tapping gently on one of the bars.

“Who are you?” She asked.

You told her your name. “I come here to talk to the fighters and help them when I can. What’s your name?”

“Aashiyana,” She replied. “You can help me?”

“I can try,” You replied. “Why are you here?”

“I caught a deer in a field near my home,” She said. “It was apparently owned by a nobleman or something. What kind of person owns a deer?”

“People with too much money,” You replied, laughing. “How long is your sentence?”

“Until my fine is up. Six months, I think they said.”

“How much is the fine?”

“300 gold.”

“That’s highway robbery!” You exclaimed. “Let me see what I can work out.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” She said. “This city is stifling. I hate it here.”

“So do I,” You replied, standing. You were about to turn and leave, but you were compelled to ask. “By any chance, do you know a boy named Geyarajan?”

Aashiyana sat up straighter and peered at you. “I did know a boy by that name, yes.”

Your heart hammered in your throat. “Did?”

“He doesn’t go by that name anymore. His name is Gaveshan now.”

“Why did he change his name?” You asked.

“How do you know him?”

“He saved my life years ago. He… was my friend.”

Her eyes widened and jaw dropped. “Are you Primrose?”

Your expression matched hers. “Yes! How did you know about that?”

“We met!” She said, her eyes lighting up. “Your leg was broken and my mother set it. She was the colony’s healer. You stayed in the colony with us until she felt it was safe to move you.”

“I don’t remember,” You told her. “I don’t remember anything. I was with Rajan when I broke my leg, and then I passed out. When I woke up again, I was back home and I’d been missing for four days. I don’t know what happened during that time.”

Aashiyana frowned. “You don’t remember me at all?”

You shook your head sadly. “I’m sorry. What happened to the colony?” You asked her, putting a hand on hers around the bars. “Rajan told me that it was burned, but he didn’t give me any details.”

“Men came out of the forest with torches. They set fire to everything. We had to flee with nothing. Some didn’t make it.”

“Oh, god,” You said, covering your mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t fallen out of the tree…”

“Did you tell the men how to find us?”

“No! I swear I didn’t! I don’t even remember being there!” You said. “I swear, Aashiyana, I swear on my life.”

He deep brown eyes searched yours for a moment, a discerning look on her face, and she said, “I believe you.”

Your face crumpled as the tears began to flow. “Thank you.” You wiped your face on a handkerchief and straightened yourself. “Let me see what I can do for you. I’ll get you out of here.”

“Thank you,” She said.

It took some time, but you managed to make a deal with the judge. It was a lucky thing that your parents were in good standing with the stadium, as your father was a financier, so you were able to pull a few favors. You returned to Aashiyana’s cell three days later and directed the jailor to open the door.

“What’s happened?”

“I’ve made a deal,” You said. “You’re free of the fighting ring, but in exchange, you must work. I’ve made arrangements for you. I’ll tell you about it once we’re in the carriage.”

“Carriage?”

You took her by the arm. “Come on.”

Outside the jail, a carriage was indeed waiting for you. You opened the door and assisted her in getting inside, as the steps weren’t built for her large claws, and got inside after her. The carriage began to move.

“So what deal did you make?” She asked.

“You are to be my personal servant for the remainder of your sentence.”

She balked. “What makes you think I want to be a slave any more than a punching bag?”

“I have no intention of giving you any order,” You told her. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll like you to take me to see Geyarajan. Or Gaveshan, I guess.”

“Do I have to stay with you?” She asked, eyeing you.

“Of course not,” You replied. “You’re free to go as soon as we get out of the city limits, as far as I’m concerned. I have no intention of ordering you around.”

“Can’t you get into trouble for this?”

“Of course. The penalty for assisting a criminal escape is taking their sentence plus five years.”

“If you know that’s going to happen when you come back, why would you do it?” She asked you, horrified.

“Simple. I’m not coming back.”

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[waonderers-of-the-storyversum]

Chapter 1

There once lived a young lass with eyes of chartreuse green.

Her head full of studies, her heart full of dreams.

One night she slept, but her life wasn’t over jet when a truck slammed into her room.

For her neighbour it came but it was a pain meeting him in the streets.

So, find him it shall, even in dark depths of hell, found him in his sheets.

In dark blue of night, as it’s surely right, a new world opened up for them,

no matter of where, no matter of when the truck-chan still inevitably came.

---

 “Shiz!” a young girl uttered when she opened her eyes and didn’t see a ceiling above her, “I thought people can’t get isekaid in quarantine.”

“Jaja [yaya]?

“…why is my voice so high…?”

“Jaja? Is that you?” She finally noticed a stranger’s voice calling out for her. As Jaja franticly looked around she noticed a boy in his preteens. She didn’t know the face or the voice but she knew that hair colour.

“Hibiki, that’s you right?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I knew you were a fricking MC with that hair colour!”

“It looks like we are in someone else’s bodies but I still have this gold blue hair, bit weird, ey?”

“Well, at least you don’t sound like an eight-year-old…”

“Jaromíra Šafránová [Yaromeera Shafraanovaa], I’m afraid that you are an eight-years-old.”

Jaja looks at herself in panic. She has the body of a child. Dirty scrawny arms, long fingers. She quickly gets up. Oily black hair falls over her eyes.

Hibiki starts laughing at his friend’s expression of sheer surprise.

“Shut it! You’re like what? Twelve?”

“Still better than eight!” He also gets up and dusts his clothes. They don’t look good but they aren’t the rags of homeless orphans.

‘Aren’t his hands much cleaner than mine? Like they never worked in their life…’

“Wait!” Hibiki screams.

“What?!” Jarka screams back as she nearly falls from being torn out of her thoughts.

“Are we sexed correctly?”

They look at each other in silence. They quickly cheque their surroundings and looked under their clothes.

“You correct?”

“Yeah,” Hibiki lets out a sigh of relief, “and you?”

“I’m correct.”

“I’m really happy that I don’t have to be trans in ancient Asia.”

“Ancient Asia…?” Jaja looks around more carefully and realises that yes, yes, they indeed are in ancient East Asia. She lets out a heart-rending screech. This finally attracts the attention of other people.

They woke up behind the houses of a small village that has just one main street and that’s it. Small wooden houses. Thick straw roofs. They looked familiar to both of them.

From a narrow alleyway between the cottages, a scrawny boy came running.

“Xiang (響echo)! An (安calm)! I finally found you guys!” said the boy as he was catching his breath. “What are you even doing here. Looking for you was a pain!”

“Brother, who is this? I don’t remember him!” Jaja asked frightened, trying to act her age. She ran towards Hibiki and clung to his sleeve.

“We are really sorry, something happened and we don’t remember anything. Are you our friend?”

“Oh! That’s horrendous! Can you at least remember who you are?”

They both shook their heads with an apologetic look in their eyes.

“So, I will tell you!” This boy was too energetic. “You are Xiang,” he pointed on Hibiki, “and you are An! My name is He (荷lotus but as that is too feminine, he writes it as 河river). We all are orphans from the streets but the people of this village take good care of us. As nobody knows to which family we belong, we decided to take the village’s name as our own. This village is called Zhuquan Yu (竹泉峪bamboo spring valley), so my name is Zhuquan He!”

“So… I am Zhuquan Xiang…”

“Yes!”

“And she is… Zhuquan An…?”

“Uhm!”

Jaja hesitantly walks up to Zhuquan He: “So you are our older brother?”

“Well yes. Yes, that’s exactly who I am!” exclaimed Zhuquan He with a wide smile on his face and petted Jaja’s head. “Let’s come now, today we are helping uncle Yu with rafting bamboo down to Zhuqiexiao Cun (竹切削村bamboo cutting village).”

As they walked, they both couldn’t take their eyes off the sights around. Zhuquan Yu stood on a side of a slowly slopping hill. Everywhere where the eye could see there were colonnades of bamboo, their stems lightly dusted, giving them a silvery glow. When the warm spring breeze that was singing in the bamboo leaves parted them enough, high light-grey rocky peaks could be seen. Their tops still powdered with glistening snow.

They went over a shimmering river coiled around the village. Its joyful burble flowing from under the bamboo bridge. The path of flat boulders they were following was still wet from morning dew. They heard the river all the way while walking through the bamboo forest. It was always near. After a while, the bamboo stems started to stand more apart from each other. Cold wind from the rocky peaks blew on the faces of the three children. It played with their hair, passed them by and disappeared in the calm forest. Now they could hear the muffled sound of axes chopping down bamboo stems.

“Wow…” Jaja verbally marvelled at the scene that opened up in front of them. They stood at the foot of one of the rocky peaks. In its side, a gaping mouth of a cavern was showing its deep lightless depths. From this cavern, a lake was flowing out. Crystal-clear waters from the cave system flowing to the sunlight. The mountain wind rippling its surface.

“So, this is where the river comes from.”

“Exactly. We use it to transport the bamboo to Zhuqiexiao Cun where it can be processed.” As Zhuquan He was saying this, they noticed a man maybe in his twenties waving at them from a bamboo raft. “That’s uncle Yu. He is in charge of transporting the bamboo.”

 Zhuquan He started running. “Let’s hurry a bit, we’re late as it is.”

“Little He, what took you so long?” uncle Yu asked playfully.

“Sorry uncle Yu, it took me a while to find those two. And I’m sorry but today will be a bit longer than usual.”

“And why would that be?”

“You see, something happened. An and Xiang, they… they lost their memories…”

“It’s that so,” uncle Yu raised his gaze, “you two can’t remember anything?”

“Yes, we are sorry uncle Yu…”

“Why’re you apologising, boy? I doubt that it’s your fault.”

“But maybe we offended someone!”

“There is no one you could have offended,” uncle Yu shook his head, “not many cultivators with that kind of power come here. I haven’t seen one in years.”

Hibiki and Jaja looked at each other. ‘So, this is a xianxia world, how interesting.’

“Come now, kids. You don’t remember how to raft bamboo so we’ll have to teach you, right He?”

“Yes, uncle Yu!” a shadow from He’s face disappeared, “Come on guys, it’ll be fun!”

All kids ran toward Yu Shun. Two other men came out of the forest carrying another batch of bamboo stems. They carefully put them in the lake and left.

“I’ll get them!” Zhuquan He ran up to the new bamboo. He confidently stepped on one of the stems took another slightly narrower from the water and started floating back to them, pushing the other stems on his way.

“Xiang, come here and get the rope,” uncle Yu called on Hibiki. Hibiki carefully stepped on the bamboo raft. He thought that it would sway as boats do but it didn’t. He took the rope that was on one end of the raft and copying uncle Yu fastened the next stem to the rest.

“An,” Zhuquan He waved at Jaja, “you’ll help me to push the bamboo that is brought from the forest to the raft. So, uncle Yu and Xiang can tie them together. And I will teach you how to float on a single bamboo!”

“Ok. But I’m a bit scared brother He. What if I fall?!”

“Don’t worry! I’ll catch you if anything happens!” he said with a smile and floated to the edge and stepped on the ground. “You just have to stay balanced. It’s not that hard!”

He took Jaja’s hand and she tried to get on the bamboo but failed miserably. She expected that the water will be ice cold but to her surprise, it was quite warm. ‘There must be a thermal spring in the cavern.’ Zhuquan He pulled her out.

“Well, I shouldn’t be surprised but still…” he sighed, “An was always so good at single-bamboo drifting.”

“Sorry…”

“Eh? Don’t worry about it. You will get the hang of it eventually.” He looked over to the bamboo raft. “You know what? Go help uncle Yu with the tying and Xiang can try the single-bamboo!”

Jaja smiled and shook her head in agreement. “Hi-Xiang! Older brother wants to teach you how to float on just one bamboo stem!” She stepped on the raft and nearly fell again. ‘Hibiki made it look so easy.’ She really carefully switched places with Hibiki.

“Could uncle Yu show me what knot is he using?”

“Of course. Here, take a look…”

While Yu Shun was teaching Jaja how to tie the correct knot, Hibiki walked to Zhuquan He. He cupped his hands and said jokingly while bowing: “Master, show me your arts.” As he looked up with a silly grin, he saw Zhuquan He stroking his chin like if he had a beard of an old wise master.

“Yes, come disciple. I shall teach you my ultra-secret technique!” he announced in an important voice. “Firstly, you have to feel the bamboo, create a connection. Then you have to walk upon it!” He graciously stepped on the stem. “And now you stand on the boundary between the water and the air. You have to be balanced as all thing should be.”

He got fully immersed in the role of the great master. Hibiki took this opportunity to poke him. As expected, Zhuquan He lost his balance for a moment and nearly fell.

“Hey! That was rude of my first disciple!” complained He, dropping the accent.

“I apologise my master. I just wanted to touch your greatness!”

Trying to withhold laughter Hibiki ran to the next batch of bamboo and stepped on one of the stems. Jaja was watching him carefully from the raft. Hibiki didn’t falter, the bamboo didn’t sway. He floated there with an elegance of a heavenly fairy. ‘How the frick?!’

Jaja wasn’t the only one that was surprised. To be honest it couldn’t be clearly decided who was the most surprised one. Hibiki was like: ‘This happened twice. There must be something amiss.’ Zhuquan He was pondering if he should always act like an old wise master when teaching single-bamboo drifting, is it more effective? And uncle Yu was trying to remember where he saw such natural talent for balancing and elegance.

“Maybe muscle memory?” Hibiki tried to cover his own surprise.

Hibiki and Zhuquan He were pushing the bamboo and uncle Yu with Jaja were tying the stems together to form rafts. They were working relentlessly until the sun swung to the other half of the day. When they finished, nine rafts were floating on the lake. They joined them one after another to form a chain of bamboo rafts.

“Ok, now to float them to Zhuqiexiao Cun,” said Yu Shun while waving on the bamboo cutters as they were leaving after their work. “The river is calm today; it won’t be hard.”

“Uncle Yu, can we go on ahead then?”

“Yes, He. I won’t need your help for now.”

“Come on Xiang! I’ll race you to Zhuqiexiao Cun!” announced Zhuquan He with a wide smile. Well, Hibiki didn’t want to say no and he also wanted to test this newfound way of transport.

“I’ll be right before you!”

“Cocky, are we? You shall not beat this great master!”

“Every great master has to be outgrown by their apprentice! Prepare for your defeat!”

“Want to die, disciple?!”

“First, you’ll have to catch me, great master!” and with smiles on their faces and laughter in the air, the race of master and disciple began.

“There they go… Little An, why such a long face?” uncle Yu turned toward Jaja who stayed on the raft with him.

“It’s nothing uncle Yu. I was just thinking.”

“Is it about the single-bamboo drifting?”

“He just stepped on it!!! For the first time that he can remember and he is perfect at it!!! Whyyy???!!!” Jaja gestured wildly.

“Well, some people are just natural, I guess.” Yu Shun untied one of the stems and tied it back but with rope between the raft and now separated stem. Jaja looked on a bit puzzled.

“Come, now you can train your balance while we raft.”

‘Such fatherly eyes. Such an encouraging smile. I hope he doesn’t do something immoral by my standards. Well, we are in ancient Asia, who knows if he beats his wife or gets blackout drunk with wild fits when on the border of consciousness. I hope not.’ Jaja slowly walked to Yu Shun.

“Uncle Yu are you sure that this is a good idea? I have a hard time to walk even on the raft itself.”

“Don’t worry so much or I’ll think that you are an old woman,” uncle Yu extended his hand. “Practise is always a good idea and we are going slowly enough. I can hold your hand and if you fall, the water here is calm, nothing bad will happen.”

“Ok, I trust you, uncle Yu.” Jaja took his hand and carefully placed her foot on the bamboo stem. It went as well as you can imagine. She slipped, she fell, she was wet from head to toe again. The water was still warm, so that wasn’t a problem, but the bamboo was getting more and more slippery every time she tried to step on it again. After a while, she was even more wet, sweaty, with few bruises and a hurting ankle.

“Why is it, that everything that looks so pretty is so hard to learn!”

“Maybe you are just tired now. But you could stand on it for a bit.”

“Yes, but only when uncle Yu was holding me tight. When uncle Yu loosened his grip, I immediately fell.”

“But it’s still progress,” uncle Yu lovingly put his hand on her head. “You must look on what you can do, not on what you can’t or you’ll become frustrated by the amount of things you want to do and you’ll never come around to actually doing any of them.”

"Uncle Yu is so wise.”

“Well, it’s just what my moms told me…”

“Either way, it’s wise to remember what parents teach us.”

“Yes, that is true…”

Meanwhile, Zhuquan He and Hibiki drifted as quickly as one can drift on a calm river without a rushing stream. Their taunting calls carrying across the water. Twisting and turning on the coils of the river. Its’s rippled surface shimmering in the afternoon sun. It didn’t take long for them to reach the bamboo bridge. Few moments after and they were floating by Zhuquan Yu.

“Brother He!!! Brother Xiang!!!” joyful calls were coming from the riverbank. Few little children were sitting on the soft green grass encircled by a flock of chickens. Few of the hens were even sitting in the children’s laps.

‘Jaja will be ecstatic when she sees those chickens.’ A fond memory of her seeing chickens popped into Hibiki’s mind. ‘She always says ‘chickens’ in that silly voice when she sees some.’

“Xiang! I don’t think you can afford to be zoning out!” Hibiki was swiftly overtaken by Zhuquan He.

“Well, at least I’m not the one who needs their opponent to be distracted for them to win!”

They were drifting further. Walls of bamboo on both sides of the river gave it a cosy vibe and the warm glow of the Sun extenuated it even more. They could hear the songs of many birds that were nesting in the bamboo forest. In one meander they startled a small herd of musk deer that came there for a drink.

Now they could see the buildings of the Zhuqiexiao Cun in the crevices between the bamboo. Grins on the boys faces widen and their hearts started to beat ever faster. Even the taunts that were flying back-and-forth between them came to a stop. Droplets of the shattered river surface shimmering on their faces. Trills of the songbirds were nowhere to be heard. And in this silence of suspense, Hibiki heard a tone. And then another. Music, quieter than the breath resonated in his ears. With no instrument and with no source. The music was fast, exciting. Short notes with high energy. Not that different from the sounds of shamisen but still somehow off.

They turn around the final corner. Welcomed by the first houses of the Zhuqiexiao Cun. Drifting by them Zhuquan He calls on Hibiki: “See the stone bridge? Who touches it first wins!”

[spaceroadtrip]

Burn

Prompt: No.21  ‘this, this makes it all worth it’

Original fiction: Burn

Rating: All ages

Warning: No content warnings apply

Word count: 2144

For half a moment, the world hits pauses and falls silent. For half a moment, nothing happens always, and everything happens never. For half a moment, she can pretend that it might just be possible to salvage everything she’s lost.

 And then the moment ends, washed away like footprints upon the shore. Everything crashes down around Eliza, burning and burning and burning. There is nothing left of her but fire fury, burning darkly in the deep places of her soul. She is a person of ash, ready to blow away on the wind of despair. In the darkness of her heart, horror flickers and stirs as her mind runs through all horrible things she and her partner have done. Hidden further still, in the still rational parts of her mind that can see the future consequences of their actions. The world around them is smoke and ash, grey and suffocating. There’s nothing left at all but only Eliza and Lucas are capable of realising it.

 That’s the worst part. Because everything looks just the same as it ever did. The field they stand is filled with lush green grass and vibrant wildflowers. Above them, the sky is a gentle mix of soft blue and fluffy white clouds. Distant bird calls echo through the air, sweet and melodic. To all appearances, the world is just as it ever was. If anything, it looks more perfect than it ever has.

 But Eliza can feel the slick mud under her boots. There’s dried blood coating her dark skin and a sword clutched in her shaking hands. She can feel the heat of phantom flames, more real than anything in this false world. This isn’t real, not yet. They still stand on the precipice of change. Nothing is yet set and Eliza still has a chance to stop this before it becomes permanent. Before this false world becomes all everyone has ever known.

 Across from her, Lucas raises his arms and smiles. “This, this makes it all worth it. Just look at how beautiful this world is. Doesn’t this make everything worth it?”

Eliza shivers under Lucas’ stark gaze. There’s no trace of the man she loved in those cold eyes, tinged with threads of red and gold that hide all hints of the colour they used to be. The man before is crowned by blood and gore, smeared all over his pale skin and white clothing. His smile is manic, stretched too wide for his narrow face. Looking at this creature before her, Eliza believes him. She believes that he thinks this is all worth it. But she can’t accept that herself. Nothing could be worth this hell.

 “This is worth nothing,” she breathes, tightening her grip on her sword. “It’s worth nothing at all. You’ve taken everything from everyone. Lucas, you claimed that wanted peace for our country. But there is no peace here. There is only emptiness.”

 “Our country was falling apart at the seams! I have destroyed the cracking foundations and built stronger ones from the rubble of our ancestors’ failures. I have taken weakness and forged strength. I have brought peace!” His voice rises with every word until he is screaming at Eliza, though she is but ten steps away from him.

 “Our country needed help, I can admit that. But not this kind of help. The power you unleashed, the spell you used … this is nothing short of murder. You have torn the souls of our people and stolen away their emotions. What will they do without love, and joy, and happiness?”

 “I have taken anger. I have taken fear. I have taken sadness, and regret, and loss,” Lucas spits, hands tightening into fists. “I have taken away everything bad about our old world. There is no room from negativity in my utopia. With this power, with their souls, I will forge a new world for our people.”

 Eliza shakes her head, short brown locks dancing across her shoulders as she moves. Is there truly nothing left of the Lucas she grew up with? Where is the kind man who treated her no different from any other person? Where is the man who taught her to dance and to bake bread? Where is the man who laughed with her as she taught him to duel? Perhaps he is ash as well, nothing more than empty thoughts and half-forgotten memories of a better time.

 Lucas spins on the spot, gesturing to everything around them. “Just look at what I can do. Imagine what we could do together.” His gaze softens slightly, and he reaches towards her. “We always did better as a team, didn’t we?”

 Hot tears well up in her dark eyes and she takes a step back. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare say that! You don’t get to ask me back as though nothing has happened. You don’t get to presume the workings of my heart. There’s nothing left of us. There is no we.”

 His mouth contorts into an angry line. “Fine, fine. I can keep you here forever. My power is greater than anything you can imagine. Eventually, you’ll break. Eventually, you’ll be mine again.”

 Rage boils up with her. Eliza brandishes the sword before her and levels it at the place where Lucas’ heart ought to be. Always so certain that she would agree with everything he said. Just look at where that attitude has brought them. People always said that Eliza and Lucas were two sides of the same coin. But that’s not true anymore if ever it was. They stand on opposite sides of the fence, opposite sides of the argument, opposite sides of the war. If anything, Eliza is staring at a dark reflection of her soul. The connection between is forged of glass and it has begun to shatter.

 She lowers the sword, staring at the glimmering weapon clutched between her dark hands. Even at her angriest, she can’t imagine striking him down like this. No, if she has to kill him, she wants to know it wasn’t from rage. Better she kills him when she is calm and clear about her decisions. There can be no room from regret. Eliza knows that if she kills Lucas in angry a part of her will always regret the decision. Even as a child, she was too hot-headed for her own good. Time has calmed her fire a little and maturity makes her pause before she acts. But somethings happen too quickly to think about. This could one of those times, sneaking up on her so swiftly she can’t stop herself.

 So she takes a deep breath and another step back. “You’ve always had power. Maybe not like this, but that’s your fault for not seeing the strength in an ordinary kind of power. Lucas, you could have changed the words a billion times over by being nothing but kind. You could have worked hard.” Another sob rises in her throat and Eliza chokes on it. “You could have worked with me and together we could have brought peace through the strength of our hearts and the work of our hands. There was no need for any of this.

 “But you choose to take the easy route. You choose to steal parts of people’s souls to fuel the forging of your own dark utopia. This place you’ve built is no better than a façade. And because of what? Because you refused to accept that the light always casts a shadow. There are always negatives but that doesn’t make the positives any less valuable.”

 “No, no I –“

 “I am not finished,” Eliza snarls, standing tall even as Lucas falls to his knees before her. “You claim to have built all of this for me, but I don’t accept. You promised me a perfect world, but I don’t accept this pale imitation of life. I already had everything I could have wanted. I had you and that was enough. We were enough.”

 Lucas looks up at her, eyes wide and mouth open. “Please. Please, I can make it better. With you by my side, I can truly create perfection. We can have it all.”

 The world shivers around them. The sun begins to sink, casting a pink and orange glow over them. Eliza’s shadow casts Lucas in darkness, even as she stands in the fading light. A soft wind sweeps over them, triggering goosebumps to cover Eliza’s bare arms. Around them, the grass fades away a little, leaving them a small muddy patch in the middle of the lush field. Small tendrils of smoke rise up from nowhere, markers of real fires in this phantom world.

 Then the world shivers again and returns back to its perfect image. The wind drops away and the sun rises once more. The smoke disappears and the grass grows once more. A blanket of wildflowers spreads over the meadow, bright droplets of red, purple, and pink among the endless green grass. But the colours seem a little false now. They’re too bright and too perfect. The fluffy white clouds are too uniform, the sun is too golden, and the grass is too green. Even in its perfection, the world is failing. A perfect world should not be so perfect.

 For the first time in what feels like forever, Eliza smiles at Lucas. “Not like this. Never like this. I’m sorry that you lost your way but I not sorry for what I’m about to do.”

 Lucas bows his head, shrinking in on himself. His hands scrabble around in the grass as though he can find an answer among the flowers. But he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t say a word. He only shivers a little and then lifts his blond hair away from his neck.

 Her arms don’t shake as she lifts the sword into position. “By the Sword of Liberty, I release the souls you have stolen. May they return home to their rightful owners. And may your own soul be wiped clean of all darkness and memory. May you begin once more and find hope on your journey.”

 Eliza plunges the sword into Lucas’ back. As the blade slides through layers of muscle and fat, it begins to shine. Soft golden light pours free from the sword and spreads in all directions. She watches it go with downcast eyes, watching the souls seep free of Lucas. The light burns her eyes and she has to look away. When the sword begins to shake under the stress, Eliza holds it tighter and prays it has the strength to finish the job. She prays she has the strength for what comes next.

 After what feels like forever the sword shatters into nothingness and the world around them melts away. The meadow fades to a muddy quagmire, devoid of all life. The sun drops towards the horizon and the sky darkens to deepest blue. The smell of smoke and the warmth of fire feels the air. Soft clouds of ash drift through the sky just above them, tinting the world with grey.

 Eliza watches the world fade away with a heavy heart. Though the golden light of the souls has long since dissipated, there’s a faint purple stream dancing above her. She watches it disappear, a sad smile on her face. There goes Lucas’ soul. All of the bad is washing away, but the good is going as well. Lucas is nothing more than a pyre, burning away the memories of his own soul to nothing but ash and smoke. His memories are drifting away, clouds of ash upon the wind. He’s nothing now, nothing but an empty vessel waiting for something to take root. But he’s also everything now. He’s endless possibility, waiting to become everyone and anyone.

 It doesn’t matter now, what Eliza remembers him to be. All the versions of him within her memory are nothing more than ghosts, haunting the halls of her mind. Lucas is as dead as any corpse. No never mind the fact that his breathing body sits before her. He’s not there anymore and will never be there. No matter how many times she wishes, she won’t get the version she wants back. All of Lucas is gone. All that matters is whoever he will be.

 Before her, Lucas begins to stir. His eyes flicker open, blessedly green once more. He struggles to his feet, staring around him with a confused frown and a soft pout. There’s no sign of where the blade entered his back, no sign of everything Eliza and Lucas have done.

 “Ah, hello there,” he says, a touch of confusion infusing his voice. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but who are you? And how did we get out here?”

  She can’t help it. With a mute cry, Eliza collapses to the ground and weeps as the world around her burns once more.

[redrobinfection]

(15) Horror Movies

SociallyAwkwardFox’s Spooktober - Day 15 “Horror Movies”

JayDickTim | Established Relationship | Horror Movies | They’re not always scary but they can still put you in weird headspace | Sleep Deprivation | (brief) graphic descriptions of horror scenes | Panic Attack | Want to write with me? Find the prompt list here!

~*~

Tim loves his boyfriends. So, so much. But one thing that Jason and Dick both love that Tim just can’t wrap his head around: horror movies.

They’re watching one right now, the third of a trilogy Jay and Dick love, and Tim is sandwiched between them on the couch, feeling faintly ill.

Jay and Dick are the kind of people that get that something from a horror movie, the adrenaline or the enjoyment of their terror or whatever it is that hooks people. Tim isn’t and he gets nothing but is a sick feeling in his stomach and the impression that all the color has been sucked out of the world.

It isn’t the scenes themselves that get to him, because as terrible as it is to admit, he’s seen and experienced thing just as terrible, maybe worse, in his time as Robin. All of them have. Brutal serial killings, human trafficking tragedies, figurative and literal monsters left and right, not to mention the rogues. A run-in with Scarecrow’s fear toxin? That would make most horror movies seem like a pleasant summer picnic. Chasing and being chased by Killer Croc in the sewers in the dead of night? Monster B-flick gold. And the Joker? ‘Nough said.

No, for Tim it’s more about the way the scenes are presented - the cold, dark filters; the unnatural lighting; the haunting music and grisly sound effects. It turns a factually horrifying scene into an garish exaggeration, like a scene from one of his nightmares - you don’t fully believe its real, but it still strikes a chord deep in your psyche.

He can handle one movie. Easy to shake off. Maybe two, in the daytime. But tonight they watched three, using their one night off from patrol to stay up into the wee hours of the morning–as if they would ever think use that time to catch up on sleep or something.

Three-quarters of the way through the third movie, Jason notices Tim getting twitchy and asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just getting late. I keep nodding off and then every time someone screams, I jump awake again,” Tim tells them, playing it off with a laugh. Dick and Jason laugh with him.

“No problem, Babybird, we’re almost done. We’ll let you sleep in peace soon enough.”

“Did you mean 'rest in peace’, Jaybird?”

“Ugh, Dick, staaaahp.”

They laugh and kiss over Tim’s head, then come at him from both sides when he makes a disgruntled noise for being squished between them, showering him in kisses and noogies and awkward side hugs. The warm moment of affection between the three of them almost distracts Tim away from the grim mood affected by the movies. Almost.

When they settle down into bed an hour later, Tim snuggled between the two of them–all of Dick’s limbs wrapped around him and Jason drooling onto his shoulder–the sick feeling, mental and physical, doesn’t budge. Tim spends the rest of the night staring up at the dark ceiling, mind circling the imagery of the movie in endless spirals. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep when Dick gets up at 4:30 to pee, and again at 5:15 when Jay startles awake for a few seconds at the sound of a car alarm blaring down on the street. When they all get up at nine the next morning, neither Dick nor Jason seems to be the wiser to his deception.

Tim spends the next day exhausted, but makes up for it with a jam packed schedule–keeping busy always helps–and copious amounts of caffeine. That night he goes out for a quick patrol, then turns in early, hoping to make up for lost sleep.

He can’t. He’s still awake, his mind bombarding him with the images of a decapitated zombie child crawling toward a screaming young woman in the grey rain as “mama, mama” whistles in the wind; the sounds of a man sobbing as he clutches his dead partner in the snow–her womb torn out messily–and the smells he imagines a child clinging to their mother’s green, long-dismembered corpse would experience when Dick comes in at three AM. He’s still awake–and pretending he’s not with every Bat-trained skill he has–when Jay comes in a half hour later.

He’s seen just as bad in real life–and how messed up is it to say that?–but here the imagery is also accompanied by such a deep sense of sorrow, lasting pain and depression. Lives, minds, souls ruined. He’s still wide awake as dawn begins to light the sky. He extricates himself from their sleepy dogpile while Jason and Dick are still in the deepest stages of sleep and heads down to the gym to get a few hours of training in to pump him up for another exhausting day.

He struggles through day two, barely functioning as he makes his way into night three. He volunteers to stay on comms for the night, citing some bullshit excuse about a sore ankle he wants to rest to keep Dick from worrying and Jason from asking too many questions. He stays up late, working on case docs, hoping that if works himself to utter exhaustion that he can just pass out at dawn. He tells Dick and Jay he’s doing it to make up for not going out, and they seem worried, but he promises he’ll rest in the morning.

He doesn’t. Daylight doesn’t bring any relief from the wild thoughts and images that pop into his head any time he tries to quiet his mind. He pretends to nap on the couch until Jay and Dick leave, then goes into Wayne Enterprises and works late.

He goes out as Red Robin that night–night four–but turns in early after he gets a call from Alfred asking about unexpected telemetry from the vitals sensors in his suit–racing pulse, high rate of respiration. He excuses himself with claims that he’s in a bit of pain from his “sore” ankle. It’s a lie. His body and his mind are hitting their natural limits, his anxiety levels increasing and his organs screaming for rest. He meditates for the rest of the night, feeling somewhat refreshed the next morning.

Day four is like a bizarre dream, time zooming past or crawling by in fits and starts. He loses his appetite and even coffee starts to lose its appeal, the smell of it making his stomach twist. By five PM swears the shadows at the corner of his office have started to ooze toward him and he jumps at every little sound.

That night he skips dinner, disables all telemetry in his suit, and goes out for solo patrol. Just a loop around his territory. Then he’ll stop, take a sedative, and pass out for twelve to fifteen hours. Sweat it out as the drugs force him to stay under no matter what nightmares may come.

His patrol is patchy, if that makes any sense. Some moments he is clearly aware of where he is and what he’s doing, and then there are whole stretches of time that are total blanks. Halfway through his loop he gets sidetracked to a neighborhood outside his scope after he hears about of a drug deal going down outside a middle school.

He handles the would-be dealers–high schoolers dealing to middle schoolers who were lucky Red Robin caught wind of the deal before Red Hood did–then retires to the roof of the school for a breather. He sits down between two AC units and lets his head fall back against one for a few moments…

—

Tim slowly comes awake to the sounds of quiet conversation around him, gentle fingers combing through his hair, and a soft bed under him. He blinks his eyes open, squinting in confusion at the overhead light of the room he shares with Jay and Dick. Who left the lights on? Wait, why is he in his uniform? Did he forget to take it off before he dropped into bed?

“Dick. Dick, shut up a second, I think he’s coming around. Tim? Timmy? You with us?”

Tim turns his head to the side with a grimace. His neck is sore like he slept hanging off the side of the bed half the night.

“J-Jay?”

The hand leaves his hair and Tim turns his head minutely to see Dick sitting beside him on the bed, running both hands through his own hair, expression a blend of relief and worry.

“Holy cow, Tim, you scared the crap out of us. What were you thinking?” Dick demands of him. Tim blinks, confused.

“Whoa, whoa, ease up, Dickie, give 'im a sec to reboot, 'kay?” Jason chides, settling down near Tim’s bare feet–-oh, someone removed his boots, gauntlets, belts and cape and unzipped the collar of his suit. He rubs a soothing circles into the arch of one foot. “Hey, Timbo, you know where you are?”

“The 'partment,” Tim answers slowly. Did he hit his head on patrol?

“Yeah. You know what time it is?”

Tim blinks. It’s dark outside, so he knows it’s nighttime, but when he tries to think back to the last time he remembers he can’t get it straight. He was on patrol? Which patrol? He can’t remember. Did he get drugged? Shot?

“No? You know what day it is?”

He doesn’t. He starts to panic. What happened to him? He tries to sit up.

“Easy, Tim. Just rest for a minute,” Dick soothes, easing him back down with a hand on one shoulder. Tim flops back, heart racing. He’s missing something, something important, something awful he should remember.

“Breathe, Tim, don’t force yourself,” Jason chides. Dick’s hand returns to his hair and Jason lies down beside him, now rubbing circles into his exposed hand.

Dark spots cloud his vision and he starts to shake. Why can’t he remember? Now that he’s more aware, why do his joints ache and his limbs feel like they’ve been filled with cement? Why does he feel so cold? Is he dying? Is he dead?

“Jay, he’s hyperventilating.”

“No shit. Timmy? Tim? Breathe with me okay?”

“Breathe with Jason, Tim. Nice and slow.”

“Hey, fo– on m–”

“Ti–”

Their voices fade out along with the sensation of fingers feeling for a pulse and hands pulling off his suit. Darkness fills his vision until there is nothing left but the darkness.

—

When Tim comes around again it’s with a hiss for the bright overhead lighting of the Batcave’s med bay. You’d think with all their resources they’d invest in a light dimmer at some point.

“There he is. Rise and shine, Timbo,” Jason’s voice calls from his left. He groans and tries to squeeze his eyes closed.

“Ah, ah, ah, no falling asleep again until you endure the wrath of Big Bird and Alfie. They’ve got a lot of choice words for you, Babybird,” Jason chides, squeezing his hand. Tim tries to curl onto his opposite side but freezes with a gasp when a sharp twinge in his right arm informs him of the IV inserted there. The numb, slightly clammy feeling on his right index finger speaks to the presence of a pulse oximeter clip. Did he get injured, he wonders?

No. Bit by bit, Tim’s head clears and snatches of memory come back to him. He’d been on patrol. He stopped to rest. No dinner. No sleep. Wayne Enterprises. Disabled telemetry. Solo patrol. The teenaged dealers. A middle school.

Disabled telemetry. Shit.

“H-how long was I out?” Tim asks, croaking around the dryness of his throat. He turns back to Jay in time to see Alfred and Dick walk into med bay, expressions stern and relieved in equal measure. Jason snorts at whatever expression Tim makes in response to theirs.

“About a day, in and out of it,” Alfred replies smoothly, voice cool and unamused as he raises the back of the bed to help Tim sit up. “You gave Masters Dick and Jason quite the fright, not to mention myself, going out alone and under the radar the way you did. I thought we had taught you better than that, Master Timothy.”

Tim shrinks in on himself. You know you’re in trouble with Alfred when he calls you by your full first name. “Sorry, Alfred. Dick. Jason. I haven’t really been myself the past couple of days,” he admits, thinking back on the past week. He cringes internally as he thinks about their last free day and all the stupid things he did in the resulting funk.

“I imagine you wouldn’t be, skipping meals until you passed out from exhaustion,” Alfred lectures sternly as he deftly removes the IV and pulse oximeter. Dick looks sad and disappointed. Jason looks unconvinced.

Tim shakes his head. “I wasn’t skipping meals - mostly - I just wasn’t sleeping very much.”

Dick raises his eyebrows. “Define 'very much’? Why weren’t you sleeping?”

“Uhhhh, well… not at all?” Tim replies shrugging with an apologetic grimace. Alfred shakes his head as he leaves med bay and Jason’s eyes blow wide. Dick makes a sound of indignation.

“Not at all?!” Jason echoes. “What the hell, Babybird? What were you thinking!”

Tim scrubs his hands over his face and deliberately ignores the question in favor of asking one of his own. “What happened? I remember stopping to rest on the roof of Parkview Middle and then briefly waking up back at the apartment.” He looks around the med bay then takes stock of himself. He feels fine now, but he vaguely remember feeling like he was dying the last time he was fully conscious. “Did I get hurt?”

Dick doesn’t look happy about the redirect, but shakes his head and takes a seat on the edge of the gurney. “Well, after me and Jay got home at four AM, realized you weren’t there, and found your suit was missing, we called Alfred and Babs to see if you’d been out that night.

"Alfred said he hadn’t heard from you, and neither had Babs, but she eventually tagged you in a couple of surveillance feeds along your route. We tried to call you on comms: nothing. Then Babs tried to find you on live surveillance: still nothing.” Dick’s expression is dark and his eyes drill holes into Tim.

“We were freakin’ out, Timmers,” Jason continues. “Like, did you get hurt? Did you get kidnapped? We tried to check your telemetry and got fuck all. No vitals, no location. Dickie here was nearly shittin’ himself thinking you’d gone and gotten yourself killed or somethin’”

Tim’s face heats up in shame.

“In the end we pulled out the nuclear option and activated your subdermal GPS beacon,” he explains, gesturing to the stretch of skin on Tim’s arm under which the small capsule resided, a measure they all–Bruce included–agreed to take in order to avoid situations just like this one.

“We found you on some random-ass roof four blocks off your route, passed the fuck out. When we tried to check on you, you nearly cleaned Dickie’s clock, kicked me in the cup–it still hurt, even with the cup, so thanks for that–then tried to throw yourself off the roof. After we got you to calm down and wake up a bit, you seemed to recognize us, understand where you were, and we escorted you home.

"Everything was fine until we got into the apartment, at which point you threw yourself across our bed, cowl up and belts on, and passed out again,” Jason explained, rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of it. “You weren’t outwardly bleeding and your pupils reacted appropriately to light, so we thought you were just a little tired or whatever. When you woke up again, you were disoriented as fuck and freaking out. Then you went completely non-responsive and we freaked out. We brought you down here just to make sure you didn’t have a brain bleed or a punctured lung or something.

"A million scans and some bloodwork later and Alfie concluded you that probably hadn’t been taking care of yourself,” Jason concludes, pinning Tim with a severe look of his own. “And now we’re hearing from you that you haven’t been sleeping?  Cough it up, Timbo. How long?”

Tim clears his throat and shifts his legs restlessly.  “About five days.”

“Five days!” Dick exclaims, jumping up from the end of the gurney. He rounds to the other side, across from Jason. “Why?”

Tim shrugs and looks away. “I dunno, I just haven’t been able to fall asleep. I couldn’t shut my brain off.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you had insomnia?” Dick asks.

Tim shrugs again. “What would you be able to do about it?”

“Make sure you didn’t do something stupid like stay up all night filing reports or go on patrol with all your tracers turned off, probably,” Jason replies wryly. He stands up, bracketing Tim between himself and Dick. He narrows his eyes.

“You know, I can tell when you’re keeping something from us, Timbo. Spit it out. What’s been so heavy on your mind that it hasn’t let you get a wink of sleep for nearly a week?”

Tim tenses and curls in on himself subconsciously. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

Jason laughs mirthlessly and Dick frowns. “If it’s important enough for you to lose sleep over it, then it’s important to us,” Jason insists.

Tim mumbles under his breath, avoiding eye contact.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he mumbles a little louder.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, Timbelina,” Jason belts loudly into his ear.

“It’s your damn horror, movies okay!? I couldn’t sleep after we marathoned that trilogy on our night off,” Tim shouts back, scooting down the bed and throwing off the sheet. He swings his legs over the side, stands up, and only sways a little as the room swims around him for a second.

“The movies? They scared you?” Dick asks uncertainly as he steadies Tim with hand around his upper arm.

Tim shakes him off. “No, they’re just depressing as fuck. We see enough horrible stuff in our line of work, so sue me if watching it presented in a way intended to be emotionally gripping as possible puts me in a bit of a funk.”

He moves for the doorway, pretending not to be embarrassed that his ass is hanging out of the back of his hospital gown, only to be stopped by Dick darting in front of him, closely followed by Jason. They’re both watching him with concern, worry, and a tinge of guilt. Tim deflates. This was exactly what he hoped to avoid.

“Babe. You never told us they bothered you,” Dick starts while Jason says, “A bit of a funk? It must really bother you if it’s keeping you up for days.” They look at each other, then Dick nods to Jason. Tim sighs.

“What’s really going on, Tim,” Jason asks.

“That’s really all it is,” Tim replies, crossing his arms. “We watched the movies, I didn’t sleep that night and then it kind of snowballed from there, the sleep dep feeding the funk.” Looking at it objectively, after a good night’s rest, he can admit that the situation never should have escalated past that first morning; he should have taken a sedative and a day off right then and there to avoid falling deep into the funk.

“Is it really that bad? Why didn’t you tell us you don’t like scary movies?” Dick asked, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. Tim groaned.

“It’s really not a big deal. Not usually. They don’t scare me, they just kind of… I dunno, haunt my thoughts for a while afterwards. You know how it goes; I overthink everything,” Tim admits, waving a hand dismissively. “And I didn’t tell you guys because I didn’t feel like being made fun of for being 'too scared to watch a scary movie’. Who would have believed me if I said they’re not scary, just emotionally disturbing?”

Dick opens his mouth like he’s going to object but Tim cuts him off. “No, don’t even try to tell me that you would. Look at Jay, at least he’s honest with himself.”

They both look at Jason, who is nodding along, looking chagrined. “Yeah, I’ll admit, if you’d said something, I probably would have teased you about it.” He gives Tim a look Tim can’t decipher. “You’re an odd one, Timbo, but there’s no arguing with the results. If it bothers you, it bothers you, whether it’s frightening or not. But if it bothers you so much, then why watch with us? You could have just told us you don’t like horror and gone to bed.”

“And not spend time with you guys?” Tim asks incredulously. “We get one night off together every two weeks, and you think I would just give that up and go to bed alone?” He shakes his head at them. “I put up with it because I wanted to spend time with you guys and I wanted you guys to do something you both enjoy. I didn’t want to be the wet blanket in the room that put a stop to that.”

Both Jason and Dick’s faces fall on hearing this, and in that moment Tim is done with this conversation. He tries to skirt around them, but Jason blocks his path.

“Move, Jason, I need to pee.” He does. IVs are great and all, but sleeping for twenty four hours through one, maybe two liters of fluids equals one very full bladder. He’s grateful Alfred didn’t stoop to inserting a urinary catheter just to punish him, even if it would have done him a favor in this one thing.

Jason crosses his arms obstinately.

“I will pee on you,” Tim warns.

Dick steps between them and places his hands on Tim’s shoulders. “Tim, it means a lot to us that you would put our enjoyment above your own, but it hurts a little to think you don’t trust us enough to let us know when something’s bothering you.”

“What Dick said,” Jason seconds. “Yeah, we’d probably tease you at first, but eventually we’d get that horror makes you uncomfortable and picked something else to do. We care about you just as much you care about us, ya know?”

Tim looks away, uncomfortable.

“Look, we’re not trying to blame the victim here, we’re just saying give us a chance next time, okay?” Jason clarifies, tone softening. “We deserve the opportunity to prove ourselves assholes or saints for ourselves, yeah?”

Tim snorts softly. “Yeah.”

They smile and Dick draws them both into a hug, sandwiching Tim between them. “Good. And we’re sorry, Tim. We should have noticed you weren’t having a good time and asked.”

“You did,” Tim admits, “But I told you I was 'just tired’ and you guys bought it. That’s on me.”

“Yeah, well, dealing with you–the guy who lies to Batman–we should have pressed the issue no matter how convincing you were,” Jason replies, pressing his face into Tim’s hair. “And you shouldn’t feel like we won’t take you seriously. That’s mostly my bad for teasing you so much.”

Tim presses his face into Jason’s chest and shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Dick says softly at his back. “But it will be.” Tim feels Jason smile into his hair and nod. He lets them hold him tight and close for a long minute.

“And no more horror movies around Timmy!” Dick exclaims belatedly, making Tim and Jason laugh.

“Definitely. We’ll save it for our solo dates, right Dickie?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Okay, this was nice and all,” Tim begins, squirming a little, “but I wasn’t kidding earlier; someone needs to let go now or I’m going to pee on Jason.”

“Eh, I’m fine with that,” Dick replies lightly.

“Dick, you dick!” Jason shoots back, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Stop making me laugh! I’m really going to pee on him!”

[askbasilkarlo]

New beginnings, and a fair trade.

(Many thanks to @ask-chesh!,)

Basil slowly made his way to Gotham Park, a basketful of various snacks on his arm, and dressed to the nines as usual in a sparkly gold suit. Trying not to drip clay everywhere. “Well the fae should be here soon..” he mumbled. What appeared to be a small child darted in and out of the trees, They would have been human-looking if not for the small horns and goat legs. Basil stopped in his tracks as soon as the child ran past, calling out softly. “Chesh? Is that you?” "Could be~" Chesh's voice was entirely too mature for the small child form they had taken.Basil raised an eyebrow. “Well, could be Chesh. If you come here I’ll give you what you asked for.. and I brought snacks too.” They raised their eyebrows. "That would be me then." Chesh gave them an elaborate bow "At your service but never your call." Basil grinned, bowing his head in return. “Pleasure to make your... your.. acquaintance.” He said gesturing over to a shaded area, setting out the blanket and some snacks. "Well, aren't we eager-to-please." Chesh said calmly. “Been a while since I’ve been somewhere formal.” He said simply, taking a seat. Pouring himself some wine. “Fancy the clay now or later?” Chesh held out a hand. "Now~" Basil idly stuck out a hand, that began to melt down, pooling around his feet as clay. His arm eventually just vanishing entirely. Shuddering slightly, he’d then morph a new one. The pool of clay eagerly slorped up Chesh’s leg, then arm. Clearly sentient. "Interesting." Chesh picked it up. "Hello." The little blob squeaked excitedly, running around in circles in Chesh’s hands. “They’re cute, right?” Basil said quietly. Chesh looked down at it. "Charming. How much essence of Basil is in it?" He shrugged. “Not enough to clone me but.. a fair amount.” Basil said with a sudden smile. He held out a little coin above the blob, which immediately was grabbed by the clay. “They like money.”

"Most do." Chesh said. “That’s how humans are, greedy little fucks the lot of us.” He said with a sigh. “Tell me more about your kind?” Chesh put a hand over the blob and clicked their fingers. A very dark grey stand of....something swirled out, it was almost black, a fact that seemed to surprise the creature. Basil blinked slowly. “What was that?” He asked, more out of surprise. Taking a sip from his glass. "To put it in basic and highly inaccurate terms? A bit of your soul" Chesh said quietly. He was silent for a moment, before grinning. “Fuck, cool. Not much more to lose then.” "May I have the rest?" Chesh cocked their head Basil laughed quietly.

“Unfortunately no, I think I sold my soul to the devil a long time ago. You can have.. a bit more though?” He offered. "And in return?" Chesh prompted. Basil looked at Chesh with golden eyes. “What can you offer me?” He asked. Chesh smirked, shifting Into the form of a very attractive man in a blood red suit. "Anything." Basil was being reminded of why he was a homosexual. “Well.. I must admit, your kind fascinates me. I’d love to be able to do illusions such as your own.” He said softly. "Would you~" Chesh smiled. Basil nodded enthusiastically. “That... that would be neat! The bees knees indeed!” Chesh loosened their tie and undid a few buttons on their shirt. "An awfully large wish."

Basil was very fucking gay. “I suppose so, but for somebody as powerful as yourself it should be nothing, no?” "You'll need to bring more to the table." Chesh purred. "A more even trade" He made eye contact with Chesh, tapping his fingers on his knees excitedly. “What more could I offer?” "Use your imagination "herb boy."" Chesh mocked. Basil glared slightly. “I can offer some of my acting skill. Or perhaps some love if you deal in either of those. Oh, more of my soul if you wish. Money...” he listed off. Chesh snorted slightly when he mentioned money. "I do deal in those. You would give up your acting talent for some pretty little illusions?" Basil held up a hand. “Some.” He emphasized. “Not all of it. But some.” He pressed. "How much? Be *exact*. Very. Very exact." Chesh's eyes glittered malevolently. Basil paused, snickering. “How are you supposed to measure talent. Litres?” He said with a smile, pausing to think. Chesh undid another button casually. Basil was fucking dying of gay. “I.. could give you two years of talent. Is that a measurement?” He offered. "Which years?" Chesh asked with a wicked grin.

“Which years... hm.” He mused. “I would say the years from 14 to 16. There. Two years.” Basil said with a confident smile. "You were just a child. What did you know of acting?" Chesh said simply. “Quite alot, actually. I was young when I rose to fame.” Basil said honestly. 'Were you now? When would you say was your peak?" Chesh asked. “23.” Basil said simply, with a warm smile. “It was.. wonderful.” "I want that year." Chesh said simply. Basil stared at Chesh, laughing softly. “Ahaha, no. I’m sorry, Fae but.. you aren’t getting that from me.” He said, rising to his feet. “Is that your final offer?” "I'm always willing to bargain" Chesh grinned. Basil looked torn, finishing his glass and pouring another. “This is a dumb idea this is a dumb idea...” he mumbled, but he looked at the rings on his fingers greedily. Chesh grinned one more. "You sold your soul to the devil little human. I'd say you're used to stupid decisions." Basil dissolved a little more into clay, the material dripping from his nose, eyes and mouth. “True..” he mumbled, his voice changing from one that was polite, to sounding like hundreds of voices speaking over each other.

"Are you alright?" Chesh tilted their head Basil shrugged, more of his body melting away. “Emotions do this fo me. No matter what I do I can’t stay looking like myself for long.” He explained. "Is it painful?" They asked curiously “A.. little.” He admitted, before giving up on his human form, a writhing mass of clay desperately seeming to grab at Chesh. “Sorry.” They apologized, rapidly flickering between appearances- including Chesh’s current one. "Perfectly alright. Fae children have this trouble sometimes." Chesh let themselves be grabbed. Basil laughed in Chesh’s own voice, reflecting their voice back at them, perfectly mirroring them. “Really? How fascinating.” They said, using the fae’s usual tone of voice. "I understand if you can't help it but taking my form is a very serious offense" Chesh said quietly. "Can you help it?" Basil shook their head rapidly. Shifting to Edward afterwards with a disgusted look. “Unfortunately no. I.. ah, sometimes take the form of the people I’m talking to.” He said honestly. “Luckily it usually lasts a few seconds at most. My apologies, Chesh.” "No offence taken then. Would you like my help with this?" Chesh offered

“Edward” paused, leaning forwards. “May I inquire as to how, Mx?” He asked. They smiled. "Year twenty three. In exchange, an illusion." Basil snapped back to his usual appearance. “I.. I am afraid I will pass. Thank you for your time either way.” He whispered."I can give you what you desire." Chesh said sofly, cupping Basils cheek Basil leaned into their touch, closing their eyes. “It’s.. it matters to me dearly... the only thing that keeps me going is my fame.” "You're a sad creature then" Chesh said. He laughed weakly. “Yea, I know prince. Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.” Basil mumbled. “Lonely too.” "Are you?" Chesh moved a bit closer. Whether he was being manipulative or if he was motivated by genuine sympathy was unclear. Basil nodded, talking without much filter. “You’re the first humanoid contact I’ve had in weeks.” He said bitterly. “Even if I don’t make a deal.. may I be so selfish to still speak to you sometimes?” He pleaded.

"My. We are a bit pathetic aren't we...?" Basil looked at Chesh with a grin. “Yeah, I am.” He admitted, his usual smugness returning before it just crashed again. “I reallly am.” He whimpered. "You're welcome to be my m." Chesh said softly He raised his head with a slight smile. “I’d love that. I really would, Chesh.” Chesh smiled back. "I'm happy to please.' Basil breathed out harshly before pulling away. “You’re nice.. a manipulative fuck but nice.” Chesh looked fake offended. "Me? Manipulative? I'm hurt." Basil waved a hand in Chesh’s direction. “In a Rogue bein’ manipulative is a good thing.” He said affectionately. “I hope you like your sentient pots.” "If I speak to it will you hear?" Chesh questioned. He paused, thinking. “Probably?” They seemed to find that delightful, picking up the clay and examining it. Basil explained carefully, “I keep a few little blobs around my house.. in a few banks. Like security cams!”

Chesh paused, before asking "And you don't run out?" “I have *alot* to use. “ he said seriously. They tilted their head at him. "Who did you anger, if I may ask?" Basil blinked. “Didn’t anger anyone, I don’t think?” "Who cursed you?" They asked bluntly He laughed softly. “Not cursed. I uh, almost died. Got turned into clay. Simple as.” "Not so simple. Care to elaborate?" They prompted.

Basil poked his squishy body. “Got high, crashed my car, got filled with chemicals, turned into clay, fell asleep for 50 years.” "Hm." Chesh raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed, pulling at his body. “Basically that’s all I remember.” Chesh raked a claw down his arm, just curious. Basil didn’t flinch at all, the clay easily parting. “Ouch.” He said bluntly. "Does it hurt?" "My feelings? Yes. Physically? No." He said honestly. "I don't feel pain.. usually." Chesh snickered. "Wouldn't want to hurt your feelings would we now?" Basil chuckled. “I will cry, and it’ll be pathetic.” He threatened jokingly. They raised an eyebrow. "Impossible~" Basil shook his head. “Very possible.” "Nope~" He shrugged with a smile. “Maybe so.” Chesh grinned back and took a sip from Basils glass. Basil leaned back with a happy grin. “You’re good company.” He said cheerfully. "I try to be. Better then being alone." They said. “Oh amen to that. Bein’ alone isn’t funky.” He said with a sigh. “I miss havin’ bones.” "Whats so great about bones?" They questioned.

Basil paused. “Good question.” He said. "They don't do much. I've never suffered for lack of them" Gasp. “You’re boneless?” He asked. "I don't have many inside bits to speak of, no" Basil nodded, in understanding. “Just goop?” "More... essence" Chesh tapped the vial around his neck.“That... sounds fun, not gonna lie.” He said with a deep look at the vial. It was full of softly glowing strands in every color you can think of and some that you can't. "It isn't all that entertaining really" “It’s.. gorgeous to look at.” Basil said sincerely. "Thank you. Most of them aren't mine." Chesh dropped the dark strand of Basils soul inside. Basil paused. “Is mine different to most?” He asked. "How do you mean?" He shrugged. “Colour wise?” Chesh nodded. "Darker then the majority, yes." Basil chuckled quietly, raising an eyebrow. “Does that mean I’m a pure person or nah?” He asked. "The opposite. But I've seen darker."

He looked very smug at that. “Still somewhat a good person!” "Oh no. You really aren't." Chesh chuckled and pulled out a blindingly white strand, then one so black it seemed to absorb all the light around it. “Well shit.” He said softly. “Who did ya steal those from?” Chesh smiled and twined the white strand around his claws. "Poor thing~ so idealistic. So naive. Wanted to be a hero. Save their town from smallpox." They laughed cruelly. Basil looked on in amazement. “Noble but stupid.” He whispered. "Just a child really. Bearly of the age to wed." He frowned slightly. “Didn’t expect that from a kid.” "They grew up faster back then I think..." Basil shrugged. “Maybe so. It’s amazing how quickly people age nowadays.” He murmured.

"You say that because you don't age alongside them" “I have been 27 for a very long time in my eyes.” He said with a sigh. “And also a lot less dying of starvation.” "They got rid of the black death, thats been convenient." Chesh played with the black strand a bit. Basil nodded in agreement. “Not dying of the plague sounds nice.” Chesh dropped the white strand back in the vail. "You can't imagine the stench" He scrunched his nose up. “Sounds grim. Poor people.. urgh.” He complained. "Life goes on." Chesh said calmly. “You’re pretty smart, Chesh. Smarter than me that’s for sure.” Basil said suddenly. Chesh tilted their head. "That's true, but why are you telling me?" He shrugged. “Just sorta hit me. You must know.. a lot, right?” Chesh nodded. “Why bother with humans, then?” He asked. "You're entertainment" he said simply. Basil shifted once more, looking like Bruce Wayne. He’s extra. “Understandable, we are fun!” "Safer then spending extended periods around fae I can tell you." He looked suprised. “They sound like fun.” "Oh we can be...we can be..." They mused. "But very, very dangerous"

Basil leant forwards. “Dangerous?” "Of course." Chesh smiled and ran his tounge over his razor sharp teeth. Basil snickered, “Sounds more kinky than dangerous to me.” "I'm both~" Basil raised an eyebrow, before narrowing his eyes with a flirtatious smirk. "Oh really?" "Oh yes. I'm not sure if balls of mud are my type however~" They lightly teased. He chuckled softly, the melting suddenly seeming to stop. "How exactly.. would you describe your type?" He purred. They smirked. "Moving, of age and willing~" Basil held up 3 fingers. "I am all of those.. and able to change every part of me at will~" He said with a waggle of his eyebrows. "As can I~" He stepped closer. “How bought we head back to my place~?” "You aren't scared off by the teeth~?" Chesh asked. Basil looked Chesh dead in the eyes. “Kinky. Let’s go~.”

[softyoongiionly]

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Five

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: College Au, Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, some moderate angst (later), smut (later later), slow-ish? burn

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: AHHHHH the overwhelming tension! I hope you guys like this one😊

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of fear, anxiety, swearing (obviously), suggestive language, gut wrenching tension, slight angst.

Warnings for the Fic: mentions characters confronting their fears, characters in uncomfortable situations, emotional moments between characters, mentions of bad parenting, explicit language throughout the fic, moderate angst, and very explicit smut later in the story.

Chapter 5: Ferris Wheels and Friendship?

The next morning you woke up to an incessant buzzing that seemed to come from underneath your pillow. Squinting away the morning sun and cursing yourself for not shutting the window before you fell asleep; you take a look at your phone and, see that Jimin is calling you.

“Morning.” You croak, pulling your fuzzy throw blanket up over your figure.

“Morning Sleeping Beauty,” Jimin’s fairy voice twinkles through the speaker, a giggle on the tail end of his words “Did I wake you up?”

“Always.” There’s a bite to your tone but, Jimin’s knows better than to take it seriously. “What’s up?”

“It’s Friday.” He sing-songs and your eyes shoot open in alarm.

“Oh shit, Jimin! I’m sorry!” You flip the covers around, disturbing a sleeping Marzipan in the process, your feet meandering about on the floor as you try and look for some clean clothes. You and Jimin had a Friday tradition that involved crepes and the best iced coffee in the entire world. It was definitely something worth waking up for.

“Jagi, you’re good!” He calls through the phone, since you had to put him on speaker. “I’m at your door though, let me iiiin.” He whines and you rush to the door, not bothering to hang up his call. Swinging the door open, you are met with a giggling Jimin casually leaning against the doorframe. He looks amazing as usual, his pink hair effortlessly swept back, his rose colored cheeks dewy: his outfit is simple but jaw-dropping as usual. Tight grey skinny jeans, a pink oversized sweater, several gold earrings, and black leather boots adorn Jimin’s figure as he holds his arms out for you. Jimin always puts a smile on your face and, he is one of the few people you can confidently say that you never get tired of. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your cheek to his chest, a smile warming your features.

“I’m sorry I slept in.” You mumble against his sweater, and he lets out another giggle.

“It’s fine Y/N, I knew you’d never miss a date with me so, I showed up anyway.” His honeyed voice assures you as you pull away. It’s then that both you and Jimin realize that you don’t have pants on. “Yah! What are you doing answering the door in your panties, someone can walk by and see you!”

You giggle in response to his change in demeanor, pulling him inside as you shut the door.

“Calm down, I’m sure everyone on this floor has seen my underwear at some point.” You confess, still giggling lightly as you hand Jimin a water bottle and, his eyes narrow in your direction. Listen, sometimes I don’t feel like putting on pants just to run to the mailbox and back, I’ve actually gotten pretty good at making it back before anyone sees me.”

“I don’t want to hear about my best friend running around with her ass out, unless I’m there, also running around with my ass out. Someone could literally put you in their pocket.” Jimin admonishes with a pointed look, drinking from his water bottle but, his eyes reflect a bit of the normal playfulness that they always have.

“Look who’s talking.” You play back before running for your life and into your room. Jimin boils over as he picks up a pillow from your couch and throws it in your direction, the pillow nearly missing your head.

“Don’t be fucking rude!” He calls, attempting to sound angry but his giggle escapes his lips anyway.

———————————————————————————————–

“So that’s it? He just got up and left?” Jimin asks around a bite of strawberry crepe, his eyes wide after listening to you recount your night with Yoongi.

You nod, your lips pursed as you wipe your hands on the cloth napkin that lay over your lap.

“Yeah,” You replied casually, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “I don’t know, maybe I misread the situation. I get why he left I guess but, I was a little confused by him leaning away from me. I’m probably reading too much into it, I mean he was there for our project. He wasn’t there cause he wanted to hang out with me.”

“I mean, that’s true but, from what you are telling me, he doesn’t sound put off by you, he sounds like he might have been nervous. I mean odds are, you probably had your chest right in his face while you were fixing his hair.” Jimin smirks lightly, his eyes twinkling with suggestion.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you toss your napkin his way and, forever the dancer, he dodges it swiftly, giggling.

“Shut up.” Your laugh eventually leaves your chest to bubble through your lips as Jimin holds his hands up.

“You’re hot; I’m just speaking the truth.” He defends a sweet smile on his lips.

“You flatter me kind sir” You conclude, patting his hand as you both giggle once again.

A few moments of comfortable silence passes before Jimin’s eyes light up in remembrance.

“Wait! Did you see Kookie’s tweet?”

Your eyes widen back at him as you brace your hands against the table, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh my god yes, what was that about? Do you think he’s seeing someone?”

Jungkook had posted a particularly out of character tweet this morning. The exact tweet read, “You’re the cause of my euphoria.” Jungkook was definitely a romantic little softy at heart but, it wasn’t like him to post cryptic things on social media: mainly because most of his posts were usually meme/sports related.

“Should we ask him about it? I’m sure he knows we saw it.” Jimin’s voice is hushed despite the fact that the man in question was 300 miles away.

You purse your lips in thought before shaking your head.

“No, I don’t think so; I think we should wait until he comes to us. Knowing him, he will probably downplay it anyway.” You conclude, smiling fondly at the thought of the secretly shy little bean that was your best friend.

“Ugh but, I want to know who my Kookie is seeing.” Jimin whines, slumping back into the chair, causing you to giggle.

“Trust me, so do I but, I think he’ll tell us when he’s ready. Besides, he might not even be seeing anyone yet; you know how he gets around pretty girls.” You try and reason with the man before you, who seems to be getting more and more flustered by the second.

“But I want to know now.” Jimin’s accent decorates his whine perfectly and, you curse him for being so adorable. “We’ve been best friends forever, he always tells me everything. I bet Taehyung knows.” He concludes bitterly and, you nudge his leg with your foot.

“If he did, he probably pried it out of him.” You assure him, fighting the laugh that’s brewing over Jimin’s tantrum.

“Fine, I won’t say anything.” Jimin surrenders, his features etched in a prominent frown. “I’ll just stalk his twitter.”

“You already stalk his twitter.” You point out, giggling, savoring the last sip of your iced coffee, the waiter coming over to collect the check.

“Well, I miss him!” He defends, his puffy lips pouted in frustration.

       The two of you leave the café and, Jimin heads off to his showcase rehearsal while you catch the subway back home. As your nearing your stop, your phone buzzes in your hand. Glancing down, you see it’s from Yoongi and, you unlock your phone to open it. Your heart stalls in your chest for a moment as you look at the picture before you. It’s Yoongi but, with bright blonde hair. He’s parted it off to the side, exposing part of his forehead and, although the color wasn’t a shimmering platinum, it was definitely blonde. He has a little bit of a smile on his lips and, he looked like he hadn’t been up for too long. The picture was sent with a text that read: Yoongi: I guess you should change majors?

Fuck. He looked really good. You tell yourself to chill and, instead of responding right away, you wait until your back at your apartment.

You: I’ll let my student advisor know on Monday lol. Do you like it?

A few seconds pass before he replies.

Yoongi: It’s different but, I don’t mind it, I’m just happy I still have all of my hair.

You: Trust me, so am I.

Yoongi: Do you like it?

Your brows furrow at the new message you receive, your fingers stalling on the keyboard. Why would he care if you liked it?

You:  I think it looks great, black to blonde is usually a rough way to go so, I’m happy it worked out.

Yoongi: Me too. Thanks again.

You: No worries.

A sigh leaves your lips as you lean back against your couch. You thumb presses into the power button on your phone, as you place it on the arm of the couch. Man, Tuesday could not come quick enough.

—————————————————————————————————-

“Ok so, the next one is easy, you put roller coasters and, I put heights, we can definitely combine those two.” You begin; you’re desk to desk with Yoongi, in the middle of your Tuesday lecture, trying to figure out the next part of the project. Yoongi had been late to class that day but, boy was he worth the wait; blonde messy hair, camouflage hoodie, black torn jeans and, of course his many silver earrings.

His chewing his lip as he nods in your direction, a slightly drawn out breath leaving his nose as he looks at his paper.

“Yeah, that makes sense. We should probably go to an amusement park or something.” Yoongi suggests, his lips hovering over the straw to his Americano. He looked immaculate as always but, you couldn’t miss the puffiness under his eyes that alluded to a night of very little sleep.

“Do you actually want to go on one of the rides?”

Yoongi shakes his head immediately, his dark eyes lighting up slightly in alarm.

“No, I’m good. We can just walk around or something.” He replies, his hand coming up to scratch behind his neck.

“Is it the height for you too? Or the movement?” You inquire, curiously, your eyes meeting his.

“It’s all of it. I don’t like being jerked around…well, not jerked around…like moved around, I guess. I don’t like it.” He fumbles out the last part of his sentence and, you have to stifle the giggle that wants to pass your lips. You nod, putting your pen to your paper, writing down the plans so, that you can turn it in to Professor James.

“No, I get it; you don’t like being jerked around. I’ll keep that in mind.” You reply casually and you feel an eraser being thrown your way.

“Shut up. Don’t be gross.” Yoongi admonishes but, his cheeks are pink and the amused smile on his lips has already presented itself.

“I’m just trying to get to know my partner.” You defend, the flirtation in your voice subtle but, clearly suggestive. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s for a moment and, you can sense that he’s in some kind of discomfort. He shifts in his seat, his hand at the back of his neck once more before, he takes another sip of his coffee.

“I’m busy for most of this week but, I can probably do Thursday night again, I think the park closes at 10 so, we should have plenty of time to get what we need.” He changes the subject, his gaze growing slightly stern as he glances around the room. Yikes.

“Thursday works for me. I have review session from 2-4 for my final but, I’ll be free after that.” Your returns to its normal cadence and, you couldn’t help but feel a little bummed out by Yoongi going all business on you again. You figured it was time to stop hoping that he would see you as something other than his partner for an inconvenient project.

“Alright, cool, I can meet you there; I’ll try and leave a little bit earlier to avoid the traffic.” He notes, nodding.

“Ok, we should get there around the same time then.” You reply, your eyes not really meeting his gaze any longer, your notebook suddenly becoming very interesting.

“What final is it?” Yoongi asks suddenly, his voice slightly softer than before.

“Hm?” Your eyes flit up to his and you find him staring back at you curiously.

“Your final, that you’re reviewing for?” He clarifies, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Oh, yeah, it’s my International Relations final, it’s one of my final grad requirements so, I need to ace it.” You explain, Yoongi nodding along, his eyes holding a bit of interest for once.

“What do you plan to do with your degree?”

“I want to work as an international advocate of some sorts. I’m interested in improving international relationships and foreign affairs, stuff like that. I’d really like to work in human rights as well but, that’s something I’ll probably have to work up to.” You reply, passion lighting up your voice as you speak about your passions. Yoongi’s face lights up slightly, a small but, genuine smile gracing his features as he nods along.

“That’s cool; the world definitely needs the help.”

“Yeah, I think so too. What about you?” You inquire, your body leaning forward slightly. Yoongi’s expression lights up further as nods to his laptop.

“Well, if I actually get my final composition project done, I plan on staying in the city to work as a producer. I have a friend who owns a small studio in the west province who said I have a job when I graduate.” He explains, his tone one of pride and certainty.

You smile, your eyes lighting up intrigued.

“That’s really cool; it’s nice that you have something lined up already. Do you make your own stuff or are you just looking to make beats for other people?” At this question, Yoongi shifts his posture again, growing smaller in his seat.

“Uh I make my own stuff sometimes but, I usually just sell beats to aspiring SoundCloud rappers.” He smirks slightly as you giggle, stretching your limbs before nodding to your phone.

“Are they any good?”

“No, they’re trash.” He scoffs his eyes playful as his long fingers fiddle with the end of his paper. “But, I have rent so; I do what I have to do.”

“I get you. Do you sing or?” You’re attempting to milk as much of the conversation as possible, as this is probably the most genuine verbal encounter you’ve had with Yoongi. Yoongi cringes at your inquiry, his face wrinkled in distaste as he shakes his head.

“No.” He chuckles as he leans back in his chair, the soft column of his throat visible as continues. “I rap…sometimes, just for fun though.”

You smile playfully, tilting your head, as Professor James calls for your planning papers. “Let me know when your mixtape drops.”

At this, Yoongi rolls his eyes but, you can’t miss the blush that once again graces his cheeks.

“Not going to happen.” He bites back, as he slips his laptop into his bag.

The two of you drop your papers on Professor James’s desk before, weaving through the crowd of people towards the exit. Usually Yoongi leaves you behind to head back into the main part of the campus but, this time he lingers beside you, his thumbs tucking into the straps of his backpack.

“I’ll see you Thursday?” He asks, his voice soft, his doll-lips pouted as he tilts his head towards the direction he plans to walk.

“I’ll be there.” You smile in assurance as you begin to part ways. Your back is almost completely turned before you hear Yoongi’s voice again.

“Bring a jacket, it’s supposed to be cold.” He calls; hands pulling the sleeves of his hoodie back down over his wrists. You nod, biting back a smile at his request.

“I will, thanks.” You call back before turning back and going your separate ways.

———————————————————————————————-

“Y/N likes Yoongi, Y/N likes Yoongi!” An annoying course of voices echoes through your screen as you roll your eyes, flipping off your webcam.

“I don’t like Yoongi; I just think he’s cute!” You insist, through the choir from hell that’s currently berating you.

It’s Wednesday night and you’re in the middle of a skype session with Jimin, Taehyung and, Jungkook. Jimin and his big mouth had slowly started to bring up the idea that one of you was seeing someone. Jungkook had started to look visibly uncomfortable so, you decided to shift the focus onto you. You had mentioned Yoongi and, his new hair and, how literally everything he does was endearing and, this obviously opened you up to a barrage of teasing from your friends.

“You never talk about boys this way Y/N, you definitely have a thing for him.” Taehyung points out, his smirk prominent as the other two boys finally settle down.

“Seriously, she mentions him all the time; it’s starting to make me jealous.” Jimin pouts, causing Taehyung to chuckle. Jungkook, who would normally be memeing the hell out of you right now, decides to quiet down, not wanting to risk his own love life being questioned.

“You guys, even if I had a thing for Yoongi, it wouldn’t matter. He’s made it obvious that he isn’t feeling it, trust me.” You explain, playing with the ends of your hair, whilst Taehyung and Jimin roll their eyes.

“You don’t know that, have you tried flirting a little?” Taehyung asks, his expression doubtful as he deadpans the camera.

“Yeah, actually I have but, I think it makes him uncomfortable and, I don’t really want to do that.” You’re trying to keep your tone casual, not really wanting to reveal your disappointment to your friends. Yoongi wasn’t interested in you, that much was obvious but, so far, he seemed like a nice guy so, you really didn’t want to make things awkward for him.

“I don’t know Y/N, you don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to knowing if guys like you or not.  There were at least half a dozen guys in high school that  had a thing for you and, you had no idea.” Jimin points out, shrugging as he throws back some of the pink wine in his glass. Taehyung nods in agreement, pointing towards you.

“Jiminie’s right, maybe you just make him nervous. You have that effect on men.” Taehyung smirks as he leans back in his seat. You roll your eyes and shake your head, your hand reaching over to pat Marzipan who has plopped down next to you.

“I think you should keep going the way you are. Hyung is right, he might just be nervous but, if you don’t know for sure, maybe it’s best to just keep going with the flow.” Jungkook finally pipes up, his demeanor much calmer than normal and, you really have to stifle your desire to ask him why he isn’t being the walking meme that he normally is.

“Thanks Kookie. I think you’re right.” You smile sweetly in his direction as he nods almost shyly in return. Taehyung and Jimin roll their eyes causing both you and Jungkook to laugh.

“I think you should say something to him. Take charge, let him know how you feel.” Taehyung encourages as Jimin nods along to his sentiment. “ He might surprise you.”

“He’s my partner guys, if he’s not into me, it’s going to make the whole thing a lot harder to get through. Look, I promise to say something if he gives me good reason to but, right now, I’m going to take Jungkook’s advice and, go with the flow.” You state and Jungkook smile’s proudly in return before, sticking his tongue out at the screen.

“Ha! I win, suckers.” He announces to the other boys, causing you to laugh at his antics. “Best advice goes to me, Jeon Jungkook, the love expert.”

Ah, there he is.

—————————————————————————————————-

Thursday finally arrives and, you’re rifling through your closet, desperately trying to find your favorite hoodie. Its black and 4-5 sizes too big, which basically means it hangs below your knees. The inside is lined with thick fleece that is easily the softest material you have ever felt and, you could have sworn you hung it up the last time you did laundry. Your face lights up in victory as you spot a mass of black fabric hanging off of one of your shelves before, slipping it on over your bra and leggings. You opt for some comfortable shoes since, odds are,  you‘re going to be walking around the park for a while. Marzipan scurries into the kitchen as she hears you pouring food into her bowl, her chubby body almost sliding across the floor as she reaches her destination. You giggle fondly at her, patting her head before, grabbing your things and heading out the door.

The subway ride was longer than you’re used to but, eventually you’re dropped off near the main entrance of the amusement park. When you finally feel the frigid outside air, you thank your lucky stars that Yoongi had reminded you to bring a jacket. You honestly don’t know what you would have done if you had opted to wear anything else. Moving through the crowd of people, you eventually move off to the side to pull your phone out.

You: Hey, I’m here. Have you made it yet?

Yoongi’s reply takes a few minutes before a new message lights up your screen.

Yoongi: I just parked. Meet me at the ticket booth.

You: I bought our tickets already, do you want to just meet at the main entrance?

The chat bubble moves around for a long time and based on his short reply, you assume he was unsure of how to respond.

Yoongi: You didn’t have to do that.

You: You promised me I could get the next round so, I did just that.

Yoongi: I meant the next round of food…

You: Don’t worry about it.

A few moments pass before you spot Yoongi walking towards your direction. He’s wearing the same outfit he wore during your AM lecture: black Nike sweats with a dark gray utility jacket. He’s also sporting a disapproving expression, his hands tucked into his pockets as he approaches you. You push off of the wall you were leaning against, strolling over to meet him half way.

“I wish you wouldn’t have wasted your money on me.” He announces as the two of your paths finally meet. “I could have paid.”

“You’re welcome Yoongi.” You reply simply, nudging him towards the main entrance. He side eyes you, his posture stiff but, he allows you to push him towards your destination.

“Thank you.” His voice is soft and you almost miss the small smile that appears and then vanishes on his mouth.

The two of you approach the gate and, you reach out to hand your tickets to the clerk who is sporting a brilliant smile.

“Enjoy!” She chirps and both you and Yoongi thank her before you head inside.

The park is buzzing with activity, twinkling lights adorning nearly every structure, the air is scented with tantalizing flavors that resemble cinnamon and freshly baked bread, children are eagerly tugging their parents towards various shops and rides and, there’s probably around a half a dozen giant roller coasters that stand proudly towards the back of the park. You can’t help but smile at the scene before you and, this doesn’t go unnoticed by the man standing beside you.

“What?” His brows are raised, as he glances between you and whatever he assumes you’re smiling at.

“Nothing.” You reply, your smile fading slightly before jerking your head towards the back of the park. “I’m guessing we should head that way?”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, nodding in response as the two of you start to make your way to the metal fortresses that await you.

You observe the coasters from a distance and, you feel yourself getting slightly nervous at the thought of riding the tallest one that protrudes in the middle of the group, the top of it looking as if its about to touch the sky. Roller coasters themselves didn’t really bother you but, the idea of being up so high without any control over when you are able to get down, really freaked you out. Yoongi stayed silent for the most part as you meandered your way through the eager patrons. You felt some level of disappointment as the tricky part of your brain reminded you that you wished you were here with Yoongi for different reasons.

“Which one scares you the most?” You ask him after the two of you finally reach the cluster of coasters.

Yoongi’s eyes shift around for a moment, his lips pursed in thought before he nods toward a black coaster that looks it spins and flips about a thousand times.

“That one, I can’t understand why anyone would find that fun.” He replies, wrinkling his nose in distaste. You laugh lightly before you nod towards the giant colorful Ferris Wheel dominating the right side of the back lot.

“What about that one?” You inquire softly, your eyes lighting up with an idea. Yoongi ponders your question for a moment before shrugging.

“That one isn’t too bad, I’m not a huge fan of the height but, it’s probably the only one I would consider riding.”

“I’m going to ride it.” You say suddenly, nudging his shoulder with your own. Yoongi’s brow furrows as he looks over at you and then back at the ride.

“Wait why? I thought we were just walking around.” He reminds you but, you already start making your way towards the Ferris Wheel, your heart starting to pound in your chest as you do. Yoongi struggles to keep up with you as he looks at you with concern.

You shrug as you take your place in line, “You actually dyed your hair and it turned out alright, I think I should confront a fear or two directly too. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to though.”

Yoongi looks at you for a moment, still alarmed as his eyes regard the behemoth wheel before the both of you. He shakes his head, his gaze once again disapproving as he sighs out through his nose.

“I’ll watch your stuff, I guess, just…” He pauses, his eyes scanning over your frame as you hand him your purse. “Be…safe…”

You giggle lightly at his demeanor, pushing down the anxiety and disappointment that’s brewing in your chest.

“I’ll be strapped in Yoongi, don’t worry.” You assure him, before, making your way to the entrance of the ride. What were you doing???? Were you crazy??? There was literally no reason to confront this fear directly but, honestly, why not? It was a Ferris Wheel. Yes, it was unnerving but, what’s the worst that can happen?

Right before you approach the front of the line, you hear a soft murmur, that sounded like your name, making its way through the group of people before you notice Yoongi shuffling over to you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a tilt to your head. Yoongi lets out a frustrated sigh, his face turned up in discomfort as you both approach the ride operator.

“You shouldn’t ride it alone.” Yoongi mumbles, regarding you with his cat eyes.

“Yoongi, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.” You assure him, your eyes soft with concern.

“Well I don’t even want to be here but, I can’t afford to fail this class so, let’s just get this over with, I guess.” For the first time, you sense actual irritation in Yoongi’s voice and the tone makes your face fall.

You nod robotically as the woman ushers the two of you into a massive structure that looks like a carriage. As the two of you step inside, you pull your seatbelt over your lap, keeping your attention on the material. Yoongi has his eyes on you and, you can feel it but, you have no intention at meeting his gaze. As the ride rumbles to life, you grip your seatbelt a little tighter in an attempt to calm your nerves while Yoongi scans over you warily. The two of you don’t speak for some time, your eyes trained on the window of the carriage as it slowly starts moving.

“Are you ok?” Yoongi’s soft voice finally breaks the thick layer of silence between the two of you, his cat eyes regarding you.

“Yeah. I’m good, you?” You jerk your head in his direction, your voice smaller than you want it to be. Yoongi isn’t convinced but, he answers your question anyway.

“Yeah, I’m ok.”

Silence fills the carriage again as you shift slightly on the cushioned seat. The view from the window is revealing more and more of the twinkling city lights and, you once again feel a twinge of sadness that you aren’t here with someone you wants to be there with you. Jimin would love this ride, you note, wishing he was here to make you laugh.

“I’m sorry that you’re here with me instead of some pretty girl or something, you got to admit though, this view is amazing.” You attempt to lighten the mood, smiling slightly as you look out the window. Yoongi’s brow furrows in confusion but, you miss this as you’ve purposefully chosen to avoid his gaze.

“What do you mean?” He mumbles, his voice smaller than normal. You look over at him to see him fiddling with the end of his hoodie, as he stares back at you.

“I just mean that this is actually kind of cool and, I’m sure you’d rather be here with your girlfriend or something.” You explain, keeping your tone as casual as possible.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He retorts, his eyes regarding you, a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth. “and you are…pretty.” Yoongi seems to force the last part of his sentence out and, you can’t help but giggle in response.

“It’s ok Yoongi; you don’t have to say that. I know you aren’t into me like that.” You smile reassuringly, waving him off almost, trying to move the subject along.

“No, actually, you don’t know that.” He mutters, confusion and faint irritation flashing across his face.

“Well, maybe, I’m wrong for assuming but_”

“You are.” Yoongi cuts you off, his voice calm and annoyingly monotone but, his gaze holds something you can’t quite identify. “Why would you think I wasn’t attracted to you?”

“Your body language, the way you constantly avoid eye contact with me, just stuff like that. It’s no big deal Yoongi; I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, it’s just something I’ve noticed.”

“You’re wrong.” His cheeks are pink and you feel an unsettling flutter in your stomach as you lock eyes with him.

“Fine, I’m wrong. I’m sorry for assuming.” You concede, smirking lightly as you regard his flustered frame. “Would you kiss me? Hypothetically?”

You don’t know what’s come over you, you’re not normally so brazen but you really wanted to know what went on in that pretty blonde head of his.

“Yeah…”He swallows around a dry throat, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours for the first time during this conversation. “I would…hypothetically.”

Your smirk is unwavering as your teeth nibble on the inside of your lip.

“Where?” The inquiry passes your lips as your voice drops to a low murmur, the flirtation that you’ve suppressed creeping back into your tone.

“Where?” Yoongi repeats, his shaky voice confused momentarily as you watch his gaze flicker between your chest to your throat and, then finally settling on your lips. “I…I don’t know…your lips…maybe…other places too…”

The fluttering in your chest doesn’t seize and, you really try to reason with yourself but, you can’t help but want him. Before you can reply, another confession tumbles passed his lips.

“I’d kiss you everywhere…if you’d let me.”

The ride jolts momentarily ripping you and Yoongi out of your moment, you look around, concerned that something was wrong before a voice crackles through the speakers.

“Attention Ladies and Gentleman, the ride is experiencing some minor technical difficulties and, will resume shortly, please continue to keep your hands, arms, feet and legs inside the ride at all times, we will have everything moving in no time.”

The two of you settle down and catch each other’s gaze once again; Yoongi’s cheeks still pink, his hand resuming its favorite spot behind his neck. He chuckles lightly and, you can’t help but follow suit, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

“You….uh” Yoongi begins his sentence but, he seems to lose his words for moment as he stares at you. He takes a breath, his head turning to the side slightly before continuing. “We can’t.”

Your brow furrows as you cock your head, your eyes holding his.

“We can’t what?”

“We can’t do anything.” He explains further, his voice decorated with hesitation, his deep chocolate eyes unsure. You fall silent for a moment, your eyes softer than they were before as you hold his gaze.

“Can I ask why?”

Yoongi’s lips are drawn up into a half smile and you think for a moment you detect a hint of fondness in his eyes before he answers.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” He admits, your face falls for a moment as you look out the window. You nod as you chew on the inside of your lip before Yoongi pipes up again. “It’s not because I don’t want to. I just think it’s a bad idea… right now.”

You nod your head again, smiling warmly, aiming to conceal your disappointment.

“I get it, don’t worry, thanks for the ego boost. For the record though,” Your smile turns into a smirk, your eyes playful. “I’d kiss you too. Everywhere.”  The tone of your voice is dramatic and overly seductive causing Yoongi to roll his eyes and flip you off, despite your comment clearly flustering him. A giggle erupts over your lips as the ride resumes motion towards the ground.

Maybe Jungkook wasn’t a “love expert” after all.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot “Under the Boardwalk” (Rated G)

Summary:

After overhearing some bad news, Kurt leaves his parents in their hotel room and goes for a walk … but he gets lost. Eventually he stumbles upon a stranger who points him in the right direction is a number of ways. (2883 words)

Kid!fic inspired by the beginning of the movie Beaches. Takes place in the late 50s.

Read on AO3.

Kurt doesn’t know where he is.

He didn’t expect to get this far.

Of course, he wasn’t really thinking when he left. He just needed a break. So he thought, once up and down the boardwalk. That’s all. He’d aim for as far as Nathan’s Hot Dog stand, turn around and come back. It was a straight shot. No chance of getting lost. This was the same walk they’d taken yesterday. It was a no-brainer. But after a while, everything started to look the same – every store front, every lifeguard station, every food cart.

He’d walked straight! Perfectly straight!

Or so he thought.

He never made it to Nathan’s. And now, caught in the bustle of people mobbing the beach, playing carnival games, and eating food he normally wouldn’t touch but which smells heavenly to his starving stomach, he has no clue how to get anywhere. He becomes frantic, anxiety welling up within him, filling his chest until there’s no room for anything, even his racing heart. He considers yelling for his mom and dad, but seeing as they didn’t come with him that would be no use. They’ve probably discovered he’s gone by now and are worried sick – another unnecessary load heaped on to their pile of stress. And Kurt … well, Kurt might as well dig himself a cave in the sand because this is where he’s going to live from now on.

Lost and exhausted, his feet aching and the back of his neck burning, he walks over to the stairs leading down to the beach. And even though he’s not a big fan of sitting on anything thousands of human shoe soles have touched, he drops down onto the warped wood and begins to sob.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” he mutters. “Whining like a baby! You’re eleven-years-old, Kurt! Grow up!” He sniffs, wiping at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand.

“Hey!”

Kurt’s head shoots up when he hears a voice call out. There are tons of people on the beach today, and lots of people calling hey, but for some reason, Kurt feels like this particular hey is directed at him.

“Hey! You up there!”

The voice is closer now, but the fact that it’s coming from underneath his butt pretty much cinches it. He looks down between his legs, through the space between the steps, and sees a face staring up at him.

“Jesus!” Kurt screams, leaping to his feet. He stumbles down the steps, landing on his butt in the sand.

“Oh, hey! Are you okay?”

Kurt peers into the grey-gold shadows underneath the boardwalk and sees the face with body attached running towards him.

“You lost or somethin’, kid?”

Kid? Kurt stares at the boy wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans – at the beach, of all places! - thinking he can’t be any older than he is. In fact, Kurt’s sure he’s older, if only by a day. Kurt stares at the boy in a daze, unsure what to do when he reaches a hand out to him. His parents warned him never to talk to strangers. But he’s frightened and he’s desperate.

And he could really use a friend.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” Kurt says, taking the boy’s hand, letting him help him to his feet.

“Where’re your folks?” he asks, eyes sweeping the beach and the boardwalk behind them as if he’s going to be able to pinpoint Kurt’s parents even though he’s never seen them before in his life.

“They’re back at our room.”

The boy beckons Kurt under the boardwalk, and whether it’s a smart decision or not, Kurt follows. With the skin on his neck and scalp screaming from the heat, he needs to get out of the sun.

“You shouldn’t be here alone. This place ain’t exactly the safest, even in the daytime.” The boy falls down onto a small blanket covering the sand and crosses his legs. He looks Kurt up and down, his lips curling. “You must be from outta town, cuz you’ve got fresh meat written all over you.”

Kurt glances down at his shirt as if checking to see if something he didn’t notice before is actually written there, and the boy smiles.

“My name’s Blaine. Blaine Anderson,” the boy says. His eyelids narrow as he asks, “You wouldn’t have heard of me before by any chance … would you?”

“I don’t think so. But you’ve probably never heard of me before, either.” Kurt kneels on the blanket and sticks out his hand. “I’m Kurt Hummel.”

“Yeah, you are!” Blaine laughs, slapping Kurt’s hand instead of shaking it, and Kurt rolls his eyes. Blaine is teasing, but he’s not being mean. “Maybe I can help you. I sort of live here.”

“Under the boardwalk?”

“No. In Jersey. Where are you staying?”

“I … I don’t know. It’s not a hotel. It’s more of a bungalow? A group of them, right off the beach. There’s a fountain in the middle with a mermaid playing the flute … and it’s by a restaurant …”

Blaine whistles. “You’re staying at the Shore Cottages. Not too shabby. Your folks have money?”

“No,” Kurt replies, taken back, wondering if giving Blaine this much information was a mistake. His father warned him that criminals often employ kids to pickpocket for them. Could Blaine be one of those? In his leather jacket and jeans, hair slicked back like James Dean, he definitely looks the part, but maybe that’s a big clue that he’s not one. He’s too obvious. “In fact, this is the first vacation we’ve ever taken out of state. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the beach.” Kurt looks down at the blanket beneath his knees. It’s torn and frayed, off-white in places when it should be bright, and faded around the edges, burnt from the sun. Kurt has to wonder if Blaine brought this blanket with him or if he just found it here. “It’s the first time for a lot of things.”

“What’s the big occasion?”

Kurt chews around the words before he says them, trying to make his mouth form them into something different. Something better. But he can’t change reality. He can only live with it.

“My mother’s sick. She’s more than sick. She’s … she’s dying. I just found out today.”

Blaine looks aghast. “You mean to tell me your folks brought you out here for your first ever summer vacation by the shore just to tell you your mom’s sick?” Blaine shakes his head disapprovingly. “That’s cold.”

“No!” Kurt rushes to defend his parents with tears welling in his eyes. “No, that’s not … they didn’t tell me. I overheard my mom and dad talking, and she said a word …”

Blaine is on the brink of asking what word?, but the way Kurt bites his lips together and closes his eyes, as if shutting out the world might shut out the truth, Blaine already knows.

His grandfather died of cancer a few years ago. When they first found out, his mom often made that same face. But his grandfather was in his seventies. He’d lived a long, happy life, watched his children grow into adults, get married, start lives of their own.

Kurt’s mother can’t be older than Blaine’s, and she’s only in her forties.

“The thing is, I think I’ve known for a while,” Kurt admits.

“How?”

Kurt shrugs. “In little ways. My mom started getting colds a lot, and it always takes her forever to get over them. She’s tired all the time, she has these scary coughing fits, she …” He stops, feeling more hopeless now than when he left. “I don’t think they know how to tell me. I think my mom and dad wanted us to have this last summer together before they had to deal with it. You know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Blaine inches closer – close enough that the fingers of his left hand are only a hair or so away from Kurt’s right. “That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Kurt nods into the companionable silence, gaze fixed on the ocean – calm to his eyes, but he can hear the waves crashing beneath the slope of the beach in front of him. That’s how his parents have been, he realizes – calm and happy on the outside for his benefit when, on the inside, they’ve probably been screaming.

“How long you guys stayin’ out here for?” Blaine asks.

“Two weeks. And when we get home, we’re buying a house closer to the hospital where my mom’s getting her care. I heard them say they’re going to take me out of school, move me away from the only friends I have to some place two hours away! I’m going to some dumb old school called … Daiton Prep?” Kurt squints at the sunlight streaming through the slats in the wood walkway above them as he tries to remember what his father called it. “Dyson Prep? Di … Dover Prep?”

Blaine leans in questioningly. “Dalton Prep?”

Kurt snaps his fingers. “That’s it! Dalton Prep?” He turns to Blaine, tilting his head suspiciously. “How did you know?”

“I live here, but I’m not from here. I’m a Buckeye, too. From Westerville. My brother and I came out here ‘temporarily’ (*air-quotes applied*) after I won the Kings Island Variety Show.”

“I’ve seen that!” Kurt says in awe. “They air it on TV! That must have been so exciting! You must be really talented!”

“Well …” Blaine blushes, rolling his head away so Kurt won’t see “… you know, for a seasoned performer like myself, it’s just another day at the office.”

“So, what’s your talent?” Kurt asks, but hurrying to guess before Blaine can answer. “I know! You’re a tap dancer! No … a ventriloquist!”

Blaine’s bashful smile crashes like the waves on the shore below them.

“No, I’m a singer. I do a mini-Elvis routine down at the Nickelodeon that brings the house down, if I do say so myself.”

“A singer? Wow! I—I want to be a singer someday. Except, I want to perform in musicals.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s my biggest dream ever!”

Blaine nibbles his lower lip, considering the boy in front of him, thinking so heavily it shows on his face. “You know, Dalton Prep is the starter school for Dalton Academy. And they have a singing group called The Warblers. They’re kind of like rock stars. Scouts go to their performances and everything! Guys who’ve sung with them have gone on to tour, cut records, even sing on Broadway!”

Kurt’s eyes go wide. “Broadway?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a really good school.”

“I guess … that’s not so bad.”

“No, it isn’t. There’re definitely way worse places in the world, you know.”

“I do.” Kurt nods soberly. “At my school, I get bullied a lot.”

“There, you see? That won’t happen at Dalton. They have a policy – no bullying allowed. And they’re very strict about it.”

“That does sound nice,” Kurt admits, but his gaze drops to his hands again. “But I still won’t know anyone there. And … I don’t make friends very easily. People seem to think I’m weird.”

Blaine puts his head on Kurt’s shoulder and blinks up at him ridiculously, making Kurt giggle. “You’ve got me. And I’m weird, too! We’re a matching set!”

“Blaine! Blaine!”

“Ugh!” Blaine moans, dropping his head off Kurt’s shoulder and into his sand-covered hand.

“Who … who’s that?”

“The warden – a.k.a my big brother, Cooper.”

“Blaine! Where the hell are ya, kid?” The boardwalk above them rattles with the weight of running feet, knocking loose sand that rains down on them. Those same feet barrel down the steps and stop not too far from them. A man wearing jeans and a white tank top spins in a full circle. He stops, brilliant blue eyes (odd to Kurt since Blaine’s are hazel) staring straight at them. It must take a moment for his vision to adjust since he doesn’t seem to see them right away. He throws his arms in the air when he does. “Blaine! Jesus Christ, kid, you scared the life outta me! You’ve really gotta stop runnin’ off like that!”

“It’s a good thing I did because this guy here’s hella lost.”

Cooper only seems to notice Kurt when Blaine mentions him. “Really?”

“Yup. And if I wasn’t here, who knows where he’d’uv ended up. He’s not from around here.”

Cooper’s head bounces back and forth, deciding what to do with that information. When it reaches his right shoulder for the third time, he shrugs. “Well, ok. Let’s get him back to his folks and then you and I need to go back to the theater and practice. You’ve got a spotlight comin’ up in three days and, not to be mean or anythin’, but your footwork sucks! Uh …” He shoots a guilty look at Kurt. “I mean, stinks. Sorry, kid.”

“It’s alright,” Kurt says, mildly amused by the banter between these two siblings – one because Kurt is an only child, and two because Cooper has to be close to twice Blaine’s age!

“About that …” Blaine looks down at the sand, that thoughtful look returning to his face. “I was thinking that maybe we could go back home. See mom and dad. And maybe … I could go back to Dalton?”

Cooper’s jaw drops. He stares at Blaine like he suggested finding the closest sharp object and cutting off his own foot.

“I … I don’t think I heard you right there, squirt,” he says, side-stepping closer with a hand cupped to his ear. “Could you give me that again?”

“I said I don’t want to play the Nickelodeon anymore! It’s tired and it’s getting old. I wanna go home.”

Kurt had heard him the first time, but hearing Blaine repeat it makes his jaw drop, too. Blaine didn’t necessarily make it sound like he was living the dream out here, but he gets to perform in front of audiences who pay to see him! Who in the world would give that up? And why?

But it sounds like he hasn’t seen his folks in a while. Missing them might make him throw in the towel.

It would for Kurt.

“So what you’re saying is you wanna leave all this behind, your whole career as a performer, to go back to boring Ohio, let mom and dad shove you in a stiff, itchy uniform, and stick you back in Dalton Prep?”

Blaine nods dramatically. “Yes, Cooper. That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”

Cooper throws his hands in the air again, but he doesn’t seem exasperated this time. He looks relieved. “Finally! God Almighty! I’m getting’ so sick of Jersey! I can’t wait to leave this place in my rearview! In fact, I’m marchin’ right down to that roach infested shack they call a theater and …”

“Coop?”

“… tell that cauliflower-eared mutant of a manager …”

“Cooper?”

“… that the Anderson boys are done working for peanuts!”

“COOP!”

Kurt deflates into a mass of laughter when Blaine’s voice cracks, which Blaine catches, and he starts laughing, too.

“Yeah, squirt?”

“Let’s leave on good terms. I mean, you never know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Give them two weeks’ notice. Have them cut us out of the schedule slowly,” he says, throwing Kurt a subtle wink. “That way we can pad our pockets a little more and spend some time on the beach. We haven’t really done that since we moved out here. It’d be nice to have somethin’ like a real vacation.”

“Yeah …” Cooper points emphatically at his brother for his great idea. “That’s the ticket, little bro. When did you get so smart?”

“I must have learned it from you, Coop,” Blaine says in a deadpanned tone Kurt suspects comes from repeatedly answering this question that same way, like it’s the only acceptable response.

“You’re darn tootin’. Come on. Let’s get your friend back to his folks and then we can work on that footwork.”

“Sure thing.” Blaine gets up first, taking a step or two downwind before he brushes off his jeans. “You comin’, Kurt?”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, doing the same. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Kurt’s eyes burn something fierce when he steps out into the light, but he doesn’t feel so hopeless or heavy anymore. His mom’s still sick. He can’t get away from that, no matter how far down the beach he walks. But now he has a friend, someone he’s already shared that with, by his side. Someone he’ll know when he goes to school in the fall. Which makes Kurt curious:

“Did you … do that for me?”

“Eh, you know …” Blaine looks over at the ocean since he can’t keep the truth off his face if he tried “… I’m getting kind of tired of playing nickel and dime shows. We get practically no money. And the only way I can get any kind of a break is if I run off. It’ll be nice to go home and see my old friends again …” He bumps Kurt’s shoulder and smiles “… hang around with some new ones. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

“No.” Kurt follows Blaine as he speeds ahead of Cooper, leading the way. “Doesn’t sound so bad at all.”

[gloomy-goober]

Ocean Man Summary:

There had always been natural twin behavior between the Thomas’ two creative sides. They seemed to speak in another language only known to them, they insistently fought over which was older, and they were naturally competitive.

But there was also the unnatural. The seeming telepathy between them, the habit they had of finishing each other’s thoughts or sentences or answering at the same time. Knowing when one half of the pair was hurt. When one half of the pair was in danger.

When one half of the pair was dying.

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

The only sound in the living room was the slow tick-tock of the clock. Patton sat on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chest and a mug held between two cupped hands. The steam was slowly clouding his glasses, but he did not seem to care. Just savoring the warmth.  

Lost in thought, the moral side was startled back to the world when a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Some hot chocolate went over the rim of the cup and slowly slid down the side.

“Sorry Pat, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“It’s okay, ki-Virgil,” Pat chuckles but the sound is a little dry.

Carefully the mug is sat down on the coffee table and he took his glasses off to wipe away the steam. The couch dipped as Virgil took a seat beside him.

“You want to take a break? Get some sleep maybe?” Virgil picked nervously at the skin under his thumbnail, “I’m used to staying up and worrying so if you need a nap-.”

“Virgil,” Patton placed a hand on the other side’s knee, “I’m okay. I don’t need a break.”

He looked to the door he had been watching before he zoned out. The white paint had started to peel. The gold accents were dull.

“I just wish I knew what to do for him. He’s barely around the mindscape anymore and when he is he just goes to his room and runs back out again,” a few tears began to form, “I don’t know if he is eating or sleeping. Or if I will see him again once he goes back in there.”

Patton sniffled and tried to hold back the tears. The fight was futile when the anxious side pulled him close.

“I know. I know Pat. I wish there was an easy answer to this.”

Patton hugged back; his face buried in the softness of Virgil’s hoodie.

“Perhaps there is.”

Virgil tensed at the new voice and Patton tried to wipe his tears away before he looked to the entrance to the hallway.

Logan stood there, his hands behind his back.

“What do you mean? Every attempt to talk to Roman has just been a fight or him ignoring us,” Virgil said.

Logan moved forward into the room, “We must force him to listen.”

“No,” Patton whined, “He just needs to figure it out himself is all.”

“He is simply in the stage of denial,” Logan countered, “It will be better if we ground him and help him move into the next stages so he can accept what has occurred.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Yeah, lets bring reality to Creativity. Like that has worked before.”

“Would you rather he continue this delusion?” Logan asked, “that we simply watch as himself and Thomas rot away without any other goal in mind.”

Virgil shrank back and held Patton tighter, “No.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea, Lo. It might be too soon,” Patton glanced at the door again before he looked to his friend, “We might make things worse.”

“It has been three months, four days, ten hours, thirty minutes, and 54 seconds since the very event that started this occurred. I believe now is as good a time as any to tell Roman the truth.”

“Or we let him burn himself out,” Virgil suggested, “Ro is a blockhead sometimes, but he isn’t dumb. He’s got to know, right?”

Patton’s head moved in time with the two discussing. Too torn between the two points to give his own opinion.

Logan sighed and moved so he could sit in the armchair next to the couch. His elbows rested on his knees so he could perch his chin on his hands.

“Sometimes knowing it and hearing it are two different things, Virgil. I believe that we have put this off too long. Roman needs to hear that Remus is not coming back.”

“You’re wrong.”

Three heads turned to the door to the imagination. Roman had changed in the three months of endless searching.

His hair was messier, no longer neatly styled. He had not allowed himself to shave, the scraggly signs of a beard had formed. The once stunningly white costume was grey, almost black, from the dirt that stained it. The red sash had vanished. His eyes were circled by large bags, sunken in and gaunt.

It was hard to believe this was the prince.

Logan stood up to his full height, back straight and ready for any confrontation that could occur.

“Roman, was impeccable timing. We were just discussing-.”

The door to the imagination was slammed shut behind Roman, “I know what you were discussing, and you are wrong.”

Logan linked his hands together in front of his body to show he was not looking for a fight.

“I know it is hard to understand, Roman, but you must come to terms with the fact that Remus is-.”

“Don’t you say another word,” Roman growled.

Logan did not hesitate, “is gone. Once again part of the subconscious most likely. This endless searching and denial-.”

“YOU’RE WRONG!” Roman yelled over the words and Logan faltered.

The pause of the logical side’s words was met with a prince that stormed up to him. Almost nose to nose. Logan stared into red eyes, usually a reddish brown but now fully encompassed by the color the prince represented.

“I still feel him. Right here,” he poked Logan’s chest none too gently, “He is out there somewhere. He is still alive, and I will be damned by God or whoever cares about facets like us if I am not the one that brings him home.”

Logan remained impassive, “I see. You are working off intuition. I can assure you that the aching feeling you may feel is just an illusory correlation. It is not a sign that your brother is still with us but simply grief that you are avoiding.”

“You say he is dead one more time I will cut off your arms and smack you with them,” Roman hissed through his teeth.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. The whole argument he had been silent. Too stunned with the sudden appearance of the very person he had been sat waiting for. The words that left the prince’s mouth startled him back to reality.

The prince’s head snapped to the other two and then he looked back at Logan.

“He started it, Pat! Coming in here and trying to turn you all against me! I know he is alive; I feel it!”

Roman took a small step back away from Logan and fully faced the two on the couch. Virgil looked away quickly. Patton’s face was almost as black as Logan’s except that tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. As well as a look of sad determination.

Logan opened his mouth to counter, but Patton beat him to it.

Morality stood up, out of Virgil’s hold, and calmly moved to place two hands on Roman’s arms. Firm yet gentle. An iron grip that felt as soft as kitten paws.

“Sometimes what you feel and what you know are two different things, Ro,” he said softly.

Roman looked like Patton had just stabbed him through the stomach with his own sword. The prince stepped back and broke the hold Pat had one his arms.

“No.”

“Kiddo, I have watched you run in and out of that door for three months. I have hoped everyday that you would return happy and successful but,” Patton took a beat to make sure his voice was steady, “Sometimes people in our lives, people we love, leave us-.”

Roman took another step back when Patton tried to get him back into his arms, “No.”

“They leave us before we are ready. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, stop it!”

“It hurts a whole lot. You want to bring them back; to turn back the clock but you can’t. Time doesn’t move backwards.”

Roman stumbled back further and his knees the back of the final chair in the room. He looked at Patton and then at Logan; eyes wide in fear. Pat stayed a step away to give Roman some space.

Then Roman’s eyes landed on Virgil. Hope, desperate home, lighted up those tired eyes. Patton did not have a chance to stop him as the prince rushed towards Anxiety. He fell to his knees in front of the couch and grabbed Virgil’s hand.

“Virgil, dark stormy knight, you got to believe me. You knew my brother; you know he would not just vanish without some kind of...of…of epic death. He’s still out there. He’s not…not...”

Patton let a few tears fall hearing the desperate words of his friend. His eyes met Virgil’s, who looked at him with fear and uncertainty on what he should say. He gave a watery sad smile and a small nod. Silent encouragement for his friend to do the right thing for Roman.

“He’s dead, Roman,” Virgil got out. His voice monotone but his free hand shook.

Roman let go of the hand like he had been burned and stumbled to his feet.

“You’re just saying that for them,” Roman shot back lamely, “Virgil please.”

Virgil looked down at his lap and shook his head no. His fingers nervously picked at a loose thread on his jeans.

Roman looked around the living room. The look on his face made Patton want to burst into tears and hold him close. He knew that Roman would not let him do that after he had laid down such a truth.

“You’re all wrong. He isn’t dead!”

“Roman, pumpkin, please,” Patton reached out a hand for the prince but found it smacked away.

“No! No you are all wrong! You all just never liked him and want me to let him rot!” Roman’s face split into a grin but it looked more like a grimace. Tears had started to form in his eyes, “Well jokes on you! I am not going to give up on my brother like you all did long ago! I’m going to find him and all of you are going to be-.”

“Roman enough.”

The room seemed to get colder as another figure stepped into the living room. Dressed in black and yellow. His had was missing and revealed messy curls. The capelet gone.

Deceit looked tired. Drained.

“Deceit!” Roman turned fast and grabbed the dark side’s hand. He clutched the yellow glove like it was a lifeline, “Please, you got to believe me. You know he is out there somewhere.”

A sad look passed Deceit before he looked at the other three. Virgil gave him a glance before he looked away. Patton was nervous. Worried that whatever Deceit would say would break what little words that they had gotten through to Roman. Logan looked impassive. Expectant.

The free hand gently moved and cupped at Roman’s face before it slid down to rest on his shoulder. A sad expression cast a shadow across Deceit’s face.

“You know I cannot lie to you.”

Roman fell to his knees, the hand moved in time to let the mighty prince fall. Roman clutched the hand in his grip tightly, forehead rested against the back of it.

“Please…please tell me I’m right.”

Patton watched nervously as a gloved hand carded through Roman’s messy hair.

“You’re right,” Deceit said slowly. As if he did not want to say the words.

Roman burst into tears, “He…he can’t be gone. He can’t be.”

“I searched everywhere,” Deceit continued to move his hand through Roman’s hair, “Even places he never told you about. I’m sorry, Roman. I know you want to believe he is out there but…he is terrible at hide ‘n seek. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His words were gentle. A surprising feat for someone so forceful in his manner of conversing with the other sides. He seemed to be schooling his face to not break down.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered the words.

The sound that escaped the prince’s mouth was one of pure anguish. Anguished and desperate for something to change the truth. Patton felt it in his soul and could not longer hold back the waterworks. Tears fell freely as he moved fast to collapse at Roman’s side. He hugged his friend tightly; the only idea he had to let Roman know that he was there and cared for him.

Slowly Virgil moved and sat next to Roman. He rubbed the prince’s back. Logan came next; he simply stood as a guard over the three on the floor. He watched silently as Deceit sunk down. Roman moved from just crushing his hand to crushing his body.

Four sides clustered around their fallen friend as he finally let the grief settle in.

(Line divide in the form of Logan)

The first thing he heard was the sound of something crashing. A rhythm that he could not help but find soothing. It called him to sleep but his body refused.

The next thing he felt was an ache in his limb and a pain in his head. Along with a cold, damp feeling all around him. The wet matched the sound he heard.

Then he tasted salt.

He opened his eyes and saw a bright light that made the pain in his head explode. He weak groan escaped his dry lips as he closed his eyes once again. The wet feeling crashed with a loud sound around him as he tried to turn away.

The air left his lungs and wet surrounded him.

The word Ocean echoed in his mind. The panic took over.

His eyes snapped open. The bright light did not bother him as he clumsily made it up the sand and away from the wet. Away from the crashing. Onto hot sand and air, which he gasped for desperately.

“Air. Need Air. Need Air. Air. Air. AIR.”

He coughed, the taste of salt only adding as it came out of his mouth violently. Onto the sand on which he lay. His stomach hurt, his limbs felt heavy, and now his throat burned.

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he curled into a tight ball under the heat of the sun. The wet clothes he wore slowly began to dry.

“Why does everything hurt so much?” Came his first thought.

He let the waves, “heh”, of sickness ride themselves out. Every cough threatened to bring up more sea salty bile. Every turn of the stomach or pain from his head made him want to give into the darkness once more. If only he was not scared of that too.

The heat of the sun began to lessen as he finally felt up to uncurling from his ball. His body still ached and felt heavy, but it was a relief to crawl away from what his stomach had kicked up. He got himself up the beach and towards the edge of a wooded area. His body decided that was enough movement for the day and he laid there under the shade of the palm trees.

Tired eyes watched the waves and looked out at the endless blue of the ocean. He traced the line where the sky met the sea with his eyes.

“Where am I?” He spoke the words allowed; his voice rough from his first few moments of consciousness.

He looked down at himself. Bare feet were pruned from the saltwater. They stuck out of black pants which had one leg partially torn off. What confused him the most was the jacket, with sparkles and an eyeball and fake teeth, it all hung off him soaked in water. A green sash barely hung on.

It was weird. Very weird. With all this added weight, those sleeves were probably supposed to puff up, he was not sure how he had even been washed ashore.

The man was halfway through getting the jacket off before a thought struck him suddenly. The belt sat beside him in the sand now, the jacket undone but still rested on his shoulders. The white tank top under it stained and on top of that a red pendant rested on his chest.

He was frozen. Unsure if he could comprehend what he was thinking. Panic surged through him again as he looked at the sea and then back down on his person.

The fear of where he had ended up did not eclipse the fear of such a question as this:

“Who am I?”

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Surprisingly, We Made It!

Author: @thatsrightdollface

For: @namsuuuuuuu

Rating/Warnings: This is probably somewhere between G and T, tbh.  I guess I might tag this for the idea that Chiaki is mentioned as dead?   She’s… A ghost.  This is a fantasy AU!

Prompt: komaeda and hinata both trying to break into the same place on the same night by accident, only to be chased by the police upon meeting and having to hide in a closet/cupboard/safe together until they leave

Author’s Notes: Hi!!!  I hope you enjoy this~ :D  It’s the first gift out of three that I have for you this time, so please be on the lookout for the others!!!  Rounded up, this is about 3,000 words.  

The museum became a different place at night — Nagito Komaeda had known it would, but it was something else to see those bustling halls transformed into a grey-tile tomb like this.  The display cases seemed to watch him pass, waiting and polished, decorated with dead things: mummified hands, chipped pottery, swords people had assured him were definitely haunted when he took the museum’s official tour earlier that day.  Komaeda was good at drifting through places most of the time.  He was sure no one from his tour group would remember him when the museum started looking into suspects the next morning.

Komaeda smiled at somebody’s death mask, sitting propped up on a green velvet display in one of those glass cases.  He wouldn’t be here long.  He’d just take what he needed and be on his way.  The security systems fizzled out as Komaeda wandered by, after all.  Bits of dust formed over the cameras, crawling like mold.  This wouldn’t be the first piece of the puzzle to Komaeda’s life he’d stolen out of a museum. If he unraveled the whole mystery of his good luck/horrible luck curse, the roller coaster balance of his existence, maybe Komaeda would even get to rest someday.  Maybe he’d finally know what any of the ridiculous things that happened to him meant.

Komaeda hummed to himself as he strode through the museum.  He patted a display of a saber tooth tiger on the head and murmured, “Hi, kitty,” in a sing-song voice — he was wearing torn clothes, and the edges of his hair were singed from a fire that’d started out of thin air in his hotel room yesterday morning.  Even the air was subject to Komaeda’s madcap luck, see?  His curse.  Even the air would have to explain itself when Komaeda found the crumbly ancient book he’d come here for.  And, you know, figured out how to read it.  He had an anthropologist contact lined up.  It would be alright.

Things always swung back around, for Komaeda.  The dice rolled into a winning order even if they were weighted to go the other way.  At a cost, of course.  Always at a cost.

Komaeda wouldn’t have to pick the display case lock to get the book he needed, he didn’t think.  The thing would just fall right into his open hands, somehow, and then he’d turn on his heal and head out.  The museum smelled like freshly mopped floors and old, rotting paper.  When Komaeda’d passed a security guard earlier, he had waved cheerfully and pretended to flash a badge.  It worked.  It so often worked, and then Komaeda got arrested for a murder he didn’t commit or something just going out to buy bread.  He was used to it.  As used to it as a person could be, he thought.

When the cop bellowed, “Get back here, you!” somewhere off in the distance, well…  Komaeda murmured, “Oh no,” to himself almost playfully, as if he were keeping up the game.  But then he heard some frantic pounding footsteps right behind him…  The skidding of sneakers  over freshly washed tile, the shattering of a display glass window, all that.  He started to walk a little faster, glancing over his shoulder.

A guy with spiky hair blew by Komaeda, breathing heavily, sneakers squeaking all over the floor in possibly the least-stealthy way possible.  “Get out of here!” the spiky haired guy called.  “Officer Nidai’s not messing around!”

Officer Nidai?  Wonderful.  Komaeda knew Officer Nekomaru Nidai all too well.  Just his luck that guy would be here, wasn’t it?  He’d been suspicious of Komaeda ever since he turned up in town.  Whenever somebody caught Nagito Komaeda in the act, of course he just slipped away again like water between cracks in the concrete.  Like clouds dissolving into the sky.  His luck, eventually, turned.  Always, always.  But that didn’t mean people couldn’t try their own luck at catching him, every now and again.  It was annoying, but Komaeda shrugged off fatal things as “annoying” so often nowadays he was beginning to forget the meaning of the word.

Komaeda sighed and ran a hand through his pale, flyaway hair.  It would’ve been no good to lose this chance — he was so desperately close to another piece of his puzzle.  He stared running, too, and by the time he found an open door to duck inside it sounded like Officer Nidai had been joined by a whole crew of cop-friends in the museum hallways.  They were calling encouragement to each other, or something.  Listening to them might’ve been pretty goofy, under different circumstances.  So tragically earnest. It was like they were living in a separate world than the one Komaeda knew.

“What rotten luck,” Komaeda told the cramped, empty room he’d found himself in.  Or, the room he thought was empty, anyway.

The spiky haired boy who’d been charging through the halls flicked on a desk lamp, peering up at Komaeda with a baffled, frustrated expression on.  He’d been hiding under a table, it looked like, and up close Komaeda could see a whole stash of video game stuff secured in a cutesy canvas shopping bag over his shoulder.  Was that what he snuck in here to steal?  That?  There were so many priceless jeweled glass eyes in this particular museum, so many spells written in actual molten gold ink.  Did this guy seriously just rob the Lost and Found?

“Rotten luck?  That’s, uh, one way of putting it.  I swear I locked that door,” the spiky-haired guy hissed.  Komaeda nodded.  Yes, he probably had.  Locked doors didn’t really have anything on a luck-curse, though, did they?

Komaeda locked the door behind him, again, nodding to the boy under the table with a careful smile.  Testing the door so he could see it didn’t just swing open this time, revealing them both to the hall.  The office they’d ended up in was one of those glorified broom closet spaces, books stacked haphazardly everywhere.  There were pinned butterflies hanging on the walls, and dusty photograph frames buried under paperwork on the desk.  There weren’t any windows or obvious trapdoors leading to secret museum catacombs around — yes, Komaeda had found himself stuck in museum-catacombs before, and he’d nearly starved to death before making his way back to the gift shop.  Not a good chance of that here, though, it didn’t look like.  For better or for worse.

Komaeda sized the spiky haired guy up for a second — he was cute, in a flustered, running-headlong-through-a-museum-at-two-AM kind of way.   His hands were broad and warm-looking; his eyes were challenging and proud, as if he were half-convinced Komaeda was a double agent for the museum or something.

“Looks like we’re stuck,” Komaeda said.  “Don’t worry.  I’m sure they’ll go away soon.”

They didn’t, of course.  Just his luck.

…

Hajime Hinata had only been messing around with supernatural nonsense for a handful of weeks, now, and even he could tell the guy he met on his poorly-planned-out museum heist was soaked in weird old curses.   They clung to this dizzy-eyed stranger same as his own skin, same as his shadow.  Hinata would’ve guessed the guy’d been born with those curses already latched on, honestly, and they were at least part of the reason he could slip locked doors open without even trying.  Part of why his smile looked wrong, too, somehow, like Hinata would always be looking at him through a funhouse mirror.

From the stolen-back bag of video game stuff slung over his shoulder, Hinata’s friend Chiaki Nanami said, “We should keep an eye on this guy, maybe, Hajime.  Everyone he loved died…  Messy.  They’re whispering about it right now.”

Chiaki had died so recently, it still didn’t feel real.  She had hung on to pieces of her life without really meaning to, so…  Of course Hinata was doing his best to gather her back up.  Chiaki had been his best friend since they were learning to count, after all.  They had played a few of the games in her old canvas bag together, but not all of them by a long shot.  It was better Chiaki speak through these clunky things — through her old hair ribbons and photographs and commemorative game art books — than disappear completely, if you asked Hinata.  The museum people hadn’t been willing to give him the bag during the day, so this was what had to happen next, right?

He’d tried this the easy way.  At least he had to give himself that. Hinata shifted Chiaki’s bag a little way out of the cursed guy’s view. If anything, the stranger looked softly amused by his efforts. He shook his head.

“I’m not interested in your prizes,” he told Hinata, voice swaying and almost, almost prim.  A former rich-kid’s voice.  “I’m sure you have your reasons for everything, just like I do.  Right?”  After a few moments of awkward, waiting silence, the guy drifted over to the far wall of that tiny office — maybe it was Hinata’s imagination, but it looked like he was feeling through the stacked book piles there with his eyes gently closed.  Trustingly closed.  Eventually, the stranger pulled back, holding a notebook full of dark green pen scribbles that seemed to squirm over the pages.  His rattling laugh was low and muffled in his chest — still a little too loud for Hinata’s comfort though.   Obviously.

“The beginnings of a translation…!” the dizzy-eyed boy murmured. He had to know Hinata had no idea what he was talking about, didn’t he?   “What are the odds, what are the —”

“Could you shut the hell up?  Seriously?” Hinata said.  “Don’t you hear Officer Nidai’s buddies down the hall?”

“Oh, yes,” said the stranger, turning to Hinata with wide eyes and a shaky smile.  “But they won’t hear me unless they’re supposed to.  I’m sorry — you don’t know that…”

“No, I don’t,” Hinata confirmed.

The stranger considered this.  He said, “It was good of you to tell me to run back there.  You’re probably a kind person, aren’t you, Mr. Pointy-Hair?”

“Hinata,” said Hinata, before immediately kicking himself. You’re really, really not supposed to tell people your actual name if you’re trying to rob a place!  …  Even if they’re trying to rob the same damn place, apparently?  Or at least they’re getting weirdly excited about the chance to snoop through somebody’s spooky notebook?

“His name is Komaeda,” Chiaki offered from the bag at Hinata’s side. “Nagito Komaeda. If he gives you a different name…”

But Nagito Komaeda didn’t throw around any fake names at all.  He grinned, amazed and warm and slightly mocking, like he couldn’t believe Hinata had actually handed him his name so earnestly.  He stepped over to sit in front of Hinata, moving gingerly, sitting cross-legged on the ground.  He said, “You’re new at this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not exactly making a career out of sneaking into museums, no,” Hinata said, glaring.  “I’m not some comic book supervillain, or anything like that.”

The dizzy-eyed stranger chewed on his lip, thoughtful.  Hinata wasn’t entirely sure he got the joke.  He said, “In that case…  Please, call me Komaeda.  It’s the least I can do.”  His voice was so wandering, hazy and formal both at once.  The notebook disappeared into a pocket inside his long, tattered coat; up close, Hinata realized this stranger — Komaeda — smelled like burning.  His skin was a crisscross of faded scars.

The office/closet doorknob rattled furiously, about then.  Somebody grunted, “Keys’s not working…!” and then, louder, “Wait — damn key snapped off in my hand!”  They stalked away, and Komaeda nodded, again. Serene as anything, as if stuff like this happened to him every day.

“They‘ll come back,” he said.  “Officer Nidai is a persistent one.”   He might’ve looked self-conscious for a second — realizing he sounded like a hardened crook, or something — because he added, “Or so I’ve heard.  But we have a little while yet, I think.  Are those games in your bag any good?”

“These are my friend’s —” Hinata protested…  But Chiaki shushed him.  Gently.

She said, “They’re your games, now, really,” and “This isn’t my body, Hajime.  Only a window…  You know that.  I can look away, sometimes.  I’ll look away for a little while now, if you want.”

Everyone Nagito Komaeda loved died messily, Chiaki had said.  She didn’t say it again now, but Hinata thought maybe she was reconsidering this dizzy-eyed stranger.  At the very least, he might know how to hurry out of a museum in the middle of the night without getting caught.  He might know what it was like to lose a friend, too, and to want to believe that couldn’t be true with all his heart.  Hinata might get something out of talking to a person like him.

“Be careful,” said Chiaki.  “And be nice, okay?  Unless he turns out to be a jerk.  A cursed jerk.”  Hinata could’ve sworn she was snickering.  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Komaeda’s already giving you ‘I-like-you’ eyes.”

“He is not,” grumbled Hinata.

Komaeda tactfully ignored that last bit.  He said, “Ooh, your friend has ‘Void Escape 2.’ I like that one.”  Komaeda glanced at the door, and then back to Hinata.  “I’ve…  Never played two-player mode, actually.   We could kill a little time?”

This was absurd. This was a million-to-one chance meeting.  This was…

This was Hinata hiding in some musty middle-of-the-night museum office, offering a cursed, supervillain-y stranger snacks from his bag. Trying out a video game together.  What the hell?!

Hinata should’ve known better. On so many levels, he should have known.  But, apparently…  No.

When Officer Nidai finally got that particular office door open, Hinata and Komaeda huddled together under the tiny desk, close enough that the smell of burning felt everywhere for a little while.  Close enough that Komaeda’s wavy singed hair brushed Hinata’s cheek. They’d draped Komaeda’s coat over the both of them in some sort of effort to look like just another lumpy pile.  Maybe books, or crinkled papers, or whatever it was museum researchers wore out in the field.

The notebook Komaeda had been trying to smuggle away felt cold against Hinata’s skin, twitching like a living thing.

Officer Nidai didn’t find them.  Somehow.  Honestly, they made such a terrible pile of paper/field clothes/random crap that Hinata was fairly surprised.  Komaeda, though…  Komaeda shrugged it off and said, “Alright, then.  That’s our cue: time to go!”

They snuck out the museum’s dusky hallways together, then, with Komaeda holding Hinata’s sleeve and guiding him down what he claimed was “the luckiest” path to the parking lot.  The sky was huge and hollow-looking up above them, when they finally made it. Hinata had parked his car at the grocery store down the road — he gave Komaeda a ride back into the city, even though Komaeda’d assured him he would have found his way no matter what.

Just before dropping Komaeda off down some lonely backstreet — one of those tipped-over-garbage-can-alleys, without a proper street name anywhere — Hinata asked something he knew would haunt him whether he managed to choke it out or not.  He asked for Komaeda’s phone number, whatever his curses.  Whatever a weird night this had been.  He tried to ask casually, the way Chiaki might have.  Like he only wanted to be friends. Like he was just a little worried about him, even though…  Huh.

Something had felt right and warm, so familiar, about Komaeda’s hand on Hinata’s sleeve.  About Komaeda’s spinning, smothered laughter.  Whoever he was, whatever he’d done.  Whatever exactly had been translated in that notebook waiting tucked against his heart, just then.

Komaeda shook his head no, and Hinata muttered something embarrassed.  Said to forget he asked; glowered at the road.  Komaeda watched him, apparently baffled.  He folded his arms around himself, leaning the back of his head against Hinata’s car door window.  He would leave dark ash smeared on the glass, when he left.

“I…  Have no idea why you’d want to call someone like me,” Komaeda offered, after a moment of tension, the dark city passing by all around them.  After he’d apparently hunted around his mind for the right words and come back feeling empty-handed.  “I don’t even have a phone.  Never keep any number for long…”  He cleared his throat.  “If you want, though, you can give me your number. I’ll check in with you, until it gets…”  An awkward laugh, here.  “Until you tell me to stop, I guess.”

Maybe that should’ve been enough to scare Hinata off, but he scribbled his number down on a scrap of paper torn out of that cryptic, slithering-ink notebook Komaeda’d stolen anyway.  He couldn’t believe he was doing it, even as his pen slipped and Komaeda clarified, “Is that an eight or a four, Hinata?” in a soft, wondering voice.

Hinata told him, and Komaeda murmured the full number back, very solemn.  Like a promise.

Hinata took a long, roundabout way home, that night, and Komaeda waved after him until he’d disappeared off to kinder streets.  He turned around on the worn-slick heel of his shoe and started humming again, the way he had back in the museum.  It was a hopeful song, maybe.  It was almost morning.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sable Skirts (I)

Awaiting Sentence

Summary: Keris is arrested after she is caught running an underground publication in Erebor. Facing a certain death sentence, she may have a way out, but it might cost her more than her life.

Note/Warning: So this is a fic I’m reposting from ao3. It’s a dark!Thorin Oakenshield/OC fic. It’s very dark, like super. It includes violence, noncon, and overall a bad time. Please mind that warning. Let me know what you think (I’ll be posting a few a day until I catch up)

This is dark!Thorin Oakenshield and explicit. 18+ only.

Keris had known the risks but facing the consequences was much more dire than merely imagining them. Sitting in the grimy cell; water dripping from the dank walls, the smell of worn stone and human filth. All she had lost was ever more clear to her.

She wasn't truly sitting, more crouching. The floor was slick with an unknown substance. Its smell assured her she did not want to rest in it. They had taken her boots and her stockings, leaving her feet bare and cold. She was hidden so deep in the Mountain that the spring rains had left it damp and musty, mixed with other unmentionable fluids. She shivered, cupping her hands over her mouth to warm them with her breath.

It had been close to a day. Maybe even two. Down here there was no marker for dawn and dusk. The torches always burned dimly just outside the cells; just enough to make out the iron grate barring her in and the shadows of guards.

She didn't regret her crime, only that she had been found out. She had been right in her actions though the law would dictate otherwise. Authority, she had concluded, was not always the keeper of morality, nor the voice of reason. The king and his council signed their acts and bills their own behalf, excusing it as for the people, though it was more than not the people who suffered for the wealth of the nobles. It was that inherent disparity, the growing corruption which had driven her to act against those who named themselves elite.

She closed her eyes as another brisk draft blew around her. They hadn’t even left her a cloak; her wool tunic, topped by a thin cotton dress offered little warmth. Outside, warmth followed the seasonal rains but down there, it was not but the cold. She replayed her downfall once more.

She had known when the knock sounded who it was. There had not been enough time to cram all her papers into the stove before they entered. The mountain guards, called greybacks for the dull colour of their uniforms, burst in and seized from her the handful of parchment she had been trying to destroy. The chaos of her pens being dumped onto the floor, books being cracked and torn apart, the uncirculated pamphlets gathered and held as evidence. All the while she had thrashed against their restraints, the cuffs scraping her wrists as she fought against them. A slap had stilled her body but not her anger. She spat at the guard who had struck her, a glob of blood and spit landing on his cheek. He hit her again, his gauntlet leaving another gash along her lip.

She was guilty. She did not presume to feign innocence. She had printed contraband. Treason, even. She had called for a break in the system; a balance of powers. The poor were only getting poorer and the rich, richer. Every week saw a new tax; tea, linen, bread...soon enough, they would pay for the very breath they drew. She had not sought bloodshed or massacre, only equality.  In the Mountain, however, that was as good as. The very structure was the physical embodiment of hierarchy. Those lower floors homed the peasants and invalids; as you ascended, merchants and lower lords lived, above the greater nobility and royal occupied the highest floor. The king himself overlooked the rocky landscape from a balcony along its peak. A beacon of the system.

Footsteps kept her from the memories that came next. Being dragged to the cells, past those she had called friends and others who were unknowingly her enemies. She had kept her head high, shoulders straights, face unyielding. She would confront her fate with the dignity she had sought for the masses. She would give them hope when despair triumphed.

She stood as the guard unlocked her door, a pair of greybacks entering. Wordlessly, they turned her around and shackled her hands behind her. They spun her to face the door and shoved her through it. She stumbled, barely catching herself. A sharp rock stabbed the bottom of her foot but she continued onward.  The walk was long. They passed the narrow windows carved into the mountainside, the light of dusk shrouding the horizon just beyond her view. Up and up and up. She had never been so high in the Mountain. The air grew warmer with their ascent but the foul stench of the dungeons clung to her.

A towering set of doors stood open, the light of a dozen lamps shining through. She was escorted inside and the buzz of voices within died. She had never seen the chamber but she knew where she was. This was the high court. That reserved for the most heinous criminals. The benches were empty and only a small group sat at the front of the hall.

The king was the first to catch her eye though she had only ever seen him from afar. Thorin II’s dark head topped with a thick golden crown; his black doublet slashed with matching gold silk. He sat upon a dais with two others. His eyes were planted on the far wall and he seemed not to notice her despite the hush which had overcome the room.  To his left, in the place of honour, sat his heir, Prince Fili. His green eyes flitted towards you, a wrinkle in his brow betraying curiosity. His interest dissipated quickly and he pushed back the thick blond braid which had fallen forward over his shoulder. The emerald brocade of his jacket matched his eyes, though the lustre of the latter faded.  To the king’s right sat the other prince, Kili. His dark hair was slightly askew, his doe-like eyes averted as he rested his chin his hand. His leg wobbled with impatience as he held back a yawn, seemingly disinterested in the whole process.

These Durins had once been heroes. They had reclaimed the dwarfish homeland and returned their people to their rightful place. Then they had fallen into the antiquated habits of their ancestors. Those very practices which had assured the apathy of the elves during the descent of Smaug. That which had isolated Erebor from the rest of the world; the rich from the poor.  Perhaps, she thought, the dragon sickness hadn’t taken the king as feared, but another type of greed had poisoned his soul. Their entire bloodline had a tendency towards it. They presented themselves as righteous to their people but wrote deceit in their statutes. Those rumours of their baser acts; those vulgar pleasures derived from the suffering of others, travelled quickly. Keris knew, that behind every snippet of gossip, there was a sliver of truth. As it was, the indulgence of the royals was not diligently hidden; flaunted even.

Two other nobles. Dwalin, the captain of the silvercloaks, the royal guard noted for their shining capes, stood to the left of the royal dais. His own brother, Balin, stood in front of the podium. The white-haired elder was the head of the king’s council; Lord of the Chamber. The legate she had been actively opposing in her activities. Those few others present were guards; both grey and silver, lining the wall as they watched the prisoner’s arrival.

Keris was stopped before a lectern. This was her trial. Held in the last light to hurry the process. To keep quiet her crimes as to not encourage those with similar leanings. To hasten and ease her sentence which had certainly already been decided. It was a farce. Her presence allowed her no defense or judgment, truly. It was all show.  The doors were pulled shut with a boisterous clang. The silence was trapped in the hall, broken at last by the calm but ringing voice of the head legate.

“I, Lord Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of the Chamber, do hereby inaugurate this hearing. By the law of the Mountain and ancestors of Erebor, in the name of our king and ruler, Thorin II, son of Thrain II, King Under the Mountain and Blood of Durin, recognize the defendant, Keris Wyck, charged with distribution of contraband, conspiracy to commit treason, and sedition. This trial shall now commence.”

Keris looked around as Lord Balin’s voice echoed in the silence. Though it lacked an audience, the chamber was intimidating. Her heart started beating furiously, as if it had been still before.

“Girl,” The king called to her, drawing her attention from the empty benches. His voice was frightening; deep and stony, as if he was the mountain himself. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

She swallowed as she looked up at the dais. For the first time, King Thorin’s eyes met hers. Her stomach turned sour and she fought to keep her hands from trembling. She saw cruelty in his eyes. Judgment. There was nothing she could say to exonerate herself. But she would speak.

“Yes...I-I do,” She cringed at the stutter in her voice, “I would argue that what I wrote was not contraband, and thus the act of distribution was not treason. What I wrote was the truth. What I wrote was a recounting of hardship, of struggle, of reality. Of the very same desperation you once bore in your desire to reclaim our home.  I wrote for the washerwoman with her brood of children who must decide between feeding her family or her hearth. The cook who must choose between a room to live in or a slice of bread. I write for those who are taxed until they are starving while the nobles gorge themselves on venison and wine.”

“Enough!” The king slammed his palm upon the arm of his chair, “You admit openly to opposing the royal authority. Do you know the punishment for such an act?”

“I am well aware but I daresay that death would be preferable than living in such squalor,” Keris snapped. She could hear her pulse in her ears; feel the boiling in her veins.

Prince Kili seemed to have been awoken by the king’s outburst and Prince Fili stared between the king and the defendant. King Thorin growled, the rumble permeating the room as the venomous thoughts swirled in his maddened eyes. He stood, pointing a thick finger at Keris.  “I declare you guilty, girl!” The king roared, “On your own admission. By my authority and by the blood of the Mountain, I see you guilty of treason!.” He seemed to be struggling against his own temper, “You seditious bitch! Vile wench!”

Keris was shocked by the affront he had taken. She had thought her plea quite eloquent and had thought to accept her fate with a grain of courage. Her unwillingness to beg however had quite bothered him. Yet, she knew, whether she had spoken those words or others, she would have faced the same verdict. She was only gladdened to have spoken for herself; for the people. Even if it fell on deaf ears. Even if she fell, too.

Keris was back in her cell. The Lord of the Chamber had quickly confirmed the King’s declaration while the latter stewed in rage. He had lost his Mountain once and any challenge reminded him of his years of exile. He would see to it that it would not happen again. Even one as minor as herself was a threat.

She did not sleep. She could not. She would not bring herself to lay on the filthy cobbles until fatigue forced her to do so. These were her last days, day even, and she would see her death without piss and shit upon her dress. She leaned against the wall, trying to take the weight from her legs. The cut on her foot throbbed, likely infected from the mire below her.  She didn’t hear the approach. She was so tired she couldn’t even hear the steady drip at the back of her cell. It was only the shift of light, the grate’s whine as it was opened, that alerted her to his presence. She looked up, pushing herself from the wall as she greeted her visitor silently. She muffled the groan of pain which came with her movement.

Lord Balin entered, the door closing behind him. He looked around the floor in disgust, trying to place his feet in the less slimy patches. His glossy blue eyes found her in the dim.  “I’ve been searching you out for months,” He began; his voice a blend of gentility and menace. “This rogue pamphleteer. Rebuking every statute, every word I wrote with his own. Or rather her own.”

Keris watched him. He paced two steps back and forth. The most he could afford without getting ankle deep in the sludge. A ghost of a smile appeared at the corner of his lips.

“Admirable, almost. It’s quite one thing to fight one with steel, but with a pen, it is rather more intriguing.”

“Are you here to boast then?” Keris asked.

“No, I don’t like the practice truly. Modesty is much preferable.” He flourished his hand carelessly, “I am come, officially, to deliver your sentence.”

“Did it need to be stated aloud? I’m quite certain I shall have a block at my neck before the next eve.”

“That is an option. Traditionally. But, the law has always been more accommodating to offenders of your...sex. It needn’t end so tragically. You are young and have many years left to you.” He rambled.

“I gave those up when I set my quill to parchment,” She scoffed.

“Would you hear my alternative or are you so set on your own demise?”

She sighed, giving a curt nod for him to continue. He backed up, letting the torchlight stream in clearer, looking her over with an appraising eye.

“I read your pamphlet, ‘On the Sins of Wealth’. An intriguing look into the underbelly of noble pleasures and I must say, very well written. Almost accurate, truly. But I daresay our royal harem is much more hospitable than you would have it. Those dams are of high-esteem, unlike those in the lower levels. Sad little things, trading their services for a loaf of bread.”

“Because they haven’t any other choice,” She insisted, “Because you would mandate that they give up their coin for your own comforts.”

“Hmm,” He gave a half-chuckle, “As I was saying. The royal harem, or 'sable skirts' as they have been so cleverly nicknamed, are not maltreated, rather they are well-kept. And in return they give their services; simple pleasures but otherwise, they live a life of luxury.”

“I’m afraid my pens have all been disposed of, otherwise I would revise that pamphlet,” She said dryly, “Why in Mahal are you telling me all this?”

“Ah, back to what I was trying to say before; my alternative…”

Keris’ heart had skipped a beat. She was sure of it. The pang in her chest was so sharp she nearly gasped. The realization struck her before he finished his thought. His offer was all too plain.

“You want me to sell my body for my life?” She sputtered.

“A skirt or the block,” He held his hand out like a scale, “It would seem an easy choice. Life or death, really.”

“But...as repulsive as the offer is, why?”

“As I said, the law is not so callous towards dams and...I like you, Keris. Were you a noble on my council, you would be an indispensable asset. And your words in court were almost endearing, if not near-sighted.” He grinned, “And well, the harem always welcome new blood and dams are as rare as ever.”

Keris looked down as her foot throbbed once more. Her feet were black with dirt, her skirts starting to stain. Her head pounded and her lip hung heavy and swollen. This was it. She would spend her last day in this cell; filthy, bloodied, and cold.

“Can I think about it?” She asked, ashamed of herself for even considering the proposition.

“You have five minutes,” He declared plainly, “I’m afraid I can’t wait. The block is to be brought out by day’s end, if at all.”

Keris exhaled. She let all the breath leave her body as she closed her eyes. She reached up to touch her greasy hair, grasping her head as if it would split. She gulped, afraid to inhale. Afraid to continue. She wished she could stop time. Wished she could rewind. She wished she wasn’t afraid but now that she stood before death, she wanted nothing more than to run the other way.

“Alright…” She finally spoke, the cold air filling her lungs.

“Pardon, dear?” Lord Balin leaned in.

“I said alright,” Her teeth were close to chattering but it had nothing to do with the chill, “I’ll...I’ll do it.”