#And then have betareaders look over each chapter one at a time over the course of a few days

[bloodybathtubs]

For RXE: MTMF Word Count thus far: 7913 words up(198 added today), I'm to page 20

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 9 | " THE SPACE BETWEEN US "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

warnings: very mild swearing; brief arguments

word count: 2.5k

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3 @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge @hooniecore @thenoceurgirl @thonkingdeepo

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START OF PARK SUNGHOON'S POV

I stood there at the side, leaning against the arched entrance. I never meant to eavesdrop in the conversation you were having with the firstborn of the Yang family. It piqued my interest upon hearing your troubles and impulsively decided to help you. To pass time, I guess… or to stall my father into giving me his magnificent title of a duke and have me marry some lady I don’t even desire to have.

Without any significant bargain in the offer, I suggested anyway with the thought that maybe this could help me look at myself the way everyone did before I made history with your brother. The physical bruises and scars we both afflicted on each other faded with time, but the torturous memory continues to haunt us. I may look fine around his presence, but he never had the slightest idea of how I curse myself every single night knowing I not only ruined him and his tender affections with Yena, but our budding and steadfast friendship as well.

I was heinous then. But I swear with my whole heart, I don’t ever intend to hurt you now the way I did with your brother. The moment I let myself drown in your alluring gaze under that brightly lit moonlight, I told myself I won’t take another girl for granted. Not just because I owe it to Niki, but because you were the first person who looked at me without judgment despite knowing your brothers detest me with the entirety of their souls.

I’ve been courting you for over a month now and I’m completely aware of the things we’ve agreed upon about the ruse; needless to say, one might catch feelings in the aftermath. I know this was all a show to give Jungwon a headstart for his own game, but why am I gravely pained every time his name slips out of your lips? Why do I keep myself up on most nights thinking about this lingering question of who do you love? Why do I want to hold you even closer to my side every time he looks at us in dismay?

I’ve come to know that I had myself caught in the middle of whatever this is between you and him; that I’m just the fuel to the fire that’s already been there, left neglected within time. But I can’t help but feel like I need to protect you from him; from whatever hurt he might cause you over time. Although I know my place in all of this and where I stand, it still stings thinking that it isn’t in your heart.

Why would it be, anyway? I’m only just a page you couldn’t keep; a filler in your romantic novel who had the part of the villain origin story but couldn’t fight your hopeless hero. Sadly, Jungwon’s five steps ahead of me. So much for telling the ton there was us in the making, but you weren’t even mine to begin with.

Your mother invited me and the Yang family for dinner a sennight ago. She said it was to properly introduce me as your husband-to-be to your family, that includes your lover’s sitting across the table discussing the recent blow from the Daily Tattle, which was, of course, us.

“Jungwon, dear, have you wished your friend, Y/n, luck on her future wedding with the duke-to-be? Need I remind you that she’s going to need some of it from her best friends.” Lady Yang gently nudged her son who was busy tapping his spoon and fork upon the table. “Jungwon here is finally courting someone, have you heard of that, dear? Lady Choi, daughter of the-”

“The ever famous cheese merchant of our city, Viscount Choi, whom without, we wouldn’t be eating this opulent cheese on the table right this very moment.” I finished, which made the two mothers impressively smile in my direction. Realizing how uncomfortable you become at the very slightest mention of Jungwon’s new lover, I figured butting in could end your agony; seeing that your man is stupid enough to not read the situation in front of him. He seemed more occupied with the utensils than your disheartened state.

As predicted, you excused yourself, and it went without saying that Jungwon followed after you as you rushed out the dining hall and out to your garden. Your brothers and his soon left the hall and went with their casual discourse on the parlor, leaving his and your mother exchanging wedding plans with the company of champagne bottles and cheese. I held my head up high as I walked into the library to reflect on matters that kept me wondering at night. Until Niki strode in, with a pocket watch in hand.

“Riki, I’m-”

“Save your breath, Your Grace. You’re going to need it in case you piss the hell out of Jungwon and he lands his knuckles on your pretty face again.”

“Why don’t you do it then? Can’t get your hands dirty for your sister yet you can for Yena?”

“Do not fucking tempt me, Sunghoon.”

“Too bad. I’d love to see you try, though.”

“And I’d love to see your little mouth shut, Your Grace. You’re impressive, but I’m sure you’ve always been told that. For a moment there you really had me thinking you were about to apologize to my brother. Turns out you’re still the coward that you’ve always been.” Jay walked in unannounced, slightly scaring me. He’s like a lion ready to hunt for prey, even though he’d just sit there looking unbothered. I’ve always deemed your eldest brother with veneration. All I did was drop my head low when he threw me those harsh words, though I completely agree as they embody me in so many ways possible. I hate it.

“A wedding, huh? Don’t you think you’re going too far, already? This ruse is nothing but a shame to both our families. Heed me while I’m asking you nicely to end this foolishness you’ve invoked on our sister.”

“Forgive me… but I’m afraid I can’t.”

Fortunately, Niki was quick enough to grab a hold of Jay when he was about to come at me. I must say this now before it’s too late, and better be in front of your brothers than your lover.

“I will take full responsibility for Y/n. I will be a man of worth to her and a word of honor, I will end any future causes of grievances upon us both. I will protect her from it, just as I’m doing now.”

“You’re doing nothing but stall her from her fate with Jungwon!”

“And how do you know she still cares for him? Haven’t you seen the look on your dear sister’s face whenever Jungwon’s name is brought up? Haven’t you seen that man strolling around the town with a fancy girl in hand a week after breaking your sister’s heart? I thought so. But you just want things to go your way. I’ll respect that. For now.”

I dashed out of the library after giving them a piece of my mind. Though I had planned to apologize to Niki, Jay’s words got the best of me. I headed towards the garden to look for you, but before I could have your attention, Jungwon already did.

END OF PARK SUNGHOON’S POV

 Jungwon rushed to the garden, following Y/n’s quick pace in an attempt to block out any possible thoughts about her lover. Basking under the bright moonlight, Jungwon grabbed her by the wrist, making her turn and crash against his jabot-clad chest.

“Y/n, please-”

“Really, Jung? God! You totally had me fooled that day when I thought we were having a moment!”

“We did! But-”

“But what? You can’t hold yourself accountable for the things you left me with so you squander your way with another lady? Tough blow, don’t you think?”

“Please, Y/n, I just need you to listen to me and-”

“I’m tired, Jung. All these years, you let me wait for you for five years just to have you run back and hurt me again. I’m tired of you making a fool out of me, and I’m dumb enough to always let you. Because I love you. I love you so much, it fucking hurts. I have so much love for you yet here you are, always welcoming me with fleeting bliss and leaving me with endless torment. But the damage has been done and I’m out. I love you, but I guess I’m going to have to leave it like this.”

“You still do?”

“God! I poured out my heart for you and all you could say was that? Jung, how can you be so dense?! I wouldn’t have let you hold me that day in the forest if I don’t love you! I asked you for a new start but you ran off and a week later you’re traipsing around Northumberland with Lady Choi! Right in front of me!”

“You were with that man that day too, in front of me! You look at him with so much admiration with your hand hanging on his arm. How do you think that made me feel?!”

“More than the damage you did to me? What a load of nonsense, Jung! And here I thought you already knew that Sunghoon and I were just fooling around to get to you.”

“Well, I’m here now, Y/n! I’m all yours now!”

“No, you’re not. You just can’t bear the truth that you lost me to him. At the end of the day, it will always be your pride. It always has been. I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m apologizing but I still will. This ends here, Jung. I wish you well.”

The entire time that Y/n and the young lord were arguing out the garden, Jay and Niki were carefully listening from the library’s window; Niki figured it was finally time to spill the truth to his sister.

Niki followed Y/n to her room, taking note of the soft sobs and sniffles she emitted. She turned around when she felt her brother’s footsteps trailing after her.

“Riki…” Niki was suddenly enclosed by Y/n’s tight embrace, dampening his jabot shirt with her tears. He returned the warm hug as he gently rubs her corseted back, feeling the constant huffs from her crying.

“I’m sorry about Jungwon.”

“He doesn’t deserve me.” The lady muffled against her brother’s chest.

“Maybe you’re right. And neither does Sunghoon. Listen, Sister. There’s something I need to get off my chest. Come.” The two entered the lady’s room and Niki carefully shut the door tight, locking it in the process. He sat atop the neatly arranged bed while patting the space next to him, gesturing Y/n to sit closer to his side.

“Jay isn’t happy with the sudden announcement of your engagement, and neither am I. But always know that I will always have your back, just like how you always have mine. I’ve seen how Sunghoon made you smile and laugh like how you used to with Jungwon back in the day. This day feared me but we’re here now, and I must tell you the reason why we’re all against him courting you in the first place.”

“Remember Yena? The girl I told you about in the letters? Sunghoon… he deceived her. He made her cheat against me, fed her with lies, and tricked her into thinking our love was nothing but a hoax. I saw them one day in his father’s garden, I followed them, curious enough to see how he made her happier than when she was with me. Until he kissed her. He took her first kiss when I thought we’d be sharing it with each other. And she kissed him back... like I wasn’t even someone to reckon with. Needless to say, I attacked him. The boys went against him afterward. Jungwon was there too. With all the lies he wired into her brain, Yena never looked at me the same after that day. And the many days that followed. She and Sunghoon just suddenly stopped seeing after the fight that erupted between us.”

“The thing was, sister, Sunghoon never loved her. He was young and didn’t want to let the opportunity pass, that’s what he told us when I had his collar by my clutch. That was the only excuse he could ever give us. The asshole that he is.” Niki clicks his tongue while dropping his head low, gaze fixed on the carpeted area on the floor across them. “Fuck. I would still have Yena if he didn’t try to treat things like we were playing a game of who could get the girl first. Thinking about the time he wasted on nothing genuine, Yena could have spent it on me instead and I would have had her here, introduced to Mother and the ton.”

Y/n placed a hand on her brother’s closed, shaky fists. Niki let out soft sniffles, trying his best to keep himself from cracking. “I’m sorry, Riki, I didn’t know. He told me it was all in the past and that he desires to make amends now.” Niki jerks up, eyes fixed on his sister’s eyes. “You’ve only heard his point of view, you never heard mine. Sunghoon’s made a whole record in university, Y/n. He goes around the grounds breaking hearts like he owns them. Girls would swoon over him and he would gladly oblige. What an ambitious, cunning little prick. And now he has you wrapped around his fingers, the same way he did to Yena.”

“I’m sure he means no harm now, brother. He’s been nothing but kind and gentle to me. He makes me utterly happy; the part of my romantic story where I used to want Jungwon to be consistent of.”

“You know, I’ve always been considerate of your choices and aspirations, sister. But I will not lose you to Sunghoon like this. I’m afraid Jay and I will have to be very uptight with you seeing him from now on. I’m sure by now you’ve come to understand why Jungwon’s scared of surrendering you to him. He means well, sis, Jungwon…”

“I will not settle for someone whom I have to spend a lifetime second-guessing whether he wants me in his life or not.”

“But he’s been missing you a lot lately, hasn’t he?”

“I’m afraid him missing me is far too different from him wanting to marry me.”

Niki only sighs before planting a soft kiss on his sister’s temple and fixing his fit to present himself back to the lobby. Y/n was left in her room, fidgeting with her fingers while anxiously biting her bottom lip in deep contemplation.

Sunghoon may have stolen her attention from Jungwon, but she had to admit, she never regretted it. She has felt safe with Sunghoon the past months they’ve been together. Jungwon did nothing but torture her constantly with every chance he got. Although they hadn’t been sticking around their ruse’s ground rules lately, she feared the time between her and Sunghoon would be up soon and she wouldn’t feel his comforting presence around her anymore.

Sunghoon may have gotten her used to their dilly-dallying that time apart from each other could make her feel miserable. Not to mention the embarrassment that would come with it considering she is foretold to be Northumberland’s next duchess after all.

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary: Luka's replaced his broken guitar with a kazoo. Marinette realizes just how important that guitar was to their burgeoning relationship....Maybe she should've made sure no one was around before she ranted about that to Tikki.(Set during/after the end of Miracle Queen)

Word Count: 2569 | Chapter 1/2

Notes: No Luka bashing is intended with this fic, but it is lovesquare endgame Disclaimer: I love kazoos and if someone tried to woo me with a kazoo I would probably swoon. Rip to Marinette but I’m different Disclaimer 2: I didn't come up with the idea for kazooka, @bugaboo-n-bananoir did in this post ). sorry for all the shoutouts lately bud lol you're just an inspiration Special thanks to @botherkupo for betareading!

XXX

“Are you okay?”  Luka asked when Marinette returned from getting ice cream.

It took some effort to pry her gaze away from where Adrien and Kagami were sharing at the other end of the ledge, but she promised herself she wouldn’t be jealous.  

...Or at least, she wouldn’t show it this time.  Both of them were her friends, and they deserved to be happy with each other.  

Did that mean she was okay?  No, not really.  But she didn’t really want to get into that, especially since Luka had already seen her so vulnerable last time.

“So, uh… where’s your guitar?”  she asked instead.

“Oh.”  Luka blinked, as if surprised his instrument wasn’t there either.  “Remember the last time I saw you?  When you were… crying in the street?”

She’d really been hoping he forgot about that.  It definitely wasn’t her most awkward moment, but Adrien at least tended to ignore the worst of hers.  He hadn’t even breathed a word about the whole constipation incident.

But comparing Luka and Adrien wasn’t fair to either of them.  

She shook her head.  “Um, what about it?”

“I dropped my bike when I went to hug you.  My guitar fell out of the basket and… yeah.”  He moved his hands as if to strum a chord, only to slump when they just stroked the air.

“Oh, Luka, I’m so sorry.”  She winced.  She knew his guitar was basically an extension of himself; she hadn’t intended for him to sacrifice it for her.  Was she really that important to him?

“It’s alright.  I’ve almost saved up for a new one.”  He shrugged.

She couldn’t tell if he was actually alright or if he was just faking.  “Well, I’m still sorry.”

“It really is alright.  You’re the music that’s been playing for me since we met, anyway.”

She blushed and looked away.  Luka had always been more forward, but she really didn’t know how she felt about his love confessions, especially considering…

No, she wasn’t going to glance back towards Adrien.  (Not that she could do that subtly, with all their classmates packed between them.)

But the point was, she couldn’t return Luka’s confession while her heart still hung somewhere in the balance.  She could try to move on—she should try to move on—but no matter what Luka said, she didn’t want him to feel stuck as a second choice.

“Well, um… thanks, I guess.” 

She took a bite of her raspberry ice cream to fill the awkward silence.  Normally his guitar did that.  Ivan’s hand drum sort of helped, but it was too far away (and too sporadic) for her to pretend she was focused on his music.

“I guess you can’t play that song for me now,” she added when he didn’t speak up.  It was too bad, because she thought she might actually want to hear it, if only to give them something to connect over.

Had she really listened to his music that often?  It was painfully obvious now that his guitar was absent.

“Were you ready to hear it?”  Hhe asked.  “I still can, if you’d like.”

Her head tilted, her eyebrows scrunching together.  “But you don’t have your guitar.  Unless you’re going to borrow Ivan’s drum.”

He chuckled a little at that.  “I’ve got something else.”

His hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out…

“Is that a kazoo?”  

Was this a joke?  Was he playing a joke on her?  He’d never shown that much of a sense of humor before.  If Juleka hadn’t been in the middle of the group sharing ice cream with Rose, Marinette would’ve flagged her down for help.

“Yep.  Juleka got it for me as a replacement present, you know, until I can pay for my new guitar.”

“Oh.”  She forced a grin.  “That’s… sweet of her.”

So no help from Juleka then.  Maybe this wasn’t such a big deal.  Maybe Luka would be an amazing kazoo player, and sweep her off her feet with his buzzing melody and help her forget all about Adrien and— 

Yeah, even her normally-vivid daydream couldn’t paint that picture.

“It really is.  She’s the best.”  He smiled.  She hadn’t heard him talk about Juleka often, honestly.  It was a little weird to remember that he was her friend’s older brother, but Juleka hadn’t seemed to mind Luka showing an interest in her.  

Well, unless the kazoo was more of a warning than a present.  But that was branching into conspiracy theory territory.

“Are you going to play it, then?”  she asked before she could lose her nerve.  Maybe hearing the melody, even if just on the kazoo, would give her the answers her heart was looking for.

“Right.”  He nodded and raised the blue piece of plastic to his lips.

She didn’t wince at the first high-pitched buzz.  She might have just… cringed a little.  Kazoos weren’t really meant to be played at close distance—at least that’s what she assumed, because could anyone really want to unironically listen to that?

The melody was… hard to pick out with all the screeching.  She tried to smile through it—he’d written this for her, and it wasn’t really meant to be played on the kazoo—but then Marc and Nathaniel looked up in shock-slash-horror, and Mylene just about fumbled her ice cream into the river, and Juleka let out an uncharacteristically loud cackle.

Luka’s playing petered out with a sad doot doot.  He still looked up at her expectantly.

And because he was staring at her, of course the rest of their group did too.  Including Adrien, the green mint of his ice cream still staining his lower lip.

“Um… that was…” Marinette’s face burned as she sprung to her feet.  “W-well!  Look at that I have to go—buy a birthday present for my grandpa’s mouse!”  Wait, had she used that one before?  It didn’t matter, her legs were already wooshing her away, leaving only the cherry from the top of her ice cream behind.

She hurriedly shoved the rest of her ice cream into her mouth to cool her burning face.  That was… probably an overreaction.  Luka had just tried to play her a song.  It wasn’t her that everyone else was laughing at.

A horrible feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t just the odd mix of raspberry and cotton candy ice cream.  She should’ve stayed to cheer him up, right?  

“Tikki, what’s wrong with me?”  She groaned, dropping her forehead against the side of the alley.  “Why did I run away like that?  I probably made Luka hate me!”

The kwami flew out from her purse.  “I don’t think he can hate you, Marinette.  He still liked you even when he knew you were in love with Adrien.”

“For some reason.”  She sighed.

“Do you want him to like you?”  Tikki prodded gently.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”  She bonked her head against the wall again. Ow.  “He likes me, and he’s nice, and we… have absolutely nothing in common.”

There.  She admitted it.  They both liked Jagged Stone, but lots of people liked Jagged Stone.

(Adrien liked Jagged Stone.  He’d asked for her autograph, and she’d just about melted.)

What she felt with Luka was nothing like that.  It was nervous usually, until he started playing his guitar.  The chords, if simple, were still soothing.

“Did I just think he made me comfortable because he played the guitar?  Am I really that shallow?”

“Of course you aren’t.”  Tikki rubbed her cheek to hers.  “A boy liked you, and it sounds like you liked him at least a little bit.  Even if it was mostly because he played guitar.”

Marinette groaned.

“But now he plays the kazoo and I don’t want to hear his song!  And I really can’t think of anything else we have to talk about.  And I won’t go on dates with him and move on from Adrien and I’ll end up old and alone with a tarantula instead of a hamster and—”

“Marinette, you know that’s not going to happen.”  Tikki patted her face again.  “There are plenty of other boys besides Adrien and Luka.  And you don’t have to move on with a boy.  You have plenty of time to just be you.  Maybe that’s for the best, with you being the guardian now.”

“Don’t remind me.”  She squeezed her eyes shut.  She wished she had someone to rely on as the guardian.  Luka had been there that one time when she couldn’t take it anymore, but she couldn’t actually tell him anything.  If only she could talk to…

“Chat Noir,” she whispered, eyes going wide.

“What?”  

She paced back and forth across the width of the alley.  “I want to talk to Chat.  I can do that now, can’t I?  I’m the guardian.  No, but Master Fu did what he did for a reason.  I can’t go sharing important secrets.  But if Fu did tell us more maybe we could’ve protected him better.”

“Um, Marinette—” 

“Either way he’s gone and I don’t know what to do, Tikki!  He didn’t finish teaching me everything and here I am worried because of a boy playing the kazoo!”

She spun, breaths coming too quickly, hoping to hear Tikki’s words of wisdom to help her calm down.

Instead, she came face to face with Adrien.  Adrien, whose eyes were practically bugging out of his head.  A cute smear of ice cream still clung to his parted lips.  That was easier to focus on than the fact that he’d almost certainly heard every word she said to Tikki.

His mouth opened and closed again.  “Uh.”

“Oh no.”

“You’re…!”

“No, no, of course I’m not!”  She waved her arms frantically.  Tikki’d had the sense to dive back into her purse, but the damage was already done.

“You’re Ladybug,” he breathed.  “It’s you.  Of course it’s you.”

Tears pricked her eyes.  One day into being the guardian, and she’d already let someone figure out her secret identity!  And it was Adrien, and while she thought he could keep a secret, she couldn’t ignore the incident with the beret, and if he told anyone and that awful future happened— 

“Marinette, hey, hey, it’s alright.”  He stepped towards her, too close, not close enough.  “I’m not going to tell anyone.  I swear.  I—I didn’t mean to.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and then I heard and I can’t unhear and—please don’t be mad.”

He looked down at her with such a distraught expression, she couldn’t imagine him ever breaking that oath.

“I’m not mad at you, Adrien.”  She bit her lip and looked down, afraid she might actually start crying if she had to see his pain any longer.  Which was ridiculous, because it was her identity that was compromised.  “You were just trying to help, and—and it’s my fault for not being careful enough.”

Her voice choked.  His arm reached towards her, hesitated, fell back to his side.  Of course he wouldn’t pull her into the hug that she craved.  He was dating Kagami now; it was surprising enough that he’d left her just to come make sure she was alright.  He really was a wonderful friend.

Maybe that was all she needed right now.

“It’s not your fault, my—Marinette.”  He swallowed.  “It could’ve happened to either of us.”

“Yes, but it’s not a big deal if someone finds out you once used the snake miraculous.  Nearly all of the other heroes were compromised yesterday, anyway.”

Her fault again.  She was back to square one, just her and Chat Noir against the world… and possibly Adrien too.  He hadn’t been revealed yesterday.  Maybe it would be worth it to give him a miraculous again?

He laughed awkwardly.  “Yeah. Of course.”

“So… yeah.”  She nodded.  “I’m just going to.  Go home now.”

Where she could cry in peace and Tikki could lecture her and she could find someone else to pass off the miracle box to because clearly she wasn’t ready, only there was no one else who could possibly do it except maybe Chat Noir, and he didn’t deserve that kind of pressure either, and— 

“Marinette, wait.”  

This time Adrien did grab her hand.  She did her best to control her flush.

“I know you didn’t want me to know, but… I’m still your friend, okay?  You can tell me anything.  Especially now, if you need someone to lean on…”

She did.  Oh, she did, and any other day she would leap headfirst into that offer.

But all she could think of now was Adrien smiling softly as he wiped ice cream from Kagami’s cheek.  It wasn’t like he couldn’t still be her friend when he was dating someone else, but she wasn’t sure her heart could take trusting him with all of her secrets except the one she’d actually wanted to tell.

She loved him.  Even now, knowing he had just become a threat to her identity, she loved him.

And it was too late to say it.

“Thank you, but I’d actually rather talk to Chat Noir right now.  I hope you’ll understand.”

He blinked and opened his mouth before shaking his head.  “Right.  Of course.  I’m glad you trust him.”

“I do.”  She looked towards the sliver of sky above the alley as hope blossomed in her.  She did trust Chat.  He would be able to help her through this, just like he’d supported her during Miracle Queen’s short reign.  “I wish he’d been the first to know my identity, but if anyone else had to… I’m glad it’s you, you know.  I lo—I trust you too.”

Really?  Now she almost said it?  He didn’t seem to notice, though.  His expression softened into a smile.

“Thank you, Marinette.  That means a lot to me.”

She smiled back, palm braced against the alley wall to make up for the weakness in her knees.

“Oh, um—is Luka alright?”  She barely remembered to ask.  It was probably the least of her worries, but it was still worth checking.  “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.  The whole kazoo thing was just—I was so embarrassed and I ran away without thinking.  He was just trying to be nice, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t like it.”

“You never seemed to have a problem telling that to Chat Noir,” he said.  Was that a hint of… jealousy she detected in his voice?  No way; she had to be imagining that.

“That’s because I know Chat Noir.  He knows I don’t return his feelings…”  she trailed off, blinking at the ground.

Chat had been the first person she wanted to talk to when she was upset.  The one who always supported her, who knew all her weaknesses and flaws and still looked at her like she’d hung the moon in the sky.  Who wouldn’t hesitate to risk everything for her, who trusted her even when she was wrong but was always, always there to make things right.  

He was the one who called her his Lady.  He was the one whose hug felt like home.  

“Marinette?”  Adrien asked.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Oh?”

She looked up and met his eyes, and before she knew it, she was confessing to the wrong crush.

“I think I’m in love with Chat Noir.”

[thestarkerisobvious]

Dream Of A Starless Sky

inspired by @starker-sorbet​        

moodboard by @von--gelmini​ aka @starker-stories

A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy​

With great thanks for the betaread by @mrstarksbaby​

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At 13, Peter made friends with the Thing that Lived Under the Bed.  But things change.  Nothing stays the same (not even  2000 year old demons.)

SEVENTEEN

Chapter 4         Dream Of A Starless Sky

                                   (Soon, Amado)

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TAG:  fisting (well sort of)

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Later, Peter realized, it was because he had been talking to Tony while also waiting for the rain to fall.

Outdoor work had been humid and miserable, but every distant roll of thunder made Peter smile.  Stormy nights meant he would dream of Tony.

But the storm simply wouldn’t happen.  As he sat on his bed, working on “the books” (really a single notebook with rows of columns that he wrote in with black and red pens, just like Aunt May had showed him) he had been complaining to Tony about money.

It seemed the whole summer had been about money.

No money for the trips to New York City.  No money to fix the electricity in some parts of the house so those parts just remained dark.  No money to fix May and Ben’s bathroom so now they both bathed in the same bathroom as Peter.  Which was exactly the same as it was in New York City, only now it seemed wrong.  At least their toilet still worked on their side of the house.  Otherwise they’d have to move into one of the bedrooms in Peter’s hall (he HATED that idea because all those rooms were his ‘offices.”   He tried to discourage them by insisting the room across from him was “really truly haunted.”  Even after all this time, that’s where the strange noises still came from.

Peter didn’t have real money problems, of course.  He now had more spending money that he’d ever had in his life.  But worrying over the numbers, somehow, made him feel more grownup.

“I just can’t maintain a terrarium budget and buy all these books and afford a long distance call to Ned,” he complained to the silence.  “And I have to have those terrariums before school starts if I’m going to feed you snakes.  And any day now I’m going to catch a snake, I came really close today, Tony.  Really close.  But what’s the point when I don’t have anything to put him in, let alone feed him.  But it’s so much easier now that they aren’t running from me.  And it’s so easy not to be afraid of them when I know they're not venomous, when I know they’re trying not to be afraid of me.  I’m getting really good.  But not fast enough to do it by hand, not like Mr. DeSlaughter.  Not yet.

“And there’s no point in trying to build a rabbit hutch until I learn how to build  a damn fence…”  he groused, subtracting $10 from the column marked “Rabbits” and moving it over to “Phone” with a frown.  It seemed the more that went wrong inside the house, things that Ben knew he couldn’t fix, the more outside projects he decided needed doing outside.  He had tasked Peter with building a pretty fence around the patch of flat ground right outside the kitchen where Aunt May planned to plant a garden someday, a frustrating task given that Aunt May never seemed to get around to planting and Peter’s fence kept sinking.  Even now he turned his head and glared at the room across the hall from him.  The room they were now calling the “Noisy Room.”

The “noisy room”  was technically one of his “offices” but he had never put anything in there.  The carpet, along with the uneven wallpaper, was spectacularly ugly.  He didn’t even store his extra books there.  The sole piece of furniture was an old bed that Aunt May had made once and forgotten about.  The only other thing in that room was a huge, uncurtained window that, if you stood in the right place, could look at the “sunny patch.”  Peter glared through the walls at the noisy room and the window that looked out on his failures.  The “sunny patch” was a better place to make plans for than to actually work on.  Secretly Peter hoped May would never get around to planting that garden.  He had envisioned putting up a different kind of fence and raising a goat there.

“That’s it!”  he said finally, tossing “the books” aside and flopping down on his bed.  “It won’t work!  I just can’t afford to call Ned!”  

He fell asleep just like that, angry at the world, angry at the constantly sinking fence, angry at his sudden loss of privacy now that Ben and May both had to make one nightly trip each down his hallway, but mostly angry at the distant thunder that meant the storm would never ever come.

“I don’t wanna’ piss off any Post Sisters, Tony,” he remembered murmuring before he fell asleep on top of the covers.  “But I’d really love to find one of those spellbooks on how to find treasure right about now.  I know I’m a boy and boys have cooties and all but… damn finding a buried bucket of money would help a lot right now.”  

 * * *

He was more than a little confused to wake up with Tony standing, silently, by his bed.  There was plenty of grey around his temples and he looked pale, but not as drawn or grizzled as Peter had seen him before.  But he was silent, and that was unnerving.  He had a tight, determined look on his eyes that reminded Peter very much of the night he had received his witchesmark in Franeknstines’ lab.

Still, it was Tony, and he was more grateful than anything else.  So when Tony reached out and took his hand he gladly went with him.

Tony silently led him into the woods and to the path that led to the lake.  Peter realized quickly that he was dreaming because he was still barefoot.  Still, he held onto Tony’s hand.  Holding Tony’s hand and following him into complete darkness had always ended well for him.

The lake in the moonlight was lovely.  From there Tony led him steadily up the ridge, the dead oak’s black branches reaching out to caress the night sky.   They passed under the oak until they came within sight of the Lone Chimney.

Only it wasn’t a Lone Chimney anymore, it was an entire little house.  Peter gasped with delight, letting go of Tony’s hand and running towards it.  It was charming.  It was more than that -- for the first time Peter understood how the word “charming” could be used to describe a house.  It seemed to be laid out the same way he and Mike had envisioned it, but they never could have envisioned the beautiful sash windows or the ornate wrought-iron patterns that decorated the wide porch.  It was delicate and feminine and so very romantic.  It could have been a picture in a storybook.  Peter and Aunt May had passed bed-and-breakfasts that wished they were this charming.  It was surrounded by an elaborate garden of hedges and neatly trimmed trees.  There must have been flowers, Peter could smell roses, but in the darkness he couldn’t tell.  He could only make out the finespun, ivy covered gates and the dark shapes beyond.  If anyone wanted to go on a honeymoon, they would come here.

“Did he… Tony this is lovely.  Is this… did Tom Dylan make this house?  For her??”  It took Peter’s breath away.  All of a sudden he could see it, so perfect and complete:  A labor of love.  A charming, picturesque miniature house, far away enough for complete privacy but close enough to walk over for a family dinner.  And the ivy-covered gates and the swing and the loving planned romantic garden, arranged like a flower bouquet.  Arranged like a bouquet to be presented to someone own true love.  It was absolute art.  

No wonder Tom Dylan Post was furious when Laura Foster wanted to live there, married to his little brother instead of with the man who had made it for her.

Suddenly, absurdly, Peter found himself wishing Missy were here.

When he turned back to look for Tony, he understood the wish.  It was romantic, tragic ending aside.  The dark roses.  The charming secret cozy castle with the cozy bed inside.  And the handsome man, wearing a handsome black dress-coat and a grey vest, standing silently in the moonlight.  It made Peter’s heart skip a beat.

Tony reached out one hand, but Peter didn’t take it right away.

“This is a dream, this is a dream,” he said, his eyes firmly closed.  It was a risky move, something he never attempted in his normal meetings with Tony, but right now he longed for it with his whole body.  It was worth the risk.

Twice he tried it, closing his eyes and then opening them again.  The second time, it worked.

He was no longer wearing a baggy t-shirt and boxers.  He was wearing a billowy white nightgown, tied with ribbons at the neck and at the wrist.  (It wasn’t a womans’ nightgown, he had seen men wearing the same thing in books.  Still, he felt.. pretty.)  

He was also significantly shorter.  He padded up to a confused-looking Tony, proud of his accomplishment.  Since he turned 16 he was usually eye-level with Tony’s nose but now he had to stand on his tiptoes when he lifted his face for a kiss, draping his hands over the back of Tony’s neck.

Tony looked down at him curiously in the moonlight.  Then he smiled, understanding.  With two gentle hands on Peter’s waist, he leaned down for a long, tender kiss.

For several moments they stayed that way, kissing in the silence of the night.  Then Tony pulled Peter closer, wrapping one long arm around Peter’s slight waist and scooping him up off his feet.  “Take me inside,” Peter whispered into the kiss, picturing the cozy bed that would be there.  It was a dream, and whatever happened in the dream...   

But Tony was shaking his  head between kisses.  He sank to his knees and laid Peter out on the earth.

Tony had done things to him in dreammeetings that had felt wonderful, but nothing prepared him for the thrill of feeling the weight of Tony’s body on his.  He whimpered as he clutched at Tony’s back and remembered, quite suddenly, that he was dreaming.

And what they did in dreams didn’t count.

Although that was hard to remember as Tony’s eager hands pulled up Peter’s nightgown up to his waist and Peter felt the hard earth on his bare skin (had he really forgotten to dream about underwear??)  

Tony’s hands on his ass was not a familiar sensation, but the fingers were knowing and thorough.  Peter relaxed in Tony’s arms, looking up with wide eyes at the starless sky.

He panicked and tried to keep Tony with him when his friend tried to rise, clutching at him desperately, but Tony was stronger than he was.  Firmly he moved Peter’s arms away from him and rose to his knees.

Peter whimpered and flinched, his hands flying out, when Tony parted his knees and moved to kneel between them.  His face was calm, but unreadable, and Peter was reminded again of the Tony he had met in Frankenstein’s laboratory.  Then the face was gone, and Tony lovingly scooped his right arm under Peter’s shoulders and kissed him gently again, letting the weight of his body press down upon Peter’s.

Peter moaned as his stiff cock was pressed against the rough fabric of Tony’s vest.  It shouldn’t have felt so natural, laying this way, naked from the waist down underneath Tony’s body as Tony rocked against him, over and over again.  But here they were.  Peter opened his eyes again and let the tension build in his body.  He would be coming soon, suspended in this strange place between the black earth and the night sky, moaning Tony’s name.

Then Tony pulled away again and, with the same determined look on his face, slipped his forefinger into his mouth, wetting it slowly.

Peter whimpered as Tony reached between Peter’s legs and, gently but firmly, slipped his finger into the earth.

The earth yielded without comment.

Peter, however, moaned and flinched and looked between his legs in confusion, then moaned again.  What Tony was doing with his finger in the earth looked even more obscene than when he had put it in his mouth.  Then he pulled his finger free and inserted his middle finger into his mouth, watching Peter’s eyes as he wet it.  Gently but firmly he reached between Peter’s thighs and pushed both wet fingers into the earth, pulling them out and easing them back in again.  Peter could no longer see, his eyes were closed, but he knew.  He hid his face in Tony’s arm, keening when Tony wet his third finger, then the fourth.  Peter couldn’t bear to look down and see Tony’s four fingers working themselves tenderly in and out of the earth, but he felt every inch of it.  His legs were trembling.  His breath came out in sobs.

“Nononono…” he cried out when Tony wet his thumb.  

“Shhhhh…” Tony crooned.  It was the only sound besides Peter’s panicked breathing.  He pressed his face back into Tony’s arm.  He tried to lay his feet back on the ground, tried to relax his aching legs.  But his legs kept pulling away from Tony’s hand and what Tony was doing with it.  

“Please… please Tony… please I’m so close…”

“Soon, amado.  Soon.”  His voice was thick and determined and sounded far too urgent to be comforting.

Peter’s arms flailed out when Tony’s hand had sank in up to the wrist.  His left hand came into violent contact with the brick wall beside him, and he looked up in surprise to see where they were laying.  He hadn’t noticed before, but directly above him, looming in the darkness, was the chimney.  Tony’s hand was now buried past the wrist, and he was making a strange, panting noise that Peter had never heard from him before.

The pain in his fingertips made it easier to focus.  Pressing the back of his skinned fingers solidly against the brick wall, Peter wrapped his other arm around Tony’s back and watched his face.  Tony had always taken him to bed with such patience and gentleness.  Tonight he didn’t look patient or gentle at all.  He looked lost.  Peter watched with wonder even as he pressed his aching erection against the rough fabric of Tony’s vest over and over again.

“Yes Tony, yes,” Peter whispered as Tony thrust his body down with a final grunt and a choked-off moan.  He kissed Tony’s face over and over again, the clenched eyes, the slack jaw, even as he jerked his body desperately against Tony’s until he finally came between them.  They lay together on the ground, panting and holding each other in the darkness.  Peter hid his tears in the sleeve of Tony’s coat.  Tony’s arm, buried up to the elbow, remained in the earth between Peter’s thighs.

* * * 

Peter woke and changed the sheets of his bed.  He put bandages on his scraped fingers and got dressed.  Grabbing a toaster waffle and a shovel he headed out to Chimney Hill.

He had plans to find the spot by using the length of his arm.  The spot would be exactly where he stood if he could press his knuckles to the bricks of the chimney.  But there was no need to measure.  The hole was already there, marking the spot, exactly the same size as Tony’s fist.

Peter started to dig.

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The LAST chapter (and the big reveal) will be posted tomorrow.

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The Master Post (not that one, the other one)

as always please direct comments, questions and constructive crit to @witchwayisright

[easnuppa]

Secret feelings

Once again a hugh thanks to the amazing @crossbows-and-moonshine for helping me betaread this❤️

This chapter also contains forced sexual acts so if this bothers you, don't read.

Chapter 3

"Who the hell are ya talkin’ about?" Daryl growled, he stared at Savannah in the dark. After feeling like a fucking pressure cooker all day long, it felt so good to finally blow up and let the anger seep out of his body. His shoulders felt less tense and he did not feel the need any longer to punch the first thing he saw. He had never expected Savannah to actually apologise, he had been prepared for a screaming match. That was what he was used to, no one apologising to him, no one bothered to apologise to a Dixon. That was just as common as seeing pigs fly, so it actually stunned him for a moment that she so easily apologised for what looked like a stupid misunderstanding. Yeah she had been right, he had been under a lot of stress since the prison blew up, yeah he missed their family, it killed him inside to think that some of them might actually be dead. But his concern was for everyone, every single member of their group, that was more a family to him than just friends. Not just one person, and who the hell was this ‘she’ that Savannah was referring to?

Savannah seemed nervous, he watched her nervously lick her bottom lip, he saw how she could not keep her hands at ease in her lap.

"Beth," she almost whispered, it was almost as if she had just breathed the name it was said so quietly, and if it wasn’t for his keen hearing, because of years out in the woods hunting, he would have missed it. What the hell did Beth have to do with this?

"What about ˋer?" he growled, had he missed some crucial clues here to this conversation, had something happened without him noticing? Not being able to put the puzzle together in his head annoyed him to no end and his anger was flaring back up.

"I know you miss her and want to find her and the stress of it all, not knowing if she is alright is pulling its toll on you," she then elaborated and her explanation only confused him even more. Of course he missed the scrawny little teen, but nothing more than anyone else of the group, he was worried about them.

"I miss ˋem all and I’m worried if we wonˋt ever see ˋem again," he admitted, it felt somewhat good to share some of the thoughts that had been playing like a loop in his mind ever since they had escaped the burning inferno. Savannah nodded and they stayed quiet for a while, he lit a cigarette that he had found in one of the houses, thank god not all those rich pricks had been health freaks. He took a deep drag of the cigarette and felt the smoke fill his lungs and calm his nerves. He then leaned over and with the small light from his lighter, he could see the lump on her forehead.

"Sorry ˋbout yer head," she gingerly touched the sore bump and brushed him off like it was nothing.

“Itˋs alright, not the worst I’ve had in this apocalypse," he nodded.

"I found a map," he then said, "in one of the houses, studied it, was gonna show ya tomorrow, found a route that leads a bit north," Savannah met his stare in the dark, he could faintly see a glimmer of excitement in her silvery orbs.

"That's great, but should we not backtrack areas surrounding the prison? They are on foot and they might not have gotten that far," Daryl scratched his head and took another drag from the smoke, the cab of the car was filling up with smoke and he eased up the window slightly.

"Before we came to the prison we spent a whole winter out on the road on foot, backtracking the whole area, it's more or less empty, Rick knows this, so I think he’d have found a way to get out of the county, hell, he might even be leading the group out of the state. I doubt he will go further south or to the coast, I bet my ass he went north," Savannah did not say anything for a while, she only chewed on her lip. The trait was adorable, he wanted to carefully pull that lip clear from her teeth and taste it.

"How can you be so sure he went north?" Daryl snapped out of his thoughts, directed his stare out the front window and shrugged.

"He’d wanna lead his people to safety, he knows thereˋs no safety here, he needs people, what other part is more logic to crowd to than Washington?" Savannah seemed to catch up to his logic and nodded.

"Alright, seems like a plan. Itˋs late, do you want me to drive for a while so you can take a nap?" Daryl had his thumb between his teeth, gnawing on it, relieved that she was onboard with his plan. It was a shot in the dark, but the most logical one in his mind.

"Nah I’m alright, I have a couple of hours left in me," he said and started the car back up and continued driving. He saw Savannah half climbing into the back of the car to drag out her backpack.

"What ya doin?" he asked curiously, watching her from the crock of his eye, while still focusing on the road ahead of them.

"I'm hungry, didn’t eat much yesterday, so figured we both could use a snack, found some chips at one of the houses," Daryl nodded and his stomach was actually growling too. He had been focused on his rage to care about the gnawing hunger, he had not eaten much since the can of peaches the previous morning either. He felt embarrassed of how he had acted with her about snatching the water bottle in front of her and swiping the rest of the peaches down on the floor, he normally did not act that childish, but her comment had been bothering him all night and that same morning. He hated for her to even play with the thought of him being gay, he was so far from it, and he had no way to show her, because all he wanted was her, and he knew that would never happen.

"I only found salty one’s but that will do," she said apologetically. She opened the bag of chips and held it out between them to eat, she also unscrewed a bottle of water for them to share. He thankfully took a handful of chips and chewed on them before swallowing, it was such a relief to him that their bickering was done, this was so much more pleasant. Their silent understanding of each other’s basic wants and needs had come naturally and fast between them when they started pairing up for hunting back at the quarry. It had been a good call from Rick even if he had not agreed with it at first, but they were so much alike.

They had switched driving some time during the night, Daryl was now softly snoring next to her, his head leaned up against the window, his hands still resting on his bow between his legs. She had seen him sleep before and she loved watching him, he looked so at peace and his worry lines that had been etched into his face were gone. He looked so much younger when he was sleeping. She chewed on her bottom lip that was now sore from the little cut that she had got after Daryl had pulled to a halt earlier. She wondered how old Daryl really was, she figured herself to be around twenty nine by now, she had kind of lost track of time when she had been on her own. She owed her life to Rick and everyone in the group who had accepted her as one of them, her sanity had been on the verge of breaking being alone on that highway, after watching her dad being ripped to pieces by those nasty walkers. All the things she had been forced to do to survive, after leaving their cabin in the mountains and heading down to Atlanta, the loneliness, at one point she had actually captured one of the walkers and kept him almost as a pet. At night she had long conversations with the walker, when she had thought she had actually got a response from the walker and not just a growl she had figured it was best for her own mental stability to kill off the walker and seek out real people. That was when she had ended up talking to Shane and Lori at the highway.

Dawn had come and went a couple of hours ago and now the sun was just peeking up over the treetops. The car started to slow down on speed and acting up. Crap she thought to herself, her eyes searched for someplace safe to pull over, she spotted a deserted gas station and pulled over before she stopped the car. Her eyes traced the area for walkers, but it seemed quiet, she leaned over and put a hand on Daryl's bicep.

"Hey Daryl, you need to wake up," she said softly, not wanting to startle him since there was no immediate danger. But Daryl was always on guard, even when sleeping, his hands tightened around the bow, when his eyes shot open and he looked around the car. Savannah felt how his muscles flexed under her hand and her mouth felt dry and her heart started racing in her chest. How could any man be so perfectly chiseled? She felt how he relaxed when he did not see the threat he was preparing for.

"Why ya stop? Somethin’ happened? How long have I been out for?" he asked, his voice still gruff from sleep, and he rubbed his eyes and rubbed his stiff neck. She heard a little crack.

"You have slept for about three hours or something, I stopped cause we are unfortunately out of gas, but look," she pointed out to the deserted gas station.

"Maybe we can find something in there," Daryl nodded and they scrambled out of the car, both their bows raised while they rounded the gas station. Daryl was first watching their front while Savannah had their back. At the back they found three stray walkers aimlessly walking dozely around, they each sent off their arrows silently and watched while two of the walkers dropped to the ground. The third walker had spotted them and was now growling making its way over to them, its arms outstretched in front of him. Daryl quickly jammed his hunting knife into the skull of the walker and it dropped to the ground as well. Savannah walked up to the back entrance, while Daryl cleaned off his knife, she pulled on the door and to their luck it was open. Daryl fastened another arrow in his bow and they slowly made their way inside of the dark building.

To their disappointment the gas station had already been wiped clean, not even so much as a little candybar left. All that was there were some already slayed walkers and dust, a lot of dust, the air had been gray from it. As they were about to round the corner of the small building they heard men talking, whistling and hollering. Daryl signalled to Savannah to have her bow ready. As they stepped around the corner they saw five men going through their supplies, emptying their bags and filling the hood of their car with water bottles, cans of food and some clothes they had snatched from the houses the day prior. They both had their bows aimed at the men when one of them turned around and gave them a wide grin.

"Morning," the man said, Savannah studied the man that was now speaking to them, he looked to be in his mid fifties, gray hair, a few wrinkles and was wearing a similar outfit as Daryl had on. Black leather west, worn jeans, heavy boots, some shaggy old tshirt. The man was different from Daryl though, where Daryl gave her a warm, protected and fuzzy feeling, this man gave her the creeps. It was something about that sly grin on his face. She heard Daryl only grunt in response, but then Daryl that was placed two steps in front of her, nodded towards the car.

"That's ours," he growled lowly, you did not have to know Daryl to understand he wasn’t messing around. Another man directed his attention towards them as Daryl spoke, this man had brown hair, he looked to be a little bit younger. He was taller and more scrawny built, the first man turned towards the men in his gang, still with that fake smile plastered on his lips.

"See, I told yaˋll it belonged to someone," the scrawny looking manˋs angry eyes went from Daryl and Savannah to his leader.

"But we have already claimed it, it belongs to us now," then the man licked his lips and looked back at Savannah.

"Iˋll claim her too, she sure looks like a fine piece of ass, hard to come by these days," the man grabbed his crotch suggestively towards Savannah, who had to swallow hard to force the bile that was threatening to spill out of her mouth. Daryl moved protectively in front of her. The gangs leader turned nonchalantly towards Daryl and Savannah again.

"That’s right, we did in fact claim it, so itˋs ours, and now one of my men have claimed youˋre little lady friend there too," he turned a little forward and peaked at Savannah from around Daryl.

"Why donˋt you lower that little bow there darling, and be a good little girl and go where you belong?" Savannah felt her blood start to boil, she hated when guys felt the need to treat woman like airheads, like they where an object to own. She was about to tell the man, both of them actually to go to hell, when Daryl beat her to it.

"I donˋt fuckin’ care who fuckin’ claimed what, that shit belongs to us, and she ain’t up to be claimed," The leader hummed a little while he carelessly folded his hands on his back.

"Looks like we have quite the predicament here, we saw the empty car, no one around to claim it, so we did. We saw that little blonde sunshine there," the man was now talking directly to Daryl, "you did not claim her, so one of my guys did, she now belong to us as well, but donˋt you worry, we will treat her just fine," Savannah heard Daryl growl when the scrawny looking guy came towards her, she took a few steps back. Daryl aimed his crossbow at the scrawny guy.

"Ya ain’t touchin ˋer," the man stopped and Daryl continued, "take the goddamn stuff, but let us walk outˋa here," the leaders sly grin grew, and something sadistic could be spotted in his eyes.

"Looks to me like you have two choices here, one you can leave here in peace and let us continue what we were doing, or youˋll shut up, lower those weapons and join us, either way little miss sunshine there is stayin’ with us," the man clicked his tongue and suddenly the whole gang was pointing their weapons at them.

"See, the beauty with a crossbow and a compound bow is that its silent weapons, kills swiftly, but it is a pain in the ass to reload, when we have guns. Looks like the two of you are pulling the shorter straw here," Savannah knew they were fucked and lowered her bow at the same time as Daryl did it, two guys went up to them and ripped the bows out of their grips. The scrawny man came over and pulled his arm around her slender shoulders and pulled her against his side while he nuzzled his nose at her neck, breathing her in. She felt how his hand dropped lower and lower down her back before it was placed over her ass, and squeezed mercilessly. She had to bite her bottom lip to hold back the whimper that nearly had escaped her mouth. She looked panicked over at Daryl, she met his sky blue eyes, she could easily spot the raging fire inside of them, she knew how he was working hard not to jump the scrawny man and kill him with his bare hands.

Daryl fisted his hands along his sides as he walked a couple of steps behind Savannah and the man that had claimed her. The men of the group had packed up while the leader, whoˋs name was Joe, had ranted out his little speech about how their group worked. He had asked Daryl a couple of questions and had looked very pleased when Daryl reluctantly had shared that he was a hunter, Joe had been pleased that Daryl had chosen to stay with the gang, how could he leave when they had Savannah? God knows what they would do to her if he left, He had decided to stay to protect her, he had silently vowed to her when her panicked gray eyes had met his, that he would figure a way to get them out of their claws. He just had to get his hands on their bows and knives first, then he would take them out one by one. He had been pissed off when he saw they were going through their stuff, how one of the guys had emptied Savannahs duffle bag of clothes and smelled her shirts and underwear. She had not yet worn the clothes, but it was meant to be used by her, and it made him see red. He knew what guys like this gang would do to a beautiful girl like Savannah, how many times had he not let his own mind slip and let it drift straight into the gutter watching her? The only difference between himself and those guys was that he would never force himself on her, he always kept his distance, because he understood and accepted that Savannah was above him. Women like Savannah deserved guys like Rick, Glenn even T-Dog , good honest men who weren’t redneck trash like himself. Daryl watched between his now sweaty tresses of his bangs how the idiot now had shoved his hand down Savannahˋs back pocket of her jeans. He saw how his hand clenched and pinched her ass, it did not go past him how she cringed every time and how her back now seemed tense and rigid.

They came into an abandoned workshop, skeletons of cars were everywhere. The building actually felt cool and nice and it was a relief to get out of the beating harsh sun, Daryl had no clue how many hours they had been walking, but the sun was low in the sky, so he figured it had to be late afternoon. They all scattered around on the floor and made themselves some makeshift beds. Daryl made sure he placed himself near Savannah, he had not taken his eyes off of her since they left the gas station. Someone had clearly noticed, he was so focused on Savannah so he did not notice how Joe had walked over to him and slid down on the floor next to him.

"So whatˋs up with you and miss sunshine over there? She yer sweetheart or somethin’? Yaˋll been sendin’ each other looks since we left the gas station," Daryl was about to brush him off and tell him to fuck off when a thought hit him.

"What if I said she was?" Joe raised his brows and looked at Daryl, then Savannah before his eyes went back and met with Darylˋs blue orbs.

"Depends on yer relationship status. See we are good guys, we do keep some morals in this godforsaken world," Daryl was about to say that she was his girlfriend, but Joe clearly loved to listen to his own voice and Daryl knew from an early age that it was always best to keep your trap shut.

"Well, let's say she's yer friend, fuckbuddies or girlfriend, that's the kind of status we don't really give a shit about, but if yaˋll we're married or some fucked up shit like that, then of course I would put my foot down," Daryl nodded, he stared down at his lap and inhaled deeply before he exhaled.

"Always had a thing for ˋer, since the first time i saw ˋer, made ˋer my wife right before the outbreak," he hoped the man would go for his little lie, well the last part was a lie, but not the first part, that was true, and his heart beat faster from the anxiety that came with being forced to say it out loud. Joe clicked his tongue and lit a cigarette, he inhaled deeply.

"Is that so?" he said while he blew the smoke out in Daryl's direction, Daryl nodded, gnawing harsly at his thumb.

"Whereˋs yer wedding band?". Daryl grunted inwardly, of course it was easy to see the missing ring or mark from it, when he practically was waving his hand in front of the guys face.

"Worked at a workshop like this before the outbreak, weren't aloud to wear any wedding bands at work, could get snagged on somethin’ and it would rip off yer finger. Was at work when they started to evacuate our town, went home, got Sav and our bows and hauled ass outˋa town," Joe nodded while Daryl explained lowly, Joe looked over at Savannah who was struggling to keep the man's hands off of her. Joe nodded and got up on his feet before he strolled over to where Savannah was trying to protect herself silently to not draw any attention to her.

"Looks like we have ourselves another situation on our hands boys!" Joe called out with what sounded like a cheerful humor filled voice.

"From what I have been told, we have overstepped our lines a bit here, ya see these two here, " Joe pointed between Daryl and Savannah "are in fact married, and since we are honorable men we are going to right what we have done them wrong," Daryl was glad he was sitting down, the relief that Savannah now was safe from any grabby hands would have knocked him off of his feet.

"We are going to let the hubby get a little taste of his little mrs, before we all get a little taste," Daryl inhaled sharply and looked up at Joe. No no no, what was he doing, what the fuck had just happened? Daryl jumped to his feet and was about to stalk over to Joe and put him straight, when two guys came up behind him and grabbed his arms and held him back. He tried the best to shake them off but they where strong brutes and two against one when his panic was ripping his insides to shreds and clouding his thoughts. He could not get them off. Joe turned towards Daryl.

"It is only fair that we all get a turn with her, we afterall let yaˋll stay with us, we protect yaˋll, but as I said, since we are honorable men yaˋll get to play hubby one last time first, if yer not lying to us, cause we really don't like liars. Last person that lied in this group was stomped to death," Daryl swallowed, Joe turned over to Savannah, who had now pushed herself up on her knees and was slowly crawling away from the man who had stopped grabbing at her.

"Why donˋt ya be a good little wifey and git yer ass over there and show yer hubby how much ya love ˋim," Savannah was up on her legs in a blink of an eye before she hurried over to where he was being held, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. It surprised him how her small frame could have such a fierce grip, she pressed herself into the hug with her whole body and buried her face into his shoulder. Never had they been so close, he lowered his head slightly and breathed in her scent of wildflowers, it felt so good to have her arms wrapped around his neck like that.

"Awwww, isn’t that adorable guys, but this shit is just a little too vanilla for my taste," Joe cackled out, and suddenly Savannah was pushed back.

"Git on yer knees bitch, and suck him off," Joe snarled, "prove that he ain’t a lying sack of shit," Darylˋs eyes widened slightly when he heard Joeˋs threat and saw how he pushed Savannah to her knees in front of him. Daryl could not believe what was happening, he struggled against the guys holding him.

"Whatˋs the matter there, donˋt wanna get head from yer little mrs?" Joe mocked, Daryl glared at the guy.

"I ain't gonna do this infrontˋa all of yaˋlls," he growled, wishing he had his bow right now, he wished Savannah had hers too, she was just as deadly with her compound bow.

"Ooooh ho ho ho, a little stagefright here are yeh, afraid ya wouldn’t git it up? Canˋt say I see the problem, I’m gettin’ a hard on just looking at ˋer like that on ˋer knees, beggin’ to be fucked..... itˋs written all over her pretty little face there," Joe drew his hand back and before Daryl could do anything to dodge the punch he felt the explosive pain as he heard his nose crack as his head was flung back. He grunted and straightened his neck and blood came down his face in heavy streams, his ears were ringing and he could hear Savannah gasp, before she turned around.

"Punch him again and youˋre dead! Youˋre all dead!" she growled, he heard Joeˋs mocking cackle, if only they knew how deadly Savannah was, they would not be laughing. He heard another slap and he looked down through blurry vision and saw Savannah sprawled on the floor, gently holding over a red spot on her cheek. Daryl saw red and threw himself at Joe, but it was no use, the goons holding him was too strong. He helplessly watched as Joe grabbed at Savannahˋs hair and yanked her up on her knees again, he heard the quiet whimper that Savannah could not keep back, he closed his eyes.

"Now git to it bitch," He felt Savannahˋs small hands shakingly tug on his belt, it did not take long until she had unbuckled his belt and popped the button and had the zipper down. Daryl was gnawing so hard on his bottom lip he could taste blood, if it was from his broken nose or if he had actually ripped his lip open with his teeth, he did not know. The cool air hit his hot skin on his abdomen when she pulled down his jeans slightly. Only an hour earlier he had been thinking how he would never force Savannah to do anything like this, and now here they were. He felt her cold hands being wrapped around him, he was trying so hard to block out her actions, to leave his body like he used to do when his olˋman used to beat the crap out of him or whipped his back raw, but the feeling of her soft hands around him was too good, nothing like he had ever imagined it would feel like. It was better, so much better. It did not take long until his dick was throbbing in her hands, he could not hold back the grunt as he felt the tip of her tongue circling his head before her plump lips enveloped him completely. He pressed shut his eyes, this was too much, he could not watch, the feeling of her hot mouth around him was just too much and he was about to spill his load right then. "This ain’t a fucking romance novel!" one of the men shouted and heavy footsteps could be heard, he opened his eyes just as a bearded brute grabbed a hold of Savannah's hair and pushed her down his dick and held her there, he could feel how she was gagging, panicking to get away and get air. As Savannahˋs head was pulled back she was gasping for air and saliva was hanging from her lips, tears were streaking her cheeks and he felt rotten for causing this to happen. She was pushed back and the same gagging, whimpering sound filled the room, if only someone could just put a bullet in their head and be done with it.

@of-storms-and-sadness

@jodiereedus22

[houseki-no-suffering]

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Human AU, 1960s AU  Characters: Cinnabar/Phosphophyllite, Diamond, Euclase, Bort, Alexandrite, Yellow Diamond Summary: When 19 yo Cinnabar thought of giving Phos their heart, 16 yo Phos left them to move to another town with Antarcticite. 5 years and a lifetime later, Phos makes a sudden comeback into Cinnabar’s life, helping both of them realize that running away from your problems is grossly overrated.

A/N: nnngh I can’t believe I’m finally posting this, a huge thank you to @lapishead for betareading this and to @enfphos for their patience and adorable support. Enjoy!

Just a little more.

Cinnabar kept filling all the spaces in their mind with those words, trying not to leave any room for complaints. They were clinging to the hope that, if they persisted in telling themselves that they were almost done, the words would magically start sounding true rather than repetitive. It was a cognitive thing, Alex had told Cinnabar once.

Almost done.

Cinnabar’s mind must be extraordinarily stubborn, but at least the mantra had kept them from overthinking. As a form of cognitive gratitude, they repeated those words a final time as they picked up the last cardboard box from Euclase’s car. Then they reverted back to cursing their own physical form as they panted and puffed their way up the entrance steps and then, finally, collapsed on the bare mattress as soon as they stepped foot inside their new home.

The box followed them happily, bouncing on the bed along with Cinnabar and raining its contents on top of them and all around the room. Cinnabar paid it no mind. Objects were supposed to go missing in any respectable move.

Basking in the validation that they got from the newfound chaos, Cinnabar shifted their attention to the ceiling above them. It took them a couple of seconds to decide that it was judging the incompetent way Cinnabar had carried their boxes and that it would keep judging as Cinnabar unpacked. One more reason not to start now. Even the wall knew that Cinnabar was just the pale imitation of the previous tenant, but Cinnabar had resigned to mediocrity a long time ago.

It was a nice ceiling, they supposed, white, freshly painted, and with the distinctive sand-looking roughness that characterized most things in this town. Then Cinnabar’s eyes narrowed and spotted one single black dot that was singlehandedly ruining the pristine whiteness. Bort would totally blame them for it.

Awesome.

“May I? Oh, you are done already,” Diamond’s head peeked out from behind the bedroom’s door. Their smile betrayed just the faintest disappointment for not being able to linger any further.

“Mh-h,” Cinnabar answered, still contemplating Bort’s rage. Then they remembered to let out a small, whispered “thanks,” in exchange for Diamond’s help.

“Would you like a hand unpacking? You just need ask if you do. We’d all be happy to come over, I can call Benito and Ame, we’ll be done super fast.”

“I’ll do it myself,” Cinnabar mumbled, terrified by the perspective.

“Of course,” Diamond offered them another eloquent smile. No one had been happy when Cinnabar mentioned moving out of the school dormitory. Diamond especially had not been happy when they learned that the only reason was that Bort would be moving out as well, leaving their small apartment empty for Cinnabar to occupy.

Diamond’s fingers traveled along the doorframe with delicate interest, as if following a fond memory or searching for one.

“Did my little sibling call, yet?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Dia’s eyes got tangled in a mysterious web of memories that lay just below the surface of the wood. When they shifted their gaze to the ceiling, Cinnabar expected them to point out the insignificant black spot too. “It’s been a while. They’re probably very busy with the new school and everything. I’m sure they will call. No need to be worried, they’ll be fine. They’re always fine. Bort is such a responsible cutie.”

A weak “of course,” was all the sympathy Cinnabar managed to offer. Even when threading carefully among sibling rivalries and unresolved conflicts, the truth was that they would miss Bort too.

Without Bort, Cinnabar would probably lack both a place to call their own and a sense of independence. They were afraid that their newly discovered sense of self would crumble like a sand castle in a couple of days without Bort’s cement-strong pragmatism to keep it in place. Therefore, Cinnabar made a mental note to find some courage to call their friend before the castle collapsed. Bort had already done them the favor of providing the apartment with a phone, so Cinnabar could return the courtesy by sparing Dia the awkwardness of calling their sibling first. One of these days. In the near future. Eventually.

“Yeah,” Dia nodded again, more to convince themselves than Cinnabar, equally hurt and relieved by knowing their little sibling was hundreds of kilometers away. “And what about my Shinsha, will you be okay, dear? Don’t you think you’ll feel alone all by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m here, you can still… call, or drop by, I guess… it’s okay.”

“Of course, I’d love to. And I really need to bring you some flowers, this place needs waaay more colors, wouldn’t that be cute?.”

“Okay.”

Diamond giggled at Cinnabar’s lack of interest.

“You can tell me I’m being silly. Stupid, little, apprehensive Dia. I’ll shut up, no more talking, no no,” they admonished themselves. “So, I guess I should be going now…”

Cinnabar didn’t answer. Diamond picked up their coat from the chair next to Bort’s bed, their eyes lingering on the cardboard boxes and clothes lazily scattered around the room.

“I’m gonna miss you a little, I know it’s still the same,” they hurried to add, “but just a little bit, a tiny little bit,” they chuckled, “alright. I’ll see you around, bye-bye, Shinsha.”

“Bye.”

Diamond gave one last look at the room, their eyes finally noticing the tiny dot that had ruined the flawlessness of the ceiling all by itself. They knew, too, that Bort would hate it.

Diamond smiled.

Then they waved goodbye to their friend again and walked out of Cinnabar’s apartment.

—

Diamond was right when they said it would still be the same. That was exactly one of the reasons Cinnabar was terrified it would all come crumbling down.

Bort’s apartment was little more than one block away from the dormitories of the institute, which meant that Cinnabar would still stumble upon friends and family anytime they went to the library, ventured outside to buy groceries, or simply decided to take a walk. They would still meet familiar faces every day at work.

Bort’s apartment was the farthest Cinnabar could presently dare to get from everything, and yet it was barely any distance at all. It should be pathetic that it had still taken Cinnabar five whole years to get to this point. And that they were still tempted to throw it all away the second Bort’s train disappeared behind the horizon. Bort was wrong in believing that Cinnabar’s confidence needed more careful patching up. It needed to be rebuilt from scratch altogether.

Cinnabar’s best days were the ones when they would woke up and feeling bitter about it. When the desire for a stable sense of self was something they cared enough to miss. But most days they were just hungry for isolation. The company of old, useless memories still more appreciated than that of the present.

The pebbles of the road crunched under Cinnabar’s feet as they walked to the library. It was hot, irritatingly hot for a late summer day. Cinnabar should have tied their hair up and slowed their pace. Each extra movement was an admission of weakness against the supremacy of the heat.

For as much as Cinnabar hated cleaning, the fact that Bort had trusted them with an apartment to care for was nothing short of a miracle. And it said something about Bort’s excessive optimism toward Cinnabar. Cinnabar was not sure what was most surreal between leaving the dorms and have someone blindly believe in them.

As they pushed open the library’s front door, Cinnabar made a reluctant mental note to find the strength to unpack at least one or two boxes before going to bed. Looking at those boxes had a mysterious, therapeutic effect on Cinnabar’s mind, an illusion of productivity, a sign that something new and exciting was still happening. As long as at least one cardboard box was still around, the apartment would still be getting used to Cinnabar’s presence. And it would be easier to leave.

“G’ morning,” they signaled their presence, closing the door behind them.

“Hello, hello! My, did you time me? I was just about to leave,” Alexandrite’s energetic voice greeted them in the midst of their hurried chaos, “Papers are on my desk, books must be re-shelved, dust is piling up everywhere, this place looks more and more like a tomb with each passing day, but isn’t that fascinating? Gosh, just like a good old expedition down south, we should all visit Greece one of these days. Very informative. Very hot, as well. Always bring a hat. But do leave the dust, atmosphere is always important, people who complain can do so in my face.”

“Alright.”

Picking up equally fundamental objects from completely different parts of the room, Alexandrite’s storm quickly approached Cinnabar, briskly retrieving the last missing items— a summer coat and a hat—  from the hanger behind Cinnabar’s shoulders. Cinnabar drew back carefully, on the verge of losing balance.

“Late, late, late,” Alex chanted as they hurriedly put on the coat, despite the temperature outside, fighting to keep in balance the absurd amount of papers and notes that they were holding to their chest. Cinnabar reached forward in a timid attempt to help, which Alex, in their hurry, failed to notice.

“Goddammit, I need more hands.”

“Need a bag or something?”

“Nature gave me arms so I could use them.”

Cinnabar’s mouth twitched, any further remark concerning Alex’s clothing would be disregarded in the name of eccentricity— or of pleasing a wide fanbase of young, curious students. Even retired academicians had expectations to live up to.

“Laaate,” Alex chanted one last time when they finally managed to put an arm in the correct hole of the coat, the papers still precariously squished against their chest. “Alright, I’m off. Take care of the place for me.”

“Don’t kill any kid.”

“Ah! I’ll try,” and then Lexi stormed out of the door, a couple of sheets of paper following after them, as late as their author.

Cinnabar mused for a second whether to catch them while Alex was still in earshot. Instead, they observed the papers’ silent fall until gravity reduced them to unresponsive leaflets. Then Cinnabar picked them up and walked back inside to put them on the front desk. Golden puffs of dust welcomed them on the wood.

Just like an old tomb.

—

Cinnabar didn’t make a habit to eavesdrop on other people in the library. No matter how loud the words, arguments and gossip just flowed away from their mind in a stream of lazy disinterest. It was one of the reasons Jade had stopped asking them to collaborate in the newspaper. Library news was lost to Cinnabar’s attention.

And yet, today’s buzz had managed to dig itself a small, tiny hole in Cinnabar’s mind. Scattered words and sentences made them uneasy, bits and pieces connecting to old images that Cinnabar had repressed years ago and only dug up when they felt like self-loathing.

They shouldn’t care, they knew better than to care again, but memories of a coach lazily departing from town crawled their way to the surface of Cinnabar’s consciousness.

It was so easy to remember the salt from the sea itching Cinnabar’s nostrils, the way the fresh breeze of that morning had dried cold tears on their cheeks. Several people had gathered in the piazza to watch that coach leave, waving, lingering, wishing they could leave too.

Cinnabar had climbed up to the last terrace of the lighthouse, breathing in the dawn and despising themselves for looking down at the piazza, too, still incredulous at what was happening. A part of them had even tried to spot a glimpse of teal hair through a windowpane, but the coach was too far gone already. The vehicle disappeared in the fog without noticing Cinnabar’s presence.

They still thought about that day, from time to time. It still felt like a surreal, bad dream. They wondered what had happened to a specific couple of passengers, and they still commiserated themselves for not being able to wish misfortunes on other people.

Cinnabar shouldn’t care anymore, but those voices had dusted off old aches and now it was hard to bury them again.

In an attempt to distract themselves, Cinnabar focused on the ridiculous amount of papers that they were carrying, because of course Alex had fallen behind on grading tests. And, since the thought of more work was not enough, they resolved to stop by Euclase’s shop as well, hoping that the familiar anxiety from social interactions would drown any other preoccupation.

Euclase’s grocery store was almost exactly halfway between Cinnabar’s new house and the school. It sat at the intersection of the town’s main road and the long, meandering street that led to the sea. The little shop was just one story tall but occupied every square centimeters with conscious pride, aware of its position at the very heart of the city.

The silvery chant of a wind chimes welcomed Cinnabar as they pushed open the door. It was almost closing time and the setting sun bathed the ambience in the sepia immobility of a photograph. Even Euclase was lost in the peachy hues that clothed the evening. Seated in contemplation behind the cash desk, they gave the impression of dozing off in a coat of warm sunlight.

At the sound of the wind chimes, Euclase turned their head immediately, waking up from their dream. Cinnabar offered a small nod as greeting.

“Oh, hi, Shinsha. I wasn’t expecting you. Can I do something for you?”

Cinnabar’s heart took a dull leap at the mention of not being expected. They breathed in a small gulp of evening.

“I’m just… stopping by, I guess…”

“Of course, of course. How are you, dear? Are you alright?”

Cinnabar nodded, but only when Euclase’s eyes widened in surprise did they realize that Euc’s question had not been mere politeness.

“That’s good, I’m glad, really.”

With quick precision, Cinnabar’s mind enumerated and evaluated all the things that could be wrong with Cinnabar or that Euclase might be concerned about. Their heart made another leap as anxiety washed over them.

“What’s up?”

“So you don’t know yet…” Euclase murmured and Cinnabar’s pulse quickened as they thought about the buzz that they had heard in the library that morning.

They wanted to walk to the cash desk, slam their hands on the counter and ask for explanations, or maybe storm out of the shop like the mature person they were, but their feet were cowardly glued to the ground, surrounded by warm, sticky sunlight.

“Is it about the apartment?” they asked, but they already knew the answer. Euclase shook their head no.

“Now, what I’m about to say might upset you,” they began, walking toward Cinnabar with a sweet, motherly smile plastered on their face, “but please, I’m sure we can find a way to deal with this. I know it’s going to be alright-“

Halfway through Euclase’s speech, Cinnabar had spaced out. If this were Sensei instead of Euclase, he would have patted Cinnabar’s head, offering a gentle smile. But Euclase was not Sensei, no matter how much they tried to walk in his steps. They just stood in front of Cinnabar, smiling, mindful not to hug or touch them, ready to deliver the blow with artfully coated sincerity.

“-there must be a reason why Phos is back in town and the least we can do is offer our support and our love. I’m sure we can all get along again as a family-“

Cinnabar’s throat was heavy, as if something was stuck inside of it and refused to be swallowed. As if someone had sat on Cinnabar’s ribcage, pushing all the air out of their lungs, and Cinnabar wanted to cry, had to cry, but couldn’t.

“So they come back, now…” they murmured.

“Yes,” Euclase seconded them, happy to see a reaction from Cinnabar’s side, “Phos has come back home.”

way to end chap 1 on a cliffhanger, but thank you so much for reading to this point! I’ll be super happy if you give this AU a chance: I poured my soul into this story and I love how it came out.  I’m shooting for weekly chaps, but we’ll see how that goes. In the meantime let me know what you think of this: any kind of feedback is great!

[faintblueivy]

Is She Beautiful? - Chapter 7 - Borusara fanfiction

Apologies for such a late update! It was badly struck in this chapter but thankfully got to update it finally after some brainstorming. Thanks to all for your comments

This chapter was betaread by @roopshasil!

You can also read on Ao3.

Chapter 7

Things kept Hidden

“Idiot.”

She thought, jumping and traversing through the foliage of the trees, determined to catch up to him with a small silver object clutched in her hand.

After today's events, Sarada was not sure of what to think of boys’ sudden affection for her. Boruto had apologised to her, saying something about him saying some stuff about them being friends and others making some stupid interpretations and then marching in to annoy her. Throughout the conversation, he was a blushing and stuttering mess and Sarada wasn't sure what to make of it when he ate half of what he said by mumbling and rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous manner.

They sat there for a while, enjoying each other's company and some silence after his hasty apology for a subject she couldn't understand. Then all of a sudden, he jumped up, exclaiming how late it was and telling her that he had to go and pick Himawari up from the Hyuuga mansion since his mother was out for some work. After a quick goodbye, he had rushed off, only to drop his key. Sarada called out after him but he was fast and couldn't hear what she said.

And that's how she was left with his key. Of course, the key that needed to be returned to him. And hence, the chase.

When she finally reached the town square on the way to Boruto's home, her eyes scanned the the congregation of people below her for a mop of blonde sunshine hair. She felt herself smiling when she spotted him in midst the crowd, moving swiftly.

Wait.

Something's not right.

Both his home and the Hyuuga mansion are...on the other direction, right?

Then...where is he going?

It's didn't take her more than a few seconds to decide that this particular matter needed investigation. She has followed him before too so it shouldn't be a big deal, right?

Oh, ‘research’ is a better suited term. She's done 'research and investigation’, no following around.

Something nags her in the back of her mind to not proceed with this idea but she convinces herself that she is doing it for him! For a guy who seems to attract troubles like a magnet does iron, she should keep an eye on him. Yes, that's what she'll do. Just a small attempt to make sure that he is not messing up something again.

The path Boruto is moving on is zigzag, brittle and comparatively isolated. A little confusing too but she can recognise the familiar landscape. She keeps a steady pace and notices where this path actually leads to. 

The Chunin exam stadium.

A weird sensation pricks her agitation even more. She wants to jump and pin him down and ask him what the hell he's doing here? But Sarada prides herself for being a level headed kunoichi (most of the times) so she holds herself back. She will stay back and observe him from afar. Her puzzlement over this entire situation grows even further when he approaches the adults, converses with them and then enters the damaged area in the insides of the ruined stadium.

Sarada knows that she is not a master of shadows but still, she could be quite stealthy when the situation desires her to be. It doesn't take her much more than a few seconds and a few well calculated jumps to sneak into the cracked stadium. She moved cautiously, with enough pace to avoid detection. Watching her step to avoid occupied corridors, she peeks over the area from above, a nice hidden place.

It's easy to spot him amidst the dull grey fallen debris. And the sight that greeted her widened her eyes.

He's still working? But why? Mission was over tomorrow? Right? He didn't have to come to the arena today.

Then bits of the conversation that she had heard and yet had oh so easily ignored flashed across her mind.

“Did you hear that?”

Sarada watched the two Chunin officials talking to each other as she passed by holding a large wooden beam for repairs.

“You're kidding, right? No way! He willingly offered himself for probation? This is crazy! Who does that?!”

“Yeah! My thoughts exactly!”

“Does Hokage-sama know about this?”

“I suppose not. I've also heard that he begged chief to not let it be known to him.”

So they were talking about him? Of course! And she had not even given it all a second thought. So he's been lying to everyone, again? How many times was he going to repeat this same stupidity?

She bit her lower lip harshly in order to contain the frustration and anger she felt at his betrayal. She knew he felt guilty for not only cheating but also for the damage that monster Momoshiki had caused to Konoha. And she wanted him to understand that it was not his fault.  She had hoped, in vain, that he would understand that they're his teammates and he needed to share his problems with them. But no. His answer was a big fat NO again. And it hurt.

Tears pooled on the corner of her eyes and threatening to spill down. Sarada furiously swiped at them, the other hand gripping her glasses tightly. Grinding her teeth she immediately stood up, not wanting to stay here a minute now.

Why are you so stubborn? And stupid?

From here she can see a group of boys throwing stuff at him. He was able to dodge them without even sparing a glance but Sarada was sure that they were spewing out insults and enough venom to burn him down. Sarada wanted to intervene but she was not sure who she was struggling against.

Who was her opponent?

Boruto's own bullheadedness or the malice of people wanting to hurt him.

….

The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant shades of red, orange and pink. The birds that flew past appeared black against the colourful sky. And Naruto's short hair were able to resist the breeze unlike Sasuke's long locks which swayed to the rhythm of the wind.

“You are worried about him, aren't you?”

“Hm? What are you talking about?”

“Your troublemaking brat.”

The fond exasperation in Sasuke's voice made Naruto grin.

“Well, as you said, Sasuke, he is a troublemaker.”

“Wonder whom he got it from? Your wife probably? I remember her painting the Hokage rock with that disgusting shade of red all the time.”

A booming laugh echoed echoed through the balcony and slowly vanishing in the swirling air.

“Maybe you should give up being a shinobi and instead try your hand at comedy? Bet you'll be famous in no time! Especially when the Hokage himself would come to grace your shows.”

“No Naruto but thank you very much for the offer.”

Sarcasm dripped from every syllable that escaped from Sasuke's mouth and Naruto found himself leaning over the railing to control his laughter. But slowly he eased, all the worries rushing back in.

“I'm worried. Yeah you're right. He's becoming more like you with each passing day.”

Sasuke turned to give his friend a look but Naruto immediately backtracked.

“No! No! I'm not saying that it's a bad thing Sasuke! In fact, I think I'll be happy if I see my son becoming half a Shinobi like you! It's just…well, it's his habit of bottling up his feelings. He likes to hide his problems from his loved ones and it is scary. For me. A lot more than I wanna admit. I-I want him to share things with others. If not me then someone else! It's fine! It'll lessen his pain. But the possibility of him becoming anything like you - like wanting to bear all the pain and hatred all by himself is terrifying for me. Just like how now we have each other...I want him to have someone as well. Someone he could share his feelings with. Argh! It's damn hard to explain! Do you get it?!”

Sasuke snorts in amusement at Naruto's frustration but he understood it. He understood Naruto's anxiety for his child. He felt the same way for Sarada. To think that Sarada someday could end up pushing her loved ones away for the sake of pursuing her goal...is unthinkable.

“We're pathetic. Aren't we?”

Naruto's rueful chuckle made him shake his head and spare a glance. Sasuke noted how his eyes shined with worry and infinite love for his son and he smiled.

“We're just learning to be parents. No one told us that it was going to be this hard.”

“Excuses! Excuses!” Naruto grinned.

“Dobe, I'm trying to help you manage your guilt here. But what should I have expected? You’re too dumb to even realise that I'm wasting my precious time on you.”

“Dammit Teme! You wanna fight?!” Naruto yelled, swinging his fists in a motion to threaten him.

“You bet.” Sasuke smirked, unsheathing his Katana.

In midst of their stupid squabble which ended when Shikamaru paralyzed them with his shadow paralysis jutsu, Naruto said something to him which echoed inside his head for the entire day.

"I just want him to be happy and safe. That's all.”

And Sasuke wondered how the two of them who never looked eye to eye on any matter could agree with each other so vehemently on this particular subject.

Maybe it's a parent thing.

…

Every muscle in his body throbbed. His back hurt from lifting all the load and his injured hand couldn't stop shaking.

“Damn.”

A hiss escaped his lips as he lethargically made his way towards home. The battle with those boys who had harassed Sarada and his two hours of work in the probation period had taken a toll on his body. His blue eyes looked upward to the sky, dropping close more often than not. He just wanted to go home and sleep.

He almost passed by a dark alleyway when a shrill cry of a child stopped him dead in the tracks. He ducked in the darkness as fast as his legs could carry and the sight that greeted him burned him with fury.

A few teenagers, probably four to five years older than him held a child who was barely five by his neck. Laughing and mocking the frightened kid.

“Put him down!” Boruto screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls of the alley.

“Ohh? Who's that? Wait. Is that...Uzumaki Boruto? Oh, it's him! The savior! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” They sneered at him.

Now when they turned to him, Boruto immediately recognised them as the same gang of hooligans who were serving probation program alongside him. And of course, it was not the first time they had jeered at him. The scene of the frightened child looking up at him with a flicker of hope in his tear filled eyes twisted something in Boruto's gut.

“Put that kid down!” Boruto emphasized again and they laughed loudly again.

“Yeah? You want us to put that brat down?”

One of them smirked maliciously at him. “But we do need a toy to play with. It's a shame that the brat didn't have much money on him.”

Boruto gritted his teeth. Yes, he could fight but there was no guarantee of his winning in this condition. He was barely able to move his limbs. Fighting five criminal shinobi teenagers in a narrow space with a kid held hostage didn't seem like a good idea.

Suddenly a scream pierced through the area as the child was slammed into the wall harshly. Boruto panicked.

“Hey! Put him down please!”

“Surrender yourself then boy.”

“Fine! Just put him down!”

They threw the child across the floor and he immediately jumped and scrambled to the wall, sobbing and frightened. Boruto only took three steps when a sharp searing pain shot through his legs and he stumbled, falling on his knees. A needle was protruding through his thigh. As his frantic gaze flicked up, he spotted a gun like device in the hands of one of the guys.

“W-what the hell is that?” He croaked out, fear breaking his voice.

“You should know, right? It's a new ninja tech invention! After all, you used the one which didn't even come down on the market!” they jibed at him.

“What do you want with me?!” He questioned again, a little frightened.

“We wanna play with you. Boy, just that.”

It was the only warning he got before a kick was rammed into stomach. It hurt. The needle was definitely laced with some sort of limb numbing stuff. And sadly he couldn't move himself. He was thrown to a corner and rammed against the wall. He got a few more blows on his torso, hunching over.

“We're the same, aren't we?” One of them asked, leaning in close to him.

“W-what?” Boruto winced at the pain shooting up to his brain.

“You and us.” The guy gave him a dirty sneer and pointed out at him.

“No way! Never! I-I'll never be like you people! I'll never behave this despicably!”

Even the thought of being compared with these people made him sick to the stomach let alone being called similar. He is not a person to enjoy other's pains to satisfy his own sadistic tendencies. That is why he desperately denied all these baseless accusing.  

“Oh yes, you'd rather degrade Konoha's reputation on an international stage. You'd rather call your father names in front of the great five nations. Then you'd rather hand over that monster an infinite source of power by discharging all those jutsus?”

Boruto shuddered because all of this was correct. He had done that, right?

“You gave him the strength to destroy. If not for the Hokage...then he would have massacred hundreds of people on the spot. How does that make you better ...or well, any less despicable than us?”

Each and every word spoken was a stab to his heart and Boruto felt all the fight leave his body. His fighting instincts slowly drained away until there was nothing left except for a mere shell of conscience. As the boy raised his arm to strike him again, Boruto braced himself for the pain. But instead of the sting that should have come he felt an incredible sense of dread. It seemed as if the temperature had dropped down a few degrees and air surrounding them felt cold with apprehension and blazing with hatred at the same time.

“Don't you dare touch him.”  

Boruto eyes snapped at the sound of that frighteningly familiar yet so incredibly unrecognisable voice. It sounded so distant as if he had never heard it that voice his entire life despite being sure that yes, he had, everyday.  He looked up and the sight made a shiver run down his spine.

She stood a top a building. The haunting silver moonlight illuminated her dark silhouette. Her glasses glinted with the eeriness of eyes which swirled in that fabled blood red glow and fury. And all he was able to was mutter out a whisper.

Sarada…?

The story wouldn't have been any fun without any climax right? Poor kids have to battle again! Huh. I'd love to know your thoughts about this chapter! Don't forget to comment! Have a good day everyone! ❤️❤️❤️

[thebroodyelf]

Arcana

Being new to the fandom I enjoyed all of this very shady, funny, clever and smutty fanfictions & art pieces over here and on AO3 way too much. And of course I couldn´t hold back, the need to contribute something was too strong to resist ;´)

So... there´s going to be a fanfiction. Betareading´s still in progress, but anyways... Here is the first chapter.

1 What is this fiction?

It starts off with a retelling of Julian´s book VI, Gift and Curse/Laying low, BUT behold! It´s certainly not a mere written version of the events, no, as the story gets eely the plot is more and more altered, because Julian is Julian.

The apprentice in my version is called Octavia and yes, she has hit Julian´s head with the bottle in book I (in case you were wondering). And then there is a certain palace guard / Sherlock Holmes wannabe called Iuno. Things will get messy, I promise ^^

As I have played through book I to V and Julian´s book VII The Chariot only, you can witness my playing progress, for I´m going to weave it into this fiction. Have fun, hope you like it! 1

Portia: “Eh, yes, well here we are and you want to hear the story, right? It all started one night. Pepi and me, we were home. The palace gardens are nice and welcoming in the hot summer. All the birds chirping, telling their goodbyes to the sinking sun. Well. Guess you want to hear more about the palace´s secrets another time. But now, I´ll stick to Ilja´s story. Back then, he had just returned to Vesuvia. After the red plague he had been gone for quite a while... As far as I know, he intended to seek out Asra, a mighty magician of the city and a former lover of his. Hem. That particular night it all started, Ilja spent brooding about the past, standing at one of the aqueducts in the outskirts of the city…”

Gift and Curse

“Octavia?”

Surprise spreading over his face, Julian Devorak steps out of the dimness of their shady surroundings. He now stands at the edge of the aqueduct, a dark silhouette framed by the light of the moon. Behind him, the city towers like a behemoth, a chaotic sprawl of building stacked atop each other. In his hands is a mask with a long, curved red beak that he turns slowly, like he´s contemplating what to do with it.

“Octavia. Fancy seeing you here, hm? Out for a night walk?”

He sighs, gaze dropping to the reservoir pool below. The red of his coat reflects and refracts in the water, splashes of crimson dancing against each other.

“Me, I was just… thinking. Funny, fickle thing, life, isn´t it?”

Octavia looks up at the lanky doctor. “Should you be standing so close to the water?”

Her dark brown hair resembles molten chocolate in the strange light, her green eyes clearly show her worry.

With a nonchalant wave of his hand, Julian responds, lips twisted into one of his famous lopsided grins: “What, this water? It´s harmless, Octavia, or as harmless as it can be. It won´t do anything to me. Or anything to anyone, anymore. Sure, a few people might get sick if they go for a swim, but…”

He trails off, as his former trail of thoughts resurfaces. “Isn´t it a miracle? They went and figured it out. Or outlasted it. Wonder how they did it?”

A short pause follows, then he continues: “It´s no matter, I suppose. Life finds a way, doesn´t it? The plague is over. Ahhh. And so is my career, just like that.”

With a dramatic gesture Julian lifts the mask to examine it on eye level one last time. “Who needs a plague doctor if there´s no plague?”

Not far away, hidden behind a broken cart, a figure lurks in the dark, listening to the hushed voices. She had been waiting for a sign, apparently, for now she lifts her head with a small smile.

“Today is my lucky day… That is the killer, Countess Satrinava wants to be found.”

Iuno Aurelia gets up without making any noise. She is a palace guard and tonight, despite her usual, boring duties as such, she is on the hunt. It´s actually not her task. Being new in Vesuvia she had wanted to apply for the job, solve the mystery of Count Lucio´s death, become the greatest detective of all times, but somebody – a witch apprentice with a high reputation – had literally snatched it away right under Iuno´s nose. So much for interesting labour.

“Yet I am here, right in time.” Iuno makes a move and glides next to the cart. “And all it took were a stroll through the neighbourhood and my intuitioaaahrgh!!!”

Her foot rolls over a broken jug and she falls over. Above her head a raven lets out a ragged screech. “Shit!”

“Guards afoot, Octavia. Look lively! We´d best make tracks!”

Both leap into action at the same time, running further down the aqueduct to reach the street. The doctor gets there first, turning back to Octavia as she runs. Her foot slips on a wet stone, tumbling her backwards into the reservoir below.

“Octavia!!!”

With a loud splash the woman sinks like a stone. The doctor, shock painted all over his pale face, dashes back and grabs Octavia´s wrist in the last moment. With one strong pull he tugs her out of the water, a translucent creature attached to her belly. 

“A vampire eel?!!”

Iuno has still some distance to cover, before she can reach the two criminals. She cannot yet make out their faces in the dim light, but the sight of the undulating creature, translucent and now filling with a red shimmering fluid, causes her to hesitate in the chase.

“Vampire eel. Damn. That girl´s dead.”

If she concentrates, she can eavesdrop on the doctor, who gets a hold on the elusive creature´s head with quick, skilful moves.

“On the count of three”, he barks in his strange accent and then after counting “One. Two!” he pulls the eel off and tosses it back into the water. “Three. Up you go, then. Easy now. I´ve got you.”

A loud gasp for air is to be heard. The doctor half drags the sopping wet woman, as they run, leaving blood puddles behind. Iuno spins back into motion.

“I have to follow them! Catch the killer!”

The killer, who is just disappearing behind a gloomy street corner. When Iuno reaches the strange couple, the doctor is busy, seeing to the steadily oozing wound of the woman.

“The bleeding won´t stop. Damn”, he mumbles. He draws back with a look of displeasure and starts peeling off his gloves.

Iuno is torn between interrupting the hopeless attempt and witnessing the infamous arts of the doctor.

“Hold still.”

They don´t even notice their stunned observer.

“Deep breaths. This will only take a minute or two.

”Why are you helping me?”, the woman whispers. A pained groan follows. 

“She will live?!”, Iuno marvels. “How has he done it? Witchcraft?!”

“Shouldn´t I? You´re injured. Surely you don´t think I´ll let you bleed out on the street.”

“Ha! A noble murderer! How fascinating!”

Fascinating indeed. While the soft chatting continues, Iuno can make out a sudden glow radiating from under the skin of his throat. “A magical mark…”

Iuno is not familiar with that sort of magic.

“What in the Count´s name is going on?!” Time to intervene.

“Freeze!”, Iuno exclaims and sprints towards her prey. 

“Go, Octavia. You must leave me behind. It´s me they are looking for, not you.” With a weak gesture the doctor waves the woman off. 

Iuno decides to stay with the murderer. When the fleeing woman throws one last look over her shoulder, their eyes meet. “I will not forget you!”, Iuno shouts. Then she turns towards the doctor.

“As for you, doctor Devorak, I shall arrest you for the murder of… the murder…” For the first time the palace guard has a clear view on her target. Dumbstruck Iuno watches, as fresh blood blossoms under his clothing, his face a grimace of pain.

“A parting gift… Curse, to be more precise”, he explains with an exasperated sigh.

“You… How… Why?” The palace guard finds herself stuttering. She is not only confused by the expanding red glistering on the black and white cloths of the man before her. 

“I´m able to take away bodily wounds, as you can see.” Still not looking up, doctor Devorak directs his obvious self-disgust at his blood covered hands and clenches them into fists.

“And in return, I get to experience them for myself… ugh.”

Slender figure. Wild red locks. No eyepatch though, but there is no doubt. An almost forgotten memory overpowers the palace guard. Her fingers begin to tremble. That man. The wanted murderer of Count Lucio. She has met him before. 

“Damn!”, she curses under her breath.

The doctor sways forward, as blood is running freely down his torso now. “It won´t last. It never does”, he says more to himself than to the guard. “A curse from a witch that fears commitment.”

His face lightens up with a strange kind of bitter joy. “Then again, I´ve never been bitten by a vampire eel. This might be interesting.”

“Shut it, I´m not listening to such nonsense!”, Iuno orders. “What can we do against… this?”

She rushes to his side and helplessly presses her hands against the wound. The doctor blinks owlishly at Iuno.

“Eh…?”

“We need to stop the bleeding, right?”

With frantic moves, she fumbles a fine embroidered handkerchief out of her belt pocket.

“Here. I´m sorry. That´s all I´ve got.”

The doctor throws a slightly embarrassed side glance to the blood puddle forming under him on the cobble stones. “You´ve changed your tune. Don´t you want to arrest me anymore?”

The palace guard rolls her eyes. “Just tell me how to help!”

Iuno hears them coming a moment after he does. The Countess´s guards, doing rounds of the outer walls. Swiftly she ushers the wounded doctor into an ally nearby. They press against the wall to seek cover, involuntarily getting into each other´s personal space.

“This is ridiculous!”, hisses Iuno.

The moment the guards pass, they hold their breaths, hoping the well-trained eyes will slide over them in the darkness. This close, Iuno can see the pain painted on doctor Devorak´s face. His eye is fixed behind her, but as if he senses the gaze it moves to Iuno´s. For a moment they stare at each other.

“I… A-apologies…”

Just as he is about to say something else, they hear a thud from the entrance of the alley. “Not the time. Let´s go.”

Now it is the doctor, grabbing Iuno´s hand and tugging her out of the alley. They break into a run. The city passes them by in a blur as they evade capture, weaving around buildings with ease. They are moving so fast, Iuno almost misses it. There, nestled between two tall buildings… a garden. 

[leio13]

La Tristesse Sale

A Soukoku Fic

Summary: It had been 3 weeks, 5 hours, 28 minutes, and 32 seconds since Mori requested to see Dazai’s annoying partner, and much to Dazai’s own surprise, he was eager to resume their antagonistic dynamic, but when he returned, Chuuya wasn’t as Dazai remembered. He was cold, without that familiar passion.

For the last 3 weeks, Chuuya had underwent a series of experiments to enhance his ability and create the ultimate killing machine: Corruption.

Relationships: Soukoku (Dazai/Chuuya)

Betaread by the lovely @fraink5! Thanks for continuously supporting me throughout this wild ride!

Chapter 3: Mal

Mal- [adv.] evil, wrong, damage, ache

Masterpost | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Ao3

A woman dressed in a grand kimono stormed down the hall and threw open the doors of the skyscraper's highest office. It was probably the most aggressive thing Mori had seen the woman do, especially this early in the morning. She strode over to his desk, fire dancing turbulently in her eyes. “I would like to speak to you.” “Go right ahead.” His face held the same smirk it normally did as he gestured towards the chair he had just pushed out from under the desk. His eyes had no light in them whatsoever. “What did you do to Chuuya?” The woman's eyes didn't spare a second for the empty chair; they remained focused on the man at the other end of the desk. “I simply ameliorated his ability.” Mori's chin rested in his hands, his grin hovering over them. “You destroyed the remains of his humanity!” Kouyou's hand clenched into a fist, and she could feel her decorated nails digging into her palm. “Humanity?” The man with combed back midnight hair chuckled. "I'm not interested in his humanity." Kouyou opened her mouth to say something, but before she decided what exactly, she was cut off. “The Port Mafia isn't interested his humanity.” Mori kept his eyes on Kouyou's face, and Kouyou averted her gaze. “Chuuya—no, corruption is a tool for the Mafia. That's as far as its importance goes.” Turning her back to the mafia head, Kouyou hastily made her way for the door. “I will admit though…” The woman slowly met the boss’ stare. “I didn't plan for it to have such negative consequences on his body.” Mori sighed. “I'll have to fix him up later.” Halfway out the door this time, Kouyou was stopped by that insidious voice again. “Oh, and Kouyou, I said he was merely a tool for the Mafia. Therefore, members of the Mafia ought not to make superficial relationships with him.” She could feel his grin searing the back of her head. “Of course.”

It was Friday, and Dazai really didn't want to spend his weekend writing a goddam report, but it was too late to back out now. Besides, it's not like he had anything better to do. He already had enough of Akutagawa's presence this week (which didn't even include the practice session he was headed to right now). Certainly, he wasn't going to see that brat over the weekend. Not if he could help it. Each hour torturing the black-haired runt was so tiring, and the brat always asked for more. Hadn't he beat the kid senseless enough already? Dazai's patience was running out as he checked his watch. “Say, Akutagawa, we've been training really hard this week.” His apprentice's eyes widened slightly. “Dazai-san?” “So, so hard. So many extra hours, wouldn't you say?” Nobody would say that honestly. In fact, they had trained for even less hours this week than normal. Dazai approached silent Akutagawa and backed him into a wall, staring down with menacing eyes. “Starting when it's still dark out…” His hand inched towards the other's throat.

Akutagawa gulped. “D-Dazai-san?” Dazai coiled his fingers tightly around the boy's pale neck and lifted him until they were face to face. He could hear the boy gasping for air and grinned. “Ending late in the night…” Akutagawa's desperate breathing hastened, and Dazai could see the brat's chest heaving through his black jacket, his hands trying to grab at something, probably his dwindling life force. Weak. Dazai had to give him a little credit though for maintaining eye contact, but it wasn't enough for Dazai to let go. “So many hours…” Akutagawa attempted to suck in one last gulp of air before crying out, “Y-yes, Dazai-san.” “Just as I thought.” Dazai finally let go and exited as if nothing had happened, ignoring Akutagawa's coarse coughs. Outside the room, he could still hear Akutagawa struggling to stay conscious, but he still had no intention of turning around. He wasn't interested in that brat's health. Only Ch—he stopped his thoughts before they stepped out of line. The sun was barely starting to set when Dazai reached his destination. There would be enough time before visiting hours ended.

The smell of the hospital always managed to surprise Dazai no matter how many times he'd been there. It was so clean, so sterile to the point it nauseated him, but he ignored the churning in his stomach and continued on. Room 101 looked just as he had left it last, Chuuya's hat still resting on the lamp. The daisies from last Sunday had started to wilt and were practically dead at this point. So had the white lilies from that Monday, and the petunias from Tuesday weren't in much better shape. The purple hyacinths and the primrose from Wednesday and Thursday respectively though were still lively, and today's irises were also fresh. Chuuya probably would have enjoyed the colorful aesthetic, but that aesthetic would probably wilt entirely before he woke up. Dazai slumped into the chair against the wall. What was he doing with his life? Why was he here? The only reason he could think of was curiosity. Indeed, he just wanted to know what shape his partner was in. Why did he keep bringing flowers (and why didn't he throw the dead ones out)? Perhaps he felt the room needed a little life. Clearly new Chuuya wasn't going to provide any. Most importantly, why was he sitting down and lingering? Why was he still here? Before he could explain himself, his thoughts were interrupted by a soft groan. He straightened-up in his chair and hesitantly walked closer to the bed. Chuuya's eyes cracked open. The deadness was still there.

Dazai sighed, part in unexplainable relief and part in sorrow. He quickly covered it up. “Ah, Sleeping Beauty! You're awake!” Chuuya's eyes stared in Dazai's direction, and Dazai took it as a sign to continue, “just in time, too! I was starting to worry that I'd have to kiss you!” He closed his eyes and braced himself for the hit he knew was never going to come. After a moment of nothing, Dazai opened them hesitantly. Chuuya hadn't moved at all. Did his lungs even move? Was he even breathing? Alive? Then, as if answering his questions, he heard Chuuya inhale through his nose. When he finally focused back on Chuuya instead of his inner monologue, his partner was sniffing the air, trying to identify the amazing smell of bleach and air-fresheners. Suddenly, the redhead sat up and scanned the room, his eyes holding a certain level of awareness for which Dazai was grateful—perhaps a little too soon. Without a word, Chuuya had backed against wall, head in his hands, his mouth wide open. Then, the loud, ear-splitting scream hit Dazai, and he felt his hands reach for his own head. He glanced up towards Chuuya, who continued to scream. Between each excruciating howl, there was a painful gasping sound, and Chuuya’s body would contort violently. His pupils had shrunk to dots as tiny as they had been in his corrupted form. He was convulsing so relentlessly that Dazai worried he would smash his head into the wall by accident. Dazai couldn't let that happen, but what was he supposed to do? He glanced at the door that now seemed miles away. He couldn't wait for a nurse to show up. Cautiously, he slid onto the edge of Chuuya's bed and crawled closer. From up close, he could see the redhead's nails digging into his skull. Some blood was beginning to pool around, but it had yet to spill out. Dazai didn't want to give it that chance. At what seemed like an unbearably slow pace, Dazai extended both his arms closer to Chuuya. The redhead (with pupils so small and unfocused) didn't respond to Dazai's approach. Carefully, Dazai wrapped his hands around Chuuya's small wrists and squeezed ever so slightly, pulling the redhead's hands from his face and only then realizing he had been calling his partner's name frantically for the last minute. He took a deep breath. “I'm right here, Chuuya.” Dazai sighed and breathed in again, Chuuya's wrists rattling in his grasp. “It's just me, Dazai. Your annoying partner.” Awkwardly laughing to himself, Dazai hoped Chuuya would say something “witty” back. It didn’t even have to be witty. Just anything. But Chuuya didn't respond. The screams continued, at this point, having adjusted to be white noise in Dazai's mind. Dazai slid his hands up Chuuya's wrist until his hands were wrapped around Chuuya's fingers. Chuuya squeezed Dazai's fingers back with overwhelming strength, or was it Dazai who squeezed Chuuya's hands desperately? Maybe it was both of them, trembling furiously on the small hospital cot and squeezing each other's hands until the blood clotted. Whichever it was, Dazai loosened his own grip until Chuuya's shaking hands could sway Dazai's left and right. But that wasn't helping Chuuya either, so Dazai went back to pressing lightly. He watched Chuuya's face until his partner's eyes met his own, the shaking seemed to reside a little, and the howling stopped. An eerie silence hung in the air. Chuuya's eyes, slowly reverting back to normal, peered down at his hands in Dazai's grasp. In mere seconds, he wormed out of Dazai's grip and flopped on his side, staring thoughtlessly at the flowery nightstand. Dazai could see Chuuya’s body trembling, could hear his short, desperate breaths, could tell he had not calmed completely, but decided to give his partner space and retreated to his chair against the wall on the opposite side of the room, listening silently as his partner's breathing evened out until he was almost definitely asleep. He wiped the few drops of blood off the redhead's forehead with a tissue and started for the door. As he was leaving, a nurse finally walked in. “What happened?” “Nothing.” Nothing Dazai could explain at least.

[hlsummerexchange2017]

Working with a Beta

We got an ask from someone interested in betaing for the first time. Since fic exchanges are popular with both new and experienced writers, and since a lot of people get their first beta experience by volunteering to help with a fic exchange, we decided to put together a post about the process of betaing.

All beta/writer partners work out their own methods of working together, and we are not saying that there is one right way to work together. But we hope this will give people some idea of what betaing means to different writers.

The three of us have experience as both writers and betas, so we tend to switch between those two voices/roles in this post. As such, this post is not aimed at writers or betareaders, but at both.

This post is rather long, so under the cut you’ll find a chat about Levels of Betaing (from developmental work down to proofreading), Navigating Expectations, Suggestions for Where and How to Work Together, and How to Provide/Take Feedback.

Levels of Betaing

Mod 2: In traditional publishing, there are different levels of editing/proofreading. I think problems can arise when the beta/writer pairs want to work at different levels. I’m borrowing ideas/definitions from another site. You don’t have to work in these stages (and some publishing houses don’t), and there is definite overlap between them, but I think it’s worthwhile to label them.

Stage 1: Developmental Work This usually happens pretty early in the work/draft. It’s a really big picture edit, looking at the structure of the work, themes, etc. In fanfic, I tend to think of this as being the stage where you’re bouncing ideas of off someone, brainstorming, maybe giving them an outline, or asking them for general feedback, like which tense should you use, does your characterization make sense for the fic. For me, this often doesn’t even involve actual writing, it’s more talking about ideas. Other times this is when I hand a chapter or scene over to my primary beta and say, “I just need to know if I’m on the right track.”

Mod 1 jumping in here: I generally cling to my pages and wait until it’s in pretty good shape before I hand it over to a beta. But there are definitely times when I’ve written something and I’m not feeling it or I know something is not quite right that I’ll pass it off in the beginning as a sanity check. Am I on the right course? Is this okay so far? Correcting the course early on if I’m not sure about something saves so much time and effort in the end. Sometimes at this stage, I really just need a cheerleader too!

Mod 2 again: Yes! I think cheerleading is big here, and problem solving. If my author is asking for this level of betaing, I think in big ideas. I also purposefully give a lot of positive feedback. If my writer is stuck with something, I ask a lot of questions. Where are the characters coming from? Where are they going? What do they know about each other so far? What are they afraid of… For my style, asking a lot of questions works. But you may also need to make suggestions. If a writer and beta are working together at this stage, you need to feel comfortable giving/getting suggestions, and accepting or rejecting them tactfully.

Stage 2: Content/Structural Work This would happen after the first draft is written. Look at rearranging things, adding or taking things away, saying some characters need to be fleshed out more, look for plot holes, etc. In fanfic, I think of this of also the stage where you make sure the fic is canon/factual if it’s a canon fic. Also, this is where I do fact checking. Does the sun actually set at that time of the day for the season/location this is set in? Is that how a photo is printed?

Some people do this only after the entire fic is written. Others prefer to do this chapter by chapter if it’s a chaptered work. The decision is up to you, and there are pros and cons of doing it both ways.

Stage 3: Copyediting Work This happens after the other editing. This is checking for grammar, spelling, and punctuation. It’s also about being consistent in style (grey/gray, OK/ok/Ok, are you using single or double quotation marks?). By this point, the content itself should be solid!

If I need a Britpicker (someone who gets rid of my American errors), I give my Britpicker the fic after this stage. Still, she always finds missed typos, thankfully. The reason I wait to have a Britpicker until this stage is because there shouldn’t be big changes to make that might introduce new content/Britpicking-related errors. And she acts as another set of eyes for me for the copyedit. Not all Britpickers will also copyedit—so don’t expect a Britpicker to do this without asking.

Reading your fic out loud at this point is incredibly helpful. You’ll find awkward sentences, weird constructions, repetitive phrases, and sections that look good on the screen but feel sloppy in a read. At this point you (the writer) are so close to your own work, and reading it out loud can give some distance and allow you to “see” with new eyes—your ears.

Mod 3: Reading the work out loud is an excellent idea, and it has helped me greatly. I’ll add another step where I actually print the thing out on paper and read it out loud from there. Something about reading it aloud from a different medium makes it easier to find and fix those parts that don’t flow just right.

Stage 4: Proofreading Mod 2: This is the absolute last stage, and it shouldn’t actually be much editing at this stage. Instead it’s checking for typos, text alignment, etc. This is when I save my fic as a draft on AO3, then read the draft on my phone to see if there are quirks in the publishing. (I know you just want to publish your fic, but please at least glance at the formatting on your fic. It’s really distracting when there are double spacing between paragraphs, and for some people it actually makes it extremely difficult to read your fic.) By the way, looking at your fic in a different font or on a different screen can help with the proofreading!

Another way to think about these stages is in the terms of a red-line edit and a blue-line edit. It’s an old term. Red-line editing is all about the content (stages 1 and 2). Blue-line editing basically ignores the content (stages 3 and 4).

A few notes. Most people are not good at doing all of these things! So expecting a beta (whether you are the beta or you are the writer working with a beta) to be great at all of these things is unrealistic. This means if you are a writer who knows your strengths, you probably want to look for someone who is strong in your weaknesses.

Even if you find someone who is good at many or all of these stages, working in multiple stages at once is hard. Noticing big content ideas is a different skill than noticing grammar/spelling errors. This isn’t to say that you might not notice a typo and correct it on the spot, but it’s normal to want to focus on one thing at a time. So give your beta time!

Mod 1: Also! If you have one beta you’ve been working very closely with from the very start, getting another beta to read it in the Stage 2/3 timeframe can be really helpful. Sometimes even your beta is too close to the work to see what might need to be tweaked a bit.

Navigating Expectations

Mod 1: First and foremost, I think having clear expectations is really important. I would hate to jump into someone’s fic and do a deep dive into structure/etc and try to give suggestions for reworking when the only they wanted was a final copy edit. Or, conversely, only give grammar suggestions and not make bigger changes if they were open to it and I thought it could be improved.

Mod 3: Yes, that is a great place to start, to make sure you both understand the need and expectation. Be clear about what you feel comfortable doing as a beta; if your strength is plot and characters, and you don't feel as comfortable digging into grammar, say so. Authors, be honest about what you need, because you don’t want to waste your own or your beta’s time and effort.

Related to this, it might be worthwhile to find out from the author what other people might be working with them, so everyone is on the same page about who is going to be doing what and what their expectation is.

Mod 1: I also think it’s worth discussing up front if you have any history with having your writing critiqued and basically how thin/thick skinned you are. I have had years of weekly critiques of my writing, so almost nothing phases me. If I was betaing for a first time writer, or someone who is not used to having others read their work, then I’d try to be a bit more gentle with my beta comments than I would with someone who might not take it as personally. Not that I’d try to be mean to anyone, but maybe just a bit more delicate with some writers.

Mod 2: I also think that the writer and beta need to be honest about how much time they have. If I’m working under a deadline, I’m going to beta in a different way. I’m going to be far less picky, because I don’t have time to be picky, and my author probably doesn’t have time to make the more time-consuming content changes I’d suggest. (On that note, if you are giving someone very little time to beta something, please make sure that you’re giving them something really polished!)

Mod 3: Sometimes the vibe of the beta and writer just don’t mesh. Personalities and styles can be like oil and water, which doesn’t make for a great creative atmosphere. It will depend on your relationship how the communication about problems will go, but one thing is for sure—it’s never a good idea to ditch your writer in the middle of a project without explaining the reason. As a writer it feels terrible to be left high and dry and have to find another beta willing to pick up mid-project. Communication is key. This is a partnership and it should be treated with some courtesy and respect, and with that in mind, it is respectful to give your beta credit for the work they’ve done, even if they didn’t finish the project with you.

Suggestions for Where and How to Work Together

Mod 2: I like working in Google Docs, and I ask that everyone working on the doc use the “suggesting” button. That way I have to review every correction or suggestion. This helps me learn my own errors/quirks/ways to improve.

When my beta makes a general content suggestion (like “I’m confused about what’s going on, can you rewrite this” or “I feel like I need a little more emotion here”), I don’t just fix it and close out their comment. I rewrite it and reply to the comment with something like “does this work?” Similarly, when I change large parts of my fic, I tend to highlight the section and write a comment like “how does this look?” That way my beta can see where big parts changed, and she can put a little more attention there to see if my rewrite introduced new errors, if it’s still weird, or if it’s better.

Although everyone I’ve worked with prefers Google Docs, as a writer, I’d defer to my beta. If they want to work in Word with track changes, I’d have them do that. Whatever makes the beta’s life easier.

Mod 3: Agree about “suggesting” in Docs rather than straight editing. As a writer it’s nerve-wracking to turn your work over to someone else in the first place, then to fear that the work will be altered and you won’t know why or where on top of that is not a good place to be. Betas doing edits as suggestions means that the author has to accept or reject them, and these suggestion threads don’t go away completely even after they are closed, so it serves as a great record of what changes were made, when, and why. That may not be important on a short fic or oneshot, but in a long chaptered fic it comes in handy.

Mod 2: On that note, since I work with multiple people (like a beta and a Britpicker), I find it easiest to make copies of documents. I have the document I work in. I make a copy of that and rename it TITLE DATE (Larry Fic 022517, for example) and share that version with my beta. When my first beta and I are done, I’ll make a copy of that betaed document as TITLE NEW DATE and share it with the Britpicker. That way I have completely clean documents that are being shared, and I always know which version is the newest. I don’t tend to have two people (the beta and Britpicker) working in the document at the exact same time because it can get really confusing.

Mod 3: So does your document that you work in, that you made a copy of to give to the beta, become obsolete after you give that to the beta? You don't go back and make the beta's changes to it? In other words, that beta document becomes the "real" and "current" version of the work?

Mod 2: Right. Each newest version is current version. Until it’s finally the actual, real, final version that I plunk into AO3.

Mod 1: One thing I like to do as a beta, and I appreciate when my betas do this, is ask questions, and make it more of a dialogue instead of just suggest and then accept/reject. Sometimes because I want to make sure I’m suggesting the right thing and sometimes because what I am suggesting is not the ‘proper’ way to do something but I think it would be more effective for whatever reason, so I might say something like, “What do you think about doing this because of X reason, even if most people would be doing Y thing?” I like when my betas do that because sometimes it gives me a different way of looking at it or it is something I hadn’t considered. And if I’m doing it, then my writer won’t think I’m totally off my rocker for suggesting something that is maybe not so straightforward.

Mod 2: Please thank your beta, especially if they make content suggestions. I don’t care if an author just accepts typo fixes, but a “good idea!” or “thank you” or “perfect” when I’ve made a more involved suggestion is really nice. Betaing takes time, so you can take time to type “thanks.”

Also, if a writer rejects an idea/suggestion, it helps if they tell me why, because it helps me learn their style. I think instead of a flat rejection, this is also where you (as the author) can open up a dialogue. “I’m not sure about your suggestion. I feel like it doesn’t fit ____. But I know you think ____ is unclear. What if I write ____?” Obviously you don’t have to do this every time, but it can help sort out where things are confusing, and I think it shows a level of respect of the beta’s ideas, even if you ultimately disagree.

How to Provide/Take Feedback

Mod 1: The whole point of being a beta is giving *constructive* criticism. This means offering up suggestions and not just saying that something doesn’t work. That’s not to say that betas have all the answers though. It definitely happens sometimes when I’ll say something like “this doesn’t quite work and I’m not sure why, let me think about it” but the intent there is improve the fic, not just tear it apart.

Mod 2: Absolutely agree that this is constructive criticism. I think it’s important to remember that betareaders and writers are on the same side—we want the best possible fic to be published. This isn’t a university class where someone is trying to one-up the other. We’re both trying to make the fic better. That doesn’t mean that we’ll always agree, but it does mean that the goal of the beta should be to give friendly support and suggestions.

I think a big part of that is pointing out things you like, too. “Oh, this phrasing is really nice.” “This is really funny.” And I agree that sometimes the comment needs to be something like, “Something feels off here, please leave this comment open and let me sleep on it.”

Mod 1: YES! Positive feedback is so important.

Mod 3: I remember there was a tumblr post awhile back about this concept, and it really stuck with me: a great way to make sure we are being constructive is to couch the criticism between a few positives. Do point out when you are struck by a particularly well-written section. Tell the writer about areas where they have made you feel something. Even just one word here or there such as “wow” or “nice” go a long way toward making the parts that aren't so complimentary easier to hear.

Mod 2: Related to the above, I think the positive feedback is more important in the earlier stages of betaing, personally (stages 1 and 2, the red-line stages). Because the suggestions at that stage involve changing more writing, and take more time, the positive feedback helps keep me going. As a writer, by the time I’m on the blue-line copyediting stage, I just want to fix errors and publish the dang fic!

Having said that, if I’m basically doing a blue-line edit and not offering as much content editing, I still try to stick in positive comments so it’s not just a sea of typos to fix.

Mod 1: Another thing I think to keep in mind when offering suggestions is that everyone’s writing style is different, and you should try to keep the author’s integrity of their writing style intact as much as possible. As a beta I know I struggle with this and it’s one thing I always have to keep in the back of my head, because when I start to beta, sometimes I accidently try to force my own voice into the sentences, but once I get into it a bit, I get more used to the author’s voice. When I realize I’m doing it, I stop betaing for a bit and just read, and once I’m into the groove of the story then I go back and start to actually offer suggestions.

Mod 3: This is really a good point. My first attempt at fanfic a decade ago was ripped pretty much to shreds by a beta, to the point where most of the character of my writing had been edited out. I was crushed, shelved the project, and didn't write again for years. In other words, I think it's important to point out issues while making sure the tone and personality of the writing stays intact. Each writer has a unique voice, and that's the beauty of reading and writing.

Mod 2: Writer’s voice is so important! You are not trying to polish their voice, not change it. Yes, yes—let the writer’s voice shine through!

If you have any other suggestions, tips, or tricks to help make the betaing process a smooth and enjoyable one, we’d love to hear them. Please feel free to reply or send us an ask with your own ideas. Thanks!

[agelesslorddio-blog]

Chapter 9: Riders In The Night!

Howdey! We're all caught up with the other sites that have this story uploaded (except for the April Fools Chapter, which'll be released here as well for some reason). This is the first chapter I wrote with betareaders, so if it feels a little different, that may be why. If it doesn't, then it's probably because of the way I'm trying to work with my betareaders. I’m new to the whole process, so I’m still trying to work the kinks out.

It was getting late as Charlotte turned away from the mess of clothing and personal belongings, mostly books and notes, littering her bed and the surrounding floor. Absentmindedly, she looked toward the door as she waited. Kirche said she’d stop by to help, but she was taking longer than expected.

Sitting there staring into space wouldn’t help her any and she didn’t want to start reading anything and risk being interrupted, so she began to reorganize what she had splayed out atop her bed for what felt like the umpteenth time. She already had most of what she wanted to bring set aside, but she knew Kirche would want to add to it. The older girl would probably say something along the lines of “You’re travelling to another country with only three bags? That’s a little light, don’t you think!” or “You can’t just bring your uniform and a few dresses…”

Of course, she’d set aside more than just a few dresses and her uniform. She also brought a few pairs of pajamas and a whole slew of books! In fact, the largest bag she had was dedicated solely to carrying books. This became apparent to anyone who bothered to look at the sizable bag which leaned against her now partially barren bookshelf.

Besides that one mistake, she didn’t find her friend’s input on her packing habits to be unwelcomed. It was embarrassing for her to admit, but it made her happy to have someone take such a mundane interest in her.

It only took her a few minutes to reorganize her belongings again and to notice that she’d left the chest at the foot of her bed open. She went over to close it, but stopped when something caught her eye in its nearly empty depths. She sat down beside it to get a better look.

It was a small doll that caught her attention, one that she rarely ever played with anymore. Though her version of “playing” nowadays only consisted of patting out the wrinkles in the cloth and hugging it. She didn’t pick it up or move it, instead settling on just staring at it as she lazily pressed her weight against the front of the chest.

The doll was gifted to her over five years ago by her mother, during a much happier period of her life. Its hair was green, but the sun had bleached it almost white around the top, and it wore a similarly faded pink dress. Overall, it wasn’t an impressive sight to behold, but it meant a lot to her.

When Charlotte was younger she would play with it in more traditional means for a little girl, like talking to it, playing house, or throwing tea parties with it, but as she aged the games she played with it began to diminish. She still kept it with her in her leisure time as a silent companion and comforting presence, even if it earned her a few odd looks from the servants, but that quickly changed the year before.

After she arrived at Tristain’s Magic Academy she realized the difficulty in doing even something as minor as that and delegated her beloved doll to a bedtime companion. Although with time that use slowly began to dissipate until it was left alone, undisturbed in her bedside chest.

“… I’m sorry, Tabitha… Mother...” She wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to her mother or the doll, but she wondered if a silent apology was enough for the way she’d neglected the gift her dear mother gave her. In the end, whether it was or wasn’t didn’t matter at that point. After all, it wouldn’t matter to her mother whether she still played with the doll or not.

“Are you here…?” Someone called out from the door as it swung open. Charlotte could feel the temperature of her face and chest raise at the unexpected entry, and quickly turned her head toward the intruder.

“Roland…” She greeted her Familiar as he closed the door behind him, silently wishing he would have knocked first.

He gave her an odd look when he noticed her sitting on the ground, but didn’t bother to comment on it; choosing instead to walk around her and the various items and clothing spread across the room as he made his way to his usual seat by the window and rested his club against the bookshelf.

“What?” She asked as she reached up and brought the lid of the chest down, redoing the small latch on its front. Before it closed completely she took another short glance at her doll and decided to sneak it into her baggage sometime before the trip. When she was alone, of course.

“I was looking for you…” He replied, looking at the various objects scattered about the room, seemingly more focused on them than whatever reason he had to look for her.

“I’m packing.” Charlotte lifted herself up off the ground and sat on the chest by her bedside. As she watched Roland’s eyes wander around the room she started becoming more self-conscious about her messy travel preparations.

She didn’t think her… haphazard organizational methods were that interesting. After all, everything was organized well enough, the clothes, while not neatly folded, were in piles separating them by color and style. Her various books and notes were organized into stacks based on their genre, and were further organized within those stacks chronologically. Her academic books being organized similarly, with the added consideration of their subject, in their own area. She’d finished packing her undergarments and personal care items first, so they were nowhere to be seen.

“What is it?” She asked.

He turned his attention back to her and spoke. “I’m fighting the boy who summoned that… Familiar we found in the forest, tomorrow.”

Silence overtook the room as the two stared back at each other. Charlotte pursed her lips tightly as she let the full weight of what he said sink in.

“What?” Charlotte spoke up finally.

“The one who summo-”

“Guiche. Why?” Charlotte interrupted, offering the boy’s name.

“He challenged me.”

“…” She sighed. Her interactions with Roland where beginning to convey to her just how frustrating trying to learn something from someone who dislikes talking can be.

“Tell me what happened.” She inquired.

This question was met with similarly barebones answers, which frustrated her further, but after her fourth attempt at questioning him she began to get a better picture of what happened. From what she could tell of his explanation Guiche was still upset about his Familiar’s condition and blamed Roland.

Thoughts of how to avoid a fight between the two began to flood into Charlotte’s mind. She’d rather not have Roland or one of her peers getting hurt over a misunderstanding, but with every thought that came to her she found herself immediately picking out the flaws with it.

Given her understanding of the situation, just sitting down and explaining what happened in the forest was no longer an option, though she never considered it one in the first place. Them going into the forest to check why it’d been so quiet for the past few days and coincidentally running into a monster that assaulted and killed several Familiars, and then killing said monster, seemed farfetched by most standards. If one of her classmates had told her that she’d be understandably skeptical, which is why she didn’t act when Roland told her that Guiche confronted him the day it happened.

She considered talking to the staff of the school, but there were problems with that as well. Duels between nobles were against the rules, and even though Roland wasn’t a noble himself, he was still a Noble’s Familiar, so they’d probably intervene to prevent the fight, but then she’d have to worry about how Guiche would react to that.

If they were in Gallia then she wouldn’t have to worry as much about that, but they were in Tristain, and she was a transfer student, unlike Guiche, who likely knew a lot more people in the country than she did, and was from a fairly prestigious family as well. So he’d be more capable of “retaliating” against them off school grounds, be it in a direct confrontation or by some means of subterfuge. Though he could probably commit some form of the latter on school grounds as well.

This thought reminded her of another pressing issue, that she was a transfer student, and that any prolonged or escalating conflict could be turned into a political issue. At worst, it could strain diplomatic relations between her motherland and Tristain even more than they already were, but that wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on at the time. She wasn’t entirely sure how her family situation would contribute to the problem, so she quickly dismissed the thought in favor of considering more ways to avoid or reconcile the confrontation itself.

Charlotte considering apologizing to Guiche, but threw out that idea as soon as it came to her. It would only cause more problems if they admitted fault for something they didn’t do. Even if by some miracle Guiche decided to drop it at that, they’d have to deal with the fallout of basically admitting to killing a number of her peers Familiars, which seemed much more dangerous than just committing to the fight.

Over and over thoughts came and went as she looked for some peaceful way of defusing the situation, and the room went quiet as her mind raced. Roland stopped looking toward her after a few minutes of this and turned to look out the window. He turned back a few minutes later when Charlotte began pacing through the tiny path clear of her belongings, which was between her bed and bookshelf.

The motion itself didn’t help with her thought process, as she found herself just as capable of thinking while moving as when still, but it helped to alleviate some of the tension she felt building in her limbs.

She continued to walk back and forth with an almost frenetic energy guiding her movements, which held Roland’s attention for a few more seconds before he lazily reached over to the bookshelf and grabbed the first book he could reach without standing from his seat, his blasé attitude toward the situation starkly contrasting her own clearly displayed frustration.

Eventually, she gave up trying to come up with anything else, having had no luck so far, and collapsed flat on her bed, holding down the hem of her skirt to avoid unintentionally flashing Roland. There she laid, face down in her blanket and across several piles of dresses, as she let out a small, irritated groan.

She disliked being taken by surprise like that, it always made it difficult for her to think through things clearly. If she’d bothered to consider what might happen after Roland and Guiche’s confrontation several days prior she might have been able to avoid this conflict, but it was too late to worry about that.

“… Wind dragon… Breathed his last… The... guar-… No, that’s not it.” Roland mumbled to himself as he stared down at the page, cutting himself off when he realized his mistake. “By the time the wind dragon had slain the bandits, the guard had breathed his last.” He corrected himself under his breath, though the slight upward inflection of his voice conveyed how uncertain he was of his take on the sentence.

“You’re calm…” Charlotte called out to him as she strained her neck to look down at him from her position on the bed, not bothering to sit up properly.

“So I’ve been told.” He responded as he met her gaze. “Why are you so upset?”

“I’d rather no one got hurt.” She replied as she righted herself and got up to check the page he was on. She pointed to the sentence he read and confirmed he’d gotten it right on his second attempt in a monotonous voice.

“That’s a hard thing to avoid in a fight.” He flipped the page as he responded; now looking back toward the book.

“I’d rather avoid the fight entirely.” Charlotte replied as she moved to sit across from him on the edge of her chest again.

Roland looked up from the book at her, and then his eyes shifted away. His eyes drooped slightly as he stared off into space for a moment before meeting her gaze again. He didn’t say what he was thinking, but given the way they had been acting it seemed like they’d both reached the same conclusion. The fight was unavoidable.

“… I don’t intend on killing the boy.” He spoke carelessly, missing the way Charlotte’s face twisted uncomfortably at what he’d said as he redirected his attention back down at the book.

She didn’t know Guiche personally, but she knew he wouldn’t be satisfied by just beating up someone that wounded his Familiar, or at least, someone he believed to have done that.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” She asked as what little color there was seemed to drain from her already pale face.

Roland looked back up from the book at her without moving his head. He seemed to be considering something, and a small sound soon came from his barely parting lips.

He said something, she was certain of that, but his almost inaudible words sounded more like an irritated groan than actual speech. It seemed odd for him to react that way, with irritation towards the idea of someone trying to kill him. Given what she knew of his “world” she figured it wasn’t out of the ordinary for his life to be endangered, but meeting such a scenario with what seemed like mild irritation rather than fear or concern was still a jarring departure from what she considered normal.

“I don’t want you to die…” She spoke with some uncertainty as she stared up at his face. It was true that she didn’t want him to die, but she hadn’t exactly come up with a plan either. She knew Roland could handle himself well enough in a fight, their encounter with the monster made that clear. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any armor, and his only line of defense, his shield, was reduced to a pile of splintered wood now, useless to all. Not to mention that his only weapon, a simple wooden club, probably wouldn’t do too well against metallic golems.

His body could heal a fatal wound from what she understood, but she didn’t know enough about that ability to rely on it. Besides, if something like that got out the rumors about her sleeping with him would be tame compared to what people would start saying, let alone what they might do.

“It’s fine.” Roland said after seeing her perplexed expression. “It doesn’t matter either way.”

Charlotte wanted to respond to that, but she didn’t have the words. They weren’t actually close by any means, despite her goal of friendship, and even if they were she couldn’t possibly know what to say to someone who didn’t care if they lived or died. She wasn’t Kirche, or any number of other, so much more expressive and passionate people, so of course she couldn’t get across what she felt when he said that. She didn’t fully understand it herself!

Her head slowly turned away from him without her realizing.

“It matters to me…”

She chose not to voice her thoughts, and instead went back to the various piles of clothing and other belongings she’d left scattered around her room as she awaited Kirche. The conversation, if it could be called that, didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so despite her feelings on the matter, she let it di-, end there.

__________________________________________________

The sweet scent of perfume and scented candles wafted through a dark room as its inhabitants leaned up against each other, naked and heaving heavy sighs as they tried to catch their breath on a large bed.

Kirche reached out to her bedside table blindly for her wand and with a short incantation she cast a spell directed at her lower abdominal area. It was a spell that she had ample practice casting and absolute confidence in. The spell caused her insides to increase in temperature significantly, though not enough to actually harm her. As the intense heat reached its peak it slowly began to spread through the rest of her body as it dissipating. She placed her wand back on the table now that it had run its course.

“You’re casting that spell again? Shouldn’t you only need to cast it once?” The man asked.

“Well, maybe once per load, Styx.” She responded as she smiled up at him in the dark room, still leaning against his chest.

Styx was well built for his age. His muscles were tightly packed on his slender chest and arms, with small amounts of fat rounding them out in places, however, his face was one of his more catching features. With lengthy brown hair, sharp eyes just below his bushy eyebrows, a sturdy-wide nose, and a rock-solid jaw line adorned with a set of large-wild sideburns that framed his larger-than-average head. His sturdy facial features gave off the impression of someone decades older, despite his slender physique being fairly typical of someone his age with militaristic aspirations.

“Isn’t that overkill?” He asked curiously.

“This spell’s been used by my family for generations, so I’m pretty sure I know how to use it, though… Well, I guess it’d be even safer to cast on your ‘friends’ down here, wouldn’t it?” She asked jokingly as she reached her hand between his thighs, eliciting a frown from her companion. “Oh don’t give me that look, it was only a joke, a joke!”

Kirche learned the spell from her father after her first period. It was something he first learned around that age from his father as well, and he from his father, and so on. Its primary use was for preventing bastard children who could challenge the rightful heir to the family estate, but over the generations its use expanded to more mundane areas. However, she never cared to use it much outside of its purpose as a contraceptive and keeping herself warm during winter.

“Uh-huh…” He leaned back and extended his arms to keep himself upright while supporting Kirche’s weight.

“That was a lot to take, though. Don’t tell me you were saving up for little old me?” After all they’d done his load had decreased considerably, but he’d still delivered a lot more than anticipated.

“Ahh, well… Y-you see…” He spoke hesitantly as he looked away in mild embarrassment.

“Oh my god he was!” She giggled with childish glee at the thought. She couldn’t help but find his embarrassed stammer somewhat cute.

“Hey! I-” He exclaimed as she looked up at him warmly, even in the darkness of the candlelit room his blush could be seen.

Before he could continue she cut him off with a sudden kiss. Their lips locked sweetly in an exchange of sweat and saliva as she readjusted her body to face him. As she leaned more of her weight into the kiss she suddenly broke away from his lips. She grabbed his arms and pulled them out from under him, knocking them both down onto the bed. Kirche moved to sit atop him, straddling him as they locked eyes.

“Wanna go again?” She asked as a seductive smile graced her face.

“I would love to… But I’m…” Styx looked down toward her shapely body, now in full view above him. His eyes traced along her curvaceous form as he took in her attractive figure. “Finished…” His grave tone made it clear just how much he regretted saying it, but they’d been going at it since she’d found him near the main entrance earlier that day. He’d reached the point of exhaustion several times already, and lacked the will to go on.

“Well, I can fix that for you… If. You’d. Like.” Kirche leaned down closer to him to whisper in his ear. She spoke in a voice sweeter than honey, letting each word sink in slowly as she reached for her wand again. She knew he was spent by the way he’d been pressing limply against her, but she knew ways around that. She was a Triangle-Class Magician, after all! So while her elemental affinity favored Fire, she could still cast Water spells. One such spell allowed her to increase the longevity of certain… biological events. Without it, they’d have been long finished.

“No, no.” He gently grabbed her wrist before she could reach her wand. “I really need to eat something, or get a drink. I’m starving!”

“Oh fiiiine!” She responded with a childish pout as she pulled her hand back and got off him. She sat by the side of the bed and reached into the drawer of her bedside table for a towel.

It was getting late, and she’d already vented her pent up frustration from earlier in the day, so she didn’t press the issue. More importantly, going any longer was likely to make her sore despite her magical help. Her legs already felt unsteady underneath her. So she began wiping off the sweat and other liquids that still coated her body.

“Hey, can I get one of those?” Styx asked, indicating the towel in her hand. Without a word she pulled a matching towel out of the drawer and held it out for him. “Thanks.”

“Was it just me, or were you more into it than usual?” He asked as he began wiping himself down.

“You’re probably just imagining that.”

“Heh, maybe.” He said, smiling to himself.

Kirche stood slowly, giving herself a few seconds for the sensation in her legs to die down, and stretched her body before dropping the towel on her bed. Her eyes scanned the dark room as a niggling sensation began to crop up in the back of her head, now that she was less focused on her copulation. A few minutes passed in the dark room as she considered what it might be.

“Why do I feel like I’m-… Oh dammit!” She thought to herself as her face twisted into a grimace. Due to the stress she’d felt earlier it had completely slipped her mind that she made plans with Charlotte earlier that day. She snapped her fingers, causing the lamps in the room to flicker on.

“Hey Styx, get dressed! I need to go somewhere.” She said as she gathered his clothing into a pile and hung it over the foot of the bed, and then went over to her dresser and grabbed a fresh uniform for herself. Before putting it on she checked herself again and sprayed some perfume on herself to mask the scent of sweat and other liquids. She would have preferred to take a proper bath, but certainly didn’t have the time to do so. She’d already made her friend wait long enough as it was!

“Ehh?” He let out with a confused expression. “Alright...” He added with a weak shrug. He seemed dissatisfied with that, but didn’t voice his complaint as he dressed himself before heading off to his own room. With her companion departed, she met up with her Familiar in the hallway and headed off toward Charlotte’s room.

__________________________________________________

Guiche returned to his room for the night after spending the rest of the day running around the school, searching for his peers who summoned the now-deceased Familiars. It took a while to find them all, but he eventually did. He informed them of the challenge he made  and invited them all to come and watch as the man who murdered their Familiars was punished for his crimes. It irritated Guiche that of the classmates he spoke to only three agreed to come and watch.

“Are they not even interested in seeing that man punished?” He didn’t want to believe there were so few others that felt the same way he did.

Of those three only one knew who the man was. After Guiche offered a physical description, Louise said that she had run into the man a few days prior. She didn’t actually believe he had committed the accused crime. According to her, some hired commoner and a fledgling Gallic Magician could never have hoped to defeat her noble Familiar, a powerful Manticore. Further, in the off-chance they managed that, she doubted they could repeat that miracle a second time. So it was not that the girl believed he wouldn’t have done it, but rather that he was simply incapable of such a feat.  There was also some mention of a stone creature, but Guiche had no time to listen to such nonsense.

Regardless of what his childhood acquaintance said, his mind was made up! Guiche wasn’t going to back out of the fight. With a sigh he leaned against the door he just closed and looked around his room. It didn’t take him long to realize something was wrong, and once he did, it only took him looking down to see what that was.

His Familiar, Verdande, was sleeping on the ground in front of his door.

“Ahh, no. Get back in bed.” He called out to it gently as he crouched to get a better look at it. He checked his Familiar’s bandages to ensure that the movement hadn’t caused them to tear.

He was told by the Water Magicians in the school’s infirmary that his Familiar was well enough to leave their care on the previous day, but that it’d need some more rest before it was fully healed. Thankful that his Familiar would be okay, he had them bring Verdande up to his room where he gave up his bed for his newly summoned friend.  Oddly, it had a tendency to try and leave the room whenever it woke up. Closed windows and doors seemed enough to thwart its attempts, but Guiche was left with a scratched door for all of his trouble. In this case it looks like the animal scratched until it fell asleep where it lay. Given how thin his door was wearing, it must have been at it for a while.

He lightly shook his Familiar on its back, being careful not to agitate its wounds as he tried to wake it. It stirred as he spoke, telling it again to get back in bed.

It looked at him through groggy eyes and seemed to understand the simple command. He would’ve rather not woken his Familiar, but because of his lack of strength and the school’s enchantments on the dorm rooms,  he had no other option..

It didn’t take Verdande much effort to go over to the bed and climb up it, using a small stepping stool as a foot hold. This relieved Guiche partially of his worry, as it meant that his Familiar had regained some of its strength, but that thought lead to something darker.  Anger welled up within Guiche at the thought of his Familiar being injured. He would be sure to kill that man.

”Kill… Huh…”

Guiche sat down at the small-round table situated in the open space near the foot of his bed, leaving his arms to hang limply as he watched his Familiar. He began to push off the ground with his feet, balancing himself and the chair on its hind legs. For a time, the only sounds that could be heard in the room were his Familiar breathing peacefully as it drifted off to sleep and the shifting of the chairs hind legs against the stone floor.

He tried to push away the thought that he’d never killed anyone, or even thought of taking anyone’s life before. At least, no one he’d known the face of. Having grown up listening to his family’s stories had filled him with fantasies of becoming a powerful and infallible war hero, striking down enemy combatants by the droves, and returning home to receive countless accolades and the adoration of his countrymen. But, there was a difference between the idea of doing something and actually committing to it. Even though he’d never felt as much anger, hatred even, toward another person, the weight of knowing that, even if he wanted to deny it, that man was a person, still pressed down on him in this time of calm.

The feeling was overpowering, and despite his best efforts to push the feeling away, it pervaded his mind as he rocked back and forth. And, as his mind focused on the duel to come, he began to lose touch with the world around him.

Crack!

The chair fell to the ground, planting its front legs firmly on the stone beneath it, and the sudden impact as the chair righted itself was enough to knock Guiche out of his empty reverie. His Familiar stirred for a moment at the sound, but it didn’t seem to wake.

Guiche stood, and approached his bedside to get a better look at his Familiar, and after confirming it was still asleep he bent over and kissed it on an unbandaged portion of its forehead.

He hadn’t slept in his bed since he’d given it up to his Familiar the day before, and he didn’t intend on changing that now.  He went over and arranged the bench by the window and the three chairs by the table into a makeshift bed, as he’d done the previous night. It wasn’t comfortable to sleep on, but he could still manage to get some rest on it, after all, if he had to choose between a comfortable nights sleep and his Familiar’s well-being, he’d obviously choose the latter over the former any time.

With his makeshift bed made, Guiche grabbed a blanket and placed it over the wooden seats  before changing into his pajamas of beige silk. He shut his eyes, opting to turn in early for the night, and hoped that he might find a measure of peace before tomorrow's events.

[enha-woodzies]

➸ CHAPTER 7 | " A BREW GONE ASKEW "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of blood, very mild swearing

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @angeljungwon @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

A week has passed since the favored pair passionately promenaded around town. They’ve always looked very fond of each other, and the ton can only imagine the two tying the knot by the end of the year.

Only a week in but Sunghoon was already finding it hard to keep himself away from Y/n’s side. From their long, humorous talks, to past secrecies, bliss, and memories, Sunghoon isn't always a big talker. But when it comes to the young miss, he blurts out almost anything and everything that comes to mind, and the lass would happily enjoy them; so much that she even laughed with a snort once, to which Sunghoon found really adorable and charming.

Sunghoon told her she was magnetic, and the girl helplessly clung herself to the marquess like an ornament.They've shared a lot of stories with each other in the course of a week. And in every topic, Jungwon never ceases to be mentioned. Y/n almost always connects everything with the boy, and Sunghoon can clearly see how Y/n’s got it so bad with Jungwon.

He told himself that he was going to change that.

Today, it was said they were seen traipsing around the Swan’s Lake一 a cradle for the tons banal scandals. Further ahead, the Queen’s garden can already be seen just by the tip of the tiny greenhouse that’s solely standing amidst the wildflowers. Sunghoon leads the way for the young miss to enter first.

“See that? The garden admires you.” Sunghoon whispers against her ears and send tingles through her entire body.

“This is amazing. I’ve only ever been here once, you know. It’s actually one of my favorite places here in Northumberland.” The young miss exclaims while softly touching the brightly colored flowers in each step she takes.

“Was the first visit special enough to make this one of your adored places?”

“Yeah.. I was with Jungwon.” She mutters the name under her breath with a look of regret.

“What was the reason he brought you here?”

“We were nine. He said he wanted to show me something that only this garden can offer.”

“Let me guess. Was it a ring made of twigs and he played pretend like he was proposing to you?” Y/n chuckles at the marquess. Though she wouldn't admit it, she finds Sunghoon very ideal and gentle.

Could it be that she wishes Jungwon to be more like him? Or is she just telling herself that Sunghoon’s perfect enough to bury down her dying feelings for Jungwon?

“That’s cute but unfortunately, that's not what happened. He showed me the Catalpa tree and gave me its flower. He said it reminds him so much of me and that I should tuck the flower in my favorite book to remind myself that he thinks of me often.”

“Ahh. Quite the romantic our little Jungwon here, eh?”

Y/n looks down to the ground remembering the dead Catalpa flower that was tucked between Jungwon’s Austen book; the book that was now back in the comfort of its owner after she threw it in the Kielder Forest. 

“Once upon a time, yes.”

Sunghoon quickly picked up the mood and snapped it away. Seeing how Jungwon made this hole in her heart annoyed him to the extent he realized he had been living in hypocrisy as well.

He oddly sees himself in Jungwon, although in his case, it was much different. Jungwon never had any rivals when it comes to Y/n’s heart. Whereas with him, he had Niki, who wasn't even a bad guy in a story that Sunghoon tried so hard to own.

“Did you know that there's a poison garden here?” He breaks the silence.

“A what now?”

“A poison garden. The Queen’s very particular with it. Although it's off-limits to everyone except the royal gardener, anyone can still have a peek at it. I bet Jungwon never told you that.”

“He didn't.”

“Of course. Your chap doesn't alway know things, Y/n. You sometimes think so highly of him.”

The young miss kept her mouth shut the whole walk to the poison garden’s entry. They decided to take a brief peek, as per Sunghoon’s wishes, and she went along. It's not an everyday occurrence that you get to see a real and existing poison garden in Northumberland's Alnwick Castle.

“Sunghoon? Until when are we going to keep up with this whole ruse?” She softly whispers.

“Well, Jungwon hasn't told you anything worthy yet, has he?”

“The other day, he uhh… he told me to stop seeing you.”

“Why do you suppose he would say such thing?”

“I don't know. Must be something that happened between you and my brother?” she stopped shortly.

“What happened, Sunghoon? How come they all know about it and act like it was so horrid, yet keep it very subtle?” Sunghoon clicks his tongue and hisses before letting out a deep exhale.

“It's all in the past now. Even Niki. Though, I want to start fresh with him, but he doesn't seem to give me any chance at even trying.”

“What happened?”

“I don't think your brothers would want you to hear it. I respect Jay the most, and I owe Niki a whole lot. Or even if they do, I won't tell you anyway.”

“Was it… that bad?” Sunghoon fakes a chuckle while sitting on the nearby cemented bench. Y/n reaches out to hold his hand and the gent softly grips her fingers while brushing it with his thumb, locking hands with her in the process.

Sunghoon wanted to let everything out. But he fears the young beau would distance herself. If he were to be honest, there's nothing for him from this ruse they plotted. It was just to help the poor miss and satisfy himself with the look of envy upon Jungwon's face. He has nothing against the chap, but he may just simply be a schadenfreude.

The following day, Jungwon received a personal letter from the soon-to-be-duke himself. The moment he read the contents, he hastily dashed from his house and onto his horse, galloping in a speed of light to the Kielder Forest.

It is peak afternoon and the golden sun hit the forest perfectly, making it look like the two men are bathing under the immaculate bliss. Picture perfect as it may look, they didn't meet there to dawdle time away.

“Your Grace.” Jungwon bows to which Sunghoon returns in the aftermath.

“Why did you summon me here?” Jungwon glints at the marquess with a scorn. As much as he wants to showcase his manners, it didn't seem like the time and place to do it.

“Let's cut the formalities from here on out, Jungwon. Who do you think you are to give orders to Y/n? You know, the more you convince her to stop seeing me, the faster she runs to my tail. You're just doing me a favor to be very honest, and I am so pleased for this wonderful opportunity. You don't have the slightest idea of what convenience you are to me right now.” Sunghoon mockingly exclaims with both hands holding together like a child in prayer.

Jungwon aggressively walks towards the marquess and grabs his cravat with both hands. “You pompous blowhard! What are you doing with her?!” Jungwon grunts while shoving Sunghoon against the tree. With a stern look upon his eyes, the marquess suddenly finds the situation very amusing. He smirks and chuckles before pushing Jungwon's hands from the tight grip on his clothing.

“Are you talking about yourself? Take it easy, Yang. I don't think you're hearing yourself right now. Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?” Sunghoon lets out a laugh that makes Jungwon even more furious. It was his plan, after all.

“You haven’t had enough of triggering Niki, and now you're using his sister?! You're a big mess, Sunghoon! Admit it! You couldn't have Yena all to yourself with Niki around, so you're tainting Y/n to get revenge on the both of us?! You’re a lost cause!”

“Am I? A lost cause, eh? You're plainly calling yourself out, don't you think? All these years of having the most beautiful lady in Northumberland at the palm of your hands, yet you're too much of a dimbo to even hold onto her. And besides, it's like hitting two birds with one stone, yeah? You and Niki?”

Sunghoon mockingly laughs at Jungwon's fuming face and before he even realized it, his glorious face landed on the cold ground with an angry clobber from the chap. Jungwon straddles him and continues punching him while sitting on top of the fallen boy.

In a swift response, Sunghoon pulls Jungwon by the collar and pushes him aggressively to the side. While landing several punches on Jungwon's face, the marquess spits out blood in the process.

“Enough!” Sunghoon sternly yells at the former who is now bending over his knees, huffing out exhales with a fast beating heart.

“Stop this stupidity you're doing with Y/n! You're no good for her, Yang, and you know that! Can't you see? You're just wasting her time when she could've been married last season already!”

“Don't fucking tell me what to do, ugly bastard!” Jungwon hisses with gritted teeth, mustering up his anger to give the marquess another blow of his fist.

“Stain my face with more blood, Yang, and you’ll have to kiss your princess goodbye. Mark my words, you will never have Y/n. Not even a useless moment with her.”

“Niki! Niki! Niki!”

Daniel runs inside the Park manor with such haste, unknowingly bumping the mansion’s servants along the way. “Nishimura Riki!” The boy helplessly cries out to the latter, who apparently seems to be very preoccupied in the garden, impulsively firing the target on the branch.

“What?!” Niki yells back.

“I have big news to tell you!”

“If it’s about Sunghoon then shut your mouth ‘cause I have no intentions of hearing it. Sister will get tired of him soon enough, so I’m not worried. I trust Y/n’s wit to deliver her from that traitor.”

“But this is about Y/n and it's something that you should be worried about!” Niki swiftly turns his head to the boy bearing no more second thoughts as he throws away the blunderbuss and rushes to Daniel, “what happened to sister?!”

“She made a deal with the devil himself.”

*send me an ask or a message if you wish to be added on this series' taglist!

ㅡ © ENHA-WOODZIES, 2021

[houseki-no-suffering]

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Human AU, 1960s AU Characters: Cinnabar/Phosphophyllite, Diamond, Euclase, Bort, Alex, Yellow

A/N: in which we meet the other half of Cinnabar’s not quite huge friend’s list. Ty so much to @lapishead for betareading my commas away and to @rinboz​ for her help with Bort’s character. Enjoy!

The thought of going home and accidentally stumbling into Phos on the way persuaded Cinnabar to linger on the beach. They hadn’t meant to, but at a certain point their body surrendered to exhaustion and they fell asleep on the sand, crouched against one of the boats that the fishermen left on the shore. It was their voices that woke Cinnabar up, a little before dawn, and Cinnabar would have apologized profusely if their mind wasn’t still absorbed by other thoughts.

Now that the realization had sunk in, Cinnabar felt even more lost. They tried to come up with alternatives as the town grew nearer, a blur of sparse lights and white buildings. The only thing they felt absolutely sure about was that they wanted to shut themselves in their new home until Phos had left again. With nothing to do except overthink and go through old textbooks, they would graduate in no time if this went on long enough.

Cinnabar was worrying their third cup of coffee in their hands when they accepted that their fingers would not stop shaking just because they were safe in the confined space of Bort’s bedroom. And an excess of caffeine hardly had something to do with it. Outside or inside, it made no difference: their mind would not stop working.

They remembered so many mornings lazily spent on Diamond’s bed when Phos was fourteen. Bort would be crouched at the foot of the bed, holding a book, and Dia would braid their hair in complicated plaits, trying out every trick they had gleaned from being around Red Beryl. They would hum and sing as they ran their fingers through Bort’s hair, and Cinnabar would listen quietly, curled up on their own bed.

It was always so peaceful and silent. Cinnabar would keep their eyes closed, pretending to sleep while waiting for Phos to wake up. The ungracious sound of their feet running through the corridor was hard to miss, but Cinnabar would have traded high school one hundred times more just to hear it.

Yellow Diamond had warned them against easy decisions, and Cinnabar could blame no one but themselves for obsessing over someone that had considered Cinnabar temporary. And yet, every foggy morning spent waiting for the train, every hour spent sitting on hard desks, surrounded by people Cinnabar did not know and didn’t want to know, left a dull, cold ache in Cinnabar’s chest. The taste of wasting time that could otherwise been spent in selfish, childish ways.  

The light that filtered through the shutters of Bort’s room was suddenly eerily similar to how the sun would caress Cinnabar’s old room at the dormitory, just a moment before Phos walked into the room to snuggle beside them. The wallpaper too was similar, with its peachy, little flowers: the more Cinnabar looked at it, the more alike it became. If they closed their eyes, their mind would make Cinnabar believe that Phos could burst in the room at any moment.

Cinnabar’s fingers clutched the cup tightly, almost spilling its contents. They needed to talk with someone.

They ran their eyes around the room, looking for an excuse not to do it. Their gaze was met by cardboard boxes and clothes, half-read books and scribbled papers. Along with the white ceiling, their newly-moved in possessions had started to judge Cinnabar’s unpacking plans, or lack thereof. It was too much work just for the sake of running away from anxiety.

Cinnabar ran a hand through their hair, debated about washing it when their fingers hit a snag in the middle, discarded even this task as too demanding, stared at the wall for a solid minute and then stood up. They walked to the telephone and placed the handset to their ear to make a call. Their chest was thumping. They truly hoped that Bort would answer because Cinnabar did not know if they could muster enough desperation to call them again later.

The mid-ranged pitch of the dial tone filled Cinnabar’s ears as they waited for the Naval Academy’s secretary to connect the call to their friend. Cinnabar held their breath, their fingers torturing the telephone’s cord. Bort was the kind of person to be home on a Sunday morning, but what did Cinnabar know.

“Yes?” and then Bort’s voice reached Cinnabar from the other side of the country and Shinsha felt guilty for being so annoying and insecure, but they still let out a breath of relief.

“It’s me…”

“Shinsha? Something’s up?”

“No, how’re you doing? How’s school there?”

“It’s okay. Tight schedule.”

Of course it would be; some people dared make plans for the future and then work to make them a reality.

“Don’t overwork yourself.”

“I’m here to learn.”

“Okay.”

“So, what’s up?”

“What’s up with what?” Cinnabar twisted the cord around their finger once more. Their grip was so tight it almost hurt.

“You calling. Is it Dia? Are they… okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.”

“Good.”

A couple of seconds was all it would take Bort to inquire about Cinnabar again, so they forced themselves to keep talking.

“I moved in.”

“Oh, good. How did it go?”

“Good, yeah, it’s fine.”

“Clean up every other day, you promised.”

Ugh.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that. I’m coming back for my birthday.”

“Fine, I’ll try.”

“Good.”

A few seconds elapsed and Bort’s pragmatism focused its attention back before Cinnabar could pile up the courage to hang up the phone.

“Something’s up,” they pronounced their verdict.

“Nothing’s up.”

“You wouldn’t call if nothing’s up.”

“Well, I just did.”

“I can drag it out of you, I don’t mind.”

Suddenly the thought of speaking with Bort only to have someone agree with them was no longer that appealing. Cinnabar stayed silent for a few seconds, still debating whether to tell their friend or not. Then they pushed the words past their lips.

“Guess who’s back…”

“What?”

“Back. Guess who’s back after five fucking years.”

“Wh-“ a pause, the time for Bort’s voice to betray emotion, “for real?”

“Yeah.”

“What do they want? Did you talk?”

“Hell if I know, and no, we didn’t and it’s great this way.”

“Are they out of their mind? Was Antarc there?”

There was a line of disbelief in the way Bort pronounced Antarcticite’s name. Back then, they had taken a strong liking to Antarc’s interests and it was Antarc who had inspired them to pursue a career in the military. While Bort had still judged biased Phos’ rushed choices, they had never been able to be angry at Antarc for what happened. As much as they were trying to keep their interest in check for Cinnabar’s sake, it still showed.

“Euc says they’re alone. I don’t know, I don’t wanna know.”

The line went silent once more. Cinnabar could hear the gears turning in Bort’s mind as their younger friend thought of something worth saying, settling for the simple efficiency of silence when nothing valuable came up. Bort was the person you turned to when you needed a swift solution, not comfort, but Cinnabar’s list of friends was thin.

“Are you okay?” they finally asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I shouldn’t even feel anything, it’s just… Phos-level bullshit all over again, why should I care... I know where this is going, it’s always the same, it’s stupid, and I don’t wanna- but I still do… I still care anyway. Like, it’s affecting me, I’m stupid. Please tell me I shouldn’t care, hit me with a stick or something.”

“Don’t self-deprecate your way out of this. What’s exactly the problem?”

“Phos is my problem!”

“Shinsha!”

Cinnabar pinched the bridge of their nose, feeling older and more bitter than their years. The exhaustion from a night spent outdoors like an emotionally wrecked vagrant was washing over them in waves of anger and disillusion, leaving Cinnabar more drained each time it pulled back.

“It’s my fault,” they murmured, “I’m afraid. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I still… I think about it cause I’m stupid and now they’re back, like… it’s them again. They’re right here. What do you think they want? Do they wanna talk? Why now? How dare they… and it’s my fault because I’m still thinking about it, I just… I wish they’d go away. I wish they’d disappear, that I’d disappear, I don’t wanna see where this is going.”

“You don’t owe them anything, Shinsha. Ignore them. They didn’t even apologize. I don’t want you to be caught up in that again. Just leave them be.”

“Isn’t that childish?”

“Phos is childish. They up and leave and now they’re back. They’re unreliable.”

“But what if there’s a reason, why do you think they came back?”

“Because they’re bored. Probably not even Antarc could stand it. They played their little games, messed something up so now they come back like a kicked puppy. And they’re still arrogant about it.”

“Yeah…” this too was familiar. Bort’s rage, the way they described Phos, Phos’ mistakes. The remnants of some old instinct were telling Cinnabar they should defend Phos and Cinnabar almost did because Bort was being harsh, fueling Cinnabar’s desire for anger to the point of spilling it- and Cinnabar was unprepared to deal with the excess of emotion. It left a bitter taste in their mouth.

“They leave, they disappear, they come back. Don’t let this get to your head, you did nothing wrong.”

“Okay.”

“And I… I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Cinnabar nodded, as if Bort could see them from the other side of the phone and of the country. They sounded like a numb, obedient puppy and it was so pathetic that they were tempted to hang the phone again and spare Bort the spectacle.

“Alright. I’ll send you my timetable, pass it around. Just don’t call me when I’m busy. Especially Euc. I can’t spend all my time at the phone.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’m coming back for my birthday, I have a leave. I can show you the uniform…”

“Cool, I’d love that.”

The line went silent for a moment, leaving Bort the time to recover from the embarrassment of opening up.

“Ask Dia to help you clean up, they’re better than you at least.”

“Thanks.”

“Talk to you soon.”

“See ya,” and, with a click, Bort hung up and the line went silent again. It took Cinnabar a moment to realize that they had been left with the burden of dropping the news that Bort would be visiting to Dia.

They let themselves fall on the bed with a loud groan, feeling the first pangs of a headache crawling their way through Cinnabar’s consciousness. They could always hope that one worry would drive away the other.

[houseki-no-suffering]

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Human AU, 1960s AU Characters: Cinnabar/Phosphophyllite, Diamond, Euclase, Bort, Alex, Yellow  Summary: after disappearing for 5 years, Phos makes a sudden comeback into their old friend Cinnabar’s life. Both of them will realize soon that running away from your problems is grossly overrated.

A/N: we didn't get a chap75, what are you talking about? The only angst I know is Shinsha being emo about Phos, so have a whole chapter of that! (a huge ty again to @lapishead for betareading this)

Cinnabar was thankful for the curtain of red hair that protected their face from Euclase’s scrutiny. They could already feel wetness piling up at the corners of their eyes. They cast their gaze to the ground, looking at the floor without seeing. In the meantinem, Euclase kept enumerating all the good reasons why this was not the end of the world and everything would be awesome- eventually.

The word ‘family’ especially stuck to Cinnabar’s mind, with its empty do-goodism. Euclase had always been resolute about preserving a façade of selfless acceptance of each other’s differences; it was a fight toward group harmony, almost a violent pursuit for cohesion. Euc was happy about this. It was in the way their mouth twitched with the satisfaction of being proven right whenever they mentioned the words ‘Phos’ and ‘home’ in the same sentence.

It was understandable. Euclase had been, along with Cinnabar, one of the most vehemently opposed when Phos had decided to leave town, five years ago.

The fragility of Euclase’s games of social equilibrium had showed itself the second an old acquaintance of the institute showed up again. All it took to shatter the family was one Antarcticite and one stupid resolution on Phos’ part. Phosphophyllite had always been a wild card but not even Euclase had expected them to take that unexplainable a liking to someone.

Cinnabar had retraced the hazy, foreign steps that had led to Phos and Antarc’s departure many times during the years. They could still see it clearly, the way Phos’ eyes had shone the first time they saw Antarc, at the station. Chryso’s little cousin was clad in a white, creamy coat, their shoulders squared and their chin up, in a performance of confidence betrayed by the unquiet way Antarcticite’s eyes darted around the crowd until they narrowed on Sensei and on Alexandrite.

Phos had always loved tagging along with older people, it was the reason they had approached Cinnabar in the first place, when Phos was still a six year-old venturing among the classrooms of senior students. It was an initiation rite that Phos had bestowed on themselves, as if they were hoping to catch a glimpse of something extraordinary and forbidden, but the only thing little Phos found in those classrooms were annoyed orphans, upper-classmates who had no time to spare for a kid, and Cinnabar. Somebody who always had too much time on their hands but that had been perfectly content with using it to mull over their own thoughts.

It had always been a mystery for Cinnabar how Phosphophyllite could have decided that Cinnabar was an interesting person to spend their time with. Maybe it had been Alex’s fault when they had made Cinnabar a tutor because Phos was falling behind in half of the school subjects. But Phos’ attention for Cinnabar’s character had been genuine and uncomplicated even back then.

At night, they would randomly burst into Cinnabar and Dia’s room, blabbering nonsense about their day, and during the day they would sit on Cinnabar’s desk before class started. They would pull Cinnabar’s hair playfully and then shout back that it was a pretty color when Cinnabar smacked them. They would fall asleep on Diamond’s bed mumbling that they were still awake, in a mess of tangled sheets and oversized nightgowns, and Cinnabar would let them be.

Before Cinnabar could notice it, they began looking at the teacher with contempt when she ordered Phos came back to their classroom so she could start the lecture. Cinnabar began to look forward to afternoons spent in the library, watching Phos struggle not to stain their paper with ink. When Phos called them Shinsha for the first time, like Diamond, Euclase and the rest of their family, Cinnabar felt their lips twitch in amusement because it was appropriate rather than scary.

It had been a blissful haze of small moments, fit for a small town in a small country. It was more than Cinnabar’s loneliness could ever ask for and it went on for ten domestic, uncomplicated years.

Phos was sixteen when Antarcticite visited. All it took for Cinnabar to realize they had been temporary was three weeks, at the end of which Phos departed with Antarc on a coach on a dull autumn morning.

They told Cinnabar they were going to live with Antarc, in the big city. Cinnabar told them they were crazy. It was the last thing they had said to them. Phosphophyllite didn’t come back to visit after leaving. They did not call or send letters either, not even once in almost five years. And now they were back.

“I don’t care...” Cinnabar heard themselves mumble, trying to wake up from their drowsiness. Euclase stopped talking; something in their posture betrayed the defensiveness with whom they were ready to protect their restored family.

“Don’t say that, dear, I know you’re hurt-“

“And what? I don’t care. Don’t bring me into this.”

“I think you should talk to them. You were always such good friends-“

“Of course you take their side. You’re happy, aren’t you?”

“There’s no reason to be rude. What’s happened has happened, but we should learn from the past so we don’t get hurt again. It is a great chance to start anew, for Phos and for everyone-”

Euclase kept talking in plurals and we’s, they had swept Cinnabar into the eye of the storm long before Cinnabar had a chance to protest. If Euc’s initial intention had been to comfort Cinnabar, their own excitement for a new humanitarian project had suffocated it, reminding Cinnabar, once again, that they had never been a priority and never would be. This too was just temporary. Their family and Euclase’s attentions were mutable like Phos’ resolutions.

But this was fine, Cinnabar had learned to accept it a long time ago and that was the reason they would not be swept into this mess, not even by the tempting taste of a word like ‘we.’

Cinnabar crossed their arms over their chest, crumpling up the papers and tests that Alex had given them to grade. Euclase’s concern for Phos was genuine, maybe even their faith in the future. This was nothing if compared to what Euc had been through twenty, thirty years ago. Cinnabar’s own drama paled in front of the war, they had no reason to complain. The more bitterness and anger piled up inside Cinnabar’s chest, the guiltier they felt.

“I don’t want anything to do with it,” they murmured again, hoping that Euclase would finally accept their refusal. But Euclase’s features betrayed nothing but determination. It made Cinnabar feel trapped, dizzy. This was all too sudden.

The realization that Phos was back in town kept washing over Cinnabar in waves of increasing magnitude. Their old best friend was back, maybe Antarc was too, Phos must have grown, they must have changed, they were back, they could see Cinnabar, they could speak with them, they were back, in the same place, after five years. Maybe Phos had been walking down the same road where the two of them would run barefoot after school just five minutes ago. Maybe they were at the dorms, Cinnabar wasn’t anymore. Maybe they were at Cinnabar’s door.

Cinnabar could have run into Phos that very day. By accident.

The thought made them nauseous.

“I am a little worried, why do you think they came back?” and, while Cinnabar was caught up in their own drama, Euclase had jumped into the next stage of their merciful parent act, asking Cinnabar for sympathy when Cinnabar had no compassion to share even for themselves.

“Could’ve asked them.”

“I didn’t see them. It was Jade, they said Phos was at the hospital. I asked if they were sure and they told me that yes, no doubt, that was Phos. Our Phos. It was really them. They are back. They really are.”

Euclase’s sticky enthusiasm was somehow even more nauseating.

“Yeah, well, why didn’t Jade ask them?”

“It was all very sudden. Jade couldn’t talk to them either. They said they were in Sensei’s room and Jade was downstairs, you see? Just doing their tour of the hospital, for the paper, and then they saw Phos, in Sensei’s window-“

It must be a recent thing, then. Jade would never let news fall deaf on their ears, and Phos was definitely news, of course Jade would be the first to know, of course Euclase would be the second, but where did Cinnabar fit in their schedule? Were they third? Last? Euclase had assumed they knew already. How many people knew, how many people had looked at Cinnabar with sympathy that day because of it?

“They’re seeing things,” but it felt untrue even as Cinnabar muttered it.

“No, no, Sensei said it was Phos, it’s real. He doesn’t know why Phos is back, though, and if he does, he won’t tell.”

“Ask Antarc then…”

“That’s the thing, I think they’re here alone. To tell you the truth, I’m very worried, Shinsha.”

“You’re always worried,” though if Antarcticite wasn’t with Phos, then maybe Phos would leave soon. Cinnabar’s throat was dry, for a moment it felt like suffocating. They were a creature of habit, this was all too sudden, too much, too soon, they did not know how they felt, they needed more time.

“Isn’t it nice? You can help them now, go ask them, speak with them, see if I care, just leave me alone,” they were being rude, and they knew, but Euclase had the eyes of someone who still wanted to talk and Cinnabar couldn’t see any other way out. They tightened their grip around the sheets of paper to hold themselves onto something, to hold themselves in place.

“Shinsha, why are you saying these things?” Euclase raised their hand to reach for Cinnabar’s shoulder in an attempt at reconciliation, but Cinnabar drew back, suddenly very aware of the way their feet had been glued to the ground for long minutes. Once they started moving, they couldn’t stop. They wouldn’t play Euclase’s game. Not now. Not later. They still had themselves and that was more than enough.

They turned their back to Euclase and to the impossibly tidy rows of canned goods and papers that crowded their perfect little shop.

“Leave me be,” their said closing the distance to the entrance door in brusque, hazy steps. Euclase remained silent behind them, partly expecting Cinnabar’s reaction and partly used to their antics.

The sky that awaited Cinnabar outside of the shop was a deep, dark blue, the faintest remnant of white licking the edge of the horizon. Night was falling and Cinnabar kept on walking, their steps crunching on the gravel of the white street that led to the sea.

They didn’t want to think, they wanted to fall asleep and wake up to a day where they would be blissfully alone again. For a second, they thought about the papers they were holding to their chest and how they wanted to throw it all away because work and school and studying sounded so stupid now, because such a little thing as Phos’ return could still mangle Cinnabar’s life as if no time had passed.

The freshly fallen night still offered Cinnabar enough light to catch a glimpse of the lighthouse in the distance, the very place where they had watched Phos leave.

It was ironic. Cinnabar was seventeen when they confided Phos that they wanted to leave this town and that too happened at the lighthouse.

It was before the summer, after an afternoon spent fishing for crabs with the hooks that the anglers would always forget among the rocks. There was something in Phos’ eyes that evening, the confidence that this would not end. Something that made Cinnabar trust them. They had never told anyone about their desire to leave, it would be selfish. But Phos would understand. They had a way of looking effortlessly happy, like they were born not to have a single worry in the world. They made it look so easy that Cinnabar felt that, if they could just look at this miracle of chaotic bliss happen again and again, maybe Cinnabar could start believing in it too.

The sky in front of the old building was a glittering slate of dark water, trying to capture silver drops of moonbeam and failing. An eternal struggle for color.

It was false and it was beautiful, just like Phos’ response that night, when they had laced their fingers with Cinnabar’s and told them they would leave together.

In a flash of rage Cinnabar put their papers to the ground, grabbed a rock and threw it at the water. The rock hit the sea with an insignificant sound and sank into the water. It disappeared in a quiet splash. It was as if nothing had happened at all.

[leio13]

La Tristesse Sale

A Soukoku Fic

Summary: It had been 3 weeks, 5 hours, 28 minutes, and 32 seconds since Mori requested to see Dazai’s annoying partner, and much to Dazai’s own surprise, he was eager to resume their antagonistic dynamic, but when he returned, Chuuya wasn’t as Dazai remembered. He was cold, without that familiar passion.

For the last 3 weeks, Chuuya had underwent a series of experiments to enhance his ability and create the ultimate killing machine: Corruption.

Relationships: Soukoku (Dazai/Chuuya)

Betaread by the lovely @fraink5! Thanks for continuously supporting me throughout this wild ride!

Chapter 8: Sortir

Sortir- [v.] to go out

Masterpost | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Ao3

“Okay, up and at 'em! Let's go! Time to wake up!" Dazai yanked the sheets off his partner's bed. "Today, we are going to be productive members of society! Now, get up!"

Dazai hopped onto the bed and started jumping, causing it to shake just like he intended. Hopefully, it wouldn't break, but until it did, he'd continue to bounce, waiting for a familiar groan. He looked down. Two blue eyes stared at him with what he thought might have been a bit of malice, or it could just have been a hopeful hallucination.

As Chuuya groggily sat up, Dazai skipped out of the room, singing, before popping his head back in through the doorway. "I hope you haven't forgotten personal hygiene! The bath is yours for the taking!"

Really, if he thinks I'm taking him out when he stinks, he's wrong. And I really need to get him outside, so he'd better take a bath! Dazai monologued to himself about how incompetent and stressful the new Chuuya could be while the redhead prepared himself for whatever strange outing Dazai had planned.

Chuuya followed Dazai around like an obedient dog, never questioning anything until they were standing in the front of the aquarium. “I thought we were going to lunch.”

“Not this early. Besides, you need to go outside more.”

Chuuya stared at Dazai with empty eyes, the hollow blue sea slowly drowning Dazai. Of course, Dazai's smile remained afloat.

Dazai strolled inside, bought two one-day passes, and handed Chuuya a brochure. “Where do you wanna go?”

Chuuya was filled to the brim with ideas, the main idea being silence and the other idea being "this isn’t lunch."

Dazai peered over Chuuya’s shoulder, "How about Fureai Lagoon?"

"Have you ever petted a shark before? I personally haven't and can't wait!" Dazai tapped his foot as Chuuya slowly caught up to him. Observing the lagoon, he noticed something of interest; there were people swimming in it. They were all wearing wet suits and wading about, and splashing with them were slippery white creatures. "Ah, Chuuya! Look! Look! They're swimming with dolphins! I want to do that too!"

"Sharks first." Chuuya eyed Dazai jumping up and down pointing like a child. He sighed.

Dazai ignored the sigh and its implications. Chuuya spoke! That by itself was so amazing that the tone didn't matter at all. Chuuya could have been sad, happy, angry, exhausted, perky, or anything, and Dazai wouldn't have cared so long as his partner spoke voluntarily. Perhaps he should have cared more about its connotations, but he didn't. A huge grin covered his face, “okay!"

Slowly, Dazai reached his hand into the shallow tank. Dark sharks swam in curvy patterns just below his fingertips. If he reached in any further, they would brush against him. Of course, that was the whole point, so Dazai moved his fingers to touch the back of a small shark. The baby shark continued on as if Dazai wasn't there, but, as it swam, Dazai could feel its coarse skin slip through his touch. It was a strange feeling and, sadly, ephemeral. In seconds, the fish was gone, and his hands were empty.

"Chuuya! You try too!" Dazai noticed his partner was fiddling with his glove and did him the favor of yanking it off. Then, he grabbed Chuuya's hand and submerged it into the lukewarm water. Chuuya stared at him, his eyes wide.

"You can't feel them outside the tank." Dazai shrugged and guided Chuuya's hand to the nearest little shark. He stopped applying pressure, allowing for Chuuya's hand to move on its own and make the connection. But Chuuya's hand didn't move. In fact, Chuuya stood still, his eyes looking back and forth between his hand and the fish. Was he afraid of such a small creature?

Impatiently, Dazai pressed Chuuya's hand against the shark. He smirked as the redhead's eyes doubled in size with surprise. Then, they returned to normal, and a strange tranquility drifted through the air. Dazai wished time would freeze, so he could embrace the rare moment of calm, but time continued, uncaring. In an instance, the fish had swam away. Dazai released Chuuya's hand and started using his now-free hand to chase sharks around the tank. "Fun, right?"

Chuuya nodded lethargically. He hadn't moved his hand but instead left it to hang there for the occasional fish to brush against it.

“Chuuya! We’re doing it! We’re going to dive into the pool and vanish! Poof!” Dazai bounced in his seat as much as the large, black seatbelt would allow. His hands strangled the bars in front of his shoulders. His eyes ran up and down the track of Yokohama’s famous vanishing coaster. Meanwhile, his partner wasn’t focused on anything.

“Chuuya! Chuuya! Chuuya! This is it!” The car slowly crept up the first slope. After reaching the peak, the track turned and started to tilt slightly. “Chuuya! We’re tilting! You know what that means?”

Chuuya shook his head. He didn’t want to know what it meant either.

“It’s so the car can turn without losing speed! We’re picking up speed!” After a few more turns, several small drops and endless screaming, Dazai’s voice suddenly became shrill and his knuckles white. “CHUUYA! CHUUYA! IT’S COMING! IT’S COMING!!”

The coaster dived, and Dazai shrieked estatically as the pool grew larger and larger, and it seemed more likely they’d crash into the water. Of course, that was ignoring the clear path of the ride that lead directly into a dark hole in the middle of the pool. Dazai’s breath snagged in his throat, and they were submerged in darkness.

Inside the tunnel was a psychedelic blur. Rainbow lights streaked the walls as the car zoomed past them. It reminded Dazai of cliche, warp-speed movie effects and shooting stars. Make a wish. Dazai wondered if Chuuya was thinking something similar. He turned to his partner. In the racing lights, he thought he saw the hint of a smile. If only this could last a bit longer. Is that too selfish a wish? Then, blinding light. Was this what death was like?

Dazai let go of the air in his chest and screamed as the ride approached its final trick. The track twisted like a tornado, and the car sped down vivaciously until finally coming to a stop.

Dazai was smiling so widely he could have developed wrinkles from this one event. He clutched his stomach and doubled over with laughter the moment the seatbelts were lifted. Eyes squeezed shut, a tear slipped down his cheek.

“I want to get the part where we vanished on camera! Let’s ride it again, okay, Chuuya?”

Chuuya said nothing. In other words, he didn’t say no.

“Want to go shopping, Chuuya?” Dazai muttered something under his breath about better clothes. Chuuya didn’t respond. “No? Okay, let’s just take a walk then! If you see anything you want, let me know—ah! Of course, you’re paying! But tell me if you see something because I don’t want to accidentally leave you behind” strolling ahead, Dazai spun around “because you’re incompetent~!”

The sun was out to get Dazai. The longer he walked around the warehouse grounds, the more sweat accumulated under his bandages. Gross. Why do I need to go out with Chuuya anyway? Meanwhile, a slight breeze brushed against them, threatening to snatch Chuuya’s stupid hat away—Go ahead. Take the hat—and carrying a sweet scent. “Chuuya! Crepes! Let’s get crepes, okay?”

Holding his hat to his head, Chuuya trudged behind Dazai towards the crepe stand.

“Is chocolate okay?” Dazai asked, but it was a little too late to say no as Dazai was already holding one in Chuuya’s direction. Hesitantly, the redhead took it from Dazai’s bandaged hand. He slowly put the crepe to his lips and nibbled on it, completely aware that Dazai was watching him. Come on! Eat faster! It’s good! Aren’t you enjoying it? Dazai then glanced at the brown dessert in his own hand and frowned. He personally loved chocolate, but maybe it was just him. “Chocolate’s okay, right?”

Suddenly, Chuuya took a large bite. Then, another until he had devoured the whole thing. He swallowed the final bite forcefully to Dazai’s chagrin. Well, at least one of them could properly enjoy the sugary taste.

“Ah, man! I totally need to walk this off now!” Dazai patted his stomach clichely. Why did people do that? It only upset his stomach, not that his partner would ever find out. He kept grinning. Hitting the redhead on the back forcefully, Dazai pushed him along. “You too, Chuuya! Especially given the rate you inhaled that thing. Nobody’s metabolism works that fast!”

They wandered aimlessly around the first brick building, Dazai waving his hands dramatically as random nonsense spewed out of his mouth: animal mating habits, cheesy pick up lines, Freud, how Akutagawa’s hair came to be, the migration of the human species, and of course, suicide. They strolled around the second building, walking along the balcony.

“Chuuya, wanna ring these bells?” Dazai tiptoed up to the two small bells. His hand hovered over the string, controlling them.

“No.”

“Too bad!” Dazai tugged the string, yanking it every which way, and the bells sang. It might have been pretty except Dazai kept shaking the string. Consequently, it did not sound like an angelic choir, but instead a song that kept being rewound every two seconds. Down below, near the port, people glanced up. Some of them looked at each other grinning. Others pointed with a laugh or snapped a few pictures. Dazai didn’t understand what the deal was, so he ignored it.

Meanwhile, the sky had begun to dim, and the malevolent sun started to disappear behind the horizon. Dazai watched the golden shadow of the sun dance on the water until it had vanished almost entirely. The temperature had cooled, and small streams of oceanic breeze slipped through Dazai’s bandages and washed the sweat away. Standing in silence, Dazai’s thoughts were allowed to wander, much to his discomfort. Thankfully, he was saved by his growling hunger. “Say, Chuuya, are you hungry?”

“... a French restaurant?”

Dazai winked, “My treat!”

“Thanks.”

Dazai skipped to the receptionist, humming quietly. Chuuya will be blown away by my French! After all, I spent a couple hours studying last night. By studying, he meant google translate. (In the worst pronunciation possible) “Uh...excusez-moi, mademoiselle. Deux s’il vous plaît. Pour mon petit ami et moi.”

The woman’s face turned from a frown into a smile. “Ah, yes. Follow me.” She whispered to one of the waitresses before guiding them to a secluded table. “A waitress will arrive with the menus in just a moment.”

Why won’t she speak French?!

As promised, a waitress quickly arrived and handed them menus. Before leaving, she lit the candle in the center of the table and dimmed the lights. Dazai smirked, “fancy.”

A couple minutes later, the waitress returned. “May I take your order?”

“Oui. Uh… je vou...voudrais le bisque de crabe.”

“You can speak Japanese, monsieur.”

“Eh? But…”

“Please.”

Dazai sighed before covering it with a smile. “Crab bisque please!”

“And you, monsieur?” The waitress turned towards Chuuya who was for some reason really red in the face.

How rude! My french wasn’t that bad! Too preoccupied with his own weakly supported internal defense, Dazai completely missed what Chuuya ordered. Probably some obscure French food no one with taste has ever heard of nor likes. I bet he butchered the pronunciation too! He looked at Chuuya again who was still blushing furiously. “Something wrong, Chuuya?” Better not be my French.

“Yeah…” Chuuya shifted in his seat. He stared at his lap intensely.

“What is it?”

“‘Petit ami’ doesn’t mean what you think it means…”

Dazai grinned. He was going to have fun with this. “Now, now, Chuuya. I know the truth is hard to accept, but let’s face it: you’re short.”

Dazai expected his partner to strangle him or at least kick him under the table, but this new Chuuya was unpredictable. Instead, the redhead readjusted his position (again) and fingered with the knife on the table . “It… it means” He looked away entirely, no longer trying to be discreet about his embarrassment. “...boyfriend…”

“Eh?” Dazai blinked. “EH?!”

Chuuya fell silent, still facing away.

“Ch-Chuuya!” Dazai didn’t know where to look. Nowhere was safe. Everything mocked his mistake. And the lights, oh god, they thought… Dazai started to feel queasy. “W-Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I didn’t realize you were going to try and speak French.”

Dazai buried his burning face in his heads. “Oh god… this is terrible… Someone kill me… I’m ready to die…”

“Yeah...” Both of them just wanted the conversation to end.

“You don’t understand!” Dazai stood up abruptly, almost knocking over the table. “I need to use the restroom.”

Chuuya said nothing. He only sighed when Dazai was gone.

Meanwhile, Dazai rinsed his face over and over again, hoping to put out the fire behind his cheeks. How am I supposed to face him now? How am I supposed to lead the Mafia when I’m “dating” that hat rack? Dating? No. Out of the question. This misconception needs to die. Tonight.

He returned back to the table, and the two of them spent the remainder of their meal in silence. Neither could eat. “H-How about we take these to go...friend?”

Chuuya’s eyes, which judged Dazai, immediately returned to the floor when Dazai looked his way. “Yeah…”

Everything seemed to be going so well earlier; how did it end this way? Retiring to his apartment, Dazai dreaded the next day when Kouyou would find out what happened, and worse, when he would have to face Chuuya again.