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blahkugo · 4 years ago

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Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

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

Tags:

@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

DM me if you’d like to be tagged!

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alyazirr · 4 years ago

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Whew ok

I have a lot of thoughts and opinions on this latest obey me event and the events in general.

I can’t help but feel let down by the dame event. I adored the idea, the cards got me excited and for the first time in a long time I actively looked forward to an event rather than sleep walking through it. Towards the end I found myself back in that cycle of tapping through the story and asking myself ‘is this it?’

The fact that all the promotion and the cards have some of the boys in dresses made it only natural to conclude we would get to see the rest of the cast in their dame outfits but we didn’t. We got a little text wall alluding to the fact they were dressed while their avatars very blatantly in their normal every day wear completely takes you out of it.

One of my major gripes which won’t apply to everyone is Solomon. We get an SSR of him looking phenomenal as one of the ‘dames’ for him to not even take part in the dressing up in the event, you barely even interact with him, so what was the card for? Don’t get me wrong I’m still going to farm for it because the art is beautiful but I don’t see why you’d make that your page one completion prize when he literally may as well have not even been in the event for how little he features. I’m sure other people can sympathise as only a handful of the brothers we actually got to see in dresses through the cards, mammon, Satan and Beel? That’s going to have to be up to the fanartists I guess.

I’ve seen people complain that we ‘expect too much’ now and I want to address this. The devs really shoot themselves in the foot by doing events practically weekly. The two chapters worth of content hardly even gets the concept across and recently events have definitely felt rushed in story. I understand completely that the TSL with all the cards, sprites and unlock able outfits was recent as well as the angel event which did the same (not mentioning the host of content we got for the one year anniversary) but I don’t mean to sound ‘entitled to more’ but when they do events like that it sets a standard and shows what it can be.

I am not alone in being excited for this event and wanting to see the concept come to life, I am not alone in wanting sprites, unlockable outfits and a little more substance with the story. I would have been MORE THAN happy to wait for this event longer and many others would have too. The pacing for events is garbage, the devs are stressing themselves out to pump out a new concept almost weekly and I can’t imagine the pressure that causes. Many people complain that they never have the time to save for events and I agree. I also get no where in the actual game because the grim reward in events is pitiful so I can barely level any cards to progress. But it also seems like a waste not to do the event for the dp and other items you get from it so I’m stuck in a loop.

I just want to remind people that this is a piece of media, it’s a game and it is also a product many people spend a lot of money on and that means we are fully within our right to criticise, discuss and point out what we don’t like. I don’t want to take away from what the devs have done here at all, the art is beautiful, the game is amazing and has really been one of the only sources of happiness I’ve had in these crazy times but that doesn’t mean I can’t speak my mind when I didn’t enjoy an aspect of it.

I wish the devs would space events out much more monthly or even longer between them, it gives players the chance to save and more importantly it gives the devs time to work on the events more, flesh out the story and slows down the need for an endless cycle of new ‘scenarios’ to shoe horn the boys into. If they are worried they need this stream of ‘new content’ to keep players active the otaku boot camp is more than incentive to log in and it could easily be extended in time period and another page of rewards added without needing a full story, art and cards to do so.

I’m not even getting into the whole finishing school vibes and stepford wives thing I got from it with lucifer being an ass almost the whole way through either.

But yeah that’s my general feelings on the events as a whole right now and I’m just left really... let down by this latest event. If anyone has any agreements or disagreements with this please share I’d love to hear what people think!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me event #obey me luficer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus

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whumpingcrow · 3 years ago

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Ink Poisoning - Chapter 10

"Garbage Person"

CW: bbu and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol (explicit), injury description, blood, sick whumpee, anxiety attack, amputation mention (vague), noncon mention, conditioned whumpee, food mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

Nicko had been working on a tattoo when Ben called him. The skin underneath him belonged to a slightly older woman, a blonde with pink lipstick on her teeth that he could see every time she smiled at him. She was annoying, and she was flirting with him, which made her even more annoying. The first time his phone rang, he ignored it completely, too consumed in his work to even look up. Secretly, he was wishing that he was tattooing Gio instead. It had been a little over a week since Nicko made him sick by icing him out, and Nicko hadn't allowed himself to bring him back to the shop. Instead, it became his mission to make him better. He made him soup, he let him sleep in his bed, he even helped him take a bath the first day he was sick.

That had been difficult. Nicko had never been "nice", he knew that about himself. He was notoriously an asshole, famously short tempered and foul mouthed. He knew what empathy was, he could feel it, but it was just...rare. The knowledge that others had emotions and feelings didn't matter to him, most of the time. But when he gave Gio a bath, he'd never felt worse for someone in his entire life. Gio could hardly keep himself upright, couldn't even keep his eyes open, when Nicko undressed him and helped him into the water. Nicko hadn't washed the blood off of his face the night before, hadn't wanted to move him around and hurt him more than he was, so when he wet a rag and tried to gently wipe the dried blood off, he wanted to cry right along with Gio. He held his head still with one hand on his jaw as he ran the towel over the bridge of his nose, over his cheekbones, very carefully under his eyes, wiping away some of his tears along with the blood. Nicko couldn't believe he'd hurt him so badly. He felt even worse when Gio's face was clean and he could see the bruises he'd left there. Then Nicko washed his hair, there was blood there, too, somehow, and then he just sat outside of the bathtub and let Gio warm up in the water for a few more minutes. He couldn't stop crying.

"I'm sorry, sir," he whimpered out, using his wrists to push away the tears, directing his huge, teary eyes at Nicko. He looked hopeless, his chocolate brown eyes dulled down with fear and sadness. Nicko reached out and traced his thumb down Gio's face tenderly. He looked so young, with his hair slicked back out of his face and his huge eyes and his cheeks and nose flushed red from crying and his fever. His file didn't include an age when Nicko got him, but he couldn't have been more than 20.

"You shouldn't be sorry, Gio. Really, I'm the one who messed up. I'm..." He paused, frowning to himself. The words didn't sound right in his head, he hadn't used them earnestly enough all that often, so it was sort of alien to him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Gio looked positively perplexed, like he was just as much as used to hearing apologies as Nicko was at giving them. "S...Sir?" He squeaked.

"When I came back out and saw you outside like that, all bloody and fucking tied up...God, Gio, I was just disgusted." He could see Gio's face fall even more, and his heart sank. "No! No, not of you! I was disgusted in myself. I was disgusted that I did something so awful to you. And I'm sorry."

After that, Nicko made him rest, and he nursed him back to health. It was the least he could do, after putting him in that condition in the first place. That morning, he was up with Nicko, asking if he could go with him to work, if he would finish his tattoo. Nicko thought it was adorable, but he still had bruises and still seemed a little out of it, so Nicko made him stay home. He was regretting it now, as the blonde bimbo told him "Don't be afraid to hurt me, I don't mind a little pain" with a wink.

The second time his phone rang, he told the blonde to give him a moment, pulling off his gloves as he stood up and walked into the next room to answer the phone.

"What Ben? I'm working."

"Hey, uh...you didn't take Gio with you to work, did you?" Ben's voice was a little nervous, and Nicko was instantly worried.

"No, I left him there. Is he not there?"

"Um..."

"Ben is he there or not?!"

"I thought I saw him earlier, but I can't find him now. I think he jumped ship, dude."

Nicko had never had an anxiety attack before. Nervous, sure. Fits of rage, all the time. But he'd never felt the tight rubber bands around his lungs feeling that took his breath away when Ben said that. So he hung up the phone and left through the back, all but sprinting to his car. It was a miracle he got home in one piece, with how fast he was driving and how badly his hands were shaking. Gio jumped ship. Gio hates you because of how badly you hurt him. You scared him so bad he ran away. You awful person. You horrible, garbage person. The anxiety only worsened when he got home and Gio really was gone, he wasn't just hiding out somewhere like he sometimes did. Nicko pictured him, his huge, horrified eyes, how small he was, how he was probably out there scared and alone and someone might hurt him and Nicko wasn't there to protect him. You should have just taken him to work with you. This wouldn't have happened if he came with you. This is all your fault. Garbage person.

It wasn't until after he had calmed down and hours after Salem was home that Nicko even realized any of his things were missing. He was exhausted, the second he explained to Salem what had happened there was a fight, with rightfully placed blame on Nicko that he was wrongfully defensive about, as always. With his nerves shot and beyond tired from his incessant anger, he got drunk. It was a bad habit, his drinking in an attempt to mute his anger. But it was better than picking another fight with Salem to blow of some steam, and it felt better than the newfound anxiety every time he thought about Gio.

It was when he was drunk that he decided to paint, to make a mess with some red without actually hurting anyone again, and he noticed a few of his paintbrushes were gone. No one ever touched his art supplies (especially not Gio, and especially not after Nicko once made a joke about cutting off his fingers if he decided to be a thief and take his things), and he was very particular about how it was all organized. So when he realized they weren't where he'd left them, even in his drunken stupor, he could tell that something was wrong. So he looked around more, and he was missing more than just his brushes. His room had basically been ransacked, and he didn't know how he hadn't noticed before just then. So he rushed back out to the kitchen, where Ben and Salem were both standing around talking.

When he opened the liquor cabinet (for the second time in the last hour, and he wondered again how he had failed to notice something so important) he was missing a bottle of vodka and the jar of cash he and Rory secretly added to for party funds was empty. There was only one other person who knew about it, and then it clicked.

"Nicko," Ben started in careful disdain, "shouldn't we be doing something besides...you know...drinking?"

"Gio didn't run away."

Salem scoffed at him. "Right. Why would he want to run away from you?"

Nicko shook his head, trying to rub some of the stress out of his face. "No, you idiot. Rory was here. She took my stuff. She took my art shit, she took my cash, she took Gio."

Ben was instantly pale, and Salem stood from his chair and began pacing. It was unspoken, but they were all thinking the same thing, more or less. Rory had a problem, she had ever since they all met sophomore year at a party, and she had never downplayed it or try to make it less obvious. Sober Rory was a rare occasion, despite at some point everyone telling her she should at least talk to someone, go to a meeting, go to rehab. So at some point, their persistence fizzled out and they stopped trying so hard, and she was happier that way, anyway. Nicko had tried a few times to give her somewhat of an intervention, but in the end he decided the only thing he had the power to do was be there with her, whatever she decided to do. Yeah, because you could be all the help she needed? You, the garbage person? Right.

Nicko spent the rest of that night, all the way through morning, driving to places she might be. Her friends hadn't heard from her in days, they'd said, and the dealer that they had been going to together said she'd stopped by the night Nicko kicked her out and bought some weed. After that, he drove up and down neighborhoods all over the city looking for her car. But he had no luck, and he returned home the next morning without Gio or any idea where he was.

Over the course of the next two weeks, Nicko starting failing his classes. He couldn't bring himself to care much about his assignments when Gio was still missing, somewhere with Rory, probably being pumped with whatever she was using. Don't forget that it's your fault. He's gone because of you're shitty decisions.

He also got fired from his apprentice at the tattoo shop, the blonde he was working on didn't particularly like him running out on her and not finishing her piece, and his boss didn't like it either. He couldn't really bring himself to care that much about it. His job, his school, none of that was important to him anymore. Not as important as Giovanni, who was his responsibility and was probably miserable and scared because of him.

So he mostly stayed hidden in his room, starting paintings but never finishing them, tattooing senseless things on himself out of boredom, laying in bed doing nothing. He drove around a lot, too, looking for anything that would tell him where Rory was. He got pulled over three times, he spent a ridiculous amount of money on gas, and he never found Gio.

The guilt was suffocating. Every morning when he woke up alone in his bed he was reminded that Gio was missing, and then again when he got up and saw his empty beanbag, and knowing that he wasn't there because Nicko hadn't kept a good enough eye on him was crushing.

At some point, even Salem noticed how much Gio being gone was eating Nicko up, because he grudgingly came into his room one night, hovering in the doorway, asking Nicko if he was ok. Nicko was sitting on his bed, eyes droopy from however much booze he'd had that day, and for the first time since Salem had known him, he looked painfully human.

"I was responsible for him," Nicko admitted, "if Rory hurts him...if something bad happens to him..." He didn't finish his thought, but Salem had an idea of what he was going to say: that it would be his fault.

"Nicko, whatever Rory does is not up to you. You've done everything you can to find him, that's all that you can do." It was strange for him to be comforting Nicko, of all people, especially after he had found out that he'd assaulted Gio and left him outside in the cold until he got sick. After that, whatever little respect Salem had for Nicko was gone, and now it was being replaced by pity.

But Nicko didn't want his pity, he didn't want to be comforted by anyone. He didn't deserve that. So he told Salem to get out, to just leave him alone. Only Salem, stupid, relentlessly nice Salem refused to leave, and instead he crossed the room and sat down next to him on his bed.

"He likes you a lot, Nicko. Did you know that?"

Nicko did know, unfortunately. He vividly remembered one of the nights when Gio was sick, when he turned over in bed and pressed himself close to Nicko and told him he was his favorite, that it hurt him when he couldn't be around him all the time. And now he was gone. And it was Nicko's fault. "Yeah, I know. He's sort of dumb in that way, isn't he?"

Salem laughed at him, mostly because he didn't know when Nicko became so self aware. "No, I don't think so. I think he's just miraculously good at seeing the best parts of people. He likes Rory, too. Even after...you know, even though she got him high all the time." Nicko let out a long, heavy sigh, and Salem followed suit. "I'm telling you that because he knows that none of this is your fault. I mean, to him, you fucking walk on water. You couldn't ever do anything wrong. So, wherever he is, he isn't blaming you. No one here is blaming you either."

Nicko didn't believe him, but he didn't have the energy to argue against him. So instead, he just said "ok", and then Salem left. Nicko spent the next twenty or so minutes drinking and sketching lazily, dragging pencils across a paper only as a means to distract himself. Everything he drew was ugly, every drink tasted awful, life was miserable. He thought back to what Salem had said, that Gio liked him a lot, and then he thought again of Gio whispering in the dark, "you're my favorite person, Nicko," and his heart broke all over again. He trusted you and you put him in danger. He liked you and you didn't even fucking care, you god awful garbage person.

He was pulled out of his spiraling, self hating thoughts by a knock at the front door. He almost wanted to ignore it, didn't want to ever see or speak to anyone ever again, knowing he would probably end up hurting whoever it was in the end anyway, like he did to everyone he'd ever been around. But then he decided against it, and he stumbled down the hallway with his beer still in hand.

Giovanni sank to his knees in the same instant that Nicko opened the door, so fast that Nicko didn't even realize it was him at first. Only when Gio looked up at him from his place on the snowy porch and started to choke out a familiar sounding apology did it click that it was him. He looked awful, his pale skin peppered with small scrapes and his neck littered with what looked like hickeys, the usual bags under his eyes were an even darker shade of purple, his lips were cracked and bloody, and his face had hollowed out dramatically.

"I'm so s-s-sorry that I left, Nicko," he was rushing out, tears threatening to fall from his frightened round eyes, "ple...please forgive me, sir, please take m-me back-"

Then, Nicko was on his knees too, reaching out to take Gio's face in his hands, frowning at him when he flinched away just a little. Once Nicko's hands were on him, he really couldn't hold back the tears anymore, staring at Nicko as they slipped down his face and onto Nicko's hands. He was afraid at Nicko's silence, he would prefer for him to just start yelling already so that they could get the punishment over with and Gio could maybe be allowed to sleep after. He was exhausted. But Nicko only kept staring at him, almost in disbelief.

Then, as if he remembered that Gio was still outside, kneeling in a pile of snow, he stood up and pulled Gio carefully to his feet, helping him across the threshold so he could shut the door and keep the cold out. Once he was inside, and upright, Nicko got a better look at him, and he was physically upset at how rough he looked. Then he noticed how badly Gio was shaking, and how he was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt nervously as he stared at Nicko. He realized then that he hadn't said anything, and Gio had apologized because he thought he was in trouble, so Nicko being completely silent was probably freaking him out. Gio let out a soft whine when Nicko stepped closer and pulled him against his chest.

"I was so worried about you, Gio," he whispered, swaying side to side, "I looked all over...I'm so sorry I let her get you. I'm so sorry."

Before Gio could even begin to protest the apology, Salem came down the hallway and gasped when he saw Gio all wrapped up in Nicko's arms. "You came back?" He breathed. Gio nodded as much as he could in Nicko's snug embrace. Nicko pulled away then, brushing Gio's hair out of his face and looking at him with a frown.

"Come on, let's get you some food. Anything you want." He pulled Gio behind him into the kitchen, forcing him to sit in a chair. Gio was confused, wasn't sure why he wasn't being berated with pain and cruel words for running off and being gone for so long. He watched as Nicko looked through the fridge, then jumped when the chair next to him screeched against the hardwood floor as Salem sat down.

"Are you ok?" He asked Gio softly, a concerned frown on his face. Gio was happy to see his kind face, but the question made his heart lurch uncomfortably in his chest. He wasn't ok, his body ached all over, everything felt uncomfortably fuzzy and far away from the drugs that hadn't worn off yet, his fatigue was so bad he felt like sobbing every time he had to move his tired muscles. More than anything he was confused, like always, and it was much too difficult to try and figure out why Nicko was being nice to him and trying to give him food like a reward when he had run away and been gone for so long.

"You want pizza, Gio?" Nicko called from the freezer, already pulling out a frozen pizza and setting it on the counter. Gio didn't answer either of their questions, it felt like his any words that he wanted to say were shards of broken glass on his tongue, and it would only hurt him and everyone around him if he started to talk. It was mostly because his mind was a mess of racing thoughts about Rory and Oscar and all the awful things they did to him and how badly it hurt and how scared he was and how horrible he felt for worrying Nicko.

His silence made them both uneasy, and Nicko set the pizza box down with a thud on the table in front of Gio, then he crouched down next to him, placing his hand on his thigh. Giovanni squeezed his eyes shut in response, Nicko noticed his shoulders began to rise and fall quicker in his uneven breathing.

"What's wrong, darling?" Nicko tried, keeping his voice soft and level. Gio cringed, turning his face away from him. "Talk to me, Gio. Please."

Giovanni let out a tiny whimper, shaking his head. Salem and Nicko shared a nervous glance. Salem shrugged his shoulders hopelessly, not sure how to comfort Gio or make him talk anymore than Nicko did.

So, without any other idea of what to do, Nicko reached up and tilted Gio's face towards him, even though he didn't open his eyes. "Gio, I can't help you feel better if you don't tell me what's wrong. I want to help you but you have to tell me how."

Now, Gio opened his eyes, his frown deepening when he looked at Nicko. Within half a second his eyes were overflowing with tears and his shaking went from a tiny shiver to violent tremors up and down his body. "I...I don't know what's wrong." He admitted. His voice was a hoarse whisper, and Nicko pulled his hand away from his face after he spoke. Gio burst into tears just then, tilting his head down as he sobbed out weakly. "I'm s-sorry, I'm so so stupid I'm so f-fucking stupid I'm-"

Nicko shut him up by standing up and wrapping his arms around him again, pulling his head against his stomach and petting through his hair softly. Salem watched them with his hand over his mouth, obviously troubled at Gio's hysteria. "It's ok, Gio," Nicko soothed him, "you're not stupid. I'm not upset with you. I just want to help."

Gio wasn't really listening, couldn't hear anything over his ragged breathing and his sobs that were muffled by Nicko's clothes. When Nicko realized he wasn't going to calm down like that, he pulled off of him, looking down at his tears stained face. It's all your fault he's crying right now. Look at how broken he is because of you.

"You're not stupid, Giovanni. You hear me?"

The sternness to Nicko's voice snapped Gio out of it a little, he forced his mouth closed and nodded up at him reflexively. Then, Nicko sighed softly and turned away from him altogether. He grabbed the pizza, busying himself with that instead of having to look at how ruined he made Gio. He was only turned away for a minute or two before Salem cleared his throat.

"Um, Nicko?" He said. "I don't think he's really hungry."

When Nicko turned to see what Salem was talking about, and Gio had his head rested against the table, passed out cold. Nicko hadn't thought that he might be tired, and he felt like an asshole for not even checking with him. With a huff, he turned off the oven and threw the pizza carelessly back into the freezer. When Nicko picked Gio up he didn't even stir, completely limp when Nicko scooped him out of the chair and pulled him against his chest.

Seeing Gio back in his bed was more relieving than Nicko had anticipated, and once he was curled up under the covers all Nicko could do was stare at him. He was broken and banged up and looked seconds away from death in a lot of ways, but Nicko felt like he'd never seen anything as beautiful as Gio passed out under his covers. Suddenly, the art block he'd had since Gio had been gone dissipated, and Nicko was as quiet as he could be as he got out a canvas and what little art supplies Rory left him with.

Hours later, Gio woke up to find Nicko asleep next to him, covered in splotches of paint on his face and hands and all over his clothes. He sat up just a little, and then noticed the huge painting across the room. Through the dark he couldn't tell what it was, but it made him smile nonetheless. With a yawn, he layed back down, a little closer to Nicko than he was when he woke up. When Nicko reached out and grabbed onto his hand, Gio tensed up just a little, only until he laced his fingers in between Gio's and held onto his hand gently. Gio looked up at him only to see him still peacefully sleeping, and he realized he probably thought he was someone else, maybe Rory. Still, Gio happily pushed himself closer, resting his head against Nicko's shoulder and keeping his grip on his hand tight.

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kriscynical · 4 years ago

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I have finally thrown in the towel and gone back on Welbutrin.

If you're considering the need to go back on your meds, take this as a sign from the universe that yes, you do indeed need to and you have nothing to prove to anybody.

This turned into mental health word vomit nobody is going to care about so I'm putting it under a cut to save your dashes.

After having the health crisis in 2009 that left me with the permanent nerve damage I'm still dealing with followed by one of my best friends throwing me under a bus and gaslighting me about it, I started struggling with my mental health. When my middle sister passed away from breast cancer in January 2010 I destroyed myself trying to be The Strong One for my parents, letting my cup run so dry it cracked and broke.

I spent the next 7 years at the bottom of a hole, the last four or so on Welbutrin that helped quite a bit but not completely. My personal art output was absolute zero. I lost my 20's to it, basically.

I finally pulled myself out of it when I renovated the room across from my bedroom into my studio and got into Yuri on Ice in late 2016 because I had something to focus on, get excited about, and be inspired by. I pumped out 40 new pieces of art in 2017 because of it, I was getting regular interaction with people, my blog was growing again, and it was fantastic. I was an art machine. I came off of the Welbutrin in Spring 2016. I was happy for the first time in years.

Anybody still in the YoI fandom knows that well has been bone dry for a few years now; most of our crops withered if not died completely, and fandom policing bullshit made creating fanart for it far less desirable for me. I started slipping.

Then 2018 happened. My oldest sister passed away in February from liver failure. The day after we buried her ashes next to my middle sister in the family plot, we found out our dog, Sushi, had late stage lymphoma at only 9 years old. Her face had barely even begun to get a dusting of white. We lost her that July. I slipped some more. I came out of that year holding on to the edge of that hole by the tips of my fingers, but I was proud that I hadn't fallen back in completely.

Then 2020 happened. On March 13 my life upended and my sole focus became keeping my high risk parents safe from Covid, becoming their caregiver and doing absolutely everything for them that involved interacting with people or going out in public. In the last 14 months I've only gone to the pharmacy and chiropractor. That's it. We've been having our groceries delivered via a wonderful woman named Katelyn through Dumpling. Quarantine has aged me by at least five years at this point if the lines on my face are any indication.

Then my uncle was diagnosed with stage IV esophageal cancer over the summer and the traumatizing hell of trying to care for him here at our house -- on top of the added stress of having a CONSTANT parade of nurses, hospice people, and chaplains coming through the house because of it in the middle of a pandemic I was working so hard to protect my parents from -- was a body blow that included a dissociative episode. He passed away in October 2020.

I was finally able to get myself and my parents vaccinated through the county health department at the end of March 2021, which was a Thing all unto itself because of their system fucking things up.We got our second dose toward the end of April and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, but the damage was already done.

My personal art output has been zero for almost two years at this point. The last piece of fan work I actually finished that wasn't for a client, zine, or gift was in October 2019, it didn't even get 200 notes, nobody seemed to care or even notice that I had been basically MIA online in the last two years (save for maybe three people), so I lost the sliver of motivation I still had left. Let me repeat that:

I haven't finished any personal artwork that wasn't for a client, zine, or gift since October 2019. It's now May 2021.

At the beginning of April I finally said fuck it, I give up, and emailed my doctor asking for a new script for Welbutrin. While I'm not as godawful miserable emotionally as I was back when I started taking it originally (although it's on its way down that road), I am back to being completely unmotivated to do much of anything let alone produce new art. I have ideas. I just don't have the motivation to sit down and execute them.

As I've said several times before, I have to create in order to feel worthwhile. Interaction with people online when I post my work helps me stay in a good place mentally because I'm human and humans need positive interaction and just a sense that we're seen and matter. It's a nasty spiral because once it started seeming that hardly anybody cared about my work anymore or even noticed when I disappeared, that finished the job of killing my motivation. I know art should be made for yourself but like I said, I'm human and I'm just being honest here instead of trying to bullshit anybody. What's the point of posting if it's seemingly just going into the void?

I'm tired of being in that rut of a mindset and languishing in that bad headspace, so I'm trying to help myself out of it before I hit the bottom of that hole again. I never want to go back there, but I'm damn close at this point.

At least the Welbutrin is making me lose weight because it's killed my appetite.

#sorry for the word vomit #personal shit #mental health #shut up kris #i can't even sleep like a normal depressed person because my nerves won't stay quiet long enough to get any restful sleep #which has also been murder on my mental health #the nerve problems have gotten much much worse in the last year or so

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wakaoujisenhime · 4 years ago

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Controlled shocks - Kaminari x reader

Synopsis: Frustrated about the missing spice in your life you decide to take a shower. The moment you begin taking care of the built-up stress, your boyfriend knocks on the bathroom door. Separated by nothing but a curtain, you decide to continue pleasuring yourself, hoping that Kaminari wouldn’t notice, but ...

tags/warnings: Kaminari x reader ✅ smut (18+) ✅ quirkplay ✅ squirting ✅

crossed off square: Shower sex ✅

A/N: Third BINGO piece for the bookclub!! and two more are on their way, but pss NOW, the moment I saw the square with shower sex, I instantly thought of Kaminari, so I hope you enjoy this little smut scenario I came up with! A BIG thanks and a tight bear hug for my good friend @shoutogepi who took care of the beta-reading! Please enjoy! (˶◡‿◡)

image/art source: Twitter (art by iarim)

[ @fanfic-me-up ; @kingtamakimurder ]

→ BINGO Event masterlist

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Lukewarm water ran down your body as you closed your eyes, savoring the satisfying feeling of your tense muscles finally relaxing. You had just come back home from work, and since your boyfriend wasn’t home, you decided to take a shower and prepare dinner afterward.

A small sigh escaped your mouth at the thought of him.

You and he had become a couple around the time you guys became second years at UA. Since then everything went perfectly fine, you had no real obligations and could savor a carefree life...you were students after all, but the moment you graduated everything changed. The number of responsibilities you had to shoulder for yourself, your partner, and society was enough to overwhelm you both. Still, luckily the two of you had built up such a strong bond that you decided to deal with these problems together.

But now that the more significant difficulties were out of the way, some minor ones began appearing. One of them was that you both hadn’t had sex for approximately three weeks, and it was slowly but surely getting to you. Of course, none of you were to blame since your jobs were the actual cause of this ‘problem,’ but that was to be expected; nevertheless, there was something else that vexed you, namely Kaminari’s obliviousness to your sexual frustration.

Back in your UA days, you constantly bickered with Bakugou, who wouldn’t stop calling your boyfriend ‘dunce face’, but now you wished you hadn’t. You would’ve understood it if you weren’t giving him any signals, but greeting him with babydoll lingerie when he came back from work or with nothing on but an apron while you were preparing breakfast was screaming ‘I’m horny, please fuck me,’...unfortunately, your screams didn’t reach their target.

Frustrated, you bit your lower lip and leaned your forehead on the cold tiles of the bathroom walls.

“Denki, you idiot...” you whispered as you closed your eyes.

You let your hands run from your neck down to your chest, belly, and hips. The moment they’d reached your aching core, you hoisted one of your legs up on the bathtub’s edge and slowly began tracing your wet folds with your fingers. A sharp breath escaped your mouth at the sudden jolt of pleasure you got from that small and insignificant gesture, which frustrated you even more.

How can I be that satisfied with just that?

Your frustration slowly transformed into anger, and what’s the best way to vent then let it all out on yourself. The fingers that were caressing you ever so gently before were now angrily moving in and out of your tight hole which had tightened up quite a bit, thanks to a certain dunce, and the water wasn’t the ideal lubricant you were looking for, so your movements hurt quite a bit.

“Ugh...fuck.”

Just as you were about to go faster, a sudden knock on the bathroom door startled you, causing you to stop mid-movement.

“Honey, can I come in?”

“Y-Yeah, sure...”

You have never been happier to have bought that shower curtain because if that piece of cloth hadn’t been there, he would’ve witnessed just how horny you looked and that only from two of your fingers.

“I’m back, sweetie...sorry if I’m late!”

Just hearing his cheerful voice was enough to set your body aflame once again; thus, you slowly continued moving and scissoring your fingers, hoping that this would be enough to get you used to it once more, meanwhile your boyfriend had resumed his talk.

“If you haven’t eaten yet, then I’m going to head for the kitchen and prepare something for us, what do you say?”

“Uh-huh, that’s f-fine by m-me...”

Sure the curtain shielded you from his view, but it also made it harder for you to see just what your man was doing on the other side, and that was perhaps the biggest downside to it.

Indeed, Denki wasn’t the brightest bulb around, but he wasn’t as stupid as some thought, especially when there was something that concerned you.

He had noticed your stuttering speech and labored breath, but decided to continue feigning ignorance.

“Hey, you know what happened today, oh my god you aren’t going to believe it! So listen up…”

While Kaminari talked something about Kirishima and Bakugou having a new tag team attack, you slowly directed the water stream from the showerhead towards your sensitive clit that you had deliberately neglected, knowing fully well just how good it’ll feel if you suddenly overwhelmed it with pleasure.

Suddenly a particular idea crossed your mind as you glanced back at the blurry figure standing in the middle of the bathroom.

What if I open it..?

Meanwhile, your boyfriend had undressed and was standing there with crossed arms, facing the bathtub. He couldn’t help but notice that something had been off with your silhouette since the moment he came in, he had a hunch on what you might be doing, soo he decided to put you to the test. The story of his best friends and their new attack was one he had already told you about some days ago, and he knew that you weren’t one to forget such things, so the moment you had just answered with a silent ‘uh-huh’ he knew that there was something else going on. Honestly speaking, he had been pent up for quite some time, but out of consideration for you, he had held back, but today he wasn’t going to pass out on the opportunity you gave him.

Sharing the same thought both of you took hold of the curtain’s edge at the same time and yanked it to the side, revealing your disheveled appearance to one another.

With wide eyes and agape mouths, both of you looked at each other in disbelief.

“Denki-”

Without any reservation, you threw yourself at him and began hungrily kissing his lips.

The man in front of you was taken aback, but he caught you and tangled his fingers in your wet locks as he returned the kiss. You wrapped your legs around his hips and began grinding your wet self against his hard shaft, that action caused him to growl silently next to your ear and in order to stop you, he grabbed both of your asscheeks and squeezed them tightly.

“Hold up, babygirl- ah...let me b-breathe at least.”

“Shut it, Denki. Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this, huh?” you hissed as you let one of your hands glide down to his abdomen and take a tight hold of his pulsating cock, pumping it lazily yet firmly. Your boyfriend’s whiny moans turned you on even more and slowly, but surely your self-control was declining the more his face contorted with nothing but sheer pleasure.

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted your dick to split me open and thrust into me as if I was nothing but a mere object?”

After uttering your innermost desires to him, you bit his bobbing adam’s apple with a cocky smile, confident that you were in charge of the current situation.

Suddenly a sudden electric shock tingled your already overstimulated clit and left you breathless and confused for a mere number of seconds. While you were still processing what had just happened, the man who held you close to his body slowly entered the bathtub and pressed your back against the cold wall. He removed your arms from his neck and held them above your head instead, making sure that you had no way to neither touch yourself nor him.

“You weren’t the only one who suffered, you know?” he whispered in a low and threatening voice. It was now his turn to do what he desired, and that’s what he did.

Like what you had done before, Denki also began nibbling and biting the skin of your neck, leaving marks wherever he wanted.

When your boyfriend was satisfied, he leaned his head back and gazed at the different shades of red that adorned your neck.

“How about you (Y/N)? Can you even comprehend just how hard it was for me to hold myself back? Seeing your relaxed face and slightly parted lips every morning while you had one of your legs wrapped around mine wasn’t as easy as you might think it was.”, he spoke in a low and raspy voice, “You were lucky that you slept or I would’ve torn those pieces of fabric you call clothes from your slutty body and fucked you right then and there.”

The man forcefully gripped your chin and gave you another rough kiss; he even occasionally bit your lower lip to demonstrate further how desperate he indeed was and had been for the past few weeks.

Usually, you’d let him take you just like that, but today you were as upset as he was and maybe even more, so you made full use of the fact that you could still move your hips and rocked them back and forth once again.

The glare he shot at you was honestly enough to make you cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back.

“Now you have me right where you want me, look...I’m all defenseless and have no intention of fighting back, so take me, pound me so hard I won’t be able to walk for days- no even weeks, electrocute me if you have to, just finally do something Denki...please”

Your needy and trembling voice was all he needed to pull his hips back, align his pre-cum covered tip with your wet entrance, and thrust his entire shaft inside of you in one swift movement.

“G-God! Yes...yes!! This is wha-ah..what I was waiting for!”

Kaminari had freed your wrists and was now supporting your backside once again. His thrusts were kept short since he wanted to give your insides some time to get accustomed to his size once again, but the mix of your loud moans, tight insides, and lust-filled eyes was really pushing his buttons, and soon even he decided to drop the ‘nice boyfriend’ act and just go feral.

He pulled almost his entire length out of you and thrust all of back in, the satisfyingly loud slap of his balls against your clenching folds nearly managed to get you over the edge, but you refused to finish so early in the game. Unfortunately for you, the man in front had complete control over your current situation, and all he wanted right now was to see you cum, so with a mischievous grin, he placed his finger on your clit and activated his quirk once more.

The precise and controlled shock which he aimed directly at your sensitive bud instantly made you cum; your eyelids fluttered shut while your eyes rolled back and all that pleasure overtook you to such an extent that your thighs trembled and twitched, causing the grip you had on your man’s hips to weaken further. Of course, your boyfriend was there to hold you up, but what he wanted most right now was to look into your hazy eyes and prolong your orgasm by continuing his brutal pace, even when your insides were squeezing him so tight that he had some evident struggle with pulling out.

“Y-Yes D-Denki...just like- ah.. that!”

Even minutes after you had come down from your high, your body still felt the aftershocks of it, and the man’s continued usage of his power didn’t help you calm down at all, it was the exact opposite.

“A-Another one is...is coming-”

“Oh yeah? Then let me switch things up a bit...” he answered as he took a firm hold of your hips and pulled his cock out from you.

You whined at the loss and immediately reached for his shaft with your trembling hand, only to get it softly slapped away.

“I’ll need you to behave babygirl, or else you can wait for another three weeks, got that?” he warned you with a raised eyebrow.

Now that you had already cum once, all you desired was for him to flood your insides with his thick sperm, so if being obedient was going to help you reach that goal, you’d gladly behave.

Kaminari switched your positions and pushed your upper body forward so that you were forced to hold onto the curtain with one hand and take a firm hold of the bathtub’s edge with the other. While you were still struggling with positioning yourself comfortably, he ran his slim fingers alongside your back, letting his powers run free yet again.

“This time...I’m going to make you pass out.”

Before you could ask what he meant with that declaration, the young man had buried himself balls-deep inside of your sloppy insides and began rocking his hips back and forth. The sweet mewls that reached his ears gave him yet another great idea on how he could make up for those three weeks of missed pleasure and teach you a small lesson for getting off by yourself like you had done some minutes ago.

He slowed down and concentrated as much as possible as he activated his quirk for the last time.

“Denki, wh-aah!! G-God!! Ngh-aah…!”

Your sweet voice turned into a breathless raspy mess of syllables as you felt him sending a series of controlled shocks through his cock as well as both of his hands that were firmly holding onto your nipple and clit. Your second orgasm was approaching at a faster speed than the one from before...only this time, something else was building up as well.

“De-ahn..ki..pleaase...wha-wai-”

Forming coherent words became another challenge you were deemed to fail because your boyfriend had just reached the last spurt and seemingly needed only a few thrusts before finally reaching his long-awaited high as well.

The moment his hot thick semen began entering your womb, your vision went black, and all you could hear was how the piece of cloth you had held on was ripped from its hooks.

——

When you finally opened your eyes, you found yourself on your knees, sitting in Kaminari’s lap, who embraced you from behind and gently caressed your head.

“(Y/N), thank god you’re awake, I didn’t know what to do if you hadn’t woken up from that!” he exclaimed, visibly relieved. Your voice was so far gone though that you couldn’t muster an answer and just give him your typical questioning look, which demanded a résumé of what had transpired in the past few minutes.

“God how should I put this without embarrassing you too much...”, he began with a whisper, “..well you see...the moment I came inside of you, you came as well and uhh...you also kinda....s-squirted?”

After he said that, your face became redder than your favorite lingerie, and all you wanted was to go and crawl into a hole where nobody could find you, but the compassionate laugh of your boyfriend is what stopped these thoughts.

He whispered sweet and encouraging lines and some small apologies in between, while he gently traced the kiss marks, he had left behind earlier, with his lips.

Just as you were getting relaxed in his strong arms, a specific question of his once again caused your heart rate to quicken.

Ready for round two..?

#bnhabookclub #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #kaminari x reader #denki x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #━𝙱𝙽𝙷𝙰 #━𝙼𝙷𝙰

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honeytea8 · 4 years ago

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“Mister Fix-it” - Josuke/gn!Reader

A/N: Something I posted a while back on AO3 and now I’m dumping it here, I edited it to be gender neutral, pls let me know if I missed anything, enjoy!

Word Count: 2.7K

Summary: When your brand new air conditioning system doesn’t live up to the hype, you’re left with no other choice but to call Josuke Higashikata, the neighborhood handy-man and Morioh’s local heartthrob. (Post-canon; Josuke is 19/Reader is 23ish)

There is not a single ‘moderate’ thing about the summers in Morioh Cho and you come to this shocking discovery during your very first year back in this crazy, noisy town.

One early morning, a wave of heat sweeps in like a thief in the night, creeping over your body and making your nightshirt cling to you like second skin. A relentless force of nature that saps any residual moisture in the air. Everything is left high and dry—you lament over your dying succulent.

You can’t count how many cups of ice water you’ve guzzled or how many cold showers you’ve taken just to end up sweaty again, but something’s got to give. The day after Kai Harada announces the possibility of record-breaking temperatures in the following weeks, you delve into your emergency savings for a solution only money can buy.

Two days later, a portly electrician comes and installs a new air conditioning system for your home. He’s yammering on about how it’s supposed to be the best on the market. State of the art and all that jazz. You don’t really care for the details; you just want to be comfortable in your own house lest you end up a melted pile of goo. Who the hell would take care of your vegetable garden then?

You inspect the newly installed system with subdued interest. Truthfully, it doesn’t look like anything but an eyesore that’s completely thrown off the ambiance of the entire living room. It’s practically hanging out of your window. However, the only thing keeping you from complaining about its appearance is the dusty fan overhead that’s been circulating the same muggy, warm air for over an hour now. You prefer functionality over appearance, screw feng shui, you needed this AC.

“So, you’re positive it'll cool down the entire house?” you question one final time.

As if to prove his point, the electrician flicks a switch and the machine attached to the wall comes to life. The droning hum is annoying and would take some getting used to but it’s blowing the coldest air you’ve felt in a while. Both you and the electrician remain standing in front of it for a few seconds, basking in wonder.

Like magic, the heat-induced stress and tension leave your body all at once.

“Well then,” you say with a smile, “It’ll do.”

One week. Seven days. A hundred-and-sixty-eight hours of pure, absolute, uninterrupted bliss. You are in heaven! Your plants are flourishing as usual, and you aren’t sweating profusely like a pig for slaughter. Life is oh so good.

Until you wake up on the eighth day at four am with the worst case of cotton-mouth you’ve ever experienced.

You tumble out of bed, delirious from the sudden onslaught of heat that has transformed your bedroom into a sauna. Loose cotton sheets tangle with your ankles and you hit the ground, chin scuffing against the floor in your haste. The adrenaline pumping through your veins keeps you from wincing, or even feeling the pain. All you can hear is the sound of your own two feet pounding on the polished wooden staircase.

“Please, no, no, no, no—“

You sweep into the living room only to find the new air system is completely silent and no amount of switch-flicking or button-punching is going to change that. Mouth screwing into a scowl, you glare at the overpriced piece of junk with unbridled disdain.

This has become personal.

A hard smack from the palm of your hand to the surface of the machine echoes through the room—still nothing, not even a stirring.

Big fat tears well up in your eyes. Whatever hormones fueling your rage are now flooding you with sadness. Your hand and chin are throbbing from the pain. The money spent on this crap was gone and now you’d have to shell out another hefty amount just to get it fixed. You want to pull out your hair in frustration.

Glancing around the room, everything is so still and calm. It’s still quite early in the morning, a few hours before dawn and you are tired as hell. The heat is making you lethargic, so after drying your tears and chewing on some ice cubes, you curl up on your sofa and go back to a fitful sleep.

Later in the day, you’re hanging clothes out on the line when your neighbor comes out to greet you.

She’s a grandma who lives alone except for when her grand kids come to visit, and despite her penchant for being a nosy gossip, you kind of like her. She waves and meanders over to the edge of her fence.

“This is some heat, I tell you.”

“Right! I didn’t realize Morioh could even get this hot,” you pick up another sheet and toss it over the wire. “Would you believe that I spent two paychecks on an air conditioner that doesn’t even work.”

Your neighbor gives you a look of pity. “Oh dear, such a shame.” You watch as she adjusts the chairs and tables around her patio.

“You know, I have a teacher-friend with a son who has a knack for fixing things. Had him take a look at my plumbing a few weeks ago and he had it working right as rain. I can ask him to come by and take a look at it for you.”

You shuffle the empty bamboo basket in your arms. “I...guess that could work. Have him drop by sometime.”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Two days later, you’re tending to your many plants—because you’d be damned if another died because of this heat—when a Greek god falls from the sky and onto your doorstep.

“Hi! I’m Josuke Higashikata, your neighbor said you had a problem with your air conditioner.”

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement: the young man standing on your porch is a damn stunner. His pouty lips, broad shoulders, and slim waist are more than enough to fuel a wet dream or two. Your brain short-circuits for a solid minute. Is it hot in here or what?

(And for once, you aren’t talking about the actual weather.)

He shifts nervously from one foot to another when you don’t immediately respond, but all you can do is stare. You’re thirsty for more than just a drink of water right now.

“Um,” he looks down at the sticky note in his hand and mumbles to himself. “This is the address, right?”

That snaps you out of your stupor. You internally berate yourself for looking like a gaping idiot in front of this knockout.

“YES! Ahem—yeah, y-you’re at the right place.” you move aside and allow him in. And good Lord, he’s tall. You wouldn't mind climbing that beanstalk.

Josuke is dressed in a striped yellow tee and pair of boardshorts that fit just right, a real sight for sore eyes.

You try not to swoon and realize rather belatedly that your own attire isn’t hiding much from view. Since the air conditioner stopped working, you reverted back to wearing tank tops and shorts around the house. Josuke, for what it's worth, isn't ogling you but he’s obviously noticed if his reddened cheeks are anything to go by.

“Right over here.” You say breezily.

The sway in your hips is subtle enough that it doesn’t look intentional. You guide him over to where the AC is sitting in the wall like a heap of scrap metal. Josuke didn’t bring any tools with him, so you’re skeptical about how he plans on fixing it. Honestly, even if he can't, you plan on making the most out of this.

You enter the kitchen adjacent to the living room, allowing him to take a look at the thing without you hovering.

As you’re straightening out the dining table, you ask, “So, how old are you, Josuke? You look a little young to be a handy-man.”

There’s a pause in his movements. “I just turned nineteen!”

Your fantasy dies a swift death somewhere deep within the dredges of your subconscious. Of course he’s young, as if you hadn’t noticed. Dialing back on the flirtation, you hum out an ‘oh cool’. The last thing you want to be is a cradle robber!

You aren’t that much older than him...but it still feels a bit wrong? You’ve never been with a younger guy before.

A startling hum resounds throughout the house and you feel a gust of cool air coming from overhead. Josuke has managed to fix it! You rush back into the room just in time to catch him stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“All done!”

“That—That was really quick? What was wrong with it?”

Josuke only shrugged. “Not sure, but it seems to be working now.”

You stare uncomprehendingly.

“So...was there anything else you’d like me to fix?”

Blinking you look around for something but come up short. “No, not unless you can bring plants back to life.”

Now it’s Josuke’s turn to blink as he takes a look around with wide eyes. He hadn’t noticed all the plants in the various corners of your home, he had been too distracted by—

“Which ones?” He says before he can stop himself.

You point to the succulent perched on the coffee table, it’s dried up and brittle in some parts, but it’s not completely dead. He kneels down to its height, touches some of its chubby petals. Then he silently calls on Crazy Diamond and with a single touch, it’s restored back to its normal health.

A few years post-Yoshikage Kira, Josuke has gotten a lot better with his powers, utilizing his stand with ease. He turns and gives you a smile and has no idea he’s giving you heart palpitations just by looking like that.

“Woah! Josuke, what the hell was that?”

“Ahh, it’s hard to explain. Just know it’s something I’ve been able to do since I was a kid.”

“Wow, th-that’s some trick,” you glance at your plant in shock. It’s literally back to normal. You recall all the time spent nurturing it, along with your other plants. All the sweat doled out during back-breaking gardening. How could you ever repay him for making sure your hard work didn’t go down the drain?

Before you know it, you have his face in your hands and you don’t know what the hell you're doing but you're holding him and staring tearfully.

“Thank you times a million. Seriously.”

Josuke just gulps and nods. “Uh huh, not a problem.”

You really try to ignore the way he’s staring at your lips or the heavy blush on his cheeks because, again, you are not robbing the cradle. With more self-control than you knew you had, you let go of his face and step back.

“S-So would you like some tea, or lemonade or—“

“Lemonade,” he says as he stands to his full height. “Lemonade is fine.”

You nod with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. He is so cute. You scamper off into the kitchen and pull out a full pitcher of homemade lemonade. Meanwhile, Josuke is left to take a look around your house.

There are plants everywhere, most are leafy, green, and healthy. The ones that aren’t, get a boost from his stand power.

Josuke wants to compare your home to a jungle or the Amazon, but that’s not quite an accurate comparison. Even though there’s clearly a lot going on, it’s not cluttered or disorganized at all. It’s just...really freaking amazing! There’s even a flourishing terrarium built in the walls near the staircase.

With your obvious love for nature, Josuke thinks you’d get along great with Mr. Jotaro, but for some reason he doesn’t feel too inclined to introduce you two.

When you finally return, you catch Josuke eyeing your little turtle tank with a weird look.

“That’s Kame, I just got him a month ago.”

Josuke laughs, “Kame, huh? That’s pretty clever.”

“I thought so too,” you hand him the cold drink and as he takes it, his fingers graze yours. “He doesn’t do much, so if you’re expecting him to do a trick, you’ll be waiting a while.”

“Oh nah, it wasn’t that. I’m just…kind of afraid of the little guy.”

Biting back the urge to say ‘awww’, you usher him over to the engawa overlooking your vegetable garden. “A fear of turtles is understandable. But would you believe that I used to be afraid of fish?”

“Fish? No, I can’t say I would. But I also wouldn’t judge.”

You smile at that because of course, he wouldn’t judge you. “Yup, had a bad experience when I was five. My father used to live in Morioh, near the coast. He was a fisherman,” you pause, momentarily distracted by the bob of his adam’s apple as he takes his first sip.

“H-He umm, took me fishing once... and it was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on a real fish. Needless to say, I screamed my head off.”

“No! Seriously?” Josuke chuckles and it’s so contagious and addicting. Soon you're laughing too.

“I swear, I cannot make this up!”

“So, what happened?”

“Okay, so I’m screaming like a mad person and running away. You know what my dad does? That asshole chases me with the thing still dangling from his fishing rod.” You shake your head at the memory. “I literally got sick and threw up that night, and boy did my mom chew him out for it.”

“That sounds so hilarious and yet so traumatic.” He laughs again. “That’s terrible!”

“Right! I could never look at a fish after that or even be around them. It took years before I finally got over it.” You sigh and shake your head again.

Silence ebbs between you for a moment before Josuke clears his throat.

“So, this might seem a bit forward, but would you like to go on a date with me?”

The question doesn’t register in your head all at once, leaving you to stumble over your words until you can finally think coherently. “Josuke I...I’m a bit older than you. Shouldn’t you go for someone more closer to your age?”

“No, and I’ve never believed age should stop two consenting adults from getting to know each other better.”

“Josuke, I’m old enough to be your big sibling though.”

He quirks his brow at that like you’ve just said something weird. “Well, Mr. Joestar, was like ancient when he met my mom so that really doesn’t bother me.”

For some reason, that comment breaks the tension. You barely hold back a grin. “This Mr. Joestar guy is your father then?”

“Biologically speaking, yeah. He’s pretty old now and I never really knew him, but my mom still loves him with everything she has.”

Okay. Now you are really having heart palpitations.

Josuke is exhibiting a surprising amount of maturity right now, making you eat your words about him being too young for you. Why did he have to be so convincing on top of being cute?

“Give me a chance,” he says. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

After mulling over it for a moment, you finally acquiesce.

“Alright, Josuke. One date, and we’ll see from there.” and just to catch him off guard, you peck his cheek. “Okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Of course, it’ll be perfect!”

Taking the empty lemonade glass from him, you both re-enter your home with smiles on your faces. Josuke stays a little longer and you both chat for a while then make plans for your date. You get to learn about how much of a hopeless romantic he is and how he’s a firm believer in love. He makes it very clear that he doesn’t want a fling and that he’s looking for long-term. All of these things surprise you, as they aren’t what you’d expect from someone as gorgeous as him.

By the time the sun is setting, you know it’s time for you two to part ways. Josuke stands at your foyer with pursed lips and a blush on his cheeks. “Can I...kiss you?”

To answer his question, you lean up and press a soft kiss on his mouth. Josuke’s strong arms snake around your hips, drawing you closer into his sturdy frame. His plush lips are gentle and pliant against your own.

When Josuke finally pulls back he is presented with the sight of your closed eyes and kiss-reddened lips and it’s the most enthralling two seconds ever. He thinks you're so freaking beautiful.

“Alright handy-man,” you say as you give him one last peck on the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure thing!”

Ironically enough, you have this nightmare of a heatwave to thank for your date with Morioh Cho’s favorite dreamboat.

#josuke higashikata #josuke x reader #josuke higashikata x reader #jjba x reader #jojo’s bizarre adventure #diamond is unbreakable #jojo #jjba #my writing

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complexgods-backup · 4 years ago

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Isn’t It Cliché? Chapter 1

Ship: DaiSuga (Haikyuu!!)

Summary: “Suga almost dropped the pen he was holding as he saw what was probably the most handsome man he has ever seen enter the Starbucks. He looked extremely tired, and Suga wondered if he was hungover. He had short brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes, and Suga couldn’t help but notice his biceps straining the fabric of his shirt as he took off his coat. Quickly pushing away any impure thoughts, Suga put on his best employee smile as he took his order.”

Sugawara Koushi moves to Tokyo with a broken heart and a desire to start over and falls for a handsome stranger that frequents the coffee shop he works at. Unfortunately, it’s harder for Suga to get him to open up than he thought. It’s all pretty cliché.

Word Count: 2418

Beta-read by: @mesreves

Warnings: None

A/N: This fic has become somewhat of a passion project of mine, I hope you enjoy it! I already posted 5 chapters on ao3, so feel free to read the rest (and all the tags) on there! I will try and post the chapters as regularly as uni will let me! The fic is under the cut :)

“Fuck, I’m already late,” Sugawara groaned as he finally awoke with his third alarm. It was his first day at his new job and he really needed the money, so being late was not an option and it was already 7:32 am. He dressed in a hurry, popping some toast into the toaster as he gathered all his things. He ran outside his apartment with one shoe still untied, his coat barely over his shoulders, and the piece of toast in his mouth. I can’t get any more cliché , Sugawara thought to himself as he ran down the stairs to run to the subway. Thankfully, there was a subway stop right by his apartment building and he lived only a few stops away from the Starbucks he got hired at.

As he stepped outside, the crisp autumn air hit his face and he instantly lifted his head to smell the fresh air. Autumn was his favourite season, mainly because the world turned golden brown for a few weeks and the sunsets were phenomenal. He couldn’t wait to explore the new city he moved to and watch the sunset from all around the city. He pushed the thought aside as he swallowed the last piece of toast and walked into the station, focussed on finding the right platform. He constantly checked his phone to see which stop he needed to get out at, still unsure about his orientation skills in Tokyo. Even though he visited the city multiple times as a kid, he knew that getting lost was inevitable. He watched the sun rise higher over the city as the subway continued on its journey, cramped full of people going to their 9 to 5. When his stop came up, he pushed himself out of the cart, cursing himself that he was so far back. He hated inconveniencing people.

Despite all the hassle, he managed to be in front of the Starbucks ten minutes early, signaling to his coworker already inside that he was there. Once the manager gave him his apron, she left Sugawara’s coworker to show him the ropes. Although he had already been employed at a Starbucks before, it was protocol to explain how everything worked, so he listened diligently to his coworker, who was called Yamaguchi Tadashi.

“It’s the busiest right before 9 am and after 4 pm, so you’ll be with at least two other people then. Our other colleague will be here any minute, but you’ll only take orders and work at the cash register today. That sound good?” Suga nodded, impressed at how the other took charge. When he first met him after his interview, he seemed so shy and insecure, but he was clearly in his element. Despite Sugawara being two years Yamaguchi’s elder, he did not dare speak informally to him yet, quite frankly intimidated by his authority. As soon as Yamaguchi seemed pleased with Sugawara’s work, a gorgeous woman, no older than Sugawara, walked in, and he couldn’t help but blush a little bit as she turned to him and wished him a good morning.

“I’m Kiyoko Shimizu, I’m the shift manager and I’ll be working the orders with Tadashi today, it’s nice to meet you.” She gave a shy smile and he nodded at her.

“Nice to meet you, Kiyoko-san! I’m Sugawara Koushi, but you can call me Suga.” He flashed her a smile to emphasize how happy he was to meet her.

“Oh no need for the honorifics, we’re all the same age group and I’m not a big fan of formalities. Just call me Kiyoko!” Suga smiled and nodded as she walked to the back of the store to put down her things and get her apron.

Yamaguchi didn’t lie when he said that most people come through before 9 am, as the shop got extremely busy within minutes. Most of the time, the orders were pretty simple and Suga’s endless patience seemed to serve him well. He didn’t mind taking up orders, knowing that making all those complicated drinks were oftentimes less fun to make, especially if it was busy. But Yamaguchi and Kiyoko seemed to know each other extremely well, making their work ethic impeccable.

Suga didn’t even notice how fast the time went by, and when he next looked at the clock that adorned the wall opposite the till he saw it was already 10h30am. The shop was quieter now that most people got their morning coffee before work, and the three could have short conversations between customers.

“So what do you study?” Kiyoko asked, biting down on a cinnamon roll a customer decided they didn’t want after Yamaguchi had already warmed it up.

“I’m in my second year of Japanese Studies and Elementary Education. I transferred here this year because my old uni was not a good fit for me. What about you?” He asked his peers, who in turn said what they studied. Yamaguchi was an engineering major and Kiyoko was in her last Bachelor's year of studying History of Art. They were interrupted as a customer opened the door. Suga almost dropped the pen he was holding as he saw what was probably the most handsome man he has ever seen enter the Starbucks. He looked extremely tired, and Suga wondered if he was hungover. He had short brown hair and gorgeous brown eyes, and Suga couldn’t help but notice his biceps straining the fabric of his shirt as he took off his coat. Quickly pushing away any impure thoughts, Suga put on his best employee smile as he took his order. He tried his best to hide the blush that slowly crept over his cheeks as he heard how gruff the man’s voice sounded.

“I’ll have a caramel frappuccino with three extra pumps of caramel syrup and an extra shot of espresso.” The man said, which surprised Suga for some reason. He didn’t expect the man to have such a sweet drink but he refused to let the shock show on his face as he asked for the customer’s name to write on the cup.

“Sawamura.” He gruffed, barely looking up at the barista. Suga figured he was too hungover and/or tired so he didn’t think much of it as he wrote his name on the cup with a little smiley face next to it, handing Kiyoko the cup. When his order was done, he sat down where he put his coat and immediately plugged his headphones into his phone, and started typing on his laptop.

“He most definitely forgot an assignment he was supposed to write during break.” Yamaguchi giggled as they all secretly watched the man type furiously.

“Do you know who he is?” Suga asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. The other two just shrugged.

“No. He comes here a few times a month and orders ridiculously sweet drinks. He usually stays a few hours.” Kiyoko answered, seeming uninterested. Suga nodded and decided to drop the matter. Soon there were more people coming in and out of the café and Suga was too busy to pay him any more mind. He met one other of his coworkers as Yamaguchi’s shift ended earlier. He was small and energetic, and Suga found out that he studied sports. Makes sense, Suga thought to himself as he smiled at how much energy Hinata seemed to have.

After his shift finally ended, Suga was glad to get back to his small apartment. It wasn’t anything big or fancy, but it was enough for him. There were some unpacked boxes still in one corner of the apartment that he had neglected the entire week in favour of exploring the city. He wasn’t big on decorating except for a string of fairy lights and a big houseplant his best friend gave him when he moved away.

The one thing he was thankful for in his small apartment was his bathtub. Even though it wasn’t exactly the biggest bathtub he had ever seen, he was very fond of it. It was the perfect size for him, even though he had to bend his knees to comfortably have his shoulders underwater. He loved taking hot baths after a long day, letting the hot water ease the aches and pains of the day, getting lost in his thoughts with nothing but two candles illuminating his small bathroom. Today was no different. As he sank into the mixture of bubbles and warm water, he let his mind wander, phone on silent. He mentally planned out the next week because that was when his classes would officially be starting. He made a mental note of all the things he still needed to do before bed as he closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the bath engulf him. Subconsciously, his mind wandered back to that man from the Starbucks this morning. What was his name again? Sam… Something. No, Sawamura, that was it. He couldn’t help but remember how handsome he looked, even though he seemed to be having the hangover of his life. Suga wondered what he would look like with a good night’s rest and maybe if he wasn’t that grumpy or stressed out. Sighing, he tried to push the image of the handsome stranger out of his mind. He was done falling for people and getting into relationships for now anyways, especially with what happened with his ex… He left him with a broken heart and trust issues, and he didn’t think he’d be able to go through that kind of pain again anytime soon.

God, you’re so pathetic , Suga thought to himself. Are you really planning your future with some guy? Just because he’s handsome and mysterious and most definitely out of your league? And most probably painfully heterosexual… Get a grip on yourself.

He sighed and opened his eyes, pulling himself out of the bathtub, drying himself off, and getting ready for bed. Tomorrow was going to be a hell of a day, mainly because he had no idea what to expect from his new University, especially how the people were going to be.

He fell asleep the instant his head touched the pillow, content he could finally fall into a dreamless slumber.

…

Suga woke up with a start, confused as to why his alarm rang even though it was still dark out. When he looked at his phone, he realised that it was not his alarm but, in fact, his best friend trying to FaceTime him. Sighing, he accepted the call.

“Asahi, what do you want? It’s almost one a.m.” Suga groaned, rubbing his face.

“Oh no did I wake you? Sorry! But also I’m not sorry because you promised we’d call today! Didn’t think you’d forget..” Asahi said on the other side of the phone and Suga mentally slapped himself.

“Right, sorry… I forgot… Today was a lot and I just got settled at work and… Ugh… I’m sorry. But I’m here now! How was your day?” Suga asked, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“No worries! Just wanted to check in to see if you were still alive. My day was alright, I’m getting ready for tomorrow and I’m kinda nervous.” Suga could tell that Asahi was more than “a bit nervous” so he sat up in bed, facing the camera in earnest.

“You’ll do great! Uni is hard but it’s important to remember that every single first-year goes through the same! I promise it’ll be alright!” Asahi only frowned in response to his encouragement, clearly skeptical.

“But you have it so easy, Suga. It’s so difficult for me to talk to new people.” Asahi all but pouted. Suga sighed.

“Yeah I know, but I promise you a lot of people are the same, and you being like that hasn’t stopped us from being friends, right?” Suga prompted, smiling at the camera.

“Yes, but we were neighbours. Also, we’ve been friends since we were 5. You’re kinda stuck with me.” Asahi smiled and Suga just shook his head.

“You’re so stubborn. You’ll be fine! You can always text me if you get anxious but please try and at least talk to one person. Can you do that for me?” Suga asked and he could see Asahi calm down the more they talked.

“Yes, I’ll try. Alright, tell me about your day!” Asahi said excitedly, leaning his face closer to the camera.

“Oh, it was nice actually! I mean it was exhausting but my colleagues are super nice! One of them would get along really well with Noya actually, he has so much energy and is so positive, they’d be the best of friends in no time.” Asahi’s face smiled sadly at the mention of his boyfriend. They’ve been long-distance for four months and Suga knew how much his best friend missed him.

“But yeah the other people are really kind as well. Remember that shy boy that was working when I had my interview? Turns out he is actually a badass behind the counter and he could shit-talk for days.” Suga laughed at that, knowing that Asahi disapproves of anything that has to do with making fun of others.

“I’m glad that your coworkers are nice!! I miss hanging out with you” Asahi said, his face pulled into a frown yet again.

“I do too. But hey I’ll be coming back for a weekend soon and we’ll be able to hang out together!” Suga prompted, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Yes, that’s true. Alright, you look tired, you should sleep” Asahi said, and Suga agreed. His head felt heavy and his eyes were closing despite his will to keep them open.

“We’ll call tomorrow after your first day’s over! I think I’ll be free after 4 pm so just call me when you have time” Suga sleepily smiled at the camera as they said their goodbyes and he immediately fell back asleep.

He awoke the next morning with his first alarm, something that didn’t happen often. He decided to enjoy the morning then, having more than an hour to get to the subway: he had a strong cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal as he mindlessly scrolled through his phone. After sending Asahi a few memes as was his morning ritual, he ran down the stairs to get to his uni. He had visited it a few times before moving, so he was more confident in finding his way from the subway to the doors of the main building.

#daisuga #daisuga fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #my fic #reblogs and comments are appreciated!

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 4 years ago

Note

heres a Hell's Studio fic idea for ya, both Sammy and Snowflake end up sharing Snowflakes body for a week due to a pipe bursting and covering the two in ink

Poor Sam can never catch a break, can he?

Was it mentioned before that the Ink just loved to fuck around with the Music Director? Because it just really loved messing around with the guy. Maybe he had the funniest reactions in its mind, maybe the bitter bully of magic art supplies thought of the man as someone who needed to be taken down a peg or two, or maybe it was just that the music department had the worst pipe setup in the entire studio, thus making it the hot-spot area for magic ink related mishaps and had also made Sammy the most common victim of those said mishaps not out of spite, but sheer coincidence as he was simply almost always in that constantly-flooding area.

You can't exactly sound sane when you're constantly complaining about getting wet while you live in the splash zone.

But whatever the case may be, a solid 90% of the shenanigans that the ink had in store for someone usually fell on Sammy’s head. And some days it felt like the stuff only bothered to mess with others if it meant that could mess with the irate musician at the same time.

Today started off fairly normal for the studio and its residents; same bustling rhythm of a symphony of pencils, same small talk chats in the break room, same ...workplace accidents.

Snowflake was trying to fish a mouse out of a crack in the wall for curiosity's sake when Sammy heard the tell-tale groan of a pipe about to burst coming from within the deep hole in the wall. A groan that if years of working in this inky studio hell had taught him anything, was going to be a particularly bad break.

Acting on instinct, the musician grabbed the imp and pulled him away from the crack but it was too late, the pipe burst over both of them, making the little demon flop down into a large inky pool.

"Not again!"

Sammy sighed to himself as he shook off the access ink and noticed that his surroundings were much taller than they usually were. God there were days where he wondered why he didn't just quit and looked for a quieter and less stressful job that DIDN'T involve losing his humanity and peace of mind every other week. The music director reached out to where he swore Snowflake was, only for his hand to touch nothing but ink.

That was... concerning to say the least. Sammy swore that he held on tight to the little guy and didn't dare let go, he had to be somewhere in the pile of magical gunk.

"Don't panic Sammy, the ink wouldn't bring someone to life only to melt them away after a few weeks, right?"

And yet, the more he looked around, the more it seemed like that there was only one person in the ink pile. And the more the musician had felt a large pit of dread churn in his stomach.

"SNOWFLAKE?! SNOWFLAKE, WHERE ARE YOU?!"

The music director frantically dug through globs upon globs of ink, internally praying that the imp was simply shrunken to six inches like others had been instead of melted away only to find nothing but ink, ink, and more ink. The man's panic-clouded mind did not register the fact that he his hands had the same gloves as the little demon did. Or maybe it did, but the man decided to focus on the more important part of the situation; the missing toon child.

"Oh god... Oh god, what am I going to tell Wally?!"

"Mr. Sammy?"

Snowflake's voice called out, jolting the musician with a mixture of relief and that slightly annoyed feeling people get when it turns out that they were panicking over nothing.

"Snowflake! Where are you? Why did you stay quiet when I called out for you?"

"I-I thought I was looking for you! Where did you go?"

"Where did 'I' go?" Sammy parroted as he frowned and searched. "I'm right here..."

The man's voice trailed off as he finally fished something out of the ink pile: his own, heavily ink-stained empty clothes.

"SAMMY?! What happened to you?!"

Snowflake called out in worry as he looked over the empty outfit while Sammy just looked at the clothes in annoyance.

"That &#^$ing ink again..."

Who was controlling the body now? Either both of them or one of them, but neither of them could give a straight answer as the Sammy-possessed Snowflake marched on down to Joey's office, climbed on top of the other chair, paused for a moment as the body couldn't decide whether to gently place the clothes on the animator's desk or to slam them into it and wound up just dropping them on it instead.

"Snowflake my boy!" Joey greeted in his usual chipper tone. "What brings you to my office today?"

"M-Mr. Drew, I.. Sammy is.. Sammy and I got caught in the ink and then-" The little demon stiffened for a bit and a frown crossed his features, while his voice did not change, his tone and mannerisms certainly did. "I'm stuck inside Wally's kid's body, and both of us want me out of it."

"Okay! Don't worry, I know exactly how to fix this and it'll only take a jiffy!"

Joey retrieved several ritualistic items while humming to himself, but when he reached into his desk drawer he froze up for a second then started frantically rifling through it.

"O-oh! Oh dear... Um.. Excuse me for a minute."

He walked out of the room and dialed up a number on the phone, the pair of souls stuck in one form crept up to the door and put his ear against the door, only managing to get one half of the conversation.

"Hello? Yes, it's me again. Do you have any 'scones' in stock?"

"A week?! Are you sure?!"

"No, I don't doubt it..."

"Yes, yes, of course, I understand."

"...But how do I break it to them that they're stuck like that for until Monday?"

"Well, yes, this does happen often... But it's not like I WANT it to!"

"You know how magic gets!"

"Thank you, I'll see you Sunday night then. Goodbye."

As Joey hung up, Snowflake zipped back to where he was sitting earlier. The man walked back into his office, sighed, and shook his head before sheepishly looking up at Snowflake and Sammy.

"I'm sorry you two but I'm afraid I have bad news; I'm missing a key ingredient for the reversal spell and I can't get it until Monday."

The demon's head clonked down on the desk, letting out the longest, most tired sounding muffled scream that Joey had ever heard, clearly from the music director. Don't get him wrong, he loved kids and wouldn't mind spending the week with Snowflake under non-magic-ink related circumstances. But he wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of being a kid again himself and also possessing somebody against both of their wills for any amount of time.

"Now ...Sammy..? There no need to worry, we've been through this before."

"He knows, he's just upset because aside from the weirdness of this, he and Susie were planning a date night on Friday and now they're gonna have to reschedule it again."

'He didn't need to know that!' Sammy mentally hissed.

"Nevermind, they weren't planning a date in the first place."

Sammy internally facepalmed.

"Terribly sorry to hear that then." Joey fidgeted with his tie nervously. "...I'll give you the paid leave while you're like this."

"Thanks, Joey."

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

Wally wasn't quite sure if he should laugh, cry, or do both when he brought Snowflake and Sammy home.

The Janitor was used to weird stuff by now, heck, most of the time it felt like something crazy and magical happened every week. But there's 'the ink turned every piece of furnature in the building into cake' weird and then there was 'the guy who's technically your boss is possessing your son and now the power dynamic is weird.' weird.

Both of them seemed quiet, which was normal for Snowflake but slightly concerning for Sammy. Wally half expected to hear a long rant about 'the &$@#ing ink that should NOT be magical, seriously, who in their right mind pumps a studio full of MAGIC INK?!' or at least something that indicated that the music director was in there.

"So uh... how ya feelin' about the whole 'body sharin' thing champ?"

"It's kinda like sharing a room with somebody who doesn't want to be in it in the first place and also it's like having a bunch of songs stuck in your head that you want to listen to so that they can get unstuck except the songs technically don't exist yet."

"Okay, and what about you, Sam? you've been pretty quiet."

"How do I usually feel about these kind of things, Wally?"

"Fair point."

As Wally and Snowflake talked to each other, Sammy wondered if he was going to be staying at Wally's place throughout the week, or switching days between his own place and Wally's. Either way, it felt like this was going to be a very long week.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Hell's Studio AU #sammy lawrence #snowflake the demon #joey drew #wally franks #fanfic

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years ago

Text

Dawn (2)

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings: mention of past trauma and fluff.

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: sleep is nice. Water is super nice. music is dope nice. weather is siren-like nice. not being able to meet my dogs? not nice.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"Is it really necessary to do this? All of this?"

"It's a custom created by the Allfather, your grace," answers the handmaiden that helps you into the soft gold of a dress that seems to be way too over the top for something as simple as breakfast.

"Your Allfather needs to get laid," you whisper loud enough for her to hear and turn red.

"I beg your pardon, your grace?"

You whine as you watch yourself in the gigantic mirror in the bathroom. "Nothing. Come on, let's go."

She picks up your clothes from last night and the bags that have your belongings from the earth. "Where are you going with those?"

She turns around and bows a little. "To clean them all up, your grace. The Prince said that they might have been sullied with the party they arrived."

"Loki?"

"No, your grace. Prince Thor."

"...okay? Anyway, where do you guys have lunch?"

"In the kitchen, your grace."

"Cool. I'll join you guys there."

"B-but your grace!"

"You don't have to end every sentence with your grace, Sybll. Okay?"

"...y-yes, your-"

"What?"

"...yes."

"Okay. See you later, Sybll."

You shut the door behind you, leaving the poor young handmaiden's heart pumping as she tries to make sense of what has happened.

"See you...your grace," she whispers in the empty room.

"Oh, no, thank you, dear," you blurt, bringing your hand up to avoid the servant from serving an entire lobster- at least that's what it looks like- to you, "no...no meat for me, please."

Odin seems to be taken aback a little by that request. And a smile is the only thing you can conjure up.

Where. The fuck. Is everyone else?

The large table feels a tad much for the two of you. Not mention the nausea you are feeling from overthinking about Odin's internal judgements about you.

"Is everything all right, Y/N?" Odin finally asks, the half-eaten berry resting in between his fingers and thumb.

"Yes, sir, I mean, your majesty," you stutter, feeling yourself punching in the gut for screwing the first words coming out of you in front of him.

"Do you not like to eat meat, then?"

No father-in-law, it's just that all meat comes out as vomit when I am nervous.

"I...have a sensitive stomach."

"Huh," is all he bothers to state before going back to his berry.

So all you have on your plate now is leaves and fruits sitting as the subject for an art session.

"The gardens of the palace are beautiful, s-your majesty," you mention, remembering the flowers in full bloom you saw this morning.

"Ah, yes," he exclaims with a delight, "Frigga used to take great care of them. It is all of her hard work that blooms in those soils. Like it does in my sons."

You nod, taking a piece of watermelon and filling your mouth with it. "Mmhmm."

"You must think of me as some foolish old bastard for my way of doing things, like...like joining two worlds in a peace treaty through marriage, don't you, young lady?"

All you can do is gulp down the melon sitting unchewed in your mouth as you look at him with a blank expression.

"For an inexperienced mind like yours does not understand how crucial it is to stand united in the face of adversity."

You nod with your mouth full. "You're right. I don't. So, if you don't mind me asking, what was Frigga like?"

The lines on Odin's forehead change and he is back in time to some fond memory while he moves his food around his fingers. "Frigga was gentle as the first cool breeze that soothes you at the crack of the dawn, my dear. She was my rock. She kept Asgard running even when I was not there. That too while she had two young notorious sons to take care of." He chuckles silently and looks into some distant void, letting the sun reflect on the moisture at the edge of his eye. "She loved Loki like her own son. When the world saw a monster in him, she saw an innocent soul that needed the love and care of a mother. She taught him all the magic she knew. She had a way with him, with his mind that was always in a different direction than the rest of us. Whether she knew him or not, she did her best to make him a better version of himself."

"Would she have agreed to this truce?"

The words are out sooner than you realise and Odin is out of the trance he was a while back, the eye losing its hues.

"My sons will do what I say, woman. They are the pride of Asgard. The reflection of what expanded my kingdom and its peace stands for. And Frigga would have agreed with me. With whatever decision I took."

The words crawl over your shoulders like ants. Your nails are scraping the edges of the pie crust as silence seems to erode any feelings of respect between the two of you.

"I bet he is your reflection as well, Loki-" you stress on his name with a tilt of his head- "I bet he was your reflection that day too when he was a child and you told him he was no good as a warrior and he'd rather go hide in his mother's skirt."

The clatter of fork and knives stops. So does the breath of every servant present in the vicinity, discreetly looking at their Allfather for any reaction.

"He was your reflection when the boys from the streets teased him for being so weak for a Prince. And when he could not take the insult anymore, he used his magic to teach them proper manners. Hm?"

You pick up the chalice of wine kept for you, squeezing an orange into it before taking a generous sip. "He was also your reflection the day Thor was to be crowned king-" you smacked your lips, keeping the chalice down with a thud- "and the day he let the wormhole swallow him?"

The air is heavy. Heavier than any third person can take.

"You might be sitting in a seat of privilege, woman, but do not forget you are speaking to your king." His tone is soft but the intended weight with which they flow is not.

"Yes. I do realise my place, my king. I am but a mere human tied to a son you deem unworthy of serving any purpose to you. But here's the thing, your highness-" you look Odin in the eye, your face losing every feeling- "I am not Frigga, Gods rest her soul."

The napkin resting on your lap is crumpled in your hand before being left on the plate as you get up, dragging your chair back and turning around to collide with the servant coming with a pitcher of wine.

His apologies are cut short by you, assuring him it's no big deal before turning back to the Allfather. "It was a good talk, your majesty," you state with a full-blown bow.

"Oh and one more thing! Loki does not have some different brains that you cannot figure out. He just thinks seven steps ahead of everyone else. I found out through observation. And the one time we both had to escape being killed. You should try it sometimes too."

And with that declaration, you walk out of the hall, leaving a stunned silence with an audience and a King sitting with heartburn.

FUCK!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DOOOOO!!!!!

Your steps cannot match your heart rate at this point as you try to make your way back to Loki's room. And the constant flashbacks to the conversation you just had do not help. At all. If only the ground would crack open and swallow you right now.

You really need to keep your issues with controlling fathers in check, woman!

Well, TOO LATE! you yell back at your inner voice.

The corridors are a blur. So are the voices of people asking you if you're okay.

You didn't have to defend him like that.

You try to shove your inner voice away.

What do you even know about him?

You can finally see the door to your sanctuary, and your steps get faster than they already are.

What is Odin going to do to you now?

Opening the door, you throw yourself inside before shutting it back and letting the whimpers of weakened shallow breaths become audible.

"Okay, breathe. Breathe breathe breathe-" you take in a lungful- "yes, breathe."

Five times more and your heart finally finds a rhythm for your brain to function a bit better, bringing your attention to the wetness you feel on your stomach and realise you're still in the soiled dress with a huge blotch of wine stain colouring it in an ugly tone.

Undoing the knots around you, you walk to the bathroom to change into clean clothes and realise only when you are standing naked in there that all your clothes have been taken for a wash.

Perfect.

Your palms are rubbed hard against your face with frustrated groans before you catch a glimpse of the black fabric lying on top of one of Loki’s drawers; the one he wore last night.

Oh, screw it.

The cotton shirt slides over you with ease, flowing till your thighs, though the thin fabric barely covers much. With that taken care of, you walk over to the other drawers and cabinets to find anything else you can wear for the moment.

“Where were you two?!”

“Good to see you too, Sif,” Thor comments with a tone of sarcasm as a fuming Sif walks over to the brothers getting down from their horses.

“We went to inspect the new territories under Vanaheim. There was a little disturbance there last night,” Loki mentions as he twists and adjusts his shoulder with a muted grunt. No one notices for there are other pressing matters at hand.

“The Allfather is fuming because of your absence at breakfast today. Especially since-” she pauses to look at Loki and point out at him in general, which reasonably confuses both the brothers- “and on top of that things went downhill from here thanks to that woman.”

Now, this leads to the brothers to furrow their brows at Sif.

“Downhill how?” Thor asks.

“Spare no details,” Loki adds.

“This...is...hilarious.” Loki guffaws as he ends the sentence and this time Thor is the one to roll his eyes.

“It is still hard to believe Y/N would do something like this,” the blond states.

“Oh, Thor,” Loki purrs with a jump in his step, making his brother automatically uncomfortable, “it’s not that hard to believe once you realise she has lived the better part of her life with Stark. She has learned the snark from the best.”

“How do you even know what that word means?” Thor gasps in frustration. He opens his mouth to follow it up with a contradiction before pausing to run Loki’s words in his mind, hating the smirk building over his brother’s lips as realisation dawns on him.

“I need to talk to her about this-”

“WOAH! Woah! Easy brother,” Loki exclaims, stopping him with a hand on his chest, pausing the steps just outside the younger one’s room, “are you sure you want to do that?”

“What do you mean? Of course-”

“Thor-” Loki pats his brother’s chest as a gesture of patience- “first, talk to her only if you yourself have never defied your father.”

Thor looks at Loki with judgment-filled eyes, getting his brother’s index finger to wait and listen for more. “Second, talk to her with the thought that she barely has been here for a day and she has to spend the rest of her life here. Away from everything she knows.”

This, somehow, dilutes the smoke rising from the embers inside Thor. Loki isn’t wrong after all. “And third, don’t follow me inside. I am going to take a long shower.”

“Wha-”

“What? Sybll said Y/N told her she’ll join her for lunch in the kitchen. Now off you go,” he shoos his brother away with his hands before shutting his bedroom door behind him.

A chuckle leaves him involuntarily as he recalls Sif’s word by word description of how it all went down in the dining hall.

Good for her , he wonders, taking his armour off, there will be something to keep Odin and Thor occupied.

The arm plate stops short from landing on the table with a thud as a thought stirs in Loki’s mind, slowly invading his heart through the tiniest of veins. Letting the arm plate softly rest on the table, he lets his fingers grab the back of his doublet to remove it.

Why did she defend me in front of Odin?

The summer breeze from outside takes the first chance it gets to rub itself all over the naked chest and back of the God lost in a puzzle which isn’t that hard to solve once he has all the pieces.

Right. Forgot she had a mad father too. What was it that Stark said we were? Two kids with daddy issues.

Shaking his head, his fingers undo the first button on his pants when he hears a soft clunk from somewhere within the room. And the relaxed cat becomes the predator within a flash.

Why does he have so many greens and blacks?

The drawers and closets in front of all have nothing but those hues. Wait, is he colourblind?

Grunting and stomping your feet for not finding anything you could borrow from your ‘husband’s’ clothing, you close all that is opened and start to move towards the bedroom to call for Sybll for a change of clothes when faint voices are heard outside followed by a door being shut.

It takes a lot for your heart to jump in your mouth; and right now, that lot is Loki walking in the room with a smile, undoing his armour while looking at some invisible void in the distance.

Fuck!

You could not go out in front of him like this. In his nightshirt that was barely covering your assets.

Hiding behind the archway next to an Oakwood drawer, you take a peek at the God lost in some thought. There is a faint smile on his unexpectedly pink lips. What is he thinking? That thought runs away and hides in a corner as soon as it sees long pale fingers are pulling away the doublet from above his head to reveal a bod sculpted in some mountains of divine beauty not meant for the naked eye.

Your breath gets caught in the moment of revelation. Wasn't he supposed to be...frail? At least that's what you thought when you first saw him. But now that you think about it, anyone and everyone looks frail in front of Thor. But never in your life would you have thought that all that layer of clothing hid a figure like this.

You won a lottery, woman , your inner voice nudges and winks at you before it is pushed into a dark corner. Though I feel bad for him for getting stuck with you , it shouts as it fades into the darkness. The muscles on his back shift when he rolls his shoulders and you feel your insides shudder. Does Asgard realise what they're missing under all that leather? Is what you question till you see marks and bruises that seem old- healed but not so thoroughly. Hmm, everything with him has a reason, doesn't it?

Your daylight musing seems to crack as you realise- with his back to you- he is about to open his pants.

No matter how enticing it seems to the dark corners of your brain, you draw yourself back from the archway, colliding straight into a drawer. You IDIOT!!

Moving on your toes, silent as a cat, your steps go backwards, past the drawers and lux bathtubs towards the balcony while your eyes stay on the archway, waiting for your heart to stop any moment that Loki showed his face through it.

One step back and you are in the balcony, your feet feeling the cold stone under them while your back collides into something equally cold and rigid. And it does not raise all those tiny hairs on your body till you can feel that cold rise and fall rise in your back.

MOTHERF-

The siren voice of the night sings right into your ear.

"Looking for someone?"

177 notes · View notes

powerovernothing · 4 years ago

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(My dear friends and followers, there are two things I truly cannot stress enough about my newest story. One, this is an actual beast of a tale, and most likely is the *longest* piece that I have done based on Korbin’s world. It stands at over 25K words, which is the reason it has been given ‘epic’ status, so if you plan to read it – please do so at your own leisure. Secondly, whilst I am always appreciative of every single like I receive, if you can simply take the time to reblog this piece, that would truly mean the world to me! Thank you so much, my darlings, and without further ado – let’s begin~!)

Deafening cries of overly joyous spectators echo wildly throughout the wooden stands of the Imperial City's Arena as Korbin makes his way up from the staircase leading out of the Bloodworks hidden below and back into the lush green gardens, and protective high walls that decorated the remainder of one of the smaller districts found within the capital of Cyrodiil.

Another grueling battle fought, another hard earned victory in the palm of his hands, another sizable amount of gold placed within his pack, and for a moment the almost overwhelming thought of traversing the wilds under the cover of darkness – in the vein hope of not being seen by Daedra, Cultists, and Sithis only knew whatever other form of cruel creature in the process – to safely make their way to the city of Chorrol did not seem quite as impossible as it once had when he and his chosen siblings first set upon such a daunting journey.

While it was certainly true it was never meant to be the easiest task in all of Nirn itself, to which it had surely became steadily more dangerous in the aftermath of Kvatch's burning, and the numerous – nearly endless – amount of Oblivion Gates that had now been opened upon the unsuspecting province, it was still something that he was more than determined to accomplish more thoroughly than he did the first time around.

Perhaps it was a case of paranoia, perhaps it was because of the mocking whispers that he heard deep within his mind when his companions walked just a little further ahead, or perhaps it was simply just because he did not wish to make the same mistake twice.

Whatever the truth may have been, he knew that to successfully keep Martin safe from any and all harm that may befall him upon the road as they slowly found their way towards Weynon Priory, granting him the protection of Jauffre, as well as his trained Bladesmen awaiting their future arrival in Cloud Ruler Temple... it would have been considerably more difficult without a fair amount of coin nesting deep within their collective pockets.

Thankfully, however, Korbin already knew the perfect answer to every concern over the rather uncomfortable scenario that they had found themselves caught within. All it would require would be a single trip to the Imperial City. He knew that it would be out of the way, he knew that he would be risking Martin's life by choosing to bring him to the one city that those who clamored for his head would be searching for him in, and yet... he knew that it was the only option that they actually had at the moment.

Once it was agreed upon – and even despite numerous arguments from Lachance over the foolish decision, and ceaseless worrying from Martin regarding Korbin’s own life – he knew that everything would ultimately work out for the best.

He would join up with the combatants in the Arena, just as he had done before in another time, take part in the bloodshed to somehow satisfy the all too eager, and soon overly pleased crowds, and before long they would have enough to chart a wagon to make – at the very least, he hoped – the remainder of the journey somewhat more bearable.

The plan was perfect, flawless, and so much more enjoyable because his own chosen siblings were actually in the stands as well. Watching him flaunt his skills in the art of Assassination, and actively engaging in the screams of delight, the howls of surprise, and the proud, boastful clapping that came at the end of every match.

The latter was embarrassing, to be sure, but he used it as a source of strength. Round after round, opponent after opponent, and after no more than a single week had passed by, he was able to accomplish everything that they needed and more. But there was one thing that still remained. One thing that still ate away at him, even as he moved past the wooden bars, and waved a tired greeting towards Hundolin over his shoulder.

It was how vastly different the confrontation between two Champions of the Arena had wound up being in the end as he stood against the Grey Prince, and rushed forward to strip away the title of Grand Champion from his shoulders, and place it upon his own.

He still remembered the half Orc, half Vampire from memories that still lingered from long ago, from an entire lifetime ago, and he continued to look upon that time – upon that person that he once was – with an incredible amount of shame in regards to his actions then.

'Please, just kill me,' suddenly flashes in Korbin's mind as he feels the cooling breeze of midday caress over his skin, and he shuts his eyes against the rush of fresh pain that the words bring him. 'Can't you see this is what I want? I can't live like this, knowing I'm something filthy –' He shakes his head, and rounds the corner that would lead him back to the gate leading out of the district to await his brothers return.

'It was better this way. It was far better this way than how it was before,' he tells himself in a means of lessening the guilt of knowing what he had done, and how he had essentially stolen away the spark of a fighter that craved the joy, and thrill of battle.

The Grey Prince was better off not knowing the truth of his birthright. Better off not simply standing in the middle of the Arena in tears, wishing for an end, because he could not bear to even think of himself as anything other than foul. Thus, if what he craved was nothing more than a proper fight for the glory of Shinji himself, then he surely received it in the end.

There, in the Arena, it was not simply one pitiful man standing against the other. It was not someone who had meant well, and yet did so wrong, and chose to use it to his own benefit so that he could carry some manner of pride for a single day in the hopes it would somehow close the hole that he had in his life. It was one warrior against another, and in doing so, or rather not doing so, he had effectively changed one means of shame, and assisted his journey with his brothers at the very same time.

Yes, this was indeed the better outcome, and now that this small detour was out of the way, he could shift his focus back onto helping Martin arrive in Chorrol safely, and there wouldn't be any further interruptions to—

"Oh, wow! Oh, by Azura's own wonderful Dawn and Dusk, wow! It's you! It's... it's actually you!" Comes a sudden, high pitched voice, and Korbin blinks in confusion for several moments as he turns to locate the supposed source. "I've seen you fight every single match that took place in that Arena, but the one that just finished... was really, really amazing!"

He turns from one side, to another, and even upward, and seemingly finds nothing. That is, until, he feels a gentle tug at his arm, and he comes to realize that the source is much lower than he would have first assumed. He then cranes his head, eyes still ablaze with bewilderment, and is met with the sight of a small boy with an incredible mop of yellow hair, and piercing green eyes staring up at him with a large smile.

"I know that... I know that I came out of nowhere, but I couldn't wait to catch a glimpse of you coming out of the main gate when the battle was over!" The boy says; shifting from one foot to another, and practically bouncing with excitement. "And I know that you're probably really busy, being an amazing Hero and all, but... but can you... can you sign my black arrow, Mr. Grand Champion, sir?"

Korbin tilts his head at the young Bosmer before him – who could not have been even a few years into his teenhood – and then slowly nods.

"Uh, well... yeah, of course I will, kid, " He tells him, and then reaches for the arrow that is extended to him in trembling hands. "I mean, you seem so excited about all of this, that I would feel terrible if I just went and stepped on all of your adorable dreams! So, just give me a moment, and I'll be certain to make this special arrow of yours worthy of an unending shower of pride and appreciation from the Grand Champion, and Black Arrow himself!"

"Oh, yes! Yes! That would be truly wondrous, thank you! Thank you so much! Azura has truly blessed me this day by being able to have this incredible chance!" The boy cries out, twirling around on his feet in a full circle, and pumping his fists in the air. "My brother is going to be really, really jealous when I show him this! Especially after everything he said about how I shouldn't have journeyed out to see the events in the first place, and that they were too brutal for someone of my age, but, but –"

He clasps his hands together, and his eyes sparkle with an innocence that he knows he has seen too many times in the mirror himself. "The way that you fought! The way that you fell the Grey Prince! It was amazing! And inspiring! You didn't flinch even once as he came out you! You're a truly a true Knight among those around us, sir! Truly!"

Korbin barks a warm laugh at the boy's glee, and then hands the arrow back to him when he finishes branding it with a special mark in place of a signature.

"A true Knight, you say. Well, if that is indeed the case..." His words trail as he shifts his gaze to each side once again. "Is this brother of yours nearby, perhaps? Because I would very much love to see the look of utter shock on his face as you return to him with the newly decreed Grand Champion of the Arena at your side, if everything you said is indeed true."

"Oh no, he's not nearby, sir. He's rather far away, actually."

Korbin raises an eyebrow to his words. "...Far away?"

"Oh, yes, sir! He currently lives in Bravil with the rest of his very Priestly friends! And myself, of course!"

"W-Wait... whoa, wait a moment, hold on now—" Korbin staggers backwards in genuine surprise; waving his hands in the air in a rather animated fashion as he tries to desperately grasp onto what exactly he is being told. "Bravil? You mean the... city of Bravil? The one that is, you know, down in the south? And quite a long way away from where we are both currently standing together? That Bravil, you mean?"

The boy nods several times in a row. "Yes, yes! The very same!"

"And you... the little one who is in front of me right now, came to the Imperial City?" Korbin asks, on the verge of panicking over the sake of an unknown child's wellbeing. "By yourself? Just to... just to what? Come and see me fight in the Arena?"

"I did, sir! And rather happily at that!" The boy beams with a wide smile, oblivious, or perhaps not at all caring how his innocent words sounds to other's ill prepared ears. "But, enough about that! Back to more important matters! After all, do you not realize how utterly jealous my brother will be when I not only present this token to him, but when he finds out that I got a chance to speak with the Grand Champion of the Arena himself as well?! He will go through the roof and wish for several months – even possibly years – that he had gone with me when I first asked!"

"Right, that's going to be absolutely grand, I'm sure," Korbin mutters halfheartedly as he holds his head with one hand, and gestures with the other. "But, before you do that, let me just try to make sense of everything I've learned first. Because, from what you're telling me... you are going to... do what, exactly, when we part ways here? Leave the safety of the city, willingly venture out into the wilderness before you, and then... journey back towards Bravil, and show your brother your arrow shaped token to make him red with rage? And all completely by yourself?"

The boy suddenly stomps his foot, all the while holding the arrow close to his chest almost protectively. "Why of course I am!" He shouts; puffing out his red tinted cheeks in response. "I am not a child, sir! I came here on my own, so it is only fair that I will leave here on my own as well. I'll be just fine, and perfectly safe! So, there's truly nothing to worry about!"

Korbin pauses at the brief show of anger from the boy; breathing in only once before leaning forward to place both hands on his little fan's shoulders, and then chuckles.

"Ah, yeah, no," He says with an unsettled grin. "That is absolutely not going to happen if I have anything to say about it."

Hardly mere moments later, far too quickly before the boy can even begin to question what the Grand Champion means by his strange words, why he looks so seemingly nervous – to which only confuses him more so, because Knights and Champions can be nervous? Even after such amazing battles? How was that even possible! – and how, once again, there was absolutely nothing to worry about, as he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, and didn't he hear him the first time around... two other men come out from the opposite door of the Arena connected to the staircases that led to the seats above.

Seemingly conversing with one another – or rather arguing from the young boy's perspective – over the Grand Champion's amazing show of skill. And how, from the darker skinned, and lightly dressed man's point of view that the other, darkly dressed, more brooding man has surely trained the Grand Champion far too well, and there should have been at least a half dozen different ways, if not more, that he should have downed the Grey Prince without such brutality, all the while the hooded man simply waves a hand to the other's words.

Muttering something about his needless judgement, and how he felt nothing but complete and utter pride for his Silencer.

He wrinkles his nose. What was a Silencer? Was it a title that the Grand Champion had before he was the Grand Champion, and the Black Arrow? Was it something special that this man called him? Did that mean that this man was his trainer, but then what of the other man? Why was he so upset about how he felled the Grey Prince? In his own green eyes, he thought it was remarkable, as did the other man, so why were they arguing?

Once more, before he has a chance to ask, the Grand Champion takes his hand into his own, and walks forward to meet these men with him directly at his side.

"Gentlemen!" Korbin cries out with a large smile in the hopes of gaining his siblings attention, quite unaware of how his small fan is feeling over what is happening, and so quickly. "How did the two of you enjoy the show?"

"I must admit that it was quite the show, little brother," Martin regards Korbin warmly, and then reaches to rub a hand over his shoulder with a wry chuckle as he continues. "Expect for the... rather unneeded amount of bloodshed that took place within the Arena itself, I can say for certain that it made my evening seeing you go well above and beyond throughout all of these events with your impressive skill! And then knowing that it was all merely for the sake of making our journey easier... well, I feel a sense of sheer delight for what you have done, and just as I was discussing with Lachance here—"

"—What he is attempting to tell you in his own longwinded way, my dear Silencer, is that you were positively remarkable upon the battleground!" Lucien quickly interjects; an almost uncharacteristic twinkle shining brightly in his eyes. "You truly have no idea the amount of personal pride that I feel upon seeing you utilize the very same skill set that I have—"

"—Yes, yes, and that is all truly fantastic to know that you both feel that way about my slaughter and life taking in front of a lively audience!" Korbin waves a hand in front of their faces, and cuts Lucien off before he can complete his rather candid words. "However, compliments and pride aside, there is something far more important that I wish to discuss at the moment!"

He moves aside, and then gestures with both hands to the wide-eyed boy that stood hiding behind his leg as he spoke to both men.

"You see here, this is..." Korbin then pauses as realization dawns on him. Leaning down, and with a slight air of embarrassment, Korbin whispers to the boy with a half grin. "Ah, yes... well, you will have to forgive me for being so careless – and rest assured that your Champion hardly ever acts in such a way – but I do not believe that I ever caught your name?"

"Oh! Not to worry! Not to worry at all!" The boy says with a giggle all his own. "It's Erinil, Mr. Grand Champion! Or rather, I'm Erinil!"

"Ah, yes, Erinil, that's it!" Korbin raises back up with a much more pleased laugh. "So now that pleasantries are properly dealt with, and out of the way, you should know that Erinil here has been incredibly brave. More so than any others that have come to the Imperial City! Because he has ventured from the city of Bravil itself to simply come and witness the glory of my Arena battles in person!"

"Yes, yes, that's right! That’s so very right!" Erinil nods excitedly in agreement; matching Korbin's spirit almost effortlessly. "Every single one!"

“Hold a moment now,” Lucien raises a hand, and then makes a face as he looks down at the boy by Korbin's side. "...Whom, exactly, is this?"

Korbin places his own hand over his chest. "Why, my dear brother, I am positively ashamed of you!" He states dramatically. "Do you not see my biggest fan standing before us in this moment? Looking up at the three of us with glee, joy, and absolute happiness that only someone filled with the sweetest innocence could muster?"

"Yes, perhaps I do," Lucien replies, as he runs a thoughtful hand over his chin; hiding his playful grin just behind his fingers. "But I am simply wondering how much you managed to bribe the child to become such a ridiculous thing in the first place."

Korbin gawks; his mouth now hung open as he points an accusatory finger. "Lucien Lachance, how dare you!"

While both Assassins begin to briefly argue among themselves over the matters of how many admirers the newly christened Grand Champion now has, and surely will have, from his outstanding show of skill within the Arena, and how all of Lucien's playful – yet deeply hurtful words – were blatant lies, and it was not merely the two of them, and the young boy that made up his circle of adoring fans. For there were many others, a great many others, and the spectators that partook in the event weren’t just there for a show of gratuitous bloodshed and nothing more, and how dare the eldest of the two of them run his mouth in an attempt to throw him from the glorious cloud of high spirits that he was happily floating upon!

It is Martin that simply breathes in a deep sigh; mixed with some manner of both genuine exasperation, and amusement at the same time, and allows the rather chaotic – and growing far more fervent as the seconds pass by – sight to grant to him a temporary respite, and steal away a quiet moment with this young boy for himself.

Lowering down to a gentle kneel, so that both he and Erinil were on common ground, he smiles politely. "Is it true what Korbin said to us, Erinil?" He asks him in a light tone. "That you are indeed here alone with no such guardian to watch over you?"

"Yes, but that's okay," The boy nods in emphasis to his words, despite the faintest twinge of sadness lingering in his words that does not go entirely unseen. "I really, really wanted to come here and see the battles for myself, and the Grand Champion didn't disappoint at all! I mean, I knew that he wouldn’t, of course, as I've always believed in him from the moment he stepped foot in the Arena. But actually seeing firsthand how he fought so bravely against every single opponent? And how didn’t even look scared, not even once, and not even against the Grey Prince himself?!"

Erinil pauses, and then clutches his precious arrow to his chest. "It's something to be in awe over, sir. Because he is such a remarkable hero."

"Oh yes, little one, I most certainly agree with you there." Martin tells him as his voice softens. With another sigh, albeit far more tender than the one that had come before, he slowly looks from Erinil’s face for a moment, and over to where Korbin and Lucien continue to exchange their heated words at each other.

He watches them as they mimic each other's theatrical, over the top movements, and dramatic words, and why this was so obviously the truth, and the other was a cruel lie, and why exactly he was clearly the right one, and the other was wrong.

Martin doesn't make sense out of any of it, not now, and not any times that his companions had thought to act this way towards one another. But this time, and with Erinil's words in mind, his gaze lingers on Korbin, and his once kind smile slowly turns far more genuine with a deep warmth etched into every word that he goes on to speak.

"He is indeed quite the wonderful hero," He whispers, much more to himself than for the child's pointed ears. "And one that you, much like my own self, owe so very much to in ways of which we could never possibly explain."

"For the love of – now look what you’ve went and done to me, Lachance!" Korbin suddenly groans; bringing Martin back to the moment as he pulls away from Lucien and holds his face in his hands. "All of your little insults that you think are oh-so clever, and all your little jabs, and jokes have not only made me get needlessly angry, and want to tackle you to the ground, but it made me lose my entire point that I was about to get to!"

"Well, if that is surely the case, then I would consider that quite the accomplishment," Lucien says with an arrogant grin.

"And this is the moment when I turn my back, and completely ignore anything that you have to say until I'm ready to deal with you once again! Which will most certainly not be any time soon!" Korbin shouts with a pointed finger over his shoulder as he does just that, and then gestures to Erinil still lingering beside Martin.

"In any case, the point that I was just about to make, before someone – whom I shall not be naming, thank you very much – chose to be an arse and interrupt me so rudely"—he walks forward, paying no heed to Lucien as he laughs at his expense, and places a hand upon Erinil's shoulder—"Is that no matter how this boy came into my – our – lives, no matter how many miles he has traveled here to the Imperial City, and no matter what he may have thought of his skill in daring the dangers of the roads and wilderness… the most important fact is that he has singlehandedly given us an incredibly important mission to uphold!"

Erinil blinks and tilts his head. "...Wait, I did?"

"Yes! You certainly have!" Korbin explains with a wide grin spreading from ear to ear. "And because of that, myself, and my two brothers here, are going to be the ones who personally escort you back to the city of Bravil, and into your loving brother's arms once more!"

Erinil's eyes go wide to the Grand Champion's amazing words, and shine with an awe that only a child would have... at the same exact moment that Lucien's laughter suddenly ceases, and he turns to Korbin with a deep glare of irritation in his own dark gaze.

"...You cannot be serious," He grumbles in almost deadpan tone. "You truly cannot be serious."

"Ah, ah, ah! Now, you know very well that I am indeed serious, Lucien!" Korbin exclaims as he spins on his heel. "After all, why would I ever think to jest over something as important as bringing this little one back to his family safe and sound?" He places his hands over his hips with a disapproving shake of his head. "Frankly, I'm quite offended, and rather ashamed that you would even think such a thing about me!"

"We are not about to escort this child all the way to Bravil!"

Upon hearing the sound of Lucien's screams, and knowing that he now had the perfect opportunity to fluster his shadowy friend all the more, Martin rises back to his full height, and matches Korbin's mirthful expression with one of his own.

"And why ever not, Lachance?" He asks him simply. "Would you rather have this dear boy go off by himself?"

"Yes!" Lucien shouts; gesturing to Erinil with his palms held out. "If he so arrived here on his own, then that alone proves he is more than capable of taking care of himself upon the journey back."

Erinil lets out a surprised gasp; bouncing up and down on his feet – to the point of making himself dizzy with the quick motions – and points at Lucien with a squeal.

"See? See? Did you hear what he just said?!" He cries, hoping that his words reach both the Grand Champion, and his lightly dressed sibling's ears somehow. "He agrees with me! He knows that I can handle myself on my own! This is just as I was saying, sir! And now he is the one who actually believes in me, so maybe you should listen to him?"

However, his hope is dashed to teeny, tiny little ribbons – just as the Grand Champion had done to his opponents in the Arena – as Korbin simply pats the top of his biggest fan's head and hushes him.

"Shhh Eri," He whispers, referring to him by a sudden nickname that makes the boy’s cheeks turn slightly red. "I know that you're naturally excited, and all, but the adults are talking right now, okay? Just wait a touch, and then you can have your turn again."

He then stares at Lucien with narrow eyes, and a harsh frown. "Truly now, Lucien... if you simply take a moment to realize that it is not all about you, and your word is not nearly the law that you believe it to be outside of the Sanctuary, then you would realize that Martin is exactly right in what he says!" He goes on to explain, refusing to back down even slightly on such a serious subject. "If we allow little Erinil to leave, to go off on his own into the wild, Sithis and Akatosh, and even Azura herself only knows what will happen out there! All manner of thing could come upon him! Wolves, mountain lions, bandits! All three at once! And then his blood would be on your hands until the end of time itself!"

"But, but, but!" Erinil attempts to interject. "None of that is going to happen, because I'm not going to get caught! I'm really fast, and very good at hiding!"

Martin closes the distance between himself and Lucien as he ignores Erinil's words just as easily as Korbin had.

"Lachance, I have only known you for a short time now, but from what you have been willing to share with me... well, I am quite frankly appalled by your behavior!"

"...I beg your pardon, Septim?" Lucien lets out a frustrated sigh; running a hand over his head where a piercing pain was now coursing over his temples.

"What sort of father do you claim yourself to be, if you will stand aside and do nothing while a young, innocent, helpless child rushes off into the dangers of the outside world without any sort of guardian or protector?!"

At the all too personal jab, Lucien fights back the growing urge to pull out his concealed weapon, toss it towards both Martin and Korbin's clothing, and pin them directly to the wooden wall behind him. But as he contemplates such a grand thought of revenge, he then remembers that he is not only in the company of a child, but he is also within the eyesight of numerous witnesses and a collection of various guardsmen at the ready for any sudden threat of violence, or hint of suspension.

Knowing that he is essentially trapped, and looking from the boy's widened eyes, and towards his siblings who continue to smile at him in such an dreadfully irritating way, he simply reaches up and pulls at the corners of his darkened hood in sheer frustration at the horrific scenario brought upon by some stroke of terrible luck, or curse by some deity with a demented sense of humor, or both at the exact same time.

A groan escapes his lips, and he bites his tongue to keep from utilizing every possible swear that he knows to perfectly explain what he is feeling.

In the end, he only continues to shout. "By the Dread Father, you are both being absolutely unbearable! And why I haven't simply felled you by my own hand is truly beyond me!"

"Is that a means of saying you agree, and are going to come with us?" Korbin asks with a boyish giggle.

Lucien releases his white knuckled grip on his hood and huffs a weary breath. "Do I truly have any sort of say in the matter at this point in time, Korbin?" He questions, firmly at first, and then with a dismissive wave of his hand. "For I know, all too well, that daring to disagree with either of you only serves to stoke the flames of your childish arguments, and if assisting to help this child find his way back to his beloved city walls makes my suffering come to a delightful end, and finally grants me blessed silence, then yes!"

He holds out his hands and begins to wave them in front of his chest. "Yes! I will come with you! Are the three of you thoroughly satisfied with what you're about to have me endure, or shall I find another means of heinous torment for you to bestow upon me!?"

Korbin and Martin turn to look at one another, sharing a rather devious, pleased glance at what they were able to accomplish together – all the while Erinil simply looks on with confusion – and Korbin chuckles with a smug air that Lucien positively despises.

"Oh no, I do believe that will suffice for now, my dearest brother." He says in an almost sing-song like tone of voice, and then turns to Erinil and smiles more genuinely at the boy. "And so, it's finally settled then! The four of us shall be heading out on an adventure together, and it shall truly be glorious!"

*~*~*

"My dear Silencer, will you please remind me of how truly glorious you believe that our quaint little adventure with the Bosmer child will end up being?" Lucien says with deep frustration marred in every feature, as he makes his way through the city gates of Cheydinhal; his hands intertwined within his robe sleeves, as locks of hair begin to fall loose from his ponytail. "Because I do believe that your definition of the term, and what it was that we just underwent over the course of many days are two wildly different things entirely."

"Oh, for the love of Sithis, do not even start with me, Lachance," Korbin groans as he pulls the gate close, and comes to stand at Lucien's side, as both Martin and Erinil trail hand in hand in their shadows. "How was I meant to know that every bloody Priest of Mara would be off on some bizarre Pilgrimage to locate every damn Wayshrine in every secluded corner of Cyrodiil itself? Or that by the time we arrived, Eri's brother would happily be skipping off to lands unknown along with them and wouldn't have the common decency to wait for his sibling to return first?!"

"I could have told you!" Erinil suddenly cries out from over their shoulder. But when both Korbin and Lucien turn their gazes and look towards the boy with slight confusion resting within golden eyes, and a much deeper irritation shifting into barely contained rage in darkened browns, he quickly hides himself behind Martin's back. "I-I... I mean, I could have if you had only asked me, Mr. Grand Champion, sir! But, but you... but you didn't! You only asked about where my brother lived, and about the city of Bravil, so I thought... it wasn't very important at the time."

The young boy shuffles on his feet and clutches his hands into the crook of Martin's robing. "Oh dear, oh dear. Oh dear, Azura. I did something very wrong, didn't I?" He asks somewhat pitifully after all three men come to a halt in the middle of the cobblestone road. "I'm... I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to... to do something wrong, I just thought that it was something we could.... we could discuss later, rather than... oh, forgive me, sirs! I didn't mean to make any of you upset with me!"

"It's quite all right, little one," Martin instantly begins to reassure as he hears Erinil's emotional, and rather unneeded apologies. He turns on his heel and kneels in front of the boy. "After all, you are indeed correct with your assumptions on the matter. Neither Korbin, nor Lucien, actually asked you for the details of what your sibling would be doing by the time we arrived, so it is not as though it is your fault that things went... somewhat differently than we would have first thought."

He chuckles and smiles more kindly as he goes on. "Besides, we still had quite the fun adventure, didn't we? Exploring different parts of the Nibenay Basin together, and introducing you to different landmarks that you have never seen before, and telling you of their history?" He his head to look towards Korbin. "Do you not think that we had a wonderful time, little brother?"

Korbin blinks at Martin's words; his negative emotions that had been brought to the surface because of Lucien's own frustrations slowly beginning to fall from his shoulders.

"Yes, absolutely, Martin!" He says with a large, boyish grin. "And I'm quite certain that it was even more enjoyable for Eri, as he most likely has never seen this side of Cyrodiil from within a wagon before!"

"I haven't, Mr. Grand Champion, sir! Not before now, at least!"

Korbin laughs. "Well then, do you see?" He tells Erinil with a clap of his hands. "Just like before, it's all wound up having worked out for the better in the end!"

"I would prefer it if you both would speak for your own selves, rather than lumping me into this nonsense," Lucien replies from where he remains in the middle of the road; his voice still ripe with the same familiar ire that he had when this entire impromptu adventure first began. "For if you did not realize upon our deeds – or the lack thereof – in Bravil, we are in no better shape than when we set off. In fact, it is considerably worse, as we are now hopelessly stuck with the boy."

Martin gasps in surprise to Lucien's words, and pulls Erinil close. "Lachance!"

"...What?" Lucien merely shrugs his shoulders. "There is no need for such a reaction, as I am only doing my part to bring the truth of the matter, in which we are still actively trapped in I shall have you know, to your rather naive ears."

"Yes, perhaps you are, and perhaps we are all so very thankful for that as well!" Korbin shouts as he reaches to wrap a sudden arm around Lucien and pulls him close; his voice quietening down to a softer whisper, and one of which he dearly hopes Erinil is unable to hear. "But truly, must you refer to it in that sort of way? If you can't tell, we are actually trying to make the kid feel better about what happened back there, and not somehow ten times worse! And yes, I get it... you're still upset with all of us because we had to travel so far, leave empty-handed, and then travel towards Cheydinhal as a last resort. It's not as though I don't understand how you're feeling, but..."

He sighs and looks to where Martin is embracing the young boy in his arms and attempting to make him smile. "We can't just abandon him somewhere all alone. He doesn't have anyone expect for us right now and leaving him in Bravil without any resources is just too cruel of a punishment."

"Then what do you purpose we do?" Lucien prompts in the same whispered tone; his anger subsiding only slightly as he latches onto the truth in his brother's words.

Korbin pats Lucien's shoulder. "Right, I purpose..." His words trail off once again, and he stares out into the distance of the other side of the city. "That we simply make our way over to the Abandoned House for now and see if any new ideas spring to mind while doing so."

"The Abandoned House?" Erinil repeats in curiously as he pulls out of Martin's arms and looks up at Korbin with a newfound sparkle in his eyes. "What is that, Mr. Grand Champion? Is it a very special place in the city where everyone goes to think up amazing ideas?"

"Well no, it's nothing like that," Korbin explains with an amused shake of his head. "I mean, that is what I am going to be using it as this time, but...that's not his intended purpose. But even despite that, it doesn't make it any less special. For it is a place that is very important to myself, my brothers, and the rest of my family..." Sharing a glance with Lucien – who simply shrugs his shoulders in response once again – he then smiles. "Would you like to see it for yourself, Eri?"

"Oh yes! Oh yes, I certainly would, sir!" Erinil bounces on his feet and claps his hands together. "I would truly love to see anything and everything here in Cheydinhal, as it's almost as amazing as the Imperial City itself, and far more beautiful than all of Bravil combined!"

Korbin turns around, and gestures over his shoulder as he proceeds down the pathway leading across the lake. "Then simply fall in line, my dear little fan!" He cries out happily. "Because not only shall I take you to see most of what Cheydinhal has to offer, but directly over this bridge, and a little to the right, is where the Abandoned House sits, along with so many other homes for you to behold just as well!"

Erinil lets out an excited squeal; rushing forward to stand at Korbin's side as he proudly marches on, all the while Martin lingers just behind Lucien with a tickled smile spread over his face.

"Tell me, my shadowy friend," He begins to say as he subconsciously mirrors Lucien's posture, and intertwines his fingers together in the sleeves of his own robing. "Is this at all how you would have imagined your last several days to have gone?"

Lucien scoffs under his breath. "At first I would have surely said no," He replies, and then turns to flash Martin a wry grin. "But considering that my prior few months has involved traveling to a ruined city overrun with Daedra forces, pulling a Priest out of a crumbled chapel, and promising to keep him safe so that he might take his place upon the Ruby Throne, and become Cyrodiil's new Emperor... well, I would have to say that nothing in my life quite surprises me any longer."

Martin laughs in genuine amusement. "What a fantastic response, my friend!" He says as he rounds the corner past the Great Chapel of Arkay. "And I do believe that I would certainly have a similar answer. After all, being saved from a very literal nightmare by the hands of two Assassins? Who would, in turn, grow to become some of my very dear friends, and even a chosen sibling? Why, if you had told me that more than two months ago, I would have laughed in your face."

"And yet, here you are," Lucien adds with a more relaxed half smile in place of his prior grin. "Alongside the very same Assassins, about to witness part of where myself, and Korbin conduct most of our rather grisly business... or rather, the exterior of it, at least. As I am certain you would have no desire to actually proceed through the Black Door itself."

"The Black Door?" Martin repeats just as curiously as Erinil when he heard of the Abandoned House. "Whatever is that, Lachance? Dare I even to ask?"

"Ah yes, well, there shall be ample time to explain such things to you at a later time, Septim," Lucien replies simply. "Let us first deal with the boy that is being left – unwillingly – in our care, and then we shall turn our focus upon dealing with you in the aftermath."

Before Martin has an opportunity to question Lucien properly over what he means by the phrase 'deal with', or the reasoning behind why, exactly, he feels his shoulders slump, and his stomach drop in regards to those very same words, his thoughts are quickly – and thankfully – interrupted by a rather familiar squealing. Refocusing his vision, and looking ahead, he sees Erinil practically dancing with excitement at Korbin's side, and tugging on the sleeve of his armor.

"Is this the house, Mr. Grand Champion, sir?" Erinil asks with a large smile; bouncing from one foot to the next. "Is this the house you spoke of?"

Korbin nods his head with a laugh at the sight of the boy’s excitement, as well as the strength in his endearing tugging. "Yes, the very same, Eri!" He turns and points a finger towards the side of the house. "You can tell that it is indeed the Abandoned House because of the very special well huddled just out of view! That is one of the key elements in telling this household apart from the rest of the Cheydinhal homes that dot this street!"

Erinil gasps with sheer delight. "It has a well!? Really!?" He lets go of Korbin's hand, and rushes over to Martin's in no more than half a second's time. "Mr. Martin sir! Did you hear what the Grand Champion just said? He says that what makes this house even more special than all the rest is because it has a well! And not just any well, but a very special well... hm, hm, as well!" He giggles at his own childish joke, and then pulls on Martin's arm. "Come on, come on! Let's go look at this special well and see if it has any secrets!"

Martin's softens considerably at the young Bosmer's almost infectious, and rather familiar innocence; the emotion he felt for Lucien's words, and how he was perceived in the Assassin's eyes compared to Korbin's suddenly fading into nothingness as he looks into the twinkling of Erinil's large green gaze.

"Very well, little one," He says with a kind smile. "Why don't you simply lead the way, and we shall explore the depths of this special well together?"

Erinil nods and pulls Martin along with him. Once the two of them are safely out of earshot, Lucien moves forward to take his place near where Korbin rests against the cobblestone wall surrounding the home. Leaning partially over the wall, he exhales a deep sigh, and then turns his head to address his Silencer through a careful whisper while the shadow of his hood conceals whatever emotion is lurking beneath his eyes or hidden within his words.

"Well, here we are, my Silencer," He begins to say, and then shifts his gaze upward. "The Abandoned House, just exactly as you wished. Thus, I do believe I am inclined to ask whether any new possibilities regarding the boy's fate has flooded into your mind by standing in its presence?"

Korbin shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, nothing," He admits disappointingly. "I'm still at a loss of what to actually do. I mean, I want to do what is right for Erinil, and what would be benefit him most, considering that his brother is off doing Sithis only knows what with his Priest pals, but when I try to think about what exactly that all means, and what he needs most of all... I'm just left floundering about in my own aggravation."

Lucien reaches to pat Korbin's shoulder, a light playfulness overtaking his tone. "Considering that it was you who first suggested that we transport the child to Bravil, all the while in the process of transporting the Septim Heir himself, I am half expecting your newfound ideas to be along the very same road of complete and utter madness."

"...And what does that mean, exactly?" Korbin asks; running the palm of his hand over the side of his temple as a wave of sharp pain temporarily overtakes his head whilst listening to Lucien's words, and focusing on the term ‘madness’. "Are you trying to tell me that you don't have any trust in my ideas?"

"Oh no, not at all, Silencer," Lucien reassures with a dismissive wave of his own hand. "I am only saying that if you do not stand there, and try to reason to why we should bring the boy into the ranks of the Dark Brotherhood as some unofficial member, as well as granting him full possession of the Abandoned House itself... well, I shall surely be walking away from this conversation of ours quite disappointed in your creativity."

Korbin allows a good-humored laugh to escape him, even despite his own frustrations for being unable to find the ideal answer that his dear little fan needed most, but before he is able to summon forth his personal flair for mischief to counteract Lucien's playful words, he is interrupted by a sudden laugh echoing directly over his shoulder. He turns his gaze for a moment and sees Erinil circling around the well of the Abandoned House several times in a row, a childish song flowing from his lips, as Martin watches on with rapt attention, and a gentle smile.

"Oh, the Grand Champion was very right, Mr. Martin sir!" Erinil says as he comes to a stop and rests his elbows over the top of the well. "This is indeed a very special well! It doesn't sound as normal wells do – even though there have not been many wells that I have seen in my lifetime – and it is much colder than I would have expected it to be! I wonder why it's different? I wonder why it's so special? I wonder if it does have secrets, and would be willing to share them with us?"

Martin chuckles warmly. "I'm not so sure, little one," He tells Erinil as he walks forward, and stands opposite to the boy. "Perhaps we should try dangling ourselves, shout our many questions into the depths, and see if it will grant us the answers that we seek."

"That sounds like a great idea, Mr. Martin!" Erinil leans forward and allows his curly blond hair to dip into the darkness for a single moment, but then quickly pulls his head back up with a giggle. "But wait, if I do that... I won't get my answer! I'll only hear my own echo from below! And then that won't give me the secrets that I want, it would just make me have a conversation with myself!"

Martin reaches out and touches his hand to the top of Erinil's head. "Ah, it seems as though you carry a great amount of wisdom in your small form, Erinil. No wonder Korbin instantly took to you so fervently."

"Oh dear, I'm not so sure about that, but..." A faint blush crosses over the boy's face, and then he pulls back to lay his elbows over the well once again. "But thank you so much for saying it anyway, sir! You are truly very kind! Although..." He pauses as his words trial; looking from the well, over to where Lucien and Korbin linger in the distance, and then back at Martin. "I am somewhat confused, I must admit..."

"Confused?" Martin repeats with a shake of his head. "Over what, little one?"

"You act as though you've never been here before, and that really, really confuses me," Erinil tells him; a frown over his lips. "Because I thought the Grand Champion said this is where Mr. Lachance and the rest of his family lives. And you're a part of that family too, right? Because you call them your brothers, and they call you that as well, so... don't you live here in Cheydinhal with them, sir?"

He scratches the side of his cheek with his fingers, and then giggles as he sways his cheeks from palm to palm "Or... has it just been a very long time since you came here, and you've just forgotten what your home looks like? Because if that's the case... then that's okay! Because I forget things a lot too, and you don't need to feel bad about it! I’m sure your brothers understand and will happily reintroduce you to your home again!"

It is then that Martin's eyes widen, and a much deeper blush overtake his cheeks. "O-Oh, no, no, Erinil, you don't—" He begins to stammer, attempting to grasp onto his better sense, and form some manner of coherent words in the process. "I'm... I'm afraid that you do not understand. Yes, they are..." However, he quickly catches himself before he can complete his sentence – before he can describe both Assassins as his chosen siblings – and when he looks over to where Lucien stands next to Korbin, a saddened sigh escapes him. "Yes, Korbin is my chosen sibling, but that does not necessarily mean–"

"—By the infinite shadows of the Void itself, I've finally figured it out!" Korbin cries out joyfully; slapping a fist into his open palm, and effectively causing his brothers, as well as the overly excited boy, to be shaken from their thoughts, and forcefully thrown back into the present. "It has taken me right up until this very moment in time, and I will surely have many personal words to mutter to my own mind when this is all said and done, but I do believe I have finally found the perfect solution to both ours, and Erinil's little problem!"

Lucien blinks in surprise. "Truly? It just came to you all at once?"

"Yes, of course it did! Suddenly, and out of nowhere, and right when I was just about to give up entirely! And honestly"—Korbin turns on his heel, and grins from ear to ear—"It's all thanks to you, Lachance! For I do not believe that I would have ever realized just how flawless this idea was if you did not suggest it yourself, dear brother!"

"...Forgive me, Silencer, but... what?" Lucien asks as his surprise turns to genuine confusion. "What is it I suggested that was seemingly the answer for you?"

Korbin places his hands over Lucien's shoulders. "Why, about allowing Erinil to join up with the Dark Brotherhood as an unofficial member and taking ownership of the Abandoned House, of course!" He pulls his brother into a half embrace as he gestures with his other hand. "I mean, just think about how perfect it will be! No one ever really uses the house to begin with, despite how well it's been kept throughout the many long years, and if Erinil moves in... then he could be safe! He could not only be far more secure than he ever was in Bravil, but he could be the first step in going forward with our plans to reshape the Brotherhood in our own image!"

Heat rises to Lucien's cheeks, and flows from him in a light red mist. "No, absolutely not—!"

"—And, and, and! I have an even better idea that would make it so that Erinil won't simply have to wander around and do nothing for hours on end!" Korbin loudly interrupts; practically squishing Lucien to his chest before he can reject the concept. "He could be our personal little guardsman! He gets the house, and thus is able to watch over the house, and the Black Door, and then he can also watch the well just as... well, just as well!" He chuckles in amusement. "He's protected, he has a job, he is kept safe, and we have a new member in everything but name! Everyone wins that way!"

Lucien jerks out of Korbin's hold with a furious glare in his eyes. "No, everyone does not win that way!" He shouts, fighting the urge to pull on the rim of his hood, or reach for the dagger at his belt the longer he is forced to stand by and listen to continual absurdity falling from Korbin’s lips. "For the love of Sithis, you cannot be seriously contemplating such a thing! Yes, it is true that I went along with your inane plans in the beginning, as you practically held me against the wall, rendering unable to escape, but this!? This, of all things, you could have suggested to help with our child shaped nightmare, you are choosing to go along with this!?"

"And why ever not, brother? After all, wasn’t it you"—Korbin reaches to poke Lucien's forehead in emphasis to his words—"who told me that you would be quite disappointed if I did not come up with an idea just as maddening as when I suggested we bring Erinil to Bravil?"

Lucien slaps Korbin's hand away; a deep grumble in his tone. "...I was joking. I thought that much was obvious to you."

Korbin pulls back, and grins. "Well, it's too bad that I took your words completely seriously then!" Spinning around, he begins to close the distance between himself and the well where Martin and the boy still stand together. "Erinil, my dear adoring fan!" He waves a hand overhead to quickly gain his attention. "I know that you are busy conducting a serious discussion with my brother over the many secrets that the well may hold, but I was curious if you would allow your Grand Champion to steal you away, so that we may speak of things just as exciting, and perhaps even more so!"

"Silencer, no!" Lucien screams, following quickly at his heels. "I'm begging you to reconsider this course of action!"

Erinil leaps from the well, and frantically nods his head. "Oh, of course, Mr. Grand Champion, sir!" He squeals, and then pauses to look at Martin with a nervous smile. "Well, that is... as long as Mr. Martin doesn't mind too much."

"Not at all, little one," Martin tells him simply – almost too pleased that the conversation over why, exactly, he did not live with Lucien and Korbin proper was now shifting away to other matters – as he runs a hand over his hair in passing. "I'm certain our conversation can wait until a later time."

"Korbin, did you not hear me at all!?" Lucien shouts once again, breathless from his every emotion, and sudden sprinting. "There has to be something – anything – that you could do that isn't... that is not this! Even the most foolish idea you have had in your lifetime is far better than what it is you are currently planning!"

Korbin turns his head, and instantly quiets Lucien's frantic words. "Hush now, brother! Be silent, won't you!?" He chides with a narrowed stare. "You'll end up ruining the surprise, and that's truly half the fun! Besides, I will have you know that this is somewhat of a private conversation. So, if you wish to be a part of it, you will simply have to wait your turn until you're summoned..."

He looks to where Martin is standing beside the west wall of the Abandoned House, and points. "Why don't you go and be a good little Assassin, and wait with Martin until I call you, all right?"

Lucien clutches his hands into fists, eagerly imagining that Korbin's neck is firmly within his grasp, but he quickly forces himself back into some means of composure when he witnesses the look in the young Bosmer's eyes once again. He breathes in, lowers his palms to his sides, and then nods with a strained smile.

"...Very well." He mutters before, unwillingly, doing just exactly as he is told – all the while feeling utterly ridiculous.

Martin raises an eyebrow as Lucien comes to stand beside him. "Do I... even want to know what all of that was about?"

Lucien deflates with a heavy, drawn out sigh. "No, not at all," He tells Martin. "But do understand that the very next time one of those damnable Gates of Oblivion chooses to open in close vicinity to us... I am leaping into its fiery depths to spare myself of the torment of having to suffer through any more of our brother’s ‘brilliant’ ideas..."

Erinil happily follows behind in Korbin's shadow when Lucien leaves them for a time. "What is it that you wanted to talk with me about, Mr. Grand Champion, sir?" He asks, his hands intertwined together over his chest.

"Why, a great many thing, actually!" Korbin replies; turning slightly as he reaches the side of the well and smiling down at the boy. "And all of them based around a collection of different questions I would so dearly enjoy if you could answer for me! Do you believe that you can do that, Eri?"

"Oh yes! Oh, yes, of course, my Grand Champion, sir!" Erinil hops upon the surface of the well so that he might address Korbin far more easily in light of their height difference. "Ask whatever you wish, and I will do my best to answer them however I possibly can!"

"Wonderful!" Korbin points a single finger. "Question number one: how are you enjoying being in the city of Cheydinhal? Obviously, it's quite different from the cities you are used to, and you even mentioned yourself that you have never actually been on this side of the province before. So, are you enjoying yourself, eager to see more, or are you longing for home after such a journey?"

"I really like it here, sir!" Erinil answers almost instantly as he kicks his feet against the well. "Yes, it is different from what I'm used to, and it's nothing like Bravil... but I think that's the reason I like it so much. Because knowing something like this is here, not too far away from the Imperial City, and is filled with beautiful surroundings, houses, and people living here like you, Mr. Lachance, and Mr. Martin..." He shakes his head with a content giggle. "Sure, I could always go home and wait for Ravenil to come back from his Priestly duties... but I really rather prefer where I am right now than back there."

Korbin smiles softly at the boy's words; feeling as though what he had chosen to do, what he was about to do, and what he was about to give to Erinil was surely the right choice in the end after all. Yes, perhaps Lucien was aghast to what he was doing, and perhaps the remainder of the Dark Family would be deeply confused to why this boy was now a presence in the – soon to not be so – Abandoned House, as well as the Sanctuary halls themselves, but it was all for the better.

He was giving him a chance to feel kinship, to have the love of those that would accept him – even if it surely would take quite some time to adjust, at first – and to not simply return to the emptiness of a home and await a brother that seemed to be far more interested in his holy duties than his own family.

This was good. This was right. And much like the Grey Prince, this was another thing that he would change for the better.

Korbin nods as his thoughts subside, and chuckles in response to the boy’s words. "Very good answer, Erinil," He tells him, and then points two fingers. "All right, question number two: what has been your thoughts on traveling with us so far? Obviously, you were more than eager to spend time with your dear Grand Champion, but what of my other siblings, Martin, and Lucien? What are your opinions on them, if you have any opinions at all? I've seen you speaking to Martin quite often, but... is it a positive thing?"

"But of course it's a positive thing, sir!" Once more, Erinil answers almost instantly once Korbin finishes forming his questions. "Being able to travel with you three has been a dream come true! Meeting you at the Arena, and having you mark my arrow was one thing, but getting to go on a journey with you, right beside your brothers? It was remarkable, amazing, even!" He then quiets down and looks over to where Martin and Lucien linger. When he does, and Martin senses eyes trained upon him, he looks up, and waves his hand in greeting – and then quickly nudges a still despairing Lucien with his elbow to do just the same.

The pleasant sight makes the boy's laughter return, and he shifts his gaze to glance down to where his feet dangle from the side of the well. "I like them," He says after a moment; his voice soft, and quiet. Almost as though it was something he wished only for Korbin to hear. "They're very nice... even if Mr. Lachance doesn't think himself to be that way. I know he likes to be dark, and really scary sometimes, but I can still see the niceness that he has. I see the way he acts around you both when he thinks no one is looking, and it's a happy thing. A good thing. It even reminds me of how my brother used to be when I was really really little."

Erinil looks up and smiles innocently. "He's a good big brother, and Mr. Martin is a good person. He doesn't mind when I'm silly, or when I ask lots of questions, and I like that. They're both very good people, and I know they make you happy because of the funny smile you wear around them. So, I really like them. Just as much as you do, sir."

It takes a moment before Korbin is able to find the strength needed to respond properly to what Erinil has said, and the truth that lingers in his gentle, kindhearted words. He turns his head to steal a glance at Lucien and Martin over his shoulder; chuckling to himself as warmth flows over him and settles in his chest. He breathes through his overwhelming emotions, and slowly turns his head back towards the boy, and that is when he is greeted with the sight of him offering his hand.

Korbin raises an eyebrow as he stares down at the small hand in front of him. "...What are you doing, Eri?"

"Everything I just told you, about your brothers, how I feel about them, and all the other nice words... it has to stay our secret, okay?" Erinil tells him with a strangely serious glint in his sparkling eyes. "You have to make me a promise that you won't tell them anything I said, because I know that Mr. Lachance would deny it if he heard, and Mr. Martin would blush a deep red as though he's a ripe tomato. So... it has to stay just between us, all right?" The boy waves his still extended hand up and down in emphasis to the importance in his words. "Please, please promise me that it will, Mr. Grand Champion, sir!"

Korbin laughs more genuinely, and then reaches out to shakes the boy's hand. "But of course, Erinil," He says, easily mimicking the same amount of seriousness in his tone. "Nothing that you said to me will reach their ears. I give you my word, and I swear to you that they will never know..." A playful smile then twitches in the corner of his lips. "Even despite how amusing it would be to see suddenly Lucien turn all bashful, and Martin bright red!"

"Sir, you just said that you would keep it a secret!"

"And I will; I will!" Korbin holds up his hands defensively. "I was only just teasing! That's all I was doing, I assure you!"

Erinil puffs out his cheeks and crosses his arms over his chest. "You and Mr. Martin joke the same..." He mutters, and then slowly his smile returns. "But I suppose that's because it runs in the family, right? All siblings kind of act like one another, even if they don't always want to admit they do! I mean, me and my brother share the same stammer sometimes, so it's nice to see that you and Martin share the same sense of humor!"

Korbin blinks in confusion. "Wait, Eri, I think you're a bit –"

"But anyway, what was the other question you had for me, sir!? I'm happy to keep answering them for you!"

"Oh, ah... right, right. We were getting slightly off track, weren’t we?" Korbin shakes his head, and then holds up three fingers. "My third question for you:"—he moves aside so that Erinil can see the house more clearly—"What are your thoughts regarding the Abandoned House? I know I spoke of it rather highly, and you were excited to see it up close, and the well that you're currently sitting on, but I am curious if your opinion has changed any in the aftermath. Is it as nice as the other houses in Cheydinhal? Does it remind you of your own home, making you want to remain here for an extended period, or do you simply wish to see it all in passing, and then continue with our adventure?"

"I like it, sir. I really do," Erinil replies. "It's very beautiful just like the other homes I have seen in the city, but..." A frown crosses over the boy's lips, and he kicks a single foot against the well. "It actually makes me rather sad the more that I think about it."

"Sad?" Korbin repeats curiously. Of all the answers he was expecting, they were surely not remotely close to this one. "Why exactly does it make you sad?"

"Well, isn't it obvious, sir? Because it's abandoned, of course!" Erinil answers in the very same seriousness as when he spoke of secrets and promises. "You said it yourself that it's called the Abandoned House, and to know this wonderous, beautiful looking home was abandoned by someone, and left all alone... it makes me really sad. Yes, it doesn't look the same as the other homes in the city, but does that really matter? Everyone is special in their own way, and everyone has their own traits that make them... them! So, to know someone could not accept this home's differences... well, it makes me sad, but also very angry!"

"Angry? I could understand sad, somewhat, at least, but why angry?"

"Because there isn't anything that I can do to help make the home feel better!" Erinil throws up his fists; turning emotional. "It's all alone, and I know that it wants someone to care for it, but everyone I have seen in the city just passes it by without even saying hello to it! And that makes me angry, because the home is right there, and no one is paying it any attention, or giving it any care! So, yes sir, I like the home... but I just wish I could do more for the poor thing!"

Korbin runs a hand over his beard; smiling knowingly. "So, you only wish that you could do something to help, hm?" He mutters quietly, almost to himself, and then suddenly clasps his hands. "Very well then! I have one final question for you, my little friend, and once you answer this one in the same special way you've answered all the others, I will grant to you quite the remarkable surprise!"

Erinil's eyes shine with an almost star like glow as they widen considerably. "A remarkable surprise?" He repeats, almost in awe of what he is hearing. "You mean... you mean just like my special token? Just like the black arrow you marked for me? That kind of special surprise, Mr. Grand Champion, sir?"

"Actually, Erinil, what I have in mind would be even better than that arrow!" Korbin replies with a joyful laugh. "It would not only be something you would cherish from here on out, but something that would also keep you safe, and show that you are now officially—" And then he stops, and quickly slaps a hand over his mouth. "Whoops! Dear me, what was I doing!? I just about spoiled the surprise far too early! But I suppose if you really want to know what this surprise of mine is, you will just have to answer my final question, all right?"

"Aww, but that's kind of cheating!" The boy whines, before slowly folding his hands into his lap, and finding whatever remains of his composure amid his greatly overpowering excitement. "But... if that is how I end up getting the surprise, then I will do it! I will certainly do it! And I will do it just for you, my Grand Champion!"

"Wonderful to hear!" Korbin grins widely. "And rest assured, that it is this final question that is the easiest to answer of them all. It's a simple yes, or a simple no, and regardless of how you choose to answer, I shall still grant to you the special surprise either way!" He holds up four fingers, all the while keeping his grin perfectly in place. "And here we go: would you, my dear little adoring fan, enjoy having a proper grown up job?"

Erinil instantly opens his mouth to speak, just as he had done for every question that had come before; but before he is able to form even a single sentence in response, a look of the utmost confusion overtakes him, and he remains upon the well looking much like a fish snatched violently out of water. His mouth opening, then shutting, then opening once again, and ultimately, after several moments of merely sitting there in stunned silence, he just groans – or rather whines – through the intense feeling of sheer bewilderment at the Grand Champion's question.

"W-Wait... wait, what?" He stammers; narrowing his eyes in deep thought, as he shakes his head, and struggles to make sense of what he is hearing. "What do you mean... a proper grown up job? What even is a proper grown up job, and why are you asking me whether I would want one or not? Does that mean I have to choose a job, or... actually, a better question! What would you even want someone like me doing for someone like you? If it is, in fact, that you truly want me to work for you... or... or..." Another drawn out whine of frustration escapes him. "I don't understand what you mean, sir! Please speak more plainly, because I am very, very confused right now about... about everything!"

Korbin chuckles lightly and touches his hand to Erinil's shoulder. "Eri, it really isn't that difficult..." He pauses as the boy continues to stare at him with near endless confusion, thinks back over his words, and then continues to laugh – but at his own expense. "All right, perhaps it was a bit out of nowhere, and I didn't quite phrase it properly... well, how about I just ask you directly, instead of forming it into a question like the others, hm?"

"All right, I like that a lot better, but... what do you want to ask me, sir?"

"I merely wanted to know whether or not you wanted to come to work for me, my brothers, and the rest of my family."

Erinil's mouth hangs open, once again, but in shock rather than confusion. "Wait, you were... you really meant what you said?" He asks in a breathless, disbelieving whisper. "It wasn't just another joke, or something to shake me up, so that you could laugh over my reaction afterwards? You... you really wanted to know whether I would come work for you?"

Korbin smiles genuinely. "Yes, of course, Erinil. After all, I did say the final question was the easiest one to answer," He explains by echoing his previous words. "A simple yes, or a simple no."

"But... but what would I even do? It isn't as though I can fight like you, Mr. Grand Champion, and there is no way that I'm as skilled with magic like Mr. Martin, or as clever with shadows, or sneaking like Mr. Lachance!" Erinil hangs his head slightly, kicking against the well once again. "I know I said that I'm very fast, and good at hiding when I need to be, but compared to you three, I would... I would be rather useless, I'm afraid..."

"And that is where you would be wrong in thinking so, my friend!" Korbin quickly adds; patting both of Erinil's shoulders in reassurance. "In fact, there no one else I would rather entrust with this one, very special task. Everyone else would surely fail, would surely make a fool out of themselves, where you – my beloved adoring fan – would be the best possible choice in all of Cyrodiil itself!"

Erinil looks back up with a weak smile of his own. "...You really think so?"

"Remember how we made our promise over keeping certain things secret, and I gave to you my word?" Korbin lightly pokes Erinil's nose. "The very same thing applies to now! So, what do you say? Would you like to have this very special, very grown up job, so that you might rub it in your older brother's face three times over when he returns from his Priestly Pilgrimage?"

"Yes! Yes, of course!" Erinil squeals with a pump of his fists. "But... I don't even know what the job is. You haven't really told me yet. Is it... is it dangerous? Like how dangerous it was when we were on the road from Bravil to here? The kind of danger that was very different from when I went to the Imperial City to see you fight? The kind that involves bandits, and beasts, and flaming gates I don't really understand? That kind of dangerous?"

"No, no, no!" Korbin quickly interjects; cutting off Erinil's train of thought before his overthinking somehow frightens him away. "It wouldn't involve anything of the sort, I assure you. In fact, all you would really be doing is guarding, watching, and protecting something that desperately needs you more than ever. Which is, of course, just as important as all those other things you mention, but far, far less scary."

Erinil narrows his eyes in thought once more. "Guarding, watching, and protecting something that needs me...?" He whispers under his breath, and then looks up at Korbin with a child's innocence. "It isn't you, is it, Mr. Grand Champion, sir?"

"No, no. It's not me, I promise," Korbin laughs faintly. "Although, I have no doubt that my brothers certainly feel as though I need constant protection, and would be willing to use you a means of keeping me out of trouble from time to time..." He shakes his head. "In any case, what it is that needs protecting... is actually something that you're already familiar with. Something that has been, as you told me just before, left all alone, and abandoned, and without anyone to care for it."

"W-Wait, you... you don't... mean?" Erinil manages to stammer, the sparkle returning in his eyes, and his voice raising an octave higher in pitch as the truth begins to dawn. "You don't mean it's the Abandoned House that needs my protection, do you?!"

"I do, my friend, I do indeed!" Korbin replies, effortlessly mirroring Erinil's unending joy. "Because after your rousing speech of how every house should be loved and cared for – as well as my brother's own suggestion – I came to realize that no one else in all of Nirn could fit the role of home protector, and guardsmen quite like you!"

Upon hearing such incredible words, Erinil leaps from the well, and begins to dance in a circle around Korbin as he hums a familiar tune.

"Oh, dear sweet, Azura!" He cries out, giggling and continuing his song despite how the world blurs from many numerous circles. "This is amazing, this is wonderful, this is the very best possible surprise ever! Even more so than the arrow you gave me! To know that you, the Grand Champion, believes in me, and wants me to do something of worth! To actually protect something and actually take care of it! That is... that is the most remarkable thing I have ever—"

And then suddenly he stops, swaying on his feet slightly, and frowns. "But... but wait... how does someone protect a house?" He questions, mostly to himself, and then turns to address Korbin. "I've never done anything like this before. I mean, I've had a house before, and I've watched it while my brother was away, time and again, but... to protect it, and guard it like you’re suggesting? I don't really think that what you have in mind for me is the same thing as what I've done before..."

"Well, no. It's not the same thing, not exactly," Korbin begins to explain. "But you would stay in the home – much like you did in your own in Bravil – and you would watch over it. Making sure it was kept nice, and that it had a kind presence in it so it wouldn't feel lonely. So, you would sleep, and eat in there, and whatever else that you would like to do to give it company! And, you would also guard the special door in the basement that leads to mine and my family's workspace, as well as taking care of the lovely well that you are absolutely enamored with."

"If that is everything I have to do, sir," Erinil tells him with a gentle grin. "Then I will be able to do it very easily! And very happily at that! Rest assured, my Grand Champion, I will be the very best home protector, and guardsman that you, your brothers, and the rest of your family has ever had in their lifetime, and the next!"

Korbin waves his palms and attempts – somewhat in vain – to somehow quell the boy's excitement so he might get a word in. "Easy, easy, Eri!" He says, unable to keep the laughter from his tone as he deals with the boy. "While I am remarkably glad you are going to do your very best at the job that I have granted you, there is still... one more thing that I have yet to discuss with you, and it is just as important as everything else that is causing your joy and excitement."

"Really?" Erinil tilts his head. "What is it then?"

"It's the matter of what you will do if someone – someone sneaky, suspicious, and not at all looking like myself, or Lucien – comes upon the well, or dares to enter into the Not-So-Abandoned House uninvited," Korbin continues to clarify as best he is able. "But to do that properly, I will have to bring forth the second part of your surprise."

"There's another part of the surprise?" Erinil gasps. "Other than the job you just gave me?"

Korbin nods his head. "Oh yes, indeed there is!" He says, and then pokes a finger to Erinil's forehead once again. "But you will have to wait a moment, as well as close your eyes. After all, if you saw the surprise before I presented it to you, it would spoil, and soil the fantastic mood! So, why don't you spin around a few times, while keeping your eyes closed, and allow me to hear the lovely tune you hummed before... and by the time you're done, then I will be done, and you will have your surprise in the palm of your hand!"

"Aww, really?" Erinil whines as he places his hands over his eyes. "Well, all right, sir! I will do exactly as you said but understand that I shall be waiting more impatiently than ever before, so you should probably hurry as quickly as you can!"

Korbin carefully backs away from the boy, and towards where Lucien and Martin are still leaning against the house in the distance. "Duly noted, Eri. Duly noted." Once he is completely out of earshot, he then spins on his heel, and frantically begins patting himself down. "All right, all right... spare dagger, spare dagger... come on, I know you have to have one in all of these bloody pouches and pockets somewhere... after all, Lucien would surely string you up by your ankles if you so much as dared to leave his sight without—"

And then, as though a sudden light is turned on within his mind, he refocuses his vision upon his brothers, and grins more widely. "Lucien!" He rushes over to where Lucien stands – now looking in his direction upon hearing his name being all but screamed – and rapidly circles around him several times in a row. "My dearest brother, will you hold still for a moment?"

Lucien blinks in genuine surprise, feeling himself being spun around by his Silencer's hands, as his head begins to swim. "Kor-Kor... Korbin, what are you...?" He attempts to ask, struggling to gain his attention somehow, but when his words fall upon deaf ears, he roughly – and dizzily – jerks out of Korbin's grip. "By Sithis, what the hell are you even doing!?"

"Searching for something!" Korbin replies as though it was the most obvious thing in all of the realm itself. "...But I see that you don't have what I am desperately in need of, so I will now turn to our beloved Septim Heir for assistance!" He clasps his hands together, and gestures towards the lighter of his two older brothers. "Dearest Martin! I have quite the question for you, and I do believe you are the only one who might hold the answer!"

Martin turns from Lucien’s side, as he helps him prop more steadily against the wall in the aftermath of Korbin’s spinning assault, with a raised eyebrow.

"Y-Yes, my brother...?" He asks with a concerned tremble in his voice. "What is it that you think I can help with?"

"Oh, it's all very simple really!" Korbin explains with a short wave of his hand. "I wanted to know if you still had that little dagger on you that you kept when Lucien and I pulled you out of the chapel in Kvatch all those months ago."

"My enchanted dagger, you mean," Martin gently corrects, while placing a hand upon his hip where a brown sheath lies. "Well, yes... of course I do. I hardly allowed this single piece of reassurance to leave my side since the first attack upon Kvatch, and throughout all the time spent upon the endless roads together." He shakes his head. "But you should have already known this... so, why are you only asking about it now, Korbin?"

Korbin smiles nervously. "Because I... well, you see, I actually need to take it from you," He explains with an equally uneasy laugh. "So I might use it for something incredibly important, and something that you would surely agree to if you only knew the reason – although you should probably know that I am also quite hesitant to actually share the reason, because if I did, Lucien would have a fit of laughter over it, and I would very much not enjoy having to tackle him to the ground in front of Eri."

Martin's eyes widen in both surprise, and utter confusion. "What?!" He shouts, and then quickly softens his tone so Erinil would not accidentally hear. "What in all of the names of the Divines are you talking about? Why would you ever need to take my dagger from me? I would be rendered defenseless and considering our record for attracting danger, I must say that I, too, am rather hesitant just as well, and rightfully so!"

"Oh, come on, Martin!" Korbin whines with a stomping of his foot that makes him look almost twenty years younger than he should. "I know you might not agree with it, but it's important! It's more than important! It’s... it's..." He looks towards Lucien, then back at Martin, and bends forward; sighing deeply. "It's for Erinil, all right? I offered him a job to become our personal little guardsman of the Abandoned House, and the well, and while he's not exactly going to be rushing off on contracts as myself, or Lucien would... he still needs to protect himself if something happens. Especially if someone gets close and catches him unaware. It's not so much that I'm trying to steal from you, I just want to keep the kid safe, okay?"

He stands back to his full height and runs a hand over the back of his neck. "Besides, if you're really so concerned about being left defenseless, and you don't think you're able to keep yourself safe with just your magic, then... I'll replace your dagger with something even better. Something that will keep you safe ten times over than a simple dagger that tries to shock people to death ever would."

Martin breathes in, looking towards where Erinil spins around in the distance for some unknown reason, and then back to where Korbin stands in front of him, and sighs deeply.

"Brother, I'm still not entirely sure about this. He is such a young boy, what if—?"

"It's going to keep him safe, and out of harm’s way, Martin. I promise you," Korbin adds in his regular tone of voice, and then returns to his whining just as quickly. "Pleaaaaase? For me? Or maybe for Erinil? Whichever one you'd like that would allow the weight on your conscience to be lessened somehow?"

"All right, all right," Martin yields to the power of Korbin’s pleading, and pulls the dagger from its stealth to place it carefully within his hand. "Just... make absolute certain that he doesn't harm himself with it or end up inflicting harm on anyone who does not truly deserve it."

Korbin instantly lights up and envelops Martin into a sudden crushing embrace. "Oh, thank you, brother! Thank you! You are an absolute, and remarkable wonder, and Erinil is going to appreciate this far more than you will ever know!" He lets his brother go after hardly even a full second passes, not nearly enough for Martin to register what exactly he was doing, and then quickly begins to make his way back to Erinil's side.

As Martin is left fumbling for any manner of understanding of what just took place, a brief scoff escapes Lucien's lips. "Ah, the remarkable softness of a holy Priest of Akatosh," He quips with every word dipped in a natural dry wit. "It is always such a sight to behold, and I am so very honored to have witnessed it up close once again. Do you believe that I shall have good luck, or countless blessings in the following weeks because of it, or shall I simply wait for the next moment of tender compassion to grace my eyes?"

That alone is enough to pull Martin back to the present, and he immediately stiffens as a faint red hue overtakes his cheeks. "I do not even wish to hear it, Lachance," He grumbles under his breath in embarrassment. "So simply drop it before I do something that I shall surely regret in retaliation."

"What a glorious Emperor you shall become, Martin," Lucien adds in a mocking tone. "Your gentle heart and hallow threats shall be talked about in countless stories to come, I am almost certain of it."

Closing the distance between the edge of the house, and the side of the well that had become so important in such a short amount of time, Korbin is only able to get partway before Erinil's pointed ears twitch from the familiar sound of leather boots treading partially dead grass underfoot. He quickly spins around with a large smile on his face – all the while hands still cup over his eyes just as his dear Grand Champion had told him only prior to leaving him alone.

"Mr. Grand Champion, sir?" The young boy calls, unable to keep the excitement from his voice even slightly. "Is that you that I am hearing? I hear boots, and I hear grass, so that must mean you're coming back now, right? And if you're coming back, then that means I can stop spinning, humming, and hiding my eyes, right!? Because you're back, with my surprise, and you're only second away from giving it to me?!"

Korbin chuckles – something that had become almost instinctive while remaining in the presence of his beloved little fan – and lowers himself into a kneel. "Yes, and no, actually, Eri," He tells him, and then carefully turns the blade of Martin's dagger, that was about to become Erinil's, in the palm of his hand. "I have indeed returned, but I'm afraid you'll have to continue to keep your eyes closed for a few moments longer, as I want you to –"

"—Awww, no!" Erinil interrupts with the same impatient whining. "No, no, no! But sir! But you said that—"

"—As I want you to hold out your hand for me, so I might give to you your very special surprise at long last," Korbin completes his sentence before Erinil could accuse him of trickery with a softer laugh. "Do you think you could do that for me, my friend? I mean, you have done everything else that I have asked of you almost perfectly, so I highly doubt that thrusting out your hand will be too difficult of a task for you to—" He begins to say the word ‘accomplish’, but before he can even form it with his lips, he feels a sudden pressure coming to collide in the center of his armor.

With a groan, he looks down with a curious stare, and realizes that Erinil – in all of his innocent, childish, and unending excitement that he had surely not helped to quell even remotely – did just as he so asked of him, but did it far too quickly. Causing his little fist to accidentally punch him directly in the chest by mistake. Korbin shakes his head, burying down the weak wave of pain that courses through his body for only an instance, and then smiles inwardly.

Knowing that, once again, that this was the right choice. That this boy belonged here. And that he was doing a good thing in granting him his own place among them. Although... he would surely have to work on the force of his attack at some point. But that would certainly come at a much later time, if it even came at all without the ominous presence of his brother’s rage looming directly over his shoulder.

He places the dagger within Erinil's extended hand, and slowly closes his fingers around the hilt. "All right, you can go ahead and open your eyes now." Korbin tells him; his tone slowly shifting and becoming more tender, gentler as he speaks to the boy.

Erinil takes his remaining hand from his eyes, and then blinks as he becomes increasingly aware of just how brightly the sun above him shines, how pretty the walls, and houses around him actually look, and just how happy seeing the Grand Champion in front of him makes him feel. He smiles, about to greet him warmly, to tell him hello, when Korbin points a finger down to his hand.

The boy's eyes flicker with confusion for a moment, as his nose crinkles, and then suddenly he remembers why he held out his hand in the first place! It wasn't just to follow the Grand Champion's every word; it was because of his special surprise! His special present! The thing the Grand Champion had told him would go along swimmingly with the amazing job he had received!

He looks down and is met with a flash of silver shimmering against the light of the sun. At first, he is uncertain what to make of what was lying within the palm of his hand. It looked... quite shiny, and incredibly sharp, to be sure, but it also looked extremely beautiful; just as beautiful as the rest of the city around him, but with something considerably more unique that radiated amidst the silver.

The silver looked as though it glowed. Or sparked, or even flickered, perhaps? Whatever the case may have been, it appeared to the boy’s eye that there was indeed something special about this tool – something almost magical – that made his hands tremble, and not simply because the Grand Champion gave it to him!

After a moment of consideration, and when his mind finally chooses to act proper once again, he breathes through an overwhelmed gasp, and brings the blade close to his chest; familiar confusion mixed with a much more natural awe illumining brightly in his large green eyes.

"...What is this, sir?" He asks somewhat cautiously; almost afraid the Grand Champion would take back his gift just as quickly as he had bestowed it if he somehow dared to question. "I mean... I know what it looks like. It looks like a tool of some kind, the same kind that you use to cut leather, or to carve wood, and yet it seems very different than any I have seen before! And if is so different, and so very special at the same time, then... why are you giving it to me?"

Korbin places his hands over Erinil's shoulders. "Do you remember what I told you before, Eri?" He asks; speaking with the same gentle tone. "That there was another part to the job I had given you, and how it was based around what you may have to do if someone you don’t know – someone who does not look like myself, or my siblings – come upon the house, or the well unexpectedly?"

Erinil nods his head. "Oh yes, I do, sir! Very easily, in fact!" He says with an overly pleased giggle. "After all, it was only a few moments ago that you first said it, and that was when—"

"—Erinil, my friend, I want you to try and focus for a moment, all right?" Korbin interjects firmly. "And the reason I want you to do that is because I need you to understand why I am entrusting this dagger to you. And why it is incredibly important, perhaps even the most important thing there is, that you always keep it on you when you are within the house, and around the well."

"...Is it because you want me to whittle special presents for you, and your family, so I can give them as much joy as you have given me with all of your amazing gifts?"

Korbin shakes his head with a more amused laugh at the sight of Erinil's persistent innocence. "No, no. It's nothing like that. I mean, yes, it is a gift, and I would truly enjoy anything you gave me in return, but it's..." His words trail off for a moment, and he stares up into the sky above in the hopes of locating the appropriate wording needed to help the boy understand the gravity of the situation without somehow crushing his enthusiasm in the process. "Oh, Sithis, how am I going to explain this to you? It's... It’s more as though I want you to keep this dagger on you because of defensive reasons."

"Defensive reasons, sir?" Erinil repeats Korbin’s words; holding out the dagger in both hands and staring down at it as his confusion only grows.

"Understand that I don't want to scare you, or anything, Eri," Korbin begins to say. "And I hope and pray to whoever gives enough of a damn that it would never have to actually come to this, but... if someone starts skulking around, and attempts to get into the house, or the well, or... even worse, if they try to get close to you, and does anything that isn't very nice"—he points to the dagger in the boy's hand—"then I want you to take this blade, and I want to fight back. Fight back just exactly as I did in the Arena and send them one of the most unforgettable messages that you can possibly give them!"

Erinil blinks as he struggles to make sense of what he is being told. "You want me to... to give them a message, sir?" He shakes his head. "With... with this blade you just gave me?"

"Yes! Yes, that is precisely what I want you to do!" Korbin cries out as he squeezes the boy's shoulders affectionately. "Oh, I just knew you would eventually realize what I was attempting to tell you if I spelled it out carefully enough! I want you to do everything I just said, and everything you just repeated, and make absolute certain that you sign such a message with the utmost brilliant source of red ink there is available!"

However, despite Korbin's cheerful attempts to help Erinil understand, the young Bosmer merely feels his head beginning to spin in circles at the Grand Champion's words. He feels just as he had when he told him that he wouldn't let him go off to Bravil alone, and his brothers found him afterwards. He thought he understood, and yet the more the Grand Champion spoke, the less sense that it made! First he gave him a special little blade, and now he is saying that he wishes for him to use it for some strange purpose when uninvited guests arrive at the about-to-be-cared-for house, and the lovely secret well he is standing near?

What was all this talk about writing messages, and signing with red ink? He knew that he was much younger than the Grand Champion and his brothers, but even he knew what could be used as a writing instrument, and what couldn't! And this blade most certainly could not! After all, it had no feathers, thus making it different from a quill, and it had nothing it could be dipped into and be used for writing!

It wasn't a source of magic that could be transformed into a very pretty, very fancy spell to write upon the air much like his brother used to do... it was a blade! A blade which could be used for many different tasks, certainly, but not for writing! How could the Grand Champion get them so terribly mixed up?

Perhaps he was tired from such a long journey, and from winning every match in the Arena... but even if that was the case, he still should have known better! But then again, the more that he thought about it, the more he realized that all his words made very little sense.

Why, oh why, would the Grand Champion want him to dirty his special gift he just presented? He most definitely did not want to smudge the silver, or stop the blue that flickered-sparked every few seconds; he wanted to do nothing more than keep it safe, keep it clean, and wear it on his belt with the utmost pride, and do the job he was given with his head held high!

Go away messages, or ‘sorry, but you are not invited’ letters could be written with normal quills, and normal ink much later if they were so desperately needed! But not with his special blade! As his mind finally begins to settle, and his own version of the truth behind the Grand Champion’s words becomes clear, Erinil puffs out his cheeks in response, and stomps his foot in sheer frustration.

"Sir, you're not making much sense!" He whines, but there is a hint of childish anger just underneath. "I know that you said you didn't know how you were going to explain this to me, but what you chose is quite bad! Very bad, actually! Because now you're just confusing a quill with a blade, and I will have you know that they are two completely different things entirely!"

Korbin blinks; taken aback. "Wait, what do you—?"

"Here, look! I'll show you!" Erinil holds the blade firmly in one hand, and then makes a writing gesture with the other. "Do you see? You write messages with a quill, or a special pen! Most certainly not a blade! Blades are supposed to be used for crafts, or armoring! Not messages! Besides, how would I even fit the blade into the inkwell? It's far too big! And even if I did, it would end up slicing through the paper, and would make any message look terribly messy, and then no one would want to read it!"

"Eri, I don't think you're—"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Grand Champion, sir. But I think you're just very, very confused from a very long journey together!" Erinil reaches and pats Korbin's shoulder. "Maybe you should go take a nap with your brothers for a while, because even I know what can be used for writing, and what can't! No matter how special the message is, or how great the ink may be!"

Korbin barks a genuine laugh, and then slowly pries the boy's hand from his shoulder. "My dear adoring fan, I do not think it is I who is the one confused here," He says through a half gasp, half chuckle. "Because I wasn't actually being serious with what I said about using the dagger to send a message or dipping it into the province's most natural source of red."

"You didn't?" Erinil tilts his head. "Then what did you mean? And why would you word it in such a confusing way?"

"Well, I worded it in that way because I was trying to be discreet enough so I wouldn't end up frightening you."

Erinil stomps his foot; upset over the fact that Grand Champion was seeing him as a child once again. "I don't get frightened easily, sir! You know that!" Erinil says, and then moves past his anger to force a smile. "So, you can tell me anything that you want! It's perfectly all right!"

Korbin finds himself running a nervous hand over the back of his neck. "Right, well... the whole thing about using the dagger to send a message? I meant it as using it against any enemy that tried to hurt you, or attempted to breech our hideout," He explains with a strained smile. This was not at all as easy "And the, ah, red ink? It wasn't ink, it was... well, you know. But actually, perhaps you don’t, and perhaps I should just come out and say it directly? It was blood. The very same blood of the enemy that would fall at your hand because of your dagger."

"...W-What...? Bl-Blo...Blood?" Erinil stammers in response; caught between wanting to clutch the dagger closer to his chest protectively and wanting to simply throw it down into the grass in disgust. "But why... but why would you ever want me to... to do something like... something like that?"

The sound of a harsh slap is heard from across the yard, and Korbin does not have to look over his shoulder to know that one of his siblings were actively trying to shove the palm of their own hand through the entirety of their forehead. What he does not expect, however, is an all too familiar shadow to suddenly envelop over him, or to be able to feel the heat of his piercing stare burning a fresh hole in the back of his head.

Whatever uneasiness he may have felt whilst explaining the concept of daggers and blood to Erinil only doubles when he feels Lucien's hand come to fall within his messy grey locks – and then quickly shove him to the side with a single push.

"For the love of the Dread Father, you are making an absolute fool out of yourself," Lucien hisses through a sharp breath as he scowls at his Silencer now toppled over into the grass. "I do not believe, in all my many years of life, that I have ever witnessed someone butcher an explanation of what to do with a weapon so thoroughly as you are doing in this moment. That is quite the considerable accomplishment, and you should be utterly ashamed of yourself."

With a huff, Korbin sits up, and spits dead pieces of grass from his mouth. "Look, he asked for the truth behind my words, and I simply gave it to him!" He shouts his irritated reply. "What would you have me do, lie to the very boy who is about to brought into our world?!"

"No, but I would have you do a far better job than you are currently," Lucien crosses his arms over his chest. "In fact, your explanation was so atrocious and insulting to anyone who had the misfortune to hear it, that Martin practically begged me to come over and end this madness before it had a chance to continue."

"Well, fine then!" Korbin all but bellows; looking as though he could be the Bosmer boy's mirror image in childishness to Lachance's dark gaze. "If you think that you're somehow capable of doing a better job than I did... then by all means! Be my guest and see where it gets you!"

"It would truly be my utmost pleasure," Lucien murmurs, and then slowly kneels down into the grass in front of Erinil just as Korbin had only prior. "Now listen carefully, child. What is it my Silencer was attempting to tell you, and has surely failed to do so... is actually quite simple when you do not go out of the way to soften the blow of reality for the sake of a tender heart. The glorious weapon he entrusted to you... the one you currently have within your possession there?"—he gestures to it with a nod of his chin—"Do you understand what it shall be used for?"

Erinil shuffles uncomfortably on his feet. "...To be used to send a message to those that you, or the Grand Champion, or the rest of the family do not want to have at their home to spend an evening with, Mr. Lachance?"

"No, no, no," Lucien wags a finger. "Nothing quite so... poetic as my Silencer may have described it for you. What it is you shall actually do with that dagger is carry it upon your person at all times. You will never take it off, as it shall serve as a means of protecting yourself from any and all harm that might befall you whilst you stay within the Abandoned House, or when you guard the exterior of the home, and the well that rests just beside it."

"Oh! Well, if that's what the Grand Champion meant, then I can most certainly—"

"Ah, but there is one more thing," Lucien interrupts the boy before he can toss himself into a joyous ramble. "And it is regarding how you shall use that very same weapon to promptly deal with guests we do not desire having at our home – as you so eloquently described them. You see, your Grand Champion, myself, as well as Martin – for the dagger now in your hand once belonged to him for a time – wishes for you to use your newfound gift and root out those who should not be in the vicinity. Those who seek to uncover the sanguine tinted secrets lurking just beneath the surface of the well, and household, and wish nothing more than to bring grievous harm upon us all."

Erinil turns the hilt of the dagger over in his palm almost absentmindedly as he listens. Once he believes that Lucien had finally finished speaking, he asks a curious question.

"...But how would I ‘promptly deal’ with all the uninvited guests with something like my blade tool, Mr. Lachance?"

"Why, by plunging it deep into their miserable bodies, of course!" Lucien explains far too calmly; his voice a mixture of stoic composure, and a rather strange patience as he speaks candidly of terrifying subject matter. "For that is the true power lurking within your gift. Not to create quaint trinkets of wood, or to shape the most glorious of leather, but to find those who dare to stand against us and end their curiosity in a more permanent sense. Until they take heed of the warning you are sending them, or they merely fall over in a heap. Dead by your sweet bloodstained little hand."

Erinil's eyes grow wider than the dual moons that dance within the darkness of the night sky as he listens to Lucien's horrific words, and he instantly drops the dagger as a choked sob is pulled from his throat.

"But I... but I don't... but, sir! M-Mr... Mr. Lachance, sir! I don't want to do anything like that to anyone!"

And that is the final straw that shatters Martin's saint like patience into pieces. He could stand idly by and allow his dearest friends to go along with the concept of bringing Erinil into the fold of the Dark Brotherhood for the sake of keeping him safe whilst waiting for the return of his elder brother.

He could also swallow his pride, as well as his morals, and allow Korbin to take his dagger as a means of giving it to the boy in the slightest hope it would protect him well enough while doing whatever foolish, makeshift job he had come up with out of absolute nowhere... but to watch the both of them speak of such harsh, cruel, and vicious things Erinil without any possible filter to their words?

To tell him he would do well to bury his blade into anyone that looked even slightly interested in the Abandoned House for one reason or another? And to watch him whimper to the point of tears when he realizes just what it was that were truly telling him? That was simply one step too far, and he surely could not take such an awful sight any longer.

"By the Divines, the Daedra, and anyone else who is having to suffer witnessing this lunacy with their own eyes!" He cries out; an almost furious growl accompanying his words as he sprints from where he was leaning, and over to Erinil's side in an instant. "What in the name of everything light, and holy is wrong with the two of you!? Are you desperately trying to give this poor boy gruesome nightmares for the rest of his young life with your open discussion of death and bloodshed? Because if that is truly the case, then you are making quite the remarkable show of it!"

Lucien blinks with a short frown over his lips; completely unfazed by Martin's sudden dramatic shouting. "...For your information, Septim, I am merely in the process of doing exactly what it is you asked of me."

"No, you are absolutely not doing anything of the sort!" Martin bites back as he pulls Erinil close to him with one hand; his blue gaze beginning to shine with a flicker of gold the angrier he becomes. "If you recall, I asked you to stop Korbin before he managed to frighten the boy all the way back to Bravil... but what you are in the process of doing is effectively the very same thing, albeit considerably much worse!"

"...Mr. Martin, sir?" Erinil whispers as he tugs the sleeve of Martin's blue robing; shock and confusion overtaking his large eyes as he looks up. "Do you... do you really want me to take my special little blade, and p-plu-plunge it into someone who doesn't belong...?"

"Of course not, little one!" Martin instantly replies, and then softens his tone of voice so that his anger would not carry over and cause Erinil further distress somehow. "I would never dream of asking you do something of that nature, and I am so terribly sorry that Korbin and Lachance frightened you with their conversation, but they are often—"

"—There is no need to coddle the boy, Martin," Lucien interrupts with a scoff. "After all, I was not telling him anything that my own father did not tell me at such an age. He is old enough to know of the world’s unflinching cruelty and realize that he must take precaution to keep himself alive, as well as honing his prowess so he might crush his enemies into blood-soaked dust beneath his heel."

Martin breathes in, and it takes every amount of strength he can muster – and then some – not to simply summon forth a random spell to hand and cast it in Lachance's direction. He swallows down the desire to light the rim of Lucien’s robing on fire and allows his anger to flow from his lips through a weary sigh and be replaced with an equal amount of disappointment in its stead. He isn't certain, nor does he quite care, if that is somehow better, or worse.

"...How is it even humanly possible for the two of you to be such cherished companions by my side one moment..." Martin begins to say; allowing his words to trail for a single instance as he turns to cast a more deeply gold tinted glare over his shoulder towards both Korbin and Lucien. "And then turn into something absolutely appalling in the very next? It truly astounds me, and while we have only known one another for a short time now... I can easily tell this will be one puzzle I shall never hope to make sense of, or ever truly understand. And yet, considering the damage you cause from such shifting... perhaps it would be better if I simply spare myself the trouble."

Lucien blinks in genuine surprise, and then slowly turns his head to the side as a faint redness overtakes the corners of his cheeks in response to Martin's reprimanding. The sensation feeling both strange, and deeply uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of for the first time in many years. But it is Korbin himself that bows his head; concealing his more pained expression underneath layers of messy hair.

It was not as though Martin was speaking untruly, because he knew well that he botched his means of trying to soften the blow of Assassination to Erinil in so many ways, yet to hear his brother’s genuine displeasure over his actions...

Korbin did not realize that it could sting so deeply.

As silence falls between the darker of the siblings for an almost awkward moment, Martin chooses to use it to his advantage to begin to smooth over the cracks of the uncomfortable air that had been left in the aftermath of Korbin and Lucien's dreadful wake, as well as the sudden sight of his scolding. He turns slightly, and then moves to place a hand atop the crown of Erinil's head with a far kinder smile resting over his lips.

"Well now, little one," He says in a gentle tone as he extends his free hand to the boy. "Now that they have been properly put in their place, why don't you come with me for a moment, and I shall do my best to explain in as great of detail as I can muster how you can most certainly keep the new position of guarding this home that my brother has bestowed to you, but without"—Martin pauses, and then looks over to where Lucien now sits awkwardly alongside Korbin in the grass—"any of Lachance's needless brutality."

Erinil giggles under Martin's touch and shakes his head to force his hand out of his blond curls. "All right, Mr. Martin, sir!" He says through a squeal; the sparkle in his eyes, and the familiar innocence starting to return as he intertwines his fingers with Martin's. "Lead the way, as I'm right behind you! And not only me, but my special blade as well! The blade that will not be used to write messages, hurt people that don't deserve it, or anything of that awful, and terrible sort, I assure you!"

"Wonderful to hear!" Martin cries happily, watching with a chuckle as Erinil swings their arms together while walking side by side. "Now then, let me see... where shall I begin?"

*~*~*

As the golden hue of a setting sun slowly begins to slip past the numerous rows of autumn touched trees that rest upon distant hilltops surrounding the outskirts of the city of Cheydinhal, and brings about the fading light of an evening spent before the cool, welcoming shadows of night rushes forward to more properly take its place, Martin and Erinil find themselves within the multicolored grass that adorns the yard surrounding the Abandoned House.

They sit with their backs to the cobblestone well, discussing matters of the young Bosmer boy's newly appointed, and incredibly grownup job in a far more relaxed, and restrained matter. All the while allowing themselves to grasp onto the feeling of peace, and quiet, now that both Lucien and Korbin had chosen – with only a single warning glare to serve as the deciding factor compared to the many heated words that had come before – to grant them privacy, and retreated into the interior of the home for the time being.

When Martin finally reaches the conclusion of his explanation, and without any need to go into the gruesome details of bloodshed and death, he reaches to touch the top of Erinil's head once more with a content smile spreading over his gentle features.

"Now, I realize everything that I have just shared with you was incredibly vast, and perhaps even overwhelming at first, but you did a remarkable job remaining still, and listening to every word I spoke with rapt attention, and I am quite proud of you because of it!" He praises the boy with a gentle pat over his curly blond locks in emphasis to his words. "Did any of it assist in helping you better understand what it is that you need to do whilst guarding the household, why such a task is so incredibly important, and why it was that Korbin and Lachance wished for you to carry the dagger upon your person at all times?"

Erinil nods his head, as he absentmindedly runs his fingers over blades of grass. "Y-Yes, I... I think I do now, Mr. Martin," He says, and then looks up with a faint smile all his own. "They... gave me this job because they need someone to not only take care of the house, but also the pretty door in the basement, and the well we're leaning up against while we continue talking."

"Yes, that's correct. And do you know the reason why they need someone to protect these things?"

"Hmmhm! I do!" Erinil states proudly, then he breathes in and begins speaking in as serious of a voice as he can muster. "Because what all these places lead to is a very special location where the Grand Champion, Mr. Lachance, as well as all the other members of their family work together to get rid of all the very bad, nasty people in the world. But it's also where they gather when their work is finally done. So, they really don't want anyone who doesn't belong to suddenly come into their home out of nowhere, or without knocking, because that would make family gatherings – like suppertime, sleep time, and quiet time – so much more awkward and uncomfortable because of the unwanted guests."

Martin chuckles warmly at Erinil’s rather wonderful, yet incredibly naive view of what it is his dear companions actively indulge in time and again. The boy was both quite correct in what it is he describes – despite it being overwhelmed with an air of innocence that he hopes that he shall never grow out of – and very wrong at the same time. And while he is uncertain if there shall ever come a day where he will be openly supportive of Lucien and Korbin’s grisly profession... they are still the ones who saved his life in the flames of Kvatch, who gave him a reason to go on when all hope had faded in his life, and who he lovingly views as his adoptive siblings.

And from that, he still encourages Erinil to continue describing what it is that he had managed to learn throughout their long discussion. "Yes, perfectly right," He says with a nod of his own. "And what is the final thing I helped you to understand?"

"Oh yes! It is about the gift the Grand Champion gave to me, and what it is that I have to do with it!" Erinil leans to the side, past the grass, and carefully gathers the enchanted blade into his palms, before turning and showing Martin with a pleased smile. "Oh rather, what not to do! Because, no matter what it is the Grand Champion, and Mr. Lachance tried instructing me about with their very scary words, that almost made me want to throw my special gift down the special well, I don't actually have to hurt anyone to keep myself safe, right?"

"You are indeed right," Martin clarifies. "But what is it you do if someone comes upon you that you do not recognize, nor trust?"

Erinil takes the blade by the hilt and holds it in front of him. "All I have to do is hold it like a proper weapon – like what I'm doing here – show it to the person I don't really know, and then they would realize that I was a very important guard, as well as a very capable adult with a very adult job, and all that amazing knowledge, and the fact I was doing my job so well, would simply force them to run away with their tails between their legs in shock and awe!"

He giggles at his own words, and then places the dagger back into the grass. "Or, if that doesn't work... I just have to run into the pretty door, look for the Grand Champion, or Mr. Lachance, and they will end up taking care of things on my behalf!"

Martin claps his hands together. "Yes, that is precisely what you do!" He shouts in an overly pleased manner, as he mirrors Erinil’s smile. "Very well done! You’ve managed to successfully understand everything I have told you quite magnificently! Once again, I must say the pride that I feel for you is almost unending, little one!"

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Martin, sir! Thank you very much!" Erinil cries out, waving his arms back and forth in a show of genuine joy; but after a moment passes, he returns to sitting at Martin's side. "Really though... that's what I thought the Grand Champion, and Mr. Lachance wanted me to do from the very beginning... and while I really didn't have any issues with that, and I'm more than happy to do my job as best I can, I just..."

He turns to look at Martin with confusion flickering in his gaze. "I just don't understand why they didn't tell me that in the first place. Instead of saying all those scary words about plunging my special gift into someone's body, or writing messages stained with actual blood, and not some sort of special ink!"

Martin frowns and begins running a thumb over his knuckles. "Ah yes, well... you will have to try and forgive them for speaking to you in such a way," He tells the boy, his voice gentle and patient. "I do not think they intentionally wished to frighten you with their candidness... for I believe they truly thought that they were doing the right thing by using honeyed words to mask the truth – in Korbin's case – or choosing to be direct – in Lucien's. However, you were still frightened regardless, and it certainly goes to show that they still have much learn about proper etiquette when interacting with others, as well as understanding that not everyone grew up in the ways they did."

A short pause falls between them both as Martin attempts to help the boy understand, and he takes it as a means to continue.

"But, do not feel as though they simply signaled you out, my little friend!" He says with a playful half grin, as he turns the conversation to reassurance, rather than explanation "For you should know that they have done the very same thing to me once or twice – although their intentions were surely more childish than what they did with you here in Cheydinhal."

He sighs almost fondly. "Oh, I recall when I first met them so many months ago, that when the time came for us to make camp after leaving Kvatch, they truly went out of their way to torment me with so many gruesome details of what they did for a living! And not only that, but to also confirm various rumors I may have heard in passing regarding Assassins. Obviously, looking back now, I realize that they were doing nothing more than trying to get a rise out of me – especially Lachance who goaded Korbin into partaking in it along with him – but it still remained the cause of my nightmares for several—"

"—Hm, Mr... Martin, sir?" And then suddenly Erinil speaks once again; his voice quiet, and sheepish as it pulls Martin's attention from the past, and back into the present. "May I... may I ask you a question? If that's... hm, okay to do so?"

Martin leans in close, his smile still in place, and tender as ever. "Yes, of course you may, Erinil," He tells him. "You never have to ask permission to share whatever is on your mind. Is this the same question you attempted to ask of me before, that I never quite had a chance to answer properly? The one where you were curious as to why I do not live here in Cheydinhal with Korbin and Lucien?"

Erinil shakes his head. "No, no, it's not that one, sir," He replies with a faint giggle. "Although I still am very curious to know what you mean, exactly, when you say that it was only months ago when you first met your brothers. Because, I thought that brothers were supposed to be together, and at each other's sides no matter what. So, how is that you speak as though you only just met them?" He then claps his hands together as a thought comes to mind. "Unless, of course, you actually lost them at some point, and they've only just came back into your life again for the first time"—he lowers his hands to his lap—"but even if that is the reason, I’m afraid that it’s still very confusing to me!"

"Yes, ah, well, you see...." Martin stammers, intentionally allowing his words to trail off in a means of diverting Erinil's attention elsewhere. Not at all wanting to confuse the boy further, or tear down whatever concept he held of him and his chosen siblings being genuinely blood related. "Was... was there not another question you were rather eager to ask? You said that was not the one you had in mind, despite you still being curious over it, so what was it you actually wished to know?"

"Oh!" Erinil suddenly ceases his rambling and turns back towards Martin with an embarrassed blush spreading quickly over his freckled cheeks. "Oh dear! Oh, dear me, you are right, sir! In fact, you are very right! I'm so sorry, I seemed to have gotten sidetracked somehow!"

"No, it's quite all right; but I am rather curious about your other question."

"And I am very pleased to share it, as well as get my answer, but..." Erinil looks down; twiddling his thumbs for a moment as his voice quiets to a whisper. "But... you'll – you'll have to promise that you won't get mad at me when I go into the details, okay?"

Martin's eyes soften. "You have my word, little one."

"All right, well... it was when we were all on the road together in the nice, big wagon that the Grand Champion bought with the coin he won in the Arena," Erinil begins to explain. "I was in the back of the wagon, about to take a very nice nap... when I suddenly heard you and one of your brother's talking to each other. And I... " He bows his head almost shamefully. "And I know that I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have listened in to the conversation, because I know it was very private, and it's rude to eavesdrop without permission, but..."

Erinil sighs, and then leans back against the well more heavily. "I heard Mr. Lachance calling you 'Septim' again. He calls you that name a lot, even more than your actual name, Mr. Martin."

Martin lightly scoffs. "Ah, that he does, Erinil. That he does, indeed."

"But then I started wondering why he calls you that, and then I remembered that the name Septim is the name the Emperors have...or, hm, had, at least in regard to our last Emperor that sadly died," Erinil continues on with a frown, and a crinkled nose. "So, if Mr. Lachance calls you that, and calls you that a lot, does that... does that mean that you're a Septim? And that you're going to... you're going to become our new Emperor after everything is finally done? The Emperor of all of Cyrodiill itself?"

"That is indeed the end goal to all of our plans, Divines above be willing and understanding to them," Martin responds as he steals a glance upwards into the clouds; after a moment, and a silent prayer, he turns his focus back on the boy. "At the moment, we have our gazes set upon a quiet little priory that rests on the outskirts of the city of Chorrol. There, we shall meet with a man named named Jauffre that shall, hopefully, make sense of everything I have been told in such a short amount of time. That, of which, involves the concept of me being the son of the late Emperor, and what it is that I must do to assist with the current state of things in every corner of the province."

Erinil’s frown deepens as he stares down at his feet. "...That sounds... very complicated, and rather frightening to have to deal with so suddenly, sir."

"It certainly is, my friend," Martin nods in agreement. "And that is not even going into the finer details of the complications that have arisen whilst on our journey. In fact, we were actually on our way to this very Priory when we ran afoul of some rather sour luck, prompting us to stop in the Imperial City."

"Oh! Oh dear, oh dear! And then you met me and had to go out of your way to transport me to Bravil, and then over to here when the transporting didn’t work!" Erinil places the palms of his hands underneath his cheeks. "I am so very sorry, Mr. Martin Septim, sir! I did not mean to distract you from your journey, or your mission, or whatever it is called when you are trying very hard to become the new Emperor!"

Martin waves a gentle hand. "Erinil, Erinil! Easy now!" He calls out, hoping to gain his attention; and when he finally does at last, he softens his voice. "It's quite all right, little one. It's far more than all right, actually. Because meeting you, and then coming here together? It was a rather welcomed distraction, and a fantastic way to ease the stress from mine, as well as my brother's shoulders for a time."

Erinil pauses, realizing what the soon-to-be Emperor of all of Cyrodiil is telling him, and slowly smiles with a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "O-Oh...well, as long as I was helping, and not harming, sir!" But just as soon as Erinil's natural innocence returns to his joyful words, as well as his boyish features, another extended silence then falls over them.

It is sudden, and out of nowhere, and Martin worries if his younger friend is concerned with something else he may have heard during their shared journey together. Something he, himself, may have said, or something his brothers may have done without realizing whose presence they were actually in. He goes to open his mouth, to question him over that very thing, when Erinil's voice breaks through the silence once again.

"...A-Act...Actually sir, while on the same subject, is it... okay if I ask you another question?" He wonders both curiously, and cautiously. "And it's... perfectly all right if you tell me no, because I know the question, and what it entails will be asking a lot, so – so I won't be upset if that’s what you say!"

Martin chuckles warmly and touches his hand to Erinil's own. "Ask whatever it is that you wish, my dear friend," He squeezes the boy's hand in reassurance. "Remember what I told you? You never have to ask permission to share whatever is on your mind at any given time. For I am always much more than content to listen to anything and everything you may have to say, ask, or otherwise."

"Even if you are going to be the Emperor?"

Martin's laughter turns much fonder. "Even if I am going to be the Emperor," He tells him simply. "Now, what did you wish to ask?"

Erinil breathes in, sitting up straighter, and hoping to look as grownup as possible. "Well, I was just... I was just wondering if... when you do finally become our new, and very special Emperor, after you and your brothers save the province from all these Gates I keep hearing about, and fight back against all of the bad, scary things that are out there..." His words trail, and then his voice slips into a whisper; as though he is afraid to say the words aloud in fear of being rejected. "Would it... be okay if I came to your very special, very wonderful coronation? So that I can see you become Emperor with my very own eyes?"

A tender smile touches Martin's lips upon beholding the young boy's genuine, almost endless innocence once more. He had seen it so many times before and is more than certain he will it see many times again, but now... it seemed as though it nearly radiated an all too welcoming serenity within such a simple, harmless question.

"Well, now, you should know that is still quite a long way away, as I have not even laid my hands upon the Amulet of Kings itself, or allowed anyone other than you, or Lachance to know of my apparent heritage," He clarifies gently, and then rests a hand upon his chest as he explains in further detail. "However, that is not to say I am refusing what you are asking. In truth, it is quite the opposite, as I would be so much more than honored if you did come and witness my coronation."

He lowers his hand from his chest with the other and intertwines his fingers together in front of him as his voice flows with continual joy as he remains within Erinil’s presence. "So, yes – to answer your question – yes, my dear little friend, of course you may be there if you so wish it! I would surely love nothing more!"

Erinil's ears droop with faint disappointment. "Aww, well, that's okay, Mr. Martin Septim, sir! As I said, it was perfectly all right if you told me no, as I was certainly asking a lot, so it isn’t as though I’m..." And then his words suddenly trail off into nothingness, rendering his sentence incomplete as he finally listens, and comes to realize what it is that Martin is actually saying. And when he does, his eyes widen considerably, and shine with the twinkling light of a thousand stars all at once. "W-Wait... wait! Wait just a moment now, Mr. Martin Septim, sir! I'm... I'm not sure if I heard correctly, and I am sure I may have this so very wrong, but, but, but... did you just... did you just say that it... that it was all right?!"

Martin laughs in good humor to the boy's brief confusion. "I did indeed, Erinil!" He says as his smile widens. "It's perfectly all right, and I would surely enjoy your presence at such an event. Would you like that, little one? To be among the crowds and – as you said – witness me becoming the newly appointed Emperor with your very own eyes?"

Erinil quickly leaps to his feet and begins to flap his arms up and down as a new wave of happiness, and absolute excitement overtakes him.

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes, sir! I would, sir! Oh, how I would! By Azura, it would be the most amazing, most incredible thing that I have ever—!" He stops midway through his delighted rambling once more, realizing all too suddenly that he was now in the process of screaming, and dancing around the soon-to-be-Emperor of all of Cyrodiil, and quickly brings his arms back down to his sides; a more composed smile doing its part to show everything that he was feeling, and more. "I-I mean... I would very, very much enjoy being a guest of such a wondrous event like that, sir. It would be the highest of honors that you could possibly grant me."

"Then consider it absolutely done, dear Erinil. However," Martin begins in the same kind tone as before; holding out a hand to gesture with as he speaks. "There is no need to conceal your excitement from my eyes. I may indeed be Emperor one day, but I would still cherish the sight of my beloved companions sharing their happiness, and joy in whatever ways they deem most appropriate. Such as you do with the many numerous dances you have shown me these last several days, along with every new laugh, every new song, as well as the endearing spinning, and the adorable flapping."

"Wait, are you saying that I'm... that I'm a beloved companion to you, Mr. Martin Septim, sir?"

Martin reaches out and cups the palm of his hand against Erinil's cheek. "But of course, you are, little one. Was there ever any doubt?"

"There was just a little bit. At least at first," Erinil admits with a faint blush over the same cheeks Martin is gently touching. "But you have managed to make it fade away in the most wonderful way possible, sir! And replaced with so many other, equally as amazing, emotions in its place!"

"Well now, I am so very thankful to hear—"

And then suddenly Martin feels small arms come to wrap tightly around him with the strength of a man twice Erinil's size, and he merely closes his eyes as he returns the embrace just as fervently. He rests one hand against the small of the boy's back, while the other ruffles the top of his golden curls once again. He hears Erinil giggle from the touch, and he cannot help but mimic the contagious laughter just as well. A moment passes, Erinil squeezes Martin one final time, and then suddenly he is pulling away with the brightest expression that Martin has seen on the boy's face since they first met in front of the Arena.

"Thank you, sir," Erinil says genuinely, as he reaches to wipe at his green eyes, where overwhelmed tears had gathered. "Thank you so much. You are truly amazing, Mr. Martin Septim, sir."

Sighing softly, Martin holds up a hand with a half-smile. "Just Mr. Martin is fine for now, as I shall remain simply Martin for quite some time before the titles of royalty shall fall upon my shoulders," He explains, and then chuckles. "But you're welcome, little one. You are so very welcome."

Erinil pulls himself up to his feet, spins in a full circle, and then proceeds to half sprint, half stumble his way through the grassy yard, and up towards the front of the Abandoned Home.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my! Just wait until the Grand Champion, and Mr. Lachance learn of this amazing, and incredible thing!" He cries out, cheerfully dancing on his feet as he opens the main door to the house, and rushes inside. "They're going to be so incredibly excited! I just know it! Because I'm going to be there with them that night! In the crowds with all the rest of the amazing, incredible people that helped Mr. Martin get to where he is going to be! And I'll be cheering the entire time when he is finally dubbed Emperor! By Azura, by Azura, by Azura! This is truly one of the best days of my entire life!"

And as Erinil continues shouting in glee over just how wonderful the future coronation shall be, and how jealous his own brother will end up becoming once he learns of him not only meeting the Grand Champion of the Arena, but also having a grownup job of his very own, and becoming one of the beloved companions of the future Emperor himself... Martin simply shakes his head with an amused smile.

Rising to his full height, he steps away from the well that adorns the corner of the Abandoned House, and proceeds to make his way back to the main gates to await his chosen sibling's return. He could already imagine what would surely transpire in the instant that Erinil would stumble upon them through the supposed Black Door and proceed to explain in grand detail everything that had taken place once they vanished into the shadows of the home.

Korbin perfectly mirroring the boy's excitement with a fragment of his very own – scooping him up into his arms, as he was accustomed to often doing whenever he was overjoyed – spinning him around, and possibly even granting to him a personalized title to show that he would be a part of their Dark Family from then on, all the while Lucien became utterly enraged over the fact that the boy was going to be 'stuck' with them for far longer than he first assumed.

Oh, how he wishes he could see such a thing. That he could walk into the Abandoned House just as easily as Erinil had and be just as welcomed with open arms as his brothers were so accustomed to being greeted upon return. To not only see Korbin's innocence over everything that happened since they left the Imperial City, as well as the countless new grey hairs Lucien would surely spout over the same exact thing. But those types of thoughts, those rather whimsical desires which dared to linger within his mind when he was left alone to himself... they were nothing more than sheer foolishness born from exceedingly complicated feelings that he so dearly wished he could free himself from.

After all, he did not belong in such places, nor would there ever truly come a time in which he would. He knew it easily, almost too easily, and yet... still he questioned why he continued to mull over the very same questions that regularly brought forth a familiar rush of pain to his chest whenever he did. Why he wished that he could follow the boy inside without second guessing himself, come and stand at his brother's sides without feeling as though he was entirely out of place, and finally, at last, know that he was indeed welcome in their world.

As though he was always meant to be beside them, despite what he may have felt for their profession, or way of life. And while there was surely some hint of kinship among them, among him and Korbin... he knew it was so much more than lacking when it came to himself and Lachance. The connection between them hardly existed, if it even existed at all. He could see it in Lucien’s eyes, in the way that he openly mocked him, the way he spoke of how he was a Priest of Akatosh, and reminded him – whenever he possibly could – that he was far too much of a good, kindhearted man.

It did not matter what his thoughts may have been, or what he felt towards the one that stood in his shadow. In the end, he knew that he did not truly fit, and perhaps – at least as far as Lucien was concerned – never actually would. Thus, it was far better to cast aside such thoughts, before they were about to cause further heart—

"...Martin? Are you still out here?" A voice then calls from over his shoulder, and Martin stills his step – as well as his thoughts. A look of confusion flashes in his eyes, as well as the faintest of hope that begins to warm over his chest in place of the pain, and he instantly turns around to address whom it was that had called his name. When he sees that it is actually Korbin, he plasters on an almost genuine smile, and struggles to bury the remainder of his nonsensical feelings over prior thoughts.

"...Yes, Korbin?" He asks; hoping his emotional tells were not obvious to his brother's gaze. "Is something the matter?"

Korbin chuckles, and leans further out of the opened door of the Abandoned House. "Well yes! Something is indeed the matter, brother!" He cries, and then points a finger at Martin. "And it's all because of the fact that you're still out here, when you shouldn't be!"

Martin raises an eyebrow in response; confusion quickly overtaking him, and then nearly tripling at Korbin's words.

"...Why do you look so confused?" Korbin questions, and then runs an awkward hand over the back of his neck. "Oh... right, I didn't actually phrase that correctly, did I? It came out more of a joke, than an actual explanation. Well, uh, all right...it's like this, okay?" He says, and then leans partially against the door as he does his best to help Martin understand. "Erinil came sprinting inside, shouting happily over one thing, then another, and then another... and then you didn't come in behind him, which made Lachance and myself begin to get rather concerned. So concerned, in fact, that Lucien basically shoved me out of the Black Door, and demanded I come and see what was taking you so long, and why you didn't follow Erinil in!"

Martin’s eyes widen. "W-Wait... wait, what...?" He stammers at the height of his confusion. Lowering his head head, he attempts to make sense of what he is hearing, and yet finds no such answer to every new question that swims far too freely within his own mind. "Are you saying that you... that you want me to come inside with you all?"

"Yeah, of course we do, Martin!" Korbin exclaims cheerfully. "Erinil is going to be introduced to the rest of the family tonight, so they might bestow to him the proper title of house-and-well-guardsman, and probably get embraced all the way to the Void itself by the kid in the process, so we thought... well, this would be a great opportunity to introduce you to the other members of the family as well!" He shrugs his shoulders, all the while gesturing with his hands. "After all, we've had such an incredible journey from the Imperial City, to Bravil, and then to here, and so on, and so on... so, Lucien suggested that we should probably stay here for a few days to replenish ourselves in rest, food, and supplies before we get back on the road towards Chorrol. I mean, when you think about it, it only makes sense, right?"

Martin continues standing perfectly in place in the middle of the cobblestone road. Showing no outward signs that he had actually heard anything Korbin had said to him after he asked his quite bizarre question over whether or not they truly wished for him to come inside the house with them after all. He stares, unblinking down at his feet as his vision blurs, and he fights the urge to look up and accuse his younger brother for daring to play with his – already incredibly fragile – emotions in such a way. But he knows that Korbin would never do that. He would never do anything to intentionally harm him, especially not something like this, and to know that it was Lucien, of all people, that sent him out here, sent him to find him...

In the end, he simply continues to stand there, still as a statue, and soon Korbin grows tired of the uncomfortable silence.

"Uh, Martin? Dear Brother? Are you... are you all right?" Korbin asks; eyes filling with concern. "You're being incredibly quiet, and for you that's... well, that's a very strange sight. Unless, of course, I'm beginning to rub off on you, and it won't be long until you take the title of Silencer from me! But then I would have to tackle you down to the ground, and—" He then huffs, realizing that his rambling was not working as it should, and places both hands upon his hips. "Honestly now, Martin! Are you intentionally not listening to me, or what!?"

Martin snaps back to attention upon hearing Korbin's sudden shouting. "Wh-What?! I... I, uh... I'm—" He clears his throat, and smiles; unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. "F-For...Forgive me, Korbin, I was... preoccupied for a moment. What were you saying?"

"I was saying that you were being too quiet," Korbin blows the bangs from his forehead as he exhales a flustered breath. "But, if you're actually listening to me now, then you should probably know that Lucien is waiting impatiently for you inside."

"He... he is? For... me? Are you quite certain about this, Korbin?" Martin asks as his confusion returns and seeks to overwhelm him once again. "Because while I do not doubt your words by any means, I am unsure as to why he would wish to wait for my presence, exactly..."

The sight of Martin’s stammering causes Korbin to begin chuckling. "Yes, of course I'm certain, Martin!" He tells him, waving a dismissive hand as he attempts to find his composure amid his growing laughter. "And well, it’s not as though I actually got a straight answer – since he is, of course, Lucien through and through – but considering he all but shoved me out here to find you, and he's oddly eager to show you the Black Door for some strange reason... most likely to give you more nightmares as he did during that first camping trip of ours? I really don't think it's all that wise to keep him waiting much longer."

Stilling himself, he turns back towards Martin, and holds out the same hand with a large smile. "So, are you coming, brother?"

Martin pauses once more, looking down at the hand Korbin extends to him in a show of kindness, and slowly comes to the realization – at long last – what it was his dear brother was telling him not only through his playful, yet heartfelt words, but through his oh-so innocent actions just as well, and he simply cannot keep the smile from his lips when he does. What a fool he had been. What an absolute fool. Perhaps he entangled within the suffocating web of overthinking, perhaps his thoughts were merely blinding him from the obvious, undeniable truth, perhaps... he was simply worried for nothing.

And now he was being offered a chance to be accepted, even for a single evening, and he quickly takes it in his grip. If Korbin finally notices his overwhelming emotions that stumble awkwardly in his expression, if Korbin sees that something is considerably different, that something had surely changed since the last time they spoke... he was all too thankful that Korbin chose to remain respectfully silent on the subject, and did not desire bringing such questions to the surface to pull apart the reasoning in much greater detail.

Intertwining their fingers together, he looks up at Korbin, and a gentle light shines anew in his eyes as he matches Korbin’s playful smile with one of his own in turn.

"I'm right behind you, brother," He says, and the title sounds so sweet upon his lips for the second time since they first met in Kvatch. "Lead the way to this Black Door, so that I might finally know just what it is that makes it so incredibly special."

"Of course! I’m very happy to do so, Martin! Follow me!"

And as the soothing comforts of night comes to blanket the city of Cheydinhal in an all too familiar darkness at long last, and the gentle nothingness of sweet silence comes to sing it's haunting melody against the winds, and dance over the cobblestone paths to an unknowing audience, two brothers of choice – one of darkness, and one of light – slowly walk into the depths of shadow's tender embrace hand held tightly within hand.

#hero of kvatch #martin septim #lucien lachance #adoring fan #tes oblivion #The Knight The Emperor And The Assassin~#My Fan Fiction~

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pluto-art · 4 years ago

Text

Syncytium - Chapter 3

Title: Syncytium - Chapter 3 - Sodium Bicarbonate Words: 7,115 Rating: T

Fan Fiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712482/3/Syncytium

As always, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all italics. Other than that, enjoy the full story below the cut!

September 16th, 1993 - 11:48 PM

Two little feet raced pitter-patter down a chatter-filled hallway in A.C.M.E. Arts & Sciences, its occupant laden with pen and petition, eagerly calling out to any hapless individual that came her way as that ever-present tam-o-shanter bounced atop her head.

"Signatures! Come put down your signatures! Sign the petition! Bring baseball back to A.C.M.E.!" Olivia called out, her little jingle ringing in its thick Scottish accent down the corridor and bouncing off the walls. "Baseball for all! Hear you shout! Let them know or we'll strike out!"

Like a fuzzy brown bullet she shot through the school, passing students and teachers, janitors and gym instructors, nearly running into the wall on two occasions, and receiving a sharp reprimand of "Watch it!" or "Land sakes!" from those whose book pages and scarves she ruffled on her flight down the hallways.

"Let your voice be heard! Put your name down! Have a- OOF!"

Olivia gasped as she landed on the hard, linoleum floor, having been knocked back by something tall and firm. She shook her head and looked up... and up... and up, into the stern face of Basil, teacher of Advanced Science and Deduction. Even for a mouse he was rather lanky, towering above Globetrotter and practically a giant to Olivia. The only other mouse in the school who reached his height was Pinky. He glared at her, one eyebrow cocked in silent judgement as he peered down from above, a great slab of papers cradled snugly against his side.

"Oh...," Olivia mumbled, gulping as she quickly stood up, face scrunching, and shook off her clothes, her little tam-o-shanter and petition laying very sorrowfully at her feet.

Basil sighed.

"Young lady," he began, bending down to pick up her hat and place it securely back on her head. "This is the third time this week we've met under unnecessarily chaotic circumstances and it's become... rather an interference in my daily schedule. Would you kindly keep harnessed certain frivolities at play, Miss Flabbergast?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Basil," Olivia muttered shyly, and not unkindly. "I'll be more careful."

She picked her clipboard with petition up off the floor, a little embarrassed.

"Sign my petition...?" she ventured, holding up the paper for Basil to see. He bent down to get a closer look at it.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"It's for a baseball stadium!"

"Baseball stadium?"

"Yes!" Olivia said, nodding excitedly. "So we can get sports back to the school!"

"Sports?" Basil nipped, practically spitting out the word as though it was a nasty slur. "Miss Flim-Flam, the last thing this university of science and culture needs is a bunch of dimwitted degenerates galloping about chasing after a ball. You'd do better to abandon the whole matter, in my opinion."

Olivia hung her head.

"But I doubt it will amount to anything," he continued, picking lint off his cardigan in a snooty fashion. "The most you could hope for is ten signatures, at least. Continue on your hapless venture if you must."

"Really?!"

"Yeeees yes yes. Now, run along."

"Thank you, Mr. Basil! I'll get more than ten. You'll see!"

"Jolly good," Basil replied curtly, sarcastically, pausing to flick a piece of dirt off Olivia's jacket. "Good day to you."

Olivia watched him as he went, his long shoes snapping click, click, click against the floor. She drew out a long breath of utter relief. Basil was fairer than Globetrotter. Anyone was fairer than Globetrotter. However, he still could get a bit cross when rubbed the wrong way, and it certainly wasn't the first time she'd gotten on his irritable side. She'd have to be more careful.

And so, as she continued her trek down the school hallways, calling out as she went (a bit more quietly this time), she jogged rather than sprinted, slipping between passerby with an "Excuse me" or "Pardon" and taking extra precaution not to bump into any more teachers, especially Globetrotter...

"Petition! Come you all and sign! Redefine!"

Maisy tossed Olivia an annoyed glance as she ran past, huffing a little and flipping back her hair as she dug through her locker.

"Since when did the principle allow kids to run around the school? I didn't think he'd be cool with that," she muttered.

Next to her, a chocolate-furred mouse leaned against his adjacent locker, deep in silent conversation as he texted rapidly on his phone.

"Why do you care?" he asked, not looking up at her.

"I dunno. It's just... This is like... a high-profile university, right? There shouldn't be any kids."

"We're kids."

"Um... Excuse me. I'm like... nineteen."

"Yeah. That's young, Maisy."

"Whatever," she spat, flicking her hair back again as she found what she was looking for: a red pencil with yellow flower print slapped all over it.

"Olivia is Flaversham's daughter," Gadget spoke from across the hall at her own locker, snapping her bulbous goggles atop her head as a matter-of-fact. "Everyone knows that." Tillie nodded next to her.

"Okay, but, like...," Maisy continued, pulling out a journal and tucking it under her arm, "... he works. When does he have time to watch her? He just lets her run around the school?"

"Well, isn't Mrs. Judson her nanny?" Tillie offered helpfully, albeit rather quietly. "I think that-"

Several students sprinted by. Tillie paused to let them pass before continuing.

"I think that she watches her in the nurse's office most of the day and lets her run errands."

"Yeah, but-," Maisy began, before being cut off herself as another batch of students trundled by, and then another. "But that doesn't give her leave to just-" More students. "To just run around whenever she-" Even more students. By this point, she could barely even see Gadget and Tillie. "Oh my gosh! I hate not having neighboring lockers!"

"It's lunchtime, Maisy," the male mouse said beside her, closing his phone with a sharp snap. "We should get going."

"Ugh. Fine. I'm starving anyway."

And so off they went, quartet heading for the cafeteria at the prompt hour of 12:00 PM, taking care not to bump into anyone as they entered the huge room.

Unlike the rest of the school, this area was terribly outdated. Or, rather, it had none of the classiness that the majority of the facility offered. Far from being dressed up in a mahogany coat, with comfortable seating, double-pane windows, and classical music that pumped itself like oxygen through the more casual areas of the building, the cafeteria resembled nothing less than something vomited out of an 80s shopping mall. The blue and purple paneling; the flashing neon food signs; the Whitney Houston music trapped perpetually within the speakers. It had it all. Students called it "The Flashback" or "The Blot", depending on who you talked to. The space had been heavily renovated a decade ago in an attempt to reflect the aesthetic at the time, and if the principal in office hadn't been ousted at the time for his radical ways the facility may very well have looked quite different by this point. As it stood, the cafeteria was an eye sore for some, a breath of fresh air for others, and it was a popular spot in which to congregate. If nothing else, the music was a relief. There was only so much Chopin one could take.

Chatter filled the dining area as the quartet entered. Already the tables were filling up, the smell of pizza and dumplings heavy in the air. Once upon a time, the food had reflected the decor: posh, healthy, and expensive. And then, of course, the cafeteria had been renovated, and with it the menu. No one had ever bothered to change the hot dogs back to ham; the grilled cheese back to caviar. Lemon sherbet tasted much better than shitake, and the students liked it that way.

"Think they're gonna have the jelly sauce again today?" Gadget asked, standing up on tip-toe to peer over at the food counter.

"Ew. Gosh. I hope not. That stuff is gro- HO MY GOSH," gasped Maisy.

"What?" Gadget asked, looking around, eyes wide. She hoped another wasp hadn't broken into the cafeteria again. Two had welcomed themselves in in the last week and she didn't think she could handle the stress another day.

"He's here," Maisy stressed, clutching at her heart and grabbing hold of Gadget's shoulder rather tightly.

Tillie and Gadget followed her gaze all the way across the floor to the food bar. There stood Pinky, dressed today in lab pants and a blue and gray striped shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Had it not been for the ridiculously long white lab pants that spilled over his shoes, Gadget thought he might have looked rather fetching. As it stood, though, he didn't. Maisy thought otherwise.

"Ugh. He's so hot."

"So hot he melts your brains?" the male mouse quipped, back to texting on his phone.

Maisy shot him a nasty look. Tillie didn't even notice.

"Wow. Clam chowder special," she mused, completely serious as she stared, astonished, at the counter.

"You're focusing on the food?!" Maisy exclaimed, flabbergasted. Tillie remained oblivious.

"Oh, I hope Mrs. Brisby isn't too early today. I rather like lunch break...," Tillie mused, loosening her shawl a little.

"But you also like her classes," said Gadget, smiling.

"I do. They're fun."

"Learning about weeds is fun?" asked Maisy.

"Agriculture is more interesting than you think it would be! You should try it sometime. It's fun!"

"Tillie, the only fun thing about this school is the lunch break."

The dark-furred he mouse with them rolled his eyes, his hands in his pockets.

"Seriously, Maisy? Not even the Chemistry class is interesting?" he mentioned, incredulous.

"Okay, well, that is a little bit interesting..."

The he mouse sighed.

"You're incredible. Our parents are paying good money for this school. You should be grateful. Come on. Let's stake a seat."

A few tables down, a gaggle of mice, moles, and a rat or two sat, chattering loudly. One of them, a black-haired mouse in a frilly, once-piece dress, sash around the middle and dark hair tied up in a bun, stood up in her chair and waved in their direction.

"Maaaaaaisy, girl! Come on! We've been waiting for you!"

"GIIIIRL! I was just about to ditch these losers! Gimme a sec!" Maisy called back, beaming. "Sorry, guys. I gotta go."

"Wha-..? But I thought we were gonna-" the male mouse began, taken aback.

"Sorry, Dex. I forgot I'd promised Marvell I'd be here at noon. We'll catch up later, I promise. Okay?"

"Yeah. Sure...," Dex shrugged dejectedly.

"Thanks, Dex. Bye, y'all!" said Maisy, and she ran off to join the loquacious group.

"Bye, loser!" Gadget joked back, shaking her head. "Airhead."

"Remind me why we hang out with her again?" Tillie asked, as the remaining three headed for the food bar.

Gadget shrugged.

"She's been my friend since middle school. I'd feel weird just ditching her."

"You wouldn't be missing much," Dex muttered, although there was a hesitancy in his voice.

Gadget threw him a sideways glance as she grabbed a tray, Tillie and Dex following suit.

"You know that's not true, Dex. She's a bit into herself, but you know she loves you."

Dex shrugged.

One by one, a steady line of students at the bar filed past the counter, picking off a box of salad here, a cup of macaroni there. Things reached a stand still at the chili bowl. Dex and Gadget stood up on tip-toe for a couple seconds, flattened back out on their feet, stared at each other, and rolled their eyes, sniggering. But of course...

The hold up, as per the norm, was Pip, one of the restaurant hands and the only chipmunk in the entire school. He was terribly chatty, not to mention contentious if you dared complain about any aspect of the food. Either something was wrong and he needed to comment on it, or someone he recognized as a friend had just crossed his path. Judging by the chipper tone of his voice, Gadget guessed it was the latter today.

"So what's with this petition? Lemme see that paper, sister!"

And he whipped from someone's hand a petite clipboard entrusted with several sheets of lined paper. He read through it quickly, nose almost touching the paper.

Gadget, Dex, and Tillie peered around the crowd ahead of them to see who had handed him the paper. Oh. Naturally.

There stood Olivia, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as Pip perused her petition, a wide, expectant smile on her face. Was there no place she wouldn't invade?

"Hmmm," Pip mused, tapping his foot a mile a minute as his keen eyes roved over the paper one more time. "Weeeeeeell, I don't usually sign these things, buuuuut... baseball sounds like a worthy cause. Ya' got a pen?"

"Here you go!" Olivia squeaked happily, extracting from the inside of her coat pocket a blue pen and offering it to Pip. He took it swiftly and signed the petition just as fast.

"Just make sure you get me a position as umpire!" Pip said, handing her back the petition and pen.

"Oh, I will! Thank you!"

"Say, uhhhh... how many signatures you got on that thing so far?"

"Twenty-three!"

"Heeeeeey. That's not bad!"

"Come on, Pip!" a student piped up, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, we've got class!" a girl vole squeaked from behind the trio.

"All right, all right already! Sheesh!" Pip nipped back, rolling his eyes. "Hey. You keep gettin' those John Hancocks, okay?" he said, winking at Olivia.

"Um... Okay!"

And with that, she was off, not even bothering to grab an apple or a cracker, something that others cast glances at her for. Olivia passing up an opportunity to nab some food? She must mean business...

"She's so cute," Gadget mused, watching Olivia sprint around, on the hunt for more signatures, as she moved up a couple steps in line.

"Yeah," Dex said, arms folded. "She's a trip." Despite himself, he smiled after her. Little kids amused him sometimes, even if they could be a bit pesky underfoot.

As more students spilled into the cafeteria, fingers pointed, some quite shamelessly, in the direction of the food bar. Dex followed the invisible lines to a spot some paces behind them in line. But of course. They were all directed at the new teacher, Ronald Pinkus. The girls seemed particularly smitten, giggling and whispering and acting, in Dex's mind, perfectly idiotic. In fact, come to think of it, as he looked about the room, most of the girls were in deep conversation, their eyes trained on the same subject in the room, including Maisy's group. He shook his head. This was a university, not a middle school. Daftness came in all ages, he supposed.

"What?" Gadget queried, taking notice of the furrowed brow and the folded arms.

"Nothing," Dex muttered, shuffling forward a few paces as the line moved ahead. Both he and Gadget grabbed a plate of chocolate cake.

Gadget looked back at the new teacher and snickered.

"Don't let it get to you."

"She's just as bad as everyone else."

"Who? Maisy?"

"Yeah..."

Gadget shrugged.

"It's probably just a phase. Next week she'll fall for Basil again or someone."

Trays full, they set off to find a table. Tillie waved at them from a corner. They headed towards her.

"I dunno. I kinda...," Dex began, then stopped as they reached the table, sitting down with their trays. Tillie was already deep in her bowl of clam chowder.

"You what?" Gadget asked as she pulled her chair up.

"It's... whatever."

"What?"

Dex picked up his spoon, swirled it around in his own bowl of clam chowder, then set it down. Screw it. He grabbed his fork and dug into the chocolate cake instead.

"I miss when we used to hang out more."

"What are we talking about now?" Tillie asked, only half-interested.

No one said anything right away. Gadget picked at her sunflower seed salad for a minute, then spoke.

"You're her brother. She'll come back around eventually."

Dex shrugged again. He was about to shove another large piece of chocolate cake into his mouth when something lightly bumped his elbow. He turned and looked down. It was Olivia.

"Sign my petition?" she asked, her little whiskers upturned in a wide smile.

Dex couldn't help but mirror that infectious grin. In the distance, something... someone... caught his eye. It was Maisy. She frowned at him and shook her head. Dex frowned back. He took the clipboard and pen from Olivia's outstretched paws.

"You know what? Sure, kid. Baseball, right?"

"Uh-huh! We're going to have a mascot again, too! I hope..."

He handed her back the clipboard and pen and ruffled her hair, or, rather, the top of her tam-o-shanter.

"Break a leg, kid."

"Thank you!" she beamed, and off she went.

Dex smiled. In the background, Maisy shook her head. Dex snapped his fingers and winked, finger-gunning her. She rolled her eyes and went back to talking to her friends.

"Ugh. He's such a tease," complained Maisy to her company, twirling a strand of her long, golden hair as she sipped soda through a straw.

"He just cares about other people. Heck, I signed her petition," the black-furred mouse said. "How come you never hang out with your brother anymore? He's been lookin' kinda sad..."

"He's not even my real brother, Marvell. He's just my half-brother. You know that. Do we look like we're related?"

"But y'all used to be so close! What happened?"

Maisy shrugged.

"I dunno. We just... shifted."

"Don't you mean 'drifted'?" offered up a boy rat next to her.

"Whatever," Maisy shrugged. "Anyway, what do you guys think of him?" she smirked, jerking her head in the direction of Pinky still in line at the food bar.

All at the table turned their heads to look at him. He seemed to be picking out quite an odd assortment of foods: a hot dog, two cups of custard, and several pieces of cheese - just cheese. Every person that passed him a "hello" he greeted with a chipper "Good morning!", and his attitude towards the servers was polite and enthusiastic. Those around him couldn't seem to keep the smiles off their faces. Even the students generally known to be more reserved or stuck up couldn't help but throw him a curious glance. He was, for lack of a better term, "sunshine-y".

The boy rat popped several corn puffs in his mouth, his dry expression unchanged.

"He's kind of a twink, isn't he?"

Maisy slapped him on the shoulder playfully.

"He is not!"

"Dude. Come on..."

"He's not that young," Marvell said, filing her nails as another of their group, a white mouse in a red shirt and with a yellow sash tied about his neck, came and sat down beside her, a cup full of fizzy raspberry water tottering dangerously on the edge of his tray. "He is kinda cute, though..."

The white mouse set down his tray carefully... but not carefully enough. Slip went the cup, the mouse grabbing it before its contents could spill out entirely.

"AH!" Marvell yelped, jumping a little. "Stuart, that's the second time this week!"

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, Marvell!" the little mouse said, apologizing profusely as he skittered off towards the food bar. "I'll go get some napkins!"

"Awww, man. I just washed this," lamented Marvell, picking up a corner of her frilly blue frock, now tainted with fizz. "Well... At least it's just water. I can work with this, right? Looks kinda... sassy?"

The boy rat sat up, the better to look at Marvell's new fashion statement. The water had painted the rounded edges of one side of the dress. It could have passed for an interesting pattern if one squinted hard enough.

"Yeah, sure. You could pass it off as the new look," he suggested, smiling.

"Hm," Marvell replied, smirking as she sat back down, ringing out the dress edge.

Maisy didn't seem the least bit phased.

"I think he's kinda hot," she said, eyelashes fluttering as she sipped at her soda noisily.

"Hotter than Globetrotter?" sniggered the boy rat.

"Okay, Globetrotter's in his own league. Okay? I can never compete with that."

"Ummm...," Marvell mumbled, covering her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her embarrassed smile as she pointed to a figure behind Maisy's back.

"What?" Maisy asked, craning around slightly to look before swiftly turning back 'round in her seat again, shoulder hunched as she visibly blushed. "Oh my gosh," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.

The boy rat beside her could barely hide his laughter as Globetrotter walked past them, his nose deep in a very thick, very red, and very heavy-looking book. Had he actually been paying attention to their conversation Maisy might have had more reason to involuntarily add a bit of color to her cheeks. As it stood, however, he had not, and so continued towards the bar, oblivious to the fact that he was now fifth in line behind Pinky.

"That's astounding!" Pinky exclaimed, tray of food all but forgotten as he leaned across a glass awning in front of him, totally invested in Pip's latest story. "But... how were you able to keep the syrup layer from separating?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Pip replied, and on and on he went.

Two students ahead of Pinky peered back, interested. Others behind him simply chuckled... or tapped their foot impatiently. To Globetrotter it was complete gibberish. The culinary arts was a branch he rarely dabbled in unless absolutely necessary. Although I do make a mean rigatoni, he thought to himself before shaking his head disgustedly. Where the heck did that come from? He was supposed to be engulfed in Brownian Motion and Stochastic Calculus, but, as it stood, he found his attention inexplicably pulled towards a much... lesser subject. It was unfathomable how anyone could be so intrigued by such mundane topics as the properties of pancakes and how effectively one might prepare them, but the fanaticism with which his coworker now described it was almost... infectious. Nevertheless, Globetrotter frowned as he checked his watch. 12:18 PM. They were wasting precious time. He was wasting his precious time.

"Will you move along already!" he called out, voice peppered with vexation. "I've got class in twenty-seven minutes!"

"Oh! So sorry!" Pinky called back, paws quickly grabbing hold of his tray once more. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Pip. Good luck with your pancakes!"

"Same to you, my good man!" Pip squeaked back. "What a pleasant fellow," he muttered to himself, smiling as Pinky walked off towards the refreshments bar, laden with food.

Globetrotter huffed and moved forward, grabbing a single bowl of fruit and a cup of cottage cheese on his way down. As he passed the pasta section, he paused, reached out a hesitant paw towards a plate of spaghetti, then quickly snapped it back, sighing and frowning sadly as he moved on to the refreshments, grabbing a banana on his way over and angrily slapping it down on his tray.

He stopped beside Pinky, who was humming and pouring himself some English Breakfast tea. Globetrotter huffed again. Flavored water - a poor man's excuse for caffeine. How anyone could drink that stuff was beyond him. He went for the coffee, pulled down the carafe lever... and grumbled. Empty.

"Is there any place in this building that can afford a mouse a decent cup of coffee?!" he whined, popping his empty cup back onto the others.

"Oh, that's a shame there, isn't it? Have you tried the tea, Brain?" Pinky offered helpfully, as he popped a lid on his own steaming cup.

"I refuse to bow my knee to such a lowbrow form of refreshment," Globetrotter bit back, picking up his tray. "And it's Brian, you nincompoop."

"Well, how do you know you don't like it if you don't try it? Poit!" Pinky replied, unfazed by the retort.

"If I liked it I'd drink it. Good day to you."

And off he went, choosing a spot as far back in the room as possible, Pinky sadly watching him as he picked out a table devoid of occupants. Pinky looked back at the empty coffee cup, a light whimper escaping him as he stared at it dolefully. He turned back to focus on Globetrotter, who was once more lost in his big red book. Students who sat nearby gave him as wide of a berth as they could. Pinky's ears drooped. What a sad little man, he thought. But it wasn't long before they perked back up again. Why, yes. Of course! Beaming, he set his tray down at an occupied table ("Watch this for me, will you?"), and rushed out of the cafeteria, leaving several students at the table to stare after him, puzzled.

Flip. Globetrotter turned a page of his massive tome, popping a grape in his mouth and crunching down on it satisfactorily. Flip, flip, flip. He looked to his right. A girl mouse sat nearby, also buried in a book. A huge pink bow sat atop her head. He recognized her. She was one of his students. Teresa, her name was, if he recalled correctly. She was one of his brighter subjects, but struggled with the occasional mathematical theory. As it was, her nose practically brushed the pages of a book that Globetrotter recognized by sight alone: Calculus by Gilbert Strang. Teresa sighed deeply, her unironed brow effectively relaying her frustration. She looked up... and jumped a little as she noticed Globetrotter staring at her, a light pink almost the exact color of her bow kissing her cheeks. Globetrotter slowly ducked back into his own texts, his peripheral vision catching Teresa shifting her seat over a notch in embarrassment.

A paw reached out to grab for his coffee, and he looked up when it touched nothing. Right. No coffee... Sighing, he popped another grape in his mouth, biting into it rather harder than necessary. Nearby, at another table, several students whispered.

"Did you find out what he teaches?" a girl vole asked, her question laced with ardor.

"Yup. He teaches Trozology," replied a male rat next to her, a pair of thick headphones hung about his neck.

"What the heck is that?" voiced another female rodent at their table, a cream-furred mouse decked out in purple - purple shirt; purple pants; purple socks; purple everything.

"I dunno," the rat shrugged. "Sounds kinda cool, though."

Globetrotter frowned. His ears twitched as tinkling laughter echoed from another table beside him.

"I knooooooow. He's so cute!" chuckled a rosy pink-eared mouse. She spoke in a barely-contained whisper along with the rest of her group, all of which sported bulky backpacks laid out on their table and decorated with all sorts of patches, stickers, and keychains. "I hope I can get a spot in his class!"

"I think he still has slots open!" one of her friends, a field rat, spoke up. "As far as I know, though, no one's actually signed up."

"Whyyyyyy? He's adorable! I'm gonna sign up just so I can stare at that face every day," a girl hamster said.

"What if you don't even like the class?" the second friend spoiled. "Maybe it's a dud. And we don't really have time in our schedules for another course..."

They all paused sadly and contemplatively at this. Then the first girl perked up.

"Well, I guess we'll get him all to ourselves then. If no one else likes the class then we'll stay just for the teacher!"

"Yeah, until every other girl does the same thing. You know we're not the only ones with the hots for him," the hamster said, taking a swig from her soda bottle.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to fight for him," smiled the rat nonchalantly as she picked at her nails.

"Fight for him?!" yelped the other girls, covering their mouths at their loudness. "Oh my gosh. Seriously?!"

"Yeah! Anyone who comes up, we'll tell 'em to meet us at the park at two. No knives. Just like... nail clippers and hair curlers or something..."

"No no! Wait! We tell them to meet us at the baseball stadium!" offered the hamster, soda pop forgotten.

"You mean the one Olivia's petitioning?" the girl mouse asked. "It's not even built yet!"

"Yeah, but when it is we can tell them to meet there!"

"Winner gets dibs. They get to call first date," said the rat.

"And the loser has to pay for the dinner tab."

"Yeah!"

"Oh my gosh, you guys are so funny," the mouse chuckled.

They all laughed gaily.

Globetrotter's frown deepened, his mouth hanging open, another grape suspended in mid-air. Was Pinkus really... that popular? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the conversations now swimming about his consciousness, when yet another light exchange, a distant one this time, caught his ears.

"... thinking of actually dropping Globetrotter's class to take that Ronald guy's one. It's just as many credits. Probably way more fun."

Globetrotter gulped. He tried reading a sentence in his book, only to find that he kept gracing the same words over and over and over again. Blast it. He couldn't concentrate. He plopped the book down on the table and went to devouring his cottage cheese, all around him oblivious to the private war going on in his mind.

Why do you care what they think? They're kids. They're idiots.

Yes, and have you forgotten what happened when Basil came to the school two years ago? They went gah-gah over him, too.

They didn't all abandon my class!

Nooooo, but half of them did. And Basil taught a required course at the time. Same as yours. They all went for his. He was much more interesting than you.

That's neither here nor there! I'm still employed, aren't I? My class is still sought after.

For now, and only because it's required. This new guy is significantly more popular. What if his class becomes required? What if it's worse than before? What if you become... old hat?

"No!" Globetrotter yelled, out loud. Half the cafeteria paused to stare at him. He sunk in his seat a little. How embarrassing...

In mock resoluteness, he grabbed the book before him and went back to reading. But he was only truly pretending to read, the bright crimson covers a pathetic excuse for a hole in which the frightened mouse hid.

The truth was that, despite his behavior being anything but amicable, his notorious reputation in the school had garnered him something akin to a celebrity status over the years. The course was required, certainly, even though he wasn't the only teacher who taught it, but the struggle to survive the rigorous schedule and harsh grading system he doled out had become a flat out challenge to the students. How long could you last? Would you manage to nab the ever elusive 'A' during a semester? One pupil even became famous for handing out "I Survived Globetrotter's Class" t-shirts. They hated the teacher, but reveled in the challenge. It was something that Globetrotter became ironically comfortable with over the years. Being notorious was better than not being noticed at all. He couldn't abide the thought of being second fiddle; of falling into obscurity. He'd never had reason to be concerned about it for seventeen years, even during Basil's "reign", but now...? Now he had legitimate competition. In all his years at A.C.M.E. Arts & Sciences, he'd never known an instructor so heavily discussed, so quixotic, so beloved, even on the very first day of his employment. Pinky was new and different, in all the wrong ways to him, yet in all the right ways to the students. And it terrified him.

On a sudden whim, he whipped out a pen from his inside jacket pocket and wrote feverishly on a napkin in front of him. He didn't see the tall figure approach him.

"Hello, Brain!"

Globetrotter practically leapt out of his skin.

"AH! Wh-... You..! Don't... do that!" he remarked, hastily stuffing the napkin and pen back into his coat pocket. He clutched at his heart, taking deep breaths as he rested his head in his palm.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Brain!" poor Pinky replied, resting a hand on Globetrotter's back comfortingly. Globetrotter shrugged it off, literally.

"And don't touch me! I just... h-had this... p-pressed," Globetrotter snapped, still catching his breath. "Who knows where your... paws have... been..."

"Oh, well, they haven't been far, Brain. They're always at my side! Ha-ha!"

Globetrotter cocked an eyebrow up at him, speechless. There was no way anyone could be this inordinately stupid.

"Mind if I join you?" Pinky asked, all innocence, that perpetually sunny smile never leaving his face.

"As I matter, of fact, I-"

"Oh, thank you!" Pinky initiated, grabbing a chair and pulling it close up to Globetrotter. Too close for his comfort. Apparently, personal space was something of a foreign concept to this character. "You know, I don't usually eat in public. Don't want to miss The Brady Bunch, you know? Hm hm. But it's rather nice out here! I might come and sit with you more often."

Heaven forbid, Globetrotter thought, ears reddening.

"Would you kindly refrain from mentioning that abomination of a tv show in my presence? It sickens me. And I don't appreciate your unnaturally close proximity."

"Come again?" Pinky asked, cocking his head.

"Move," Globetrotter said, managing, with difficulty, to push Pinky and the chair he sat in over an inch.

"Well, you could have just asked," Pinky chuckled, still smiling. He complied, scooting his chair a couple more inches away from Brain.

"Thank you," bit Globetrotter, turning away from Pinky and directing his attention back to the giant tome in front of him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a little privacy."

"Oh, but, I came to give you something!" Pinky exclaimed, and Globetrotter, despite himself, shiftily looked over as the lanky mouse dug in his pants pocket for... something. "A-ha! Here ya' go!"

And he handed him... a teabag? No. Not a teabag. It was too big to be a teabag.

Globetrotter took it from him tentatively, two fingers holding it away from his body as if it might explode.

"What is it?"

"Chicory root! I just thought that, well, when you couldn't find any coffee it reminded me of my mum. She used to be a big coffee drinker, too. She stopped recently, but she still missed the taste. Chicory root tastes a lot like coffee, only better! M-Maybe you'd like it, too?" Pinky offered helpfully, a tinge of shyness peppering his smile.

Globetrotter looked up at Pinky, nonplussed... and a wee bit confused. No one ever gave him anything; not unless he directly asked for it. To be fair, no one was ever bold enough to even attempt to show him much kindness, seeing as the result was often times a sharp reply and a sinister glare. This newcomer obviously hadn't learned the rules yet.

"Teachers... don't usually give me gifts," Globetrotter admitted. "Not unless I ask for them." Nevertheless, he pocketed the chicory root.

"Perhaps that's because you don't ask nicely, Brain? People give you lots of things when you're nice to them!"

It wasn't so much the statement itself, but the boldness of its deliverance that took Globetrotter aback.

"Sooooo... you're saying... I should be nice... to get rewards?"

"Oh, no, Brain! That would be taking advantage! You should be nice to people, 'cause, well, it's nice! And then they're nice to you! Don't you like making people happy?"

"No."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No one has ever given me reason to."

"Well, maybe they would if you showed them a little smile!"

And he actually stuck two fingers up against Globetrotter's cheeks, pushing up on each side in an attempt to draw something close to a grin on his drooping face.

"Ohhhhhhh. There's that smile, Brain!"

"Would you get off?!" Globetrotter blasted, waving his arms around as he flung Pinky off of him. "I told you not to touch me!"

His cheeks and ears burned red at the sound of laughter nearby. Some of the students had been watching and were now drowning in a hushed fit of giggles. Naturally...

"You dimwit. If you're still sitting in that chair in five seconds, I shall personally have to harm you," threatened Globetrotter, cheeks reddening worse than ever as his paws balled into fists.

"Do I get a prize if I leave in four?" Pinky smirked.

"One..."

"Or maybe I'll get one if I stay longer! It pays to be persistent sometimes, Brain."

"Two..."

"You know, you're rather funny when your ears turn red. Nya-ha-ha!"

"FOUR...!"

"Going, Brain!"

And with that, he was off, picking his food up off his tray to take back to his room, giggling to himself and humming, of all things, "Camptown Races" as he headed for the doors. One of the teachers, a Dr. Dawson, smiled at Pinky as he walked past him. And Dr. Dawson... Oh, have mercy. Dr. Dawson started singing along with him.

"I say. I do recognize that tune, young man!" Dawson said, grinning warmly. "Camptown ladies sing this song! Doo-dah! Doo-dah!"

"Camptown race-track five miles long! Oh, doo-da day!" Pinky sung back, beaming.

Others joined in. Still others. Soon, almost the entire cafeteria, minus Globetrotter and a few stragglers, was decked out in song.

"Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day! Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag! Somebody bet on the bay!"

And with that, everyone burst out into hearty laughter, Pinky's wail the loudest of all. He and Dr. Dawson exchanged a friendly word or two, shook hands, and with that, Pinky departed, leaving a trail of chuckles behind.

Globetrotter blinked, his mouth hanging slightly open again. Whatever had happened was... terrifying. This bloke didn't just have an effect on the students, but on the whole school. Even the teachers were getting involved! It was official. This needed to end. He had to be stopped...

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Pinky was still humming "Camptown Races" all the way back to his classroom. He'd just reached the door when a little someone came pitter-pattering down the hallway after him.

"Mr. Pinky! Mr. Pinky!" she called, hat bobbing wildly up and down on her ruffled, furry head.

"Hello, Olivia!" Pinky said, grinning from ear to ear.

"That was amazing!" she gasped, panting. "Mrs. Judson said she could hear you from the nurses' office. She was singing with you!"

They both giggled at this.

"Well, tell Mrs. Judson that Mr. Pinky is glad she enjoyed the song!" Pinky said.

"Oh, I will! I will! By the way, umm... do you have any more classes planned?" Olivia asked, tucking her paws behind her and rocking back and forth, the pink cheeks only complementing her humble posture. She looked awfully cute.

"Hmmmmm. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Is that a Friday?"

"I think so."

"Yes! Yes, I will!"

"2:00 PM sharp tomorrow, little lady," Pinky said, winking at her.

"2:00 PM sharp, Mr. Pinky!" Olivia repeated, saluting him. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

And off she trotted.

"Oh! Olivia!" Pinky called.

Olivia stopped and turned around, her mouth in a curious little 'o' shape. Pulling a hand out of his pocket, Pinky tossed her a bag of crisps. She caught it with a trained paw.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, popping open the bag and tossing a chip in her mouth as she ran off and around a corner.

"Olivia!" Pinky called again, a hand to his mouth.

"Hm?" she queried, popping her head around the corner.

"How many signatures?!"

"Thirty-seven!"

"Woo-hoo!"

"Woo woo!" she called back, before flying off once more.

Pinky smiled, giggling to himself, as he turned the door handle and disappeared inside.

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

Author's Notes:

- Marvell is an original character created by a friend of mine who goes by the cognomen of "Geeky". You can find her lovely art and cute character on Twitter at: GeekyBlackGirl

- Flip phones weren't exactly in wide use in '93, but I cheated here for convenience's sake and story purposes.

- The book that Teresa was reading, as well as the book Globetrotter carried around with him, are actual published works. Stochastic calculus is, apparently, a very advanced form of the subject. Brain considers it light reading.

- Your typical volcano science project is partially composed of baking soda, which, in turn, is made up of sodium bicarbonate. The whole thing is a reference to Globetrotter's explosive personality, and how he views the current predicament as such: one big problem on the verge of erupting and destroying his position if he doesn't do something... and fast.

- Globetrotter going for the cottage cheese and fruit, while sadly eschewing the pasta, is due to the fact that, in this story, he has terrible bowel and diarrhea issues. He's been told by his doctor to avoid certain foods, but finds this... a struggle at times. I dunno why I decided to give him this problem, other than the fact that it amuses me. Lol.

- Olivia is a lot of fun to write. :)

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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