#Been through a Hell that you don't see/A kind of suffering/The eyes don't notice || Pre-MHA Verse

[truly-quirkless]

[ @penandswords || Liked for a Fin Starter!]

It was so early in the day- but they had every single report already laying beside the site entrance when they arrived. It caused a faint sense of joy in them- they'd heard from the others, the brief mumblings that they'd been getting their jobs done quicker...Fin didn't have much, but maybe they'd use the yen they didn't spend on themself to host a party...a sort of thanks to the construction crew for their hard work. A small smile dared to cross their face.

Maybe things in Japan wouldn't be so bad- of course, several of the crew still defaulted to English around the young adult, but they had been quick to try to show how much they knew in Japanese... Fin had always been a quick study, anyway.

They were happily walking down the hall of U. A., most of the students having gone to their classes for the day. Their eyes closed for a few moments, thinking about what they'd do to celebrate everyone's accomplishment-

THWNK-

"Shit-!" Fin stumbled- the reports they had between their crossed arms suddenly falling out from under, sliding along the ground and scattering in all directions. "--fuck-" They nearly fell, themself- stumbling as their shoe hit a paper and slid, barely catching themself- eyes snapping to the student they'd bumped into. "---I'm so sorry,- are you alright-?! Here- I-- lemme help you." Fuck they just cursed around a student-

[vickyvicarious]

It seems like the general first impression was "The Demeter crew is suffering and sleepless and dying, while Mina is having a nice sightseeing vacation", but... Doesn't it seem less of a contrast than that?

Lucy's now increasingly odder sleepwalking was there from day one of Mina's arrival, making Mina sleepless. While the crew sleeps with one eye open.

Even on the first day on Whitby, Mina was taking about death and lost ships. While the crew was beginning to lose men. Mina and Mr Swales talk about tombstones and suicide. While the First Mate jumps to his death.

*Mina voice*: the reports of my hot girl summer have been greatly exaggerated...

You're onto something here, definitely. Of course, in the original book, we don't see anything from the Demeter until a little ways into Mina's stay, so it (re)reads as more foreshadowing than it seems like a parallel, but that's one of the really fun things to notice in the daily format! I'm reminded of Lucy's three suitors and her letters about looking into her mirror coming so soon on the heels of Jonathan's encounter with the three vampire women and with his mirror getting broken.

I never noticed just how much a lot of Mina's storyline here lines up so well with the Demeter though. And now that I'm thinking about it... There's a bunch of those kinds of connections!

Of course, there are overall ones. Like you said, Lucy's sleepwalking begins right away, and it robs Mina of her sleep. Meanwhile, the crew of the Demeter are kept awake by storms, by double-watches, by having to pick up the work that no one else is left to do. But though that's pretty overarching, there are also some moments that line up really well. For example, July 27: "Lucy walks more than ever, and each night I am awakened by her moving about the room." and July 28: "Four days in hell, knocking about in a sort of maelstrom, and the wind a tempest. No sleep for any one. Men all worn out."

Then there are Mina's conversation with Mr. Swales, especially the latter one with its talk of suicide, of going to hell - only two days before the mate leaps to his death rather than allow Dracula to get his soul. Mr. Swales also parallels the first mate a bit in being, as Mina says, "a most dictatorial person in his day" and very insistent that there's nothing supernatural going on, though as yet he's not been proven so terribly wrong about that the way the first mate was.

On July 24, Mina says there is "a buoy with a bell, which swings in bad weather, and sends in a mournful sound on the wind. They have a legend here that when a ship is lost bells are heard out at sea." That same day the Demeter is approaching more bad weather, and later on they get lost in the fog. (Though we never get mention of any bell ringing.)

Mrs. Westenra is afraid of Lucy's sleepwalking because she "has got an idea that sleep-walkers always go out on roofs of houses and along the edges of cliffs and then get suddenly wakened and fall over with a despairing cry that echoes all over the place." On August 2, the captain is awoken by a cry that sounds close, but which he cannot see the source of in the fog. The next day, the mate runs up onto the deck crying out after being figuratively 'wakened' to the true horror of who he's up against just before he leaps over the side of the ship. Also on August 3, Lucy goes about searching for the key so she can get out, and the mate went searching through the boxes in the hold. He clearly found what he was looking for, and it had terrible consequences; if Lucy finds what she seeks in her sleepwalking, what might happen to her?

And, one that I can't believe never occurred to me before... Mina's not only worried about Lucy, of course. She's very afraid for Jonathan. Because he, much like the men on the Demeter, has vanished unseen. He went off to his work (on watch/work trip) and hasn't been seen since. Even when she hears from him, it's brief and she can sense the letter is uncharacteristic of him, short and lacking detail. The reason, though she doesn't know it, is of course that Dracula stopped him from saying anything else/more. Jonathan's real sentiments and words were 'lost in the fog' so to speak (the false trail laid by the letters being the metaphorical fog here). It reminds me of the one sailor's cry that awoke the captain. And even with that, she's still waiting for more word of him and should have had it by this point. But he's simply gone.

It's not endless horrors for Mina at the moment, but the ominous tone is certainly building over time despite more positive moments happening too. To use a weather metaphor, more and more stormclouds have been gathering over time, looming threateningly overhead. And it looks an awful lot like the weather Dracula brought to the Demeter.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Mercy ~ T.R.

A/n: I haven’t actually watched this far into the show, this is all from second hand understanding, so if it’s a little OOC I apologize :)

Request: “Can you do a Theo Raeken x Mreader where the reader never doubted that there was goodness in Theo’s heart even tho he committed terrible acts, the reader supports Theo because they knew that he was led astray since he was a child. The pack believes that the reader maybe crazy and when they discuss that Theo deserves everything bad that happens to him, the reader defends him, which makes Theo feels like he doesn’t deserve someone like them.” By anon

Word Count: 2100+

MASTERLIST

"Stop that." 

Y/n was a pretty passive person. His strengths came from maintaining focus and calm. Hiding, not being seen, never losing control. When he spoke, it was always even and his gaze gave nothing away. He wasn't particularly comforting, or good at fighting, but he was extremely good at getting out of a tight situation - or sneaking into one without consequences. It left him often as the one who could get reinforcements, deliver information where it was needed, or learn important things others couldn't because he hadn't been noticed or stopped.

Which meant easily enough that when he glared at someone, or when his sharp tone snapped through the room with genuine anger, the pack knew it was a severe reaction. If you didn't know him, it would be easy to dismiss the outburst as quieter than Derek's, or softer than what Isaac or Stiles might have hit with. There was no sass or sarcasm and even very little poison in the words... but the fact that it was so full of emotion was telling.

Especially because all they were talking about was Theo.

Scott raised his eyebrows as he shot Y/n a sideways glace. "Stop what?"

"Don't talk about trauma you don't understand," was all Y/n said.

Stiles' face twisted slightly with an anger leaning confusion. "What are you talking about? Theo tried to kill Scott and take over all of us. Including you. He did horrible experiments on the chimeras he did get his hands on - and most of them died. All he has done is cause pain and misery since he got here. Who the hell cares what he's been through?"

Y/n's sudden pointed look stopped Stiles dead. It was equivalent to a blade being pressed to his throat, or a gun leveled at his head. It was a threat - a promise - and he knew to back down immediately. "You never know what kind of person others' experiences would have made you if you'd lived through them. Theo was a child. And before you go off or dismiss me like you have in the past, Stilinski, no I don't condone or dismiss the vast amounts of harm he has caused the people around him. I'm not saying anyone is required to forgive him just because he had a hard life. I was there when Kira sent him to hell the first time, and I helped every step of the way. I stand by what we did. But he doesn't deserve all the pain and suffering he's been through, and it does matter, and he deserves a chance to get better and be a different person." He grew quiet for a moment, sensing everyone in the room growing tense and avoiding his eyes. He sighed and stood from his chair. "I'll see you guys later - let me know when you need me." He left the room, leaving everyone staring after him with wide eyes and parted lips.

Despite how important he found his message, Y/n knew not to push it. It wouldn't go anywhere to hit a brick wall over and over again. It would just break his hand.

-

"What's your deal this time?" Scott sighed the words, his shoulders drooping. This time Theo was in the room, and they'd been trying to ignore Y/n expression as it grew darker and darker, but Scott was powerful because he cared - of course he couldn't last forever.

Y/n's eyes were trained on the windows to the side of the room they were on, taking in the view of the outside past them. Trying to focus and ground himself. He needed to answer this calmly no matter how volatile he felt; they needed to be united in the face of those who depended on them. Like Liam and Theo. 

When he did speak, he could feel every single pair of eyes on him. "I will not stand for that talk in my presence. Keep your harsh words to yourself, or I will intervene."

Stiles, who had been the one going off on Theo, rolled his eyes. He was still wrapped up in his ow feelings and thoughts and didn't have the wherewithal to control himself - even under such threat from Y/n. He fell back on what he was best at: not shutting up. "Theo killed his own sister-"

Y/n snapped. He rushed Stiles, hands wrapping in his shirt as he slammed the other boy against the wall. Everyone scrambled, but Scott held up a hand and caught his breath, eyes wide. They all paused. They had trusted Y/n to not go too far this long; they needed to keep doing so. This was important to him, and it needed to happen. Stiles looked startled but unhurt, so they could hold their breath for just a second. Each person was coiled though, ready to launch the second Scott gave the signal.

"Derek tried to start his own pack and fucked up Jackson's entire life. He has been universally unhelpful, an all-around dick, and general trouble since day one and we forgave him. Isaac was part of that pack, and actively antagonized everyone in our pack - especially you and Scott. He got into fights, belittled other people, and fell through plenty of times when we really needed him. He's disappeared completely when we need him the most and we forgave him anyway because we understand him and see his perspective and work around it. Jackson actively tried to kill us for weeks, but we wrote it off because he was being controlled. But he was that vicious far before he was a monster, and actively bullied and belittled all of us. He put Scott in danger several times and tried his best to ostracize us and make us hate ourselves. Even Lydia used her intelligence and power to hurt and tear down other people - but she's the most active part of this community just because her powers forced her to be here and we accepted her the way she was after that, allowing her to be truer to herself as time passed until she became a genuinely kind and caring person.

"There have been plenty of people who have actively hurt us that we've forgiven. Don't even get me started on Peter. But we forgave them anyway, and they were far older than Theo was - and most of them did what they did without any outside influence. Theo was a child, and whatever horrible thing they did to the other chimeras for a month of two, Theo got for seven fucking years. I don't care what you think or what you know, shut your fucking mouth or I will shut it for you. He's been given the chance to change, and he's trying his best to. He has done a lot for us since he's been back - especially for Liam. He's one of the only ones who's treated Liam's struggles seriously while you make fun of the boy for what he deals with - and you know what? Now that I'm thinking about it, who the hell are you to say anything? You want to start digging shit up about the Nogitsune? How about Allison?"

A hand landed on Y/n shoulder as Stiles' face went pale. "That's enough." Scott.

Y/n caught himself, letting Stiles' shirt go and stepping back. You don't have to forgive him, or like him, but if you're going to talk shit it better not be where he can hear you. Or where I can hear you, for that matter. Next time I'll just deck you - I'm tired of your bullshit." And with that, he left the room. He knew there would be some kind of repercussions for that... but he didn't care. If he left the pack then perhaps it was just time for it to happen. 

He was sure that was the end of it for now, but he heard the door open behind him again as he made his way down the hall. Of all the people he had been expecting to see when he turned to defend himself - he had not been expecting Theo himself.

The brunette boy slowed out of his jog once he'd caught up, stopping too close to Y/n. There was something in his eyes. Tears, at his water line, but also so many emotions that twisted and roiled - too many for Y/n to even begin to decipher. Y/n was taken aback by the emotion, and froze in place, unsure what would happen next. Final Theo managed a, "Thank you," but it was so thin that Y/n knew there was so much to that than the simple two words would be communicating normally.

So he took a second to think, so absorb it all and try to understand. His expression melted and softened, opened up and allowed sincerity and vulnerability to come through. He had been watching Theo struggle for ages now and he was more than willing to let it show plainly. "I'm glad you're back, Theo. That you've taken this chance to learn new things and become a new person. I knew back then that you were capable of good, and you haven't disappointed."

Theo's eyebrows came together. "You did?"

Y/n shrugged, growing a bit sheepish. "I doubted it in the end... I mean, everyone has some good in them, but I decided that it was over, you'd lost your chance, and it hit me to my core. But you served plenty of penance in hell, and when you came back... I could tell you were so different. And I hoped again. And it all paid off. You're becoming the person I always knew you could be. I'm proud of you."

Those emotions turned across Theo's face again and he paused for a whole second before something snapped, or broke - something. Theo closed the distance between them, grabbing Y/n's face and pulling him into a kiss. Y/n hummed in surprise but the sound turned almost immediately into a moan when their lips actually met. The kiss was hard and passionate. Their hands pulled at each other, both of them losing whatever control they had in that moment to do their best to drown in each other. 

Y/n hooked his fingers in Theo's belt, pulling him closer, and whatever anxiety Theo had about the moment melted away. His hands moved from Y/n's face to his hair, fingers wrapping around the strands and tugging on them, forcing his head back to tuck Y/n flush against his chest as every inch between them was filled. Y/n moaned again and Theo sighed into the kiss, his expression relaxing and a smile coming to his face. He reacted again, forcing Y/n to scramble to keep up with him as he moved them through the hall until Y/n's back slammed against the wall.

It was aggressive and desperate but didn't actually hurt. Y/n found himself surprisingly comfortable and only enjoying every moment they shared now. There was tenderness to the kiss too. Small things, like the tips of Y/n's fingers running across the top of Theo's waistband and ghosting the skin there; Theo's thumb rubbing the softest circles at the back of Y/n's neck where the smalls of his hair grew thinner than the rest of the thicker hair, allowing his skin to feel the contact and tingle at such affection. There was nothing sexual to it, which also made every single kiss and bite as Theo caught Y/n's bottom lip or skated away from his lips and began to trail across Y/n's jaw and down his neck - it was all accompanied with sighs and kisses if Y/n's hissed in pain. 

How long had Theo wanted this? Because the sheer relief and desperation communicated Y/n's own feelings like a mirror. 

After a few minutes they both relaxed and melted into each other, their touches and holds relaxing until Theo simply leaned into Y/n, their foreheads pressed together. It was quiet for a few beats, and then - "I don't deserve you."

Y/n scoffed. He reached up, gripping Theo's jaw between his fingers. "I'll kick your ass too, Raeken."

That made Theo smile. "Feel free." He left another kiss on Y/n's lips, but this one was lingering and soft. It was more intimate that way, and they were both left a little dazed. "Will you go on a date with me?" He still didn't seem entirely sure, which was almost laughable after the kisses they'd just shared, but Y/n didn't say anything. 

Who was he to give someone shit for questioning the person they liked liking them back when they thought it impossible?

Y/n sighed, nodding. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Theo pressed their foreheads together and they sat there for a long time. Y/n got the feeling that neither of them would feel alone ever again... They had each other now. They'd be just fine.

-

Story Tags: @badblondebisexualboy

Male reader Tags: @ravenpuff-oli @sortzz

[annwe24]

KINDRED serie

LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR X READER

Part 1

Summary: The past still haunts him as a painful reminder of being played at love. Even with such opportunity, Lucifer refuses to open up his heart.

People often say death is the well-deserved eternal rest after a life of hardship. That, unfortunately, has been proven wrong. Hell is like a punch in the face for those who seek escapism in the afterlife, leaving undone business to the living. So why the Hell would sinners be able to redeem themselves in the first place? Lucifer frustratedly thinks to himself. He is totally baffled at the idea. Even, hypothetically at best, they somehow made it into heaven, would they be accepted? However, seeing how determined his daughter is, it would break his heart to not support her only grand goal in life. He hates how he cares enough to awkwardly pour tea into your teacup with a shaky pinky at the moment. Charlie has been pushing him to leave his usual working desk to spend time socializing. It's a bonding exercise, she said. Given how well-mannered you usually are, he is glad she chose you instead of the other sinners. Ah, you. Always so caring, always so polite, always so-

Your Majesty, your tea is getting cold.

Coughing loudly, he drinks all the tea in his cup at once and silently cringes at himself.

Sorry, I’ve been having too many thoughts these days. Many things, you know.

Is there any way I can help? I noticed you’ve been so paranoid lately, I’m just worried but of course! You don't have to agree to that just because I ask you but please don't feel pressured to keep everything to yourself because I know-

Hey, it's alright! I understand your sentiment.

He softly cuts you off seeing that you are getting worked up. You always have this rather odd excitement for helping people. Your kindness stands out too much compared to others, something almost too pure. A question he's been asking himself lately is how did you end up here. It has been fun contemplating the possibilities during his free time, imagining your sweet face distorts into madness. Wait, what? Sweet face?

…

The fuck is your problem? He knows good people, even a rarity, still exist in this hellhole. Not all good people end up in Heaven, something Lucifer has long accepted. The problem is your goodness is absurd. Ever since your arrival at the hotel, it is clear that you are one of the most eager helpers, going as far as taking Charlie’s exercises almost too seriously. It irritates him to no end how you are so easily exploited.

He noticed many guests at the hotel use you as an errand runner unknowingly from time to time. There is certainly no malicious intent underneath, they themselves don't even realize that. It’s just that you are too easy, too gullible. Angel Dust is one glaring example. He has been known to ask you to fetch him stuff when he is “too fragile and sore due to overwork”. In reality, he sleeps through the afternoon and just gets too lazy. Lucifer can't help but find you suspicious. Afterall, who is going to trust someone in Hell, suffers memory loss, no identity and came to this hotel saying they wanted “a second chance”. He is determined to see through your facade, peeling you out like an onion.

Ouch!

A loud yelp followed by the squeaks of a hundred rubber ducks echo though his mansion. He quickly puts down the boiling kettle and dashes to his room. Piles of rubber ducks scatter across his room with you being the center of it all, dumbfounded. Panic reaches your eyes as you stand up hastily and say small “sorry” over and over. You look like you're about to cry.

Lucifer calmly squeezes through piles of rubber duck to get to you and places an assuring hand on your shoulder:

It’s nothing I can't fix. Here!

With a snap of his finger, the ducks magically fly back into place and the room starts to look like a room fit for a king rather than a depressed single dad. Lucifer is quite pleased with your wide-eye expression. Letting out a sigh, he guides you over to the tea table where you two would spend the rest of the afternoon. This kind of “date” has been going on for a while under the encouragement of Charlie. She is ecstatic to see her father finally be able to find someone to confide in and is a sinner. Although Lucifer can hang around the hotel whenever he feels like it, he prefers somewhere more private and quiet so that no one judges him. He hates being judged. It reminds him of his time in Heaven which he absolutely wants to forget. This is where Hell steps in. The place is literally his playground, albeit a bit grotesque, but at least he is free.

…

As time flies, the little hangouts between you and him occur more often. It has reached to a point that he finds his mansion eerie without your presence. You are not a talkative person nor a charmer, but you carry yourself with such sweetness that makes him feel peaceful, a warmth he has long forgotten. He wonders if the same happens to you. Do you find yourself incomplete without meeting him at least once a day? He certainly is not a mind reader but a keen observer at the very least. You seem to light up every time you see him, always looking, listening in his direction. He is scared. What if this was all a ploy you set up to get closer to the King, to have some kind of privilege down here? You are first and foremost still a sinner. Although he believes not everyone in Hell is bad, being in Hell means breaking some morals while you were alive. He can't handle another failed relationship. Not right now, not when Lilith still lingers hauntingly in the back of his mind, not when he can break at any moment and Charlie is the only thing that keeps him going. He can't let her get hurt too. She is just as fragile as him after the divorce.

Tonight’s hangout is just the same as every other hangout: comfortable silence. You are rolling on his king-size bed while fidgeting a rubber duck he especially made for you. You have been quite comfortable in his mansion, letting yourself go as if you were at home. As for Lucifer, he is at his working desk as usual. He likes it this way. Lucifer is not a chatter at heart and you are the same. After a while, you decided to break the silence:

What are you making today? You rolled over on the bed to face him.

Oh, just rubber duck, you know.

You have so many already. Why don't you make something new every then and there?

What do you like?

Huh?

What do you like? He asked, turning back to face you.

Well, um… I like stuffed animals? I guess?

Okay, it's a deal then! He said with a toothy grin.

Y-you don't have to!

It's alright. I’m running out of ideas anyways.

Thank you!! You say as you hug the rubber duck.

What am I doing? Lucifer silently thinks to himself.

[imliketheiceifreeze]

Norman Nordstrom x reader

A rose by any other name-part one

warnings: violence, eventual smut, age gap, possible abusive relationship, slight stalking, minors DNI

945 words

[Just a short story, not sure where it's going yet lol]

Master list:

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

You walked passed the house once again. You would never admit to anyone the purposeful detour you took in hopes of seeing him. Norman Nordstrom, you thought his name was, whenever your eyes laid upon him he would be tending to the flowers at his border, or walking his dog around the yard. The poor man had lost his eyesight in the Gulf war, not shortly after he lost his whole family due to a reckless drunk driver. You weren't sure why you felt this pull to the old man, easily old enough to be your grandfather, yet you couldn't deny the dreams that came to you during lonely nights and your cheeks burned as you turned away from the house, a small smile dusting your lips.

Strange, the door seemed open but you couldn't see Norman or his dog anywhere. Should you investigate? I mean what sort of person wouldn't check on a vulnerable blind man? That was the justification you used at least when you ventured towards the open door of the house of a man you had never so much as spoken to.

"Hello. Is everything okay? I was just walking passed and noticed your door was open,"

you called into the house as you poked your head round the door. Your voiced trailed off into a gasp as you noticed the man curled up on the floor, blood pouring from his right side as he gasped for air.

"Oh my goodness,"

you murmured as you rushed to his side, falling to your knees as you fumbled with your phone.

"Sir? What happened?"

He barely acknowledged your presence, only wheezing and clutching at his side.

"You need to keep pressure on the wound,"

you mumbled as you pressed your hands above his, feebly attempting to stop the flow of blood as you clumsily punched the three magic numbers into your phone with the other hand.

"Shot,"

He managed between gasps as he finally seemed to register you.

"You were shot? Okay don't worry, I'm calling for help, you're going to be okay,"

you spoke firmly, looking him dead in the eye, even though you knew he wouldn't be able to see your determined expression. You couldn't help but rub your thumb reassuringly over his hand as you turned your attention back to the phone.

"Yes please help, a man's been shot, he's losing a lot of blood, please."

You were on the verge of tears from the stress as the dispatcher attempted to calm you.

"We'll be there soon, just keep pressure on the wound, is the victim responsive?"

You couldn't remember anything after this, only concentrating on Norman, watching the life fade from his face as tears dripped down your cheeks.

"Don't let go, please stay with me Norman, stay with me."

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

"News is with us that visually impaired war veteran, Norman Nordstrom, has been the victim of a vicious home invasion. However, he is stable, suffering only minor injuries, and should be making a full recovery."

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

One week later

You sat in the hospital waiting room, heart beating out of your chest, clammy hands fiddling with the flimsy petals of the flowers you'd stupidly brought with you as some kind of get well soon gift. You felt so out of place.

"Y/N."

You jumped to your feet, flattening the creases in your clothes, before making your way over to the nurse.

"He's ready to see you dear, just follow me."

Wordlessly, you shadowed her to the outside of a private room.

"He's just in there."

She spoke so softly, as if she were worried her words might break you. You smiled nervously in her direction before pushing down on the handle, entering the room slowly.

"Hi, Norman?"

Your voice trembled

"and who the hell are you?"

His words cut through you like ice, chilling you to the core. You knew this was stupid, this is what always happens, how could you have been so fucking moronic.

"Well?" His gravelly voice ran shivers up your spine,

"I, uh, well I was there when you were shot, I mean I found you, and I just wanted to uh bring you these,"

you squeaked out, moving closer to the bed and pressing the flowers gingerly into one of his hands. His gaze seemed to soften at your words as he brought the flowers to his other hand, inspecting the petals.

"You brought these for me?"

He seemed bewildered

"I know you can't see them but I always notice you tending to the flowers in your garden and I thought maybe they'd remind you of home, I don't know, it's stupid..."

You trailed off. a small smiled tickled the sides of his mouth as he replied

"Have you been watching me?"

"I live a few houses down, I just walk past from time to time, I'm sorry I never said hello."

"Well thank you... what's your name then? I assume you know everything about me from the damned news papers."

There was a twinge of sadness in his gruff voice as he seemed to get lost in thought.

"Its Y/N, Y/N L/N,"

you said softly, eyes trailing across the lines in his handsome face, down to the soft white beard and cracked lips, turned upward at the corners.

"Y/N,"

he repeated you, the sound of your name on his lips making your cheeks warm.

"Well I guess I should go... I hope you get better soon Norman,"

you blabbered as you turned on your heel, practically sprinting out of the door. Norman said nothing as he attempted to quell the possessive feeling burning in the pit of his stomach.

[starwarsmum]

Day 16! @maribat-calendar-events gives us a prompt of Strike a Pose

Marinette's day was looking up - she had been suffering relentless teasing from her friends after the article had been shared around. Adrien had taken great pains to apologise that she had been mistaken for his girlfriend again which would have hurt if this had been two months ago. As it was, she was mostly just annoyed that his public relations team wasn't handling it.

But now that school was over, she was looking forward to seeing Damian again. Was she surprised that he was the son of a billionaire? Yes and no - she would challenge anyone not to be a little surprised by a new friend coming from that much wealth, but she had noticed that neither he nor Cass had given his full name. Besides which, he had mentioned that his father owned a company, and if it was big enough to be international…

All of which was to say that she didn't blame them for not telling her. Hell, she hadn't mentioned her own business, although that may change now that she knew they could be discreet. She stood on the steps of the school, checking her phone for any new messages.

“Marinette!” She grimaced internally as she turned towards Adrien. He smiled at her and she wondered how long it was going to take for Damian to come and get her out of whatever conversation Adrien felt the need to have. “Listen, I'm sorry the reporters still have the wrong idea, but I talked to Natalie and she said you could come to the photoshoot today! You know, because you said you wanted to go to one sometime?”

“Oh, um, that's really kind of you but-”

“Adrien!” Lila called out to the blond boy and he tensed slightly when she grabbed his arm. She gave a smarmy look to Marinette who simply rolled her eyes. “We should get going to our photoshoot, we don't want to keep everyone waiting. Marinette, you don't want him to get in trouble with his dad, do you?”

“I was just waiting for someone,” Marinette said coolly. She heard someone call her name and turned automatically. A smile spread across her face as Damian approached the trio, drawing everyone else's eyes to them. “Hey Damian! I'll be with you in just a sec.”

“So, do you want to come to the photoshoot?” Adrien asked, eyes almost pleading as he tried to pull his arm out of Lila's grip. She was ready to say no when Damian interrupted.

“You are Adrien Agreste, are you not?” Two pairs of green eyes met and Adrien seemed to get smaller the longer they looked at each other. Damian finally looked away, almost like he was dismissing the model. He turned to Marinette with a smirk on his face. “There are people who are under the impression that you are romantically involved with him.”

“Don't remind me,” Marinette said, burying her head in her hands. “So you saw the article too, I take it? I'm so sorry they got you involved in all of this. Never mind, we should probably get going, didn't you say you had visitors coming today?”

“Tt, they are already here,” Damian sniffed, glaring at a black car that sat on the street. Marinette could just about make out two dark shapes in the front seat of the car and was immediately curious. “I must apologise in advance, they are exceedingly annoying and have also seen the article. Perhaps I could speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Sure,” Marinette said, fairly certain that she was blushing but powering through it. They stepped away from the others and she waited for Damian to say whatever was on his mind. She also allowed herself to properly drink in the sight of him, noticing that his shoulders were slightly tight and a little frown line marred his usually relaxed brow. “Is everything okay?”

“Tt, I am fine. My obnoxious adoptive brothers arrived this afternoon and have been insufferable in regards to the article,” he admitted, glaring again towards the car she had spotted. “Am I correct in saying that the blond boy is the son of our leading suspect? Because if that is the case, I strongly advise that we accept his offer to accompany him.”

“Ugh, do we have to?” Marinette was only half joking - the idea of watching Lila drape herself over Adrien was no longer as heart wrenching as it once had been, but it was still annoying. She was rewarded with the amused twitch of his mouth and grinned at him cheekily. “Fine, but if I have to suffer through it-”

“Sorry to interrupt but Mari, do you want to come to the shoot?” Adrien had approached them, interrupting Marinette mid-sentence. He looked slightly nervous and even more perturbed about something. “Only we need to get going, so if you want to-”

“Okay, where is it? Damian and I will catch up with you there,” Marinette said, resigning herself to a very awkward afternoon. “Maybe we can straighten out this whole ‘pyjama girl' mess at the same time.”

“It's so crazy that people think that you and Adrien are dating,” Lila tittered, shooting Marinette a smirk. She changed it to a smile as Damian gave her a sharp look, pretending it was a friendly remark. “It's just so unfortunate, you know? I would hate for it to stop anyone who wants to date her eventually. Not that that's a problem right n-”

“Tt, Marinette is perfectly capable of explaining herself and the situation. You have my word that it does not prevent those of us who are interested in her from pursuing her.” Damian stared Lila down, even as Marinette blushed again, a warmth spreading through her chest.

“W-well, we'll get to your photoshoot as quickly as we can,” Marinette said after another beat or two of silence. Adrien nodded, still looking at Damian strangely, and gave her the address. He waved at her awkwardly, following Lila to the car that waited for them. Marinette hardly remembered that they were there, she was so focused on Damian.

“Your friends seem like imbeciles,” Damian said as Adrien and Lila drove away, and Marinette snorted. A smug look flitted across his face and she poked her tongue out at him. He looked like he was about to say more, but just then the doors to the car that held Damian's companions opened and his smirk changed to another scowl.

“Lil D! I thought we were, uh, doing research tonight? For work?” A taller, blue eyed, dark haired man looked over the pair, and Marinette blinked up at him. He blinked back at her and then a smile spread over his face as a squeal erupted from him. “Ohmigosh, you're so cute! Dami, you didn't tell me pyjama girl was so adorable. Hi, I'm Dick.”

“Nice to meet you,” Marinette said, accepting the offer of a handshake. He made a soft noise of delight, and she giggled slightly nervously. “So, you work with Damian?”

“Huh? Oh! No, we're his older brothers,” Dick said, gesturing to the tired looking man who stood behind him. “B didn't want Dami here by himself so he asked us to join up with him after our sister headed home. So, how did you two meet?”

“As interesting as this conversation is, we have somewhere to be,” Damian interjected, stepping between Dick and Marinette. “Since you are both insufferably still here, you may give us transport to our next destination.”

“Sure we can give you a ride, lil D,” Dick said, apparently unbothered by the blatant way his questions were ignored. He ushered the two teenagers over to the car, the tired man grumbling as he followed along behind them. “Dami, you can sit in the front if you want so you can give me directions.”

“Tt, I can give you directions from the backseat just as easily,” Damian retorted as he slid into the car and motioned for Marinette to follow him. As she did, Marinette couldn't help noticing the look the two men shared, the tired one looking more awake suddenly. “Besides which, you should know enough of the area with a navigation system that there is no need for me to give you more than an address.”

The car lapsed into silence as Dick got the address from Marinette and started driving.

_ _ _

Dick sat at the back of the photoshoot, watching with amusement as Damian chatted with Marinette. She had introduced herself properly on the drive and proceeded to give Damian what Dick could only describe as heart-eyes. He had exchanged several glances with Tim to make sure he wasn't imagining things.

But, sure enough, Marinette and Damian had been glued to each other's sides for the entirety of the photoshoot so far. Tim had latched onto the coffee available as soon as Damian had used his name to bully their way past security but Dick had been far too interested in watching the situation unfold to stop him.

Marinette had been chatting with the photographer, an Italian man who spoke loudly and talked a lot about pasta. He heard them mention something about paparazzi and the photographer seemed sympathetic about the fact that Marinette seemed incapable of escaping the spotlight. He had just finished photographing the Agreste kid and his coworker when he snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

“I know just what you need! You need a fresh narrative, from someone less biased. Here, we should take some photos of you with each of the boys in question and then release them with a small article giving the facts! Quickly, come and stand next to Adrien. Miss Rossi, you are finished now ma bella, you may go!”

The girl that had been dealing herself across Adrien shot Marinette a poisonous look but Damian was the one who stepped forward.

“I do not think it is necessary for Marinette to take pictures with Agreste,” he said. Dick's eyebrows shot up but nobody was looking at him so he was free to continue watching. 

Now, Dick wasn't as good as Cass at reading body language, but both Damian and Adrien had pretty obvious facial expressions to work with. The blond had looked pleased when the photographer had dismissed the other girl and offered him Marinette as an alternative, but his face had dropped when Damian had immediately tried to veto the idea.

“Ah, I see! So the article was not entirely wrong about little Marinette's romantic prospects, eh? Do not worry, it will only be photographs that show what a - how did you say it to me, Adrien? Oh yes - what a ‘very good friend' she is. I was thinking perhaps back to back, yes?

“But when she takes her photos with you, if you wish to take a different direction we can,” he finished, pulling Marinette around Damian to place her with Adrien. The friendly effect that he was aiming for was somewhat ruined by the vaguely adoring looks the model kept shooting Dick's apparently prospective sister-in-law. “Adrien, eyes on the camera please!”

The moment the photographer was happy with a photo, Damian stepped forward and pulled Marinette away, throwing an arm over her shoulders almost possessively. The two teenage boys exchanged glares but Marinette was a grinning, blushing mess. 

The photographer thanked Adrien for his time before turning an excited look on Damian and Marinette. By the gleeful look in his eyes, the following photos were bound to be memorable.

[smallnico]

when you made the comic about wyll saying that thing about orin i liked that the him inside his thought bubble didnt have the post-transformation horns and eye. a thoughtful little touch, it made me contemplate the ghost of his character arc (sorry if this is rude to the developers its just how i feel.) i also thought the comic was good overall. thanks ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

AUH NO THANK YOU <333

yeah i'm so glad people noticed and enjoyed that detail!! i love wyll so dearly and i also (with love to larian for everything they Did do) think he suffered a bit from the last-ish minute changes they made to his character. they were necessary changes, and they made him who he is today, but he didn't get as much thorough and layered development as some of the other companions did. he and karlach are both in this camp lmao, and i believe for the same reason. they didn't become who they are until pretty late in the development process, unlike someone like astarion, who's been himself since very early on.

all this to say, i love wyll and i am determined to explore what is there as best as i can, and i fucking love taking little details and pulling them out. wyll is a confident person who outwardly states that 'self-doubt' is one of the most dangerous monsters a person could fight, and he tends to double down on his confident persona every time something happens to rattle that confidence. moments like the tiefling party illustrate this for me very clearly -- if you wander around with him in the emerald grove post-devilification, a lot of key npcs will say to the effect of "wyll, what in the fuck happened to you", or react with fear and uncertainty. they're willing to accept it given any amount of time and thought, but there's not nothing to his worry that people see him as a monster, and of course, he's already been through the trauma of that same snap judgement by his father, so. he puts on a brave face and keeps his distance from the people he fears he makes uncomfortable, because what else are you going to do? enforce your own uncertain presence in front of regular, good people who are just... trying to live their lives? having a good time at a party? they don't want to be scared. you've been working your whole life to try and keep people like them safe so they don't have to feel scared or unsafe. you are getting in the way. this isn't for you. you aren't welcome here. it does no good to argue that point when you could just keep your chin up and leave.

of course, that's sad as hell, are you fucking kidding me? wyll deserves better than that, but he won't accept better because he's not the type to ask for grace or patience from others, and he's from a background where he's not confident he will receive it -- his father's grace is one thing, but think for a second about how he talks about ulder ravengard's personal history as well: ravengard sr. is the son of a tradesman serving a role meant for patriars. i don't doubt that all that comes with its own baggage and passed-down high standards. as soon as ravengard sr. let his guard down, you know a flock of upper-class baldurians was just waiting to tear him apart for it, because you see them do the same thing to gortash even though he's literally mind-controlling several of them. i don't doubt that ulder ravengard instilled in wyll a driving need to not only be better than other men, surer than other men, more dependable, reliable, with more sterling integrity than other men at all costs, remember the words of balduran, memorize the values of the city, love baldur's gate more than other men, be ready to face them and prove these things to them at all times because they are always testing you. it's hard to have the most demanded of you at all times, and it can create the kind of man wyll is: a man who sees self-doubt and hesitation as a monster, worse than a mind flayer or a devil. and he knows from experience (again, from ulder ravengard himself) that flagging for a second, not being able to explain yourself sufficiently to the people around you, is enough to get you cast out and shunned forever.

but it's not possible for a human being to live like that. they're impossible standards for a reason. wyll has a flawless facade of confidence, but he's not immune to self-doubt and angst under the surface, and this comes out when you play as him or investigate some of the details he drops in a regular tav/durge playthrough, and his devil transformation really does shake his confidence. look:

all of a sudden he's using 'i guess' and 'maybe' and 'could' and 'i might', more uncertain language, to say nothing of what he's actually saying. he's been put in a position where he thinks people will never see the wyll underneath again unless he asks it of them, something he has been conditioned to never expect people to do -- if you have to ask, you're not projecting a solid enough image of confidence and skill and good leadership. then there's the sheer body horror and dysmorphia of minding your own business and one day your boss physically transforms you into a monster forever. wyll is trying so hard at any given moment to not let it bother him, but it so clearly does, and it would bother anyone -- but wyll ravengard is supposed to be better than anyone, better than a normal man. he lives inside stories of heroes and hyperbolic idioms, Things One Says about Heroes, because he's never been allowed to be a normal man. he had to sneak out of the house to play hopscotch with lower city kids. to me that says everything. he has been taught to lead an idealized existence free of doubt, but that just means he's gotten very good at hiding his doubts and anxieties, his inconsistencies, his human error. he has so much trouble facing the fact that he also experiences internal conflict, just like anyone.

he spares karlach because she's an innocent, because it's the right thing to do, but he struggles with making that decision because he knows it's going to hurt him, and he refuses for a long time to admit that to himself, much less anyone else, because it makes him feel lesser. it makes him feel like the worst person on the planet to admit that he was afraid for his own life, essentially staring down the barrel of a gun to say no to mizora when faced with an innocent in need of protection, even though he wouldn't dream of even making a good person mildly uncomfortable for two minutes while they get used to the way he looks.

part of my vision for wyll's development is just, him getting a little bolder with the things he says, because we all know he says some out of pocket shit for no reason, and part of why that is so funny to me is because he says those things with all the confidence of a train barrelling forward, because of course he does, he's wyll ravengard, he has to be everything to everyone, he can't do something as human as cringe or twitch an eye and go 'ah. nope, that's not what i meant' when he blurts out something thoughtless, or something that sounded better in his head. i like the idea of turning into a monster being the thing that eventually makes him more comfortable with being human. part of letting your guard down around your friends is saying stuff you think they'd get a kick out of even if it doesn't fit the perfect image of the hero you're trying to be, or saying something that comes out wrong and letting yourself cringe when it wasn't received the way you wanted it to be. letting yourself let go of the idealized version of yourself and trusting your friends enough to know that they won't think less of you for it, because they still know you would rather die than let an innocent person get hurt, even if you do feel scared for yourself in the process.

tl;dr yeah i like to depict wyll slightly awkward and nervous. let the man be a human being and vulnerable for god's sakes he's been through enough. i love him

[worstghost]

No rush but I can wait see reader suffer from ghost teasing. I feel he type to literally walk to quietly and like say boo them and scream murder.

Or better training session this happen and reader holy shit your strong put me down you bully.

https://twitter.com/issamanga5/status/1589775707877801985?t=9BWyflaqwOySIFfVqpb_Pw&s=19

I have returned and I love ghost I love ghost I'm going insane rn. I went kinda crazy with this one and it's not really what the ask wanted but uhh yeah. I'm not gonna deny inspiration when it comes

You're new-to them at least, not new to this dynamic. Your entire career in the military has been spent around men. Men who avoid your gaze, men who pretend like you don't exist, or even worse, are obsessed with you. Men who follow you around and dote on you and act like you're made of glass. You've dealt with your fair share of big, intimidating men who pretend to be small, to be kind and like they're looking out for you.

Hell, even Soap shrinks down when he talks to you. Gets to your eye level as if it's not fucking insulting to be treated like that. You deserved to be here just as much as them, maybe even more so with how hard you've had to work.

That's why Ghost is such a breath of fresh air. He doesn't dote, he doesn't take it easy on you. He expects you to keep up with them, and you do.

It's created this awful need in you to please him, to prove to him that you are what he thinks you are. As much as you try to hide it, you search for his eyes, his approval, when you're training.

And he is always there, always watching you. He looks like an apex predator, head leaned back against the wall, arms crossed so that his biceps squeeze against the sleeves of his shirt. His face doesn't move ever, but his eyes look down through thick blonde lashes, following your every movement as you spar, as you stretch out after a particularly hard session with Soap.

Soap makes snide little comments, asking if he was too rough, if he pushed you too far. It's all in good fun but your blood absolutely boils. You bite your tongue and turn away, stretching your arms above your head and counting to ten, feeling the tension in your muscles release.

Soap finally fucks off, slapping Ghost on the shoulder as he leaves.

"Warmed her up for you, Lt."

Ghost exhales, barely noticeable. Irritated.

You're still on the mat, rolling your ankles and pretending like you're not really fucking sore. You can feel him watching and turn away, squatting down to stretch your hamstrings.

Silently, a shadow falls over you and you startle slightly. How is someone so big, so quiet.

"You could have done better." It's short and gruff, a fact.

You lean your head back, squinting up at him. God he's big. Sitting on the floor barely brings you to his knees.

"Just wanted it to be over I guess." You shrug it off and roll your neck side to side, wincing at the tightness in your shoulders.

His chest rises with a deep inhale, shadow growing as he moves even closer. "If he gets under your skin so much, why not show him?"

"I'm afraid I'd do permanent damage."

Ghost huffs out a laugh and your heart swells, your head cheers, 'You made him laugh, good job!'

It's so stupid, you're embarrassed at your own thoughts.

"Take it out on me then."

That stops your little self aware moment and your eyes jump to his. He's still standing over you, already watching your face, waiting for a falter in your expression.

"I can handle a lot more than him. Show me how mad he makes you." It's a challenge, a little teasing.

You swallow hard. You haven't had the chance to spar with Ghost yet. He's much too big, you know you wouldn't recover easily. And your little crush makes it impossible to be that close to him. But what were you going to do, say no? Worst case is he beats your ass and you can use the ensuing embarrassment to get over him.

You nod and stand up, shaking out the anxiety in your limbs.

"Just don't kill me please, I've still got a lot of life to live." You try to lighten the mood, taking your place at the other side of the mat.

He looks like he's thinking about it, the wrinkles around his eyes a little tighter. A smile maybe?

When you start, you circle with him, trying in vain to determine where he's going with his. With the mask you can't see anything and his eyes never move from yours, no intention of giving anything away. You decide that he won't make the first move, so you do, using your size difference to get under his arm and behind him. You've no doubt that he let you do that.

You exchange shoves, he let's you get in a few punches, but it's mostly a dance. He never makes the first move, he waits for you to come to him every time.

You're wearing yourself out now, and he's not showing an ounce of exhaustion. You're ready to give up, tired and even more frustrated than before you started.

One last fuck it move and you wrap yourself around his side, kicking his knee out from under him. He falls, and for a brief moment you're reveling in your success, but it's cut short when he snatches your arm as he goes, rolling on to his back and pulling you with him.

Ghost has you flat against him, back to his chest, one arm wrapped around your middle and the other threatening your throat.

There's no getting out of this is there?

You dig your fingers in to his forearm and feel him tighten, like a boa. Fuck. You inhale and frantically decide to at least try to struggle, pretend like you didn't give up 20 minutes ago.

You wriggle back and forth, kicking your legs, trying to loosen his grip even slightly. He's way too heavy for you to try to turn him over and his arm pushes your chin up even higher, you can feel his breath on your cheek through the mask, it's heavy and quick.

Is he really winded or is he simply pretending to help your ego.

Swallowing as best you can, you pause and lower your legs between his, feeling his heart pound against your back. Maybe now would be the time to tap out but it doesn't cross your mind. You're overwhelmed with the sensation of his arm squeezing your chest, right under the band of your sports bra, the way he slides the other across your throat until just his fingers touch you, hand covering your entire neck.

You're light-headed, your ears are only filled with the sound of two heartbeats, pounding together in a quick rhythm.

Fuck.

Ghosts knees frame your legs, trying so desperately not to fall completely against him, scared that if you do you'll feel something you're not supposed to. Something you really want to.

His arms relax abruptly and you suck in a breath you didn't know you were holding. He releases you, not subtle in the way his fingers run across your skin.

You roll away and gather yourself on your knees next to him, you're on fire, all you can think about is his hands, his breath, his arms squeezing you to him.

This didn't decompress you like he had wanted. It actually did the opposite. You're so worked up now, head swimming, you don't even stand when he does.

Ghost offers you a hand and you take it, hot and calloused. When he stands you up on shaky legs you stumble, just a little, and he catches you against his side.

"You'll continue to train with me for now. Go clean up. " His voice has something unrecognizable in it, a gruffness to his command.

You don't argue and let him go, making your way out and to the shower in your room.

[littlebitsmile]

in flames [C.L.] | Chapter III

Welcome back! This took me a bit longer than usual, but it's still Sunday, so I'm glad you decided to join me (: Hope you all had a nice first week of 2024 - only 55 more days until we see our munchkins driving in circles again - hope this makes the wait a bit shorter.

As always, have fun (:

story: in flames driver: Charles Leclerc [C.L.] trope: #haterstolovers summary: Always working three times as hard as everyone else, Emma does not intend to blow her chance of driving among the best of the best in her very first season in Formula 1. Concentrating on first and foremost getting ahead of her brother, she does not even notice that there are some people even in her own team who think she does not deserve this spot and would rather see her fail. And one driver in particular seems to have a need of always reminding her of that.

────ʚ C H A P T E R III ɞ────

Music booms from the headphones in my ear, my feet float over the treadmill, drops of sweat run down the sides of my face. Next to me, all I can hear is Max's heavy breathing and the occasional quiet "f*ck" as another intensive interval approaches. My calves gave up the ghost ten minutes ago and have been cramping ever since, but my pride won't let me stop.

I actually wanted to squeeze in an extra training session this morning before Max woke up and wanted to hang out and do some off-season stuff, but unfortunately, he was already at the coffee machine when I decided to roll out of bed. He then followed me into the fitness room of his apartment without any comment.

He has been kind enough to let me stay with him, Kelly, and Penelope for a few years now so that I can avoid living with our parents and even worse, letting them decide what happens next with my accommodation situation. As the eldest son, he has probably had his experiences and learned his lessons, always being the one to take the blows, and although he always pretends to give me a hard time, I'm sure that deep down he doesn't want me to go through the same hell he did. The fact that I can never come close to his golden boy in our father's eyes anyway is a different story.

I breathe heavily but try to concentrate on the view. Monaco's harbor landscape is one of the most beautiful I have ever experienced. A little too much lifestyle of the rich and famous for my liking, but Max loved it here right from the start, when we first visited a few years ago. Maybe because he can live right next to the racetrack, waking up every morning and sipping his breakfast coffee with his brain already imagining those cars on the streets right in front of him.

"You're quiet," he presses out between his lips at some point. I don't look at him but concentrate on a small yacht that is about to leave the outer jetties. He gets a kick out of seeing me suffer, I’m sure of it. If I don’t let myself get distracted by the pain in my legs, I can do a few more minutes on this torture device.

"I'm dying," I reply, trying not to fall down at the same time. My diaphragm starts to painfully remind me that I'm not my 26-year-old racing brother, who has been doing this for years and years, never losing sight of his goals, exceeding his limits.

He reduces the speed on his treadmill and starts to jog slowly before continuing: "When are you flying to England? For simulator runs and so on?"

I'm still running at the same pace as before. I try to show February 15 with my hands, holding all of my ten fingers up, then five and the peace sign as a two, but I'm not sure if he immediately understands what I mean.

In the time between the end of the season and the first pre-season tests, the world stands still in my head. I enjoy visiting friends for once and not feeling bad when I see photos in our group chats of everyone getting together and me missing. Max, on the other hand, never leaves his zone - his racing set up in his study glows for hours every day. When he's not training, eating, or sleeping, he lives and breathes motorsport, whether it’s on or off track. Maybe that's why he's such an exceptional talent. Or maybe he is just stupid, for not living his life during his prime time and will fall into a pit of self-despair when he’s 40.

"Excited?" he interrupts my thoughts. I can’t remember what we were talking about, and he notices. “For the UK, I mean? Rain and cloudy weather?”

I nod. My lungs are burning, and I don't know who exactly I'm trying to prove something to. I keep running, my thighs are starting to burn like hell. A few of my fingertips go numb, and my head starts to feel dizzy. There are a few black dots here and there, but it isn’t the first time something like this happens and it won’t be the last.

"What number are you going to start with?" Max asks. I shrug my shoulders, not wanting to give too much away about whether I'll keep my number from Formula 2 or change it. Mostly because I haven’t thought about it and I would love to have a number with a deeper meaning.

"You could take 69."

When he says this, I almost stumble on the treadmill. I hold on left and right and hop onto the side edges as the mechanical noise belt continues to run beneath me. Although everything inside me hurts like hell after the last hour and a half of running, I must laugh out loud. Max grins sheepishly at me. Sometimes I am not sure who of us is the older sibling.

"I think that would be more your thing, don't you?" Out of breath, I put my hands on my hips and lean my upper body against the treadmill display. I try to calm my heartbeat, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth.

"I've already got the 1; that's enough for me..."

“You won’t have it forever, though," I interrupt him before he falls into another monologue of self-congratulation. I wiggle my eyebrows and grin mischievously at him. Then I stick my tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before hitting me on the shoulder with his fist.

"The only one I'm afraid of is you,” he admits openly. I look at him in disbelief. Where has this recognition suddenly come from? I almost choke on the sip of water I’m taking. “But you're in the wrong car anyway, so at least I don't have much to fear this season.”

"I don't need your false assumptions, Max. We've never lied to each other." I look into the distance, back to the harbor. I wonder what my life would be like if I wasn't the person I am.

"I'm not lying, I promise. I'm more afraid that this team will take you down with them."

"Aston Martin won't drag me into the abyss. They're giving me a fair chance."

"You would have had a fair chance with me and Red Bull."

"Fair, Max? Really? As number two? How well did that turn out with the last team partners? Lewis and Nico? Lewis and Valtteri? You and pretty much everyone who came after Sebastian? The only off-track friends who were in the same team and still get on well are Carlos and Lando. I don't want that for us." Now I turn to him. A furrow forms between his eyebrows, and he looks down at the ground. He knows I am right, and I think that causes him greater pain than what I just said about us not being able to be proper teammates.

"If you don't perform at Aston Martin, if you even get the chance to show what you are capable of in that sh*tbox of a car, then no other team will take you. There is only one chance to be part of this grid, and I just can’t believe you would rather not drive at all than have me as your team partner?" He is frustrated, I can feel it in his voice. So I try to soften my voice and understand him from his point of view.

"Max, I love you; I really do. You're the coolest brother in the world, and I'm not saying that because I get to live in your cool penthouse in the middle of Monaco.” There is a chuckle, and I know he wants to reassure me that he loves to have me here with him. But before he can speak another word, I continue. “But I've been compared to you my whole life and I will continue to be. This hasn’t been easy, for any of us. But for a change, I can decide for myself whether to confront it or if I just leave my phone off and not read the news, because no one in my own team will compare me to you." The conversation has taken on a serious tone, but I know he understands what I mean.

"I get it. I still would have liked you to be the wing woman. Pretty sure we’d be great. With you keeping all those madmen away from me." He winks. Then he looks straight ahead towards the panoramic window. It's quiet between us for a while.

I think back to his first victory with Red Bull. How he threw himself into the arms of his team afterward, so proud and so full of emotion, as if someone was finally accepting him for who he is, no ifs, ands, or buts. He doesn't talk much about his relationship with Christian Horner, but I'm 90% sure that Christian is in many ways the father figure for Max that our father could never be for him. How he has grown with this team and gone from a really misunderstood driver to a three-time world champion. He wouldn't leave Red Bull until they cut him out from inside with a digger and chainsaw and shipped him to the other side of the world. He lives, breathes, and burns for this sport and for the people in his immediate surroundings, a quality that I greatly admire in him and that not everyone is able to appreciate.

"If you could be someone else or do something else, what would it be?" The question catches him off guard. He is confused for a moment, then looks thoughtful and shakes his head.

"I don't think I want to be – can be - anywhere else. This is where I belong."

I believe him. But suddenly I'm not so sure if my answer would be the same.

As the plane lands in London, I grab my backpack, put on my cap, and hide my face a little better. I'm almost certain that some paparazzi is waiting for me in the arrivals hall because I seem to be the only one from the F1 paddock not traveling by a private jet. I wonder why.

I quickly get through security and baggage claim, so it feels like no more than 30 minutes before I step through the airport doors and out into rainy UK weather. To my right, an elderly gentleman with a sign saying "Emma V." walks towards me and takes my luggage. I thank him, get in the car, and then we make our way to the Aston Martin headquarters. I fall asleep unplanned and only wake up when we arrive.

I am overwhelmed by the polished floors, the glass structures of the building, how everything looks as if this is not the headquarters of a Formula 1 team but of Iron Man and the Avengers.

Mike Krack, the team principal, comes to meet me, shakes my hand, and welcomes me to the hallowed halls. I'm then given a tour, starting with the departments I'm least interested in, such as budget and logistics. I know these people are as important as anyone else, but I am a driver, so the technical departments will be my home base.

"But you're certainly not here to look at the view. You want to go to the simulators, right?" Mike states correctly at some point. I nod vigorously. "Then that's our next destination."

And no matter what I was expecting, it wasn’t that. As I step into a room with a screen as big as the panoramic view back at Max’s apartment, I immediately want to leap into the seat in front of it. I wait for a nod of approval from Mike before I hop into it and feel the leather beneath my hands and notice the smell of something new. I shriek. If this is a dream, I never want to wake up. And before someone can stop me, I’m already turning the machine on and getting ready to drive my first laps in the simulator.

────ʚ [Masterlist] [Chapter II] [Chapter IV] ɞ────

[braceletofteeth]

Highschool/or college AU where Moonjo and Jongwoo are sitting at different tables across the cafe, completely alone (despite how packed it is), Moonjo keeps staring at Jongwoo, Jongwoo is alternating from looking at his book to looking up and narrowing his eyes at Moonjo... once Jongwoo starts to look angry, Moonjo smiles in endearment

The rest of the school (or the other og characters) just watch this daily interaction with varying distinct reactions

(srry, your post made me think of this loll)

[[One time Jongwoo throws his book down angrily and goes up to Moonjo but Moonjo is already meeting him halfway, everyone holds their breath waiting for a fight or- or something, because something is wrong with these young men. And to be fair, (Jongwoo looks like he's going to throw a punch.) But Moonjo is all casual with his hands in his pocket- which looks like a foreign movement from him like a doll, inhuman- and he just asks when they meet, "how's your book going, darling?" And Jongwoo sighs long suffering and, still slightly angry as he says, "you would know, you bastard." it's sort of soft too though and very familiar, and everyone is just ????]] rip.

(It's been a while, so, in case you'd like a refresher, this was the post that originally inspired you and I had to turn this blog upside down to find)

Ok, first of all, I love this idea of Jongwoo and Moonjo being at a place where a lot of people can observe their behavior (and get their conclusions of it). I got a little lost in the scenario you created, with the two of them sitting by themselves at the cafeteria, but directly opposite each other, on each other's sight, every day. Like... Is that Moonjo's fault? Does he pick his table according to where Jongwoo is sitting? What did Jongwoo do when he noticed? Did he try changing tables, to see if Moonjo would follow? What kind of relationship do they have? Does Moonjo follow him to other places, just to stare at him too? Is what they have casual enough that Jongwoo won't fight him on it, but not enough that he'll let Moonjo sit at his table?

I feel like I'm one of those students around them, because I too am thinking “the hell is going on here...? 👀”

And speaking about the others!! If you don't mind, I'd like to take a little tour through their tables, because I'm curious about their thoughts on this...

Let's see. I'm putting Junghwa and Seokyoon at the same table, with other unnamed friends around them, because they're friendly people. Seokyoon came from the countryside, and he had some trouble getting adjusted and being accepted in the beginning—for talking too much and without filter—but Junghwa took him under her wing. At school, she's considered an angel of sorts, because she's the first to offer help when someone is going through something.

One of those people had been Yoon Jongwoo. There were a few boys that liked to pick on him because he preferred to stick to himself and was short-tempered; therefore, an easy target. Jongwoo had got in trouble a couple times, because there was no one to take his side. The other boys got each other's backs, Jongwoo was alone; until Junghwa intervened, and spoke up for him. Since then, they are not as close as to be called friends, but there's mutual respect for each other.

Seokyoon is a little closer to him than that. Thanks to his initiative, Jongwoo had opened up to him. He was considered a good talking partner by Jongwoo because he fills the free space when Jongwoo doesn't feel like talking, and listens without judgment when he wants to complain about something that is eating at him. So Jongwoo is grateful, and fond of him.

But both Seokyoon and Junghwa know that lunch time is sacred, and every day, Jongwoo will be over at his own table, no matter how much they (Seokyoon) ask him to join them. Jongwoo uses lunchtime to read, and there are too many people at their table. He doesn't want to bother them, and most importantly, he doesn't want them to bother him. It's just better this way.

They have already noticed Moonjo, of course. There's hardly anyone who hasn't. He's the only other student to keep a whole table to himself, and all he does on lunchtime is look at Jongwoo. (Sometimes he brings an apple, but usually leaves it unfinished.)

He's one of the few orphan teens who go to that school because it's the closest to the city's orphanage. But he's also different from them. The others walk in groups, sticking to each other. They make big plates at lunchtime, like they don't get enough to eat at home. They also don't seem to care much about the school's dress code; while Moonjo's clothes are always pristine clean, shirt all buttoned up.

It's hard to tell if they have estranged him, or if he has estranged them.

Either way, be it another orphan like him or any of the others, Seo Moonjo doesn't seem to be friends with anybody. Except, perhaps, the teachers. The teachers adore him. He's older than Junghwa and Seokyoon, so they never had classes with him, but they have heard about it. The teachers made Moonjo class president. All the other students in his class hated that, but they couldn't do anything about it, because as far as the teachers were concerned, Moonjo was the most perfect, well-spoken, well-mannered young man.

He was just an insufferable asshole to everyone else.

Knowing that, Junghwa and Seokyoon worry. What would a guy like that want with Jongwoo? Surely, not anything good...? They are not even from the same year, and Jongwoo keeps to himself. Where would they have even met, talked, for Moonjo to show interest in what Jongwoo does at lunch?

Seokyoon brought it up directly with Jongwoo once, asking if he had noticed what he had decided to call “Seo Moonjo's suspicious and creepy behavior.” In response, Jongwoo had sighed, and talked at length about how annoying Moonjo is; but he didn't mention where they knew each other from, or why Moonjo seemed to be fixated on him. When Seokyoon offered his help (and Junghwa’s by default) to get rid of the guy, Jongwoo made a face, and said he would deal with it alone.

So here they are, for the past semester, waiting for either Jongwoo to “deal with it”, or to catch Moonjo doing something that they could report or call him out on—something morally wrong, instead of just unnerving.

And they are not the only ones interested in Moonjo's interest in Jongwoo.

A few tables over, Min Jieun is trying to take the right cues to laugh together with her friends, but today she keeps getting distracted by the sight of her ex-boyfriend... No, perhaps that's not the right term. They used to play as boyfriend and girlfriend, when they were kids. That was a long time ago. Then, they were good friends. After, high school started, and they split up for good, each following a different path.

Jieun wanted to be with the cool kids. She wanted to go to the shopping mall, to parties and concerts, and on trips to the beach. Jongwoo wanted to be with his books, in fantasy land. He hated her new friends, and her friends called him a weirdo. Jongwoo had always been over protective of her, too, and she had had enough of that. It was time she lived to her full potential, and she's been doing great since.

But that doesn't mean she's got bad feelings for Jongwoo now. Sometimes, when she sees him at school, she lets herself wonder how he's doing. This is one of these moments. Doesn't he ever get tired of these books? Why is he always alone? Oh, well, she thinks, looking in the opposite direction, maybe not totally alone.

The side profile of that sunbae is sharp, much like his eyes. Not now, resting on Jongwoo's face; but Jieun still remembers how cold they felt when they turned to her for the first time.

That day, she had said some things in the heat of the moment, and embarrassed herself during a conversation. She escaped from the awkwardness of it going to the school's rooftop, where she thought no one would be at. But when she opened the door, she discovered it already occupied.

Jongwoo and Moonjo were close to the edge, but not as close as they were to each other. Jongwoo was scowling and his mouth was open, the sentence he was saying cut short with Jieun's entrance. Moonjo still had the remains of a smile on his face when he turned his face to the door, but it slowly faded away when he saw her. He took just one look at Jongwoo, who had already taken two steps back, his head down, and in his next movement, when he met Jieun's eyes again, his gaze had turned glacial, sending a shiver down her spine.

At that moment, it didn't matter that it was her old friend by his side; she didn't feel safe to walk in with that guy there. Apologizing, she took a turn, and went straight back down.

She didn't think about them for a while—tried not to—, until one day during the last holidays.

Jongwoo and Jieun's mothers have been friends for decades, their houses facing each other, as well as Jongwoo and Jieun's windows. She knows Jongwoo's family leaves on trips to visit their relatives on holidays, and this year had been no different, as her mother had commented something on that week. For that reason, she was a bit surprised when, looking outside while listening to a friend on the phone, she saw a boy pass in front of Jongwoo's window. A boy that wasn't Jongwoo.

A boy much taller, with a gant look, much similar to the one who had sent her a murderous stare the last time she had seen him that close.

She waited there, unable to move, to see if he would cross the window again. But several minutes passed, and nothing of him. Alright then. Maybe she had imagined it. What would he be doing at Jongwoo's house anyway, especially when no one was there? Would Jongwoo have given him the key? Unlikely. The only plausible alternative that she could come up with, is that he could be a thief, and if Jongwoo's mother reported something missing later, Jieun would tell her what she saw. Or thought she saw.

But Jongwoo's mother reported nothing, supporting Jieun's most logical theory—there had been no one there. It was just her mind playing tricks on her.

She can't forget about it, though. She wonders what Jongwoo would say if she told him; if he would believe in her at all. She wonders if he would take Moonjo's side, or hers. She doesn't understand where they stand any more than she understood what was going on that day on the rooftop. Are they friends? Does Jongwoo trust him, or is he afraid? Does he even like him?

He doesn't even like him, thinks a boy at the other side of the cafeteria, at a table with other orphan boys, as it is him. This boy is Kihyuk, and he's still bitter about an event that occurred more than a few months back, when he tried to sit at Moonjo's table, but wasn't allowed to.

Moonjo had never minded that at dinner, when they were at home. In fact, Kihyuk was proud to say that, among all the kids, he is (was?) the one that least annoyed Moonjo. He isn't loud and he keeps himself as clean as he can. He's the one that takes it in his own hands to ensure the others won't bother Moonjo, will stay out of his way. Kihyuk is still relatively new at the orphanage, compared to the others, but he understands the hierarchy, and how important it is to be on Moonjo's good side. From the start, he has always been respectful and obedient.

But on that day, none of it mattered—Moonjo had looked at him like he was a specially nasty bug, that he'd take great pleasure in crushing under his shoe.

Crestfallen, he marched back to his usual table with the others and, mercilessly, they all took the piss on him. It was then that he learned about “Moonjo's Prayer Time”.

That's what the orphanage's director had called it, once the others had described his strange behavior back to her. Kihyuk didn't understand, at first, but watching Moonjo do the same thing, at the same hour, every day, religiously... He had to agree with them, to an extent.

But he still doesn't understand why. What does Moonjo do it for? Is he really praying? What is he praying for—that Jongwoo will look up at him? That he'll allow Moonjo to come over, like Kihyuk wishes Moonjo will let him?

He doesn't even like him, he thinks again, staring at Jongwoo just as intently as Moonjo, wasting away his lunchtime.

Far away from that table, there is a short boy with coconut hair and a broken nose, trying very hard not to look anywhere close to Yoon Jongwoo's general direction. He's Byeongmin, and he sits with the upper middle class kids—not because he's one of them, but because Han Jaeho is there, and he's got Byeongmin working under his thumb for the last three years.

They both study in the same class as Moonjo, and they both hate that fucker. In fact, no one in the whole world has hated, hates, or will hate Seo Moonjo as much Han Jaeho does, and the sentiment seems to be mutual, as Moonjo makes his life hell at every opportunity.

Jaeho is always looking for a way to break Moonjo, destroy his life, but there isn't much you can take away from a poor boy, who has no assets, no friends, and no family. He's also too smart, too handsome, and too cold to be made fun of. Had that not been enough, despite looking a bit scrawny, and sickly pale, he can hold himself in a fight too—Jaeho had found that out first-hand, and now he knows better. Not only is Moonjo strong, but he fights dirty, too. Dirtier than Jaeho himself.

But there has been one special card that he has been meaning to use. Because Jaeho knows, he just knows Moonjo is gay. He's gotta be, with the way he sits there looking at another boy every day. He's gotta be. Jaeho just needs concrete proof of it; once he gets it, Moonjo is done.

He's been telling Byeongmin that for months. They just need proof. If Byeongmin finds it for him, he'll take care of the rest.

That's how Byeongmin ended up at the library on a friday that the rest of the classes had been canceled for the day, looking for Jongwoo's “secret spot”. According to the rumor he'd heard, there was a space at the end of the library, hidden away by two bookshelves. Apparently, Jongwoo would occasionally move one of them, that stood before the space between the other bookshelf and the wall, and disappear inside with whatever book he's reading at the moment.

The person who spread the rumor mentioned that Moonjo had been seen doing the same thing.

So there was Byeongmin, walking on his tiptoes, hoping his footsteps wouldn't give him away, and the books on the shelves would cover most of his body, but still let him see what was happening on the inside.

Holding his breath, he saw Yoon Jongwoo on the floor, his back against the wall, and a heavy book on his lap. Next to him, there was an older boy that Byeongmin knew very well.

Moonjo's arms were crossed, his head was supported by the wall behind him, and his eyes were closed. Blinking in surprise, Byeongmin realized that he was probably asleep. He had never seen Moonjo sleep at school before. He looked like a different person.

Byeongmin took his phone out, letting the camera do its job. A picture and a short video. That would suffice.

He was putting it back down, when he noticed Jongwoo's eyes weren't fixed on the pages of the book anymore. He had lifted them up, and was watching Byeongmin from the other side of the bookshelf.

Still riding the high of his mission accomplished, Byeongmin stared back at him, not caring what Jongwoo thought now that he had already found what he had come for. He looked at Moonjo by his side, so frightening when he's awake, now sleeping like a stupid baby, completely unaware of what was coming his way—and he snorted, before turning his back on them and walking away.

He was almost home, past the sunset, when he felt a hand grab his shirt's collar, dragging him away and inside an abandoned building. He tried screaming, but the hand moved to his neck, cutting off his air supply. His eyes, still adjusting to the darkness inside the new area, were just focused enough now that he could recognize the face in front of him.

Yoon Jongwoo had pushed him to the ground and punched his face for what felt like a decade. They both felt it when his nose broke; but that just made him smash it harder, purposefully.

Belatedly, under all the pain, Byeongmin recognized that he should have kept that last sound—the last sound he made at the library, in Jongwoo's presence—to himself.

With his hands still shaking from the effort, and slippery with blood, Jongwoo had turned him over for his backpack, struggling with the zipper for a moment, then spilling all its content on the floor. He found his phone and quickly got rid of what wasn't Byeongmin's right to possess. Striking the phone on the space beside Byeongmin's head, he broke it for good measure.

Flinching away from the sound, Byeongmin tried to bring his hands up to protect his face, but Jongwoo was faster. He took his shirt on his fist and pulled Byeongmin's back from the ground, a finger coming between his eyes. He spoke for the first time since the assault had begun, and promised with a snarl that he'd break the rest of Byeongmin's body if he ever came after him or Seo Moonjo again.

Jongwoo didn't give Byeongmin time to answer, leaving him to fend for himself. Weeping, the boy found enough strength to support himself with his hands, lifting his upper body. He tried to think about what was he supposed to do next in a situation like this, but the pain made it hard to think. He wished he had passed out instead.

Before he could decide on his next move, however, a figure materialized from the shadows, walking in his direction. With horror, he realized it was his class president, very much awake, and not at all surprised by Byeongmin's condition. It seemed like he had been there the whole time, and it had never occurred to him that he could have stopped it from happening... or he simply hadn't wanted to.

Moonjo crouched down next to him, eyes on his level. His hand came in contact with Byeongmin's head, a gentle pressure.

Jongwoo is glorious, don't you think?, came a rhetorical, appreciative question, over the quiet sound of Byeongmin's sobs. The hand on his head closed, getting a grip of his hair. I need to show him how to quiet others better, though.

He brought out a tool from his pocket, forcing it past Byeongmin's lips.

The next thing he remembers is waking up at the hospital, with his face swollen all over. Purple eyes, a broken nose, and two teeth missing from the back of his mouth—roots and all. The police and his parents couldn't get a word out of him about the incident, and eventually he was sent back to school. To Jaeho's table, who got him into this mess, but didn't bother to investigate or question Byeongmin's absence and barely convincible explanation about what had happened to him.

So when again Jaeho says “we just need proof”, Byeongmin stabs his chicken soup with his spoon and doesn't say anything back. Doesn't even glance at the pair of freaks Jaeho is referring to.

He's found all the proof he needs.

—

Oh, wow 😀 Got a little carried away there... But I hope you don't mind me playing with this AU and extending it a little. I'd also like to apologize for taking so long to answer you *bowing all the way down*. This only took the past two nights to elaborate, in a sudden rush of creativity, but it's been almost three years of indecision on what to write here. I'm really sorry for that.

But I also believe you might still be around, so I'm wishing from the bottom of my heart that this will get to you and you will finally get to read your answer, Anon 🥹❤

[queenjunothegreat]

Hello everyone! I come bearing the absolute CUTEST fucking ship in all of PJO, Frazel! I don't care what you say, these two are fucking ADORABLE and I would kill and die for them. They are the human embodiment of middle schoolers on a date at McDonald's eating ice cream and holding hands under the table but refusing to look at each other. They're cute as hell.

Hazel pretended to ignore the mouse and it came even closer, clearly emboldened by her lack of engagement. In fact, it crossed the whole room and hopped up on the edge of Hazel’s cauldron so it could get a better look at her. That’s when Hazel finally looked at it properly, meeting those brown eyes bright with intelligence and she grinned. “Hi, Frank.” The mouse let out a shrill little squeak of shock as it fell off the cauldron and Hazel hid her giggles with her hands. Frank then sat up, once again in the shape of her very best friend. “How did you know it was me?” he demanded with something that looked very much like a pout. “I thought I was finally getting good at this!” *** Witch Hazel is brewing a potion for homework, when she gets a surprise visitor. Ao3 Collection Day Fourteen: Witches/Warlocks

Hazel hummed quietly to herself as she squinted at her potion book. The fortune potion wasn’t exactly hard, but it did require her to concentrate, and sometimes that was more easily said than done. Unfortunately, she’d kind of been putting it off all weekend, and if she wanted to turn in her homework on Monday, she really needed to buckle down. She wasn’t exactly interested in suffering through another one of Professor Hecate’s lectures if she was late. 

But then she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. It was a mouse, not an uncommon sight in the old castle they all lived in, but it was odd for one to be so bold. Normally, they just scurried from room to room as quickly as possible, making sure to avoid any sort of extended contact, but this one didn’t do that. Instead, it crept towards her, its little nose wiggling a thousand times a minute as it took in the smells of Hazel’s potion ingredients. Hazel pretended to ignore it and it came even closer, clearly emboldened by her lack of engagement. In fact, it crossed the whole room and hopped up on the edge of Hazel’s cauldron so it could get a better look at her. 

That’s when Hazel finally looked at it properly, meeting those brown eyes bright with intelligence and she grinned. “Hi, Frank.”

The mouse let out a shrill little squeak of shock as it fell off the cauldron and Hazel hid her giggles with her hands. Frank then sat up, once again in the shape of her very best friend. “How did you know it was me?” he demanded with something that looked very much like a pout. “I thought I was finally getting good at this!”

“You looked just like a mouse, I promise,” Hazel soothed. “But you weren’t acting much like one. You weren’t skittish enough.”

Frank blinked at her. “Oh, I, uh, I guess that makes sense.” 

Hazel smiled at him and she wanted to tell him that his eyes were always a dead giveaway, too, at least to her, but then her cauldron made a high pitched hissing noise and started belching purple smoke. “Oh, not now!” she complained before yanking the cauldron off the little magical fire. She stirred furiously at the concoction, but it was soon clear that there was no salvaging what she’d already done, so she let out a long string of swear words that would have put her mother in the grave if she weren’t already there. With a furious pout she whipped out her wand and vanished the mess before slamming the cauldron back down.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

Hazel whipped her head around to see Frank still sitting on the floor where she’d left him. He was fiddling with his fingers and staring at his toes, and looking a lot more timid than he had when he’d been playing the role of a mouse. She frowned at him. “What are you sorry for?”

“Uh, this?” he said, gesturing at her now-empty cauldron. “I didn’t mean to distract you. I just didn’t think about it.”

“Aw, that’s alright,” she smiled at him. “I should’ve been paying more attention in the first place. Besides that one had been going bad already. I probably would have needed to start over anyway.” That last bit wasn’t entirely true. The potion wasn’t going perfectly (it was more lavender than lilac and smelled of butterscotch instead of caramel) but she would have probably gotten a passing grade, at least. But she figured Frank didn’t really need to know that.

Sure enough, Frank’s shoulders relaxed just a bit at her little white lie, and he gave her a little smile. “Still, I feel a bit bad. What are you making, anyway?”

“Potion of good fortune,” Hazel explained, turning the book for Frank to see, which he did once he got to his feet.  “Professor Hecate wants us to make it this weekend, and we’re gonna test them tomorrow during class.”

Frank’s eyes went wide and a little glassy. “Woah. I have no idea how you manage to do all this. You’re amazing, Hazel.”

Hazel felt her cheeks grow warm and her heart flutter in her chest, and she ducked her head sheepishly. “It’s really not that impressive. I mean, you can shapeshift. That’s pretty cool in my book.”

Frank shook his head. “That’s something I was just born with. It’s not the same.”

“I was born with magic, same as you.”

Frank raised an eyebrow at her. “Hazel, my lessons usually involve just figuring out how to properly picture an animal. This here?” He gestured at the potion book. “I mean, I can’t even bake cookies. I’d have no idea where to start with all this.”

“It’s really not that hard,” she insisted. “You just gotta make sure you follow all the steps properly because they build on one another, and–” She was cut off when Frank put a finger to her lips. She blinked in shock for a moment and crossed her eyes to look at the tip of his finger before she looked up at his face.

He was smiling down at her, his face soft and warm with affection, and Hazel was suddenly very glad she wasn’t a Fire Elemental like Leo, otherwise she’d have burst into flames. “Would you please just take the compliment?” he said, his tone half amused half fondly exasperated. “I think you’re amazing, Hazel, and no amount of downplaying what you can do is going to change that.”

Hazel ducked her head and yanked the brim of her hat down over her eyes in order to hide her besotted smile. “I, uh, okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Frank said, his mouse-like confidence returning.

Hazel released her hat so that she could fiddle with the hem of her shirt. “Do you, uh, have anything you’re planning on doing this afternoon?”

Frank paused, and she could almost see the way he cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Uh, no. Do you?”

“Well, I’m gonna be making this potion again,” she said. “I was, um, wondering if maybe you’d like to help? Magic always works better with company, even if the company is a different kind of magic.”

Frank was quiet for a moment and Hazel was about to blubber out an apology for even thinking to ask him to do such a thing before he quietly said, “You really want me here?”

She looked up at him to see that he was staring down at her with something akin to wonder and she couldn’t help her besotted smile. “Yeah, Frank. There’s no one else I’d rather have here with me.”

Frank looked like he was about ready to burst with pride as he sat down next to Hazel on her little bench. It really wasn’t big enough for the two of them, but Hazel didn’t really mind all that much. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

Hazel wanted to tell him that just sitting there next to her with his pink cheeks and his shy smile was already filling her heart with enough joy to make this potion a thousand times over, but she thought that might be a little too sappy to start the afternoon with. Instead she summoned a potion base to fill her cauldron and said, “Can you hand me that mudwort? It’s the little brown jar.”

Frank did as she asked while she prepped her new attempt at potion making. They worked together like they’d been doing it their whole lives, quietly chatting back and forth while Hazel added ingredients and Frank stirred at a perfectly even rate in whatever direction she told him to. Already, the potion was leagues better than any of her many, many failed attempts. In a burst of confidence and bravery, she leaned over and pecked a kiss to Frank’s cheek and said, “I think you’re amazing, too, by the way.”

Frank let out a startled squeak and turned back into a mouse, making Hazel laugh and dive for the spoon he’d been using to stir the potion before it could slip below the surface. After a moment, Frank sheepishly turned back into his human self and took over stirring again, his cheeks significantly redder than before, and they got back to work, pressed together on that little bench.

[truly-quirkless]

A very simple post but essentially: the Pre-MHA Verse.

Takes place before Yagi meets Fin, but around the time Fin is finally going to the police about Evan/Yagi is asked if he wants to work at U. A. in a few years.

Tag: Been through a Hell that you don't see/A kind of suffering/The eyes don't notice || Pre-MHA Verse

[celtrist]

Just a fun overlord idea I had, no intentions on offending anyone by the way (obviously). Tried to give some little touches with symbols while trying to keep to a simple design, essentially sorta treating this as a design you might see in the show. Maybe I'll keep workshopping it, not sure. Here's some notes below on him:

With a clear devotion to the above, I imagine him as a very ominous and serious threat. While a sinner through and through, and an overlord no less, he's more or less on the side with heaven than hell.

I'm sure you'll notice a clear inspiration from him, but I also looked at early-century priest attire as well as "dark fantasy" priest designs. I wanted to add a bit of incorporation of both Christian and anti-Christian elements to him. I guess you could say the cross in front of his eyes is him being "blinded by faith", but that wasn't exactly the intention with it. There's also jewelry with rings and necklaces to indicate a sense of corruption as priests, particularly in the older times that Hunchback was set in, aren't supposed to live in luxury with something like jeweled rings and whatnot. Could be wrong on that front, either way, I certainly wanted the jewelry to give a sense that he's corrupted in his beliefs.

I wasn't sure if holy symbols like the cross really harm sinners like burning them or anything (which fun fact, didn't know the upside-down cross originated as something positive for Christianity, only in recent times has it been depicted as something negative for the religion). However, I can totally see him as the kind of guy who would just suffer through the pain JUST so he can keep his holy symbols. So even if holy symbols do prove to harm sinners, this guy is still happily wearing it and everything. He also has two birds he uses for scouting ahead or sending messages. They don't have names right now, but one is a demonic crow and the other is an angelic dove that somehow fell from heaven (no it didn't commit sin, probably just an accident lol), and this guy took it in. The dove is more or less the sign that this guy is coming.

Finally, his accumulation of souls is made via the confessions people make to him. While Charlie advocates for redemption, the Priest Overlord simply believes in following God with no chance of redemption. The endless void is what he believes is the penultimate end for all and awaits the day for Heaven to fall into Hell for them all to be in this endless void. (Of course, this is open for change. Spur of the moment character y'know?)

And here's some fun ideas of how he might feel about certain characters: - He wouldn't like Charlie at all. Of course, he would never outwardly show this, but more passively talking down to her and telling her not to touch him to avoid filth on his clothes. - With that said, he probably is 100% open to manipulating her, no question. - He'd revere both Vaggie and Lucifer, as they're both angels from heaven even if fallen. He unfortunately probably places more blame on Lilith than Lucifer with the whole temptation thing, but not sure on that one yet. He just has a bizarre respect for the King of Hell despite being heavily alligned with Heaven. - I don't think he and Alastor would get along at all. Granted, I don't think any of the overlords would like him in general, but Alastor would have more of a problem if the Priest Overlord began encroaching on his territory.

And then finally, clearly don't have a name for him. Was thinking "Priest" but then I thought maybe "Follower" would've been a more interesting name. Not sure, feel free to give suggestions if you have any. I actually have some backstory ideas, but I'd like to keep him mysterious should he come up again. Plus, theories galore if anyone is interested.

[skayafair]

Inspiration to be yourself

I'm very grateful to DBD actually.

Edwin is very relatable for A LOT of people and it's great, because maybe it helped someone like it helped me.

I just... looked at him - all the freedom of the mannerisms, of showing the way that was natural for him. The way it wasn't always like this - that little what we saw of his memories shows he used to be much stiffer back then but literally bloomed after his escape from Hell - I guess because there was very little that frightened him now, and at first there was no one even to see him and judge, and there's some kind of relief from fear of being perceived and judged a lot of NDs suffer from... we actually see this with Niko as well - after she found people who accepted her and she broke out of her room's confinement, she bloomed just the same way, unapologetically showing all her colours quite literally.

And.

Well.

I thought - why not now?

I don't have close people outside family now, but it may be a good thing, judging by how last year turned out. Anyway, I started to move more freely - and just more, which helpes to take me out of the freeze response I often get stuck in. Stopped holding back some little... "quirks", which I used to do because they might look weird. I started noticing how I try to sink into myself a lot, take less space, be less. And I think I'm through with this bullshit. A lot of this newfound confidence comes from the meds I've been prescribed (yeah chemical imbalance is a bitch), although it's mostly vitamins and Mg and stuff like that. But whatever. I keep my back straight, eyes forward. I'm learnign to feel secure, whatever others say or do.

And a huge part of this energy, confidence, inspiration - it's this series. This one character. The change have been building since long ago, but it needed a trigger, and here it was. Art goes a long way.

Today was the first time I went running. I liked the parts where I wasn't actually gasping for air. I think I want to do this again.

I'm trying to appear as me, unapologetically and openly. Because you know what, looking at Edwin - it's cool. The kind of cool I want to be, can be, am when I let myself, and there's no time like now. It's like it gets easier to breathe.

[barbex]

I would love to see something for this spectacular prompt! Happy writing!

❝  you love me too much.  i know how that sounds but—  fucking hell.  you shouldn’t care that much about someone like me.  ❞

Such a great prompt, oh my god! Thank you. Another fenders fic for @dadrunkwriting, fresh from the keyboard without editing because I need to go to bed now.

TW for injury and blood, not in a graphic way though.

--

"You do know that the blood is supposed to be on the inside of your body, do you?" Joking with Fenris would be more convincing if Anders' voice didn't waver. 

Fenris' voice, on the other hand, is infuriatingly calm, despite the massive wound in his abdomen. "Yes, I am aware of that, mage." He tries to look at the injury but he groans as his head falls back on the table they're using as a cot.

"How's the pain?" Now Anders found his voice, the professional one. The voice of a healer, taking care of his patient, not the love of his life. 

"I can manage."

"Suffering puts unnecessary strain on your body and will slow the healing process." 

Fenris slowly turns his head to look at Anders. "You always say that. Is it really true?"

Anders rushes forward to put both his hands on Fenris' cheeks. "It's true. Please, let me take away the pain. I know you hate losing control but I can help you better when you aren't tense from the pain."

Fenris closes his eyes and breathes in. "Magic or potion?" 

"A potion. I'll need my mana for healing you." 

With a shaky sigh, Fenris nods. "I agree to a potion against pain."

"And that I heal you," Anders says. "With magic."

There's only a short hesitations before Fenris says, "yes, you may heal me with magic." He tries to smile but the pain turns it into a grimace. 

Anders shakes his head. For years they've been acting out this script, again and again. Even after travelling half way through Thedas, into Tevinter, building a network to free slaves — Fenris wants to be asked before magic is used on him and Anders always waits for his consent. What used to be an angry exchange between enemies, many years ago, is now a ritual between lovers.

"Here, drink slowly." Anders slips his arm behind Fenris' head and holds the vial to his lips. Fenris never looks away from him as he swallows and Anders watches his eyes until they roll back in his head. "There you go, my love, now let me just make you whole again."

He lays Fenris' head down and gets to work. The wound is deep and nasty, and will soon get infected if he doesn't hurry. It needs all his expertise and nearly all of his mana to clean the wound and heal layer upon layer of connective tissue until he can heal the skin, connecting the lyrium markings as they were before. Finally, he sinks down in a chair, exhausted in the best way.

"All done, love. You should wake up soon." He looks at Fenris on the table, breathing evenly. "Don't think I didn't notice that you took that attack for me. You shouldn't have done that, I could have... I would have... I don't know, but you shouldn't run into someone's sword for me."

Fenris groans, still under the influence of the potion. He blinks, and when he sees Anders, a big, if slightly dumb smile spreads on his face. "Hey, you are beautiful."

Anders laughs out. "Oh, dear, that potion still got you." 

Fenris rolls onto his side. "Are you a mage?"

"Yes, Fenris, I am a mage, I'm —"

"You are very pretty," Fenris says with a dreamy voice, "but I already have a mage."

Anders suppresses a laugh. "Do you now?"

"Yes." Fenris closes his eyes and smiles. "He is kind and soft and powerful. I love him so much."

Anders chokes on his own spit. Fenris never uses the word love, never. He clears his throat and asks, "do you know why you're here?"

"I got injured." Fenris frowns, trying to remember. "I saw the warrior surprise him, I had to protect him."

"That was dangerous, you could have —"

"— I cannot." Fenris moves so abruptly, he almost falls off the table. "I cannot risk losing him."

Anders puts his hand on Fenris' shoulder to push him back to the middle of the table. "I'm sure your mage can protect himself."

"You don't understand," Fenris slurs. "I need him. I love him."

"I shouldn't hear this," Anders murmurs to himself. "Try to sleep some more," he says louder. 

"Yes, pretty mage." Fenris closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. After a few minutes, he breathes slowly and evenly again. 

Anders watches him sleep, letting his healing aura wrap around them both. He raises his hand to brush white hair away from his forehead. "By the Maker, Fenris, you love me too much. I know how that sounds but — fucking void, you shouldn’t care that much about someone like me."

He must have fallen asleep because when he opens his eyes again, light pokes through the curtains of their temporary home. He has his hand on Fenris' stomach, over the bandage and he peeks under it to look for signs of infections. Everything looks fine but he uses a quick diagnostic spell to make sure that nothing else has turned up over night.

Fenris wakes with a gasp. Magic still has that effect on him.

"It's alright, I'm done, I just had to do a last check." Anders holds his hands close but doesn't touch Fenris. "Everything looks good, the wound is healing well."

Fenris takes Anders' hand and wraps his fingers around it. "What happened, after you healed me?"

"You remember that?" Anders wishes for the floor to swallow him. The things Fenris said were deeply personal, he never would have said anything like it were he not under the influence of the drug. Even the idea of embarrassing Fenris with this tale makes bile rise in Anders' throat. 

"Nothing happened."

Fenris sits up, wincing when he puts strain on his stomach. "Tell me, please."

Hanging his head, Anders gives in. "You called me a pretty mage."

"Well, you are a pretty mage." Fenris grins.

"Oh, shut up."

Fenris lifts Anders' head with a finger under his chin. "What are you hiding from me?"

Once, a year ago, Fenris made Anders swear that he would never lie and not keep secrets from Fenris. That oath now rings in his head like a bell and with a sigh, he gives in. "You said you already have a pretty mage. And that you love him."

Fenris goes very still. "What else?"

"You talked about your mage, how nice and powerful he is, and then I asked about the fight, how you got the injury." Anders gets up to find something to do for his hands. "And I consider it to be heroic humility that I didn't make you explain why you took that blow for me."

The hand holding his own tightens. "I remember."

"You do? That's unusual, most people just sleep after that potion and only a very few talk, but they usually don't remember anything."

Fenris grabs his hand and pulls him closer, fixing him in his green eyed stare. "I remember. I remember talking about my mage, how I love him. And I remember you saying that I love you too much." 

"You remember that, too?" Anders tries to stay up again, but Fenris holds him. 

"Don't run away from me."

"I just wanted to look where I could dig a hole for me to hide in."

Fenris stands up, stepping in front of Anders' chair, between his knees. He slides his hand behind Anders' neck, cradling his head and looking at him with his deep green eyes and Anders just wants to fall. He would do anything for this elf. 

"Listen, my mage, because I will not say it again." Fenris leans down, his lips just a finger width away from Anders' lips. "I don't love you too much. I love just the right amount, as you love me and don't you dare to deny it. Not anymore."

"Not anymore," Anders whispers. 

"Good." Fenris closes the distance and finally kisses Anders. When they stop, they keep breathing each other's air, Fenris holding Anders head as if he fears that he would fly away. "I believe we have a bed here, somewhere?"

"But you're still injured."

Fenris glares at him. "I would like to sleep some more, holding my mage in my arms."

"Right." Anders feels himself blush and stands up to help Fenris over to their bed. "I think we can do that."

When they lie in bed, Fenris pressed against Anders' back, tension falls from Anders' shoulders. He takes Fenris' hand from his chest and kisses his knuckles. "I love you, Fenris, so much."

Fenris' arms tighten around him and he presses a kiss onto his neck. "My mage," he whispers into his neck. And Anders knows all the way in his heart that it means the same.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kicho's Main Story Ch. 13 Part 1 Dramatic

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. SPOILERS under the cut.

I've been rushing all these translations because of my exams, so expect a lot of mistakes.

Kicho: ".........."

Motonari: "Hey, don't stare at me like that. You betrayed me first."

Motonari: "Well, I hope your naivety will make you suffer in hell."

Kicho: "I give up."

Motonari: "Ha?"

Kicho dropped his pistol to the ground and quietly raised his hands.

Motonari: "What's this all about? Did you come here to beg for your life?"

Kicho: "Yeah, you should too."

Motonari: "Ha! That doesn't make any sense."

Motonari: "What the!?"

BOOM!

Motonari: "Guh!"

Motonari: "Damn it! Where the hell are they shooting that big cannon at?"

Kicho: "Guh. Of course, it's aimed at us."

Kicho: "That man really does bring more than expected to the places I don't like."

Kicho: "But thanks to him, I don't have to beg for my life anymore."

Motonari: "Did you get that sword from one of my men?"

Motonari: "Interesting. Then let's kill each other."

Motonari's blood-red eyes twinkled, and Kicho's face contorted as he caught the heavy slash of his sword swinging.

Motonari: "Heh? Are you injured somewhere? You must have gone through a lot of trouble just to get here."

Motonari: "Then let me make it easy for you!"

Motonari turned his sword and struck several slashes.

Kicho: "Ugh..."

Motonari: "Hey, hey, don't collapse. Is that all you got without a gun?"

Motonari: "You're a top-notch shooter, but you're never going to beat me if you rely on that."

Motonari: "You're the kind of guy who gets distracted when blood rushes to your head."

Kicho: "I doubt that."

Motonari: "-----!"

Taking advantage of a momentary opening, Kicho sharply aimed at his vital point.

Kicho's hand felt the blade cut through his flesh, and blood fell silently onto the grass at Motonari's feet.

Motonari: "Damn it!"

Kicho: "Before this is settled, let me tell you that I don't consider my actions to be just."

Kicho: "But I swore to live and to protect myself."

Motonari: "You're saying a lot of fancy words!"

The two blades danced and sliced through the air.

Just as they were about to collide, Kicho's blade deflected the oncoming strike and slashed at Motonari's abdomen with blinding speed.

Motonari: "-----!"

Motonari: "Guh! Aaaah!"

Motonari grunted and fell, holding his stomach while Kicho looked down at him, holding his right shoulder, which was starting to bleed.

Kicho: "Is it really over this time?"

Kicho: "Guh..."

Breathing painfully, he collapsed to the ground helplessly.

I finished wrapping the last bandage and looked up.

(Huh? It was so noisy outside, but now it suddenly became quiet.)

The people also noticed it and looked anxiously at the doors.

(I hear footsteps. Who on earth is that?)

Oda soldier 1: "Report!"

Oda soldier 1: "We seized all the rebels who fled to this town and recovered their weapons."

Oda soldier 1: "We also received the same news from the other units!"

Townspeople: "-----!"

Mai: "Thank God!"

The hall instantly erupted in joy after hearing the report.

After hearing the good news, I left the place to the Oda soldiers, who had come in turns and headed for the rendezvous point we had decided upon beforehand.

Ranmaru: "Ah, here she comes. This way!"

Mai: "Ranmaru, Nobunaga!"

Upon spotting the two, I got off the horse and rushed over to them.

Mai: "I'm glad you guys are safe. Are you hurt?"

Nobunaga: "We're fine."

Ranmaru: "How about you? Are you okay?"

Mai: "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks."

Mai: "By the way, where's Kennyo?"

Nobunaga: "If you're looking for Kennyo, he won't return here."

Mai: "What?"

Nobunaga: "This agreement is temporary."

Nobunaga: "I guess he decided that if the rebellion had died down, there was no longer any need to join forces with us."

Nobunaga: "He disappeared with his followers after leaving the weapons he took to us."

Mai: "I see."

(So the truce is over. They will try to kill each other again someday.)

Ranmaru: "Lady Mai."

Ranmaru called my name briefly, then narrowed his eyes gently.

(So I don't have to worry about it?)

(Then I hope we can meet again someday, somewhere.)

Mai: "Do you know what happened to the others?"

Mai: "From what I've seen, it looks like there's still no one else in the group except for you two."

Ieyasu: "You're blind, then."

Mai: "Waah!?"

Startled by a voice from behind me, I turned to see Ieyasu and Masamune.

Mai: "I-Ieyasu, don't just appear out of nowhere."

Ieyasu: "I just came back as usual. What were you doing in Sakai to be startled by something like this?"

Ieyasu: "I'm surprised you lasted more than a day with your slowness."

Masamune: "No, it's because of her slowness that she was a pretty good choice."

(I'll just keep quiet about the fact that I almost blew my cover pretty quickly.)

Mai: "Welcome back, both of you. You came back safely, which means..."

Masamune: "Yeah. We recovered all the weapons stored in the harbor."

Masamune: "Right now, the soldiers in my unit are taking them off the ship."

Ieyasu: "If it had been a little later, they would have been spread all over Japan."

Mai: "Thank goodness. Good work, guys."

(Now, all that's left is Mitsuhide and Kicho.)

(I wonder if they're both safe.)

I felt relieved after seeing everyone was safe.

(I can't wait to see Kicho.)

(I want to touch him, feel his warmth, and make sure he's alive.)

Ieyasu: "There's no need to be so fidgety. They'll be fine."

Mai: "But..."

Masamune: "You know what they're like, so just sit tight and wait."

Ranmaru: "Speaking of the devils. Lady Mai, look over there."

Mai: "Ah!"

From a distance, I saw two horses running toward us. One of them had a fluttering white coat.

(That white horse… It's Kicho's horse!)

(But...huh?)

Feeling uneasy, I stopped in my tracks when I saw no one on the white horse and instead saw two figures on Mitsuhide's horse.

(Don't tell me...)

Perhaps noticing that I had started to run, Mitsuhide pulled the reins back, and as the distance drew closer, I could see the person behind him.

Mai: "Kicho!"

My mind went blank as I saw his blood-soaked haori and weak, limping body.

Mai: "W-Why...?"

Mitsuhide: "Calm down, Mai. He's still breathing. He's just unconscious right now."

Mitsuhide: "I found him lying by a big tree when I came and got him."

Mitsuhide: "I'll take him to the tent, so can you take his horse?"

Mai: "Okay."

(Kicho is alive. This is not the time to panic.)

After carrying Kicho together, Mitsuhide quickly closed the tent's entrance.

Mai: "Wait, don't!"

Mai: "Kicho is claustrophobic."

Kicho: "It's fine. It can be avoided depending on some conditions."

Mai: "I see, that's good."

Mai: "Wait, Kicho!? You're awake."

Kicho: "Yeah, for quite a while now."

Mitsuhide: "That was a fine nap you took, Kicho. Wait, no. Maybe I should say it differently."

Mitsuhide: "At any rate, it was a success. Good for you."

Mai: "What...?"

(So it was all an act? I was really worried.)

Kicho: “Mai!”

As I was about to collapse, he supported me and held me up, his large hand gently caressing my back.

Kicho: “Sorry. Don’t worry. I heard your voice.”

Kicho: “I didn’t do this out of meanness.”

Mai: “Yes. I know. You’re not that kind of person.”

Mai: “But sorry. It’s going to take me a little while to sort this out.”

(Even though he was breathing, I was still really worried.)

(I almost lost myself when I saw him swaying on the horse like a doll, looking so beat up.)

He quietly took me in his arms as I hugged him back and buried my face in his chest, clinging to him with my overflowing feelings.

Eventually, the sound of his heart and the gentle warmth of the room gradually calmed me.

(I’m glad he’s okay.)

(Just knowing that is enough for me.)

Mitsuhide: “.............”

Mai: “............”

Mai: “Sorry, Mitsuhide.”

Mitsuhide: “No, don’t worry about it. It’s good that you remembered that I’m still here.”

Mai: “Ugh, sorry I got caught up in our own world.”

Mai: “Um, anyway, how did you end up pretending to be unconscious?”

Mitsuhide: "This was the only quickest way to give the three of us a place to talk privately."

Mai: "I see. What is it that you need to talk about?"

Mitsuhide: "I'll leave it to you to decide whether Kicho's story is true or not."

Mitsuhide: "I'll decide on the disposal of this guy after that."

(Disposal!?)

Mitsuhide quickly raised his gun and pointed it at Kicho.

Mitsuhide: "Then let me ask you a question. Why did you intentionally let Motonari escape?"

Mai: "Huh!?"

Kicho: "I knew it was about that."

(If he's not denying it, then it's true that Motonari ran away.)

(Why did he do that?)

Kicho: "I didn't let him escape. He escaped."

Kicho: "It was only temporary, but we were both out cold."

Kicho: "After regaining consciousness, I couldn't move due to blood loss, so there was no way I could stop him."

Kicho: "By the time you arrived, his men had taken him away."

Mitsuhide: "Then how do you explain this? When I arrived, you seemed to be talking to each other."

Mitsuhide: "I couldn't hear it, so I have no idea what you were talking about."

Mitsuhide: "Did you arrange a prearranged escape plan?"

Kicho: "No. There's already no need for me to work with that guy."

Kicho: "That's why I had to say something one last time."

Mitsuhide: "Oh? And what was that?"

Kicho: "That's..."

Kicho thought for a moment and then glanced at me.

Kicho: "Mai. I've already revealed your identity to Mitsuhide."

Kicho: "There are now two people who know about the future.”

Mai: "Huh? Really!?"

(When did they talk about it?)

Kicho: "That's why, as long as it's just for this occasion, there won't be any problem."

Kicho: "There's something I've been hiding from that man for a long time."

Mai: "What have you been hiding?"

Kicho: "Nobunaga's purpose is to achieve unification and make Japan prosperous, while Motonari's goal is to continue the turbulent times and make the country a land where no man rules over another."

Kicho: "What they stand for is completely different. Therefore, they're in conflict."

Mitsuhide: "Yeah, that's why we're in this situation."

Kicho: "But I knew an alternative way for a country to realize the will of both sides."

Kicho: "It's to abolish status and rank and adopt a parliamentary system."

(Is that...!)

Kicho: "Mai. You know it very well."

Mai: "Yes, just like they do in future Japan."

Mai: "It will be difficult to achieve this in a country that’s not yet united, but I'm sure we can build a nation based on the will of everyone."

(If that's what everyone is after, we need a discussion, not a war.)

Mitsuhide: “I see. If Japan will eventually become a country like that, I can’t say that it’s an impossible plan.”

Mitsuhide: “And you didn’t tell Motonari about it to achieve your goal.”

Kicho: “Yeah.”

Mitsuhide: “...........”

Mitsuhide: “Mai, what do you think?”

Mai: “He’s not lying.”

Mai: “I know what he’s saying, and that he is on our side.”

Mai: “No matter what happens, I trust him.”

Mitsuhide: “Is that so? But that decision of yours is based on your personal feelings.”

Mai: “Ah…”

(He’s right. He’s not going to believe me.)

Kicho: “Don’t worry about it. This guy probably didn’t mean that in the first place.”

Kicho: “Mitsuhide, don’t be too mean. Mai takes everything seriously.”

Mitsuhide: “Yeah, I just wanted to tease her.”

Mitsuhide: “Oh well. I’m the one who said I’d leave the judging to you.”

Nodding lightly, Mitsuhide quietly lowered his gun.

Mitsuhide: “Your life is saved, Kicho.”

Mitsuhide: “But failure is a failure. We will continue our search for Motonari.”

Kicho: “Yeah.”

Mitsuhide: “Then, I’ll return now to Lord Nobunaga. Those of you who are injured may sleep soundly here.”

Mitsuhide waved his hand and walked out of the tent.

Mai: "Ah, wait!"

I ran after him and grabbed his sleeve in a hurry.

Mai: "Um, thank you so much."

Mitsuhide: "What? I don't remember doing anything worthy of a thank you."

(I knew he would say that.)

Mai: "There are a lot of them."

Mai: "But I don't want to list them all and hold you back, so I'll just leave you with one."

Mai: "Thank you for coming back alive."

Mitsuhide: "..........."

Mitsuhide: "I see. Your skill in winning people's hearts and minds is quite terrifying."

Mitsuhide: "You may be the best spy in the Oda army."

Mai: "Is that also one of your highest compliments?"

Mitsuhide: "No. The opposite. It's not a compliment."

Mai: "What!?"

Mitsuhide: "Being under your spell is like hell."

He took my hand and stroked it gently with his fingertips.

(Hell?)

Unsure of his intentions, I looked at his long, strong fingers and saw numerous scars that seemed so painful just by looking at them.

Mai: "U-Um..."

Mitsuhide: "This world is hard to live in. That's why I thought there was nothing you could do about it."

Mitsuhide: "But you never broke. You faced it, and you reached out."

Mitsuhide: "I have no intention of taking you away."

He gently pulled away without a second thought.

(Is it rude to think that I might be thinking something?)

Unable to say anything, he turned his back to me.

Mitsuhide: "The injured need rest and someone to look after them."

Mitsuhide: "I'll leave the rest to you."

Mai: "Okay."

After fetching water at a nearby river, I returned to the tent, and Kicho, who had been lying down, sat up.

Kicho: "Sorry."

Mai: "Don't worry about it. The wound on your shoulder still hasn't healed, and you've reached your limit."

Mai: "By the way, do you want me to leave this entrance open?"

Kicho: "No, it's fine. Keep it closed like before."

Mai: "Okay."

(True, it's better to close it so he can rest.)

After closing it, I went to his side.

Mai: "I got some clean water. Would you like some?"

Kicho: "Yeah, thanks."

Kicho: "Mai."

Mai: "Yeah? What is一mnn…"

After taking the bamboo flask, he tilted it to take a sip, held me close, and kissed me.

(Ah...)

I swallowed the cold water that flowed into my mouth, and he slipped his slightly cold tongue inside it.

Mai: "Mnn...ngh..."

We sweetly intertwine our tongues together, bringing the heat back up again in our touch.

After a long, suffocating kiss, Kicho slowly pulled away.

Mai: "Haa...Kicho?"

Kicho: "I just remembered something I have to do."

Kicho: "Sorry for worrying you, but I need to confirm it."

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