#HE NEEDED TO GO STRAIGHT!!! THE SIGNS ARE IN PLAIN ENGLISH!!! HE WAS A WHITE MIDDLE CLASS BOOMER HE SHOULD'VE BEEN ABLE TO FUCKING READ IT!

[sage-nebula]

in parking garages

[avallon]

It Could Be Sweet

Kishibe x fem!reader

A/n: first of all, I would like to thank @vilsoo for letting me participate in this project, the Ultraviolence Collab, I'm a little nervous because it's my first participation in a collaboration and also, because English is not my native language, I would like to apologize for some grammar errors that may appear, I have proofread but still some error may have escaped. This is based on the song Pretty When You Cry by Lana Del Rey

Hope you like it, please like and reblog if you like it, thank you <3

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Canon!AU, female reader, smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s and kishibe is in his 50s), blood, alcohol, angst, kishibe sucks at romance, 18+, minors DNI

Summary: “Everything is so easy for you, as simple as breathing.”

"I need you."

Kishibe had never said that to anyone.

The words sounded so strange coming out of his mouth.

But Kishibe never before in his life uttered such sincere words.

Kishibe was used to women, they were great, all he needed to do was smile at some girl in a bar or, on the worst days, take a few walks in the red light district, and walk into the door of the first smiling face that blew him a kiss. But that was only on days when work had sucked.

He already knew through the rumbles in the corridors that a new hunter was about to be hired, he just hoped they didn't throw the rookie behind his back, he had just trained Himeno and sent her to the front line, and, at the moment, everything what he wanted was just to drink whiskey in his office, and wait for the calamity that awaited him day after day.

But as soon as he stepped into the firm's building, he was told that Makima was waiting for him in her office.

And then, in that sterile office, and with Makima smiling behind her desk, he saw you; nothing special, just a plain girl, not the slightest bit of a hunter's profile, with your crisp uniform and your hands behind your back, your head down as a sign of respect and subservience, a little afraid to look him in the eye, you had probably already heard of his reputation there.

Kishibe snorted with impatience.

“I have more things to do, I won't waste my time babysitting. Send her to Himeno.”

And he was already leaving the room when Makima gently pulled him by the shoulder, leading him to the far corner of the office, away from the newcomer's ears.

“Kishibe-san.” Makima gave him one of her gentle, hollow smiles. “I need to inform you that the orders came from above and we are in no position to deny orders from a superior, and well.” She cast a polite look at the newcomer. “The rookie showed capacity in the interview and a willpower that is very rare in young hunters nowadays, we want to test all that determination in the best way; on the front lines and with the best hunter, so she will knows for sure if her determination will remain the same and she will be useful to the organization.”

And with that, Kishibe just looked at you and motioned for you to follow him.

And maybe that was his first mistake.

***

You were a good girl, shy but good, and by 'good', Kishibe meant the sweetest sense of the word.

“Crying already?” he said, just in your second week of training, opening the flask of whiskey and watching the blood that oozed from the cut on your collarbone and wet your white tank top, marking your breasts.

“Sorry, Master.” you sniffled and then tried to get up from the ground, passing a bloody hand across your nose and putting yourself in the fighting position again.

"How old are you?" he wanted to know.

“Twenty-four, sir.” you replied dutifully, being taken aback when Kishibe yanked on your wrist, bringing you straight into the sole of his shoe that hit your chin squarely.

“Slow reflexes.” he warned. "Any second of distraction counts as hours of head start for a devil."

You spit blood, looking at the floor, you felt that your head was going to explode in two pieces, the air had been lacking for a few seconds and your elbows had been scraped by the fall, you tried to get up but your arms gave way, not supporting the weight of your body. You stared in shock at the amount of blood lying beside you, but the shock turned to worry when Kishibe's shoes took your line of vision.

"Here." you saw a handkerchief held out to you as your gaze rose. "Come on, kid, if I'd kicked it real hard you wouldn't even be up to tell the story."

"Thanks." you thanked him in a nasal voice, taking the handkerchief and placing it over your sore and throbbing bloody nose.

Kishibe helped you up and sit on a bench.

"I'm sorry-"

“Stop apologizing.” he cut you off and looked at you, this time seeming to really see you. “You're trying, aren't you?” and watched your flickering, watchful eyes. “So keep going, stop thinking you won't make it or that you owe me an apology for failing a task, I don't want your apologies, I want the best you have to offer me. And it still wouldn't be enough. I want to see you enter this court without fear of me. Next week we will train in an open field.” and saying this he got up and walked towards the entrance to the court, stopping at the door and turning his head towards you. “Would you be up for dinner out?” he asked in his usual monotonous, drawling voice.

You gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise, followed by a quick nod.

"Right. But first, go to the infirmary and take care of it.” he pointed to the cut on your collarbone that was still bubbling blood.

When he realized it, he had already invited you to eat somewhere, and he immediately found it strange. Usually he didn't feel sorry for the rookies he trained, no, with you it wasn't a feeling of pity, but something more drawn to duty, perhaps the duty Kishibe felt to himself, at that moment, to have you close to him without that bloody nose and that tension you radiated from being around him. He wanted you to feel comfortable with him.

Shit.

“Fuck-!” you moaned timidly against his ear, squirming in pleasure as you felt his fingers curling skillfully inside your wet cunt, your hands gripping his rigid shoulders tightly, your back between the entrance wall of your apartment and his body, your breasts against his chest.

"I barely got my fingers in and you're all wet already." he whispered against your neck, not resisting the temptation to lick that piece of skin, and taking advantage of his free hand to grope your breast. “Sassy kid, do you have the hots for me?”

You didn't respond to the taunt, too embarrassed to even look at him. You hid your face against his neck, too lost in the feeling of pleasure he provided you, making you completely forget about the boss and subordinate relationship that you should follow to the fullest extent.

“Look at me, kid.” he commanded in a soft growl, cupping your chin, pulling your face up and making you look at him, he needed to see your eyes, your sweet eyes and full of delight. “Did you want me from the start?”

You tried to lower your head, but his grip on your chin wouldn't allow it, so you closed your eyes and bit your lip.

"Say it." he ordered.

“Y-Yes, I wanted you from the first time I saw you.” you echoed silly.

“Good girl.” he whispered, taking his hand out of your pants, licking his fingers and pulling your face, kissing you passionately.

“Ouch!” you moaned against his mouth, pulling away and holding your bruised nose, looking at the bandage on your collarbone - which still hurt a lot, and gave him a playful look, which he reciprocated by taking your hand and bringing it to the hard volume in his pants, then he gently kissed the bandage, paralyzing you for a few seconds.

Kishibe gasped as your trembling hands unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants.

He's never been as hungry for a woman as he was for you.

And no, his intention was never to have sex with you when he asked you out to dinner, but once again he had to blame it on that uncomfortable feeling he had towards you. And then, to make matters worse, you had only had two cans of beer and that was enough for you to let go, he liked it at first, he liked it even more when you invited him, laughing, to your apartment for coffee and, by finally, he sent common sense to hell when you couldn't unlock your door and bit your lip, smiling at him in a slurred voice. “Do you want to spend the night? I can make coffee in the morning.”

"Screw this!" he whispered, opening the door and pulling you in by the waist, kissing your open mouth that panted for him.

***

You were so young.

Sitting on a bench in the park, his canteen of drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he watched you while you bought a hot dog, coming back with a smile on your face, it was after one in the afternoon and you had been complaining of hunger since eleven .

“Patrols are like that.” he had said.

He had approved you in training, those crazy weeks of hard training during the day and even more grueling sex at night. Once you had sex for the first time, he couldn't do without your young, healthy body. A good girl, he thought, as he thrust into you, with strength and an absurd desire to consume you, you looked so fragile, already exhausted from a full day of training and covered in the bruises he had inflicted on you, and in that moment, giving it to him and being perfect at holding it, sticking out your wet tongue at him or staring at him with your eyes full of a feeling that made him uneasy.

He destroyed you on the training ground and in your bed.

You were the toy that refused to break, you pushed yourself to your limits for him, refusing to leave him with nothing.

“Inside, please.” you stammered, burying your fingers against the roots of his hair, forcing him to look at you, he was about to come, already pulling his cock out of you to come on your breasts, one of his favorite spots.

Both of you were drenched in sweat, Kishibe was thrusting fast and deep, your favorite time when having conventional vanilla-style sex.

"What?" he growled, panting, resisting the temptation to cup your breasts, glistening with sweat, which swayed with his erratic movements, his gaze arranging for the scar that was marked on your collarbone, marbled into your skin, the cut he gave you, as if it were his signature on you.

“Your cum, I want it inside me, p-please.” you closed your eyes when you felt him touch your sweet spot.

Feeling like he was about to fall apart, Kishibe thrust his tongue inside your mouth, kissing you as he came, deliciously, inside you.

It was like he was going to melt.

***

"Stop this." he ordered in a low tone.

“Screw you.” you returned, sniffling, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

You were in a residential neighborhood, more specifically in the house of a family, the police had called you after reporting a murder case involving devils; the parents were away on work and the children, a boy and a girl, were at home doing their homework when they were attacked by a hungry devil, who tore them apart and devoured them in a matter of minutes.

As much as you'd been at this job for months, cases like this were hard to digest.

“Your reports are very accurate, as always.” said Makima, sitting behind her desk, looking at the paperwork, she put the pile down and looked at Kishibe. “Say, Kishibe-san, does the girl have the aptitude to work in Division 4?”

The question didn't surprise him, but he pondered before answering. You were strong, you gained strength through training, but you were still a sentimental crybaby who didn't know how to deal with the loss. You were competent, no doubt, but the fear Kishibe felt before answering bothered him.

“She is not ready yet.” was all he said, refusing to give Makima what she wanted.

“She already has a contract with a demon.” he heard Makima from the hall, before closing the door. “Please, better you say goodbye, we need promising young hunters in this division.”

"Why are you crying?" he asked, softly, it was the middle of the night, you were naked, in your bed, he was sitting up, drinking - you had already left a sideboard in your room for him, - and you were curled up against the pillow, your arm around his waist.

"I'm not crying." you muttered, your voice muffled against the pillow.

Kishibe pursed his lips after taking a swig of whiskey, uneasy.

How did things get to this point? The thing between you was already beyond sex, you were work and bed partners. Kishibe was old enough to be your father and that seemed to turn you on, and he loved it, becoming addicted to the fascinated gaze you always cast at him after completing a mission or when out on patrol, investigating. You were completely faithful to him, you even managed to let go and be yourself, now and then, dragging him to a kitten fair you saw somewhere or making him pay for overpriced meals at maid cafes.

You lightened his dark reality.

And at times it was almost unbearable.

The thoughts he arrived at, at dawn, were satisfying and sweet, as they involved you, but also, depending on which path they followed, could become tragic and irreversible.

And he didn't like this, this feeling. However, this same feeling burned for you.

Fear? Or, maybe something else?

“Look here, kid.” he called, taking a sip of his whiskey, as soon as you lifted your head from the pillow, he grabbed your cheeks, parting your lips enough for him to spit the alcohol into your mouth, which you swallowed, like the good dutiful girl who you was. “Tell me, what is it?”

You grimaced as you felt the alcohol burning down your throat and you snuggled up in bed before answering, covering your breasts with the sheet, not caring about your messy hair.

“Why do we never go to your house?”

“Because there is not a safe place.”

You lowered your gaze, feeling your eyes water, the fear of losing him consuming you again, you knew it would lead nowhere, this kind of relationship or whatever it was you had. Kishibe wasn't even nice, he was always apathetic or drunk or crazy hot for you, and that was enough, because you were hanging out and working and doing your best, well, at least you were, for him, everything that was customary. And in the moments when Kishibe told you 'That's my girl', you felt like the whole world to this man. He was your master and also your lover, and you admired him so much, always wondering what he had gone through, as a young man, to end up like this, but still keep moving forward.

Kishibe devoted himself entirely to his profession as a hunter, which made you admire and respect him as a professional; your colleagues would ask you what it was like to work with the infamous Kishibe and you'd answer, with a shrug, "It's not easy at all."

You closed your eyes and the tears rolled down your cheeks.

You were in love with this man, and he knew it, and he didn't care one bit.

“You look so pretty when you cry.” you heard his voice, low, followed by his lips on your face, licking away the tear that rolled there.

“And you are so cruel.” you murmured, your voice breaking, letting him cup your face and kiss you, his other hand going to your breasts, his fingers caressing your already hard nipples.

"I'm not cruel, I'm just a bastard waiting for the end." he said against your lips, sliding his hand down your belly and down to your cunt. “Spread your legs for me, love.”

Love.

That word warmed your aching chest as well as caused a new verge of tears.

You gave yourself to him, not complaining that he was, once again, seducing you to end up in sex, instead of talking to you and, in a way, opening up to you.

***

He was so curious about you it was dangerous.

“Why did you want to be a hunter?” he simply asked into the night wind, the cigarette dangling between his lips as he flicked on the lighter.

You were at the back of a cheap ramen restaurant, you had just finished dinner and Kishibe had said he wanted to smoke a cigarette before taking a taxi.

Your mind drifted back to your high school days as you thought about his question, it flew back to you best friend from junior high, you had studied together until the end of high school, and drifted apart during that time; she had met other people and made new friends and you, well, you continued to be friends with her, even though things were never the way they were, and with the end of high school, you split up for good and each went on their own ways, new adult life. The last time you heard about this friend was a few months ago, when the local news reported her death by a devil. You even went to the funeral, it all seemed so strange to you that you couldn't stay there for long.

“I don't really know.” you shrugged. “I had this friend from my teenage days…A devil killed her and… Well, I wasn't doing anything good with my life, and the opportunity just presented itself. You know, it's not this private revenge thing or anything like that.”

"I am really sorry." you heard him wish.

"It's nothing, it's over." you waved your hand vaguely, it really was past, these days all you had was this job and, in a very sad and dark way, Kishibe. Your family was fine, your mother worried about the risks your work offered, but you tried to reassure her during the sporadic visits you made, your family was good to you and all, but you always felt out of place with them, like a defective piece of a puzzle.

The taxi arrived and you got in first, looking at Kishibe, confused, when he closed the car door, stopped on the sidewalk.

"You do not come?" you asked anxiously, watching him duck towards the car window.

“Not today, kid.” he gently touched your chin, his thumb gliding gently over your lower lip. “I need to spend a night without you to see if I can survive.” he stared at you solemnly for countless seconds, causing your chest to burn.

Kishibe gave your address to the taxi driver and paid the fare, watching the car pull away and blend in with the others on the busy avenue. A heavy sigh left his lips, along with the cigarette smoke, his hand drifted to the canteen in his overcoat's inner pocket.

You were the most precious thing he, a selfish old man, could ever have, the best thing that ever happened to him in all these miserable, dark years of hunting devils and losing devoted mates. The simple way your whole face lit up with just a smile, and especially when the smile was caused by him, was something as frightening as it was adorable.

You were his girl, he kept you in control just so you wouldn't realize the power you had over him.

Oh, damn it, he needed to bury that feeling again. Tonight he was going to need to buy more booze.

As soon as you got home, the first thing you did was take a cold shower, hoping it would help calm the agonizing throbbing in your chest. Twenty minutes later, you were curled up on your bed, hugging a shirt of Kishibe's that he'd forgotten there, your eyes closed as you smelled him on the fabric, whiskey and perfume - he'd started wearing woody cologne as soon as you guys broke up of training, you could hardly contain yourself with happiness at the time, when you discovered this detail.

“I'm such a fool.” you muttered against the shirt, smiling as you remembered what he had said before the taxi left.

***

“Hey, old man, do you like my moves?” You smiled and winked at Kishibe, swaying awkwardly towards him, who was leaning against the hood of the car, cigarette in his hand, inches from his dry lips, his gaze might seem empty or far away, but Kishibe was rapturous inside; seeing you completely drunk and free, extremely happy.

It was Saturday night and you were on a beach, the idea, as always, had been yours. You were at your house, anxious and restless, thinking about what Himeno had told you, that she would soon be your senior in the 4th Division, and you found it strange at first, causing an embarrassment in Himeno, who shrugged and apologized, but assured you that the paperwork was on for your transfer, she even tapped you on the shoulder and told you, in a welcoming tone. “Talk to the Master.”

And that had been enough to end your peace of mind.

And when the weekend arrived, there was nothing in this world that would leave you in a state of peace.

So, you accepted the first crazy idea that crossed your mind; call Kishibe, rent a car, buy drinks and hit the road, maybe go to the beach. You were dying to see a bonfire on the beach, it was something that could really calm your mood.

On that night, you would put him against the wall.

The corner of Kishibe's lips curved, as if a tiny smile of pleasure wanted to appear, such was the simple satisfaction he felt when he saw you, there, with a bandana tied around your head, a pair of worn-out jean shorts and a cream sweater, dancing awkwardly, filling your sandals with sand, every now and then he had to warn you not to step on the fire that you had lit yourself - with his help, a you that he was not used to seeing in this last year that you guys lived and worked together, and, damn, how good it was to see you like this.

Maybe part of your relaxation was thanks to the drink, but he didn't care about that at the moment.

You approached him with your bad dance moves, trying to keep up with the seventies music playing on the car radio, you took his cigarette and inhaled, trying to seduce him, but the cough that attacked you after the drag made him smile, and Kishibe was seduced by your sincere attitude.

“Your cigarette is too strong.” you said between coughs, leaning on his shoulder, giving him an amused look when you saw him smile. “I think this is the first time I've seen you smile like that… Are you in love with me or something?” provoked you, not resisting the temptation.

Kishibe took the rest of his cigarette and threw the butt into the fire, he blew the smoke to the side, away from your pleading face, cheeks flushed from the beer you drank all the way to this beach, in that moment, you could ask for the world for him, that he would go to Hell to give it to you. 

“You are a tease, you know that?” he arched an eyebrow, pulling you down so he could kiss your neck, his hands slipping inside your cardigan, he felt your skin crawl under his fingers.

“I know, your seductive young student.” you murmured, feeling suddenly betrayed, all the freshness and joy of moments before wafting out of you like Kishibe's cigarette smoke.

Kishibe pulled away from your neck and looked up at you, his hair falling over his wary eyes.

"What?" he questioned, still holding you against him.

"Don't play dumb, this is the last thing since the creation of the world you can be." you rested your hands on his firm chest and pulled away from his embrace, gasping for air, the sudden, painful throbbing in your chest returning full force. “I need more beer.”

You went to the car, took a bottle of beer that was in the cooler in the back seat of the car and closed the door in a slam, already with the open bottle on your lips.

“Hey, take it easy there.” Kishibe appeared at your side, he tried to take the bottle but you pushed him away and walked around the car, following to the bonfire, Kishibe watched you, analyzing all your form and behavior, probably already knowing the cause of everything.

He heaved a heavy sigh, his soul crying out for a shot of whiskey. 

As soon as he approached you, still with your back turned, he heard you ask, in a broken voice, against the sound of the waves breaking on the edge of the sea:

“Do you always have affairs with your students?”

“No, you were the first.” he said, the answer was as simple as breathing, he thought.

And then you turned to him, the wind blowing your hair into your teary eyes.

“Then why are you going to abandon me?”

That image broke him completely, Kishibe could have fallen to his knees against the cold sand of that beach, on that windy night, as violent as the regret that took him like an assault. He would rather die a thousand times than have to see you in that state, lost because you were already aware of the end of everything, the end of you two, and that was what hurt him the most.

“You were hired for Division 4 from the start—”

“Then why the hell did you let things get to this point?” you exploded, dropping the bottle onto the sand beside you, Kishibe noticed your scar glistened against the bottle's reflection.

“Because you're amazing,” he said. “And everything I've come to want, besides slaying devils, was seeing your face one more time.”

“Everything is so easy for you, as simple as breathing.” you sniffled.

You lowered your head, crying, let him touch you gently and pull you to him, holding you as you cried against his chest, his hand went up to your head, stroking your hair as you lay there, with your nose against his shirt, you could smell his heady woody scent, the scent you started to miss right away.

“You made me strong enough to live without you…” you whispered, lifting your tear-stained face to his, closing your eyes to his touch on your face, then you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him, his lips were dry. “I can do this, I can do this.” you breathed against his lips, like a mantra you already knew wouldn't be enough. "You are the best." you confessed in a passionate sigh.

Kishibe buried his hands in your hair, commanding the kiss, he would give you what you wanted.

That night, you had sex for the last time, and it was like Heaven.

***

It all happened so fast, like the blink of an eye, one second to the next.

Kishibe and you were having lunch at a restaurant, it was your last patrol together in Division 1, you were wearing the firm's uniform and your hair was tied up in a sloppy way, but that day you looked prettier than any other day you worked together, there, sitting in front of that old blue mosaic wall and eating katsudon, as you always ordered for; maybe it was the regret that this should be your last lunch together being reinforced in Kishibe's mind.

He couldn't continue having this relationship with you when you were in Division 4, it wouldn't work out, one of you would end up being harmed. You were young, you still had a whole career as a hunter ahead of you, you were going to meet new people and was going to date guys your own age who weren't fucked up in the head like he was, and who weren't committed to devils in their lives like him.

"What are you looking at?" You asked, lowering your chopsticks into your bowl, brows furrowed.

Kishibe just watched you for a few seconds, barely supporting it, despite his dead stare.

“You are adorable, kid.” he said in a heavy whisper.

You gave him a small smile, sort of letting your guard down by shrugging your shoulders.

“Listen, Kishibe, why don't you come with me to the priv-” but you couldn't finish your longed-for question, as you had been thrown into the center of the street by something gigantic that rose straight out of the ground, breaking the floor and the walls of the cafeteria, next to the streets and sidewalks, Kishibe had been thrown against the opposite wall of the restaurant.

At the same moment Kishibe was already looking for you, finding you on the other side of the avenue, also standing up, despite the blood staining your white shirt, several citizens were running and screaming everywhere, and Kishibe soon found out why.

A gigantic centipede devil was everywhere, the cylindrical body like that of an earthworm fully popped out from everywhere, its paws were large and scabby, some even had humans impaled on them.

He screamed your name and told you to run away, but you were too lost and scared to listen, there was a cut on your head and all you could do was call the devil you had a contract with to help you with that giant centipede, Kishibe realizes that you did not obey and then ran towards you, invoking several knives and already throwing them against the creature's body, but before he reached you and you could invoke your devil, a long, rigid and pawl sharp had already pierced your body, you spat out a cascade of blood and your vision blurred before going dark.

No!

Please don’t!

Anything but that.

His blood boiled, his body took on reflexes as quick as a ray of light and nothing else in the world existed but the rage of killing this creature, Kishibe no longer had consciousness and was no longer a human being, not while this accursed devil was alive.

Nothing else in the world existed but you.

And that was the thought that took over him completely, when he regained consciousness, a rain had started, washing the greenish blood of the centipede into the drains, already dead and unconscious on the sidewalk, with infinite knives stuck against its skull, far away of you, lying in Kishibe's arms. 

The raindrops fell non-stop on your face that was already losing color, Kishibe was already without strength, something he never thought would happen in this life.

“Come on, kid. Don't come to me and die now." he said, destroyed, practically voiceless, feeling all the life draining out of his body along with that rain that wet him to the bone. “Please…” he begged, voiceless, laying his head against yours, waiting for your strength to come out through your mouth.

That was too cruel to be true, not for him, ever, but for you, you didn't deserve this. Kishibe refused to believe his senses, two minutes ago you were alive, young and beautiful in front of him, he even smelled your shampoo, but now, the smell that was on you was metallic and Kishibe couldn't accept that. You couldn't be bloody because you were healthy and you'd be fine, you'd be fine. 

Kishibe had committed many crimes and sins in this life, this was probably supposed to be his heinous punishment.

He cupped your head and stroked your wet cheek with his trembling hand.

“Please… I need you.”

That hurt so much, so much that it caused pain in his being, the feeling of not having you anymore, as if you were a piece of him.

And then, one shuddering sigh, brought both you and Kishibe back to life.

"This is funny." you said in a hoarse voice, your eyes practically closed.

Kishibe closed his eyes as relief warmed him, a smile forming on his quivering lips.

“You still will  be the cause of my death.” he said, watching the small smile you gave.

***

You woke up with a colossal headache and your whole body aching.

"Good morning, gorgeous." you heard a familiar voice beside you, still lying down and your eyes twitching because of the bright light in the room, you turned your head and found Himeno sitting on a chair beside you, it didn't take long for you to realize you were in a hospital room .

“Himeno?” you questioned, your voice weak as you sat up in bed, grimacing at the pain you felt in your belly and the right side of your torso.

"Hey, take it easy, you're still recovering." Himeno warned, worried, she grabbed a glass of water from the table beside her. “Here, drink some, slowly.”

You accepted the water and drank in short sips, your free hand touching the bandages on your head and the bandages around your entire body.

“How long have I been here?”

Himeno scratched the back of her neck and tried to look away.

"One month." she said.

"One month?" echoed you, in disbelief, your whole body shook and you tried to get up. "I need to get out of here-"

"Hold on, you're still in no shape to get up." Himeno soon tried to hold you and make you lie down on the bed again. “Today or tomorrow Makima will authorize you back to fieldwork… we will be partners in Division 4.” informed Himeno, with a certain regret in her voice. “I'm sorry to tell you this way and here."

And then the memories washed over you like an avalanche.

You didn't want to ask about him, but you didn't care.

“What about Kishibe?”

Himeno shook her head and pursed her lips, she wanted to be the last person in the world to break the news to you.

“He is in China, on a mission.”

And with those words from Himeno, you knew it was over. You wanted to ask her if he had come to visit you, if he said anything about you, but nothing made sense to you at that moment, because you probably wouldn't see him again. You remembered that time when he had said that people with a screw loose live longer or something, and well, you wish you had learned to be like him, maybe it would have been easier.

Tears were already spilling out of your eyes and running down your face, you touched your scar on your collarbone, as a certificate that the time you spent together, the life you lived with him had been real.

Yes, it had been real, and it had never hurt as much as it did now.

[suchalonelysunflower]

Tell Me What You’re Thinking (c.h)

Pairing: Calum Hood x Fem! Reader

Summary: You overhear something you shouldn’t hear. But Calum will make it right, won’t he?

Warnings: ANGST. Language (including insults), mentions of alcohol, drugs and cheating. MC with low self esteem. Some grammar mistakes (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word count: 4 k

Author’s Note: hi I’m back with the angsty shit. This is very self indulgent, and I put Mitchy as a bad guy here, so sorry if you like him? Reblogs, Commets, Feedback and likes are very welcomed and encouraged! I love to hear from you guys ❤️ hope you like it and Happy Reading ✨🦋🌻

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

You sighed as you finished your last paper. It was finals week and you were officially done with your exams and term papers for the semester. The last couple of weeks were rough and no one knew that more than you and your boyfriend Calum who has been by your side through this whole stressing process.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered the encouraging words that Calum often said to you. He knew how hard you worked in school and at your part time job in a law firm, and you appreciated how much he cared for you in times of stress and frustrations. Always cheering you up from the bleechers as you made a name for yourself.

Calum promised that once you were done with school for the semester, he was going to take you out on a well deserved Holiday, just the two of you and Duke as you celebrated another six months worth of work done. Everything was already planned for the next weekend and you couldn’t wait.

You reread your final essay one more time and decided that it was enough for today and if there were any mistakes left, then you’ll deal with them tomorrow. Now the only thing in your mind was a cozy blanket and a feel good movie. But first, you needed to get some food and drinks for your mini celebratory self care session.

The thought of asking Calum to come join you crossed your mind, but you quickly remembered that tonight was boys night. Every couple of weeks Calum and his friends have a little night out to catch up and decompress all of the stress of the week. Tonight was Calum’s turn to host boys night as they decided to have a quiet night in, so they must be having a good time downstairs and you didn’t want to ruin the mood.

With that thought in mind, you carefully placed your laptop on Calum’s side of the bed and carefully untangled your legs from under the covers so you wouldn't wake up Duke, who snuggled with you every time you had to work to keep you company. You put on one of Calum’s hoodies and headed downstairs trying your best to not make any sound.

Before you even reached the last step of the stairs, you could already hear your boyfriend’s laugh and it made your heart flutter. Even after almost three years of being together, his laugh still gives you butterflies every time you hear it, falling even more in love than what is possible.

Once you were in the kitchen, you started looking into the cupboards as you searched for your favorite snacks, but in the end you were unable to find any, thinking that maybe Calum has hidden them somewhere on the top shelves where he knows you can’t reach.

Letting out a small huff, you debated with yourself the option of climbing up the counter or admitting defeat and go ask your boyfriend for some help. Luckily, you didn’t have to decide as you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite scholar” Said Ashton with a light chuckle “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be out tonight since it’s boys night”

You smiled as you let him wrap his arms around you to give you a hug. Ashton was the first friend you made when you moved to LA a couple of years back, he was the one who introduced you to Calum in the first place, and you were very thankful for having him as a best friend.

“I had to finish up some term papers, so I had to reschedule my girl’s night for tomorrow” You explained to the black haired man “And what are you doing here? Need a refill?” You ask, pointing to the empty glass he was holding.

Ashton nodded, “Yeah, but I also needed a time out. Mitchy is kinda being very obnoxious today” He said with a sigh.

Mitchy Collins was a close friend with the boys for many years now, but you can’t say that he is a friend of yours. It’s not like you haven’t tried to befriend the singer, on the contrary, you both had multiple chances to get to know each other but he either ignored you or made things very awkward between you. And, to be honest, you were not that excited to become his friend either. There was something weird about him, a bad vibe per se, that made you not trust him at all. He was always very loud, obnoxious and downright rude sometimes and it made you very uncomfortable. Both Calum and Ashton knew about your uneasiness with Mitchy, so they didn’t push it too far and you were thankful for that.

“Oh?” You asked, trying to mask your discomfort “What is he saying this time?”

“Just a bunch of bullshit, to be honest. He is very high right now and thinks he’s above everyone else” Ashton said, taking a seat on one of the kitchen island stools. You did the same as you offered him a glass of water.

“Are you high right now?” You chuckled.

“Nope. Calum and I decided to stay clean tonight cause tomorrow we start early in the studio and the weed kinda messes up our pipes” He explains.

“What about Luke and Mikey?”

“They are not here yet, they said they needed to finish up something for a song and then they will meet us here” Ashton shrugged, not giving it too much importance “And what about you, darling? How was your day?”

You began to tell Ashton about how you finally finished the semester and how excited you were for your little getaway with Calum next week. However, every couple of minutes you were interrupted by a loud laugh or an obnoxious comment coming from the living room where the rest of the boys were sitting. Sometimes their loud comments started loud conversations that neither of you could help but overhear, but you did your best to ignore them. But some things are easier said than done.

“I’m telling you man! You can do so much better” You heard Mitchy’s voice echoing through the house, followed by a chuckle from Calum who mumbled something among the lines of “Fuck off”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you stopped the conversation you had with Ashton in order to pay attention to what was being said down the hall. You looked at Ash with a confused face, wondering what they could be saying but at the same time not knowing if you should continue listening to their private affairs. You were about to open up your mouth to continue what you were saying until another comment made by Mitchy caught your attention.

“You have to admit she is the worst sometimes. All she does is boss you around like you are some kind of puppet. She is the definition of annoying”

You sat up straight as you looked at Ashton, who mirrored your puzzled expression.

“Is- is he talking about me?” You asked in a whisper.

Ashton shook his head “I don’t thi-”

“I swear! What does she even do besides work and study all the time? She barely has time for you. You said it yourself! And when she’s not doing any of those things? She’s nagging around and clinging to you like you’re a damn purse! That’s who Y/N is”

You froze in the spot. So they were talking about you… and did Calum really say you don’t have time for him? You don’t even get time to yourself and he knows that! He said he was okay with it, that he understood and supported you through and through… Guess not.

“I still don’t know what you saw in her, dude. She’s just plain boring, playing to be a good girl when in reality she has zero personality” He continued his rant “She does nothing for you! Honestly! I’m surprised you made it this far with that bitch”

You knew that wasn’t true. He never really made an effort to get to know you! how could he be saying all those stuff? You did everything for Calum, all your goals, your plans are for the both of you. How could he know that if he never really talked to you? But you had to admit that that first comment really hurt. You were always doubting yourself at the beginning of your relationship with Calum, always feeling like you weren’t good enough, or pretty enough, or smart or fun or hot… To fight off those kinds of feelings was a difficult job to say the least, but Calum was always there to fight them with you, reassuring you that he loved you. He loved every part of you and he will love you forever.

“Is she at least a decent fuck? Cause I don’t see her doing anything remotely interesting in bed” Mitchy laughed “If she’s not she’s just wasting your time”

You noticed how Ashton suddenly stiffened next to you when he heard Mitchy’s comments. His knuckles turned white as he gripped his fists at the side of his body “Okay, that’s enough” But you were quicker, grabbing onto his shirt as a sign to make him stay there with you and not cause a scene.

His eyes found yours and you could see the anger build up on them, you knew that he would defend you no matter what and you loved him for that. But you knew Calum would defend you over there, he wouldn't let him talk about you that way.

“Ash, please” You pleaded, tugging on his shirt for him to take a seat again. But he preferred to stay standing next to you, almost like guarding and shielding you from any other comment that might hurt your feelings.

“I can’t let him talk about you like that!” He hissed. But you just shook your head.

“I know, Ash. I know. But Cal will handle it” You said confidently, trying to keep yourself together.

You knew Calum would not let those comments slide. Even if you weren’t in the room with him, those comments were awful and very hurtful, no one deserves to be treated like that, especially by someone as close as a friend of his.

You waited for his intervention, but your heart crushed when the only thing you heard from him were laughs.

“She’s a good fuck” That’s all he said.

The grip you had on Ashton’s shirt suddenly flattered as you fought the lump in your throat “Y-you said he wasn’t high” You whispered to Ashton, who was just as frozen as you were after hearing his best mate’s comment.

“He’s not” He said, standing tall next to you. As much as he wanted to go in there and give the guys an earful, he knew you needed him here with you.

Out of all the things Mitchy has said, out of all the insults and belitments, that’s what he says? That you’re a good fuck?

You knew that you could be annoying sometimes when you got happy. You just wanted to share that happiness with everyone around you and you thought… you thought that Calum liked that. You were not a bad girlfriend, you always tried your best to make him as happy as he makes you; to love him as much as he loves you, cause he loves you. Doesn’t he?

If he loves you then why is he letting his friend say all of this stuff about you? Why is he not saying anything? Does- does he agree with him?

The tears started rolling silently, half of you not believing what you were hearing while the other half clang to the idea of Calum defending you at some point.

“Oh I know!” Said Mitchy after a while “I can introduce you to someone! Right now, actually. Her name’s Vanessa and she’s crazy hot, dude”

He can’t be serious.

Ashton looked at you with pleading, furious eyes. Almost begging you to go and let him deal with them. But you grabbed his hand and made him stay. This has to be it. This has to be the chance for Calum to say something.

“You’re kidding right?” The curly haired man asked. Making you let out a breath of relief.

“Not at all! Think about it. We go, you meet her, you fuck her and done!” He said like it was nothing “Y/N will never find out cause she’s stuck up her ass. Your fans will never know or they won’t care cause they don’t even know you are in a ”relationship” to begin with! You are single to their eyes. And you get a decent fuck from someone who looks the part and knows how to have fun! It’s a win - win!”

Your heart stopped as you waited for Calum to answer. To tell Mitchy to go fuck himself. To tell him that he loves you and would never do that to you.

“I don’t know, man. I’ll think about it” Calum shrugged “Plus, if we go out I’ll have to tell Y/N. She’s upstairs finishing some shit for her university”

“Fucking hell… see! I told you! A stuck up bitch” Mitchy said, making Calum laugh.

But their laughs and the rest of the conversation grew numb to your ears. Your body trembled as the tears came flooding in, holding in the sobs that were tearing up your throat. How could he? He was really thinking of cheating on you.

You could feel every little piece of your heart shattered as you search for some kind of leverage that could hold you still so you don’t fall and break. You felt ill, disgusted and heartbroken.

As you tried to get up, you felt your knees buckle and almost fell to the ground if it weren’t for Ashton holding you up. He was still there and you knew by the look in his eyes that he was not going anywhere.

He was just as disgusted and angry as you. He couldn’t believe all the things that were said tonight, all the things that Calum failed to make it right and hurt you in the process. He knew that if he were in that room that the conversation would’ve died the moment it started. He would never let them talk about you that way.

“I-I can’t-“ You cried, moments away from hyperventilating “I can’t stay here, Ash”

He nodded, pulling you into a hug and kissing the top of your head for reassurance “Go upstairs, love. Grab your stuff and we’re getting out of here. You’re staying with me tonight, okay?” Ashton let go of you and started walking towards the living room where the rest of the guys were still talking.

“Ash” You called, making him turn around “D-don’t make a scene, please”

He sighed as he muttered a quiet “okay” before turning around, leaving you alone as you went upstairs to grab the bare necessities to spend the night, you’ll figure out the rest later. Right now you just needed to get out of here.

You opened the bedroom door and almost collapsed at the entrance. Duke came running towards you, sensing that there was something wrong as he started to whine and tried to jump into your arms. That only made you cry harder as you realized that you were leaving him too. You fell to the floor and patted the puppy as he tried to wipe off your tears with his tongue, breaking your heart even more.

A loud voice cut you out of your thoughts. You could hear Ashton yelling, although you couldn’t exactly figure out what he was saying. This meant that Calum knew you heard everything and that, if he had at least some decency left in him, he would come and get you. You needed to act fast.

You stood up and grabbed the first big bag that you could find. Inside of it you threw your laptop, your books, your charger, some clothes and some bathroom essentials. You debated on whether or not to take with you a picture of you, Calum and Duke… it was your favorite memory with them. But the damage was stronger than the nostalgia, so you threw that picture to the ground before you left the room that once belonged to you.

You were running down the stairs when you passed Calum running up them. You ignored him as he stopped in his tracks and followed you to the hall.

“Y/N!” He said, desperate to try and stop you “Y/N, baby, please! Hear me out!”

“Hear what?! I already heard enough!” You said as you turned around.

Calum’s face was almost unrecognizable. The fear in his eyes, the desperation in his voice and his close off body language was not something you’d normally see in him. The “I fucked up” expression showed all the regret in the world, yet you didn’t seem to care at the moment.

“I. Heard. All of it, Calum” You cried through gritted teeth, anger boiling inside of you as you stared at the man you thought you’d marry “All of it and not once did I hear you say something to try and defend me. How do you think that made me feel?!”

“Baby-“ He tried, but you cut him off.

“I work my ass off all day and night for you, for us. For me to go and see you on tour like you ask me to, knowing damn well I would go to the ends of this fucking earth for you! Catching up extra classes and shifts so I can go with you. I cancel everything to be with you. I gave up everything for us to be together. I barely even have time for myself as I try my best to be something worthy of you!” Your tears were staining your face, but you pushed away the pain for a moment, knowing that once you break down it’s over “I try my best to be a good girlfriend, a good friend! I loved you with all my heart and this is what I get after almost three years? A good fuck? That 's it?”

Calum’s world fell to the floor as he tried hard to fight off the lump in his throat, whispering in a broken voice “Loved?”

“That’s all you get from it?” You ask defeated “Calum I would’ve never let my friends call you names, insult you or offend you in any way. I would’ve gone to the ends of the world for you, defended you till the day I die. All because I trusted you to do the same for me and you failed me, Calum. You broke me. You let him call me a bitch, a stuck up, worthless, stupid, bossy, annoying… should I go on? Cause those words are now printed in my memory, next to you agreeing to all of those things. Is that what you think of me?”

“Baby, I swear it’s not like that!” He said, grabbing your hand and trying to make you stay “I fucked up! I know! You are right, I failed you and you don’t know how much I hate myself for it! But please, love. You know I could never think of you like that… you are the most wonderful person there is! You are kind, smart, loving, beautiful-“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask bluntly.

“What?”

“Did you cheat on me?”

“No!” Calum said instantly “No, I would never!”

You nodded “Yet, you thought of it.”

Calum opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off again “Is that why you never made our relationship public? So you could have a free pass whenever you want to? Cause I thought it was to protect our privacy, for us to have a normal life in the midst of the chaos that is to date a celebrity. When you told all of that I thought “wow, this is a guy with integrity and with values” Yet I don’t know what to believe now. I thought you loved me-“

“I do love you-“

“I thought you loved me” You said, the tears were already dry as the anger came flooding in “But you don’t hurt the people you love. You don’t break them like you did to me. You don’t let anyone hurt them, even if they are not in the room with you. And you don’t cheat on them like you were going to tonight with that girl Vanessa while I waited here like an idiot for you to come home and spend some time with me”

You pull your hand out of his grasp, holding onto your bag as you heard Calum cry “Y/N-“

“You are free to do whatever you want now, Calum. Cause to the eyes of your fans you are single, and I am as well”

You turned around and saw Ashton waiting by the door with his keys in his hand. He opened up the door for you as you walked by, ignoring all of Calum’s pleads for you to stay.

“So you are just going to leave?!” He yelled, not knowing what else to do. “Whe- Where are you taking her Ashton?”

The black haired man made sure that you were already sitting in his car before turning around to face his friend “I’m taking here with me and away from you cause that’s what she needs now. So don’t bother calling or showing up cause you are not welcome right now. And don’t even try to call Luke or Michael cause they already know and we won’t support you on this” Ashton said as calm as he could. He already told him off, but the anger of seeing you cry in front of him still resided in him.

“I- I love her , Ash! You can’t just take her away from me. I’m her boyfriend!”

“Correction, you were her boyfriend. And I can take her away and I will cause she asked me to” He said taking an intimidating step closer to Calum “Cause while you were here talking trash about her behind her back, planning on how to cheat on her. I was back there, holding her while she broke down crying cause she couldn’t believe that her boyfriend didn’t stand up for her and let a fucking stranger insult her all night long! You weren’t there to see her eyes water or her lip tremble. You weren’t there when she begged me with tears in her eyes to not make a scene cause all she wanted to do was to get out of here. She is the most amazing person ever, she is a light in all of our lives and you extinguished her without a second thought. You might be my friend, but she is too and I love her and I will defend her no matter what, she doesn’t deserve this kind of crap you just showed to her. So don’t count on me to try and help you get her back, I won’t blame her if she doesn’t”

Calum felt small as Ashton walked away from him, closing the door with a bang and leaving him all alone in his big house. Well, almost.

“Dude, that was intense” Mitchy laughed as he placed a hand on Calum’s shoulder “So, wanna go now?”

A blind rage fell over Calum as he heard the mocking laughs of his so-called friend, acting like his life just didn’t fall apart in front of him.

Calum grabbed the singer by the neck of his shirt and pushed him forcefully against the wall “You are going to get out of my house and never come back. You hear me?!” He yelled to his face, almost letting out steam from his nostrils as he was sure he could kill him right now.

“Dude, what’s wrong with yo-“

Calum quickly grabbed a bottle from his nearby mini bar, suddenly gaining all the courage he should’ve had hours ago, and throwed it to Mitchy’s feet, making him jump “Get the fuck out!” He yelled, grabbing bottle after bottle, glass after glass and throwing them into the ground “OUT!”

Only when the last bottle was smashed into pieces did he realize he was completely alone.

And only then did he allow himself to cry for the loss of the love of his life, walking away from him and leaving him to pick up the pieces of two broken hearts.

part 2

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @talksoprettyjjx @mystic-232

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: I really enjoy your erudite and literary posts about James Bond in your blog very much. Your most recent post about Connery as best cinematic Bond and Dalton as the best literary Bond was brilliant. Although the PC brigade have been inching towards making Bond a woman or even non-white, Ian Fleming’s legacy of a suave but cold hearted English gentleman spy hasn’t been completely trashed. As someone familiar with Fleming literary lore can you also tell me where was James Bond educated? Was it Oxford or Cambridge? I was having a discussion over Zoom with friends and the Oxonians like myself thought it was Oxford because in Casino Royale with Daniel Craig it’s made very plain it was Oxford. Your thoughts?

I appreciate your kind words about my posts on James Bond and his creator Ian Fleming. It’s very hard to ignore the cinematic James Bond because he is very much an icon of our modern culture that needs no translation to transcend across cultures. Alongside Sherlock Holmes, another British literary and cinematic export, the name alone speak for itself.

James Bond appeals to both genders very well.

For the men, Bond dresses well and lives in a care free way. He is both ferociously intelligent and resourceful to get out of any tight corner. He drives incredible cars (from the incredibly stylish Aston Martin DB5 to the incredibly awful AMC Hornet) and uses awesome technology (he is the archetypal boy with toys). He's not afraid to get down in the dirt to fight or engage in lethal gun-play and spectacular car chases. He sleeps with beautiful women, regardless how strong and independent they are (or even lesbian if we’re being honest about Pussy Galore).

For us ladies, while he's not averse to action, he's also a cultured gentleman with suave and sophisticated manners. He's also a generally pretty good looking guy. In many ways, he's a conventional male ideal. So while his conventional good looks and manners aren't for everyone, they hit right the sweet spot of what women like. For everyone, he's a spy! Not at a grey real world nondescript spy, but a cool spy fighting larger than life bad guys whose bland sartorial choices scream mad super villain. It's a very black and white world that James Bond lives in. These bad guys truly are villainous in the desire to re-order humanity, and we need a debonair British MI6 agent to save us from these mad men who want to harm us by laying waste to a bonkers Armageddon.

When all is said and done I think that what makes James Bond so iconic across gender and generations is what Raymond Chandler wrote back in 1959, “every man wants to be James Bond and every woman wants to be with him”.

That sounds about right. Men want to be him, women want to be with him.

I know my first introduction to James Bond was through my grandfather on my  Anglo-Scots father’s side who was a dashing gentleman in his day with a long rumoured hush hush work for Her Majesty’s government firmly shoved under the carpet to avoid further discussion that he - being self-effacing and humble - would find embarrassing that would paint him in any heroic light. Years later he had bought his Bahamas beach pile in Harbour Island out in the Caribbean for the family to rest up from cold winters in Britain. Amongst his immense stack of books dotted around the place were (and still are) first editions of Flemings novels which a few were signed by the author as he on occasion met Ian Fleming when he would sail over to Jamaica (they were also OEs which helped). We were not allowed to touch these but instead picked up the dog earred paperbacks that still retained their 60s musty smell.

On my teen sojourns there I would spend time along with my siblings just reading anything we could find to take to the beach or lounge around in a hammock or a chaise longue. That’s how I came to read the Fleming books - really out of necessity to avoid boredom on a beach (which isn’t really my thing as I prefer the rugged outdoors). But I was pleasantly surprised how well written the books were and I actually enjoyed the stories; it was a refreshing change from the more heavy literary tomes I was trying hard to wade through. As for the Bond films, I watched them on film nights at boarding school; I remember having a school girl crush on Connery, Dalton, and Brosnan.

There are many reasons for the successful longevity of James Bond in popular culture and literature but perhaps one of the most pertinent to our discussion is that James Bond is actually a blank slate and therefore malleable as a character and so he can capture the current zeitgeist in time.

This ability of the film to adapt to different generations while remaining relevant is an important factor for its longevity. For example, the early James Bond films were unashamedly sexist with characters using women as objects and discarding them. In the most recent James Bond films, certainly starting with Timothy Dalton, there is a subtle change in attitude with a few chauvinist attitudes.

James Bond today is more serious, seduces fewer women, and is more respectful towards women in his life, including his boss. This shows how the film changes concerning the rise of feminism in the West. For example, Miss Moneypenny used to be a minor character in the very first James Bond films. Today, she is more formidable and doesn’t tolerate sexist remarks.

Perhaps it is precisely because of this blank slate malleability that has allowed different actors that have been cast to play James Bond their own way - rather than get a straight like for like Scottish sounding actor to replacing Connery for example the film producers went across to Moore via Lazenby for example  - and letting each actor imbue the super spy with different moods. They each added their own colour from the same broad palate to create different tones. However, each of these characters maintained the essential character that defines James Bond. The actors have broadly stayed true to the inherent mix of character and class associated with James Bond.

For this reason I have some empathy towards your concern that Bond would be held hostage to the current zeitgeist of white washing or genderising everything so as to avoid being a victim of cancel culture. But it’s only empathy because I feel there is a danger of misunderstanding just who James Bond is and what he represents.

What do I mean by this?

I mentioned James Bond is a malleable character to the point he’s presented as a blank slate. This is ‘literally’ true - certainly as far as the books go. Ian Fleming doesn’t tell us much about Bond other than his appearance in his books. Indeed - as I mentioned in my past blog post on Connery as the best Bond - Fleming wasn’t convinced by Connery as Bond. He was reported to have said, ‘I’m looking for Commander Bond and not an overgrown stuntman’ and even dismissed Connery as “that fucking truck driver”. Fleming has good reason to rage. His Bond as written in the books was someone like him.

Like Fleming, Bond was an Eton educated Englishman; an officer and a (rogue) gentleman who was a lieutenant-commander in Naval Intelligence. As Connery began to wow and win over Fleming as Bond, Fleming had a change of heart. Fleming in his later Bond books re-wrote a half-Scottish ancestry for Bond as a tribute to Connery’s portrayal. Bond’s Scottish father was a Royal Navy captain and later an arms dealer, Andrew Bond from Glencoe; and his mother, Monique Delacroix, was Swiss from an industrial family. Bond himself was born in Zurich. Bond isn’t English at all but half-Scots and half-Swiss according to literary canon.

So I mention this because the question who can play James Bond is not as straight forward as it might seem.

But clearly we now have a canon of work, both cinematically and in the literature, where we have base line of who Bond is - or what audiences could possibly suspend their disbelief and go with what is presented to them as James Bond.

I do vaguely remember the hullabaloo and hand wringing around Daniel Craig playing Bond because he didn’t conform to the traditional tall, dark, and handsome trope of James Bond super suave spy. People couldn’t get past his blond hair. Some still can’t. But in my humble opinion he has been an outstanding James Bond and has reimagined Bond in a fresh and exciting way. Craig is in fact mining the Fleming books for his characterisation of Bond as a suave, gritty, humourless killer of the books. Dalton got there before him but that’s a moot point. To our current generation Craig has modernised Bond and dusted 007 down from being a relic of the Cold War to being a relevant 21st Century super spy.

Can anyone play James Bond OO7? Yes and no. It’s arguing that two different things are one and the same. They are not. James Bond is separate from OO7.  

Can a woman play Jane Bond or a black woman or non-white man play Black Bond? Respectfully, no. That’s not who James Bond is.

James Bond is a flesh and blood character with a specific genealogical history - whether in the books or on the screen. This Bond has literary back story that is canon and makes him who he is. Bond does transcend time - he can’t be 38 years old for over 75 years in the real world - but at the same time his character only makes sense when rooted in a specific historic context we know existed (and still exists) and not some wishy washy make believe fantasy of British society. He’s an Old Etonian and therefore an upper middle class male product of the British establishment that is identifiable in a very British cultural context.

Jane Bond would have to have gone to Cheltenham Ladies College, Benneden, or Roedean I suppose if we are talking about equivalence - but such girls’ boarding schools were not the breeding ground for future spies (more likely they married them or became trusted secretaries in the intelligence services as well as flower arranging in their Anglican parish church).

I believe they are letting in black pupils on bursaries at Eton these days to be more inclusive but again it’s an an exception not the rule and Eton doesn’t even get public credit for the inclusive work they try to do because it’s not well known.

Moreover we know Bond loses his Scottish-Swiss parents in a skiing accident. I don’t mean to sound racist but I ski a lot in Switzerland and I can say you don’t really find droves of non-white skiers on the slopes of Verbier or Zermatt. Of course there are a few but it’s the exception and not the norm. Again, I’m not trying to be racist but just point out some obvious things when it pertains to the credibility of character that underlines who Bond is. You pull one thread out of the literary biography and the danger is the rest of the tapestry will unravel.

Of course one could try and go for a Black Bond on screen and then hope there is a huge suspension of belief on the part of the audience. But I suspect it’s a bridge too far. It just doesn’t fit. Audiences around the world have an image of who Bond is - British at the very least but also male (damaged and flawed in many ways) and coming from a specific British social class background that serves as an entree to a closed world of English gentleman clubs, Savile Row, English sports cars, and the hushed corridors of Whitehall.

Any woke film maker with an ounce of creative vision and talent and one who is invested in this would be better off creating a new character entirely - with their own specific biography that is both believable and relatable. Can you imagine an American James Bond? What a ghastly thought. Or worse a Canadian one? Canadians are far too nice and far too apologetic to produce a cruel cold eyed killer. But look what clever film makers like Spielberg and Lucas did with Indiana Jones and even later Doug Liman did with Jason Bourne - both fantastic creations that are part of the cultural zeitgeist now.

Or look at Charlize Theron who plays a MI6/CIA/KGB triple agent in Atomic Blonde or Rebecca Ferguson as Ilsa Faust in any of the Mission Impossible movies. I would eagerly watch any movies with these two badass women on the screen. All this talk about making Bond a woman or even coloured is just lazy thinking at best and at worst kow towing to the populist tides of PC brigade.

But I firmly believe one can have a female and a person of colour portraying 007. This is because James Bond and OO7 are two different things entirely. Many mistakenly believe 007 is Bond’s own code name and specific alias to him alone.  

007 is a license to kill for a very specialised kind of intelligence officer. Bond has that privilege for as long as he serves at the service of Her Majesty’s pleasure. His 007 license can be revoked - and it has been in the past Bond films - and he’s back to being a just another desk jockey civil servant in Whitehall. So my point is OO7 is not sacred to Bond’s identity. Bond could continue to be Bond even if M took away his 007 license to kill.

The origins of the Double O title may date to Fleming's wartime service in Naval Intelligence. According to World War Two historian Damien Lewis in his book Churchill's Secret Warriors, agents of the Special Operations Executive (SOE) were given a “0” prefix when they became "zero-rated" upon completion of training in how to kill. As part of his role as assistant to the head of naval intelligence, Rear Admiral John Godfrey (himself the inspiration for M), Fleming acted as liaison to the SOE.

In the novel Moonraker it’s established that the section routinely has three agents concurrently; the film series, beginning with Thunderball, establishes the number of OO agents at a minimum of 9. Fleming himself only mentions five OO agents in all. According to Moonraker, James Bond is the most senior of three OO agents; the two others were OO8 and OO11. The three men share an office and a secretary named Loelia Ponsonby. Later novels feature two more OO agents; OO9 is mentioned in Thunderball and OO6 is mentioned in On Her Majesty's Secret Service.

Other authors have elaborated and expanded upon the OO agents. While they presumably have been sent on dangerous missions as Bond has, little has been revealed about most of them. Several have been named, both by Fleming and other authors, along with passing references to their service records, which suggest that agents are largely recruited (as Bond was) from the British military's special forces.

Interestingly, In the novel You Only Live Twice, Bond was transferred into another branch and given the number 7777, suggesting there was no active agent 007 in that time; he is later reinstated as 007 in the novel The Man with the Golden Gun. As an aside, in Fleming's Moonraker, OO agents face mandatory retirement at 45 years old. However Sebastian Faulks's Devil May Care (an authorised Bond adventure from the Fleming estate and therefore arguably could be considered canon) features M giving Bond a choice of when to retire - which explains why Roger Moore (God bless) went past his sell by date.

In the films the OO section is a discrete area of MI6, whose agents report directly to M, and tend to be sent on special assignments and troubleshooting missions, often involving rogue agents (from Britain or other countries) or situations where an "ordinary" intelligence operation uncovers or reveals terrorist or criminal activity too sensitive to be dealt with using ordinary procedural or legal measures, and where the aforementioned discretionary "licence to kill" is deemed necessary or useful in rectifying the situation.

The World is Not Enough introduces a special insignia for the 00 Section. Bond's fellow OO agents appear receiving briefings in Thunderball and The World Is Not Enough. The latter film shows a woman in one of the 00 chairs. In Thunderball, there are nine chairs for the OO agents; Moneypenny says every 00 agent in Europe has been recalled, not every OO agent in the world. Behind the scenes photos of the film reveal that one of the agents in the chairs is female as well. As with the books, other writers have elaborated and expanded upon the OO agents in the films and in other media.

In GoldenEye, 006 is an alias for Alec Trevelyan; as of 2019, Trevelyan is the only OO agent other than Bond to play a major role in an EON Productions film, with all other appearances either being brief or dialogue references only.

In Casino Royale with Daniel Craig’s first outing as Bond, we see in the introduction the tense exchange between Bond and Dryden, a section chief whom Bond has been sent to kill for selling secrets.  

James Bond: M really doesn't mind you earning a little money on the side, Dryden. She'd just prefer it if it wasn't selling secrets. Dryden: If the theatrics are supposed to scare me, you have the wrong man Bond. If M was so sure I was bent...she'd have sent a Double-O. Benefits of being Section Chief...I would know of anyone being promoted to Double-O status, wouldn't I? Your file shows no kills...and it takes - James Bond: - two. (flashback of Bond fighting Dryden's contact in a bathroom.)

The OO is just a coveted position and nothing to do with who occupies it. Ito use a topical comparative example it’s like a football team in which a new star player would be given an ex-player’s shirt number e.g. Messi wears Number 10 for Argentina which is heavily identified with the late great Maradona. So conceivably there would be no problem having a woman or anyone else play 007. I think it would be an interesting creative choice to have a woman or someone else play OO7 and Bond is out of the service and yet he has to work together with this new OO7 - the creative tension would be a refreshing twist on the canon. 

Your question about James Bond’s Oxford or Cambridge education is more easier to answer.

It really depends again which Bond one is talking about. The literary James Bond or the cinematic Bond.

In the Fleming books, James Bond’s didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge or any of the other great universities of Britain. In the books Bond’s education is not gone into much detail. We know he was raised overseas until he was orphaned at the age of 11 when his parents died in a mountaineering accident near Chamonix in the Alps. He is home schooled for a time by an aunt, Charmain Bond, in the English village of Pett Bottom before being packed off to boarding school at Eton around 12 years old. Bond doesn’t stay long as he gets expelled for playing around with a maid. He is then sent to his father’s boarding school in Scotland, Fettes College.

Bond is then briefly attends the University of Geneva - as Ian Fleming did - before being taught to ski in Kitzbühel. In 1941 Bond joins a branch of what was to become the Ministry of Defence and becomes a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, ending the war as a commander. Bond applies to M for a position within the "Secret Service", part of the HM Civil Service, and rises to the rank of principal officer. And that’s it.

In the cinematic Bond universe things get more complicated and even contentious as you alluded to in your question. It’s never made quite clear which of the two - Oxford or Cambridge - Bond attended because it depends on how much weight you attach to the lines being spoken in each of the films where it is raised.

In Tomorrow Never Dies, Bond is up at Oxford (New College to be exact since his Aston Martin DB5 was parked in the courtyard at the entrance). He is seen bedding a sexy Danish professor, Inga Bergstrom, to brush up on his Danish (to which Moneypenny on the phone retorts ‘You always were a cunning linguist’). But it’s definitely doesn’t mean Bond studied there as an undergraduate. 

Casino Royale is the film many think yes, James Bond went to Oxford because it is mentioned by Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) as she sizes up Daniel Craig’s Bond on the train. Here is the full quote as said by Vesper Lynd, “All right... by the cut of your suit, you went to Oxford or wherever. Naturally you think human beings dress like that. But you wear it with such disdain, my guess is you didn't come from money, and your school friends never let you forget it. Which means you were at that school by the grace of someone else's charity - hence that chip on your shoulder. And since your first thought about me ran to "orphan," that's what I'd say you are.”

The thing to note is that it’s Vesper Lynd taunting Bond and even then she takes a wide stab by saying ‘Oxford or wherever’ because she doesn’t really know and Bond doesn’t oblige her with an answer.

That whole scene struck me as strange because she’s guessing by the cut of the suit it must be Oxford (or Cambridge). Bond is wearing an Italian suit (Brioni to be specific) and not and English Savile Row one that presumably someone of Bond’s taste and background would be sporting.

A more plausible answer if we are going by the cinematic Bond universe is Cambridge. Indeed it is stated explicitly by Bond himself. Can you guess?

You Only Live Twice which is has the distinction of being the only Bond film (as far as I can tell) from being set in just one country - Japan.

You remember the scene. Lieutenant commander James Bond has just had a briefing with M on board a submarine and is naturally flirting with Moneypenny on his way out. Moneypenny playfully tosses him a Japanese phrase book, saying he might need it.

“You forget,” Bond responds with an expression just short of a smirk as he tosses it back to her, “I took a first in oriental languages at Cambridge.”

So it seems James Bond is a Cambridge man.

A first means - as any British university student would know - first class honours. It’s the highest classification grade one can get in their undergraduate degree ie a ‘first’. Although at Cambridge, like Oxford, you can also get a double first in the part I and part II of the Tripos. Both universities also award first-class honours with distinction, informally known as a ‘Starred First’ (Cambridge) or a ‘Congratulatory First’ (Oxford).

Another oddity is he says ‘oriental languages’ when one got a degree in ‘oriental studies’ at the Oriental Faculty at Cambridge. That is until 2007 when Cambridge bowed to public and student pressure and chose to drop its Oriental Faculty label and instead adopted the name the Faculty of Asian and Middle Eastern Studies. Oxford still hangs on to its name the Faculty of Oriental Studies.

My only reservation about crowing over an Oxonian is how truthful was Bond being with Moneypenny in this scene?

Is this line meant to be taken seriously or ironically? Most people seem to take it seriously, despite much of Connery's dialogue being obviously ironic and playful. Certainly, Bond is shown to have never been to Japan before and is incapable of saying anything in Japanese other than the odd "sayonara" and "arigato." But then again Bond does know the correct temperature sake is meant to be served at. So there’s that.

Or it could be Bond was speaking a half-truth. I know speaking from experience as someone who very nearly read asian languages instead of my eventual choice of Classics that ‘Oriental languages’ at the ex-Oriental faculty in Cambridge can mean many other languages e.g. Sanskrit, Hindi, Farsi, Hebrew, Arabic as well as Korean, Japanese and Chinese. It opens up so many other delicious possibilities for Bond. If he read Arabic then perhaps he’s being deeply ironic with Moneypenny (after all she would have drooled over read his MI6 personnel file).

If you think I’m losing my mind then ponder on the fact it was Roald Dahl who penned the screenplay of You Only Live Twice. Dahl was not above snark. Indeed pretty sure he would have got a starred first in snark at any university.

Of course the most obvious explanation is that it’s plot armour as a way for Bond to just get on with the story by suspending the audience belief. Why wouldn’t Bond know Japanese? He seems to know everything else imaginable.

However if it ever was it’s now become canon as EON - the production company behind the Bond films - have stated officially for the fandom that Bond’s official bio has it that he went to Eton and Cambridge, where he got a first in oriental languages. So that seems settled then.

In hindsight it makes perfect sense that Bond went to Cambridge since historically Cambridge has provided the bulk of the spies not just for Her Majesty’s service but also for the other side, the Russians - the so-called Cambridge Spies of Philby, Maclean, Burgess, Blunt, and Cairncross, and a host of other traitors. We seem to be an equal opportunities employment service.

I’m sorry to disappoint you and other Oxonians that despite what you might think James Bond didn’t attend Oxford. Believe me as a Cantabrigian it gives me no pleasure to say this…..too much.

Thanks for your question.

[7wanderingpaws]

Simply, Yours. (5)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: family AU, hapkido teacher AU

Word count: 3.1K

Warnings: cursing

a/n: Finally I am updating this little story! I havent updated it in a long while for which I apologise, it wasnt my intention :( But there will be a slight twist in their “planned” pregnancy so... I cant wait to have a little fun 😁  I am always eager to hear your opinions.🙌 Stay safe!

MASTERLIST

PARTS: 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5

This time, Baekhyun was the first one to be awake. Stirring a little bit around, he turned to his right side where your back was facing him, your hair splayed out on the pillow like a wild willow tree.

Scurrying a little closer, he brought his pillow to yours, his arm finding your sweet middle as he breathed in your fresh scent. He really liked moments like these, when the sun had yet to rise, the clock had yet to struck 6 and  you had yet to wake up, while he could just indulge in looking at you without being interrupted by anything or anyone.

Plus, the fact that few days had already passed since both you and him found out about your state did not mean he got used to the idea of suddenly three people occupying this bed. What a miracle, he thought. What a blessing.

Baekhyun carefully maneuvered himself out of the bed, his feet gently tapping on the wooden floor as he tiptoed to your side to turn off your alarm clock. He wanted to be the one to surprise you and wake you up with healthy breakfast in bed before both of you would have to head out to your work places.

Today he had a hapkido class with university students and as much as he loved the class, he just wanted to spend time with you.

He was just in the middle of pouring thick and rich pumpkin porridge into the last bowl when he heard you open the bedroom door.

“Baekhyun, what are you doing up so early?” you murmured, your voice low and heavy. “Sorry, it seems like I forgot to turn on the alarm clock. I would have done the breakfast myself,” you continued walking to his side to take the big pot out of his hand so that you could do it instead of him.

Baekhyun continued his job, not budging once at your prying hands. “Why are you up if your alarm clock didn't go off? I worked so hard this morning to turn off your alarm, and yet here you are beating the nature clock.”

“You turned off my alarm?” you asked, surprised.

“Of course I did!” exclaimed Baekhyun, as he put the pot back down on the stove and reached for the drawer to take out two spoons. “Now go back to bed, we have a breakfast to eat and you still owe me a face of surprise when I bring the food in,” he said, preoccupied with putting the bowls on the tray.

You held back the giggle that was threatening to spill at his antiques. “Alright, let me just pee real quick.”

By the time you were back, Baekhyun was bouncing on the bed, eagerly waiting for both of you to indulge in the hot porridge that was one of your favourites. You made sure to look completely taken aback when you sat down on the bed, giving him a loud peck on the cheek before making yourself comfortable. “You know this is the food we have after a hangover,” you murmured, taking a big spoonful and swallowing it in one.

“Oho, slow down, hungry cub. You will get a tummy ache if you eat so fast,” scolded Baekhyun gently, making you smile.

“Yes, chef.”

He gave you a wink. “And anyway. You love this porridge, might as well please your taste buds.”

You nodded, devouring a spoonful after another until you were done before him. And that rarely ever happened. “Done!”

he shook his head at you, trying to swallow the last bids of his porridge.

“Look at me! I rock today,” you laughed loudly when he pouted.

“It isn't fair,” he whined, putting down his spoon into now an empty bowl. “I am alone while you guys are two!”

Your laughter halted, melting into an endearing smile. Warmth spread through your insides. “I don't think its the matter yet,” you responded. “It has long way to grow for me to eat for two, you know?”

“No, it doesn't. It still counts.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you reached over the tray to mess up his bed hair. “Alright, whatever you say, mister. Still does not change the fact that I win for today, ha! And now, you better hurry, you need to be at the university in an hour!”

“First a kiss,” he demanded, crossing his arms on his chest.

Smiling, you pressed your lips to his warm ones, tasting the porridge. 

“Love you,” he murmured.

Once Baekhyun was out the door, you rushed to prepare for your work only to end up with your head in the toilet, throwing up all the porridge and more. 

____

You made it your absolute, utmost priority to keep your blessed state as far away from the workplace as possible. Not only was it all so fresh and new, but you also needed to wait till the first trimester was over to be 100% sure the pregnancy was safe and actually happening. Besides, you would lose your job immediately if your boss as much as whifs a baby around you. Thankfully, he was not the smartest man, as much as he insisted himself.

It only got proven when he called you into his office few days later, his meaty index finger pointing at the contract in front of him. It was a deal between yours and a Chinese company, but it was written in English. “I am sure there was a mistake on their side,” he mumbled, frustration slowly, but surely boiling in his facial features as he was gripping the piece of paper. He chuckled bitterly. “And they think I wouldnt find out? Just who do they think they are? I find out everything,” he seethed through gritted teeth as he suddenly snapped his eyes up at you, catching you off guard in the process.

You winced, taking a cautious step back, trying not to give too much attention to the meaning behind his words. “Sir, I believe this is correct,” you tried to explain gently, “the deal does not have any mistakes in English, we have already skimmed through it.”

He frowned. “But the calculations aren't correct. There should be one more zero.”

As calmly as you possibly could, you explained to him that he, indeed, bought much more than he actually thought. Making business was not always rainbows and unicorns, and today this fact seemed to dawn on your boss. “You were in a conference call last week,” you kept reminding him, “and because they offered you a good deal, you decided to buy more. Therefore you had to pay more, and we received less.”

He snatched the paper out of your small hands and gave you an ugly stare. “Whatever. I know my things,” he mumbled, turning his face back to the table.

“That is my job, sir.”

He whipped his head back at you again, but you only bowed at him politely, turning to walk out of his office when he started: “I still haven't scolded you for lying to me.”

Raising your head from your bow, you looked at him with worried eyes. “Lied to you, sir?”

He scoffed. “You lying about having a boyfriend was not the best move. Even if it is a white lie, I don't want any of it in my office. Nor in this company.”

You nodded, fully aware and guilty. You saw this coming sooner or later.

“And,” he started, giving you a side-look. “You plan on getting married?”

Holding back your breath, you knew you could reply to him truthfully. “No. Definitely not anytime soon anyway. As you know, it is a pricey matter.”

“Well, if you keep up the good work here, you might be able to save some money for such occasion,” he replied, his poker face giving you a slight unease. “Besides, I'm sure your handsome boyfriend would earn loads with that face of his.”

To that, you did not want to reply. Baekhyun, indeed, was a handsome man. This was a fact ever since you got to really know him back in the high school days, when he already graduated but still would sometimes visit your school for physical work around the building. The girls would be drooling and swooning in the big hallway windows during break, but he saved his handsome boyish smiles only for you,  always giving you a wink that would swoosh away the unwanted company of other girls.

When your boss realised he wouldn't get an answer from you, he ended the conversation on a very straight-forward note. “Whatever. Just don't get pregnant with him. Or anyone. No pregnancy in this company.”

-

It has been a few weeks later that the battle with the rollercoaster of your emotions had gone downward. There were still no direct signs of a small human being inside of you, but oh my goodness, were your hormones and emotions acting up. Tired of constantly puking your guts out on the morning, then rushing to work, dealing with the moody bastard of a boss, being either desperate for Baekhyun's touch or just plain hating his presence in the same room was driving you up the wall. 

Countless times you ended up bawling your eyes out in the bathroom in your work, or in the shower at home, because you didn't see a way out of this. Plus, the stress of accidentally revealing your pregnancy even to the ever-so-kind Sukyeong left you with a heavy soul. You needed to talk to someone of your age, you needed some help but your own independent self couldn't as much as think of such an option.

Another issue was scaring Baekhyun away from you and him leaving you alone in this mess that HE created… No, scratch that. Your slight change in weight made you feel so utterly unattractive that you were trying not to physically shudder whenever he complimented you about your looks. And the poor boy hadn't even a clue about your internal turmoil.

You sighed.

“You look freaking gorgeous, love.”

He said it again. And he meant it, he honestly did. You saw it in his eyes.

Being now almost past the first trimester, you and Baekhyun were both dressing up for your scheduled ultrasound at the doctor's. Although you were a bit nervous, you were thankful Baekhyun was always there throughout each check-up you had. And yet, here you were pissed at him, but you said nothing.

“Are you alright?” he asked you carefully, knowing how your mood could change within a nanosecond. He came closer to you as you were standing in front of the mirror you had in your tiny bedroom.

Swallowing harshly, you nodded, but did not look into his eyes. Ever so gently, through your tight dress, you saw a gentle baby bump. It could easily be covered up (and you did passionately cover it up for work) but it was there. Solid. A prove that it was real.

“Do we want to know the gender, honey?” asked Baekhyun gently, as he made another step closer to you and he let his hands hold your hips before his wide palms ever-so slowly slid over your stomach where he let them rest. Then his chin came resting on your shoulder as he turned his face to give you a gentle kiss to your neck.

You heart-rate picked up and it wasn't because of the high blood pressure you had been experiencing recently. “I don't know,” you whispered looking at him through the reflection in the mirror, “do we?”

This topic has been on your mind for the longest time. Do you want to be surprised? Or do you want to be prepared? Surely, in the nature of the village life, the answer would be an immediate: yes, we do want to know. Poor villagers always wanted certainty, and it was only understandable. But maybe this unpredictable city life of Seoul made you more adventurous. You might have not wanted to know.

He hummed, the vibrations in his chest sending electric shocks down your spine, causing you to squirm in his arms. He let out an amused laugh through his nose before he whispered into your ear: “So sensitive, my love.”

“You fucking tease,” you glowered, but leaned back into him.

He gasped softly and squeezed your body. “Now there, sweet cheeks, we do not swear with a baby inside of you.”

“Then stop teasing, love” you snapped back and he laughed now with an open mouth. “You know exactly what you are doing. You're sneaky.”

“Sure I am. You know me, hun. And now back to the point,” he emphasized, and you rolled your eyes but smiled anyways. “I don't mind if we get surprised. But if you want the gender to be revealed, I am supporting that as well.”

You nodded as you held his hands on your belly, letting your fingers caress the top of his knuckles. “Alright,” you said, nodding. “I think I will, ehm, see how I feel once we are there?”

He hummed in approval before he turned his head again, waiting for you to turn your face to see him. So you did. And then he gave you the sweetest smile of support before he leaned in and gave you a breathtaking kiss, ending it with a loud smack. “Shall we go then?”

-

Usually it was always an uncomfortable experience to sit in the waiting room of your doctor with other pregnant ladies. When you weren't pregnant, you felt so out of place, despite you having an active lovemaking life. That was why you were sitting there, right? Even at those times, Baekhyun was going with you, just because he wanted to be responsible and also to support you. He knew how much the village ladies didn't go for regular check-ups.

So now, sitting there with your tiny belly as your hands were intertwined with your boyfriend, it was a completely different feeling. You were still shy to as much as lie on that stupid chair, let alone spread your legs in front of a stranger - even though it was a woman and a doctor. But now it just felt right. You were eager. Excited. Happy. Curious. And Baekhyun felt your excitement as your knee was bouncing up and down. He was excited as well. The sparkle in his eyes was proving it.

Once finally inside, you both took a seat opposite your doctor, who gifted you with a kind smile as she also took a seat and skimmed through your papers. “The lovely couple I could never forget,” she noted, briefly looking at you and Baekhyun before diving back into your records. “And the unplanned baby. So!” she exclaimed, folding quickly the papers before she rested her laced hands down on the table. “Any abnormalities?” she looked at you, obviously expecting you to answer her questions.

Squeezing Baekhyun's hand under the table, you shrugged, not sure if what you were about to say was an abnormality. “Crazy mood swings. Emotions are a mess. Throwing up is still on, but thankfully not so often… And my boobs hurt,” you mumbled the last sentence, looking at your hand engulfed in Baekhyun's, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. This time Baekhyun squeezed your hand, although you didn't notice the affectionate look he sent your way. You dared to look up when you heard the doctor laugh.

“Those are all completely normal signs. Is your blood pressure still acting up?” she asked and as she was waiting for your reply she turned in her chair and grabbed the little machine. “I will check it now.”

You nodded but Baekhyun answered for you. “She had a couple of dizzy moments, but it wasn't as severe.”

The doctor nodded and checked you up, writing down the final results. “It's normal today. But if it will get too high, you need to go to the hospital. You know that, right?”

Not the happiest with her advice, you nodded.

“Good,” she replied cheerfully. “Any questions before we start the ultrasound?”

You were just about to shake your head when your boyfriend cleared his throat, stopping you from doing the action. You gave him a wary look, and he squeezed your hand again when he spoke: “How is it with, eh, sex? As the baby is growing, we are not sure how far we can go or if we should even do it. And I wouldn't want to hurt my girlfriend or the baby...” he trailed off, his ears growing pink. You felt your heart swell with love for him as you smiled like a little high school student.

“Oh my god, please do have sex,” replied your doctor, her eyes worried as she gestured with her hand to you. “She might not be showing it, but the sexual frustration can get out of hand, to put it nicely,” she continued, her stance confident. “Paying attention to your pregnant lady is very important in every phase of pregnancy and it is completely safe. Of course, around the due date you might want to be more careful, however it does not necessarily affect the baby in any way, so there is no need to worry, Baekhyun. It is more than healthy,” she laughed loudly, making you and Baekhyun giggle in the meantime.

“Any more questions? No? Good! Then let's get to it,” she clapped her hands, swiftly getting up from her chair and walking to the bed where you lied down, now familiar with the process. Baekhyun was sitting on a chair just where your head was, and he ran his fingers through your hair, giving you a reassuring smile while you tried not wince at the cold gel touching your hot skin covering your stomach.

“So do we want to find out the gender?” she asked as she spread the gel evenly, now digging into your tummy while she was already looking at the screen.

You contemplated quickly but before you could answer the doctor cut through: “Or do you want to know how many babies you would have?” she asked, but her voice was light but a bit unfocused as she stared at the screen. 

Not seeing Baekhyun's frown, he asked: “What do you mean?”

It was silent for a little longer, your doctor going through the same trail on your belly again, probably to double check whatever she saw there. Letting out a tiny laugh, she turned to look at your puzzled looks. “Well, this is fantastic!” she exclaimed and for some strange reason you had a feeling this might not be the best news, nor the news you were expecting when you were coming there. So when she uttered the next words, you felt your world crumbling down on you, and this time you could be sure Baekhyun wasn't as confident either. “You are expecting triplets!”

[vinization]

Blueswap fic, Chapter 1

I’m not doing anything with my account, so I might as well start posting chapters of my AO3 Blueswap fanfic here. Some characters’ behaviors/lines may be a little OOC in the early chapters, since I didn’t do as much “homework” (research) as I was supposed to.

AO3 Link

Chapter Name: A Wonderful Discovery

Summary: (blue) Pearl takes Steven on a relaxing trip.

Honestly, Steven wasn't really excited to go on a trip, especially somewhere so far away from his home in Seoul, Korea. Though he was just ten years old, and looked even younger thanks to his chubby cheeks, fluffy hair and overall stout build, which gave him quite an adorable appearance, especially when combined with his big, brown eyes, he already knew that he was very different from ordinary people.

Even if he didn't have a giant blue rock embedded in the place where his heart was supposed to be, something that he inherited from his late mother, Blue Diamond, the fact that the closest thing that he had to a mother figure was Pearl, a blue skinned, blue haired and almost impossibly thin woman who also had a gem, this one being located right in the middle of her collarbone.

No matter how casual her clothes were and relaxed her overall demeanor was, they both attracted many weird and sometimes straight up ugly looks whenever they were walking along the Korean capital's crowded streets. The closest thing he had to something normal in his life was his beloved dad Greg, a retired singer and composer who owned a music shop in one of Seoul's busiest streets and, despite making a lot of money out of said business, was still very humble and never afraid to help his son whenever he needed anything.

Because of this, he was straight up terrified to go to some random little town when Greg suggested Pearl that they needed to go to a quiet, pleasant place where they could just relax for a while, and said that this "Beach City" was a good example, since it was a place that he already knew. How would the people there react when they saw Steven with his "mom"? The fact that this was a small town made him more nervous, since he could at least hide in the middle of a crowd. At the same time, however, he was still a young child, and was just as curious as anyone his age could be.

Maybe this trip wouldn't be such a bad experience after all. He only wished Greg could come along, but he said that he had to deal with something about the shop, a little thing involving the word "bureaucracy" which he didn't understand perfectly just yet.

Hmph. Humans and their mannerisms. Wait, he was thinking like that again. Nevermind.

The trip was surprisingly short, taking only a few minutes despite the fact that the destination was located on the other side of the planet. This was, according to Pearl, because of the extensive warp pad network that existed on the Earth, with many points everywhere allowing for great distances to be covered in a matter of minutes or even seconds.

All the boy and his surrogate mother had to do was access the pad that existed near the outskirts of Seoul, and bam. They had arrived in Beach City, and just in time to enjoy the sunset, too! As the blue-themed duo left the pad they were on (which was located inside an awesome multi-armed statue) and walked into the "city", which couldn't have more than a couple thousand inhabitants, from the beach, all the while feeling the cold breeze that came from the sea, Steven's shyness had been replaced by childish curiosity, especially after he noticed that the citizens barely paid attention to either him or Pearl.

By the time they saw the boardwalk and its many shops, he was very excited and happy to have come here, despite all of his previous reservations.

There was only one problem, unfortunately, and it was one that was entirely his own fault: Steven couldn't read any of the signs. How could he, when he was used to an entirely different alphabet? The boy internally reprimanded himself for not paying enough attention to any of Pearl's English lessons. At least he knew the spoken language well enough, thanks to his dad, so he wouldn't be completely lost, but even then, it made the whole "adventure" a lot more boring.

As Steven and Pearl approached a nearby pizzeria with the words "Fish Stew Pizza" written on a sign (not that he could understand any of them), however, he noticed something, or rather someone, very unusual looking just standing on the far end of the boardwalk, probably enjoying the beautiful sight that was the Sun setting on the shining waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Interested on taking a closer look, he told his quasi-mom that he was just going to walk around for a bit (while she entered the pizza place and made an order), an idea that Pearl almost refused before thinking again. There wasn't anything unusual here, or so she thought, and Steven wasn't just going to walk off with some random stranger, so why not give him a little freedom while she ordered one of his favorite foods? The fact he wanted to walk around on his own instead of just standing by her side as he always did was actually a great sign, when she thought about it.

Free to explore Beach City without Pearl's supervision for a few minutes, Steven immediately set taking a better look at the strange, who he realized was a woman, without her noticing him. As he snuck closer and closer, he realized that "strange" was quite an understatement. First, the woman was truly massive, standing almost three meters tall, and she wore a plain white dress that seemed to have a few overlapping layers of fabric. Secondly, her long, silky and pink hair was an impressive sight, and that was without counting the immense curls that dominated it, some of which looked more like cannons. Steven wondered how many different hair products she used to make sure it stayed like this for a long time.

He wouldn't have time to ponder, however, since the stranger finally noticed her little admirer when he was standing right next to her, and it seemed that she was just as curious about this situation as Steven was, since she turned around to take a better look at the little boy, giving him a kind smile in the process. It was then that Steven noticed something about the giant woman that completely wiped away any reservations he had about going to Beach City: she had a large, pink gem in what should have been her navel, surrounded by a star that looked exactly like the one on his navy blue shirt.

Starry eyed and momentarily paralyzed by joy, he could only say one thing to the stranger:

"You even have a little star, just like me!"

Shortly after muttering these words, he turned around and happily ran back to the pizzeria as if he had just seen a celebrity in person.

Pearl had to see this!

Steven didn't realize that the woman was following him, nor that she was almost floating along the ground rather than truly walking, which explained why he didn't hear her coming after him, despite the fact that she was less than a meter away. Something about what he said just seemed off to her: maybe it was just her paranoia acting up, but why didn't he talk about her hair, or even her height? Why did he talk about what was probably one of her least notable features? And most importantly, what did "just like me" mean?

Her questions were soon answered when Steven entered the pizzeria and almost metaphorically dragged Pearl out of it, that's how excited he was. The quasi-mom and her little baby almost immediately noticed her, and there was no time to hide now.

Once Pearl set her eyes on the stranger (despite the long fringe that hid her eyes) she completely froze, refusing to believe what she was seeing.

For Stars' sake, she just wanted to take her adorable little "son" to a pleasant trip on a little town that Greg knew from memory!

She didn't want to face Rose Quartz, the gem who she despised the most, in person! What was she supposed to do now?!

Pearl couldn't know it, but Rose was asking herself that exact same question.

Still frozen and unaware of what to do, the blue gem could only mutter a word:

"R-Rose?"

[jisungyah]

Dream State - 19 : type of drunk?

Minho had just picked up the two boys. Hwa riding shotgun, San in the back as he drove. He was a better driver than San was expecting but was still cautious, not wanting to disturb him. 

So he was forced to quietly sit, mindlessly going on his phone since Seonghwa didn’t seem to be paying attention to him. San thought maybe he could ask Mingi if something happened. Mingi, who was clearly active on twitter, didn’t respond though, also avoiding him.

Although he did expect it from Mingi, San felt worse than when they’d leave him for their roleplay accounts. “Uh... Sanni you okay?” Hwa asked, looking into the rearview mirror to check on him. A simple nod came from San, a glimpse into the mirror to make eye contact but Seonghwa was quick to look away, like he was trying to hide something. 

San could sense Minho knew something was off about Hwa as well, a puzzled look sent through the rearview mirror confirmed it.  

“Are you.. okay Hyung?” 

Seonghwa gave a rushed nod before returning to his phone to type a message, possibly to Mingi. San knew it wasn’t a tweet because he had notifications on for all his friends’ accounts. 

~

The two roommates began their walk to the party, at most being 25 minutes away if they took their time. Joong was warning Wooyoung about drinking too much, the younger arguing that he wasn’t even thinking of it. 

Other than that short conversation, Joong noticed Wooyoung was quiet. Not like his usual self, who would’ve been the one pushing the other out the door, getting hyped for the party. It was weird but what made it concerning was Wooyoung seeming nervous and jittery.

Past parties he would get pumped. Although he didn’t have people he considered to be his friends he was quite the social butterfly, friendly and enthusiastic. Even before alcohol was involved. 

Joong thought maybe it was because Yeosang was around, almost forgetting about San. ‘Would Wooyoung really be this panicky over someone on the internet?’ he wondered, deciding to ask Wooyoung directly. 

“Where are we meeting Yeosang exactly?” they were about halfway to the venue now. 

“Um.. I just said we’ll see him there” 

“okay... what about San?” 

Wooyoung forgot that his roommate knew about San being in Seoul. He tried his best to think of a reply, not wanting to seem suspicious or something.

“We don’t even know if he’s coming to the party...Yeosang just said he was in Seoul” 

“With that tone, I’m pretty sure you’re lying.. I’m guessing he goes to our uni too?” 

“Yeah ... and that’s all I know can you stop asking about it now?” Wooyoung tried to speed walk away from his companion but he was caught by the collar of his jacket, bringing him back to the same speed as before. 

“We did say we were gonna talk about this later and-”    “You asked about Yeosang not San?!” 

Joong could tell Wooyoung was more apprehensive about San, when before he was just annoyed by Hongjoong’s speculations about his relationship with Yeosang.  

“Well I think this is about San now...” a hand now wrapped around Wooyoung’s shoulder, waiting for him to confess as they continued their journey side by side. 

~

Awkward silence filled with light radio music accompanied the rest of their drive. Until the three ‘we gotta TOUCH’ boys finally arrived to the venue. Surprising to them the party was a lot quieter than they imagined. 

“Maybe we’re early” Minho remarked, stepping out his car after checking the time on his watch. 

It had just turned 6pm yet no party seemed to commence. Minho stared up at the apartment block waiting for a sign, ‘did we get the right place?’ he thought turning to the two still in the car. 

Seonghwa joined Minho outside, San left in the car to watch them through the windows. He saw someone approaching from the right, long blonde hair with dark roots, the boy dressed simply, black jeans and a mustard cardigan. 

The stranger bowed to his hyungs, shyly greeting them. Minho speaking to him while Seonghwa was signaling for San to come to his side. 

San took a deep breathe in, “Here we go” to himself after he exhaled. Preparing himself for the night, stepping out to cling to Seonghwa. 

Ten minutes of what could’ve been peaceful walking, instead was Wooyoung confiding in Joong about San. 

He was smart about it though, not mentioning the full details, like his crush on San. Only admitting it would be weird to meet the person he’s been flirting with all this time, how that could ruin their first expressions of each other. Hongjoong seemed to agree and believe his words. 

Now coming up to the apartment block, they created a pact. The terms being they would leave each other alone during the party, minimal interactions. Joong also wanting to spend time with Yeosang but Wooyoung persuaded him. 

Quiet, as they made their way up the flight of stairs to the party. The faintest sound of music was heard as they ascended. Wooyoung could already tell the party was arranged by ‘the snobs’ from the arts department. 

Arriving at the door, they both shook hands sealing their agreement before entering. Heading in different directions as soon as they stepped through the doorway, greeted by the people around, Wooyoung recognized some from his classes.

 He knew Hongjoong had his own friends from his music course, seeing his white-haired friend find his way to Byounggon.

 Now not having to worry about his hyung, Wooyoung was set on finding Yeosang. 

Before he could, Hyunjin entered gaining some attention. Unexpectedly the ‘prince’ came from behind Wooyoung, to speak to the startled boy. 

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare you Wooyoung.. it’s good to see you! how have you been?” Hyunjin started after a small giggle at Woo’s surprised reaction. Wooyoung gave a plain “good and you?”, while trying to escape Hyunjin’s conversation but Hyunjin followed beside him. 

“I was wondering what English classes you’re taking this year? maybe we’ll see each other around?”

Wooyoung gave a patient smile while answering the questions, still on the look out for Yeosang. 

Once Hyunjin got his response he excused himself, leaving Wooyoung’s side with a pat on the back. Wooyoung kept his eyes on Hyunjin, seeing the boy dashing to his friends, surprised to see Yeosang sat at the couch Hyunjin was approaching. 

Yeosang stood from his seat once he noticed Wooyoung staring back at him. They were reunited with a hug, rushing into each others arms with wide smiles. 

“You could’ve texted me! I was starting to think you got kidnapped, which is more of a possibility at this time of night” 

“Pfft .. you’re starting to sound like me now, but I’m here now!” 

Yeosang paused for a second, eyebrows raised when asking, “and who was your friend you were talking to?”, his straight face quickly faded to a mischievous smile. 

“Not a friend, it was just Hyunjin”

“I remember you calling him royalty” 

“Why? are you jealous?” Wooyoung returned a cheeky smile, nose scrunched, face nearing the other’s, who giggled with embarrassment while shaking his head to reply. The drink in his hand threatening to spill due to his movement. Wooyoung noticed, helping Yeosang steady his hand by holding it. 

When Yeosang calmed he was still tainted red, hands touching, his only thought was hoping people hadn’t noticed his awkward-self. 

Hands still held, Wooyoung pulled Yeosang along to the kitchen to grab a drink of his own. 

“So tell me what kind of drunk are you? I need to know before I start hanging out with you all night” 

“I won’t get drunk, it doesn’t seem like the party to get drunk but if you really need to know... I get quite giggly? and kinda touchy”

Wooyoung gave a quick wink as a response after pouring his own drink. Yeosang a bit panicked, pushed him away playfully at the gesture. 

“and for your info, the snobby class reps from my department organized this, that’s why it seems more like a formal event than a college party.” Wooyoung told, taking a sip of his drink, beer was provided but he indulged in some cheap white wine, noticing Yeosang had some. 

“Ahh...” Yeosang nods as they began walking around the somewhat crowded apartment to find a vacant area. “What did you do with Mingi by the way?” Yeosang whispered in the others ear. 

Wide eyes from Wooyoung in reply, quickly getting on his phone, first checking his notifications. 

Woosang Hours: Open 

Will the WooSang hours last tho?? i suppose we’ll see.. 

feeling like many secrets are being kept, and not only by Wooyoung.. 

such a mess already and we haven’t even started the real drama..

pt.18.75 < Masterlist > pt.20

[ Social Media Woosan AU:

Having finished his first year of college, Wooyoung spends his summer with friends.. online friends mostly., friends made through his Lee Donghyuck parody acc..

Will he be ready to spend his second year with these crackheads ? and what if his twt crush starts attending his university ? ]

a/n i’m lowkey stuck cause of school work getting in the way of my creative/crackhead ways of thinking but we’re getting through it! also can’t wait for halloween, i’m not doing much but wouldn’t facetime and some netflix with a whole group be fun... i might be dropping some hints soon too.... oop

[drowninginblox]

Thrown into it

Part: 1,2,3,4,5, 6

Part 7- Congrats! You’re living with the protagonist!

We parked in front of a concrete wall, a green sign of characters being the only thing contrasting its pale grey color. A sudden urge of pain makes its way up my spine and to my head, making me grab my hair and inhale sharply. “Hey? Kid you okay?” I hear Mic ask. My eyes water, making me blink a few times. “Y/n? Do we need to go back to the hospital?” Nezu questions. Is that concern I hear? I open my eyes. The head splitting pain fades as I look up at Nezu. “No..no I’m fine..” Where did that come from? Woods turns back in his seat. “Are you sure?” I looked to him only to see something was different. “T-that.. The sign!” I pointed to the green sign in front of us. It was perfect english. “I-I-”

“Yeah.. parking for thirty minutes. So what?” Snipe questioned. “I-I-I couldn’t read that a moment ago..” Nezu observes me while Snipes brings up something I didn't even notice before. “But you speak perfect Japanese.” My eyes widen. “Wait what?” I questioned. Was it just me or was the world spinning a bit? Snipe laughs whole heartedly while Woods stares at Nezu with a look that screams ‘Are they fucking serious?’

Mic keeps himself composed as he lowers his shades. “What do you think we were speaking? English?” I inhale. What is this tom-fuckery? “Call me crazy, but.. yeah..?” 

The group glances at each other. Snipe and Woods just plain confused while Nezu and Mic seemed to be talking telepathically. “Look I know it sounds stupid but. It’s just true. I know better than to lie to heroes.” Mic glances back at me and speaks in something that sounds like gibberish. “Scus?” I mumble just before the pain I felt when I glanced at the sign returns. A groan comes out of my mouth as I hold my head in my hands. My eyes screw shut from the pain. I feel someone touch my shoulder but I shake them away at the pain. “What the fuck..?” 

“Y/n? Y/n?” I hear Mic ask. First calm, but by the second time more concerned than anything. “Screw it, we need to take em back to the hospital.” I hear Woods groan. “N-no! I-I’m fine.” I gasp. The pain gives way to a newfound lightheadedness. Everything feels a bit fuzzy for a few moments, but with every blink my body returns to normality. I exhale. “I..- I- I’m fine. I’m sorry.. I- I don't know what came over me..” I mumble over myself. “Y/n? Do you understand me?” Mic asks slowly. I hum and nod. “Mind telling me what happened?” I blink away a sudden feeling of tiredness to attempt to explain. “You said.. Something in alien speak, my head started to hurt, and then it disappeared as soon as it came..” Mic nods silently. “Do you know what language we are speaking in now?” He looks over his shades to me. “Japanese..? Like before? Even though it sounds english?” Mic looks over to Nezu. “She thinks we’re speaking Japanese still.” Nezu puts a paw under his enormous, triangular head. “Interesting..” Woods turns back in his seat quickly. “I haven’t seen a quirk like this before! I mean- I’ve seen hyper intelligence- but it takes people like that at least a hour to know a language front to back..” Nezu chuckles while shaking his head. “There has to be drawbacks to this quirk.” Snipe comments. “If not then that thing is damn powerful. Imagine the uses.. Infiltration and undercover work would be easy.” Mic punches Snipe’s shoulder with a look of disgust. “That is a child! The hell is wrong with you!” Mic yells seriously. The older of the two yelps from his seat while waving his arms around. Damn the roles have reversed. “What! I’m just saying! And besides, I’m not saying we should actually do it! That's twisted!”  I try to hold back a smile but Nezu notices me. Mission failed, we’ll get em next time. “Anything funny about this situation?” He prompts. “Your staff is full of brilliant idiots.” I admit lightly. “Absolute, bloody, brilliant, idiots. And god do I love them.”

The once arguing trio turns to me with a shocked look. “Hey you can understand us?!” Woods, Mic, and Snipes yell defensively, making me laugh even harder. Nezu glances between all of us with a smile. He probably would have let this go on. “We better hurry or else the Midorya’s will be concerned.” He prompts. We all take a moment to look at each other before following Nezu’s request. I tried to keep it cool but that kind of backfired when I saw the apartment complex that Izuku and Inko lived in. I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyes. I’m actually going to be living with the main character. I must be a Mary sue. Someone pinch me. I might just make the world implode with a sneeze. “Ey little listener!” Mic called from the front gates. “Are you just gonna let the world pass you by all the time or are you gonna move?” His tone gave off a subtle hint of annoyance but he was patient all the same with me. “S-Sorry! Just.. Never seen a building this tall before y'know?” Okay so that was a lie, but he seemed to believe it. “You from the country or something?” I nod nervously and walk to the group. “You could say that.” He hums along with my response. Soon enough we meet up with the group. 

“Snipe, Mr. Woods? Do you mind giving myself, Y/n, and Present Mic a moment please?” Woods crosses his arms as if he was about to say something but Snipes beats him to the punch. “Sure. Cmon Woods. I need to talk to you about something.” Snipe grabs Kamui’s arm and drags him ahead by a few meters. I chuckle at his over dramatic struggling and complaints. I fucking love anime. “Now then, L/n,” Nezu pulls two envelopes from his pants pocket, both of which were twice the size of his paw. One of them was a crisp, pure white with the UA emblem on it. The other was more yellow, old, and is slightly wrinkled. “Aniken, should I take the white or the yellow pill?”

“What?” Mic asks with utmost confusion, followed by Nezu with a matching look. I tried to brush off my weirdness with an equally confused “What?” Thank god they didn’t question it. Instead giving me a strange look. Nezu took initiative and moved on from my absurdity. “One of them is your schedule, the other is information you must give to Mrs. Midoriya. State that it’s from your parents.” I look between the envelopes and nod. “What about my uniform? School supplies? I’m.. not really made of cash y'know?” Mic smiles slightly. “Oh we know. The government’s got you covered on that.” He gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. I look to Nezu. “So I’m a charity case?” Nezu shrugs. “Essentially.” Damn Nezu. Blunt much? 

Mic chuckles awkwardly at Nezu roasting me alive. “At least until you're twenty. But that’s a worse case scenario. The government is actively trying to find ways to get you back home.” I smile a little at the thought. Back at home this would make one hell of a dream. Maybe even fanfiction if I remember all this. And not get writer's block of course. “Okay.. When do I start?” I ask. Nezu picks back up on the conversation. “The day after tomorrow should be suitable for you, yes?” I take a moment to narrow my eyes. “What’s the catch? I know I have to do work in order to catch up to my peers. The finest hero school in Japan doesn’t let in just anyone.” Mic covers his obvious smile with his mouth. “OOOooo! She knows her stuff.” Nezu smirks. “Indeed. You will need to catch up. So I’ll give you two weeks to finish all the work. Then you can officially start. Think that’s enough time Mic?” The smaller of the two asks. Mic nods “Oh yeah! Plenty of time for this little listener!” I can't help but smile at that. I feel like I’m going on a pokemon journey. “Thanks for believing in me. Not a lot of people do.” I admit. He dramatically gasps “Well that's a damn shame! You’re gonna be great kid. Besides, you have me as an english teacher, and with that quirk of yours you’re definitely gonna get straight A’s for sure.” I look over to Nezu to see his phone suddenly buzzing. He quickly takes a moment to answer it before hanging up on the caller. “I’m sorry to end the moment, but Snipe has reminded me that we are on a time crunch. It is a school night after all.” A long groan echoed through the lot of the complex, making me chuckle.“Oof- yeah you’re right.” The blonde agreed. “I got tests to grade and a lesson to finalize.”  And with that, the three of us began to make our way to complex 2, third floor. As the light breeze ushered us to our destination my mind went back to the idea of staying with Izuku. Should I tell him what I know? He deserves to know. But what would be the repercussions of my actions? Him knowing that he will be the number one hero can change so many things. It could go to his head like Bakugou and complements. He could back out from the pressure. Fuck I cant do it. Too many factors. Maybe Mirio? I could warn him about what happens in season four. Maybe then he could follow his dream, maybe he’ll be the number one hero then. But not now.. I don't know where we are in the story. I know after the sport’s festival, but is Stain still out and about? Has the exchange between Shoto, Izuku, and Tenya already happened?

Instead of a pleasant nudge to get me out of my thoughts, this time it was a jab to the elbow. “Ow!” I look around to see Snipe glaring at me and motioning to the door in front of us. In the doorway was Inko! She had a bright pink apron, her signature skirt and shirt- ah she’s so tiny! She chuckles. “I-I’m so sorry! Bad habit!” I hug myself tightly. “I-I’m trying to break it-'' She shushes me from my rambling with a wave of her hand. “It’s completely fine! My son has the same habit. I think you two will get along well.” Her kind smile warms me a little. “Mrs. Midorya, do you have the paperwork we gave you?” Mic asks politely. “Oh! Oh yes! Come on in let me make you some tea! The work is around here somewhere!” Inko scampers from the door frame and into the apartment. I didn't hesitate to follow her inside. While I was taking my shoes off I couldn't help but notice how lovely the inside was. The apartment looked exactly like it did in the anime all the way down to the T. It was so welcoming and homey. Almost like Christmas but without the decorations. I was planted in the living room when the hero’s finally came in. From what I assume was Inko’s room, she called. “Make yourself at home! I'll get the kettle on soon!” I look over into the comfy living room before glancing over at the adults. “We’re sorry ma’am but we can't stay for long.” Nezu responds just as Inko appears again. “Oh, well if that's the case, will you at least take something with you! You all help Izuku so much and you work so hard as is!” I see her eyes glance over to the kitchen. “I have cupcakes?” I turn to her. “Cupcakes?” My stomach rumbles at the sound of sweets. She giggles “Yes. I didn’t know what flavor you would like so I made chocolate and vanilla. I hope that's alright?” I point to her like a child. “Are you sure I’m staying with her? She’s too good!” Inko chuckles at my truth. “Don't flatter me, I’m nothing special. You go and take one. They’re over on the counter hun.” She called me hun! I’m weak! I clench my heart and shake in my spot. “The world doesn't deserve you!” I say before bolting it to the kitchen. 

After I grab a cupcake I watch from the counter as the grownups talk. Munching through their attempt at hush talk. “Are you sure you’re okay with this ma’am? We do have other applicants.” Snipe starts. “Oh no, it’s fine! Besides, I need some more pep in my step! These old bones need some movement!” She assures with a wave of her hand. “You don't look at day over twenty Mrs. Midoriya!” I call. The group turns to me, Inko’s face a light pink in embarrassment. At least she has a smile on her face. “Oh you-! No flattery in this house!” She retorts. I laugh. “No flattery, just honesty.” 

I glance over at Nezu. It could have just been me but I think his smile relaxed a bit. “We should be off Mrs. Midoriya. I can see they are in good hands.” I get up from my spot and bring the cupcakes over to them. “Her cupcakes are great. You shouldn't leave without them.” I suggest. Nezu sighs and takes one of the vanilla. Over his shoulder he glances at the heroes. “Go on. I’m not gonna stop you!” Mic exhaled as if he was holding his breath all this time. “Oh thank god!” He snatched two and gorged them. “Oh wow.” I comment. Woods jabs Mic in the rib, making him cough on some cupcake. “Hey!” Woods glares at the blonde. “Just because you’re my senior doesn't mean that you have the excuse of not knowing some manners.” Snipe carefully takes one and thanks Inko. Is that a blush I see?  No. Calm down inner shipper. “We best be off now.” Nezu restates and soon  enough the heroes leave me and Inko alone in her apartment. 

We take some time getting to know each other at the dining room table. And true to form, Inko was just as sweet as she is in the anime. Apparently she’s also into American culture and late night dramas. Wouldn't have pegged her for that kind of stuff but the surprise was pleasant. “You’re really great at baking Mrs. Midoriya!” I exclaim while taking our plates to the sink. “Oh- thank you! I’m happy to know someone besides my son likes my cooking.” Oh right.. I should probably ask about Izuku. “Oh right-! I forgot to ask about your son! What’s he like?” This is gonna be interesting. “Oh well, he’s a little shy but once you get to know him you'll see who he is.” Right on que the door opens. “Mom! I’m home!” I hear that iconic voice followed by the front door opening. “Oh Izuku! In here! The exchange student is here!” Something falls and Izuku yells. “I-Izuku?!” Inko begins to get up only for Izuku to call back. “I-Im fine mom!” I glance over at Inko and back at the hallway. Izuku eventually walks into the dining room. “W-Where are-” 

Inko motions to me. “Izuku, this is Y/n L/n, they will be staying with us. They’ll have the guest room.” Izuku’s eyes fall on me. As mine do the same for him. He was still in his school uniform. Pants baggy, tie dishoveled, shoelaces untied, the imperfections out weighed the perfections in his uniform. No wonder the hot mess energy he was radiating was all the more powerful. I can't help but smile. “You must be running around a lot.” I smirk in attempts to break the tension. He jumps a little at my sudden remark. “O-Oh! Um.. y-yeah. The school is pretty big so..” He trails off into silence. Silence that lasts a whole minute. I bite my lip. “Sooo uh.. I saw you at the UA sports festival? You won the first round! I was so smart of you to take off a chunk of the robot and use it for the later portion of the race.” His face flushes a bright pink. “O-Oh no! I bet anyone would have thought of that if they were in my situation!” I chuckle. “Dude that's unique to you! Noone can replicate that now without bringing you up!” He goes and scratches the back of his head. “Y-yeah.. I guess you’re right.” I hear Inko let out a sigh of relief. 

“Now that you two have met, how about we get you settled Y/n.”

[jeminy3]

Turnabout Monkey Paw

An experimental take on the Defense!Miles and Prosecutor!Phoenix Roleswap AU. First time writing for this fandom.

Left on a cliffhanger to end it on a high note, and because I don’t have a solid-enough outline for the continuation. I REALLY don’t want to pour my already-limited energies into yet another long thing I’ll probably never finish and leave everyone disappointed, I’ve made that mistake too many times now.

Inspiration: The Monkey’s Paw by W. W. Jacobs, The Landlady by Roald Dahl, every other Phoenix/Miles Roleswap AU

Read on AO3

Read on Google Docs

Twitter Post

--

7:31 AM, September 5, 2017

Somewhere in east Germany

A red sports car drives along the winding roads of the countryside. Alone. Aimless. Much like its driver.

Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth, said driver, feels particularly lost this morning. After a restless sleep and meager breakfast, he decided, groggily, to go out for a drive to nowhere in particular. Perhaps it’s just a part of his new journey to rediscover himself, to find the elusive meaning behind his troubled career… or maybe he’s just especially depressed today.

Miles drives on, and on, past empty plains and dark forests, until he comes upon a small town in the distance. The highway takes him straight through its main drag, giving him a leisurely look at its various shops and local businesses.

He slows down to get a better look at them – there’s no risk of inconveniencing any pedestrians, as the town seems devoid of its citizens this morning, and no one else was on the highway. It’s a bit eerie, admittedly, but in his current state of mind it’s a blessing. No one to bother him, or be bothered in turn by his presence.

The shops are of the usual things – hair salons, restaurants, clothes and other goods. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for – quaint little shops like this just make him homesick for similar places back home, in the small towns surrounding Los Angeles. His father would take him to a place like this every weekend to visit their favorite ice cream parlor...

And at that thought, Miles feels his heart breaking all over again. He tries to shake it off, but the wave of grief is more intense than usual, and he finds himself pulling over to park on the side of the street so he can bury his face in his arms and sob pitifully.

After calming himself and drying his eyes, he looks up to find himself in front of a shop he hadn’t noticed before – a small brick building pressed between two others, old and decaying, with no windows he can see. The sign above its door features a large stylized eye painted in shades of purple and white, sitting above German words that Miles can translate as:

Madame Jacobi’s Fortunes and Trinkets. Read your Future. Change Your Fate.

There’s something strange about those words… they keep bouncing around in his brain, like ball bearings.

Read your future. Change your fate.

Read your future. Change your fate.

The huge, purple eye seems to peer down at him. Judging, deity-like, piercing through his very soul.

Read your future...

Change your fate...

Change… fate?

His head swims for a moment, and he feels his body move of its own accord. Before he’s fully aware of it, Miles finds himself climbing out of his car and approaching the eye, the shop front, the door, and now his hand is on the doorknob.

He pauses for a moment as his senses return to him. (Wait- What am I doing? What am I thinking? I’ve never believed any of this nonsense. Fortunes, horoscopes, magical baubles – it’s all a scam, designed to prey on the weak and impoverished with platitudes vague enough to apply to just about anyone. I can’t- I shouldn’t...)

And yet, as he glances back up at the shop’s sign, he feels... something. Something about this place – or something about his current state of mind – compels him to twist the knob, open the door, and step inside.

What first hits him is the powerful smell of incense inside the shop. He can’t identify it exactly – it’s something like lavender, but much stronger. Next is the dark, mysterious atmosphere created by low candle lights and small neon signs. Its a small, humble shop – probably half the size of the other shops here, made to feel even smaller with the claustrophobic amount of tables, bookshelves and beaded curtains. The goods are what he expected – trinkets, crystals, sculptures, jewelry. Many of them have designs sporting large, stylized purple eyes like the shop’s sign.

Near the back of the shop is a small round table covered in a patchwork blanket, a crystal ball in its center. An elderly figured sits hunched over the other end, draped in dark purple robes.

Miles is struck with a pang of anxiety for standing around and looking foolish while ignoring what must be the shop’s owner, perhaps the “Madame Jacobi” mentioned in the shop’s sign. He carefully approaches the person at the table.

“Ahem- hello?” he greets, in the appropriate language.

The figure straightens, and upon lifting their head to look at him, she appears to be a homely old woman with wispy white hair, and smiles warmly at him. “Hello, sir. What is it that’s troubling you?”

“Oh, I don’t have any troubles,” Miles replies, not entirely truthful, but it’s no important matter, and none of her business. “I’m just... Looking around.”

(Why am I here? I wasn't even thinking… I must be more out of it than I thought. But I can’t just turn around and leave now, that would be terribly rude.)

“I see,” says the woman. “Do you perhaps need your fortune read?”

Miles shakes his head. “No no, I just... er...” (Think, think!)

Glancing desperately around the shop’s interior, he notes the price tags on the various items for sale here.

“Ah- a gift. Yes. I’m looking for a gift for someone.” (That will have to suffice...)

The woman raises a quizzical eyebrow. “A gift? And what sort of person wants a gift from my little shop?”

“Ah- A friend of mine,” Miles says, doing his best to hide his internal flustering.

(What am I saying?! I hardly have any friends to speak of, much less those I would buy strange gifts for out of nowhere! Well… ‘that man’ or his assistant would probably appreciate something as strange as the items here, knowing them, but- ugh, nevermind!)

The woman chuckles softly, and rises from her seat at the table. “In that case,” she says as she carefully makes her way around the shop, “I think I have just the thing for someone like you.”

She reaches a large table dominating the one side of the shop and pulls aside part of the blankets covering it, revealing it to be a repurposed dresser, drawers and all. She opens one of these hidden drawers and retrieves a dark, box- like object from its interior.

She sets the object upon the table after returning to her seat and in the light, it’s now clear that it’s a somewhat large wooden box, with a lid and brass latch keeping it closed. It looks old – kept clean after years of careful maintenance, but definitely aged, from signs of wear and tear at its edges and around the latch.

What’s most striking, however, is what’s carved into the top of the box – chiseled into the dark wood is the image of what appears to be a human hand at first glance, but a closer look shows that it’s grossly misshapen, missing the tips of its pinky and thumb and detailed with what looks like… hair?

And even stranger, carved in the center of the palm and the box’s lid is another one of those strange purple eye symbols.

The woman is speaking again. “I will share this with you, free of charge.” And then, when Miles meets her eyes, her expression suddenly becomes gravely serious. “But only if you agree never to speak of this beyond these doors.”

Miles feels a sudden chill crawling down his back. He swallows lightly. “Uh- Oh- of course.”

The woman’s amused smile returns, eerily quickly and easily. “Good. Now...”

She unlatches and opens the box, pulling out a strange object from it’s interior.

Miles almost startles at it, at first – it appears to be a severed human hand. But in the next moment he sees that what he mistook for flesh is a light-colored wood texture – it’s a puppet’s hand. Probably separated from an old marionette of some kind, the joints of its fingers are fully articulated, and it ends in a disconnected ball wrist joint. Strangely, the tips of its pinky and thumb have been removed.

“This is merely a replica,” the old woman is saying now, “But even if it’s only a fraction, this carries the power of a very old, very dangerous treasure. From as far away as India, I’ve heard, and as far back as the days of English colonialism.”

Miles isn’t entirely listening to her, transfixed by the strange little wooden hand, but he catches enough to ask a question. “What… does it do?”

“It grants wishes,” she says, smiling again. “Tell it what you want, and it shall happen. Anything your heart desires.”

Miles swallows at nothing in his throat, not quite believing any of this nonsense but nonetheless feeling very… anxious from all the strangeness of it.  “Anything?”

“Anything at all,” the woman says. “Like, say- a little more money on your next pay day. Or an old car to be fixed. Or for someone you like to notice you more. Things like that.”

Miles squints. “Is that all?” (Those sound like terrible things to wish for…)

“Of course not,” the woman says, blanching. “I’m just giving you the safest suggestions for this. You know, things that won’t have too many consequences.”

“…Consequences?”

“Yes, sir.” The woman nods, now with that grave expression again. “This is a power that can change everything – The very fabric of the universe. You cannot toy with such powers lightly. So, the greater the wish, the greater the consequences.”

Miles stares at the hand, and suddenly the words on the store sign echo in his mind again.

Change your fate…

Change your fate…

...I see,” Miles says distantly. Again he is gripped by that strange compulsion from before, and now he finds himself reaching for the wooden hand.

The woman looks at him curiously. “Do you know what you want?”

Miles blinks, coming back to his senses, and his throat feels dry suddenly. (...Do I?)

He racks his brain for a moment. He has no desire for anything, material or otherwise. He never has. He has no want for money or expensive luxuries; his car is fine; romance is a laughable idea.

His only sort-of desire right now is his journey to find himself – which so far, isn’t going well. Honestly, he has half-a-mind to give up on this useless crusade and return home, but that would mean turning back on what he told Detective Gumshoe and facing everyone he left behind, like Phoenix…

...No, he can’t face him again. Not now.

There is only one thing Miles truly wants. He’s wanted it ever since he laid eyes upon this shop’s sign. He’s wanted it for as long as he can remember, for years upon years upon years...

“...My father,” he says hoarsely, his throat feeling thick.

The woman’s eyes widen. “Hm?”

He closes his eyes, swallows, pushing back old tears. “...I- I want my father back. He was… murdered, fifteen years ago. I loved him dearly. My life has… never been the same.”

His chest fills to bursting from the weight of his grief returning tenfold, and he takes a few breaths to steady himself. When he dares to open his eyes again, the old woman is staring sadly at him.

“I am sorry to hear that, dear one,” she says softly. “But a wish like that...” she shakes her head, placing the puppet hand back into its box, “That will have grave, grave consequences for you.”

Miles feels a flash of anger as the hand disappears from sight, and he feels an odd compulsion to jerk forward and take it forcefully. He only flinches slightly, as the woman suddenly fixes him with a glare that freezes his blood.

“What you are asking for, sir, would change your entire life, if it was that long ago. So many things can happen in that span of time. The people you’ve met, the places you’ve been, the things you know now – all of that would be lost, forever. I know you are in great pain, but some things in life happen for a reason.”

Miles bristles, both at the refusal and the frankly idiotic platitude, and he decides he no longer cares to keep up his politeness. “I don't care,” he says bitterly. “I would gladly give it all up to see my father again.”

“Would you, really?” The woman squints at him.

Miles is caught off-guard, a little. “What?”

“Are you so unhappy with your life you would simply throw it all away on a whim? Even its good parts? Surely you have found some new kind of happiness in these fifteen years?”

Miles stiffens. “I...”

He feels unsure, now. (Happiness… Have I really found any in all this time?)

Despite his lucrative early career (save for his very first trial) and a long string of victories, deep down, it all felt hollow with the shadow of Von Karma’s perfectionism always looming over him, and the guilt of possibly sending innocent men to their deaths bubbling up from his own soul.

In his personal life, he had almost nothing – his studies and career had consumed him so much for so long that he barely had a personal life to speak of. Even including his fondness for the Steel Samurai franchise. The show, the merchandise, the fan forums – it was an empty source of joy, and he always knew it. Merely stolen moments of respite between cases, temporary escapes into childish fantasy, pointless attempts to reclaim the boyhood that was stolen from him so early on.

In terms of friends... the closest he’s ever had was Detective Gumshoe. He still is his most trusted coworker and confidante, evident in how Gumshoe was the only person who knew where he was right now, but Miles’ trust only went so far. Despite his over-abundance of enthusiasm and sincerity, it could not be denied that Gumshoe was one of the least competent officers in the force and was more often a source of stress rather than comfort. He never could open up to the man on a more personal level.

Larry Butz was a childhood friend, but one he never kept contact with after moving away, and still doesn’t, even after recent events.

And Phoenix Wright…

...Was better off without him.

Despite saving his life two times over, easing his fears and nightmares, defending him against the guilt of fifteen years and miraculously absolving him of it.

Despite the relief in his eyes when Miles found himself rebelling against his own principles, objecting against the woman who would frame the talented actor of his favorite show for her crimes.

Despite the sharp, determined face of the boy he knew, now fifteen years older, now facing him in court for the first time, never losing that determination even as Miles tried his damnedest to put him away for the murder of his mentor.

And despite their childhood together… those brief but precious memories...

No. Miles pushes it all away, pushes away tears again. He can’t go back to him. He’s too far gone. He always was.

He’s closed his eyes again, trembling with the effort of keeping himself together. When he trusts himself to look upon the world without bursting into tears, the old woman appears to be studying him. She shifts to lift a hand and crook a finger at him. “Come here. I have an idea.”

“...Huh?”

She gestures again. “Come here, lean down.”

Miles wonders at this, but decides to do as she says, leaning towards her over the table. He now has a much closer view of the strange box and its contents

She does… something with the puppet hand in its box, some kind of gesture with her hands. Then she lifts a hand, and suddenly presses her index and middle finger against his forehead – hard.

Miles is shocked – either from the sudden physical contact, or the feeling of static against his skin for a moment, maybe both – and he draws back with a strained yelp.

“Ngh-! Wh- what on earth was that?!”

The woman only smiles sweetly. “Just a taste,” she says. “Or a glimpse, you could say.”

Miles flushes, feeling he’s been taken advantage of in a rare state of vulnerability. “You- You don’t make any sense!” he stammers.

The woman barks out a laugh. “Hah! I could say the same for you, sir.”

“Ngh- Oh, forget it! This was a complete waste of time! I’m leaving.”

Feeling every bit like he’s been made a fool by this entire situation since the beginning, Miles turns on his heel and heads for the front door.

The woman calls after him in a sing-song voice, surely mocking him further. “Have a good day, sir! And do be careful.”

“Good day, madam,” Miles says stiffly over his shoulder, the very last scrap of politeness he can offer.

What a waste of a day. He shouldn’t have bothered even getting out of bed. So when he returns to his car and the road, he decides on just that – heading back to Berlin, up to his hotel room, and back into bed.

He does his best to forget that foolish shop and its owner – but he does briefly wonder why she said ‘be careful’ when the season isn’t nearly cold enough to start freezing the highways here.

–

11:36 AM, September 5, 2017

The Rich-Carlton Hotel, Berlin, Germany

The drive back to his hotel was uneventful, and so was the checking-in and climb up the stairs to his floor. His hotel room is just as he left it that morning – embarrassingly untidy because of his lack of energy, but he still can’t find the motivation to clean it. Honestly, he feels even more drained than before, and it takes significant effort just to redress himself back into his pajamas and climb back into bed. His limbs feel like lead, and his head feels fuzzy – once he settles in, he drifts away within minutes.

--

Miles dreams – but it’s strange. Nothing feels solid, or real – even more so than his usual dreams. As if his thoughts are so abstract he cannot even grasp them. All he is clearly aware of is being… somewhere, floating aimlessly, and before him is something large and purple.

Purple? Wait… it comes into focus as he concentrates on the familiarity…

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash, like thunder, that sends him tense and rigid in panic, and the thing comes into clear focus. It is a huge, purple eye, gazing down upon him like some kind of omniscient being.

He’s terrified, but only for a moment. Within the next, it seems to drift close with unseen eyelids, and at the same time, his own vision darkens and fades.

He thinks he hears a voice...

Fate is as cruel as often as it is kind... But to twist that fate can be even crueler... because everything has a price to pay... Here, you shall glimpse such a fate for yourself…

–

Morning? September 6?

Hotel Room?

When Miles rouses, the first thing he feels is his heart pounding in his chest, the dampness of sweat on his brow, and a sick feeling of dread in his gut. But as he tries to remember why or where it all came from, it slips from his mind’s grasp like sand through his fingers.

(I knew it was something important… something… purple? Bah...)

The thought slips further and further into obscurity the more he focuses on it, and the more his waking mind comes into full consciousness. Eventually he blinks his eyes open, sees the slivers of sunrise through the hotel window, and decides to forget about it.

(Just a nightmare again… no matter.)

Miles yawns, stretching his body beneath the covers until he feels the satisfying cracks in his joints, then sits up to rouse himself further. He rubs his eyes and stares at the pale red curtains of his window, watches dust particles dance through the thin rays of morning light filtering through them.

Then, he notices something. (...My hotel room didn’t have curtains.)

He squints at his surroundings, and as his senses become fully awake, he’s struck with a chilling realization. (Wh- where am I?)

Whatever room he’s awoken in, it’s definitely not his luxury hotel room in Berlin. It feels much smaller, and like a much more permanent living space with the larger amount of furniture and items here. Right beside him is a proper nightstand, no hotel phones in sight. There’s a work desk in the far corner, with a well-stocked bookshelf and a decently-sized vanity dresser on either side of it. Various knick-knacks and decorations fill up the rest of the space on the shelves and counter-tops, and a few posters hang on the walls.

Actually, it all seems strangely familiar. (This… looks a lot like my old room back home, actually. There’s my old Signal Samurai poster… and I’m certain that’s my Steel Samurai statue on the desk. Why are they here?)

Miles climbs out of bed, padding across the carpeted floors to study everything more closely.

(The dresser and nightstand look a lot like what I had in middle school... The desk is new, but something I probably would have liked back then.)

He reaches the bookshelf and inspects its contents. They range from various textbooks on law and history to… The Steel Samurai Official Manga? His eyes widen as he studies the books’ spines. (This… this is the complete first series. Is this… mine?)

He reaches out to take a book, then stops, noticing the sleeve of his sleepwear. He’s not wearing his plain silk pajamas anymore – it’s similar, but definitely not the same. The material is more soft and plush, and it’s printed with a pastel-colored pattern of various feudal japanese weaponry, from kunai to shuriken. In short, it’s something he’d enjoy, but only with the most utmost privacy, and it would take great pains to convince himself to purchase it for himself, much less wear it within sight of anyone.

These details begin to form a shattering idea in Miles’ brain, slowly clicking into place, and he feels his heart pounding again. Quickly, he walks to the bedroom door and slowly opens it to peek out.

(The- the hallway looks familiar too… The second bedroom is where I always remembered it. And the living room beyond it… If there’s small kitchen next to that…)

Miles swallows, his fears giving way to a potential hope he can’t bear to hold in his heart. He makes his way down the hall, tracing his fingertips against the wall as if afraid it would float away from him. He lets both his hand and roving eyes stay away from the second bedroom’s doorframe, and the various framed photographs hung here – he thinks he caught a glimpse of one of his old baby pictures, and he simply can’t handle that right now.

He reaches the end of the hallway, spilling out in the living room, and sure enough, there’s a humble little kitchen and dining table filling up the other half of the space.

Miles takes hold of his trembling chin with one hand, covering his mouth. (This- this is just like my old home… It can’t be. It was sold off, after I had to leave…)

Even that desperate thought of denial begins to crumble as he observes these rooms more closely, their familiarity summoning a deluge of childhood memories. The old coat rack by the door, the DVD-filled TV stand, the dining set, the ugly curtains, the old oven that never worked properly…

Dazed and misty-eyed, Miles drifts towards the couch to seat himself before he collapses. Even the musty smell was still here, from these comfortably sunken-in cushions…

(It’s here… it’s older, but still here...)

He closes his eyes and covers his face with both hands, breathing until he regains a decent hold on his emotions again. When he recovers, he notices is a few papers stacked on the coffee table in front of him. The topmost paper looks like a work-related document, with hastily-written notes penciled into its blank spaces.

He reaches out and gingerly picks up the paper from the small pile. The letters are a little blurry, but it looks like a copy of a financial report. When Miles focuses, the text at the very top reads:

Edgeworth & Son Defense Firm

His heart stops, so shocked he doesn’t bother to read the rest of the document, nearly dropping the paper from his fingers. (Can it.. can it be…?)

He doesn’t have to wonder long, as he’s shocked again immediately afterward by the sounds of shuffling, a door opening, and a familiar voice somewhere behind him.

“Son? That you? You awake?”

Miles stands to look, and… it’s him. His father, Gregory Edgeworth, alive and well, standing in the doorway of the second bedroom-turned-office, more real than anything Miles could imagine. And obviously fifteen years older, from the few extra wrinkles in his face and strands of grey peppering his hair, but it’s him. It’s really him.

Which means… the wish came true. His wish. Somehow, someway. Miles could care less whatever forces of the universe caused this to happen, his father is here and alive. And everything else he’s observed is the result of this new reality – Miles never moved away, instead spending fifteen happy years with his now-living father. Following his teachings, helping him run his defense firm, and working to protect the innocent, together.

Miles is trembling now, struggling to speak through the emotion clogging his throat, and eventually he manages a hoarse whisper.

“F- Father…?”

Gregory squints at him over his glasses. “…Yes?”

Miles can’t think of anything else to say, or think in general – so he lets his legs carry him, stumbling, towards his now-living father and into a sudden embrace. He wraps his arms around his father’s torso and presses his face into his shoulder, both overwhelmed and amused at his parent no longer towering over him.

Gregory tenses at the sudden affection, but doesn’t push him away, instead awkwardly patting his back. “Whoa, uh- good morning to you too, Miles.”

Miles can only laugh through his happy tears – of course this would be awkward for him. So calm, so nonplussed. That as far as his father was aware, nothing ever changed, nothing was ever lost. But still, Miles should really get a hold of himself already.

He pulls away and wipes off an embarrassing amount of snot and tears from his face with his pajama sleeve. “S- sorry, I- Yes, good morning, father. I’m just- I’m very happy to see you again.”

Gregory raises an eyebrow at him, but chuckles softly. “You say that like I left, or something. Ah well, hugs are always nice. I’m glad you’re not too grown-up to stop hugging your old man.”

Miles breathes out a laugh. (No amount of aging or societal norms would keep me from appreciating you, father. Ah, if only Wright were here… I hope he is. I must tell him about this the next time I see him...)

“Anyway, since you’re up already,” Gregory was saying now, passing him to head toward the living room, “best start getting ready. We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Miles blinks in confusion. “I- Uh. We do?”

Gregory turns to him, concerned. “Yeah? You said you were ready- say, where are your glasses? I thought you put ‘em on first thing in the morning?”

Miles blinks again. “...Glasses?” (Since when have I needed glasses?)

Gregory looks at him strangely. “Yes? You’ve needed glasses since you were sixteen, son. You hit your head or something?”

Miles stares, stunned in confusion again. (Glasses… I suppose it makes sense. Everything has looked a little hazy lately, and my father’s always needed them as well. But- since I was sixteen? That was when… I was under Von Karma’s tutelage. Yes, that explains things…)

Recovering, Miles clears his throat. “Ah- yes, of course. I’d forgotten. That explains all the blurriness I’ve noticed...”

Gregory was cocking his head at him now. “Are you... sure you’re feeling alright? It’s not like you to be this forgetful.”

“I- I’m fine, father. Perfectly.”

Gregory gives an incredulous look. “Well, I hope so. We’ve got a pretty big case on our hands today, especially for you. We’re meeting the client at the detention center as soon as possible, so best get ready now.”

Miles briefly wonders at his father’s behavior and this information he doesn’t appear to be privy to. Then, he remembers – this is a different reality. One in which Miles has been living and working with his father for many years. Gregory knows this, but Miles does not, seemingly having been dropped into this universe overnight to no one else’s knowledge.

(Ah- I understand. Its like the plot of Steel Samurai Episode 26, when a strange curse causes the Steel Samurai and Evil Magistrate to switch bodies for a day. Mostly played for humor, but nonetheless well-executed. The Samurai felt like himself, but to the Evil Magistrate’s minions, he's always been the Evil Magistrate, so he had to play along and pretend to be his own arch nemesis until he could lift the curse… looks like I have to do that too, in a way.)

Miles rubs at his scalp, pretending to soothe an imaginary bump. “Ah- I suppose I did hit my head in the night. Everything’s a little fuzzy… Erm, would you remind me of our client’s name, Father?”

Gregory sighs and rolls his eyes, but not with any true annoyance. “It’s Maya Fey. She’s the sister of the victim, Mia Fey, in case you forgot that too.”

Miles blinks in confusion for a moment. (Have I… gone back in time as well?)

A glance back at the kitchen’s far wall confirms this – there hangs a calendar, currently open on September 2016. (It’s last year again… and if we’re defending Maya Fey, then Mia’s murder occurred just last night!)

“I see,” Miles says. “Is she alright?”

Gregory was busying himself in the kitchen now. “I sure hope so,” he says while retrieving a box of teabags from a cupboard. “Police said they found her with the body and arrested her on the spot. Poor thing’s probably been in questioning all night.”

Miles, with a pang of guilt, remembers how this happened from the prosecution’s side. “Y-yeah, probably...”

Then panic shoots through him as he remembers something else. “Ah- What about Wright? Did the police mention him at all?”

Gregory stops halfway through filling a pot with water to stare at him, brows knit, lips pursed. He blinks a few times, then says, “...What?”

Miles thinks he didn't hear him. “You know- Phoenix Wright? My friend from elementary school? He studied under Mia Fey, wasn’t he th-”

“Yup, definitely hit your head.”

Gregory’s expression grew more and more strange as he spoke, and now Miles finds himself grabbed by the shoulders and briskly turned around as he’s interrupted.

“Wh-?"

“Just uh- go freshen up in the bathroom, son. Take a cold shower or something. I’ll, uh- I’ll get breakfast ready.”

“I- Uh. Okay.”

Miles is gently shoved in the direction of his bedroom, stumbling slightly, and he decides maybe it’s best he do as his father says for now. When he mentioned Wright, something about his father’s expression seemed… grave. Severe. As if he’d spoken of something he was not supposed to mention.

...Strangest of all, it sort of reminds him of the old woman at the fortune shop yesterday.

Miles won’t question it for now. Like the Steel Samurai, he should just play along until he learns more.

–

9:47 AM, September 6, 2016

LAPD Detention Center, Los Angeles

Hours later, Miles was fully-dressed and driving to the Detention Center, using a slightly-different but nonetheless familiar red car, with his father in the passenger seat. He’s also wearing his glasses he apparently always wears in this life – and he has to admit, he never knew the world could look so clear  without the need to squint so often.

He and his father spoke lightly about the case to come, but there’s been a strange underlying tension since their conversation this morning, so they usually fell silent. Miles can’t make any sense of it. He wishes he could remember something from himself in this new life, or at least find a way to ask about his past without drawing suspicion, but he can’t focus on that problem right now, needing to concentrate on his driving.

And once they arrived, he needed to focus on the case at hand. For it seemed Miles was now repeating history, but from a different point of view – and to be completely honest, he’s kind of curious. He can’t remember the last time he was welcomed into a detention center when he wasn’t passing off evidence to the police or brought in as a suspect himself. And as a defense attorney, no less. He has to stop himself from glancing or fiddling at his attorney’s badge constantly, proudly pinned to the left lapel of his waistcoat (it seems he doesn’t wear suit jackets in this universe except for very formal occasions).

(And I don’t have any cravats anymore… all I could find were bow-ties. It makes sense, of course, but I sort of miss it…)

Meanwhile his father, still sporting his trustworthy trench coat and hat after all these years, speaks with the jailers to let them see their new client. Or rather-

“-Yes, my son will be defending her. Miles?”

Miles flinches to attention and does his best to introduce himself, as surreal as it is to say aloud, “Miles Edgeworth, defense attorney.” (It’s so… strange. Not bad, just strange.)

Despite his awkwardness, the jailer seems to approve of him, and soon they’re being ushered into the visiting room. Miles enters alongside his father, seating themselves at a window. Minutes later, a very sad, very tired Maya Fey is welcomed into the room on the other side of the separating wall, and she takes a seat across from them beyond the glass window.

Gregory introduces himself first, removing his hat. “Hello, Miss Fey. I’d shake your hand if I could – I’m the one you spoke to on the phone last night. My son here will be heading your case, with my assistance.”

Maya nods to both of them, and bows gratefully. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Edgeworth.”

“None needed, really,” Greg replies. “How are you feeling?”

Maya stifles a yawn. “Okay, I guess. Just really tired. They were questioning me all night.”

“I see,” Greg says, sharing a concerned look with Miles at his fears confirmed. “At least you sound calmer than before.”

“I think I’m just numb,” Maya says, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ve had to tell so many people so many times about my sister, so I guess I’m just kinda… used to it.”

A new feeling takes hold of Miles – the cold, bitter grasp of pure, crushing guilt. He’s never interviewed a defendant before, and certainly not like this, up-close and personal and not across the courtroom in a defendant’s chair. And seeing the face of a person so broken by the death of a loved one, a person he already knows is innocent and being framed by a blackmailer (something he can now empathize with, considering his previous life), is quite a bit more than disturbing.

Maya yawns again, this time not quite able to stop it.

“Um- Have you slept at all?” Miles asks, hoping he’s doing a decent job of hiding his inner turmoil. If there’s one thing he’s taken away from observing both Wright and his father, it’s that a proper defense attorney tries not to show weakness in front of the people they’re defending.

“Not since like, the day before yesterday,” Maya says blearily, rubbing her eyes.

“The day before?”

“I just got to this part of LA,” Maya says. “I got off the train from Kurain yesterday afternoon, spent the evening window-shopping and grabbing some food, then went straight to my sister’s office. And… well.” She shrugs again, sighing deeply.

Miles didn’t know any of these details from his original life – and now the guilt in his chest threatens to sink him into the floor at the realization that he’d hoisted so many accusations against this poor young woman, sleepless and exhausted, fresh off a train and simply wanting to visit her older sister, only to find her freshly-dead body. (...I really was a monster...)

The rest of her interview was much like this – Maya sadly recounting the state she found her sister in, her activities in the hours before, and Miles doing his best to appear strong and caring while silently crumbling with guilt from all that he remembers from his previous life. It’s a strange paradox of feeling, to be both thankful that this Maya doesn’t know who he is (or was), but also sort of yearning that she would, so he could apologize profusely.

(This is unbearable. How does Wright do this all the time…? Wait, speaking of…)

Questions about Wright are still burning in his brain, but this time, Miles decides to be a bit more careful than with his father earlier.

“Miss Fey- do you remember anyone else being in that office when you found Mia’s body?”

Maya shakes her head. “No. No one else was there, just me.”

“Not even- Er. Wasn’t your sister working with anyone? Like an understudy?”

Maya squints slightly at him. “No? Mia wasn’t teaching anyone as far as I know. And it wasn’t me, if that's what you mean. I only just got here, and I’m training to be a spirit medium, not a lawyer. At least, I was.”

Miles ponders this. (So Wright wasn’t there? Strange… But now that I think about it, I recall something about another attorney also being involved with her case. Was Wright helping there?)

“Speaking of lawyers,” Miles says carefully, “Has no one else really tried taking your case?”

Gregory’s crossed his arms by now, tapping out a nervous rhythm with one finger. “Nope, no one. She said we were her very last hope.”

Maya nods, her lip trembling. “Not even Grossberg – and I tried. I really tried. I called him ten, twenty times maybe, but he just wouldn’t answer me.”

Gregory makes a surprised noise. “Not even Grossberg?”

“I don't know why,” Maya says, sniffling. “Mia told me he’d help if I was ever in trouble, but… I just don’t know…” Her voice falters, turning watery.

“Well don’t worry dear, we’re here now,” Gregory says softly. “We’ll definitely be paying his office a visit later, though. I’ll grill him if I have to...”

Maya sniffles, but calms herself enough to force a smile. “Y- yeah. Thank you, again.”

Gregory comforts her further as Miles looks between them, still quietly burning with anxiety.

(This is wrong, all wrong- Why hasn't Wright been mentioned this whole time? If he wasn’t at the office, and hasn’t contacted Maya or been contacted, then where is he?)

He finally can’t stand this anymore, and decides to just say it outright. “Pardon me, Miss Fey, but- why didn’t you approach Mr. Wright about this?”

Maya’s smile drops instantaneously, and her eyes widen with a deep, terrible fear. She stammers and clears her throat a few times before speaking again. When she does, her voice is very small, and very scared. “Um- Wh- why would I do that?”

It’s very strange – and when Miles glances over at his father, he’s giving him that look from the house again, as if he’s said something blasphemous.

Miles clears his throat, feeling drier suddenly. He shouldn’t press further if this is everyone’s reaction, but he has to know...

“Erm- well- Phoenix Wright, he’s an attorney, you see. He must have-”

“Miles,” Gregory interrupts, and Miles clamps his mouth shut at the all-too-familiar parental tone of voice – and at Maya’s increasingly dire expression as he spoke, cheeks pale and lips thinning into a tiny line by now.

Gregory glares at him from the corners of his eyes – then nods quickly to Maya. “I’m so sorry, Miss Fey- He isn’t- Erm- Give us a few moments, please.”

Maya isn't looking at them anymore, bowing her head and chewing at her lower lip. She nods quickly, and Miles finds himself tugged by his sleeve and ushered to the other end of the visiting room. As his father wheels around to face him, he feels much like a child again, and not in the good way.

“Miles, what are you doing?! Trying to traumatize the poor girl even more?”

“I- No, of course not!”

“Then why are you bringing him up around her as if you don’t know anything? It’s like- ugh, I don’t know, you've been acting strange all morning!”

Miles feels his ears burning with shame, but it’s still not as hot or insistent as the anxiety clawing at his belly, filled with fear and confusion over Wright – and he can’t suppress it anymore.

“I- I’m not- You're the ones being strange!” he says, all but shouting through gritted teeth. “Why won’t anyone tell me where Wright is or why he isn’t defending her!?”

Gregory stares at him again – that same look, that same sense of saying something absolutely terrible. He takes a breath and sighs harshly, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes – when he looks up again, his expression is of a strange, pain-filled sadness.

“Miles… I know you're worried about him, but please... Let's not be delusional.”

And at this, Miles finally begins to feel the weight of what all this strangeness means.

If he and his father are defending Maya instead...

If Mia Fey didn’t seem to have a protégé anymore…

If no other defense attorneys besides Grossberg seem to have been contacted...

If only a name seems to strike fear into everyone who hears it...

(Oh... Oh no. Oh no, no no. God, please, no…)

Miles swallows deeply, and tries to speak past the lump growing in his throat. “I- I guess I bumped my head worse than I thought. An uh… a reminder may be in order, father.”

Gregory sighs again, replacing his glasses upon his face but no longer looking Miles in the eye. Suddenly he looks… tired. Very tired. He seems to need to gather himself before speaking again.

When he finally does, he says plainly,

“Phoenix Wright is a prosecutor, son. The Demon Prosecutor. The State’s assigned him to this case, and last night you told me that you’re finally ready to face him. Remember now?”

Miles feels his blood run cold.

(Oh no.)

---

[smallcowplant]

[ P A R T  T W O ]

my favorite thing is monsters (book one) by emil ferris 🧟‍♀️🔍🧛‍♀️

quick synopsis: adult (coming-of-age story from the perspective of a young girl, but definitely targeted at an older audience)/graphic novel. set in late 60′s chicago, the fictional graphic diary of ten year old karen reyes recounts her experiences as she tries to solve the murder of her beautiful and enigmatic upstairs neighbor, a holocaust survivor.

page count: 416

rating:★★★ (this is a hard rating for me...think 3.7-3.9....oscillating to a 4....4.2....I don’t know, man)

review: I keep doing this fun and cool thing where I buy a book without realizing it’s the first in an (unfinished) series, and then end up being cast woefully adrift by reality. that’s what I did with this one. purely based on the artwork alone, I can tell you that this book is a treat for the eyes. a lot is going on here, and there’s something so engrossing about being swept up into the chaotic pen strokes and colors. the story is an interesting one, and not entirely what you expect. the characters are all distinct and layered---really riveting people who feel near-painfully real. as the first book in a two (?) book series, it leaves off with the central (and now additional) mysteries unsolved---which leaves the reading experience feeling unfinished and kind of disjointed. I’m stuck in a bit of a confusing mid-zone with this one, where I truly....well, I can't say I enjoyed it, since this story is so much more than that? I was...fascinated? enveloped? I’ll be reading the next one, definitely.

one of us is lying by karen m. mcmanus 🥜🚓📱

quick synopsis: young adult/contemporary mystery/suspense. five students walk into detention. only four make it out alive. who did it...and who is lying?

page count: 361

rating:★★★ (firm 3.7)

review: the breakfast club....but with murder? if you’re down for that, you’ll enjoy this book! it certainly kept my attention. and MAN was this a suspenseful and super stressful read. (if you need a book that’ll make you go “wow, I’m glad I’m not in high school anymore”, this is it lol!) there’s a bunch of really interesting character studies going on in this one, and it definitely lends to a tense and involving read. the only reason the rating isn’t any higher is just that certain elements of it didn’t work...entirely...for me. that doesn’t mean that they were bad...just not what I...wanted? there’s two more books in this series, and while I’m not anxious to get my hands on them, I’m fairly sure I would read them!

murder at morrington hall: a stella and lyndy mystery by clara mckenna 🐎��💏

quick synopsis: adult/historical mystery. 1905. stella kendrick, a lively and confident american heiress, is tricked into an arranged marriage by her coldly ambitious father. her groom-to-be is viscount “lyndy” lyndhurst, who is both roughish and financially strapped. despite this rough beginning, they find themselves oddly drawn to each other. could they actually be a good match? however, all courtship is set aside when the pair discover the vicar who was  to marry them----dead in the library. now they must work together to solve the crime and find the culprit.

page count: 304

rating: ★★

review: ugh, it pains me to say, as I thought I was signing myself up for a fun turn-of-the-century murder mystery/romance...but this was just...meh. a meh story. I feel like it had potential to be an enjoyable, soapy romp with a dash of sensuality...but it was none of those things? (basically, I wanted a self-indulgent and delicious slice of chocolate cake...but I ended up with a week-old raisin muffin.) it didn't help that I had some issues with certain things the writer included. in particular, I REALLY didn’t like the equating of fat = mean/ugly and the repeated use of the word “bulbous” to describe certain characters noses----I had to do a quick google search to see what the hell the author was talking about. still not sure if she was trying to imply that the characters had rhinophyma/rosacea or just that they had bigger, “ugly” noses, but neither is good lmao. whenever you put a “plain/regular-degular person” with a big nose up against your array of stock White People™ characters with thin noses and angular faces, AND make those “plain” characters play the “wow, I’m so ugly but these characters are so pretty oh woe is me” bullshit in their inner monologue, I’m dipping. I’ve collected my paycheck, clocked out, left the building. (your story is already about a bunch of rich, straight, white people in 1905...I’m already skeptical, don’t test me. jk, but also not.) I’m fairly sure this would have caused a decent amount of people to DNF this book, but I’m a stubborn little bitch, and if I paid actual money for the hardcover copy at goddamn Barnes and Noble, I’m reading it. this is all to say that....if I’m being thrown out of enjoying your soapy historical murder mystery to gripe about random shit, there’s a problem. other than that? carpet was described a lot, the twist was decent, the romance was okay (no smut---or anything even vaguely close to romantic/sexual tension---and the kisses were not described at all, so I have no clue if either of them do more than press their lips together while admiring each others pale necks, but whatever), and the setting was the most interesting thing about this book (a crumbling english estate in the countryside?? sign me tf up). I won’t be reading anything more in this series, but that cover is pretty cool isn’t it? (I don’t know that the vase had anything to do with the story I read, but it does look really neat.) sidenote: hate to be a smarmy asshole, as I know full well how much work goes into writing, and I’m in no way trying to shame the author...this book just didn’t do it for me.

wilder girls by rory power 🌳🦷🥀

quick synopsis: young adult/horror/mystery. on an isolated island off the coast of maine, raxter school for girls is under quarantine. a mysterious disease has wracked the island, leaving teachers dead, students twisted and changed, and the woods that surround it dangerous and wild. while the disease consumes the island, the girls wait---for help, for the cure that was promised to them. but when hetty’s best friend disappears, she must venture out of the safety of the school, past the gate that separates them from the woods---and what she finds will change everything.

page count: 363

rating: ★★★★★

review: powerful, blistering, and utterly terrifying. that’s what immediately comes to mind when thinking about this book. I read it in a breakneck pace, devouring the whole thing in a feverish five? hour haze. once it was over, I sat bleary-eyed, the air around me feeling different than before, my hands tense and my stomach jumping. “you were a good one.” I said softly, kissing the spine. so yeah, it’s good. it’s very good. heartbreaking and awful and shockingly beautiful. this one hurts. I felt this one in my bones, in my soul. read it.

lovely war by julie berry 🌷💥💞

quick synopsis: young adult (but the youngest character is 18...so I think this could comfortably slot into adult)/historical (with a touch of fantasy). the intersecting stories of hazel, james, aubrey, and colette: a classical pianist from london, a british would-be-architect-turned-soldier, a harlem-born ragtime genius in the u.s. army, and a belgian orphan with a gorgeous voice and a devastating past----told by the goddess aphrodite, who must spin the tale or face judgment on mount olympus.

page count: 468

rating: ★★★★★

review: do you know how many times I CRIED while reading this book? because I certainly don’t! I lost track, as there are simply too many painful and beautiful things contained in this book. heart-wrenching, sumptuous and intoxicating, vivid in the best and worst ways, sharp and soft at the same time. I met my boyfriend while he was still active-duty military, so the wartime/seperation themes hit me very personally....but even without that, this book is excellent. expertly weaving together mythology and history in one gripping piece of art, it left me with a wistful smile on my face and a faint ache in my heart. it’s good. very good.

we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson 🏡💀🐱

quick synopsis: young adult? adult? who knows!/mystery/horror. mary katherine blackwood is eighteen years old and lives with her sister constance. she has often thought that with any luck at all she would have been born a werewolf, because the two middle fingers on both of her hands are the same length, but she has had to be content with what she has. she dislikes washing herself, and dogs, and noise. she likes her sister constance, and richard plantagenet, and amanita phalloides, the death-cup mushroom. everyone else in her family is dead.

page count: 146

rating: ★★★★ (4.5/4.6!)

review: delightfully creepy and utterly odd, with a full cast of extremely unlikable characters and one of the strangest protagonists I’ve ever read. at NO TIME did I have any idea where the story was going, which lead to an completely bizarre (but fun!) reading experience. twilight-zonian/gothic...but better. very eager to read more of shirley jackson’s catalogue, because that lady sure knew how to weave a tale. very glad I read this one.

sadie by courtney summers 📻👥🎙

quick synopsis: young adult (mc is nineteen, and imo I feel like this slides into adult tbh)/contemporary/true crime. told from the alternating perspectives of nineteen-year-old sadie, who runs away from home to find her younger sister’s killer, and a true crime podcast exploring sadie’s disappearance.

page count: 308

rating: ★★★ 

review: sad, awful, raw. that’s this book, simultaneously bright red and angry and deep blue, sadness upon sadness. this book reminds me of every true crime documentary I’ve ever watched---how it wraps itself up in a depressingly soft way, all the emptiness left behind and everything forever-changed. gives me the same icky voyeuristic feeling consuming any true crime content always leaves with me---this peculiar feeling of peering in to others heartbreak, of their horrors. this is a hard book. it’s difficult and not easy to stomach---and it never lets up. know that before you go in. what you may expect/want is NOT what you’ll get. and that’s the trueness of this book. I have my own personal feelings regarding the story, thus the three star rating, but that’s on ME. this book is incredibly well-written and insanely gripping. I finished it the same night I started reading it. if you want a gritty, intense read set in the very bleak reality of our world, this is your book.

FEBRUARY

BOOKS READ: 14

PAGES READ: 4225

# OF 2020 BOOKS READ SO FAR: 17/50

in reflection: my goal for this month was to read ten books, and I did that ...plus four more! so I’m pretty proud of myself, lol! there were a lot of stellar reads this month, and I had so much fun discovering them all! definitely a TON of new favorites to add to my bookshelf! :^)

disclaimer: all fourteen of the books I read this month include/focus on potentially triggering content, although they do fluctuate on the scale of intensity and subject matter. my wrap-up reviews do not contain spoilers/a comprehensive list of potential triggers. I urge everyone to do their own research regarding the content of these books if you’re interested in reading them, and I’m always available for questions. my reviews are just that, reviews, and books that work for me may not work for you (and vice versa).

[funtimebunnyblog]

Diamante d’Italia: Chapter 1

After his Father "generously gave" the teenager a whopping amount of money Josuke finds himself vacationing in beautiful southern Italy.

However, being the trouble magnet he is, he ends up getting caught in Famiglia affairs.

Being so far from his home and his friends, Josuke needs to make some powerful allies to help him out of this mess...

(Chapter 1: Culture shock)

"--and remember to-"

"Yes Mom. I know." Josuke sighed into the phone, rolling his eyes. "I've got everything on me. You know I can protect myself."

They'd had this exact same phone conversation at every other airport he had called from so far. By now the teenager had memorized it all and knew exactly what his Mother was going to say.

Standing in the airport of Naples Italy wouldn't make a difference.

"Ok. But just be careful Josuke. Italy is so far from here." She said over the background clatter. "And you don't even know any Italian."

There was a crackle over the phone as she sighed, he could hear the sounds of dishes clinking in the background followed by running water.

He almost had to plug his other ear to drown out the loud voice on the intercom so he could hear her talking.

"...I know Tonio."

"That joke was horrible, Josuke."

If there wasn't the sound of dishes still being done, he would've been sure his Mother had hung up on him.

There were no words exchanged for at least a full 10 seconds and with each passing second the teenager tried harder and harder to contain every giggle that tried to escape his lips, waiting with baited breath on her reaction.

The teenager couldn't hold in his laughter anymore, wheezing a little as he leaned on the glass wall of the phonebooth.

"I know." He cackled. "But it's kinda true. Tonio told me so much about Italy! It can't be that bad here..."

A change of scenery would do him good. Especially after all he had been through in the past little while with all that serial killer mess.

He had been daydreaming about this trip, this place, but most importantly; the cuisine, for almost a month now.

After his Father so generously "gave" him his wallet upon departure of Morioh, Josuke Higashikata decided it was time for him to see some of the world.

It was definitely time for a vacation and what better place to visit than the country with food that made Okuyasu and him squabble over every single morsel cooked and served to them by Tonio.

He earned a punch to the shoulder however from Okuyasu after telling him the news. His friend wasn't spiteful however and laughed, telling him that he could finally have Tonio and his fine chef skills all to himself while he was away.

Neither of them had really looked at "normal" food that same way after tasting fine Italian food so he couldn't think of a better place to go for some rest and relaxation.

He had also heard that Italy held some beautiful sights.

Josuke promised to bring him home a shitload of souvenirs anyways. He was also considering getting something for Koichi and his Mom back home.

There was another crackle over the phone along with the running water in the background suddenly being turned off, making it a little easier to hear the woman as she spoke.

"If you say so..."

It also made it easier to hear the undeniable concern lacing her tone however.

"Say, what time is it over there anyways Mom?" He questioned, mostly out of curiosity, but also for the sake of taking his Mothers mind off of any worries she held for him.

"Just after 5." She answered with a hum, the sound of a plug being pulled and a draining sink accompanying it.

"Oh wow!" He blinked, peering out off the glass booth to squint at the overly large clock of the airport terminal. "It's only 10AM over here."

"If you're going to call home, please do it around this time Josuke." She told him, a laugh lacing her voice as she spoke. "I wouldn't appreciate being woken up by the phone at 3AM."

The Highschooler laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his head. He should probably write that down just in case he forgot, the last thing he wanted was to be screamed at by his Mother over the phone for waking her up in the middle of the night.

"Right..." he murmured. "Anyways. I should probably go now Mom. I'll call you from a Hotel or something tomorrow."

"Ok Josuke."

He could hear her hesitation to let him go in her voice alone.

"I'll be fine. I love you Mom. Talk soon!"

"I love you too."

He hung up the phone at last, a small smile gracing his lips.

Gripping the handle of his luggage tightly, he stepped out of the booth with his head held high.

He was worried about his Mother too of course. She was going through a lot too, especially when she was still grieving for his Grandfather.

However, once he was in possession of his newly aquired money (not stolen! Where would you get that idea?) He had given her a good portion of it and told her to spend the time he was away getting her nails done or treating herself in anyway she saw fit. She needed this little break as much as he did.

"Time to find a cab."

☆☆☆

Easier said than done.

Here he was on a sidewalk, finally into the City after nearly 2 hours of waiting for an open taxi to take him from the airport to the city, his pompador all in a stressful ruffle over the whole ordeal.

His eyes darted back and forth between the outstretched hand of the driver and the meter on the dashboard.

"120 000 Lira?!" He squawked at the cab driver, his aquamarine eyes going wide in their sockets as the man held out his hand before him.

Josuke wasn't exactly a mathematician, but he knew enough to know that amount was absurd! "Th-there's gotta be some mistake, sir! You only drove me to the edge of the city."

This was highway robbery (no pun intended), there was no way it could've been that much!

The taxi driver had rolled his eyes at him and told him otherwise, demanding he pay up or he'd drag him straight to the Police Officers who were standing idle near the Cab on the streetcorner.

Josuke peered into his wallet with a sigh from where he sat on the curb. Damnit. He'd have to think twice about taking another cab. He only had so much money to blow, necessary expenses like food and hotelrooms were his main priority, and he still needed a ticket home to Japan when all of this was over.

He'd just have to settle for walking the entire time he was here.

He tucked his wallet away safely, flicking out a comb and began to straighten out the poof of hair he so adored. He'd have to put some more hairspray in it later if things kept going like this, good thing he packed 8 whole cans.

His Lunchhour.

He stood up, grabbing his suitcase once more and keeping it close to his side.

"Well... I guess it's time to find a hotel." He mused. His thoughts were interrupted however by a punctuating growl of his stomach. He hadn't eaten much on the plane at all and from the position of the overhead sun, he could tell it was noontime.

"Ooh." He breathed, a hand moving to his stomach in surprise. "I'm running on empty..."

However, maybe it was better to ask for directions.

He supposed a Hotel would have to wait. What he really needed right now was a restaurant.

From all the stories Tonio told him about Italian cuisine and the entire culture behind it, he was sure it wouldn't be too hard to find one of those around here.

"Um- excuse me--" he tried to grab the attention of a passing man. The guy kept on walking without even giving him a side glance.

Another man approached him from behind and Josuke turned, stepping in front of him somewhat to gain his attention.

"Er... oh! Sir! A moment please, I'm--"

There went another one, very much like the first.

"Excuse me sir, could you tell me--" he started again. The man stopped in his tracks, nearly bumping right into Josuke.

"Ey! What gives?!"

"Outta my way, bastardo!"

The Highschool student barely had a chance to blink before the guy was right in his face, a fierce scowl pulling on his face.

If looks could kill, Josuke would be getting murdered in that moment.

The man grunted and shoved him further out of his way, balling his fists and grumbling to himself, too low for Josuke to hear, but the teen knew it was all in fluent Italian.

He held up his free hand in surrender, backing up and out of the way of the angry stranger.

"S-Sorry sir!" He practically squeaked. "I... I didn't mean to bother you!"

He rubbed his arm, a frown found its way to his face as he watched the furious mans back.

Sheesh. And here he thought he had been in a rough town back in Japan.

Maybe he should just start walking...

☆☆☆

He was starting to wish he took some language courses with Koichi in this years last term.

Or maybe he could've learned some basic words and stuff from Tonio, the man always seemed eager to share in the wonders of his culture after all.

Or maybe he could've not been an absolute dumbass and bought an Italian to English dictionary to use.

Or worse.

Josuke had been walking up and down the streets for nearly an hour, passing by buildings and signs galore, none of which he could read.

He was tempted to stop another stranger to ask what any of them meant, or even just plain ask where the nearest restaurant was, but he didn't want to get screamed at again.

Staring at the signs like a toddler who didn't know how to read but was trying made it all the worse.

"This is hopeless..." he grumbled, kicking at the sidewalk, sending a small stone bouncing down the white concrete.

He was actually contemplating calling his Mother again to ask her what he should do.

Maybe he could even call Tonio. Or Koichi. Or Okuyasu. Or his Nephew. Or fuck, ANYONE at this point.

Maybe he shouldn't have traveled alone and brought one of them along...

He had a feeling this was going to be a long day and he dug in his coat, whipping out his comb again. His pompadour was getting all ruffled again.

"Ei, tu."

He paused. Did someone... speak to him?

"Um... Hello?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did you say something?"

Frowning, he turned to locate the voice, finding himself facing an alleyway that lead off the street.

A figure stood there, leaned against the brick wall of a building, their eyes gleaming at him. There were others too, just two others, all of them looking at him.

The one closest to the alley entrance, a tall thinner male, looked him up and down, "Sei il ragazzo?" A question of some sort.

The one who spoke sported disheveled brown hair and clothes that were even more so, with strange sunken in eyes that seemed to hold a never ending stare. His two friends were not much different, they all had that same stare and it was locked firmly onto him.

Josuke frowned a little deeper, he didn't really understand what the man wad saying. Did he want something? Or maybe... was he trying to help him?

The Highschool student looked around before stepping into the alley, closing the distance between him and the group.

"Um... I'm sorry I don't understand." He flashed an awkward smile, looking between the three men hoping that someone could understand him or at least translate. "Can any of you help...?"

It sort of reminded Josuke of when he ate his Lunch at the neighborhood park back in Morioh.

The dogs that hung out around there would all approach him, then sit and watch, with their ears up and their backs straight, unblinking and expecting him to give them a piece of his sandwich.

He always thought it was a little creepy, but it was even creepier somehow to see it in a person.

The brown haired one pointed to the suitcase he held, "É questo?" That sounded like another question to him.

This was getting nowhere. He heaved out a sigh, throwing his hands up as he began to back away. "Sorry. I have no idea what you're saying... I-I really got to go."

The more he backed up, the more the blankness of stares seemed to disolve into... anger?

Yeah, suddenly these guys were looking pissed. All three of them were staring even more intensely into him, most especially the brown haired one.

"Prendetelo!" One of the others barked.

"Dacci le maledette droghe, cazzone!" The brunet man screeched and Josuke realized there was a fist coming for him. He stepped back quickly, the closed hand swooping loudly through the air, barely gracing his chest.

What was happening? Why were these men suddenly after him? Josuke barely had the time to consider the options of running away or trying to talk his way out of all of this mess before he was suddenly on the ground.

"Darlo a noi!"

They tried to pull the leather bag from his grasp and he pulled back harder, now full on clutching it to his chest as the fists now rained down on him.

Josuke couldn't even cry out. Everything was happening all at once. His thoughts were loud and his heartbeat was louder. The noise around him had gone to nothing but whitenoise. His only thought was to not let them take his suitcase.

And then... it all stopped. Just as quickly as it happened.

The teenager opened his eyes to find that all the kicking and punching had ceased on him. One of the men was on the ground and there was another person standing over them, yelling into his face.

But here he was. Defending a fucking stranger from a group of junkies.

Leone Abbacchio hated getting involved with common street fights. He hated it especially more when he was supposed to NOT be fighting someone today.

It was his day off after all. Bucciarati told him he could spend his time how he wanted it and he wanted some alone time.

All the Mafioso wanted to do was listen to his damn music and get some lunch when he noticed this damn idiot (obviously a tourist) trying to converse with the men.

'Just keep walking.' He tried to tell himself over and over, trying to pacify the unease building in him.

It wasn't his affair.

This was their problem.

He was a bystander.

He wasn't even in the alley.

He was on his way somewhere.

He shouldn't even give it a passing glance....

And then he watched the punk get knocked to the ground.

Now here he was, kicking the shit out of a damn dirty junkie.

Josuke winced at he the sound of a fist hitting hard against a nose, the crackle of bone filling his ears.

"FUCK OFF!"

One of the men who had been attacking him came up behind the silver haired figure and threw his arms around him in an attempt to pull him down.

Abbacchio didn't even flinch and hauled the man forward, bending so he came right over his head and smacked into the brunet who was holding the nose that was gushing with red blood.

He definitely owned up to his name then and there because to Josuke his gruff and booming voice was like the roar of a powerful Lion.

That was all it took. All three of them were clamoring to their feet and booking it down towards the other end of the alley.

It sort of reminded Josuke of that time he broke that seniors nose.

Thank God his hair was still ok though, after checking quickly he sighed in pure relief. That was truly what mattered to him, along with his luggage.

His eyes turned to his savior and he slowly got up from the hard ground, wincing as he did.

He was definitely going to hurt in the morning. He could already feel a bruise spotting on the center of his back.

"Th... Thank you." He spoke at last watching as the new stranger turned to face him at last. "I just wanted to ask for directions but I didn't know what they wanted..."

The duel coloured eyes of the man burned into him as he looked over him, making the high schooler start to sweat under the penetrating gaze.

"You... seem familiar." Abbacchio said at length. He had seen someone before with the same kinda face, he was sure of it. He squinted at the Highschool student as he wracked his brain for answers.

The teenager was sure of that. He was sure he would've remembered this man purely by the way he looked, let alone the strong and intimidating presence that radiated off him, if he had even glanced in his direction before.

Josuke blinked, his expression not unlike a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Um... we've never met before."

Abbacchio rolled his eyes. "Tch. No shit." He spat. "I've never seen you before either stronzo. You just seem kinda familiar."

Josuke winced slightly, averting his eyes to the ground lamely.

"Sorry."

He really hoped this guy could take a joke. He just got off the ground and didn't want to be thrown back down onto it.

He really was. For what exactly, he wasn't sure, but apologies always spilled from your lips in these kind of situations, regardless of whether you did something or not.

He broke off into an awkward laugh, shrugging as he struggled to meet the mans gaze. "I'm the only one I know who has such stylish hair like this so I don't know what would seem familiar to you."

"Whatever." The Goth finally said, shaking his head. "Judging by what just happened I can tell you're not from around here. You a tourist or something kid?"

Abbacchio folded his arms, looking him up and down again, making him painfully aware of more sweat beading on his neck.

This man was so hard to read to Josuke, kind of like his nephew in that way, he had no idea what the hell he was thinking.

"Oh sure am!" Josuke smiled brightly, a little more at ease. This guy was making some small talk with him, which was usually a step in a good direction.

A direction where he hoped he wouldn't get beat up and almost mugged again...

"I'm kinda on a vacation. I got some money and decided I wanted to see the world..." He rocked on his heels a little, studying the man before him just as much as he was him. "You live around here?"

"You could say that..." Abbacchio hummed, glancing back towards the street. "I don't exactly have a home but I live here."

"Oh!" Josuke had to refrain himself from covering his mouth after letting out that noise in surprise. He averted his gaze, absentmindedly scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh." He said, much softer this time, feeling very awkward. If only he had the ability to make the ground swallow him up. "I'm sorry...."

Leone offered no response.

"Do you like... have a place to sleep at least? Like at nights?"

"Yeah. I tend to move around a lot though." He answered vaguely. Best to keep all that extra information to himself. This brat didn't need to know the ins and outs of his life.

He nodded this time, because he did. He mostly slept at Bucciarati's house, whether upstairs in one of the guestrooms or on the mans couch downstairs.

Sometimes when out on missions, whether alone or with the others, he checked into a hotel (sometimes a Motel) and stayed there.

Other times he slept in the back of a van while on the road to or from said missions.

At least he wasn't drinking himself to death somewhere in the gutter anymore...

He turned his gaze back to Josuke who seemed a little more at ease hearing his words. He narrowed his eyes, "You're not.... in the Famiglia? Are you?"

Josuke blinked a few times. The.... what?

"Fam-eel-e-ah?"

That alone answered his question.

Who the hell other than a Mafioso sported a fucking pompadour?!

Raising one pointed eyebrow, he looked the kid over again. He never would've guessed he wasn't associated because he certainly dressed like a Mafioso.

What with that black coat adorned with those shiny golden hearts, not to mention the peace sign and the anchor as well, and that hair...

This twerp apparently...

Abbacchio huffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Nevermind. Just... watch yourself Kid. More importantly, watch your wallet."

Oh Christ! His wallet! He might've dropped it in that scuffle! Those bastards might've took it!

Josuke panicked, hands instinctively slapping his pockets in a frantic search. Ah! It was there! As soon as his hand found the bulge in his pocket, he let out a breath as relief washed over him like a warm tidalwave on the beach.

"Oh- yeah, yeah... of course." He breathed. "Th-Thanks for reminding me-" here he paused, his pale blue eyes blinking. "I never... got your name."

To his own surprise, Abbacchio complied.

"Abbacchio." He said. "Leone Abbacchio."

"Abbacchio..." Josuke tested the name out, bobbing his head as he idly scratched his chin. "Ha! Cool name. I'm Josuke Higashikata, I actually come from Japan."

The dawny eyed mans frown deepened as he contemplated telling him that his last name literally just meant "lambchop", a far cry from "cool" if you asked him, but he thought better of it.

Yeah. There was no way in Hell Abbacchio was going to try and take a crack at repeating that last name. He'd be there all day.

Just "Josuke" would have to do.

"Japan, huh?" He said aloud, more to himself than Josuke, stroking his chin in thought. "I hear the streets are much nicer there..."

The events of the past couple of months suddenly came flooding back all at once to Josuke. How he and his friends had been attacked left and right, going against all odds, all on a search to hunt down their towns serial killer.

The blaring siren of that Ambulance still haunted him in his sleep and he woke up in a cold sweat each time there came the sound of a head being popped each time it replayed in his head.

He laughed a little, forcing a smile on his face as a hand swept through his hair. "Yeah... you could say that."

Now desperate to change the subject, he decided to steer the conversation to something much lighter. Something that didn't make him remember a massacre.

Or a hand-fetishing serial killer getting his head squashed like a grape.

"You've... got quite the fashion sense." He commented, pointing to the mans open coat lined with laces and purple lipstick maybe a little rudely. "I like your eyeliner."

Leone hardly batted an eye (a well lined eye at that) at his words. If anything, he was surprised the kid didn't outright say anything like "ARE YOU A GOTH?!"

He was quite used to that one, even if the answer was yes it was still irritating.

Besides... that one little girl on the bus that time told him he looked pretty. And that was enough for him.

Or there was always the "Why are you wearing makeup? You're a MAN!"

Now that one always made him fucking furious. Just because he was "a man" didn't make any damn difference. Makeup was to make you look good so it was for everyone.

"Thanks." He huffed. Though his voice hadn't lost any of that gruffness, he truly was thankful for a genuine compliment. "I like your coat."

He wasn't quite like Koichi however. The silver haired teenager thst only came up to his hip wore his heart on his sleeve everywhere he went.

Josuke, very unlike Abbacchio who seemed indifferent to it all, blushed at the praise. His friends always told him he was very expressive and that was true.

When he was happy he walked with bounce in his step, when he was sad it all came out in tears and when he was angry... oh... he was told the sight wasn't very pretty.

"Ah, thanks. It's my school uniform, I really like it."

Here Abbacchios eyebrows shot right up, a frown twinging at the corners of his mouth. A school uniform? This kid must have been living some kind of high life, or maybe at least went to a pretty decent school, if this was just a plain old uniform.

He pursed his lips, the punk kind of reminded him of a stand-user. He had a hunch.

"I see..." he hummed, folding his arms across his chest. "You really are still just a kid then."

Bucciarati often said that stand-users (natural or otherwise) tended to gravitate towards one another. Like "strings of fate" or some cliché sounding shit.

But maybe it was possible. This kid wasn't a Mafioso... but he could very well have powers.

Like lightning striking, Josukes expression changed again. His eyebrows went together and his lips into a sort of a pout.

"I'm 16." He told the man, trying to sound as rough and tough at least as half as this stranger was (Abbacchio quirked an eyebrow, looking completely unfazed at his attempt however, probably because he just watched him get beat up). "Besides. I think I'm pretty mature..."

"I won't call you a kid if you don't call me an old man. Deal?"

This kid was starting to kinda sound like Mista. However if the punk started spewing shit about how the number 4 was unlucky, he would get as far away as possible.

He half chuckled (it was more of an exhale), coloured lips quirking somewhat into a smirk.

Josuke shrugged, uncrossing his arms as his lips pulled into a smirk of their own, cocking an eyebrow at the other.

"Hmm, depends. How old are you?" He questioned, almost playfully. The man must have been at least approaching his 30's but he wasn't sure.

"Well into my 20's." Abbacchio grunted, keeping his exact age number vague to the young teen. "But I've seen more shit than other people do in a lifetime."

For all he know he really could be an old man. He had white hair after all and certainly had the gruffness of an older man.

Maybe he was hiding some wrinkles under that makeup or something?

Only in his 20's? Jeeze... he believed that last part. Most especially when the dawny eyes suddenly locked onto his, staring at him with all seriousness.

"Listen to me, I don't really care what the Hell you do, but when you get out of school... stay away from the bad stuff. You hear me?"

Josuke swallowed, his mouth now felt way too dry, and he nodded to the man almost knowingly. He had been through some bads too... however, he couldn't help but wonder how much similarities there were between him and Abbacchio.

Leone huffed quietly, giving the kid one more solemn nod, before turning on his heel and quietly going on his way down the alley, out towards the street.

The teenager watched him go, feeling painfully out of place all of a sudden, like a puzzle piece that had been jammed into the wrong spot.

"Uh- hey!"

He didn't even realize that he had called out until Abbacchio halted in his tracks, turning to look at him with a deep frown.

Josuke fidgeted on the spot, stuffing his hands in his pockets to avoid fumbling with them out in the open and look somewhat composed under the older mans stare.

Once again, Leone Abbacchio found himself feeling surprised.

"Uhh..." he cleared his throat, trying to focus his thoughts clear enough to speak without stuttering.

"This might sound kinda weird but -uh... you wanna... like grab a coffee or something?" He smiled sheepishly at the man whose expression didn't change. "I mean, you just kinda saved my skin back there and you seem pretty cool. I don't have anybody traveling with me and... we could like... talk more? Ah- only if you don't mind!"

Ah, fuck it. He had already gone out of his way.

Normally when he was out and about and people were forced to interact with him in any way, shape or form, they tended to want to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.

Hell, he had people practically jump out of his way sometimes when he was just walking down the street.

Plus, he was getting hungry.

He nodded to Josuke.

Josuke was now jogging up to him, the man swore he saw stars in the teens eyes to match his bright smile.

Tonio definitely didn't tell him that part about Italy...

He wasn't even sure if he had even been that long here in Italy.

Josuke did his best to keep up, Abbacchios steps were long and deliberate making him quite fast for a man who was just taking a stroll, keeping just a little behind him to avoid bumping shoulders with the people on the streets.

Abbacchio started down the alley again, waving him to follow.

"Comrades, huh?" He laughed a little. "What? You in a gang or something?"

It was meant to be a joke. Something to get his newest companion to roll his eyes and give a half-hearted chuckle. Josuke felt his stomach become as heavy as a brick when Abbacchio swiveled his head to look at him, his white hair flinging slightly over his shoulder as he stared him in the face.

The teen wondered briefly if his new ally would suddenly beat him up like those dealers tried to do and he gulped, preparing to turn tail and run as fast as he could down the street.

The former policeman frowned deeply. Did this stronzo know nothing about the mean Italian streets? The Mafia? Of fucking course he was in a Gang, did he think he was just a streetwalking freak that kicked the shit out of druggies and junkies alike for fun?

Abbacchio leaned closer, his expression radiating all seriousness.

"S-Sorry..." he muttered somewhat lamely, his voice so quiet Abbacchio probably wouldn't have heard him if he weren't so close.

Any idiot would know the true meaning to that answer and Josuke didn't consider himself an idiot.

The man grunted in response and simply kept walking, no more was said as Josuke continued to followed him down the street to this supposed spot.

On the bright side of things... he now reminded him even more of his nephew Jotaro.

Even if it wasn't in a good way...

More importantly, he was finally going to get something to eat.

[hilllsnholland]

Bucket List - 1

Pairing: College!Tom x Deaf Reader 

W.c: 3k 

Warnings: drinking, slurs, asshole frat boys 

Tom has no idea what he wants to do with his life. He’s stuck in the suburban town of Creekview with Harrison and two idiots friends. No passion, no drive, nothing but a beer by the poolside. Until he meets Y/N, the Deaf rebel who has a bucket list she needs to complete by the end of the summer. The two come together to make their last summer of freedom the best Creekview has ever seen. What could possibly go wrong? Or more so, what could possibly go right? 

Disclaimer: I am HoH/Deaf so this is completely written from my perspective and experiences within the Deaf community. If you have any comment or questions then you are more than welcome to message me :) 

____

College parties were suppose to be fun. There’s music, drinking, girls half naked, and endless possibilities of how the night would end. Maybe in bed with the hottie from Psychology, maybe in the back of a police car. Tom though? He saw this night going as well as the Bubonic Plague. Tom sat at the corner of the party, his eyes drawn down to the fifth beer since he arrived hours ago. His head thumped with the music, the terrible music he’d hear sitting in the back of Brant’s and Ty’s car. It was plain and he was sick of the life he had been living, which is why he was hiding from everybody.

But he assumed it was his own fault. Tom did decide to move to California with Harrison, away from his family, and to live in this shithole of Creekview. It was a small college town, mainly suburban and privileged kids from around the Bay that have pockets full of Daddy’s money. Although Tom knew that feeling, it was not his scene. He hated the fakery and plastic people he saw every day. The guys in town were douchey, unaware to anything but molly and Bay Area rap. The girls were shallow, counting down days to Coachella and photoshopping their Instagram pictures for people they haven’t seen since high school. It was a far cry from London. It was odd and he didn’t like it. But he dug his grave and he was going to sit in it.

Harrison met eyes with Tom from across the party, he had a drink in his hand and several glow stick bracelets that lined up his forearm. Tom was pretty sure that Haz gave Lauren J, the host of the party, the idea for the neon theme. Tom wore a white shirt that had neon paint splatter on it, the black lights around the party illuminated the colors which made hiding almost impossible. Harrison motioned a thumbs and Tom nodded, ducking behind the back bar again. It wasn’t Harrison so much he was hiding from, but their two knucklehead friends, Brant and Ty.

Brant was going to school on a football scholarship and he fit the mold pretty well. Big and stupid. He was one dimensional and was too focused on hooking up with everyone in Lauren J’s sorority to even notice that Tom had left the group. Ty, however, was tolerable in some doses. He was a pothead who kept his vape on his lips on all time. He was another idiot, but at least Tom could take his presence longer than fifteen minutes.

“Enjoying yourself, my beautiful Brit.” Lauren J mused from behind him.

Tom jumped slightly, knocking the beer to the floor while LJ laughed. She was a pretty girl, head of the Kappa Kappa Sigma sorority, with long brown hair and makeup that was too perfect to falter. She was wearing a neon pink bralette with a pair of black shorts, her hair had neon ribbon entwined with it. LJ turned to Tom with her glowing teeth and began talking like they’ve been friends for years. Tom had met Lauren J in English the semester before and she had made it her mission to become his friend. At first, Tom thought she was trying to hook up, but it became clear that LJ was just the kind of girl who wanted more friends to count.

“Sure. just keep Brant away and I’ll be fine.” Tom groaned as he picked up the empty bottle from the floor.

“Won’t be a problem. He’s trying to hook up with Lauren H right now. He also convinced Ty to say the ‘N Word’ so now Ty is beaten up behind the dumpsters.” LJ shook her head and finished off her red solo cup.

“Perfect, just what I wanted to be associated with,”

Tom pulled the collar of his shirt into his mouth and gnawed on the cotton fabric. He was drunk and angry, those two don’t mix well. The last thing he needed was a bunch of frat boys coming after him because of something his ‘friends’ did. Brant and Ty would never figure it out. Life is not a playground. Tom knew that which is why he didn’t fuck around like they did. LJ placed a small hand on his back and made a pop with her lips.

“Did you decide on your major?” She asked which made Tom shutter.

“No, I have until August 2nd.”

“It’s June. You need to figure it out before classes fill up.”

Tom brushed her off like he did with his parents, brother’s, and Harrison. He had been undecided since he started two years ago and time had come to finally make a decision. Creekview State didn’t allow students to continue past two years unless they had their major set up. His parents had been badgering him for a year to make a choice, Harrison had told him to pick the easiest one, while his brother’s told him to drop out. Easy for them though, Harry had a paid internship with a nature magazine for photography while Sam was going to trade school for carpeting. They had their lives figured out. Tom though, he was lost.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll probably do Psychology, maybe accounting. If all else fails I’ll become a male stripper.”

“I’d pay for that,”

Tom and LJ look at each other and laugh. She brightened a room with her cheeky humor, it reminded Tom of home. LJ winks at Tom before escaping back into the dancefloor of hundreds of drunk college students covered in neon paint. Tom narrowed through the crowd to see any signs of Brant. He spotted Lauren H, only decorated in a neon green bikini, sitting on Brant’s lap, making out like their life depended on it. Tom rolled his eyes and decided another beer would make the sight leave his brain. He had a whole summer ahead of him, better start drinking now.

Tom weaved through the crowd to the functional bar that Harrison was standing at. The two stood next to each other, stealing knowing glances about how the party was going. Tom looked to his best friend, seeing the bright pink lipstick print that covered his neck. Strangely sharing the same shade LJ was wearing. Tom didn’t comment on it though, he knew Harrison and Lauren had a thing. What thing though? He’d never know. It wasn’t his business even if he thought the two were a match made in heaven.

“Did you see Ty get his ass handed to him?” Harrison said lowly against the brim of his beer.

“No, LJ told me about it though. Who beat him up?”

“Kevin McNamara-”

“President of the Black Student Union? I love karma.” Tom smiled for once, enjoying the rightful punishment to an idiot like Ty.

That was the epitome of Brant and Ty. Brant knew he could convince Ty to do whatever he wanted. He probably sent Ty straight to Kevin just to see a good ass-kicking. Tom shrugged away guilt though, he was not a part of it and he wouldn’t mention it to them either. If Brant scored anything with Lauren H, he’d probably forget about the whole incident anyways. Tom looked out into the crowd of dancing drunks and leaned against the bar.

“I’m a better dancer right?” Tom asks which gains a chuckle from Haz.

“Definitely hotshot. Why aren’t you out there?” Harrison places his cup on the counter and turns his full attention to his friend. “When have you been the hiding type?”

“You’re right, I’m not. I’m just not in the mood to dance.”

Harrison exhales through his nostrils and shrugs. He knows Tom would never give up the opportunity to show off his moves. Why else would he have taken dance classes for half his life? Why else would he practice in his room late at night? Tom never missed an opportunity and Harrison could read him. Tom was stressed and the only way to get him out of his slump would be to challenge him.

“Not in the mood? Not even for $100?”

Tom slams the bottle on the bar and gives his best mate a sly smirk.

“What’s the wager div?”

Harrison knows him too well. Put money on the table and Tom will take it in an instant. It’s for pride and to have extra money to spend on ramen and boba. The blond boy looks into the crowd and shrugs at the first idea that pops into his head.

“Get a random girl to dance with you. No cheating either, we know all the same ones so you can’t fuck around.”

Tom snorts at the lazy attempt at a challenge. Although he knows this is Haz’s attempt to get him to lighten up, he’ll go along with it. He needs the extra cash. Tom runs his hands through his hair to get the sexy unkempt look going and prowls around the dancefloor. He looks around for an easy target, a girl he’s seen around but never talked too. Still sober-ish and with a few friends so he doesn’t come off predatory. Tom searches until he finds one girl in a group, he makes his way through the crowd until something bumps into him. He stumbles, grabbing the shoulders of the person he hit and stops them from falling.

“Oops!” The girl exclaims loudly so Tom can hear over the music.

Tom goes to say ‘no problem’ but he looks at the girl and his brain shuts off. The girl has bright pink hair and an alluring stare. She looks at Tom, smiles and rushes back to her friend that she was dancing with. Tom has completely forgotten about the wager, his mission is to dance with whoever that was. Tom blinks to get back to reality before spinning around to find the girl. She’s not too hard to find, she had neon paint all over her and the pink really draws him to her. The girl is focused on dancing, her movements erratic as she moves to the EDM song. Her friend is doing the same, moving her hands wildly to the pink girl.

Tom approaches them and opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. His throat is dry and his brain seised to work because all he can think of is her. The girl looks at him, smirks, then holds out a hand for him to grab. Tom can’t believe it, she’s asking him to dance with her? Tom grabs her hand and follows her lead through the rhythm. They’re standing extremely close to the speaker so the music is thumping through his body with ever bass hit. Tom reaches the last brain cell he has to pull out the moves he’s practiced millions of times before. The girls seem impressed by his moves, laughing while they look to each other while dancing. The pink girl grabs Tom’s shoulders, moving against his body, dipping down and up to meet his stare. Tom in entranced by her and the glossy look of her lips.

“I’m Tom, by the way.” He says to her but she looks at him in confusion.

He repeats himself louder but the girl shakes her head at him. Tom has already won the money from Harrison and now his objective is the girl. He wants to know her name, he wants to talk to her. Hear her voice. The way she dances is magical, she must have more to enchant him with. Tom moves his hands to her waist and motions over to the quiet corner he was in before. The girl looks to her friend who’s motioning wildly at her. The pink girl looks back at Tom and nods in approval. He takes her over to the quiet corner with a new sense of jitters in his body. He didn’t feel this way on the dancefloor, no. This was something he now has because they’re alone. Music farther away so now he can talk but there’s a ball in his throat. The girl looks to him, licking her lips seductively. Tom can’t keep his eyes off of her.

“I’m-I’m Tom.” He runs his hands through his hair nervously.

“Y/N.” She replies. “I’m Y/N.”

Tom laughs for some reason that he’s not even sure of. Y/N, he could say that name a thousand times and he wouldn’t get tired of it. He’s never felt such a burning need before in his life. He doesn’t know if its the messily dyed pink hair, or the way she looks at him with those beautiful eyes. Y/N smiles, crinkling the neon blue paint she has on her face as it flakes off.

“This may sound crazy but like you’re...amazing? Yeah that’s crazy we just met, only danced, and this is the only conversation we’ve ever had. I’m sorry, I’m going off but-”

Y/N grabs the sides of his face to make him look at her. While Tom was rambling he was moving every which way to not make eye contact but now he had to. He had to look into those dreamy eyes and watch her part her enticing lips. Y/N kept her hands on each side of his face while staring at him. Tom thought he saw her begging for something, needing something. He moves his lips to say more but all he wants is to feel her lips on his. So he did just that.

Tom closed that gap without thinking of any consequences. All he needed to know was how she tasted like, which was vanilla, and the feeling of her lips, which was silk. Y/N froze at first but then melted into his touch. Her arms were thrown around his neck lazily while she leaned in to deepen the kiss. Tom felt on top of the world. He felt undeniably powerful. The world had evaporated away and the only thing on his mind was how easily she fit in his arms like a puzzle piece. Tom pulls away slowly, enjoying the last bit of heaven he could get out of her lips. The two look at each other, awestricken by their decisions.

“That was-”

“I’m Deaf.”

“What?”

“I’m Deaf. D-E-A-F.”

Tom blinked at her, totally lost in what the hell just happened. Y/N looks at him with red peering through the neon paint that splattered on her face. Tom furrows his brows and then becomes petrified. He took a leap of faith and realized that he fell right into a ditch. The alcohol was hitting him hard because now he was dizzy. He felt like throwing up and wanted to run into the nearest bush and barf.

“You didn’t want me to kiss you...you were just trying to read my lips.”

“No! Yes! Well….” Y/N stutters while moving her hands. “T-O-M.” She spells while saying his name.

“Yes,” He looks at her while his cheeks burn red.

“I...uh well I-”

Suddenly a hand grabs Y/N’s shoulder, whipping her around to look at who was grabbing her attention. It was her friend from before, an Indian girl with neon paint scattered around her body. Tom teeters on his heels while the two sign to each other angrily. Y/N slams her hands at her side and turns back to Tom with annoyance radiating off of her.

“Tom, I’ll see you again. Promise.”

Y/N holds his hand out flat while she kisses her thumb and places it into his palm. Tom can’t tell if he’s too drunk to understand or if this is a sign he obviously doesn’t know but it makes him feel warm inside. Before Tom can come up with a coherent reply she’s gone. Her pink hair disappears into the crowd while her friend drags her away. Tom staggers over to an open couch, throwing himself onto it and groaning as loud as possible. What he did was stupid, right? Kissing her was dumb? But it felt so good. It felt like a fucking Disney movie and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“Well you really put on a show,” Harrison’s voice snaps him from his thoughts while a hundred dollar bill lands on Tom’s lap

“Shut. Up.”

Tom rolls his head onto the back of the couch while he rubs his temple to ease the forming migraine. Was it his six beers or the fact he let Y/N walk out without knowing her phone number? Did she even have a phone? Do Deaf people have phones? Tom had a million questions running through his mind and none of them had answers. The only person who could help him was Y/N, and she was gone.

“You look like trash. What did she say to you?”

“She told me she was Deaf,” Harrison’s face contorts into confusion. “I kissed her Harrison.”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

“No, I kissed her and I want her to come back. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

For a brief second the noise of the party is just humming in the back of Tom’s head. His lips are pursed together and his mind can only think of her. Thinking of the neon paint that decorated her skin, the way her eyes watched him speak, and especially how her lips felt like that. He didn’t know what that was, but it was comparable to every Christmas morning. It made Tom come alive for the first time since he arrived in Creekview.

“Maybe, just maybe, this is the only thing right with you,” Harrison states as his beer cup hits the couch.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Harrison replies with a dry laugh. “Sit on it tonight.”

Tom tilts his head so he can watch his best friend disappear into the crowd. Harrison’s blonde hair and neon body melts into the crowd of shifting bodies and the void is now clear. Tom tries to sit up but the alcohol is filling the back of his throat. He knows if he gets up his guts will be spilled onto the grass. Through that drunken haze though he is able to hang on to the thought of Y/N. He brings his hands to his face and tries to replicate what she did earlier. T-O-M. His name. Simple, but on her fingers, it looked like a masterpiece. His could never compare to that. Nothing in his life leading up to that moment with Y/N could ever compare to that.

///

///

Taglist: 

@screeching-student-unknown / @nyctophilicstyles /  @captainbuckyy / @vintage-moonlight / @breadbudzo / @h-natale / @originalpinkpowerranger / @happywolves81 / @drunkgreek / @iamnida95 / @sydthekidsloth / @starksparker / @spiderboytotherescue / @laureharrier

[stanskzseungmin]

Operation Miroh| Stray Kids Mafia! AU ~ Chapter 4

You stirred in your sleep. You felt a lingering pain in your shoulder from where you’ve been shot. You wince as you attempt to move your shoulder. You cracked open your eyes a bit...only to be eye to eye with another pair of eyes. You let out a loud shriek and Hyunjin stood up straight. The temple of his glasses were hanging from his lips. His lips were formed into a frown, his eyes were hooded and his eyebrows furrowed. You sighed as you rolled over on your back after seeing his face. His eyebrow quirked up as your pupils looked away. You can hear his voice in your head going, “Well?” You can hear, heck you can feel his disappointment. You were supposed to rest, yet you charged in head first into another mission AND getting injured to top it off. 

Oh.

Woojin.

You felt Hyunjin’s disappointment, you can only imagine Woojin’s disappointment. 

“Woojin!” You shot up. Pain flared up throughout your body as you collapse back down wincing as you reach for your injured shoulder.

You looked at him expectantly for an answer. Hyunjin still looked at you in disappointment.

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” you sat up slowly as Hyunjin turned around and pulled out a syringe, his miracle anti pain and rapid healing concoction. Hyunjin can’t be bothered to actually lecture every single Stray Kids member whenever they get injured, so he waits until they awake due to the pain before relieving them of it in place of a lecture.

“Please, Jinnie. I’m so close,” you breathed out as Hyunjin glanced at you briefly before pulling back your bandages a bit to inject in his magic liquid into the bullet wound. Your shoulder tingled slightly as you watched the wound close slowly but surely. You reach up to caress your fingers down his jaw. “Please.”

He sighed as his gloved hand grasped your own. His black gloved fingers caress your smaller ones as he pressed a small kiss to your fingertips. He turns away and stood before his screens.

You slid off your cot and walked past him. You entered the long hallways as rush back to Chan’s office. You hesitated in front of a closed door. You turned to face it. Your heart was beating in your chest as your fingers trail over the grey painted wood. Woojin’s room.

~Voting Opportunity~ Do you want to talk to Woojin?

Reluctantly, you turned away and trotted down the hallway towards Chan’s room.

“CHAN!” you burst into his room, his door swung forward rapidly harshly coming into contact with the wall. From a few doors down, you could hear a soft chorus of groaning from Seungmin and Jisung. 

Chan visibly flinched from your loud voice and harsh impact as he swung around in his chair to face you.

“Pleas-” you started.

“You don’t have to explain. Woojin already gave the briefing,” Chan interrupted, smiling softly in pity.

“W-wait. No. Channie...” you started, feeling your heart sink down in your chest as you fought back tears.

Chan looked up to you briefly, opening his mouth seeing your tears.

“I need to go back,” you breathed out. “I was so close.”

“I don’t think-” 

“No. We’re close I know it. The people. They aren’t being kidnapped. The bakery-”

“You didn’t find anything,” Chan reminded.

“Exactly. They aren’t being taken, they left willingly,” you explained.

“You’re grasping,” Chan turned away slouching back over his laptop.

“Chris,” Chan flinched upon hearing his English name. “The baker was last seen in her bakery. She’s gone without a trace, but no sign of a struggle.”

“...”

“No signs of a runaway,” you finished, hoping Chan would connect the dots. 

“Tonight, please. Let me go back,”

“In the morning, when the weather is nice,” Chan gave in.

“Thank you,” you rushed forward wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling his back into your chest. You nestled your cheek into his blond curls. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.” 

Chan gripped your hand softly.

~

You walked out, closing the door to Chan’s room quietly behind you. You jumped once you saw Jisung who magically appeared in the hallway before you. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.

“You should’ve picked me,” Jisung stated.

You scoffed, looking down to the floor in defeat. Jisung strolled over to you and pulled you into his embrace. You leaned your head into his shoulder. He swayed you side to side softly and he ran his fingers through your scalp.

“Tell me what you’ve found,” Jisung whispered. “Tell me, baby.”

You shoved him back causing him to collide with the wall. He chuckled softly at your reaction. 

“Come on, we’ll check out District 9. Maybe, just maybe someone will show up,” Jisung offered.

~ 

The sun was barely setting. The night sky slowly took over the brilliant oranges and red. District 9 was a shady place. It’s cold, dark and lonely, but hey, it’s home. Without the knowledge of District 9 and its location and existence, this little patch of territory looked to be abandoned littered with several destroyed and worn down buildings at first glance. 

Jisung was donning his signature white porcelain squirrel mask. In a squirrel like fashion, he climbed up the broken and worn walls. Like a squirrel, he walked on his hands and feet. One hand after another, one foot after another. As ridiculous as it looks, it works as a taunt and Jisung is exceptionally great at taunting and pushing buttons.

District 9 held several hidden secrets, not even you know every single one. You doubted even any of the Stray Kids members knew of them all. Perhaps Chan, but his mind was a mystery of its own. Was a building a safe house, a secret base, a storage or just plain up an abandoned and destroyed building?? There used to be so much light in this area, so much chatter and voices. But now, there are so many voices that would no longer make a sound. Not even the sounds of buildings settling can penetrate through the dense silence. 

Something about the air felt heavy, so little activity, but it feels like so much activity. The paranormal doesn’t exist, just lingering memories of the life before, before everything fell apart. We were going backwards in time. The world used to be industrious, making huge human innovations, leaving their marks in history. Now the world has collapsed back to the days where electricity were but a dream. Electricity became a luxury where not even the rich can afford, the people lived under candle light and heated water.

Money was worth so much yet so little. In the mafia and gang underground, money was power. However, in the over world with the people, money was a rarity.

You casually strolled down the wide open streets, the sounds of your boots seemed to echo loudly against brick street. There was hardly a breeze, but memories of the previous life seemed to echo in your ears, you can almost hear the breeze and the soft night time chatter. In the corner of your eye, you see Jisung jumping from roof to roof, rubble to rubble in an animalistic fashion, he was always on all fours. A squirrel of all animals, you never thought of the small furry animal to be terrifying or animalistic. After all, Woojin was known in the underground as the bear, a bear. 

A squirrel. You scoffed.

You watched Jisung take a bigger bite than he could chew. He attempted a leap that looked wayyy too far to a building diagonally from him. He landed on the weak rubble of a wall on his hands with the wall breaking under his feet. His feet scrambled on the weak surface trying to find purchase as his metal claws dug into the brick wall as he slowed to a stop. You watched him pull himself up until he was crouched upon the ledge with his back towards you.

Jisung had requested (rather threatened) Hyunjin to fashion him some metal claws to finish off his squirrel aesthetic. To which Hyunjin agreed just to dump the workload onto Seungmin, bless his soul, for he almost broke Hyunjin’s nose for dumping it on him and then proceeded to almost breaking Jisung’s nose because of the stupid request (but Chan interfered). (No) thanks to Hyunjin, Seungmin had specifically designed and engineered metal claws that acted like an extension of Jisung’s fingers. The metal rings surround each individual finger snuggly but without cutting off blood circulation or limiting mobility as it ends into a slight curvature. Because of this accessory, Jisung was able to climb surfaces as well as an actual squirrel can.

You almost mocked him for the over glorified metal manicure to get a matching pedicure because climbing is more than just fingertips, you need feet purchases as well to Hyunjin and Seungmin’s dismay. If looks could kill, you would be dead long ago. Heaven forbid, Hyunjin and Seungmin to work with Jisung’s feet to fashion the little shit metal claws for his toes.

You ducked into said abandoned building and knocked twice on the wall. You paused momentarily and knocked once. Two knocks echoed back in response. There were people within the hidden safe house, but no one new. There was an unspoken rule that the people that Stray Kids safe guarded follow. Once Stray Kids knocks, you always answer. If there was any newcomers, they were to emerge with the acting leader of that particular safehouse. Other than that, the people should never emerge because even though District 9 was Stray Kids territory, the abandoned buildings hid many dangers. The dangers include traps by Stray Kids, traps by the enemy, or the enemies themselves. You looked up at the wall, you see the shadow of Jisung’s crouched figure illuminated by the moonlight.

You smirked.

“I know what happened.”

“Explain please,” Jisung’s voice broke through the silence. 

“Tomorrow.”

Jisung groaned.

~

Two Voting Opportunities

Do you want to speak to Kim Woojin?

Yes or No

Who do you want to bring for your next mission?

Kim Woojin (Light Injury//Will not be available until 3 members have gone)

Bang Chan

Lee Know | Lee Minho

Seo Changbin

Hwang Hyunjin

Han | Han Jisung

Lee Felix

Kim Seungmin

I.N | Yang Jeongin

I hope you find the context clues for the next mission, remember it follows this format.

Mission Briefing

Location: 

Weather: 

Date: 

Time of Day: 

Mission Objective: 

Partner: 

~Masterlist~

[animelover293]

A Slimy Halloween

Part one Word count: 1506

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“Sun please! I need a plus one for the party!” 

I whined, holding the invitation up to his face. It was a normal white envelope that I had previously tore open before bombarding my quiet yellow haired friend. The envelope held two black pieces of cardstock with white writing and hidden on the back was the address that could only be seen by a black light. The party was invite only and one of the biggest parties of the season thrown by an upperclassman of the hero course at U.A. I was given this envelope and the option to bring a friend to the party and Sun was my first option since we have been going out for Halloween for years and now that we finally have something better to do than parade around town he wants to ditch to stay home and hand out candy. 

He gave me a plain shrug, continuing on his way to the lunchroom to eat. I didn’t know what else to do or who to bring so I just stood in the middle of the hall. That’s when the idea hit me, more or less bumped into me. I tall male with gravity defying hair walked right past me.

“Toshi! You have no idea how happy I am to see you today!”

He turned around and looked down at me with his tired purple eyes. He smiled and and his gaze softened.

“Hey Minnie. Why so happy to see me today?” he spoke in his normal drowsy voice.

I shyly held up the envelope of invitations to him. As I did, a small blush flushed my cheeks and I looked down at the tile floor of the school’s hallway to hide my flustered expression. He took the envelopes from me and started reading over the black cardstock invitation.  After a long moment of silence I looked back up at him as his eyes were fully concentrated on the card in his hand.

“So what do think?” I asked chewing on my bottom lip in anticipation.

“I think it sound’s fun, but shouldn’t you invite someone from the Hero Course?”

“Well I was thinking about it, but almost the whole class got an invite. Including one of my other friends. So you and Sun are the only other two friends I got.” I said scratching my cheek as I started rambling on quickly. “But Sun said he didn’t want to go, so I’m counting on you Toshi!”

“Okay. Calm down and let me think about it. You want me to go out for a party that the upperclassmen of the Hero Course is throwing? And you want me to dress up?”

“Well yeah, I’m going as a witch and I wanted someone to go with me dressed for like a couple costume, since you know ...we are well together now,” I scuffed the floor beneath my shoe as avoided eye contact with the tall purple haired male in front of me.

“I’ll think about it and get back to you before the end of the day today,” He handed me back the envelope and turned around. “Would you like to walk with me to the lunchroom or just stand there all day looking stupid?” He held his hand out for me to grab.

I smiled and ran up to his side, my hand finding its way to his. His hand was significantly bigger than mine, a bit calloused, and he’s been getting a lot more muscle on his body. I’m proud of him working more towards his dream of being a hero, but his eyebags are getting significantly darker.

We walked hand in hand to the lunchroom, leisurely making our way to the lunch line. We weren’t in much of a hurry since i was more or less on edge about the coming up pop quiz in english. Mic always had a quiz set on the fourth day of the second week of the month. So after I caught on to the pattern after the fifth time. I would skip lunch but I had already skipped breakfast since I woke up late, again. Hitoshi must have noticed this since he moved me in front of him in the line. He placed his hand on my shoulders, leaning down to speak into my ear.

“What’s wrong kitten?” He moved my hair to speak into my ear.

“Just stress and excitement, uncertainty maybe?” I shrugged a little, walking forward in line as it started moving.

“Well you know you can do well, just don’t think about it until it happens.” He spoke nonchalantly.

“I mean I should know what to do since well, English is my first language, but it’s just the stress of having to show what I know on paper than being in the field. You know I’m more of a hands on kind of girl.” I started twiddling my index fingers as I looked down.

“Just get some food, then we’ll go sit down and annoy sun as much as you can,” He said, trying to sound as optimistic as his tired voice would let him.

“Yeah! I’m going to do just that!” I smiled brightly, standing up straighter and causing Hitoshi to stand up straight himself.

We both continue to stand in line, it moving faster than most days. The lunch room seemed to be a little brighter than it had been since Autumn started last month. I wonder if I should go with a longer dress since it is starting to get slightly colder at night. Maybe also stick to long sleeves since I have that scar on my shoulder. But it is small enough to go unnoticed if I put on some makeup. I decided to dismiss the thoughts for the time being and look into it further when I got home so I could talk it over with my mom and the designer that helped me with my hero costume.

When I got up in line to get my tray, I waited a few short seconds for my tired eyed boyfriend to follow me to the table where our yellow haired friend sat with his tray of food. Haruto was staring out the window as the falling leaves danced in the wind. The sky had a few clouds gathered in patches, but the sun in the sky still shone proudly.

“Hey Haruto,” Hitoshi greeted before he sat down at his normal spot at the window side table.

Haruto looked up at him, gave a simple nod of his head and went back to eating his rice.

“How have your classes been today Sun?” I asked, taking my seat beside the silent boy.

Again, a simple answer from the boy was all we received as he gave me a thumbs up.

“Sun, is there something wrong? Did I upset you in any way?” I asked, a hurt expression taking the potion of my normal cheery one.

He shook his head before lifting his right hand to me to sign “fine” to me.

“Well then if you are so fine, then why are you acting like this?” Hitoshi asked, his head resting on his propped up elbow.

Again Haruto only responded with a “fine”. I sighed, racking my brain for a way to get him to open up to me and Hitoshi.

“Haruto Hakari, you have three seconds to give me an actual answer as to why you are being such a knucklehead before I walk away and ignore you for the rest of this week,” said in an annoyed high pitched voice that was supposed to come off as threatening, but more or less made me sound like a little kid whining about a toy.

I crossed my arms over my chest as I stared down the yellow haired boy in front of me. He didn’t move or budge, just stared down at his plate.

“Going to do this the hard way hu? Fine, one,” I brought up my index finger to signify a one.

“Great now she’s counting,” Hitoshi groaned in annoyance at the scene before him.

“Two,” I said slowly, bringing up my middle finger for two.

Haruto just twitched his eye before bringing a hand to the side of my face, sending me into an illusion- a result of his quirk. 

“I didn’t want to say anything to you because of how you react to things like this, but I’m not spending Halloween with you because I was going to spend time with a guy at my place,” He began talking to me through the illusion like we used to do when we were kids.

He took his hand away from my face, freeing me from the hold of his quirk and I just smiled like an idiot.

“I hate you sometimes Sun,” I said, playfully punching his shoulder.

“Do I not get to know this secret?” Asked the tired eyed male, possibly using his brain washing quirk.

I giggled and shook my head as Haruto mimic my actions.

“Fair enough.” Hitoshi shrugged.

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This is my first story on here and it is a bit of a funny story with my favorite OC Mino! This was supposed to be up on Halloween and in one part. But that didn’t go as planed. So this is part one of two and the other one is going to be out soon. Anyway, hope you all enjoy and love Mino and Haruto (Sun) as much as I do!

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Germany to Eurovision with two total strangers turned friends overnight

First, S!sters, let me tell you how it works, hey!

I am never too sure why but German national finals just almost NEVER work in my exact favour. Granted, I have forgiven them for Roman Lob because I have had literally no other reason to hate him other than “eww he’s winning every single Unser Star für Baku show bar one he’s such an easy winner”; and maybe Michael too because my only vitriol towards him was that he’s such a great soul... but only on his non-ESC stuff? If I had anyone else at the time, it would have obviously been the energy of Xavier Darcy and his song too! But at the same time Xavier would have placed worse than Michael so I’ll assume that Michael was actually the best possible choice for Germany at the time? Sorry, voXXclub, Ryk and Ivy Quainoo fans.

But god damn Germany, you could have given us just at least SOME ounce of competitiveness this year, couldn’t you???��And you'll know exactly why do I feel this certain way about this next target of my reviewing. Meet Carlotta Truman and Laurita Spinelli that were assembled specially for the German national final (which hopefully gives you a bit of a heads-up of where are the things going) and have a song written especially for them to pretend to be something they are actually not looking like to be, without their involvement... this songwriting camp experience has turned them into S!sters. Got that? Even the exclamation point part? Good, because you'll probably never hear of neither them, nor their song "Sister", ever again. Just like it is accepted for a German entry as of lately, I suppose.

It starts off innocently enough, with the music-box-y sound, and then quickly escalates into the singing on top of a different set of instruments. If there’s one thing I can’t fault this song for, it’s the instant relatability levels this song hits you with: “I’m tired”, “I’m tired of competing”, “I’m sorry for the drama”, “I tried to steal your thunder”... if these aren’t moods. Now what does this message tie into? Of course one of the songwriters (Laurell Barker) talked about the message of it being somewhat related to women who get aggressive with one another for things and I think I remember that the choruses represent their unity or so. However, I’d like to interpret it a little differently. If I consult myself of the meaning of this song for myself, it is somewhat indeed about two sisters that find it hard to get along a LOT (e.g.: me and my sister irl), but the chorus represents that in the end of the day, they’re still sisters, therefore, they’re each other’s family parts and the “fire” burning in between of them is the sign of the by-default sisterly bond and that it can be strong. If I listen to Laurell, however (and I should because it’s HER song and HER interpretations should be official), it’s two women who probably compete for a man’s attention and get angry at each other when they either receive something from that man (”how dare you get more flowers from him than me!”) or they don’t (”it’s your fault he didn’t look at either of us today!”). At the end they’re just “tired of competing” and “tired of always losing” and secretly accept the fact that they should just get the man notice them both equally so he can hang out with two chick of one’s price, all at once. ^^

But what about how the song sounds? Well, that’s the problem. It’s just your standard average pop tune that doesn’t offer anything fun nor exciting. It uses simple instruments (guitars, music box), simple melodies (the main leitmotif progression on this song is C - E - lower B - C), even the simple stage presentation (the girls were dressed in black for this song on the NF). Simplicity is key, but for a country like Germany, they often tend to wander off into a painfully average or just plain ‘misunderstood-idea’ category. Cascada had a good tune but in a rapidly evolving Eurovision their act just looked completely uninspired - just some chick with a mediocre dress dancing on stairs with random camera shots to the backings. While the others were even more fun and intriguing (or diaspora overvoted them). Elaiza for some reason was uninteresting for most songwise, to say the least. Ann Sophie wasn't so bad but the German staging director did not get the gist that turning your ass against Europe is a no way points magnetiser, not even from the thirsty guys looking for attractive Eurowomen. Jamie-Lee was so-so but she refused to let her otaku look go away for her Eurovision performance, therefore everything looked so confusing and there was no absolute point in anything, not even in those laser trees. And Levina was... ehhhhh... and like someone said on Twitter few days ago, this was a song with no staging. It's sad to see Germany sending something cookie-cutter but it's even more awful when they send something remotely decent but their staging sucks at the end. Even the one for "Sister" is not gonna feature the spinning platform they had in the NF originally for Tel Aviv, that's a shame.

Well if there’s something I can admire the song for is that the girls kind of sound good when they do the song live? Unlike San Marino 2018 (which is also two girls only paired for a national final that never knew each other in their lives but having to pretend to be besties after winning the NF they sang on), they truly sell the thing nicely without making it out to be a mess. The spinning platform might have helped a bit more and with it being gone so is the magic I guess, but I guess the ladies might make it work some more at SOME point (at least with their singing)... Also the structuring of the song is pretty smeared out but interesting. I'd expect them to go "oOoOo SISTER! WahOoO SISTE-ER!" after the whole chorus but Carlotta and Laurita are rebels - they use it after half a full chorus, omitting the second chorus line. And they manage to somehow bring that chorus back, so they can end it with proclaiming once more that something "[shines] like city lights, torches in the skYYY". Then they go all like "don't you try to hiiiiide iiiit, dON'T YOU TRY TO HIIIIIDE IIIIIT... SISTER!" and the music box closes everything. Bookends. And its simplicity is nice enough to not bother me, and the instrument touches (again, guitar, and they even tried to make the chorus slightly majestic, with strings I suppose, and thise backings that repeat the song's leitmotif melody) are quite delightful in itself, so that it wouldn't be boring, melred out vanilla with maple syrup - instead it's a bit more 'orchestral' vanilla. It's vanilla that's at least accompanied with some vocal strenght. I do imagine playing just that "oOoOo SISTER" part alone in a background of a fancy ball, with red carpet, punch bowl, silver sparkly dresses and chandelier lights. Everything of there filmed from top view until camera pabs to someone that looks like Anne Hathaway.

In the end I actually kinda like this, and I even liked Levina to some degree 2 years ago (but wasn’t fond of Jamie Lee and Ann Sophie, the better of the average German entries). It stands its ground out more than them - it has more going on for itself without needing to sound like a ripoff of another song or an anime fangirl staging. It has some nicer things going on for itself that I could care about (like the ‘orchestrale’). I have a feeling I might not like the girls' chemistry on stage and that it won't transmit to the viewing audience’s TV screens though, but more on that on the below résumée:

Approval factor: It’s... approvable, nothing much of complete approvable, but the feeling of liking this is there, so go ahead with it Germany...

Follow-up factor: Do I need to say more on this? You know what, these last two years for Germany proved that they decided to not improve on their result, Michael Schulte was just a fluke and if the Germans were more cloudcuckoolanding on last year’s German NF, they would’ve sent that only vanilla NF song they had in there...

Big 5 factor: If (emphasis on “if”) S!sters are staged nicely - decent vocals (no voicecracks like Levina), a bit better staging, “believable” chemistry - they maaaay escape bottom 2 at best, maybe even explore some more beyond the bottom 5... if anything else fails, bottom 5 is locked. I mean, they have plenty of places to fuck up in, like, making the girls look way too fake happy at each other at the end, or just let them scream “SISTEEEER” at each other with no mutual emotions exchanged at each other. Just like Italy was feared to look like last year - two men yelling angrily/passively-aggresively at each other. So can be S!sters, but the catch is that they’re’nt the fan faves. And they’re singing in English. And barely anyone of the “locals” would care about them anyway, just like the Eurofans don’t. (Also can S!sters get better stage clothes for Eurovision? Please? That’s just my flop suggestion, idk if it will give them better points but I would dress Laurita in a white suit (white crop top, white coat, white pants, even the stilettos white). Just because... they could play ying-yang with each other. Laurita can still have red lipstick on if she wants btw)

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

Soooooo, Unser Lied für Israel. To be honest with y’all, this wasn’t a very favourable edition for me because, for one, I have never heard of any of those final NF acts. Wish they admitted Kasalla to the lineup, so then I could’ve had another clear favourite next to the first one down below that I’ll be talking about in this bonus. Second of all that... like I said, I wasn’t very hyped about this NF much unlike last year, where even some “who is she where did you find her” people tried their asses off to be appealing, and hey, a mediocre German NF filler-declared-winner did not win for once! (instead she went for judging talents in her actual home country and even danced a bit to that country NF’s winner song while it was performed as a competitor) This year, not only don’t I have an act that I would actively mourn of its NF loss, but also aside from my apparent favourite, the songs weren’t even that likeable by me. Yes, a lot of them were nice and Germany certainly upped their game, but I feel the same way I felt with Dora - only one good song, then another decent favourite that I have I guess, but that’s it. Let’s find out who won this NF for me and some other things:

• Look Germany, I found you your saviour you seemingly rejected! Well yeah fine, she didn’t do well with the international jury and S!sters did (only because the biased German juror pushed them into 1st), but let’s all agree her song would be a-bangin’. Meet Aly Ryan and her stylish synthpop tune “Wear Your Love”, complimented with a cool stage show, with projected stripes and everything! The expert jury rewarded it with 12 points rightfully, I’d say. Germany should’ve followed suit :) (also the trumpets remind me of a British NF fan flop from last year, “Legends” by Asanda. Is it just me???)

(this might as well just not matter anymore now that Aly’s management thought that it’s the best idea to block the fans that go to her DMs... granted that some artists could really use some privacy Instagram-wise, but that’s what disabling DMs is for. At least Aly still has fans though, unlike most other ULfI candidates. She should have enjoyed her attention, no? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) UPDATE: despite this people still would’ve wanted to see Aly win, and I agree. Some minor things are forgotten anyway and the artists are loved still if anything.)

• Not necessarily my favourite now but there was this cool chick going by the moniker Lilly Among Clouds. Nothing particular in her song “Surprise” sounds like there’s a happy sky with few clouds - it’s very much so a cloudy sky with a slightly dramatic storm coming out of them, complemented with Lilly’s bold vocals and the tone in her voice, and those orchestrals were something (and this song has an orchestral-based music video if anything). The song dragged in between a lot of the parts (verses felt like a passenger in a vast desert and the choruses were like a big oasis) but maybe those in-between song parts were to signify the calm before the storm, the warning before the “surpriiiiiiise”. Would have been a bold choice for Germany, this chick. Oh and I didn’t put a video down below (instead it’s linked somewhere) because I still have this screenshot on my phone. I love it.

• Besides those two, there also were two other remarkable ladies, and they they have a lot of things in common, besides their dark skin and that they’re ladies - BB Thomaz and Makeda. Two powerful ballads and two powerful vocals! Granted they were not my faves (I like 1,5 of both those songs combined though) but I admire their singingwork. It was magical. Not to mention are their songs themselves - BB Thomaz sang “Demons”, a quite personal song about overcoming one’s fears, bullying, naysayers, depression and everything like that, and also spawned this iconic line I am probably going to use on my T-shirt someday: “my demons can go and *dramatic thump* themselves!”. But I would’ve liked it more if the whole song sounded just like the verses - granted, it makes sense for her to go all showtune-y happy when she declares that her demons can go and *you know* themselves as she’s no longer dependent on them, but I found the choruses cheesy either way. Whereas Makeda, the sweet lil lovely gal, decided to go for a romantic ballad about not hating a guy after he breaks her heart. Her song “The Day I Loved You Most” is one big role model of mine now when it will come to my future relationships: I will never have to worry about the days when my non-existent future BF is a dick to me - instead I will rather cherish the good ole’ days in my heart without whining big time about our broken-off relationship! Yeah that’ll do I suppose. It was a nice ballad to me. Makeda also nailed one damn big great highnote live and that’s how I understood why International Jury and Eurovision Expert Jury loved it so much. Televote dares sink Makeda and uproot S!sters? For shame. Inb4 y’all ask me “but what about the other two?!?” - lol they’re not worth your attention. They’re just twink songs. I like one of them enough to be my 2nd of ULfI, but lbr, no one and absolutely no one, cared about them. That’s all.

• This NF started off with the hosts collectively attempting to make “You Let Me Walk Alone” sound somewhat funny? idk? and then Michael came back to save his own goddamn song out of the entrance door from the audience and right onto the stage <3 amazing. 

• Yet again, I commend the hosting of this show that has, and how much does it try to make a knock-off Eurovision, ever since last year ❤ Starting with the logo, continuing off with live commentary during the ending and the beginning of performances, including interval acts, and a sequenced voting ❤ One of the few complaints I have is that the postcards seemed waaaaay longer than each individual competing entries? I know I tl;dr with my reviews a lot here but some NF shows just get out the stories of singers' lives rather quickly and painlessly...

• ULfI decided that it'd be a good idea to outrival Festivali i Këngës in terms of ridiculously unnecessary interval acts. Yeah. There was this cowboy guy with glasses doing his own tunes, then him again on another interval act (I forgot but wasn’t his name Udo?), then Lena at some point (one of the better interval acts actually), then Michael Schulte, then this one dude from a band Revolverhed (who later voted as part of the International Jury as the German juror and... 12′d S!sters out of his The Voice mentor bias for one of his ladies. Yeah yeah, rigging...)... there were just a little too many, that’s what I’m saying.

• Now how exactly did we all know of the victory of the S!sters? Why, with voting sequences, of course! At first we have had this international jury made up of random specific people, usually giving 12s to S!sters, Makeda or some other twink. S!sters won it, then came the Eurovision panel whose votes were co-read by ... GASP! WILLIAM FROM WIWIBLOGGS!!! ;O don’t worry though he did not dun goof anything this time - the 12 from the Eurovision panel went to Aly Ryan. Sounds hopeful enough, right?? Well, hell no, as then came the televoting results, announced by Mr. Jon Ola Sand and he announced the 12 to S!sters! Oh German televoting, why did you allow yourselves to be THIS brainwashed and decline the good progress since Michael???? I will never forgive Germany for pushing S!sters this far. Putting them up together last minute and also last-minute adding them to the lineup, giving them the pimpslot, making a person who knows one of the S!sters more personally a German 'representative' of the International Jury... unacceptable.

• IDK where to find this but there was this part of the winner reprise where the blonde S!ster (that’s Carlotta) was so overwhelmed with joy that she struggled to open her song straightforwardly and instead let all the tears and laughs(???) take over her. It’s obvious this happens during all those winner reprises that the winner cannot really contain their emotions for what joyballs the victories have rendered them to, but that moment still sticks out to me. The other S!ster (Laurita) was much more collected and later on both of them carried on the right track and sang the rest of this whole thing decently!

For now I’d just wish them viel Glück in Tel Aviv and I hope that their friendship last longer than Jessika’s and Jenifer’s from last year! (probably not because like these two, S!sters are bound to flop, and separate as immediately as the unfortunately-formed class group project participants, just like Jenifer from Jessika)

[duckbunny]

There is a place in the west, near the gravelly spit of Portland and the crumbling cliffs filled with dinosaur bones, where Somerset and Dorset do not meet. There is a sign on the road whichever way one travels, that warns you are leaving the shire, and its twin, welcoming you to the next, does not appear for nearly a mile.

This is an unusual distance. The Shires of England have been expanding for centuries, their edges creeping ever closing, squeezing the old country into the narrowest gaps. Between Essex and Kent only the Thames now stands, sweeping across the clay and silt to bury itself in the Channel salt. Strange things lurk along the riverbed, driven down into the water by the trades of London, plotting their endless revenge. But here, in the west, the villagers have a little of the old blood about them still. The borders have not moved for centuries. The villagers forbid it, whatever their landlords say on the matter. Let the justices order the enclosures; the hedges and banks remain.

And so a traveller, riding at night along the high road northwest from crumbling Dorchester, lost in dreams of Roman glory, shall come to a sign of brick and fine grey Portland stone.

It says "You are now leaving Dorset", and the wisest travellers whip their horses and do not look too closely at the view.

The land falls away, on either side of that road. It is no glittering bridge such as they have in the East, where the cities forget why the borders are guarded. It is only a natural ridge, where water and time have scoured away the chalk to either side. The valley to the south is wide and singular, almost a cliff, falling away to the wide wet vale. On the north, the land lies crumpled as old laundry, village and river hidden alike by the folds of the earth.

The wise traveller whips their horses, and does not look.

On a cool day in autumn, when the hawthorn trades its leaves for berries of bloodiest red, a traveller stands upon the ridge.

He was borne in no swift carriage, nor riding the swift horses of the post-inn. He had come on the mail coach, which had left him near half a mile from the border of Somerset, unwilling to risk a halt even close to the old country. From there he had walked, along the overgrown verges, with the grass soaking his trousers to the knee and his boots slipping every minute into the deep nettle-hidden ditch. He walked, as the rising sun lit the leaves to flaming gold, to where Somerset ends, and he walked on, past the sign, into the old country.

His name is Roland, and he stood upon the road, on the ridge, and gazed down into the wrinkled land to the north.

Another man might have been gathering his courage, but Roland was only waiting.

The sun creeps up the sky, the light spreading from golden bars to a pale white blanket over the wet grass. When it rises high enough to light the valley – when the shadows are banished from both those slopes of grass - Roland sighs, once, as a man who finds to his relief that the old key opens the guessed-at door.

He steps off the road and follows the line of the tiny stream, which oozes into life from the matted roots and dew-catching knots of the grass, without a spring to give it a name. The stream twists along the valley, too small and secret to account for the folding of the land. The valley cannot have been made by such a stream. But here it is all the same, running wet between the tussocks, where the traveller may plunge to the knee in water if she does not see the dark gleam of the ground, waiting to give way.

Roland is not such a traveller. He knows this stream of old. Has lain beside it, in the brief heat of summer, to find his back wet with hungry water when he rose. Has walked its bank in every season, drawn dead rabbits from the dark water and see the hawthorn blossom rot among the ripples. The ice that creeps over it in winter has been his companion, in years not yet forgotten by the stream.

He is not a traveller, this man come up from the shires and down from the road. He would laugh at you for saying so. He would laugh the silent, eye-crinkling laugh of the border folk, that sounds itself in eyebrows and the shift of the shoulders, that murmurs under silent breath. He was born here, along the reedless banks of the tiny stream, the stream that never cut the valley, the valley that twists away east where no traveller on the road can see down to it, and here is the house he was born in.

The house is badly in need of repair. The thatch is sagging, all but holed through by its own weight, moss creeping down from the eaves. The walls bulge like undercooked bread, flattened under their own weight. The windowsills have fallen away in chunks, crumbling yellow sandstone showing where the white paint has cracked apart. The wet grass has almost overcome the doors.

Roland does not go to the house. He does not knock at the dark oak door, between the nails and the half-supported lion's head knocker. He does not turn a key in the rusting lock, or push open the creaking door, or set an eye upon the residents where they crumble in the half-lit rooms.

He goes instead to the stream he has followed from its birth, followed from the edge of the road between the shires, and now at last he goes to the banks and he kneels down beside it on the overhanding grass and he lets the dew soak through the knees of his trousers and rest clammy and damp against his skin.

Roland leans forward, over the uncertain banks of the stream, and he digs.

He does not have a spade, a trowel, even a spoon. He digs with his hands, plunging them into the stream to brush at the clogged sand at the bottom. The stream carries away the silt in great clouds like smoke from damp firewood. Under his hands, shapes appear, and are blown away by the current that rises and twists along the riverbed until at last his numbing fingers scrape from the mud a single gleaming apple-seed.

He lifts it out, as reverently as if it were his firstborn, and draws from his pocket a single apple. It is perfect. Not shining red, like the waxed imports of the markets. This is an apple from an English orchard, half-forgotten by its owners, tended to by the peasantry because it is in their blood to tend to the orchards where they find them. It is pale yellowish green and mottled, the stem surrounded by tough brown skin, and clinging determinedly to the last wilting leaf.

He takes from his other pocket a knife, and carves his name into the soft yellow flesh.

Where the seed came out, the apple goes in, and no sooner are Roland’s steady fingers out of the water than the apple is gone, hidden under silt and sand in the bed of the stream, hidden under dark flowing water.

Roland stands, and brushes the wet knees of his trousers with cold wet hands. It does no good, but he tries it anyway. He brushes at his knees and he turns away from the cottage and he walks up the hill and he does not look back, back to the fresh-cut eaves of the thatch, the tidy lawn, the trim cottage that rests in the valley as neatly as on a postcard, shining with the morning sun and the health of a newly-paid rent.

He climbs the hill, along the twisting line of the stream, back towards, the road, but he does not follow it. He passes over the ridge instead, unmoved by the sweep of stone that calls the traveller back to safety, and goes down again, down into the broad southern valley of Enniskillen.

There is always some light in Enniskillen's valley. The sun is never quite hidden by the fogs. The moon shines brighter than in other places, the stars are more attentive on moonless nights. Roland has never questioned it. The valley to the south is lighter than his; he knew this as a child, he knows it now, as he knows which way the rivers run.

There is a stand of oak trees, turned golden and brown in the cooling winds, and he crosses through it. The trees bear tokens of favour from this gentle and that, here a scarlet ribbon, there a long-toothed badger skull. The favours do not rustle in the breeze. The acorns are plentiful this year, brown shells shining under fallen leaves. There are piles of those leaves, raked into heaps to sift the acorns out. The acorns of such oaks as these are not to be overlooked.

Under the leaves of the last oaks, the last oaks that stand bare of ribbons and skulls and drop their leaves onto the mossy grass, there is a labyrinth. It is cut into the turf and moulded into the ground, felt underfoot as easily as seen, except when the sun is low and the sky is clear and the banks of the labyrinth cast deep shadows across the path. Edge to edge, it might be thirty feet, or fifty; Roland has never crossed it edge to edge, never measured its boundaries. He passes between the last oaks as through a gateway, and sets his feet upon the winding, mossy path. You cannot go wrong, walking Enniskillen's labyrinth. There are no false turnings to lead you astray. There is only the straight plain route, twisting around itself, towards the wood and away and down the slope and up, until you approach the house from below and the grey slate roof hides the arching oaks.

The day is young, the chill mist of morning not yet burned away, and Enniskillen is baking bread.

Roland leans on the broad windowsill, pulling back the half-open shutters and leaning through. Enniskillen's hands never stop kneading, turn and press and turn and press, all the while they are talking.

"Rent's paid."

"I heard." She looks past him, over his shoulder. It is long years since he wondered what was standing behind him. "Did you speak to Sarah?"

"I didn't."

"You ought."

"She ought. Ought to be the firstborn, didn’t it? That's what's proper. Ten years she's held the deeds and seven she's forgot."

Turn, press, turn, press. Enniskillen's rhythm doesn't change, nor her expression change, nor her level gaze shift from over Roland's shoulder, but Roland blushes, and feels shame as hot as embers spreading from his belly. "Tell me, then," he mutters, and frowns at the turning dough.

"She forgets because she's had a second son, and the landlord's taken a shine to the boy. Can't see the roof leaking, any of them. Can't remember what week it is, nor why they ought to care. You ought to remember that well enough. No? You ought to remember all those years when the house was bright and clean and all the days were golden? Think that was true, do you still? Think she took the place on because she wanted it, her being so fond of rot and ruin? Think better before you complain on that next year."

She tosses the dough into the air, muttering words Roland cannot quite hear, but which he knows – from asking as an impertinent youth, who thought all the mysteries belonged to him – to be the first lines of an ancient lullaby.

"Who's your landlord, Enniskillen?"

He has asked before, of course, and of course, she does not answer this time either.

"Tell me a spell to bind a heart to the land," she says instead, and he sighs a little, and does as he is told.

This is a teaser chapter of Borderlands, one of the books I’ll be serialising this year exclusively for my patrons. If you’d like to read more about the Old Country, you can sign up at https://www.patreon.com/duckbunny for as little as one dollar a month.