#I mean maybe its about quantity? And sense I just make one to two cups at a time its like really unnecessary

[creatingnikki]

What 2020 has taught me

1. Those things that seem like content for sci fi or pure fiction are actually things that can happen. To the entire world. Like a pandemic. And to you. Like a seizure.

2. Everyone is sad. Everyone is struggling. In different ways and in different measures. Makes no one special. But you still get to feel sad for yourself and be compassionate towards others. But it's also okay to draw boundaries because you're everyone too. Remember, not special? You're sad and trying to deal with it too.

3. Every job you have will not add value to your life. It will not teach you new things or give you people you'll want to stay in touch with. Sometimes some jobs will only be a season of your life. Even if the season lasts for over a year. It's okay.

4. You know how you thought picking a college and picking a major and picking your first job and picking a specific industry were all the career decisions you had to make? Yeah, no. It's never a one time thing. You could have a job as a marketing strategist for two years and then want nothing to do with it. And then you'll have to make another decision and work towards it. So I'd like to call it moves. It's like chess. You always have to make a move. And it always has to be strategic, yes. But the truth is in your 20s it probably won't. Even if you try. And as long as you're trying, you'll be fine.

5. You may have different sorts of friends like the one you only talk to about kdrama with or the one you met when you went book shopping alone and the friendship is all about books really. That's normal. But irrespective of why and how you became friends with them, if you consider them a friend then there has to be this basic sense of care, respect and empathy for each other. I don't care what people want to say. If you're faced with the worst trauma of your life, the least your friends can do is check up on you regularly. On text. And if they don't even do that then guess what? They aren't friends. They are acquaintances. Social media and quick promises make everyone seem like your friend. But they are not. They are just nice people who will be nice to you for specific periods and then wander away like you are a speck of dust floating in their journey.

6. You speak a lot and write and you express yourself and you’re emotionally mature but oh my god. You still hold in so much. You’ve known that at a subconscious level and over the last year people - experts - have told you that. You have also realized that you make your pain and sadness about pettier things because dealing with them, admitting about them, sharing that with your friends, is easier. You do that so that you don’t have to deal with the real stuff. Because it’s so damn painful. And you don’t know how to do it. Yet. Acknowledging is the first step anyway right? I know you’re confused about how exactly to let go of all this pain and sadness and feel lighter, and you know that talking to people really isn’t the solution, but I also know you’re smart enough to figure it out. 

7. Talking about being smart...you know you’re different than others. Better. Special. Smarter. None of these are the right words. And you never voiced this out until this year because you knew it would make you come across as narcissistic. Some would say it’s because you’re an INFJ. But my mother once said that this may be the first time we are consciously living life but our souls are old and so our instinct and the things we know but can’t explain are because this isn’t the first time for our souls. The connections we feel with certain people, the reason we are so different from our siblings who grew up in the exact same environment with the exact same opportunities, our sense of right and wrong...it’s all because our souls learn and grow with each time and that’s why we are who we are. I think that’s probably how I can explain what I have always felt. That I am living in a different universe than everybody but I have to pretend to be in this one and dumb my emotions and thoughts down. Maybe that’s because my soul has lived through thousands of years while most around me are living their 100th life. Or maybe I’m just narcissistic, who knows?

8. You shift between talking in first person and second person but that’s because that’s how you think in your head and talk to yourself and live your life. You ask yourself things and you accuse yourself of things and you apologize to yourself and you comfort yourself. I think that seeps into your writing and the changing of the voices. 

9. You always genuinely thought that you’d not be afraid of dying. And then what happened this October proved you shockingly wrong. I know it’s not so much being afraid of dying but the unbearable pain of knowing what that would mean to your family. So you have to be more prudent and less reckless with your life and the choices you make. 

10. Regret is not something that plagued you but this year the realisation and pain of giving away your favourite books from your own personal collection to people you care about as a show of affection and them turning out to be ass holes or losers has hit you so hard. So, yes. No more of that shit. I really fucking want my copy of The Perks Of Being A Wallflower back. UGH. With the childhood picture of me inside it! 

11. Sleeping at 5 am in the morning stops being fun or romanticised when you realise just how much harm it does to your body and mind. Literally every single disease and disorder can be traced back to a shitty fucking sleep schedule. It’s not just the hours you sleep but also the quality of sleep and the time you sleep at. So yes sleeping for 8 hours is healthy but not if that 8 hours is from 5 am to 12 pm. ‘Not a morning person’ is just another construct of capitalism and you don’t realise how many industries profit from having you believe that and staying up late or all night. Entertainment. Food. Alcohol. Pharma. Biologically and naturally you are a bloody morning person. And you don’t need 3 cups of coffee to begin your day or your phone notifications to get you to open your eyes and brain to wake up. 

12. Sometimes you really have to stop taking people so seriously. I know the idea of treating people as casual friends or entertainment makes you want to fight that concept but you know what? Some people like Pineapple are ever only going to be good for that. No matter how much they ‘grow and change’. So keep them in the background for whenever you want some entertainment or drama. But please don’t clear up your busy schedule to meet them or send them gifts on their birthday. 

13. If you don’t have the fruit juice or green juice within half an hour of making it then you are losing out on its most optimum health benefits. Or when you remove the white stringy stuff from oranges. That’s where all the actual nutrients are.

14. I am privileged and so are most of the people I interact with. The global pandemic has been hell for a lot of people around the world. Health wise. Financially. Losing people they care about. But I was blessed enough to be safe at home and have a job that I could smoothly do from home and not have a pay cut or 4-hour long Zoom meetings. So honestly when my friends tell me 2020 has been bad I have to stop and ask them why? Yes, the crippling uncertainty and anxiety is not something that can be undermined. But most people I know had very great positive life-changing milestones this year like moving away to another country for college or taking their first solo trip or getting married. So I have to ask them. Because I am not going to agree that everybody’s 2020 and pandemic narrative is the same. 

15. Money gets spent really quickly. When I left my job earlier this year because of personal issues, I thought I had enough savings to last me a year. Full disclosure - I mean to last my personal expenses because I live with my parents. But it didn’t even last me 3 months. And so to use money wisely and buy things that provide utility than instant gratification is something to follow. Also buying one pair of really expensive but quality shoes is better than buying 5 pairs of affordable but low quality shoes that will have a very short life and force you to buy more. I know that higher price doesn’t always mean better quality but sometimes it does. And as an adult now I want to do the whole quality > quantity thing even with things and not just people. 

16. Everyone in their 20s went through a crisis of what they should do with their lives and their careers and it’s not unique to the 21st century and the challenges of today. Whether it was Vincent Van Gogh in the 19th century or Sylvia Plath in the 20th, every single person, as brilliant as them went through the torture of making these decisions and living with their consequences. You may think I picked wrong examples for they both killed themselves but you know what? They were the people who really want to live more than anyone. They knew what life meant. And maybe if mental health help was more accessible back then their lives would be longer and more peaceful. 

17. Telling people everything is overrated. You don’t have to talk about every single thing that’s on your mind or that’s going on in your life. The good and the bad and the mediocre. You have to be mindful about how much of yourself you’re giving away. 

18. Re-watch Suits when people at work feel intimidating because the confidence + negotiation tactics that they show can actually work irl cos at the end of the day no matter in what position you’re dealing with people who have emotions and fears and insecurities and desires. You understand how to leverage that nobody can get the better of you. 

19. You belong to yourself. No matter how much you love someone or how much they have done for you or how much you owe them - you belong to yourself. You can’t live your life for someone else. Everyone belongs to themselves first. No relationship, no promise, no circumstance should make you feel like you have to give up your life and make it all about them. If and when the time comes to die for them, go ahead. Take a bullet. Donate that kidney. Write them in your will. But live your life for yourself. And let them live theirs. 

20. Twenty three was a challenging year. When it started you claimed the age 23 sounds boring and insignificant. Guess it proved you wrong. It hurt so much now. But that only means you’ll look back on it later and see how it added so much wisdom and resilience to your being. It doesn’t mean that it makes all the bad things that happened to you okay. Or that you should be grateful to them. Fuck no. It means that you should be kinder to yourself because at the end of the day, your mind and body find it in themselves to deal with whatever is thrown their way. They have your back. It’s time you learn to sit straight. 

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Things You Said When it was Over

Somewhere else, anger, a truce, and fight, and a happy ending

cw Jon's typical level of wanting to die but not actually wanting to die, fighting, mentions of vomit but no vomit, mentions of stabbing, mentions of stitches, losing time

Spoilers for 200

Let me know if you enjoyed!  Stop back in a week for another fic. I am accepting Things You Said prompt list prompts for Jon, Martin, and/or Tim!  I have two prompts in my inbox and both have been back written, but if you are wondering if I have ignored your prompt, chances are I have not!

Being unwound hurts.  Unwound.  Rewritten.  Removed.  Pulled and crumpled and twisted and extracted.  Spun in with a web of tapes.  

Masses of crinkling magnetic strips.  Unsure where voice, and web, and body, and blood intersect.  

Woven and ripped through that careful crevasse.  

And it hurts.  Much more than being stabbed.  With that awful scratch and skittering of strands being eaten by an eager, hungry machine.  

As time and entities and two people are chewed through and eaten with all the care of a faulty cassette player.  

It’s a shriek of static, the thrumming whine of machinery wound wrong.  The deafening scrabble of unknowable and terrible things going Elsewhere.  Loud enough that the explosion doesn’t even register.  Just a background whine to the overpowering white noise of the end of the world moving.  

And Jon wakes up.  

With a gasp.  Small.  And so painfully normal.  Like his POTS flaring up and waking up in the break room.  Again.  

That hasn’t happened since the world ended.  Since things went wrong.  

A strange thing to reminisce about.  POTS isn’t something he thought he’d miss.  And… well… he doesn’t?  Didn’t?  Doesn’t know the tense to use because there was that slim, slim chance that everything is actually okay.  The smallest, most fragile idea that things are back to that idyllic normal of the safehouse.  

He doesn't move for a while.  Focusing on breathing.  It's cold.  He isn't sure if the air is cold or if he's experiencing cold himself, or if this is just a new way of feeling pain.  He can't tell.  

His chest hurts, but he can't make himself check for blood.  Moving is still a little too beyond him.  

He wants to open his eyes, and look for Martin, but he doesn't want this to go away.  Because if he's alive, then Martin must be too, right?  Martin was much more likely to survive this.  Not being... you know, stabbed?  

But what if only Jon is somewhere else?  What if this is somewhere Martin couldn't follow?

In that case, Jon would rather not be alive at all.  If he doomed all the other universes because he couldn't go through with it in the end... if he gave it all up for Martin... he can't live with that.  He can't.  More than not wanting to, he just... Can't.  

Then again everything is... kind of numb so he can't actually be sure that Martin isn't there... but he is never that lucky.  Jon never gets the privilege of the best case scenario.  

Breathing still hurts.  But he doesn’t think it hurts in the “breathing around a knife” sort of way.  Then again, after bearing witness to the pain of Everyone on the planet, a single wound is hardly a drop in that ocean with all the other pain just Gone.  

“Jon!  Jon!  Can you hear me?”

He cracks his eyes open, and is met with the safe house ceiling.  Eyes struggling to focus, trying to find the source of the voice that certainly sounds like Martin, but Jon is too sore to move.  The force of it hitting him out of nowhere, without him even trying to lift a finger.  Senses filling the void of 7 billion people screaming with the voices of scars and joints and exhaustion and hunger.  

The best response he can manage is a wheezy groan.  

Wheezy?

Does he need his inhaler again?  Did Martin pack that even?  He hasn’t needed it… since… the world ended.  

Everything’s blurry.  Where did his glasses go?  

“Oh thank Christ!”  

Jon makes to sit up, but stars burst in his vision, and his arms give out.  

Martin’s hands fluttering around him.  Flying to his chest.  

Jon carefully reaches for his chest also.  There is a hole in his shirt.  Well.  A lot of holes, but he’s only looking for one.  

He feels tacky blood on its way to drying.  And as he carefully probes further, he finds a tidy line of stitches in slightly sticky thread, that he has a sinking suspicion is spider’s silk.  A final gift.  A thank you.  He wants to vomit.  

But Martin’s hand catches his, stopping him from potentially hurting himself.  Jon stretches his free hand to cup Martin’s cheek.  He finds it wet.  

It occurs to him that Martin has been crying.  Is crying?  Jon can’t tell.  His face is too far away to see more than the fuzzy outline.  (Not that Martin’s face is actually far away, Jon just has shit vision).  

Crying, present tense, Jon assesses, when Martin shakes with a suppressed, silenced sob.  “How could you do that Jon?  Fuck!  I mean… I knew you would.  But how could you do that?  You Lied to me.  You could have Died!  And I know you didn’t.  But Jon, I… I can’t.  You Promised me!  You Promised!  I…  How could you make me do that?  To you?  How could you?  I…  Jon, how could you?”  Martin’s crying too hard to get anything else out, and Jon still hasn’t managed to find enough breath and energy to speak.  

Jon whines.  Too exhausted to even sign.  

Martin’s hand on his chest.  Still trying to keep the blood in, even when there is no blood trying to get out anymore.  Martin’s usually warm hand icy (Jon hopes with fear, and not the Lonely, but he can’t know.  Firstly because he can’t break another promise, Secondly because he doesn’t think he can Know anymore, and thinking about trying makes his stomach drop.)  

And Jon just… can’t.  He rolls on his side away from Martin.  Curling up tightly.  Against the angry words and the guilt, and the rest of the guilt, and the pain in his body.  He’s doomed infinite worlds.  He’s betrayed everyone who ever cared about him… who he ever cared about.  He caused so much pain and he sat back and watched.  It seared through him the entire time of unknown and uncountable quantity that made up the apocalypse.  

All the words that he could never say, the guilt he could never express, all his own fear that had been just as much a meal for his god choking him.  

And he braces for the hate and the rest of the yelling, and everything else he deserves.  Everything he brought upon himself, one poor choice after another.  

Squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself gone and wills that if he doesn’t just vanish out of everything that Martin will get done yelling quick so maybe Jon can grovel some comfort out of him, even if it isn’t forgiveness, it will be better than the aching nothing that has been threatening to overtake him since he tasted the bitter words of the false statement.  

Martin more than deserves his anger, but Jon can’t take it.  He’s literally held together by spider silk.  He’s worn and tired and battered.  Guilt plunging deeper than Martin’s knife ever could.  

Not that he’s not grateful for this time with Martin.  Not that he doesn’t deserve every centimeter of guilt piling up on him.  He deserves all the hate.  And all the anger.  

He’s spineless, and he knows it.  He Almost did the right thing, but he couldn’t.  And he almost lost everything he cares about.  And now he probably still has.  And… and what?  What now?  Martin elected to stay with him despite it all, on one stupid, slim chance that things could be okay, but how can they be okay ever again, with this aching hole of fault and blame and regret and shame pulling at his core.  And he wants to be pulled open and rip it out.  He wants to enjoy what he has, but he can’t and Martin has every reason to hate him.  

He’s lost time.  

Martin’s calling his name, and his limbs are stiff and numb from bracing for an impact that never came.  

“Jon.  Christ.  Jon!  I’m… I… I didn’t mean to scare you.  I… I don’t hate you.  I love you, I promise.  …I’m… angry.  And we need to talk about this.  But… but I think that should wait until you’re up for talking, and I’m up for not crying for ya know, more than five minutes at a time.  ….And Fuck.  I just… well.  You owe me a good screaming at, too.  And Goddamn it, you were just doing what you thought was right… and you tried to tell us… tell me.  I’m not saying you were right, because you weren’t… but I’m not saying you were wrong.  And.  Well.  We’re both here.  Please.  I’m sorry for yelling.  Can I touch you?”

Jon nods jerkily.  Because he can’t stand the distance between them.  He doesn’t care if touch can get him hurt, he’d take hurt over the space between them.  

Martin holds him like he’s precious and Jon cries.  

Harder than he has in a very long time.  

And when he’s done he’s empty and shaking and filthy.  

They shower and sleep.  In the morning they can shout at each other for broken promises and wandering off, and not communicating enough, and not listening when the other is trying to communicate.  And one leaves in a huff, and one cries himself sick in the bathroom, and there is hugging and a trip to town for tea and figuring out if this is the universe they saved or one of the infinite they doomed.  And there are years for the aftershocks of those arguments to bounce around, losing energy in the form of heat: tea, hugs, hot showers, overeager workouts, kisses a little too rough, hugs a little too tight, a strange combination between fierce affection, and things a little too much to make them feel like they are accomplishing something.  

And they can grow whole once more.  

And they can grow old.  

[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Web Short Story

Deviated a little from the usual translations to deliver a short story from Tsujimura Nanako’s official site for Seigi’s birthday. The fandom is kind of a mess right now, so here’s a bit of lighthearted content (and also to celebrate the release of volume 10′s digital copy).

Raw version here. Please consider supporting the creators by purchasing digital copies of the official releases: Novel || Manga || Fanbook

(Quick explanation before-hand, to spare confusion: there’s a mention of Fukuzawa Yukichi in this story. He’s a historical figure whose face is printed on 10,000-yen notes.)

Biography Series of Ramen-Specialized Natakaya ―Case of the Storm-and-Stress Pudding―

My name is Nakata Seigi. I’m the owner of Nakataya, a commonplace ramen shop that you can find anywhere. I run the shop in a certain part of a certain rural town. At Nakataya, the costumers choose their ramen’s stock, and no matter what anybody says, I recommend the soy sauce one. Tonkotsu is also popular lately. Our neighbor on the right side is the English pub “Jeff & Harry”, and on the left is the Sri Lankan restaurant “Genie in the Lamp”, so there’s crowding during the lunch break period of nearby companies, but most of the customers are regulars.

The regulars always said that my ramen was delicious and ate it all. That made me extremely happy. But, if it was possible, I wanted to meet a new costumer for the first time in a while. It could even be someone who would strictly reprove me for drifting about so complacently.

Just as I was thinking this, selfish of me as might be, it happened. The shadow of a person I didn’t know passed through the red split curtains of the Nakataya.

“Welcome!”

“Pardon the intrusion.”

It was a man with a neat silhouette. His blue eyes were like a piece of ice floe that had flowed from a northern country, sparkling brightly as they reflected me. His golden hair formed fluffy waves. His brown leather boots glistened. He wore gray slacks over a white shirt that shone a beautiful white, to the point it could make one say it was a bit too much for visiting a ramen shop.

I always had my heart racing a little when meeting new costumers. With my chest throbbing, I smiled at the novel guest. “What can I get you?”

“...ing.”

I hadn’t been able to hear it well, so I leaned my body over the counter.

The customer was standing upright at a distance of about two steps away, looking at me straightforwardly. And so, he said, “Pudding, please.”

“Pudding?”

“Yes.”

Had I heard it wrong, I pondered.

However, he repeated once more with a clear voice, “Pudding, please.”

“A pudding.”

“Yes.”

“Please wait a moment.”

Pudding. Pudding, in a ramen shop. I wondered if he had mistaken the establishment. Maybe for the English pub next door, which had a blueberry and brandy sauce pudding in its daytime menu. Just for the heck of it, I checked with him, saying this was a ramen shop. But he didn’t budge. Pudding. With an unyielding will, this stunning person sought a pudding from me. He was asking the owner of Nakataya for a pudding.

I see. This is determination. I accept that resolve of his. The only thing I can do is make him a pudding.

“Please wait a bit.”

“All right.”

The possessor of a Caucasian beauty sat gracefully on the counter’s stool, like a silver fox spirit curling up its tail and lying down. It was a waiting posture. He didn’t playfully peek at his smartphone or move around unnecessarily. I intuitively sensed that this man was the real deal.

Thankfully, there were no other customers in Nakataya yet. There was still time until the busy noon hours. And as I recalled, I had a memory from the distant, distant past, of eating a delicious pudding made by my mother.

Thanks, Hiromi. You doing well?

The ingredients were eggs and sugar. All I needed was a cup-like vessel.

I made the caramel. Produced the pudding mixture. Poured it into the cup. Then cooked it at low heat, borrowing hot water from the equipment that I used for boiling the noodles.

Sure enough, the pudding was done. With nipping sounds, yellow confectionery landed on a saucer.

“Sorry for the wait. Here’s the pudding.”

“Thank you.” From the counter, he stealthily took the pudding and the spoon.

He ate it.

Grasping the spoon with his right hand and bending it into a comfortable angle, he held the pudding’s saucer with his left hand, which seemed to accompany the action. Even though the tableware looked prone to making clinking sounds, it didn’t produce a single noise. He aimed purely for my pudding.

You had to be like that when eating something, I perceived.

I had never met anyone who ate pudding as earnest and wholeheartedly as this man. That was to be expected. After all, I was the owner of a ramen shop. I seldom saw people eating pudding. But I could tell.

He was my shop’s savior.

I swallowed my saliva with a gulp and asked gently, “How was it?”

“Absolutely superb.” He grinned, stood up straight and took out his wallet, leaving a fee on top of the old register.

It wasn’t the price of a pudding. Our ramen was 400 yen per bowl.

“Thank you for the meal.”

As he took his leave, what he left behind was a 1000-yen note.

From that day onward, he came by daily. Always during a time when there was no one else around. And he would say with his cool voice, “Pudding, please.” When saying so, he would sit at the counter. Always on the second seat from right to left.

From the other side of the counter, I would reply, “Roger!” And then, I would make a pudding for him.

Ever since that time, I had studied. While devoting myself to the way of ramen on one hand, I also analyzed puddings from many angles, such as what a tasty pudding was like, what it took to please someone with a pudding, what types of pudding were both delicious and good for the health and what pudding was from a metaphysical viewpoint. A cook should never neglect the pursuit for knowledge.

“Nakata-kun, aren’t your goals kinda weird lately?” the younger brother of the next-door pub’s owner had asked, making a dubious face at me, but that wasn’t the case at all. If I only thought about ramen, I wouldn’t be able to run a ramen shop. Frankly speaking, the fact that this person had showed up when I was thinking that I needed a breakthrough must have been, yes, destiny.

This road was going to lead me in the right direction. The direction I should go. This pudding customer was just like a Polar Star for me.

The amount of money that he would leave changed from day to day. He never cut off from the 1000-yen notes, which I was nothing but grateful for, considering the cost price, and they linked miraculously with the results I had estimated each time, so that was as expected of him. He was clearly a pudding pro. I couldn’t imagine just how many places I would have to go through to develop a palate like that.

Which was why honing my skills was worth it.

Today’s pudding was a bit different from the usual. Perhaps a sign of this had been transmitted to him too, as the gorgeous guest raised his eyebrows only a little higher than normal and looked at me. Could he notice it? Could he? Not just the taste of the pudding, but also this sense of presence?

Putting my utmost feelings into it, I placed it on the counter. “Here you go. Pudding in a bowl.”

What I had laid there was a ramen bowl. It was a simple white one, bearing the characters for “Nakataya” in red. The inside was completely filled with a yellow pudding. Depending on what you thought of it, that quantity might well be fitting for torture. I was the only one who had to know just how many egg yolks and how much sugar I put in it. But I was fully aware that this man didn’t love pudding with a half-hearted resolution.

He accepted the bowl with a cool facial expression, letting show a delight that might have been there or not. His movements were very natural, as if he were merely receiving a ramen with a tiny bit more toppings than usual.

“I shall be having it.”

“Go ahead.”

I tried to offer a Chinese spoon instead of an ordinary one, but the man stopped me with a hand. Of course, I had already anticipated as much and made the arrangements. As I promptly gave him the usual silver spoon, the man grinned.

This person’s smile was extremely beautiful. It was like a white flower blooming at the break of dawn.

With unwavering hand movements, he steadily thrust the spoon into the pudding bowl. A heap of pudding appeared on top of the spoon. It seemed to have about the same amount as a cup-sized pudding. And like magic, he nimbly swallowed it in one bite. Holding my breath, I saw the scene through.

A spoonful. Another spoonful. Yet another spoonful.

Just as always, with unfaltering hand motions, he proceeded to eat a pudding that had about ten times more volume than usual at a steady pace. Of course, he also didn’t leave any of the caramel accumulated at the bottom of the bowl. He held the bowl with his two hands, as if drinking up to the last drop of a ramen, and like a hero having a high-grade victory sake, he drank the caramel in one go with a gulp.

Once he set the bowl on the counter and softly wiped his mouth, he quietly looked at my face. Without realizing, I had been clutching the hem of my apron with both hands.

“How was it?”

“You have finally mastered the way of it.”

“Then that means...!”

He nodded as if extremely satisfied, small lips forming a broad smile like a sculpture of an angel. Taking his wallet from his pocket, he tried to present Fukuzawa Yukichi to me, but I stopped him with a hand. I had been receiving too much until now. And I had already gained plenty of something bigger than money from him.

He must have realized that too. Putting the banknote back into his pocket, he chuckled with a whiff. “This is the supreme fine item that I had been seeking.”

“That’s great. Hum, just who are you...?”

“My name is Richard.”

“Richard”. I wondered why. It was my first time hearing it, yet it sounded somewhat nostalgic.

Having eaten the pudding so delightfully, Richard-shi crinkled his blue eyes slightly and laughed with a snort. “To think you had been hiding a skill of this level. I am impressed.”

“Same here; how can I thank you for not turning your back on my abilities?”

“I pray that this pudding will be a significant step towards the path of your cooking.” He reached a hand to me across the counter.

I frantically wiped my hands on the apron, gripping his hand back. It was a moving scene. I would probably continue to pursue the way of ramen. Meanwhile, I would be making puddings for this person – for Richard. I had that presentiment.

And then...

“Here he is! Ricky, what’re you doing?”

The one who had barged in like a storm was Jeffrey-san from the pub next door. Flustered, he strangled Richard, who sat composed on the stool. Richard’s expression didn’t change even at a time like this. He was game.

“Nakata-kun, I’m so sorry. This is our cousin who came from Hong Kong because we asked for assistance. Geez, Ricky, we were thinking something was off ‘cause you never showed up even though we properly told you where the pub was. You can’t take advantage of Nakata-kun just because he’s nice! Well, Nakata-kun, we’ll come over again with Henry to eat shoyu ramen. Adieu!”

As if dragging a large suitcase, Jeffrey forced his cousin along and left. When disappearing on the other side of the split curtains that hung at the exit, Richard smiled faintly as if to say, “Farewell, then”. I smiled back too. Things like “No, it isn’t the time to be putting on airs like that. What’s the meaning of this, slacking off even though you were asked to help with the pub and ordering pudding from the next-door shop?” weren’t important. I wasn’t thinking about that. Because, for me, polishing my skills was what mattered. Still, that guy’s love for pudding was trouble.

Hm? “That guy’s”?

I rubbed my eyes.

Does that mean Richard? Speaking of which, his face when he ate my pudding for the first time was like that of a surprised child, and—and then—

I woke up.

My name is Nakata Seigi. I’m an university student who attends Kasaba University.

What was that? That Nakataya thing? Although just for a little while, I had been living the life of a ramen shop owner. But pudding. Pudding at a ramen shop.

He was an unbending man even inside a dream, I thought as I checked my phone, which rested next to my pillow. 10:00 PM. It seemed I had dozed off while lying on my bed as I reviewed a textbook. He probably wouldn’t get mad at me if I called him now.

The line connected after three dial tones. Richard. His cool voice as he asked if something had happened was making me feel somewhat pained right now.

“Richard, hum.”

“Yes.”

“Would you... be even a little bit happy if I said that I was gonna make... a whole ramen bowl of pudding?”

The response was a dangerous “Haah?”. That was when I shook off the remains of the dream.

“Hm-hm, it’s nothing. Don’t mind me. It’s fine, really. Yep. Yep. Well, then.”

Honestly, what was I doing? This man was a royal milk tea and pudding extremist. A significant change in size would also affect the taste and texture. Logically thinking, there was no way he would be pleased with something like that. I knew that.

But the dream version of me probably wanted to see Richard’s face of delight, and I now wound up taking it seriously.

“My bad, my bad. I’ll make it in the usual proper size and with the same old taste.”

For a moment, he pressed me about why on Earth I had suddenly talked about that, but I escaped it by beating around the bush. Because I could see that he would tell me not to call him while I was still half-asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to take much of his time either.

As I was about to hang up with a “well, that was really all, so see ya”, Richard said lastly with a voice that sounded purposeful, “Aah, right, right. Your birthday is coming up soon. Make sure to think about what you want to get.”

Aah. Now that he had mentioned, it was May. I used not to think much of birthdays in the past, but maybe because of a thankful increase in the number of people I had to celebrate it with, I also became conscious of and started thinking about it.

He was trying to fool me with non-committal words like “aah, right, right”, but he must have had it properly memorized since long ago. We had a bond where I could tell as much. I was very happy that we had been able to build such a relationship. That was why, rather than things like “I wanna get this” or “I wanna go to this place”, the wish I wanted to make come true might have been something along the lines of, “I want a tiny memory”.

“It’d be great if we could go eat ramen together one day.”

“Yes, that is true.”

Eh?

Before I could think that an idiot like me had heard it wrong, the call ended. Richard. That Richard. Could it be he had just given the OK to go eat ramen with me? That Richard, who was just like a heaven-sent child of gemstones and Ginza.

“Haha!”

I tossed my phone onto the bed, rolling onto my back and flapping my limbs. It was the Nakata’s dance of joy. Holy shit. That came from an unexpected place.

Thank you, version of me who was the owner of Nakataya.

Ramen with Richard. For the moment, I didn’t know any better birthday present.

Author note: happy birthday, Nakata Seigi-kun. Just like a certain someone, let me also gently watch over you gradually growing up healthy and comfortably.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Nine - Working On a Dream

Today is a pivotal day for LFG. Since its creation, LFG has grown exponentially, reaching more markets, both in variety and quantity. We have invested in hundreds of companies, promoting their growth, and supporting numerous humanitarian causes. However, the world is changing, and so is the way business is done. Therefore, today is not only about growth in and of itself, but also choosing how we grow.

Victor typed the first words of the inauguration speech on his computer and paused, reading it. This was indeed a pivotal day, not only for his company, not only for the field of economics itself, but also for his wife. After all the pain she had gone through, she deserved this win, and he was more than happy to be the one facilitating it.

Financial vocabulary has expanded as the world’s demands expanded. Companies are evaluated not only by their success, they are also expected to obtain certification, to hold to basic standards, and have an environmental policy. As an investor, LFG needs to be mindful of and excel in meeting these demands. Therefore, I am proud to announce the creation of a new subsidiary, Loveland’s Consulting Group. It is with great honor that I present to you LCG’s CEO, one of the most promising minds in economics according to the Global Economic Studies Association, and my wife, Andrea Lee.

He looked at the pictures on his desk, one of their wedding day, another one taken secretly when she was reading leaning against the willow tree, and the other of them after rock climbing. In all of them she was smiling, happy, and strong. That was the look he wanted to see on her face every day.

He wondered how she would look at that moment. Andrea was certainly busy, polishing the last details of the remodel, making sure every guest had RSVP’d to her invitation, dealing with caterers and bartenders. He remembered how, many years ago, he did the same. Fifteen years ago, to be exact.

He was young and inexperienced, but he had the stamina of a twenty-year-old with the determination of a seasoned man, and that made him unstoppable. He was cocky, confident that he would be able to deal with the rotten world and finish a winner. That cockiness had later caused him much grief, and cost him many sleepless nights. He remembered his first meeting with an important investor, and how unprepared he felt for it, so much that he had to stop time to steady himself, as he was on the verge of a panic attack. That was the day that he knew that no matter how prepared he felt, he would always be lacking something. That meeting alone taught him that this world was incredibly cruel, and he needed to work hard and be completely confident of what he was doing if he wanted to win. And as the good student Victor had always been, he had learned his lesson. He started working harder than ever before, so he would never feel that helplessness again.

His wife, however, wouldn’t go through so much trouble. She was older, and life had taught her a few hard lessons as well, and she was incredibly insightful. She also possessed a quality Victor had a hard time mastering, and that was the main reason why she was perfect for this job: she was good with people. Right at the beginning, when she was just an intern helping him clean up the mess Ted had made, she had shown incredible proficiency in relating to the partners, offering good arguments and solutions for a continued collaboration with the company, so much so that after her departure partners had called to demand to work specifically with her. She wasn’t as experienced as Victor when it came to investments, but she was good at what he did the worst in, working closely with the partners. Victor could use that. With his knowledge and Andrea’s people skills, they would be unstoppable.

Victor was eager to see what she had done to the fifth floor. She had kept him at bay, saying she wanted to surprise him on the inauguration day, and he had obliged, wanting to make her feel like this was truly her project. However, curiosity was getting the best of him, and he was starting to find this whole idea of surprising him absurd. She could use his help, he told himself, as he headed for the elevator. Maybe she was feeling overwhelmed, and could some words of support.

Exiting the elevator, he found the big glass doors closed. He wasn’t sure of what to do. If he called Andy, she would send him back up. No, he wouldn’t have that. He knocked on the glass doors, and one of the interns, Kenny, came to open the door.

“Oh, Mr. Lee.” He quickened to put aside the coffee cup he was holding, an embarrassed look on his face. “I’ll let Andrea, I mean, Mrs. Lee know you are here.”

“No need, I’ll walk myself in.” Victor gave the intern his best unapproachable face, so he wouldn’t even consider stopping him. Without another word, he went through the hall, dawning on him later that he had no idea where his wife was, or where her office was located.

Victor suddenly noticed that, even for a company that was yet to start business, LCG was eerily quiet. It was merely a day before the inauguration, the room should be bustling with people busying themselves with their laptops and phones. His wife was also nowhere to be seen.

Obviously alone with his thoughts, Victor looked around and for the first time appreciated the decoration. The whole place was decorated in earthy tones, with the occasional accent of yellow and blue, and one could find plants pretty much everywhere. While LFG had this elegant modern, imponent decoration, designed almost to show status and to intimidate, LCG felt cozy. It was inviting and warm, allowing dialog and confraternization, which was probably exactly what Andrea was aiming for.

“You’re here? I told you I would come and meet you.” He heard her voice and turned, seeing her peeking outside from the glass door of the conference room.

“I’m not known for doing what I’m told.” He smiled.

“I’m just finishing up a training session here.” Andrea smiled back. “I’ll be right out to give you a tour, Mr. Curious CEO.”

Victor watched as his wife reentered the conference room, noticing for the first time that all her staff were there. He looked around again. The floor was brimming with potential and the energy of new ideas, new possibilities on the horizon. LFG was like this once. He could still remember his younger self, barely a man, at his own inauguration.

He had hired the best caterer, the best interior designers, and invited Loveland’s elite to the inauguration. He had delivered the perfect speech and was received with applause. He had the best media coverage one could hope for, the reputable finance newspapers calling him a “prodigy child”, anticipating for him the greatest conquests. He couldn’t have wished for more, everything was perfect.

And his father was yet to arrive.

The fact was that Gregory Lee was displeased with the starting of LFG. He had always expected Victor to work for him in his company, as his number two, and when Victor said he wanted to start his own company, his father was deeply offended.

Victor had never meant to aggravate his father, his sole intention was to prove to him that he could bring honor to the family name on his own. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud. But the painful truth was that no matter what he did, he would never achieve that.

He recognized the familiar face among his guests. It was his father’s lawyer, Derek.

“Good afternoon, Victor.” He greeted him dryly.

“Welcome.” Victor shook his hand. “Did my father not come?”

“I came on his behalf. As you can imagine, Mr. Lee has more important business to attend than to enable your pubescent illusions.” Derek’s tone was condescending, almost mocking. “No matter what other fools may say, it is obvious that LFG will not last six months. You lack the expertise and to be frank, the strength to keep it going.”

“He’s not coming?” Victor wasn’t surprised, but part of him wanted to believe he had heard wrong.

“And apparently the acumen as well. I believe that has already been established .” Derek sneered. “Let’s hope, for your benefit, that your father will still take you after this whole thing collapses. Enjoy your little party.”

Hours later, after guests and staff had left, Victor sat in his office, deep in thought. His father still saw him as an impressionable spoiled little child, despite his constant efforts to impress him. He had come extremely far, and still, his father ignored his feats, even sending other people to mock him.

To make matters worse, Victor feared his father was right. He feared that LFG was doomed to fail, and all the families depending on his paycheck would be left in ruin, because of his dream. If he fell, many would fall with him. And that was a weight that he couldn’t possibly bear.

Feelings of solitude and despair dug deep in Victor’s skin, and he started to feel his breath turning shallow, as well as the sense of dread that announced one of his panic attacks.

Victor held his breath, clenching his fists in anger. No. Not this time. He wouldn’t allow it.

He would fully accept his solitude, wear it like an armor. Yes, he was inexperienced, but he would work harder than he ever worked before. He would prove to his father and Derek that he wasn’t a delusional child, he would win their respect.

He would find her. And he would no longer be alone.

Victor closed the door of his office as he left, leaving his  frail childish self behind. And he never felt weak again.

The sound of a door opening and people hurriedly leaving woke him up from his reverie. Andrea’s employees, noticing he was standing there, greeted him sheepishly. Even though he was not their employer, it was evident to him that he evoked some kind of fear in them, so they fled to their own places as quickly as possible. Andrea remained inside, disconnecting her laptop from the large screen in the conference room.

“Come in.” He heard her call. “Come see the conference room.”

The room was, like in LFG, surrounded by glass panes, apart from the wall that held the screen. However, that was not the first thing he noticed.

“A round table? Will I also find a sword stuck in a rock?” He joked.

“You don’t like it?” Andrea’s face fell. “I chose it because, well, what you do and I are different things. You need to exert dominance, and I need to promote dialogue. But if you feel it’s not fitting. I can-”

“Don’t you dare change a thing.” Victor interrupted her with a stern look. “It is your project, you do as you see fit. Your idea is quite good, actually. I would never have thought of it.”

“Yes, you would.” She squinted at him playfully. “Do you want some coffee? I could use some.”

“I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you have plenty to busy yourself with. I just came for a quick look.”

“It’s fine, I could use the break.” She took his hand, leading him outside the room. “Since my husband couldn’t wait for the inauguration, I may as well give him the tour.”

The coffee room was large, with orange and green accents, tables and bean bags scattered all around. It was more vibrant than LFG, and Victor wondered for a moment if his employees would enjoy this atmosphere more than the one they found at LFG. Maybe he could make some small changes as well. Especially concerning the coffee. It was almost aggravating how much better LCG’s coffee was, compared to the one he bought for his staff.

“What brand is this coffee?” He went to the cupboard to look at the package. “It’s delicious.”

“Diane bought it. Yummy, right?” Andrea handed him a sugar packet. “Come, let me show you my office.”

Victor was in awe of what Andrea had done to the place. He noticed, as he walked to her office, how the personnel were happy and excited working, the atmosphere lively and brimming with ideas. A far cry from LFG’s professional aloofness. It felt like he was in a different building altogether.

Andrea’s office was obviously far from minimalistic, but within good taste. True to her character, his wife surrounded herself with things she cherished, some souvenirs he had given her over the time they were together, pictures of her with friends and family, of course, himself. On the light brown toned walls, pictures of trees and forests, the symbol she had borrowed for herself to remind her of strength.

Victor sat next to her on the grey sofa against the wall, decorated with orange and white pillows. And again, Victor felt slightly aggravated.

“Your sofa is more comfortable than mine.” He confessed, adjusting his position on the seat to better feel its softness.

“Diane knows a place.” Andrea laughed. “Really, all you pointed out was Diane’s work.”

“Your decoration is impressive, your coffee is better, your sofa is better.” Victor pretended to be upset. “I changed my mind, I want Diane back.”

“Over my dead body.” Andrea smiled mischievously. “It’s not my fault that you didn’t realize her potential.”

“I did realize yours, did I not?” He teased her back.

“Yes, but mine was obvious.” Andrea chuckled, but couldn’t hide the nervous look in her eyes.

Victor recognized it immediately. He had felt the same way, over a decade ago.

“Feeling nervous?” He held her hand.

“Nervous? No.” She swatted at him. “The correct term would be terrified. On the brink of a heart attack.”

“Excellent.” Victor smirked, sipping his coffee.

“Wait, that’s it? No words of comfort and encouragement?”

“All of those people outside, working for you, they have left an established company to be here. Their fate lies in your hands. If you fail, most of them will be unemployed. You should be terrified.” He frowned at Andrea, who was staring at him, surprised, her eyes wide.

“You are right. You are absolutely right. Oh God.” Andrea lowered her head between her knees. “What am I doing?”

“You are missing my point here.” Victor softened his tone and caressed her curls. “These are fears you should have. I can’t tell you it will all be smooth, because it won’t. There will be times when problems pile up and you’ll be more than willing to give up, but this weight you feel on your back right now won’t let you. Some fear is realistic, even healthy, and it will be your drive. It was mine.”

Andrea looked up at him, an unconvinced look on her face.

“Oh please, you were practically born and raised as a CEO. This is second nature to you.”

“You’d be surprised.” He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “People assume that my father helped me build LFG, but that couldn’t be furthest from the truth. He was on opposing force. He didn’t want me to do this. I was all alone. To him, this was a joke, a delusion I was acting on, with no concrete future.”

“Why am I not surprised to hear that?” Andrea shook her head in disgust.

“I was so young.” Victor chuckled, letting his mind wander to a decade back. “My opponents felt like they could easily fool me, and tried to, on several occasions. I had to be on top of my game at all times, and never let my guard down. I lost count of the sleepless nights I have spent working or worrying about something. Eventually, with experience and age, I gained my footing, but it was touch and go until then. And what kept me going wasn’t pride, or money, or power. It was the fear of disappointing the people that had believed and invested their careers in me, including myself.”

Andrea was silent, considering his words. She wouldn’t have the troubles he had, he was certain of it. She was older, more seasoned, and extremely talented, even if she didn’t see it in herself. She was a fighter, a bright mind deeply respected in the financial market, and despite his small lecture, he knew she wasn’t cocky. But he had to tell her there would be difficult times. And no matter how much he wanted to offer himself as her safety net, he knew she wouldn’t take it.

“That being said, I know you will prosper. And when things go wrong, because that’s inevitable, I want you to know that I am proud of you, provided you don’t let it bring you down or make you give up.”

Without another word, Victor took his wife’s face in his hand, his lips touching hers. Pride, love, gratitude weren’t big enough words to comprise what he felt for her. It was beyond comprehension or explanation.

“And I’m not alone.” She smiled at him. “Neither are you.”

“It’s fair to say my life improved considerably since a certain Portuguese girl came to complete her internship at my company.” He smiled back, pulling her for a kiss.

The door to her office suddenly opened wide.

“I hope you didn’t miss me much!” Diane entered suddenly, pushing a stroller. “Victor, you’re here!” Diane blushed slightly. “That will teach me to knock, I could have found you guys… busy with other affairs.”

“Oh my God, is that little Penny?” Andrea peeked into the stroller. “She’s so beautiful. Can I hold her?”

“Of course you can, you have auntie privileges.” Diane carefully took her baby from the stroller, placing it in Andrea’s arms.

“She’s so perfect, Di, congratulations.” Andrea smiled at the baby in her arms, completely lovestruck. “Victor, come meet Penny.”

Victor was still for a moment, watching her wife’s reactions, any hint of sorrow or pain, but he saw none of that. Only love and wonder. He watched his wife cradling that small child in her arms, he drank in the happy look on her face, and his heart panged, knowing she could never have that. She would have been a wonderful mother. It fit her just right.

“I came to wish you good luck before the inauguration, tomorrow will be too crowded for the baby.” Diane explained. “How are things going?”

“Everything is rolling, I’m pretty close to getting the Tobias account.” Andrea answered as Penny cooed in her arms. “Yes, Aunt Andy nailed the bastard. Girl power.”

“The guy from the dairy factory?” Diane was in awe. “The man is insufferable. How did you do it?”

“Just wait until I show you the list of demands he sent me. It’s on my computer.” Andrea turned to Victor. “Here, hold Penny for a moment.”

Before he could utter a word, he was already holding the baby, Andrea moving fast to her computer to show the said list to Diane. Penny had big blue eyes, just like her mother, that were watching him carefully as he admired her.

“Hello, Penny.” He smiled at her. “I’m Victor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Penny gave him a toothless grin. “She smiled at me.” He turned to the women.

“She’s very young, Victor, she can’t smile yet.” Andrea gave him a condescending smile. “It’s probably just gas.”

No, it wasn’t. Penny was still smiling at him.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s a dummy.” Victor talked to the baby in a soft voice. “We both know what’s going on, right?”

No wonder Goldman’s eyes shone every time he mentioned his daughter, she was wonderful; heart-meltingly beautiful. He had every reason to be proud of her.

Victor gave her his index finger to hold on to, surprised that a small baby could already have such a strong grip. He wondered if this feeling of warmth in one’s heart, the sense of absolute surrender for someone, was what a parent was supposed to feel. He thought of his own parents, and of how that feeling seemed to evade them completely. For a long time, he believed it was due to his own lack of worth, but now it was clear to him that it wasn’t. He wasn’t the father of this child, she had no other accomplishments but her mere existence, and still, he felt ready to fight for her, if necessary. Or for Ana.

“You are absolutely perfect. Your father is right to feel proud of you.” He whispered to Penny.

The thought crept in, strong but subtle. Victor only noticed it when it sounded in his mind.

When I have my own child, I will let her know I’m proud of her every single day.

When Andrea was struggling with her infertility, he was so occupied trying to heal her that he never took a second to look within and see what he wanted. He wanted to be a father. He wanted to build the family he never had with the love of his life. With her.

[cockymclaughlin]

re: the strawberry bit

Link’s noticing, yeah? He’s noticing, and Rhett--

Well, Rhett ain’t about to stop him from noticing. Not now, when things are getting interesting all of a sudden. Sure, he’s still got squirming guts whenever it’s pointed out to him, broadcast in such a way that’s public and consumed in large, heaping quantities. 

But Link’s noticing. 

Link’s consuming, and that’s a good feeling amidst the squirming guts. 

It’s weird watching himself, the way that his face never fails to go a bit flat, how his shoulders slouch. And remembering the way it actually helped, having something to put in his mouth, his brain rewiring itself in a way that meant he was focusing again. 

There’s a science behind it, definitely, because people have always said chewing gum helps when you’re taking a test. It’s the same concept. Eating calms his nerves. 

Having something in his mouth helps him focus. 

Which is-- 

It’s something. And Link is realizing that. 

So Rhett isn’t entirely surprised when Link starts trying to subtly feed him things. It’s Link’s version of subtle which just means Rhett pretends it’s subtle to not make things awkward. There’s no point in creating awkwardness when there’s not a camera there.

It starts with olives that Link picks off of his salad with a rueful face. 

Right from the start, it’s weird, because instead of picking all of them off and tossing them haphazardly around, he feeds them to Rhett one-by-one. The first one has him chuckling a little, but opening his mouth nonetheless. 

“Can’t believe they didn’t take the fricken olives off, man,” he says, and Rhett hums. “Ruins the whole salad.” 

He eats the whole thing anyway, and feeds Rhett thirteen olives in the process. He doesn’t so much as talk about it. 

So Rhett doesn’t either. 

And then they’re in the office, with Rhett whining about being tired, about wanting a break, needing some breathing room, and--

Link had been eating beef jerky, homemade from a friend, and he’s reaching out across the empty space between their desks to offer it to Rhett, the same piece he’d been eating on. Mid-sentence, Rhett bites off a hunk before continuing with, “It’s just time for a break,” his chest feeling a bit lighter. 

They don’t talk about it, and then they’re on camera and Rhett’s voice is getting louder and louder about something inane, and he notices Link’s hands stuttering, half a sandwich poised between his fingers delicately. He hesitates, and Rhett realizes it stings a bit, so he reaches and grabs the sandwich out of Link’s hand, takes a hunk out of it before slouching in his chair. 

The tinkling sound of Link’s laughter follows him around that day, echoing in the back of his head. 

They don’t talk about it. 

But for lunch today they’d decided to eat in the office, go over some things just the two of them before their meeting later. They’re maybe arguing, a little. He can feel the tension growing, reaching up the back of his neck and curling around his ears. It’s thick and weighted, and Link is getting sharper around the edges as Rhett puffs up. 

“Alright, stop,” Link finally says. “Just quit it. Finish eating so we can get this done and over with.” 

“I’m done,” Rhett says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. 

Link scoffs, but only barely, like he’s privy to something Rhett isn’t. And then, “Here,” and he’s being handed a slice of pickle from Link’s sandwich. 

When he goes to grab it, Link swerves it out of the way, raises an eyebrow. 

“Come on, man.” 

“Like we’ve been doing.” And that’s a new, different tight feeling in Rhett’s chest because Link’s voice is still that same clipped, annoyed tone, like this is something he’s got to be doing to get through the day. 

So Rhett leans forward, grabs the edge of the pickle with his teeth. Through the crunching, he hears Link hum, and then there’s another pickle. Pointedly, he lets his mouth slip a little closer to Link’s fingers. 

The thing about this happening is that they’re dancing around it, both of them hesitant about stepping fully over that line they’ve drawn, dug, extrapolated to death. 

We’re just friends! We’re business partners! Sometimes he hand-feeds me bits of his food to calm me down! 

It’s nothing like what you’re thinking! 

His therapist is going to have fun with this one. 

Licking his lips, Rhett wipes his mouth with his napkin again, and Link tears a chunk of his sandwich off this time. 

“Link,” Rhett starts, and is met with a couple raised eyebrows. 

“It helps you,” Link says. “Eat.” 

It’s a strange feeling, being calm and terrified at the same time. And when Rhett gets his tongue involved this time, makes contact with Link’s skin just so see what will happen, his pulse is pounding in his head. 

We’re just friends! 

The feeling of Link flinching for half a second, for just long enough to get his bearings straight and realize exactly what they’ve been doing the past couple weeks is all Rhett needs to find the courage to say through a mouthful of food: “Think it helps you, too, brother.” 

This time, when Link hums, it’s a bit thicker, and Rhett makes enough eye contact to see Link’s eyes getting a bit hazy, a bit unfocused like he’s caught up already. 

“Yeah,” he says, and then he’s ripping another bite of his sandwich off with his hands, holding it out for Rhett to eat. 

They get through most of what Link had left before Rhett is grunting, admitting, “I’m done,” and wiping his mouth, his hands, one last time. 

There’s a shaky pause, and then Link is saying, a bit too suddenly, “Clean my fingers.” 

Rhett makes to pass him the napkin, his brow furrowed, and Link jerks away, shakes his head. And then he’s lifting his hand, palm up, looking at Rhett with a smug look. 

“Come on,” he says. 

“Come on,” he says again. 

And when Rhett gets his hand around Link’s slim wrist, tugs him a little closer to his face, he swears he can feel the sharp inhale Link pulls in. 

The first press of Link’s fingers in his mouth is odd. The two of them shy away from physical contact most of the time, so it’s strange, to feel the shape of two of Link’s fingers on his tongue. They’re slender and delicate, just like the rest of him, and when Rhett’s teeth drag lightly across tender skin, Link hisses a little bit. 

He wiggles his fingers, and Rhett lets his jaw fall slack, waiting to see what happens from here. 

“Open up for me,” Link tells him, voice low, careful, like he’ll break the moment if he talks too loudly. 

Rhett’s good at listening, especially right now, when he feels so fuzzy all over, going a bit warm. So his mouth falls open, his eyes going heavy, and Link presses a third finger inside. 

After a bit, he makes a noise, and pulls all of them away, shifts on the couch until he’s facing Rhett a little better. 

Then, “Lay down.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, just--” and there’s those hands on Rhett’s shoulders, shifting and pulling and arranging, and Link sinks down on his hips, straddling him the best he can on their couch. “Open.” 

Like this, it’s easy to let his eyes fall shut, to hum around his mouthful and let Link do whatever he wants. He’ll say if it turns into something he doesn’t want, but for now he’ll take this. This is good, dragging all of those frustrations, all of those nerves out of him in a way that makes no sense at all to him. He just can’t be bothered to think too hard about it, if he’s honest. 

He’ll do the thinking later. Right now, he opens his throat and let’s Link push further back, staving off his gag reflex as best he can. 

And when Link gasps, slips his fingers far back enough that the very tips are resting on his bottom front teeth, Rhett lets his chest rattle around a heavy, sated sound. 

“I could feel your throat, man,” Link says. “Fricken weird.” 

“Happens when you put your fingers down there,” Rhett says, a chuckle worming its way up. 

He watches a lazy grin spread across Link’s face. “Yeah,” he says. “This okay?” 

“‘S good,” Rhett promises. Feeling bold, feeling heavy and thick, “Would you touch me?” 

“’M touchin’ you,” Link says, and his fingers slip back into Rhett’s mouth before he gets a chance to explain. Before he gets a chance to beg, he supposes. 

But gosh, he would. He feels like he’s vibrating out of his skin, like he could crawl out of his own body and watch this from somewhere else. It’s a little bit like being high, he thinks. Link’s got everything Rhett could give him, dangling from the tips of his fingers, pressing their way into the back of Rhett’s throat. 

“Touch you where, Rhett?” Link asks, and Rhett can feel his breath on his face. 

Groaning, he arches his hips up against Link. It’s too much, probably, but he wants. 

“You really like this, huh?” is Link’s answer, shaping itself around a nervous laugh.��

Rhett just tilts his head, opens his throat a little more, feels Link’s fingers pressing at the inside of his cheek, across his teeth. And when Rhett whines, Link makes a soft sound, presses back into Rhett’s throat again. He does gag this time, and Link slips his fingers out in a hurry, but he watches, doesn’t recoil. 

Rhett’s eyes are watering when he settles against the couch again, and he feels--

Gosh, he feels good. 

A little shaky, a little thin, but, shit. 

Link pats him on the chest with his clean hand, sliding it up to cup Rhett’s neck before leaning down and pressing his mouth to Rhett’s forehead. It’s sweet and grounding, and Rhett feels good. 

“Sit up and drink some water, yeah? Meeting’s in ten,” Link tells him, climbing off of him with slow, steady movements. 

Rhett doesn’t need to look at him to know why, and he doesn’t feel embarrassed when he realizes he’s hard, too. But he takes a second before listening to what Link said, lets his eyes fall shut and takes big, deep breaths to steady himself. 

It’s easy and calm and good. 

They’re going to have to talk about this at some point, but for right now it’s good just like this. 

When he does finally sit up, Link is there with a bottle of water, holding it to Rhett’s lips for him, guiding him through drinking the entire thing. 

He’s still a bit shaky when they make it to the meeting, but it’s okay. 

He’s okay. 

[set-phasers-to-whump]

20 dollar nose bleed

X=done

Prompt: bloody nose

Whumpee: Gavin Reed

Fandom: Detroit Become Human

For: anon

i had a lot of fun writing this, hope it’s ok!! (also yes its straight up just a fall out boy song for the title i am Bad At Titles and i’m sorry)

It wasn’t the first time Gavin Reed had been punched in the face, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was, however, the first time he’d been punched with brass knuckles. He couldn’t say he enjoyed the sensation. Metal slammed into his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his shoulders, his stomach...again and again. 

On his part, it wasn’t as though Gavin wasn’t doing anything to try and help his case. He was. If cursing out his tormentors and spitting blood at them counted. There were simply too many of them to try and fight his way out-they boxed him in on either side of the alley, occasionally throwing punches if he got too close, pushing him back into the center of action, which involved him getting bounced like a ping-pong ball between two men of questionable sobriety and even more questionable motive. They were the lead suspects of a case Gavin had been working involving a rather grisly murder and a large quantity of Red Ice. And they had just proven their guilt, or something close to it anyway, involvement, so all Gavin had to do was live through this beatdown and escape, and he’d have these two motherfuckers, and maybe even some of their crew, in prison for a long time.

Of course, that did mean he had to escape somehow. But he was a little too focused on getting beat up to think much about that, beyond the fact that it was something he needed to do.

A particularly hard punch to the side of his face brought him out of what little thinking he’d managed to do. He tasted copper, and stars swum in his field of vision for a second as he struggled to clear his head-if he passed out, he was as good as dead. Nobody was going to be out at this hour looking down creepy alleyways for unconscious detectives. Not that he thought these guys had any intention of letting him make it through this alive.

Which brought his mind back to the central matter-escaping. He’d tried to fight them off way back at the beginning of this unfortunate encounter, but, as he’d quickly learned, these dudes knew what they were doing and outnumbered him eight to one. Maybe he could negotiate with them...convince them he had more information than they did, that they’d be arrested within minutes if they killed him…

“Stop!”

They did not stop. Fucking uncooperative criminals. The taller of the pair punched him in the stomach, and he would have crumpled to his knees had the shorter man not grabbed him and hauled him back up, only to punch him again, this time in the throat, which hurt more than any of the other punches he’d received thus far. He flailed blindly away from his attackers, trying to breathe, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe, and it hurt, god, hurt like few things he’d experienced before, and just for a moment, everything stopped. And suddenly, he knew how he was going to get out of this. 

He once again began to fall to his knees, only to be caught and hauled back up as he had been a second before. A fresh punch to his nose momentarily disrupted his thoughts-he felt hot blood begin to flow down his face as he put his plan to action.

He forced himself to cough harshly, which hurt like hell but was crucial to his plan. Blood spurted out of his mouth in what he hoped was a convincing display of internal injury-a crushed trachea, to be specific. He brought frantic hands to his throat and made choking sounds, breathing in little, jerky wheezes, and fell once more to his knees-this time without being picked back up. 

He looked up at the eight men who now surrounded him with what he hoped were wide, fearful eyes, and struggled to speak (which he didn’t need to fake-that punch to the throat, while non-lethal, had come with side effects).

“Can’t...breathe...help….”

There was a bit of nervous muttering among some members of the group. 

“Shut up, we were killing this fucker anyway,” snarled the taller of the men who’d been beating him up-James Donovan, suspected murderer and Red Ice dealer. “Not our problem if he wants to make our job easier. Enjoy your death, motherfucker,” he snarled at Gavin, before delivering a kick to his stomach. 

Gavin slid down into a half-curled position, half out of instinct to protect himself from another kick, half out of performance, because now he had to pretend to die.

He focused on taking shallow, rattling breaths, coughing weakly, while trying simultaneously to slow his heart rate-he was banking on these guys being stupid, but if they checked his ‘corpse’ for a pulse, he was truly as good as dead.

Fortunately, they were just as stupid as he’d hoped-he let out one final rattly breath and then stopped breathing altogether, letting his eyes flutter shut. Scarcely thirty seconds passed before all eight of his would-be murderers (and accomplices to murder) had run away, congratulating themselves on a bad job well done. 

Idiots.

Gavin waited on the ground for several minutes. He was really starting to feel the effects of getting beaten to shit by two dudes a great deal larger than him-his head pounded, blood continued dripping from his nose to the concrete, his stomach throbbed, his throat ached-but he was alive. Now all he had to do was stay conscious long enough to make it to the precinct. He’d be safe there, he could report what had happened to his fellow officers, and if all went well, the dudes would be brought in to the station before they had even stopped to think about the possible consequences of their no-doubt-drunken actions.

He staggered to his feet, bracing himself against the wall for a long minute as he waited for the rushing in his ears to subside and the spots in his vision to fade. He made his way to the street on wobbly legs, and promptly collapsed onto the first bench he saw. 

He wasn’t sure how much blood he’d lost-it couldn’t have been that much, given he was currently only bleeding from his nose and had only been otherwise bleeding from his mouth, but he was lightheaded and dizzy nonetheless, though it didn’t feel like he’d been concussed. Small miracles, he thought, and reached for his pocket to grab his phone.

Which wasn’t there. Shit. They’d taken it, he remembered now, before they’d even started beating on him. He reached into his other pocket for the confirmation of what he already knew-his wallet was gone too. 

Great.

He took a deep breath (as deep as he could manage, anyway), then stood up slowly. He knew where he was, which was something, at least. Four blocks from his apartment, just across the street from that gym he’d gone to once last year. He mentally oriented himself and realized that, if he cut through a couple side streets, he could be at the precinct in fifteen minutes. 

So he set off, slowly and painfully, left arm curled protectively around his bruised stomach, right hand trying (and failing) to stop his nose from bleeding. 

Twenty-five minutes later (he’d overestimated his skill at walking whilst beat to shit), he arrived at the familiar building of his workplace. Though it was the middle of the night-around one, he’d guess-the building was lit up, and he could see shadows moving in the windows. He smiled, which hurt.

He wasn’t sure who was on duty tonight, he realized, as he pushed open the door. 

Wait. Fuck. Lieutenant Anderson had been griping the other day about getting stuck with the night shift on Tuesday...was it Tuesday?

“Reed?”

Fuck. Tuesday.

---

Gavin sat on the counter of the bathroom, feeling like he’d rather be back in that alley. Anderson, after getting over his initial horror at seeing his young colleague arrive to work unprompted, bruised, and bloody at three in the morning, had promptly moved to call for an ambulance, which Gavin had immediately declined. Anderson had, of course, tried to insist on proper, professional medical care, but Gavin, stubborn and angry and completely exhausted, had ultimately won out (it had been his beating, after all, plus he’d just helped to solve a murder, essentially).

So that brought him here, sitting on the cold marble of the bathroom counter, idly swinging his aching legs as Anderson fumbled about in a cabinet for a first-aid kit.

“Why you won’t go to the hospital is beyond me, Reed. Probably got a concussion and you’re gripin’ about havin’ free will.”

“I’m fine,” Gavin insisted, which hurt. He coughed, which also hurt.

“You don’t sound fine.”

Gavin sighed, which, yep, hurt. “Whatever.”

Anderson stepped away from the cabinet with a blue plastic first-aid kit and a paper cup, which he filled in the sink and handed to Gavin, who, ordinarily, might’ve taken the cup and poured it down the drain. He drank the water instead, which did very marginally ease the aching in his throat. He crumpled the cup and tossed it from hand to hand. 

“Hey! Didn’t I tell you to keep pinching your nose? How long’s it been bleeding, anyway?”

Gavin reluctantly did as he was told, leaning his head forward slightly. “I dunno,” he said thickly. “A while.”

Anderson shook his head. “If it doesn’t stop soon, you will go to the hospital.”

Gavin pinched his nose harder. “Will not.”

Anderson opened his mouth to reply, seemingly thought the better of it, and instead got to work unpacking various items from the first-aid kit. 

Gavin wasn’t sure how much good anything Anderson was extracting from the kit was gonna do. There were bandages and alcohol pads, but he wasn’t cut, aspirin, but that would worsen his nosebleed, a splint, but he hadn’t hurt his fingers…

Anderson seemed to realize this, too. Nevertheless, he opened up an alcohol pad and offered it to Gavin, who looked at him with a ‘what-is-this-gonna-do-for-me’ expression on his face. 

“You’ve got dirt and shit all over your face.”

Gavin shrugged, and groaned. God, even his shoulders hurt.

Anderson, apparently sensing that this was going nowhere, took matters (and Gavin’s face) into his own hands, lifting the younger man’s head from its downward, nosebleed-stopping position. He began wiping the grime from Gavin’s face in a far more gentle manner than Gavin had expected, and he was probably about to say something dumb when he coughed again, and then kept coughing, and blood spurted from his lips yet again. He leaned over the sink as more blood dripped from his mouth, and fuck, why was this happening, wasn’t everything else enough?

Anderson, sensing Gavin’s budding panic, thumped him lightly on the back. “You’re fine, Reed, it’s the blood draining from your nose. Shouldn’t have moved your head.”

Gavin would have pointed out the fact that he hadn’t moved his head, but the taste and feeling of blood on the back of his throat was making him nauseous, so he just put his head back down again and tried to take a deep breath.

Anderson continued wiping off his face, maneuvering around Gavin’s hand to finally remove the blood that had dried from his nose to his chin. 

Anderson had just begun to prod lightly at Gavin’s torso to examine for injuries when Gavin’s nose finally stopped bleeding, and he leaned back against the mirror with a sniff. Anderson looked up at his patient, nodded approvingly, and extracted an instant ice pack from the first-aid kit, which he activated and wrapped in a layer of paper towel. 

Gavin took it with no resistance, lightly pressing the cold material to his now-aching nose. Anderson, meanwhile, resumed his search for further injuries, which took all of a second.

“Ow!”

“What hurts?”

“I dunno. Everything?”

Anderson lifted Gavin’s shirt, whistling lowly at the already-impressive array of bruises that covered his stomach. “Jesus.”

“Mm.”

“Not a lot we can do about that.” Anderson returned once again to the first-aid kit, this time opening a small packet of ibuprofen. “This’ll do something, at least.”

Gavin took them, uncrumpled his paper cup, and filled it with water. He swallowed the two small pills, which might as well have been nails for how much they hurt his throat. He winced and blinked tears from his eyes.

“You get hit in the throat or somethin’?”

A small nod.

“Shit, you sure you’re good? Throat injuries aren’t anything to fuck around with.”

Another nod. “I’m sure. Been hit in the throat before.” He filled his cup again and drank some more water. It didn’t help.

“Hm. With brass knuckles?”

“How’d you know?”

“Those nasty bruises all over your stomach. Surprised your face hasn’t started to bruise yet, too.”

“Hm.”

“You’re lucky your windpipe didn’t get crushed.”

“It did. Sorta.”

Anderson looked at him, alarmed. “What’s that mean, ‘sorta’?”

Gavin shook his head. “Tell you...later. When I give my statement.”

“You’re sure you’re fine? Breathing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Anderson nodded. “I guess we’re done here, then. Not a lot else I can do for you. Those bruises’ll heal up soon enough, but you’re gonna be pretty colorful for a little while.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll talk to Fowler, he’ll probably give you the next coupla days off, but he’ll want your statement sooner rather than later.”

“I’ll come tomorrow.”

Anderson nodded again. “Good. We’ll move on Donovan and his crew within the week-Chen managed to secure testimony from that squirrely-ass witness we had on the Red Ice deals, and with what happened to you, added to their motivations and means for the murder, adds up to more than enough to put those motherfuckers away for a long time.”

“And all it took was getting beat to shit.”

Anderson laughed a little at that. “Nice work, Reed. I’ll drive you home, it’s almost the end of my shift anyway.”

Gavin nodded without really thinking. A ride home sounded...nice, if he was honest. He’d rarely seen this side of the Lieutenant before-gentle, caring, worried...fatherly. If he’d felt more himself, he might’ve said something cruel and cold about fathers and sons, but instead, he smiled. “Sounds good.” He paused a moment. “Thanks, Lieutenant.”

Whoo! I absolutely loved writing this, hope it ended up okay!!! I’m just such a sucker for people with animosity having to turn to each other for help and this presented me with the perfect opportunity...anyway hope this is good and thanks so much for reading!!!!

[bennguinfest]

Spring 2019 Fan Fest Prompt List

Hey fan-festers! 

We’re happy to say that we received 81 prompts this time around, and we spent the last few days distilling all those amazing and creative prompts down to a list of 63 prompts! (If you’re keeping count, that’s far more than last year’s 48!) 

As with last year, we had some repeat prompts and prompts that were similar enough that it made sense to condense them under one item. Additionally, most of the prompts we distilled down to a few words for the sake of having a concise list! Again, like last year’s fest, we’re providing the full text of the original prompts under the cut, in case you’re looking for more details to get started!

You’re free to create any kind of fanwork based on the below prompts! There’s no minimum word count and no rules on what to create, or even how many - if you want to combine prompts, that’s cool! If you’re called to make more than one thing, that’s awesome too! The only limit is that this fest runs from now until April 15th - so if you’re creating something, make sure you post it and tag it with #bennguinfanfest so we can share it to this tumblr! If you’re posting to AO3, the collection is now open for submissions as well, so make sure to include your work there so everyone can find it!

One final thing: even if you didn’t submit prompts, feel free to participate and join us on the discord! We’ve set up a discord server here: bennguinfest on discord to stay connected, inspire each other, and have fun! It’s a great group and really active, so don’t be shy!

That’s it! On to the prompt list!

Matchmaking dogs

Space AU

Birthday gifts

Coming out/being together in the NHL

Acting like a couple (but they’re not actually a couple)

Tyler as a WAG

Transported to a parallel universe

Abducted by aliens

Superhero/Superpowers AU

Amnesia from an injury

Soulmate AUs: Color-based, name-on-wrist

Thirst follow/Met online

Drag AU

Time loops

Alternate histories

Cop AU

Reality show AU (Survivor, the Bachelor, Married At First Sight)

Jamie Poppins/Single dad AU

Supernatural races (vampires, werewolves, shapeshifters, etc.)

Omegaverse: Courting

Delivery boy/Uber driver AU

Tyler gets traded back to Boston

Breaking up & making up

Omegaverse: Bonding drama

Boring office desk job

Road trips

Protective Jamie defending Tyler

College/University AU

Tyler tries to be Jamie’s wingman

Lites’s comments affecting the boys

Taking care of a sick hockey player

Cuddle pile/team bed fic

Harry Potter AU

Fire alarm meet-cute

DnD/Hockey Mashup

De-aged after a fight

Bakery/Tattoo Artist AU

Friends with benefits - and then with feelings

Zombie AU

Homeless AU

Nerds are hot/competency kink

Omegaverse: scents

YouTube channel AU

Bridal shop meet-cute

Beard appreciation

Tornado warning

Figure skater mpreg

Self-conscious Jamie

Wing!fic

Winning the cup and a kiss on the ice

Lifeguard AU

Haunted farm

Animal daemons

Surprise/sudden parenting

Jealousy from dating/flirting with someone else

Secret relationship and almost getting caught

Long-lost childhood friends

"Come here."

“Close the door.”

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“It’s three in the morning and you want me to do what?”

“You could’ve died.”

“I thought you were dead.

Full text of the prompts under the link! If you have any questions, feel free to send us an ask - and as always, happy creating! 

1. Matchmaking dogs: Tyler’s dogs want to get their human with a certain cow-eyed captain

“well this is really awkward considering the last time we saw each other, i was screaming at you to never talk to me again, but like, my dog recognized you all the way across the park and literally dragged me over here because she misses you so hi” AU

2. Space AU (ex. Star Trek, Firefly, or something else entirely)

3. It's Tyler's birthday and at first Jamie gives off the feeling that he's forgotten and this hurts Tyler but it turns out that that Jamie wakes Tyler up at midnight on his birthday with two tickets to an offseason trip

4. I want a fic that REALLY captures what it would be like if two NHL players were to come out in 2019. I'm talking teammate reactions, press reactions, social media, family, the whole shebang. I wanna see the real raw reactions and the struggle the guys would have to go through. I would also loooove if you could fit Jamie proposing to Tyler in there somewhere but it isn't a necessity.

Jamie has a hard time dealing with how public Tyler’s life is, with the insta stories and with random people filming him all the time. It feels like it’s only a matter of time before their relationship is exposed because of how much Tyler is in the public eye. Jamie doesn’t want to break up but it seems like that’s the only choice he has. He doesn’t want to do this so much that he calls a press conference and comes out of the closet.

Jamie and Tyler have been dating since 2014 and he’s tired of hiding it. So with Jamie’s consent he posts a cute photo of them being a couple and writes a heartfelt monologue about their story. And the whole hockey community blows up about it. And it’s kinda about how they deal with being and out couple and Tyler posting obnoxiously cute couple photos on his Instagram. Sorry this prompted is a mess I just want Tyler to be a troll and post cute cliche couple photos on Instagram of him and Jamie and the world loading their minds about it.

Jamie and Tyler come out to the team about them dating. Management wants to keep their relationship secret so they make Jamie fake date someone. And him and Tyler struggle with the stress that puts on them.

realistic consequences of being together with the team

5. Tyler and Jamie are super close but super oblivious to the fact that they act like a literal couple. Jamie has a gf and she hates the fact that it seems like Jamie cares more about Tyler than he does her.

6. Fluffy fic where Jamie still plays hockey, he meets tyler and they fall in love and tyler becomes an nhl wife/husband/boyfriend.

7. Parallel universes -- somehow Tyler (or Jamie) finds himself in an alternate universe where his life is radically different (for better or for worse) which makes him realize how much his relationship to Jamie (or Tyler) means.

waking up in the future/alternate reality fic

8. Jamie and Tyler are abducted by aliens and taken to a faraway planet where they are prisoners in a bizarro planet. Is it real or is it a nightmare though?

9. jamie and tyler are in danger and major trouble when their identities as superheroes are revealed and bad guys are after them.

powers/mutant AU (as in pick one, not all at the same time) One hides their ability from the other, and when the other finds out, its...not good

Superhero AU! Are they superhero partners? Is one of them a superhero and can't date the other because he has to keep him safe? Are they both trying to keep their secret identities secret from each other while simultaneously dating in both iterations? Up to you, or anything else!

10. Amnesia angst for the win - Jamie gets a particularly hard hit, wakes up and can remember everyone except for tyler (maybe not explicitly, say they can *remember* them, but not remember that they've been dating for eight months now) cue tyler avoiding jamie because its too hard him to be around him

11. soulmate au! people are born with blackmarks - on their hands, their faces, their skin in general - the black marks is the first place their soulmate would touch them. Jamie was born without a mark. Tyler was born with two pitch black palms. Years after tylers been traded to the stars, Jamie falls asleep, and tyler can't help but run his fingers through Jamie's hair, just once, and then he looks down at his hand and the tips of his fingers are colored, and so are the few strands of Jamie's black hair.

Soulmate au- either abo or name on wrist. No drama, just fluff!

12. Tyler thirst follows Jamie on insta. This can be hockey or non-hockey, but Jamie follows back and they start talking.

13. Rupaul’s Drag Race au. Tyler and Jamie are competing against each other but are constantly talking about how much they like each other/are attracted to each other in the confessional. They’re both single, so why not go for it? Alternatively, one is a queen and the other is a member of the pit crew.

14. groundhog day au (aka, tylers/jamies day keeps getting reset, again and again until they get together finally and wake up the next day)

15. alternate history, tyler is never traded to dallas, but they still somehow meet and fall in love anyway

16. cop AU, where in tyler the rookie transfers and get stuck with Jamie the sorta senior to show him the ropes. Jamie gets attached. And that’s...a problem, in their line of work. Or at least it is for him.

17. Survivor au- same or different tribe, as long as they’re the “showmance”

"The Bachelor" AU

Married at first sight au- either within the parameters of the actual show, or they literally get married the day they meet

18. Jamie!Poppins - tyler is a single father with a new baby and no clue of what he's going to do. enter Jamie Poppins!

19. Minotaur Jamie

The Dallas Stars are a pack of werewolves, and Tyler is the vampire that’s been traded to their team.

Shifter verse!! and ive got nothing else for this other than wanting to see tyler as a tiny lab puppy pls and thanks

20. Alpha Tyler and omega Jamie: “usually when I meet an omega I wanna bone, but with Jamie I wanna fucking hold his hand and feed him bonbons all day, what the fuck”

21. Jamie the delivery boy. Kay hear me out. Like he keeps delivering huge quantities of food to this particular house and it always seems like there should be more than one person. But there’s not. And Tyler orders. All. The. Time. Hopeful it’s jamie. But they’re both too dumb to ask each other out. Lots of pining

Uber driver! Jamie picks up Tyler from a one night stand

22. Tyler gets traded back to Boston AU - Everything hurts and nothing is okay. (except that at least one of them is retiring at the end of the season so it's actually more okay than they think) (also a future fic)

23. breakup and makeup but spanning over seasons - no cheese plots

24. Bond drama (abo) either they bond too quickly, like at the all star game or something and dont know ehat to do because theyre on different teams, or they really want to bond and its not happening as fast as they think it should

25. Boring office desk job

26. road trip to Montreal to visit Jordie

27. while out chilling at a bar celebrating a win, jamie and tyler are having a couple of drinks and when jamie gets up to go the bathroom, a drunk stranger and a couple of his friends decide to harass Tyler, upsetting him. A furiously protective Jamie intervenes and despite holding his own, Jamie is beaten up and him and tyler end up in a dumpster.

28. A University fic where Tyler is out and proud and gay and Jamie is still trying to figure out his sexuality but he's having a hard time. No homophobic Jamie tho please, just a guy trying to figure himself out. Would love if he would rely on his family throughout the fic for advice.

I’m always a sucker for college au, or masters/PhD students etc

COLLEGE AU BECAUSE WE ALL NEED MORE OF THAT IN OUR LIVES

'the cops showed up to a party we were at and chased everyone away. You and I happened to run in the opposite direction of all our friends and got lost in some dark and creepy street.’ - College AU

29. Tyler finds out Jamie is gay (outed/comes out/whatever you prefer) and embarks on a wild but good-intentioned quest to find Jamie his perfect man.

30. Tyler is hurt by Lites' comments more than one thinks and Jamie is worried when he sees Tyler crying in private.

31. sickfic? jamie taking care of tyler is- like just how pathetic is a sick hockey player?

32. team bed au omg someone pls

33. Harry Potter au but not as high school student, just something in the magical world

34. "3am and the fire alarm in our apartment building went off and you look cold here is my jacket"

35. Hockey AU but they’re all dnd races. I would love to see half-orc Jamie, and goliath Bishop, and tiefling Tyler. Please be as creative as you want with this!

Hockey AU where instead of going out, a core group of guys plays dnd in their hotel rooms while on the road. Tyler and Jamie’s characters are getting flirty in game, and it’s starting to translate outside of it as well.

36. Tyler and jamie fight - a *big* fight, and the next day Jamie suddenly got a deaged tyler on his hands and no idea how to fix it

37. Jamie owns a bakery and tylers the new tat artist next door plsplspls gimme that slow burn bullshit with this one

38. ty/jam used to have a whole friends w benefits thing that went oh-so-wrong because one (or both of them) caught feelings—as one does—and the fic is kind of that aftermath and trying to repair the broken relationship.

39. ZOMBIES

40. Homeless AU w/tyler

41. Tyler is smarter than he leads people to believe, and Jamie is into privately nerdy Tyler

42. Abo verse surrounding scents. Tyler smells like the most delicious thing Jamie has ever smelled, but he thinks he shouldn’t bond with a teammate

43. Youtube channel

44. Designer and single friend of client at a bridal shop AU

45. Beard appreciation

46. a tornado warning hits dallas and everybody is ordered to seek shelter. jamie follows tyler back to his house and hide in the basement with the dogs, frantic and terrified.

47. Tyler is a figure skater, Jamie still plays hockey. They meet and fall inlove but whoops tyler ends up pregnant. The world still isn't 100% accepting of LGBTQIA+ people and even less accepting of men getting pregnant. Tyler feels down at some point cause he has to put his career on hold. but it all ends up great in the end.

48. Jamie feels self-conscious about his ass after some chirping from opposing players and it's up to Tyler to comfort him

49. Wing!fic

50. They win the Stanley cup and kiss at centre ice

51. Jamie's a lifeguard. They meet after Tyler basically drowns himself. (It's not an excuse to have Jamie kiss him. Its *not*.)

52. Haunted farm au- Tyler is a witch that lives on a farm where extremely weird things happen. He ends up rescuing Jamie and Jamie pledges his services for one year in exchange for his life. During that year, they fall for each other hard, but there are outside forces in the farm trying to keep them apart.

53. Animal daemons

Goose daemons

54. Marshall, Cash and Gerry turn into human kids (temporarily or not), Bennguin handle being sudden parents

55. Tyler having a serious boyfriend for a while and Jamie is jealous because he wants to date Tyler but he’s not ready to come out. And he’s also upset because everyone is taking it so well and nothing has changed and he realizes he really missed out. But in the end they still get together.

56. secret relationship and how they almost get caught - many many times

57. Childhood pen pal / long distance childhood friends?

58. "Come here."

59. “Close the door.”

60. “I feel like I can’t breathe.”

61. “It’s three in the morning and you want me to do what?”

62. “You could’ve died.”

63. “I thought you were dead.”

[sleepypie1212]

Sleepypie’s Guide to Kdrama Love: or, 10 Steps to What is TOTALLY a Healthy Relationship*

I wrote a thing. Did you miss me? 

Have you ever wondered how all those kdrama girls do it? Do you too yearn to enact their principles in your life and achieve the same effect? Yearn no more! Here's my handy ten step guide to making a relationship work, k-drama style! Step 1: Be a Candy Remember, you must be poor but plucky, working a multitude of small-paying part-time jobs and living in cramped rooftop apartment. You must be absolutely wallowing in debt you've inherited, yet still face each coming day with a brave smile and optimistic, can-do attitude. Family's a no-no, unless it's a) your beloved father in a coma he won't wake up from, whose expensive hospital bills you must pay, b) an evil stepsister who devotes her every spare moment to making your life hell, or c) a missing  brother you worry about and look for, but who will only conveniently reappear at the end to alleviate any worries about your right to be happy or the potentially incestuous nature of your romance. Do try and have one female friend you will be able to turn to for relationship advice in the future. Her advice will always be terrible, but that won't matter, she's just there to point out that you like your romantic lead before you're willing to admit it yourself. Don't worry if she's better at makeup and fashion than you are. Although you will always complain about being poor and ugly, you will be effortlessly beautiful at all times, your clothes will always be name-brand, and as a bonus, your cell phone will always be the newest model. On the flip side, I hope you like subway.

Step 2: Meet Cute It's time to meet the love of your life! Now, he must be strikingly handsome, impossibly rich, and, most importantly, an apparently ice-cold bastard (don't worry, he's actually a giant softie hiding a tragic past behind those barriers and just waiting for the right girl to come along and teach him the power of love. We'll get to that in Step 3). Remember, it's important you meet in an unplanned, painfully awkward way that leaves him with a strong distaste for you. Tried and true methods include forcing him to give you a lift in the rain, throwing up on him during a plane ride, or tripping and making him catch you in one smooth graceful movement while his important papers for that big meeting that will define the rest of his life go flying. He should abandon you/make loud noises of despair and disgust/drop you at the earliest possible moment. Congratulations! You are now fated to be. Don't forget to call him a rude bastard once he's gone! Step 3: Forced Proximity The most important step. Somehow or other, you and the One must be forced to spend copious amounts of time together. This can be for almost any reason--maybe you've started working at his company, maybe you two enter a contract relationship for whatever reason (usually it's to get his matchmaking mother off his back, but bonus points if he wants one of your organs or its his crackpot grandfather's idea), maybe he moves into your house against your protests because he's being hounded by reporters and needs a place to hide. Regardless of the whys, you are now obligated to breathe each other's air for large quantities of time. Don't worry if it leads to a plenty of friction initially--that's normal! Soon, you'll realize all that bickering you do is actually cover for your simmering sexual tension. Arguments will now end with long, lingering gazes at each others lips. Curse words will start to be endearments. You will both quickly realize how noble and kind the other actually is, despite misleading first impressions. To hasten this process, I suggest shared babysitting sessions, eating homecooked meals at your table (don't be surprised if he's never had a homecooked meal before--his parents have usually never had time for him, and he will probably burst into spontaneous tears over the first mouthful), and drinking beer together on your rooftop, star-gazing. These situations are very conducive to deep conversations that don't seem to have much context--don't worry about that. You are Baring Your Souls to each other, an important part of the process. If you get the chance to be in a life-endangering situation, seize it, so he can rescue you dramatically, and then reproach you for being foolish, thus revealing how deeply he does actually care.

Step 4: Jealousy Right about now, his First Love should reappear on the scene. She will be, without a doubt, Unpleasant, especially to you, since she will sense how close you and the One have become merely by witnessing you two laughing together as you walk care-freely down the street (I suggest you be coming back from something he originally protested was for children--an amusement park, perhaps--but which he came to deeply enjoy. Be eating ice cream and get some on his nose for added effect, as his playful retaliation will reek of repressed emotions). He, however, will not be able to see this, and will instead be incredibly confused by her reappearance. He will try very hard to reconnect with her, refusing to believe he has changed since meeting you (a lamentably useless denial, since everyone else can clearly see, and frequently mentions, how much nicer he seems). This will be a bleak time for you, as you will be deeply saddened by his apparent affection for Another. Luckily for you, the Second Lead will be around to catch you! He will have been a neighbor, co-worker, or someone you viewed as a kid brother. He will do everything in his power to be there for you, though he will never explicitly state his affection (don't worry, second leads never do). Unfortunately, nothing will cheer you up. You will be  constantly reminded of the One by strangely specific things--a cup of coffee, a floating balloon, a teddy bear--immediately saddening you. Don't be too downcast! Unbeknownst to you, the One will witness you apparently being happy with the Second Lead and be absolutely consumed by an ironic jealousy, leading him to do all kinds of delightfully petty things you own't understand and find peculiar.

Step 5: The Kiss Good job, you've made it to your hallmark moment, the one that that will set the seal on your relationship with the One, affirming you will survive any and every obstacle thrown at you (there will be many), and haunt you in a series of never ending flashbacks for the rest of your romantic life! The One has finally been pushed to the breaking point, and is no longer able to deny the strength of his passion. Depending on the sub-species of drama hero you have acquired, the kiss may take one of several shapes. It may be exquisitely planned, with fireworks, roses, and a heart-stopping declaration of love. More frequently, it is a surprise to both of you, the culmination of weeks of building tension. You will always be in a beautiful location. You will always look stunning. He will always look stunning. You will probably have been fighting immediately before. When he kisses you, remember to stand stiffly, staring transfixed before you with shock. If emotions are especially wrought, you may cry, so that he may wipe the tears away with his fingers. . If you're unlucky, you might not remember this first kiss due to temporary ghostly possession or his penchant for freezing time at significant moments. But odds are that means you get a second first kiss! Who doesn't love that? And on the positive side, from now on, the One will be incredibly sweet, self-sacrificing, and adoring. He will not in any possible way resemble the man you first met. Except he will still be smoking hot. Savor this moment, because you will shortly be very unhappy indeed 

Step 6: The Obstacles I warned you they were coming, didn't I? Because now that you and the One have kissed and thus declared your undying passion for each other, his family will rise up in protest. They will seek to humiliate you at every opportunity, try to bribe you to leave him with money (you must be deeply affronted by this, and bravely choking back your tears, condemn them for not realizing you have pride and that not everything can be bought), and/or destroy your life by any possible means. I would suggest investing in insurance, because you are about to be kicked out of your home, lose your job and gangsters will shortly corner you in alleyway (don't worry, the One will save you, if only so he can berate himself later for bringing all this down on your head).  If he has no family (this is rare, and means he is either an alien, a time-traveler, or a cartoon character transported to your world by an unexplained deus ex machina), he will realize that he will soon be compelled to return to his planet/time/dimension by impenetrable forces, leaving you vulnerable to the enemies he has made on your planet/time/dimension who will seek vengeance on you as soon as his back is turned. 

Step 7: The Noble Idiocy Sigh. It's unavoidable, so grind your teeth now and get it over with. The One, deciding that somehow he is making your life miserable/endangering you, will decide to leave you. He won't explain why--instead, he'll give you a terrible reason for leaving. Usually it's something far more stupid and hurtful, like he never actually loved you and that you were just an amusement. He will then vanish from your life, returning to his original sphere like he never left it, and plunging everyone's life into untold clouds of freaking gloom. Go ahead and sob, no one's judging you. It's not your fault your boyfriend makes shitty decisions like a little kid instead of talking things over with you like an adult. If it makes you feel better, he's even more miserable, and he spends an ungodly amount of time staring at the little trinket you gave him that one time, pining for days gone by. If it wasn't so stupid, it would be hilarious. Step 8: The Reunion You will unexpectedly bump into each other on the street or at the office, and he will gaze at you soulfully. You will turn away, still deeply hurt by his abandonment, but it's all going to be ok, because now having seen you in person once more, all the moronic reasons this seemed like a good idea to him in the first place will become irrelevant and he will start popping up in your life like a toadstool, giving you the chance to exact petty but oh-so-satisfying vengeance if you so desire. I suggest so desiring. It's massively entertaining. But only push him to the point where he confesses why he left in the first place, and then melt like the marshmallow you are. You may have to chase after him in the rain, but it's fine--it will provide a particularly striking backdrop to your makeup kiss and give him the opportunity to shelter you with his umbrella, letting himself get unnecessarily soaked in the process (he'll probably be ill afterwards and collapse, but don't worry. Let him lie in bed a few days, with a saline solution and spoon feed him porridge and he'll be right as rain. Er. No pun intended.) Step 9: The Final Problem Everything that came before was build-up for this, and now you must face down whatever issue has cast a cloud over your fated relationship all this time. Is one of you dying? Has one of you promised to go to jail for the other? Has his family threatened to disinherit him if he continues to see you? Fret not, everything will be magically cleared away. There will be a miracle cure, a guns drawn showdown where the actual murderer is finally caught, or his domineering father will have a stroke and become a much kinder, gentler person.  Along the way, it will be revealed that you and the One actually met as children, either only briefly or were best friends until one of you moved/lost your family/faked your own death, and in reality are each other's long forgotten First Loves. Smell that? That's Fate. Finally, you're almost there! 

Step 10: The Ending This is the trickiest part to pull off, but having made it this far, I'm sure you can do it. It's clear to you and to everyone else you and the One will be together forever now. Nothing can tear you apart. But do you want to get married right away in a big, beautiful ceremony? Do you want to date for awhile, spending a lot of time sitting in front of beautiful sunsets with the One? Do you choose to inexplicably study abroad for a brief period of time, returning only then to fully consummate your love? The choice is yours, but whatever you choose, you've earned a stunning conclusion to all your suffering. *not applicable to sageuk storylines which are more inclined to heavily feature torture, blood feuds, hanboks, flowing hair, horses, and reincarnation. See my Ten Steps to Surviving a Sageuk for that one.

[shruggingcutely]

Parsee loves her big strong wife

Suddenly, a Touhou fanfic. I love YuuParu, I’m gay, so here they are

Does it even make sense to post fanfics on Tumblr when the AO3 link is right there, honest question

Word count: 2k-ish

Rating: Safe, but Parsee wants to get destroyed

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336625

Crawling out of her hut that morning after a humble breakfast, Parsee’s feelings were mixed, as usual, about the silence that greeted her. She climbed up to her bridge and started her watch for the day. Silence comforted her; with no one else here, she had no one to be jealous of and her agitated mind stayed quiet for a change. But at the same time, she did feel jealous of those who got to wake up with their loved ones. Parsee ground her teeth and uttered a curse, even if she did belong to that group of people occasionally. But not today. How dared they. She would wake them pay.  

Long, lonely hours went by as Parsee observed the river below and calmed down. It was probably more accurate to call it a moat with how little it moved, but if Parsee was going to spend her life or whatever around it, it better be a river. Its slowness, however, was also what Parsee found relaxing about it. Little trickles played a song just for her.

Until her ears twitched at a distant sound from town. A rumbling that quickly came closer and closer. Countless small stomps. Parsee braced herself, but nothing could have prepared her for the group of oni children that ran up to her like they were family. They did not want to cross the bridge, did they? It would be difficult to stop them considering their strength and number. How jealous.

“It’s the bridge princess!”

“Hi~”

“The boss was right, she’s so pretty!”

Parsee frowned. “You’re not here to cross my bride, are you?” she said.

The kids laughed and some shook their heads. One spoke up. “The boss said we could play here because the bridge princess would protect us from spirits and the mean spider!” Would she now.

“Stop it with the bridge princess, my name is Parsee. Who is this boss you speak of?” Did she really need to ask? Well, no, she had an inkling.

“The big sis!”

“Yuugi!”

Of course. She’s so pretty! “I see. Sorry, I have to guard the bridge.”

“You’re not gonna play with us?” The kids made big puppy eyes at her. Ugh. It reminded her of Yuugi with her charmingly honest face. How could she say no to that.

Parsee closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them a second Parsee stood next to her. “Fine, let’s play,” Parsee said.

“Whoa~”

“I wanna do that too!”

“Let’s play tag!”

“How’d ya do that!”

“No wonder the boss likes her!”

Finding herself blushing, Parsee turned around and walked to the center of the bridge, while her second body ran away from the child that was “it”. Fortunately, nobody else approached, because that little trick took a lot of concentration and she was already jealous of the carefree kids.

Unfortunately, they were all quite taken with Parsee, not unlike their boss, and so all went straight for her. Parsee was “it” most of the time – these kids were so quick, how jealous – but at least it took no toll on her actual stamina.

After about an hour of playing with these lively kids, though, Parsee’s head got heavy. Still nobody else here, not surprisingly. Parsee sighed and made the second her disappear. The kids hollered in amazement until Parsee joined them. This just had them even more focused on her and her stamina couldn’t possibly keep up with the little devils that chased her around the place.

Why was she even doing this? Hard to say, but somehow Parsee found herself smiling. Slightly. The kids seemed to have fun with everything she did, which was quite the change of pace for someone used to being shunned. Their infectious giggles probably had nothing to do with Yamame, though.

Finally one of the kids tagged Parsee and, panting, she sank to the ground. As she opened her mouth to complain, a loud voice behind her shook the place. “Brats, it’s lunchtime! Don’t forget to thank the nice gal for playin’ with ya lot!”

The kids did as ordered with their cheerful voices and even helped Parsee up. They all grinned at her, but nobody grinned more than Yuugi, who patted their heads as they ran off.

“Took… your sweet… time…” Parsee said. Yuugi shone like the sun on a cold winter day and now more than ever.

“Y’all were havin’ so much fun, I didn’t wanna spoil the moment.”

“Fun…” Parsee snorted. When all the kids had left, Yuugi laid a big arm around Parsee’s shoulder and gently pulled her close. Nothing made Parsee feel more at ease than Yuugi’s touch and the oni had quickly figured that out. “What was this about?” Parsee said between huffs.

“Ya remember when we had that festival and we walked around town together? And ya were all ‘I’m jealous of the moms who’re happy ‘cause their kids are happy.’” She did remember, but Yuugi had left out how Parsee had also been jealous of the kids and… well, everyone, obviously. “And the youkai in town were lookin’ for a place where the brats could play, ‘cause they always cause trouble, so I thought you’d be happy watchin’ over ‘em. Maybe you’re not a mom right now, but what if you became everyone’s mom!”

Parsee sighed at the weight of that. “Aren’t you already everyone’s mom?”

“I’m the big sis! The boss!”

Despite herself, Parsee smiled at the silliness of it all. “But they’ll all be taller and stronger than me in no time. Makes me jealous.”

Yuugi laughed like thunder. “Y’know who’s stronger than the strongest youkai? The strongest youkai’s mom!”

Parsee couldn’t help but chuckle. “Big dummy.”

“I’m Parsee’s big dummy~” Yuugi grinned and kissed Parsee’s forehead.

“…What about the strongest youkai’s wife…” Parsee uttered and immediately regretted.

Yuugi lifted her up like she weighed nothing at all and sat her on Yuugi’s muscular forearm. Parsee felt so small and she hated feeling small… except with Yuugi, who instead made her feel safe and taken care of as she towered over Parsee. “The position’s still empty,” Yuugi said and winked. Parsee wanted to slap herself for the fuzzy feeling in her stomach, but instead she buried her face in Yuugi’s big chest. Yuugi patted her head, played with the blonde locks, and said, “How ‘bout I stay over tonight?”

The last thing Parsee needed to hear right now. She gripped Yuugi’s white shirt. “Why would you want to? Y-your place is so much nicer…”

“I love your place! It’s cozy, even if I break things sometimes… I love it ‘cause it’s yours, ‘cause it’s where you live.”

Parsee stayed quiet, burying her face even deeper. Yuugi’s hand, so big she could fit all of Parsee’s head in her palm, stroked her back. After a short eternity of questioning her luck, Parsee finally mumbled, “Fine…”

Yuugi pressed the strongest peck on Yuugi’s cheek. “Now let’s get some grub in town!” She let Parsee down, but kept her small hand in hers.

On her way back Parsee had “bought” ingredients for dinner – the people in town knew her and that Yuugi would pay them back if they dared ask. In her pitiful hut she cooked rice, dried fish, roasted nuts, cut vegetables, and stirred soup. She did not have much to work with as far as tools were concerned, but she had lived through many, many years of this and could handle the limitations. Yuugi seemed to care more about quantity than quality anyway.

A knock shook the wooden walls. Yuugi entered carefully. “Smells delicious!” She grinned, like always. Parsee smiled with pride. “You’ll make a great wife one day~”

Parsee tried hard to scowl to hide how much she loved hearing this. “Sit down, it’s all done.” She filled the plates and spread them out on the table, where Yuugi already wolfed them down with her eyes. When Parsee sat next to her and nodded in resignation, Yuugi wolfed them down for real. Somehow she never caused a mess despite the speed at which she shoved the food in her face. Like usual, two plates in she slowed down and began to savor food. She still finished before Parsee, who was maybe a little distracted by Yuugi.

“So good! Must be your secret ingredient.”

Parsee had a bad feeling about the direction this would go. She made sure not to drink or eat anything. “What secret ingredient…?”

Yuugi grinned at her as if to show off her fangs. “Love!” She guffawed as Parsee stared at her in unsurprised disbelief. The worst part was Parsee couldn’t even disagree, even if she wouldn’t have put it like that.

Parsee finished her tea, but Yuugi stopped her before she could pour herself another cup. She pulled out a bottle of sake and shook it as if to sell Parsee on the idea. Parsee had become more careful with alcohol, partly because Yuugi could drink it like water and it was dangerous to go with her pace, partly because nothing made Parsee more jealous than waking up with a hangover and no memory of the previous night while Yuugi remembered everything in full detail. “One cup,” Parsee said.

Yuugi, of course, took care of the rest of the bottle. But no more – Parsee hated when Yuugi wasn’t at least close to sober at night, as strange as that was for an oni.

Parsee took a sip and seriously considered ignoring her self-imposed limit. The sake tasted mild, slightly nutty and sweet, just the way Parsee liked it, but unlike Yuugi’s own preference. Kind of a waste not to have another cup when Yuugi had clearly picked it just for her…. She glanced at Yuugi, who smiled back at her. Lifting Parsee’s chin with a single finger, Yuugi kissed her almost chastely. The taste of the sake lingered on their lips. Yuugi winked and went back to drinking.

Parsee held her head. Of course, she would get to taste more of the sake throughout the night, even if she only had that one cup. After another sip Parsee got up to wash the dishes, to get the chores out of the way. She stopped Yuugi from helping with a simple, “You’ll break them.” Which was true, but Parsee also wanted to let her enjoy her drink. Yuugi still got up to press a kiss on Parsee’s nape, which almost made her drop a plate. Rubbing the spot, Parsee glared at Yuugi. “Keep drinking or… or wait in b-bed…”

Yuugi smiled, surprisingly earnest. “Was just thinkin’ how gorgeous my wife is.”

Parsee lips tightened. If she stopped now, the plates would be a pain to clean later….

Clicking her tongue, Parsee grabbed a towel to dry her hands, then finished the rest of her sake in one long sip while staring Yuugi right in the eyes. Yuugi got the hint and quite literally swept Parsee off her feet, only to gently lower her onto her futon in the bedroom.

Parsee glared up at her. “You did this on purpose.”

Yuugi simply kissed her, slowly, deeply, robbing Parsee of her breath and her thoughts. “Just speakin’ the truth.” Convincing… and one of the reasons Parsee more than tolerated her. Parsee locked fingers with Yuugi’s, twice the size of hers. Yuugi easily covered all of Parsee’s body with herself. Parsee just wanted to disappear into this, erase all the anxieties that plagued her mind. Yuugi’s rough thumb brushed over Parsee’s cheek, then down her lips. Parsee trembled in anticipation, even as Yuugi kissed her again. She wanted Yuugi to fill every part of her body or, alternatively, crush it into dust.

“Yuugi. Break me,” Parsee said, and with honest, loving eyes Yuugi replied, “Never.” She kissed down Parsee’s neck. “But I can make it feel like that.”

Memories from a previous night that had left Parsee unable to walk properly for a good week flashed before her eyes. Parsee swallowed. “I’m jealous you can do that.”

“Wouldn’t mind ya havin’ a go too… but right now…” Yuugi’s big hand slid down from Parsee’s neck to her breasts. “…you’re all mine….”

[joonbird]

Heartbeat | 5

➭ “You’ve always stayed far away from the Kingsnakes, the coldblooded gang that runs the dark heart of your city. That is until your life collides with the intriguing and dangerous Jung Hoseok.”

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: gang!au, angst, smut

wordcount: 10k

part one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

** warnings: ANGST, degrading names during sex, dom!Hoseok, violence, graphic descriptions of injuries, dark themes, mentions of drugs, hospital scene

You woke up with a gasp, your face dotted in sweat. 

Your pulse was racing, your heart a dull drumbeat in your ears. You let out a breath, it came out as more of a rattled hiss, staring into the darkness of your bedroom.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, your fingers relaxed from where they were clenched around your cotton bedsheets. 

Your breathing slowed, as you squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head once, then twice.

You swung your body around, the bottoms of your feet skimming the floor. A nightmare. How long had it been since you’d had a genuine, full-fledged nightmare? Years, at least. 

You let out a soft groan, trying to calm your still trembling muscles. Your mind was now recalling the sharper, more jagged pieces of your dream. 

Your dream hadn’t made sense, but it still felt so alarmingly real- flashes of different people in your mind while you slept. People you cared about, people who had hurt you, people who scared you, people you loved. 

Hoseok’s face had darted in and out of all the above categories.

You grabbed your phone, the artificial light illuminating the darkness. No new notifications, nothing from Hoseok. At this point, you weren’t surprised. You pressed the lock button on your phone, the room elapsing back into inky darkness.

It had been two days since Hoseok had left your apartment with the Kingsnakes. You had called him, once, then twice, then five times, only to be met with deafening silence. Each dull beep of his disconnected phone line cemented in your head that he didn’t want to talk to you. And why would he?

You had no way of contacting him other than calls and messages - you didn’t even know where he lived. So that had left you a mess of emotions all weekend, hopeful that he would answer one of your calls and say something, anything.

You picked up your phone again. How were you supposed to put everything that you were feeling and thinking into a message? It was late into the night, the kind of late where everything was eerily still. You tucked your knees into your chest and typed out a text. 

Y/N: I care about you Hoseok. I’m not going to give up.

You pressed send, placing your phone screen side up on your bedside table so you could see if a new notification came in. You curled into bed with a sigh.

But sleep didn’t come, and your room stayed dark until morning light.

You were feeling the full wrath of your sleepless night as you arrived at the office. Your head was pounding with the dry headache that was indicative of sleep deprivation, your body sluggish. 

One of your coworkers shot you a sympathetic smile, quipping, “Mondays huh?” You managed a wan smile in response, thinking silently that it wasn’t really the Monday bothering you. Rather, it was the silence from the gang member you were fucking and possibly in love with.

You couldn’t exactly say that to your coworker though, so instead, you just smiled thinly and agreed. “Yep. Mondays.”

You settled into your desk, glancing at Abel’s empty office. You had sent him an email over the weekend explaining that you needed to speak to him privately, and he had agreed. Now, you were just waiting for him to arrive at work.

You pulled out your laptop and opened the article you had sent to him. You scanned over the words you had written, letting out a sigh. It was a good piece, one of your best- punchy and passionate. Nothing like the flimsy, half-hearted articles about community affairs and celebrity gossip that you had been writing all year. 

Your mind wandered back to Z’s words on Friday night, the thinly veiled threat, his mention of ‘sources’. You glanced around the office uncertainly. How did Z know that the article was even in the works, that it had been sent over to Abel?

You felt a shiver travel up your spine at the thought that the information had been leaked to him. That somehow he had a connection to this side of your life, a side of you that wasn’t his to access. You had no idea how, but he knew. The thought made you feel exposed, and you shuddered, making a silent note to yourself not to trust anyone for the time being. 

Maybe even Hoseok, you thought.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you reacted in seconds, hastening to open your messages.

Taehyung: Hey. We haven’t talked in what feels like forever… wanna grab a coffee after work?

Your chest deflated a fraction when you realized it wasn’t who you had hoped. Still, you were happy to hear from Tae, seeing as the last time you’d been with Taehyung it hadn’t exactly gone smoothly. You cringed, remembering the look of shock on his face when he had pieced together the information that you were sleeping with Hoseok. 

Y/N: Hey Tae, sounds good. I’ll meet you around 5?

You pressed send, leaning back on your office chair when you heard a familiar voice. Abel had finally arrived, a huge cup of coffee in his hand. You stood up, watching as he let himself into his office, greeting a few people along the way. You made a beeline to his office door, your phone vibrating in your pocket. You glanced down at it quickly. 

Taehyung: Great ☺ ☺ I’ll meet you outside your office building at 5pm.

You sighed and fired back a quick smiley face emoji and an OK before you knocked on your boss’s door.

“Come in.” 

You let yourself in, closing the door carefully behind you. As soon as it clicked shut, you turned to face Abel.

“I need you to drop the Kingsnake article.”

The older man raised an eyebrow, throwing his hands up in the air with a laugh.

“Whoa, hello to you too, Y/N.” He shook his head and laughed again, grabbing his coffee and taking a long sip. You frowned, irritated by his blasé attitude.

“I mean it,” You repeated, folding your arms and watching as Abel rummaged around in his briefcase, pulling out his laptop. He didn’t look at all fazed by your words and you narrowed your eyes. 

“Abel. I’m not joking. Pull the article. I don’t give consent for the piece to run.”

Abel finally paused, looking up to study you. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he sighed.

“Okay,” He stated tiredly. “What is this all about?”

You struggled to keep your face neutral. “I just… don’t feel comfortable with the piece running.” 

Abel was still staring at you closely, before he frowned, shaking his head.

“It’s a good piece, Y/N.” He said in a low, serious voice. “It’s an important piece.”

You met his gaze and shrugged brusquely, your lips pressed together in a firm, determined line.

“I want it pulled.”

Abel frowned. 

“Why are you so adamant on getting it pulled?” He asked, tension clear in his voice. “Is it to do with how you got the intel?” He added, almost as an afterthought. He opened his laptop and clicked. “’Each city has an underbelly, a dark current that runs underneath its foundation. And the Kingsnakes are at the heart of this city.’ It’s good.” He read aloud, and you bit your lip. 

“If it’s an issue of safety, we’ll protect you. We can even post it anonymously.” He said gently.

You shake your head, knowing full well that this isn’t even an issue of safety, that anonymously posting the article is pointless. This is about Hoseok, this is to make up for the look of betrayal that had flashed across his face. 

You remained silent, stubborn, and Abel sighed. 

“Okay,” He muttered, he stood up and rummaged in the cabinets behind him, the sound of shuffling papers filling his small office. He turned, handing a file to you. 

You picked it up, swallowing. It a faded yellow file, papers stuffed inside haphazardly, and you hesitated.

“What is this?” You asked quietly, and Abel didn’t respond, walking over to his window and yanking the windowpane up. You watched as he placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it.

“Read it.”

Silently, you opened the folder and found yourself flinching at the very first thing that greeted your eyes. 

It was a photo of Hoseok. A mugshot. Your eyes lingered on his face, his stubborn eyes, the defiant twist of his lips. You read what was listed under the photo, he had been arrested for petty crime, possession of drugs. The quantity of which was not enough to warrant a harsher punishment, but enough to put something permanent on his file.

You glanced up to see if Abel had noticed your reaction, but he was staring out of the window, a pensive look on his face as he smoked. You returned your attention to the papers in front of you, flicking through them. 

They weren’t too interesting- a few more mugshots of faces you recognized from the party, a few police reports of petty thefts, robberies and drug busts. Even some receipts from liquor stores and grainy convenience store surveillance shots. Your fingers trembled when you got to the crime scene report from the convenience store owner who had been bashed to death. You wondered exactly what the file was, as you reached the last few slots of paper tucked inside.

A missing person’s report. You starred at the photo attached to the report, a young woman in her twenties, around your age. A beam pasted on her face, the photo cropped from what was likely a group photo with friends. You scanned the details of the report- her name was Cara, and she had been travelling in your city for vacation when she disappeared. 

You swallowed, turning to the next page. Another missing person’s report. A young man this time, he was youthful, cute, you mused. Kim Namjoon. Visiting family when he had failed to return home after a night out. There were more missing persons reports, and you swallowed. 

“What is this?”

Abel sighed heavily. “My attempt at investigating the Kingsnakes,” He said wryly, shaking his head. “They’ve been a part of this city since I was kid,” He murmured. “But things have changed in the last few years.” He faced you, his wrist still resting on the windowpane, the cigarette dangling out of the window.

“What have these missing people got to do with the Kingsnakes?” You asked in a short voice, tossing the file back on his desk. 

Abel frowned, sighing. “I don’t know exactly. They’re most likely dead. All I know is that surveillance footage has them and some of the Kingsnakes in the same vicinity before they disappear. And my sources say that the Kingsnakes have been dabbling in the darker stuff. Organ trafficking. Human trafficking. Drug trafficking. No evidence though. All I have is one puzzle piece and no clear picture.”

Your breath hissed in uncomfortably as you stared at the file sitting in front of you, wondering what exactly the bigger picture was.

“It’s not enough,” You could hear the frustration in Abel’s voice. “But your article Y/N? It’s good.” He turned to face out of the window. “It might be the first step to what we need. It might be a starting point for people to come forward. To assist us. For the police to stop throwing this shit under the rug and care, for once.”

You frowned at your boss. “Do you really think they would do that?”

Abel just shrugged. “I can only hope so. It’s the right thing to do.” He said his words with a wry, sarcastic note.

You can feel it in your bones, that Abel is right. This is the right thing to do. You can remember being younger and seeing the Kingsnakes in your neighborhood- everyone knows them, their leather jackets and black inked tattoos has always been their signature. But in the last few years they just seemed to be growing, their presence a shadow in the city, menacing and lingering. And after being at the Kingsnake party, the drugs on the table, seeing Z talk so emotionlessly about ending another man’s life… you wondered what else the gang had done.

“Investigative journalism is dying,” Abel continued in a tired voice. “You know, when I was a rookie like you, we were out there in the field trying to uncover secrets, write the hardest, fastest, best articles. Back then, it was all about seeking justice, pen mightier than the fucking sword, blah blah blah. These days? It’s all clickbait and real shit like this goes uncovered.” He lets out an exasperated hiss. 

“These guys aren’t good news.” He says finally, glancing at you. 

His face is slightly reddened in anger, and it feels like you’re seeing him properly for the first time, taking in the creases on his face and the look on his eyes – like he’s only moments away from losing hope altogether. 

“This is personal to you,” You murmured, and Abel shrugged. 

“Let’s put it this way,” He said finally, in a clipped voice. “I have my reasons.”

You didn’t pry further, although you were wondering in the back of your mind what exactly those reasons were.

“How long have you been…” your voice trailed off and Abel sighed, filling in the blanks of your unfinished question.

“Too long.”

You swallowed. You looked down at the file on the desk, and the message you had sent to Hoseok. Telling him that you cared for him. That you wouldn’t give up. And you had been honest, you weren’t going to give up on him. 

There was something pulling you into Hoseok, every single time. That something in you, gut instinct perhaps, that told you that you weren’t wrong about him. 

Your father had always told you to trust your gut instinct. Trust in yourself, was his mantra. No one knows you better than you. 

You lifted your head and met Abel’s gaze, feeling your heart sink a little from the hope that was in his eyes. 

“Abel,” you said in a soft voice. “Pull the article.” 

He stared at you for a long moment and then he nodded. 

“…Okay,” He shrugged. “I’ll pull the damn article.” He turned and took a furious, long drag from his cigarette. With a disappointed expression on his face, plumes of smoke surrounding him, it reminded you painfully of Hoseok. 

You felt a sharp pain in your chest. What exactly were you doing? You had been fighting to grow in your career as a journalist for years, and now you were throwing something potentially groundbreaking away.

Your mind darted back to Z, and you wondered if Z knew about this, about this yellow folder with the bare threads tying the Kingsnakes to various crimes.

Threads that weren’t strong enough yet, but you knew all things had the potential to grow. Even this.

“Abel,” You said softly. “Be careful, okay?”

He didn’t look at you, instead, he just nodded. His eyes were still focused outside on the city.

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, unsure of what to say. So instead, you turned and left his office, closing the door behind you.

You could still see Abel’s weary face in your mind as you left work at 5pm. You were relieved to be done, having spent the majority of your work day answering emails and ignoring the stirring of guilt in your stomach. 

As you left your office, you spotted a familiar figure waiting.

“Hey stranger,” Taehyung grinned. He leaned down and gave you a warm hug, you hugged him back. 

“Sorry I’ve been so busy,” he said with a slightly awkward smile, and you nodded. 

“I’ve been busy too,” You replied. You both knew that it wasn’t an issue of busy schedules that had let to your lack of communication. Regardless, you were relieved to see that things were fairly normal between you and Tae.

You settled into step with him as you began to walk to your usual coffee place.

“I saw Dad the other day, he asked about you,” You began, and Taehyung grinned. 

“Man, I haven’t seen your Dad in forever,” He commented. “How is he?”

“He’s good. Same old, you know how he is. Stubborn as hell.” 

Taehyung just gave you a wry smile. “It may run in the family.”

“Hey,” You laughed, giving him a light smack on the arm. Taehyung made a noise of mock complaint, before both of your laughter died down into silence. Taehyung was thinking about something, his eyebrows creasing in a way that they only did when he was deep in thought.

“Y/N,” Taehyung started. “About the other day. With that guy. I know it’s none of my business.” He began hesitantly, and you frowned, biting the inside of your cheek. “…But I just… are you sure you’re making the right decision?”

This was a conversation you didn’t really want to have, not now. Not when you had no idea where Hoseok was or if he even cared about you. Still, you stalled for a moment, before shrugging.

“Yeah,” You said finally. “I think I am.” 

Taehyung absorbed this, nodding slowly. “What do you see in him?” He asked abruptly, and you blinked, surprised by the slight edge in Taehyung’s voice.

“I…” Your voice faltered a little as you tried to put your finger on what exactly it was that drew you to Hoseok. You toyed with different words in your mind, sparks, chemistry, fire, but nothing seemed to fit. 

What you shared with Hoseok was different. Hot, intense, unpredictable, and it filled you with something that you had never felt before.

“I can’t explain it,” You said finally, honestly. “But trust me,” You added, seeing the look on Taehyung’s face. “It feels right.”

Taehyung stopped walking altogether.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taehyung’s voice rose slightly. “Y/N… he’s… he’s a gang member. And all you can say is that you can’t explain it? That it feels right?”

He was hurt, you could see it all over his face, but still, you frowned at him, crossing your arms in indignation.

“You don’t know him.” You retorted, your eyes flashing. “God, Tae. You don’t know what’s best for me. I don’t need you looking out for me, I can take care of myself.” The words were biting, cold, and the moment they came out, you regretted them.

“Tae,” You mumbled. “That came out wrong, I’m sorry.” 

Taehyung just sighed, his face softening. “Hey,” He murmured, pulling you into a hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I just…” 

His voice broke off in hesitation and you could see it in his eyes. That same expression that seemed to be written all over his face whenever he was around you lately. 

The same look that was written all over yours whenever Hoseok was involved. 

A hopeless kind of hope. 

You nodded, fighting the prick in your eyes. “I know.” You stayed like that for a moment longer, before you eased yourself out of Taehyung’s embrace. He just stared at you for a long moment.

“Y/N,” He murmured. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t,” You whispered and he stared at you for a long moment before he broke off into a rough laugh, shaking his head. 

“I’d be lying,” He said in a low, quiet voice. “If I said I also didn’t want you to be with him for my own selfish reasons.” He glanced up to meet your eyes and you hesitated. Taehyung’s eyes flickered and he nodded, forcing a smile on his face.

“Anyway. Enough of that serious talk.” He changed the topic, regaling you with a story about the latest artist he had signed at the gallery. He was trying hard- peppering his story with chirpy anecdotes and you responded in relief, happy to slip back into a comfortable space with Tae. 

The two of you reached your usual coffee shop, Taehyung still chatting away, when you felt your heart skip in your chest.

Z was standing across the road, smoking a cigarette. He hadn’t seen you, leaning against his bike, an impassive expression on his face. He had a black duster on, his arms crossed. 

“Hey Tae,” You interrupted his story. “I have to make a quick phone call, for work, do you mind going in first and getting us a table?” 

Taehyung’s eyes creased in confusion but he shrugged and nodded. “Sure.” He walked ahead into the coffee shop, and you waited until he was well inside. 

Shoving your hands into your pockets, you crossed the road, walking towards Z.

“Uh… Z. Hi.” You called out before you reached the other man. 

He turned his head slowly towards you at the sound of your voice.

Z just stared at you. 

His eyes were flat and unyielding, and it occurred to you what it was about him that you found so terrifying. He was so immaculately pressed together. His face smooth and composed, his eyes devoid of any emotion. 

However, this close, you could sense he was inches away from coming undone. The edges of his sanity were fraying. Your mind flashed back to the image of his fist, connecting with a sickening crack in Jimin’s eye socket. The wild look in his eyes after he’d snorted the ketamine. How quickly he had veered between those extremes. 

That was what terrified you about Z. It wasn’t his controlled side, or his wild outbursts. It was the fact that you had no idea who he was. He was like a cobra, poised, and you had no idea when he was going to strike.

“I was wondering if you had heard from Hoseok or know where he is. I just want to talk to him.” Your voice rushed out and Z just kept staring. “I’m not going to write anything else about you, I got that article pulled and it won’t be published, I just want to explain-”

“Stop speaking.” Z’s voice sliced through your words and you fell silent. He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t yell. Instead, his words slipped out like silk. 

Your hairs stood up on edge and you felt a chill in your spine as he flicked his cigarette to the ground. The embers burned red and Z didn’t bother stamping out the flame, instead, he lifted his eyes to meet yours. His eyes were cold and calculating, his lips pressed tersely.

“Stay away from him.” He repeated evenly. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough on Friday night. Stay away from him. And stay away from us.” His eyes pierced into yours, the threat unmistakable. 

You swallowed and nodded. You felt a chill up your spine, remembering the look on Lorna’s face when you had brought his name up. The ex Kingsnake had been so guarded, but that mask had slipped just a fraction when you had mentioned Z, and a look of pure fear and pain had flashed across her face. Now, you were beginning to understand why.

You didn’t say anything to Z, instead, you turned, crossed the road and entered the coffee shop. 

The warmth and scent of cinnamon calmed down your shot to hell nerves. 

But still, even as you sat opposite Taehyung, you couldn’t shake the odd feeling that you had just made a huge mistake.

Z watched you leave. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a new cigarette, his fingers brushing over his steel lighter. His eyes were steely and calculated as he thought over his options. 

He considered himself controlled. Yes, he enjoyed having fun, he enjoyed letting go of surface control with sex and with drugs. But on a deeper level, he was always controlled. 

He was controlled when he had the burn of cocaine in his throat and confidence humming through his veins, he was controlled when he had his hands locked around a woman’s throat as he fucked into her. He was a man who was always controlled. It was the only way to run the Kingsnakes and conduct the gang in a way that he thought was best.

He had never been a high achiever in the past. That much had been established when he had dropped out of school, when he had suffered through everything he had experienced as a child. But he had grasped onto those shadows and become something new. He had risen from the dead, his body staggering up from the ashes.

He was creating something bigger and better of himself, of the Kingsnakes. Yes, it was about money, it was power, it was ownership… it was the dark heat of violence and crime. But above everything else, it was control. 

Which is why this woman and her relationship with Hoseok had thrown a spanner in the works. He hadn’t cared when he had found out Hoseok was fucking some stranger. 

When he had learned she was a journalist, he had been irritated. When Hoseok had requested to slow down on the drug runs, refusing lines at parties, showing reluctance to do the things he once reveled in… he had been annoyed. And now, when she had marched up to him and asked if Z knew where Hoseok was? As if she was entitled to something that was his?

That had made him angry.

And he rarely got angry.

Z picked up his phone, hitting speed dial. He doesn’t bother greeting the other person on the line, as he lifted the cigarette to his lips. He took a long drag in as the other person answered, the click of the phone bringing that to his attention. He breathed out the smoke, before his voice came out in a slick, smooth command.

“Follow her.”

Two days had passed and still nothing from Hoseok. 

Work had been more or less the same, the hours trickling by at a mind numbingly slow pace. You weren’t sure if it was a subtle form of payback or not, but Abel had put you on writing the most mind-achingly boring stories this week, and you were drowning in your work.

You were walking home after work, making your way down your street, when you spotted something outside your house.

A motorcycle.

There was no doubting who that black motorcycle belonged to, and your breath caught in your throat as you glanced up at your doorstep. 

Sure enough, Hoseok was standing there, his arms crossed. He was in his black leather jacket, black jeans, a terse expression on his face. Your heart gave out a bit when you looked at him.

“Hoseok,” You breathed out his name and he glanced at you with a bored expression. 

You hurried up the stairs, unsure of what to say now that you were finally face to face with him.

“I…” You stammered out. “You’re here.”

“Yeah. I’m only here because you said you weren’t going to give up. So. Explain yourself.”

His words were harsh and clipped and you stared at him, still in disbelief that he was really here.

“I…” You began. “I got the article dropped,” You said finally. Hoseok just stared at you with a flat expression on his face.

“What, are you expecting a damn medal or something? I had no idea you were writing that article in the first place,” He said with a sneer. “You sure surprised me with how fucking two faced you are. And there I was thinking you were a boring bitch this entire time.” 

You winced at his words and the venom behind them.

“I wrote the article,” You began slowly, “When we weren’t… when we were….” Your voice trailed off and you let out a sigh of frustration. “Yeah, I wrote it. It was shit of me. But I got it pulled, okay?”

Hoseok just let out a scoff. “Okay. Well this has been a waste of my time. I’m leaving-”

You reached out, catching his arm. “Hoseok,” You softened your voice. “Please. I’m not… I’m not wording myself right. Please, come in. Let’s talk.”

You gave him a pleading look and he stared at you, a hard expression on his face. Finally, with a sigh, he shrugged off your hand and turned around, a bored look on his face. You pulled your key out of your pocket, hastily unlocking your front door. He followed, and once you were inside, you turned to face him. 

“I,” You began, shaking your head. “I’m sorry.” He glanced down at you and his eyes were flat and angry.

“I… I know I broke your trust. But you have to understand that I wrote it when I was upset with you. After the party. And I forgot that I even wrote it. I’ve been running around like crazy wanting to talk to you, wanting to explain, wanting to make things better because … I care about you. I don’t… I don’t want to lose you.” You whispered, and Hoseok’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning your face carefully.

“What?” he snapped out. You swallowed and nodded. “I care about you.” He just stared at you with a vulnerable look on his face, before he covered it with a scowl. 

“Well. I don’t care about you.” He snapped back angrily, his eyes narrowing. You felt a sharp twist in your chest at his words but you just lifted your chin defiantly.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” You hissed back. “If you don’t care then why are you here?” Hoseok just rolled his eyes, hard, and you learned forward, pushing hard on his chest. He stumbled backwards a bit, a look of irritation crossing his face.

“Don’t,” He muttered, and you leaned forward, pushing him again.

“I said,” Hoseok growled, leaning forward, his body hovering over yours. “Don’t.” 

Hoseok’s palm was outstretched against the wall, his body pinned to yours. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel it, the heat of his body humming off of his skin. 

He swallowed, his eyes intent on you as always, and you felt like you were going to burst into flames under his stare. Hoseok reacted first, pushing you against the wall, his body on top of yours. Your back collided, hard, with the wooden panels of the hallway. 

With that smack, skin against timber, his lips found yours in a frenzied rush, and you let out a loud gasp into his mouth.

He ran his palm down your arm and laced his fingers into yours, pinning your arm away from your body as he slowly rolled his hips into yours.  

He kissed you, roughly at first- his tongue dominating and aggressive, and you responded with urgency. You tilted your hips up into his, letting out a choked moan as he rolled himself hard into you, eliciting a choked cry from you.

Just as quickly as he had started kissing you, he pulled away. His breathing was heavy, ragged, as he propped himself off of the wall. You could see it in his eyes- doubt, fear, and then he was kissing you again.

“Hoseok,” His name ripped from your lips in a moan, and he groaned in response, reaching down to wrap his fingers around one of your thighs. 

He squeezed your upper leg, once, twice, working his way up until you could feel the warmth of his hand right by your pussy. He was still kissing you, deeply and hungrily. He wasn’t a gentle kisser by any means- he was rough and intense.

But still, you felt your body weaken under the seal of his kisses, you could practically taste in his mouth how desperate he was for you. His hand was still latched around your upper thigh, his pinky finger starting to lightly tease inwards close to the apex of your lips. 

You were starting to quiver from it, the awareness of how close he was to you. He pulled away from you, and you immediately moaned out. 

“God, Hoseok.” He let out a low chuckle as he reached up with his other hand and yanked at the neckline of your shirt, exposing your skin. His lips found the dip of your collarbones, the hollow expanse of skin there. He latched his lips over your sensitive skin, sucking hard. The pressure, along with his fingers beginning to tease over your wetness, just made you moan out louder. 

“So fucking needy,” Hoseok commented, and your eyes fell on his face. He looked unreal, his hair falling in his eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lip. He pushed off the wall and away from you, and in one smooth movement he was pulling off his leather jacket and black shirt. He bent down so that he was on his knees, both of his palms flat on your thighs. 

You’re all too aware of the heavy throb between your legs. You glance down at Hoseok who’s still on the floor, his eyes are darkened in arousal, you’re lost in them for a moment before you snap to reality and take in the rest of him. 

You’ve seen him naked before, but crouched down like this… you can appreciate the curve of his shoulders, the way his muscles ripple under his skin. He squeezes your thighs and you run your hand over his shoulder blades, letting out a soft whimper. He’s dressed just in black jeans and you feel a ripple of heat and lust flash through you. Hoseok is staring straight at you. 

“Needy fucking slut,” He continues in a low, hypnotic voice, his fingers tracing up your thighs before he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your underwear. You gasp, his fingers stay there, twisting the fabric, until he suddenly yanks down, practically ripping the fabric down your legs. 

You step out of your underwear hurriedly and Hoseok flicks them away, he leans back and stares at you. Your back is still pressed against the wall and you’re naked from the waist down under your dress and so damn turned on it feels like you’re about to explode. 

You’re shaky with it, the feverishness of how badly you want him has hit boiling point. 

He’s teasing you, drawing this out and taking you to the edge, and you feel overwhelmed with how badly you want him to fuck you. Impulsively, you reach forward, entangling your fingers in his hair and pulling. 

“Stop fucking teasing,” You moan, and Hoseok lets out a growl, grabbing your wrists and pulling them away from his head. He steps forward and places a finger on your clit, you cry out at the sudden feeling.

“Don’t boss me around,” He hisses, his fingertip tapping on your clit. It’s swollen and sensitive, and you let out a strangled groan as he starts to slide a finger inside of you. 

“Bet you wish this was my cock, don’t you,” He continues. “You’re already begging for it and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He adds and before you can reply, he has another finger inside of you.

He hooks his finger and inserts another one, and you let out a moan, wondering how he gets you so wet and messy just from this. And just when you think you can’t be pushed any further to the brink, he presses his tongue against your clit.

His touch is light, taunting almost, the tip of his tongue working a quick circle around your clit, once, twice, before he pulls back to study your reaction. 

You’re writhing against the wall, your thighs tensed. “Fuck!” You hiss, and you hear Hoseok groan in response before you feel his tongue against you again.

This time, he’s slower, and he runs his tongue along your slit, coaxing out the most desperate, strangled moan from you. It feels so good, he’s still fucking you with two of his fingers too, his pace quickening as his tongue finds it’s way back on your clit. This time he’s flicking his tongue over your sensitive spot, making your core squeeze and your eyes flutter shut. 

“F-f-f-fuck,” You moan out, and Hoseok growls into your damn pussy and the feel of that has you clenching your fists, your nails digging into your skin. You bring your hand up to your mouth to bite down into your palm but you feel Hoseok reach up and squeeze your ass so hard that you yelp out. You look down and he’s staring at you, his lips full and parted and his eyes darkened with lust. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He says in a husky, commanding tone. 

“I’m going to scream,” You try and reply calmly but your voice is shuddery and a smirk travels across Hoseok’s face. “Good,” He says instead, and then he pulls his fingers out of you, grabs your hips and spins you around. “Take your fucking dress off.” 

You do what you’re told, fumbling with the hem of your dress and hoisting it over your head. You reach behind you, struggling with the clasp of your bra, until you’re fully naked. 

His hands are massaging your ass, he comes down hard with a palm on one of your asscheeks. You moan at the crack of skin against skin that fills the air before you feel his tongue against your slit again. His fingers are placed in front of his tongue, working rapid, intense circles against your clit. 

Your cheek is pressed to the wall, Hoseok is eating you out and moaning into your wetness, and you think you’re going to explode right then and there.

“Fucking slut getting your pussy eaten and screaming my name,” He moans out, before his palm comes down and slaps your ass again. He soothes the sting by rubbing his palm over your skin, giving your ass a squeeze. 

You just cry out his name louder. “What, you want all your neighbors to know how much of a whore you are?” He groans, and then his tongue is back lapping up your slit and you let out a shuddery, suppressed scream. 

“I’m so fucking close Hoseok oh my God oh my fucking God…” 

Hoseok moans into you and that’s enough, it pushes you to the edge and you orgasm. It’s a rough, intense orgasm and it feels like it’s shuddering through your body. Hoseok pulls his hand away as you orgasm around his mouth, feeling waves of intensity and relief and pleasure ebb over your body. 

You hear him straighten, getting up, and you crane your head around to see him standing there. 

God. He looks good, his bare chest, his arms tensed as his thumb wipes at his lip. His hair is pushed back off his forehead, a satisfied look on his face, his lips full and parted and shiny with you all over them. 

“You taste good.” He stares you straight in the eyes. 

Fuck.

“Fuck me,” You beg. “God Hoseok, I need you…” You can’t explain how Hoseok does this to you, how he manages to push you to the point where you’re begging out his name like it’s a prayer. 

You hear him unzip his jeans, tugging the fabric down.

“Turn around,” He mutters, and surprised, you turn, your back against the wall.

You know Hoseok likes nothing more than to fuck you from behind, to pull your hair until your scalp is aching. He doesn’t say anything, he just brushes the hair away from your forehead. Your face is sweaty, your hair messy, and his touch is surprisingly gentle.

You glance down and his cock is rock hard, and you swallow. Hoseok follows your gaze. 

“You want more of me?” He asks in a low voice and you nod, he pushes you against the wall, positioning his cock at your entrance. 

“Wait, I… have you…” Your voice stammers out and Hoseok hesitates. 

“What?” He mutters, and you swallow. “Have you fucked anyone in the last few days, because if you have we should-”

“No,” Hoseok practically snarls out. “I haven’t.” His voice softens a fraction. “I told you, the only one I want is you.”

You freeze, because he hasn’t told you that before, in fact, you can remember exactly what the words were, it was more along the lines of ‘I’m not fucking anyone else’. Not this. The only one I want is you? What the hell does that mean? 

The two of you stare at one another and his chest is heaving in exertion and your body is still tingly from your orgasm, but all you can focus on is the sudden pounding in your chest. 

You stare at him and you wonder if he can see the question marks in your eyes because he leans in and kisses you, roughly, his lips slamming down onto yours.

It’s the most effective distraction, because your mind immediately vanquishes whatever thoughts were just running through it. He’s kissing you hungrily, with even more urgency than before. He isn’t stopping- kissing you hard and fast, and even when you break apart for air, he’s kissing down your neck and biting on your collarbone, his touch greedy and desperate and hungry all at once. 

“Fuck,” You moan out as he nips against your neck. “Fuck me, please, God.” He pulls away from your neck and wraps his fingers around his length, positioning himself at your entrance. You hoist one leg up and he grips your thigh, wrapping it around his waist before he pushes into you.

The feeling of him, stretching you out, filling you whole… it has your back arching and your toes curling in pleasure. 

Your head is tilted back against the wall so hard that it’s probably going to bruise but you don’t care, too wrapped up in the feeling of him inside of you. 

Just when that initial glow started to simmer down, he began to thrust inside of you. He didn’t ease into it, that had never been his style, instead, he was intense and fast and hard with his thrusts. He fucked you hard, like he was trying to push every inch of his cock as deep inside of your as possible, his hands latched around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours. 

“Fuck, your pussy feels so good,” Hoseok groaned, his eyes rolling in his head slightly. 

“Mmmm,” You mumbled back, it was all you could manage, you wanted to keep your eyes open to look at him front on- he looked so good, his hair damp with sweat, his jaw clenched as he fucked into you. With your eyes closed, you could focus on it- the shallow, throaty moans that were coming out of Hoseok’s mouth, the sounds of skin against skin as he fucked into you, and most of all, how good it felt. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Hoseok muttered. “God, I’ve wanted to cum inside your pretty pussy for days…” 

You let out a moan at his words and opened your eyes, staring at him. He was staring straight at you, you reached up and entangled your fingers in his hair and saw his eyes widen, his jaw clench, and a groan escape his lips as his body stuttered. 

His hips managed a few last desperate, intense, thrusts inside of you before he came.

“Fuck!” He shouted, his body faltered and his forehead was on his shoulder, you let out a loud moan, and he stood still for a moment, his body trembling, heavy breaths and sweaty skin.

You let out a shaky laugh, tipping your head back as he carefully extracted himself off of you. 

“God Hoseok, that was-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Hoseok took a step towards you, shushing you. 

Both hands cupped around your jaw, his thumbs stroking patterns into your cheeks, his eyes intent on yours. 

You realized you weren’t been breathing, as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. He was still intense with his kiss- that hadn’t changed- but this time he was slow. 

His tongue darted over your lips as if seeking permission and you gladly relented, letting out a soft sigh. It was a kiss fused with intensity and unanswered questions. 

Full of longing, desperate and slow and urgent, all at once.

Hoseok pulled away from you , his eyes slightly panicky. You similarly, felt a bit panicky, unsure as to what that meant, what exactly that kiss held. Suddenly afraid of how hard your heart was beating, of what you were feeling.

“I’m…” you began, your voice still breathless. “Gonna…” You gestured to the bathroom and Hoseok didn’t say anything, he just nodded, and with that, you turned went straight to the bathroom.

You stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking a deep breath in. 

You looked fucked out, your hair a mess and your lips swollen. You ran your fingers uselessly through your hair, settling on your forehead and letting out a sigh. 

You were still trembling, the euphoric buzz from your orgasm humming over your body. You were shaking, and you knew the shakiness of your limbs wasn’t from the orgasm, as delicious as it had been. It was from something else entirely.

You were confronting it all head on now. You had accepted that your feelings for Hoseok were approaching something new entirely. It felt like all your emotions had been freefalling the last few days, from his silence, to this. Hoseok telling you he didn’t feel anything for you, to that kiss. 

God, what did that kiss mean? You stared at your reflection, your fingertips ghosting over your swollen lips. 

It felt like you didn’t recognize the woman staring back at you in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, an expression of confusion and hope and worry on her face. That was still you, right? You glanced down at your naked body, seeing the small snowflake inked into your skin. 

You walked out of the bathroom and pulled on your dress and underwear from where they were scattered on the floor. Hoseok’s clothes were gone and you wondered if he had left, looking down your hallway to see the front door crooked open slightly. 

You walked out, shivering a little in the brisk air, seeing Hoseok sitting on your front steps, a pensive look on his face. 

He had a cigarette resting between his fingers, and you settled down beside him. The concrete was hard and cool and you sat there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“Hoseok-”

“I-”

You broke off with an embarrassed laugh and Hoseok stared ahead, taking a drag from his cigarette. 

“Go ahead,” He muttered, and you watched him for a moment. He was staring straight ahead, his expression carefully smooth, a far cry from how he had been just moments ago- his eyes glazed over from his orgasm, his face dotted in sweat. 

“I meant what I said.” You murmured. “I’m not going to give up. I… I care about you. More than I should, probably.” 

Hoseok froze, cigarette still perched in his fingertips, already halfway to his lips.

“I…” He began, and you interrupted him. 

“You have to understand when I say that the article didn’t mean anything. I…” You swallowed. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I meant it. I care about you.”

Hoseok dropped the cigarette to the ground and stamped out the butt with his foot, a conflicted look on his face. 

“I’m not-”

“If you say that you’re not a good person one more time, I swear I’ll punch you.” You said in a deadpan manner, Hoseok’s lips twisted up in a chuckle and he sighed, leaning back. He tilted his head up and looked at the sky, his eyes full of doubt.

“I’m not… good. That’s just a fact.” Hoseok said instead, in a harsh voice, turning his head to look at you for the first time. His eyes met yours and your chest tightened, his face was still guarded, but his eyes softened as he took you in. 

“I...” He said finally, his voice cracking. “I care… about you too.” He stared at you for a long, intense moment and you nodded. 

He nodded back, and a heavy silence hung between the two of you. You worked up your nerves and forced out the words.

“So what happens now?” You’d be lying if you said your heart wasn’t knotted up in hope, your eyes intently watching for his reaction. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t this- his lips settled into a firm line and he shook his head once, briskly.

“Nothing.” He said shortly. He stood up, roughly, shoving his hands into his pockets. You could hear the jangle of keys in the pocket of his leather jacket and you felt your heart drop.

“I shouldn’t have even come here in the first place. It’s not safe for you, the Kingsnakes don’t approve. For fuck sake I shouldn’t have even come here in the first place, I just…” His voice trailed off and he stared at you.

“You just…?” You prompted, but Hoseok just looked away, his face becoming distant again.

“Look, how is what we’re doing together any of their business?” 

Hoseok just let out a harsh laugh. “Everything’s their business,” He replied in a flat voice. “And I don’t know why but Z wants me to step up in the group. Take on more ‘responsibility’. Fuck,” He laughed, a bitter laugh. “Not that I have a choice.” 

You frowned at him. Suddenly you were uncertain, remembering the folder Abel had tossed over to you, the darker side of the gang that he had started to uncover. You glanced at the look on Hoseok’s face, he was staring at a fixed spot on the wall behind you, a pained, angry look on his face. You wondered if Hoseok knew what was going on in the group. What exactly ‘taking on more responsibility’ meant.

“You don’t want that?” You asked instead, quietly, and Hoseok glanced at you.

“No,” He replied honestly. “I don’t.” 

You sighed. “Okay, so what do you want?”

He caught your eyes and you saw something flicker in his gaze. 

“I want…” 

Your breath caught in your throat as you saw him form the words, but as always, his face closed off and he glanced down at the ground. He fell silent and you felt yourself deflate. Frustration bloomed inside of you as you stared at him, still standing in front of you on the steps.

Fuck it.

“Hoseok,” You whispered. “Just leave them.”

He just scoffed derisively, not even bothering to answer you properly. Your face contorted into a frown.

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer, he just clenched his jaw, and you just gazed at him, seeing how he closed up the moment the Kingsnakes were brought up. 

Something clicked in your mind and you reached out, your fingers wrapping around his wrist, around that tattoo of his.

“What do they have on you?”

Hoseok paused, and something flashed across his face- a dark expression, doubt and anger and fear. 

Before he could speak, your phone rang, the noise catching you by surprise.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, frowning. It was a string of numbers that you didn’t recognize.

“Can I…?” You asked, and Hoseok just shrugged, nodding.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Is this Y/N speaking?” It was an unfamiliar voice, composed and professional.

You frowned.

“Yes, speaking.”

“We’re calling because you’ve been listened as Kim Taehyung’s emergency contact. He’s here at King Mercy hospital.”

You felt your blood run cold, your palms suddenly turning clammy. You were vaguely aware of Hoseok staring at you, his eyes narrowed in concern as he took in the shocked expression on your face.

The hospital? Taehyung?

“I…” Your voice stammered out, standing up. “I’ll leave now, oh my God… Is everything okay? What happened?”

You heard the hesitation on the other line.

“Mr Kim has been in an accident.”

You had always hated hospitals. 

As you raced down the hallways, taking in the sterile white walls and the hushed voices of doctors, nurses, patients… you had never hated hospitals more. 

You were a mess, your core still aching from Hoseok’s touch. Speaking of Hoseok, you had barely said anything to him, numb with shock as you had grabbed your keys and all but ran out of the door, leaving him behind. You had just whispered, “Taehyung’s been in an accident.” Hoseok hadn’t made any move to follow you, you had left him on the front step of your house. 

Your mind was preoccupied by one thing, and one thing only.  

An accident? Taehyung? 

There were doctors talking to you as they walked you to Taehyungs’s room, talking about an accident. Mentioning that they weren’t sure what happened, telling you that his sister was here talking to the police. 

You had no idea why the police were involved, or what exactly had happened. They weren’t telling you anything. They just kept saying that he was stable now, mentioning internal bleeding, and again and again that he had been in an accident. 

You grasped onto the few words that made sense to you, ‘For now we think he’s going to be okay but we will have to wait and see.’ The end of that sentence struck a dagger of fear straight into your throat. 

You were frantic by the time you reached Taehyung’s room, and you pushed open the door. 

Your hands fluttered up to your mouth and caught the gasp that spilled out.

There was a sharp, awful ache ricocheting in your chest as you stared. They had told you he had been in an accident, but they hadn’t told you this. They had not prepared you for this.

Taehyung was lying in bed, and he looked so frail, so small. His eyelids were closed, his long lashes fluttering slightly with each labored breath. 

Your eyes scanned over the rest of him and you felt a dry ache in your throat as you took in his face. 

One of his eyes was completely closed over, the lid swollen and raised like a golf ball, a deep purple black, a deep bloody welt marring one of his cheeks. His lip was split and the wound was splotches of purple and crimson, pieced together by neat stitches that stuck out against his pale lips. 

You stepped closer and felt tears fill your eyes. Everything faded around you. It all went quiet, your body numb, and all you could hear was the thunderous thump of your heart in your chest, the clamminess in your palms. All you could feel was the horrible, sinking feeling of dread. 

Taehyung almost looked unrecognizable, and as you stepped closer, your eyes fell on the inky bruises fanning over his neck. You could hear him breathing, but it was hardly a comfort. Each breath he took in was labored and broken.

Taehyung, sweet Taehyung with his heart of gold, Taehyung who liked to hunt for rare antique art at Sunday flea markets, Taehyung who hated killing spiders and traps them carefully under plastic cups to free them outside. Taehyung who just a few days ago held you close and told you he didn’t want to see you hurt. 

It seemed impossible to pair the two in your mind. That Taehyung- strong and full of life, to this Taehyung. Lying motionless in a hospital bed, the mechanical beep of his heart rate monitor filling the room.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you thought about the force that had to be behind the impact of those bruises. The fear that must have pumped through Tae’s veins at each point of impact.

“What are you doing here?”

You whirled around to see Ara standing there, her eyes swollen with tears. You were crying too, but her face is angry, her bottom lip trembling.

“I…” You began to speak, your voice shaking with tears but Ara shook her head.

“You know I had to talk to the police,” She almost snarls out the words, her voice is thick with her tears. “Because he was found like this on the street?” 

You fell silent, and Ara just stared, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

“They asked if he was involved with the Kingsnakes,” She continued, looking down at the floor. Fat tears were rolling down her face, and her breath was starting to rasp, her shoulders trembling. “Because they’ve only ever seen beatings like this due to gang activity.”

The Kingsnakes. Your blood felt like ice. 

“You know,” She continued, gulping down a sob. “The doctors don’t even know if he’ll wake up?”

It felt like your heart was breaking. “Ara,” You whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry…”

Ara’s shook her head. “Just…” Her words pitched upwards with her tears, her voice quivering as she stopped, biting her lip. “Just please,” She continued, glancing down. “Leave us alone.” 

She strode past you and stood by Taehyung’s side, not looking at you anymore.

Your eyes followed her. Your chest was so unbearably tight, tears beginning to trickle down your face. You stared at Taehyung one more time, at his small body in the bed, before you turned and left his room. 

You practically ran down the hallway. You couldn’t focus on anything, not on the doctors who passed by, speaking in hushed tones and medical jargon, the police officers who were talking in small groups. 

You only stopped once you got to the hospital’s fire escape, your breaths coming out in shuddery, panicked gasps. 

You sank down onto the floor, your face crumpling, tears hot and salty. Your chest and head were so heavy, your limbs felt like they were floating. 

Snapshots from the last few days were playing on an endless loop through your mind. The yellow folder on Abel’s desk. The black snake tattooed on Hoseok’s skin. Taehyung’s lopsided smile while he sat opposite you in the coffee shop. Hoseok, holding your face close and capturing your lips in a kiss. 

And most vivid of all, Z’s warning, the ice in his eyes as he told you to leave Hoseok alone.

Your phone was vibrating in your pocket, but you didn’t move. You just dropped your head in your hands and began to cry.

This is my fault.

AN: ok this is the turning point of the story when things start to get intense and Real. If this wasn’t already evident from this chapter. There will be ten parts overall of this fic! I hope you enjoyed. ♡♡

[winifredlozano1992]

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[berryargento]

Withering Blossoms; fragment VII

AO3 link

previous chapter, fragment VI | Withering Blossoms tag | Prologue link

Notes: Hello. Uhh. I dunno if I want to say anything but sorry. The updates taking long again. cry.

Anyways. Let’s continue. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter, with its funny intrigue :3 also as always I need to remind you that this project is brought to you by me and @eulyin-senpai~

Summary:

The walk of journey is a reservoir of meetings, and making choices.

Dia doesn't know why she's out of it that day. She doesn't know why she suddenly feel afraid, restless, uneasiness started to build up as she threaded steps to the truth. It is as if Dia was standing in front of a branching road; one will lead her to hell and the other is heaven—the sign said so, but there's nobody can prove that the sign never tell lies. One false step, and she would fail, she would be going to hell and regrets. Talking with Riko surely helps her to understand some key point she had longed to know, since viewpoints of a vampire is something she always overlook, be it when she was still hanging around Mari and now to her field of work due to many reasons.

Maybe it was her pride that done the deed, or she might as well feigning ignorance far too much.

"You're quiet today, Kurosawa-san." Sakurauchi Riko, the owner of the office she visited to, commented as she finished a sip.

Dia blinked, looking back and forth to Riko and then to the opposite teacup which the vampire hold, slowly concentrating back to dear reality. Dia insisted that her visit won't need a tea, but the maiden of burgundy hair prepared it nonetheless. She had the expensive-looking, porcelain white cup set brought out, with the lines of gold adorned as mere swirl of ornaments. Dia could tell what tea that the bubbly grey-haired assistant served from the smell. It might be a single breathe of Assam, because of its characteristic of spicy and flowery odor it exhibited. Seeing how lax the lady took her tea, the probability of poison seem to be nil, since Riko picked up random cups out of the two, the young assistant won't risk to poison her Master with a chance of half and half.

Then again, vampires couldn't die from a drop of human poison, so it must be—

"… Don't worry. You can search the house if you like, I have no poison in hand." Dia was startled, Riko found herself to stretch her lips a bit, half-smiling—she hoped not to annoy her guest.

"I wish you won't take your liberty to read my mind next time, Sakurauchi-san."

"I'm sorry; it's just that you were far too fixated that I can't help but wonder."

The office felt empty at the moment, there's no visible Watanabe You standing by Riko's side. It was just the two of them, seating by opposites of long, sturdy brown couch. Dia sometimes wondered why Riko made her main room below, any guest must descend from small, short stairs to reach it. From the main room, there were doors visible leading to other part of the office far to the north where they settled, the spot You's jumpy stature covered if she is standing there.

"Shall we continue from where we have left off?"

About a human-turned vampire – Dia still thirst the insight of it. Their last conversation was cut short yesterday because Dia needed to be home. Dia was beyond surprised to know that Riko had a vampire servant from human as well, and the said human—Riko's assistance, Watanabe You—was accepting willy-nilly to be turned into a vampire. If the memory served her right, Riko was also talking about how Vampires are not in the 'wrong' side of the circle, and there seem to be more into it, which she would love to unravel more.

"Then, tell me everything from your views," Dia said in a stern tone. "Everything."

Early this morning, Ruby opened her door to see that her sister left a note on the dining table—'I'll be out to town and will back for dinner.' written neatly, maybe with her favorite ink pen. Her sister could leave the house without any sound, a common skill that Kurosawa family had taught for their members to perform a stealth killing. Even with her heightened senses now, she still unable to predict Dia's movement, which could mean her older sister's ability is perfect, or that Ruby wasn't used in having an enhanced hearing.

Ruby re-read the writing again, Dia would be back for dinner, it was the first time she heard that words since forever. Actually, Ruby always know when Dia will back in the past, perhaps it was her sister's intuition come into play, and now, she couldn't help but to hope her older sister would be back soon—the forest is a scary place filled with inhumane creatures at night, after all.

After cleaning up the center room and kitchen, Ruby ascended stairs to where her room was. She sneaked a glance to the empty room of Dia's for awhile before touching her own doorknob.

Her room is about the same size with her sister's, but with more of fancy DIY frills that Ruby made from leftover thin fabrics she could find as wall decorations to color her room. Usually, the table near the window—by the front line from the door—would be untouched since she spent less time writing or reading there. Since she spent most of time confided inside, thinking her sister might hate to see her face, books that lined up her side of bed are placed there and the curtains are fully closed. Though, Ruby wasn't much of a fan of reading. She was introduced to the world of books by none other than Hanamaru and have been treading at the book recommendation from the bookworm ever since.

After her turning into a bloodsucking being, she kept the room cleaned day-by-day, only to left her spare gun with its ammo in the desk drawer, her inheritance from Mari—incenses and leftover lollipops—was inside her wooden wardrobe in her left, hidden by her clothes. That small room has been her confidant, her sanctuary, her silent companion through her beginning of vampire days, and she kept it cleaned everyday.

Seeing that her cleaning duty was done, the magenta-haired Vampire wondered of things to do.

"Maybe I should shop for dinner ..." Ruby rolled her eyes. "I think I might still make it if they happened to hold the usual timely sale ..."

Ruby opened her wardrobe, seeking for the incense. She remembered she still have some, instead of suffering to go through the forest while her skin burning even though there are much shades available.

"Three," she took out three small, shining golden ampoules. She cracked one neck and drank the content. It is tasteless, though Ruby sometimes think that if the real, shiny liquid of gold will taste the same or something since the color is identical.

One ampoule of small incense could make her invulnerable to sun for six hours. Mari said that there's a larger quantity available, but smaller incense is great to carry around and to easily hide from humans. "Mari-chan says that the Vampire Market in town sells it and I only need to say her name to get it ... I wonder if I must stock up ..."

Ruby found her black cloak on the door later and departed outside.

The little Vampire took the shortest and the quickest course, jumping from trunks to trunks to the direction of the town rather than taking on the road. When she arrived at the last fork before the town, Ruby settled down, trying to look as natural as possible, concealing parts of her black hunter outfit or her irritation to sunlight and cleaning her clothes away from stray leaves and small twigs.

A little walk across crowded town square is needed before reaching the marketplace, farthest north to Numazu. She was passing by the houses of huge bricks, visiting the town board to read newest announcements by the town square's first, seeking the huge bell tower she loved, before making a beeline through the crowds and moving to another unruly pack of people.

The market—large, packed, lined up stands of woods garnered with variety of dairies, vegetables, fruits and grains—was divided in several parts, in regard to the group of items they sold. If you went in from the direction of town square, you'll meet the seafood group first, defined by the hanging triangle cloth of blue by their front stands. The people of Numazu classified their stands so it would easy for anyone to make purchase and to remember the layout of the market. The gap between every stands were small, so it's usually hard to walk in if it was the time for sale.

Ruby doesn't remember if there's any timely sale going around as far as the town's board notice said. Perhaps everyone is in a mood to make a good dinner tonight, like me, Ruby wistfully sang to herself as she brisked through selection of vegetables and potatoes. Finding it wasn't much of satisfactory, Ruby moved from one vendor to another while mumbling. She wished to make a rich cream soup with fresh french bread dip, also sweet appetizers like strawberry pudding.

The magenta-haired vampire stayed in the last shade of the vegetable row a bit before she jumped to the far-east where fruits square was. Something caught her attention as soon as she searched through the fruit section.

MIKAN SALE. ONE HOUR ONLY.—written in large, round writing on a makeshift rectangular cardboard in front of one of the stand with lots of crater lined. Ruby could only think of a person, which the Vampire found herself chuckling. It has been some time since the last time she saw a certain Mikan lover who owned a strange shop in town. The Vampire met with the Mikan lover when she was there with Mari back then, Ruby wondered how and what the young woman is doing right now.

"I spot a little gem!" speak of a devil, Ruby could hear a familiar voice on her far back – so it is really because of the Mikan. Before she could turn and say something as a greeting, the said woman jumped, tackled the Vampire with a hug, the burst of pigii and chuckling from the 'attacker' commotions caused bystanders to watch.

"Caught 'ya, Ruby-chan!" the orange-haired young woman donning the fluffy orange dress with a matching frilly, hooded coat continued to cling, circled her arms on Ruby's neck.

"C-Chika-chan!" Ruby struggled to pull herself away as Chika rubbed their cheeks together, to no avail. Green eyes rolling here and there to see townsfolk and the sellers started whispering. Ruby started to blush. "P-People are looking! P, Please let go off me!"

"Aww, is that what you say to a friend who wanted a heartfelt reunion~?" Chika said in a sing-song voice. "Tickle attack!"

"Pigiiii!"

After relentless ogling, Chika, who's fully aware that crowds were gathering, apologized to everyone for making such rackets and dragging herself (with reddened Ruby) away from the market to a less crowded area, a little coffee shop at the corner of the busy town square. Chika ever said that she is fond of cute things, and she already told Ruby when Mari first introduced her to the shop. To think that it would escalate to such level of public embarrassment, Ruby would never imagined to turn as such.

"This place is emptier, so we could take a breather~" Chika said as they settled in the double-seated table right outside the café. The merchant made sure she chose the table with plenty of roof's shades, beside the glass walls that divided the inner and outer side of the small, cozy building of wood. Chika ordered a glass of cold tea for a sake of borrowing the table to settle down, Ruby didn't order anything. "I'm sorry, Ruby-chan, I got carried away, te-hee~ I forgot that you're that shy~"

"Mou, Chika-chan!" Ruby slammed at the table, pouting. Part of her cheeks are still aflame, and she struggled to control her breath.

"But it has been a long time, isn't it?" Chika beamed. "I see that you're still a weak fledgling, but I noticed there's something different from you."

"Different?" Ruby's brow quirked. Chika rested her chin on her open palm, her blue eyes lighted in wonder. The little Vampire hoped for compliments, though it's hard to think of Chika that's not making fun of her.

"You are … more melancholic, I guess?" the orange-haired merchant hummed. Ruby didn't expect that coming. Chika might have noticed her silence and picked up, "Did something happen?"

"Have I told you before that I have an older sister, who's a huntress?" Chika listened, she nodded at the mention of Ruby's sister. The vampire remembered that Mari had told Chika a part of her circumstances and the reason Mari had to turn her. Chika described Mari as a 'loner' who won't happen to easily 'turn' anyone without profit, in which Mari slapped Chika jokingly after that, Ruby didn't catch the meaning of the supposed explanation back then. "I—She found out that I'm a Vampire. In a horrible time, to add."

Ruby tried to explain briefly to Chika about that fateful night, when she was unable to control her own thirst.

The merchant lowered her head. "It must be hard, but you must come out to your sister soon or later nonetheless, so I should say it can't be helped."

"I know. I know it can't be helped, it's just …" Ruby clenched her fist on the table. She didn't make a contact with Chika's eyes. "Why must I be so … powerless?"

Ruby has been sure she's already fine with the nature of Vampires, then again this certain slip crumbled everything – the wall she created to hide her secrets is forever gone and her sister is never the same again. Chika spared Ruby's silence, enjoying to her own tea as Ruby continued to contemplate.

A vampire originated from human, one person came into her mind.

"—Well, then," The voice of Chika's slurping to her tea died and the table rattled. Ruby looked up to see the merchant, now standing and putting her hood up. "Why don't you try to make yourself useful now?"

"What do you mean?"

Chika puffed up her chest as she offered her hand. "Help me with something. In exchange, I'll tell you someone I know who might be able to help you and your vampiric problem!" Ruby eyes sparkled after the moment it dulled, and Chika was happy to see it. "So~ what do you say, little gem?"

The merchant requested to go back to her humble abode to tell the 'job' she had spoken of. 'The story will be long and someone may overhear us if we talk outside' so Chika said back in the café. That being said, the Vampire recalled that it would take the straight path to where they were, however, Chika was taking a longer course; she made sure that she passed lots of alleys and avoided wide, non-shaded spaces. Ruby asked many times whether it would be okay to take longer to be back, that her business would be due or something, and Chika grinned, shaking her head. Her shoes clicked aloud as bounced thorough the stone pavement with Ruby following beside her.

"Don't worry, Ruby-chan. The day is still long. Or, do you have something else to do?"

She could always shop for dinner later, since Chika said earlier that the job 'won't take long', but, "I want to meet the person you said as soon as possible."

"Heh, impatient, aren't we?" Chika winked. "It seems today is mine and your lucky day, though."

"Eh? Why so?"

They marched yet another alley to far south before turning to the left. It is Chika's infamous back alley at last, cramped houses lined in thin alley. Someone was standing in front of Chika's door, hands on their hips as their eyes scanning up and down. Ruby could tell that the person is a woman after some while—the choice of boyish clothing article and how straight their posture was, could easily fool anyone. That person shifted to scratch their blue-colored newsboy cap covering their grey hair occasionally, or tapping their high boots to ground, shuffling their brown vest, even counting the amount of their blue shirt's buttons, scratching on their puffy shorts or releasing a huff.

Though her supposed-to-be guest was there, visibly took their time and waited for the house owner, Chika made no move to come out from the alley behind the standing woman and told Ruby to be silent.

"I know you're there, y'know, Chika-chan." the guest said, didn't bother to glance at her back. "Why are you—"

"—You-chan!" and there Chika was, doing the same manner as she did to Ruby in the market, the person nearly knocked out of balance.

"You could've hang something on the door to say that you left or something! I've been waiting for an hour!"

"Sorry, sorry, Mikan sale is up and I forgot~" Chika stuck out her tongue.

Did Chika say that today is their lucky day? Does that mean, this person is—

"By the way," the woman looked over her shoulder, to Ruby who was still inside the alley, close to the wall. Ruby quickly shrunk herself. "Since when you hired a Vampire as your pet?"

Silence ensued.

"H, Huh? Pet?"

Both of them—Chika and Ruby—blinked. No one dared to break the ice.

"She's small and cute, she's not your pet?" the woman asked again, pointed at the magenta-haired Vampire.

Ruby was torn to be angry or to at least yell something as a retort, but in the end, she just pouted when Chika asked both of them to come on in the shop - before she's called out by the neighbors for causing yet another ruckus.

Chika introduced Ruby to her guest and excused herself to pick something in the storeroom, when the conversation went with a single word of sorry repeatedly.

They sat on a couch there, when Ruby noticed that she entered Chika's house by the 'front' side since the layout is different. Chika eventually have a normal-looking living room with a set of couch laid along with an armchair facing a cozy fireplace that was unlit. There's no table, though, maybe the table filled with Mikan in her actual shop is used there instead here. Unlike her house, Chika had many colored furnishes; orange-colored lamp, yellow shade flooring (how can she get a yellow-colored board?) – it was so lively, compared to the house of Kurosawa.

"So you're, umm, a vampire acquaintance of Chika-chan?"

The woman saluted, "Yes, Watanabe You, at your service! Call me by You!" Ruby didn't return the salute, she was famished of how energetic You is. "Though … it's not that long since I become one, haha."

"You were a human too?" so this person is not an ordinary vampire, she's the same as her. Ruby might say that You doesn't exactly look like a vampire, to be exact, she is more like a friendly guy next door to a usual gloom, silent bloodthirsty being lurking in the darkness.

"It must be surprising—eh? Too? That means you're—" You paused, as if catching on something. "Ah, no wonder I've heard the name 'Kurosawa' before."

"Is … something wrong about my name?"

"No, it's just a person named Kurosawa Dia came to visit my Master," the magenta-haired Vampire flinched at the mention of her older sister. Her sister was visiting a vampire other than Mari, a fact that quickly roped her to many questions. What's going on? "Umm, Ruby-chan? What's wrong?"

"Oh, uhh, it's nothing. P-Please continue."

"By 'Master', I mean, my owne—uh, mentor. Yes. The vampire who turned me as it is now." You blurted. "I take it that your Master doesn't want to teach you, or?"

Ruby shook her head, "I chose to be away from Mari-chan after I learnt everything I can."

"And wow! You're the great Ohara's pupil!" Ruby was sure You's cerulean eyes glinted. For once she forgot that Mari was a respected vampire 'elder' in the area. "Must be an honor to know you, Ruby-chan!"

Chika showed up from another room, now holding onto a round bag which Ruby concluded as Mikan-shaped rucksack. Ruby started to think that Chika is made of Mikan herself.

"Now, now, I see that you two have fun already, but it's time to work!" she zipped up her bag and slung it over her shoulders, raring to go. "Listen up because this Chika won't repeat it twice!"

"Eh? Me too?" You pointed at herself, when Chika nodded.

"You wanted to put in orders for vampire incenses, right, You-chan? I'll even get it to half price if you help me out," Chika said. "I want you two helped me go in the vampire district to collect information."

There was a pause, Ruby waited for Chika to continue, thinking it wasn't the end of the sentence, but then You chimed in. "That's it? You usually slipped in through your underground tunnel."

"Nuh-uh! They tightened the security and closed off the sewers!" Chika voiced her complaints loudly. "It's because of the recent outbreak counts! Last time I checked, you'll need to bring at least one vampire with you to vouch for your identity to go in."

"Ahh, so it's that, after all." You sighed at that. "Count me in, then. I'd love to hear what exactly happened."

"Outbreak?" Ruby turned to see Chika and You.

"Right, sorry to leave you out, Ruby-chan," said Chika. "You must've at least heard about vampires running rampant nowadays slowly increasing, nee?"

Ruby remembered that conversation in the Guild from days ago. Many hunters that would usually available in the post by the day is working to patrol the city every time necessary. Vampires thirsting for blood has been usual, but the recurrence has been impossible to say that it was 'normal'. She nodded at Chika's leading question.

"I'm always asking for information to my network about that, but they couldn't go out from the vampire district due to said restrictions. I'll be going in there now and I asked you to help me out, is that clear?" Ruby hummed an okay, and Chika continued. "It's settled then. Don't worry, I'll throw in an extra of three incenses to the deal since we can't avoid sunlight. Off we go!"

An increasing number of vampires going berserk, something bad must've been going on and we didn't know where the winds might lead—

'Vampire District' is a term used by townsfolk to differentiate the section of city where most of the Blood Bar—the sanctuary where most vampires get their blood in fancier, legal way—located. Though sometimes, the blood could be pricey and not affordable to lowly fledglings except they sucked up to a vampire houses or working for rich vampire families.

If the main street is wide road with small numbers of alley, the vampire district's streets are composed of narrow, stuffing in-between tight houses with numerous, expanding alleys that's dark with little to no lamp for the night. Usually, the day would be quiet, save for some incenses vendor or to some human blood whores who's open for day drinking in exchange for money. Humans who lived there were mostly workers in the house, or whores, or special members in Hunter association that monitoring the vampire activities there.

You was the one who vouched for Chika's identity by the guarding gate, and after a while of body checking and interview, the separating, huge wooden gate swung open for them. Chika went back to her 'stealth mode', donning her hood on as they walked in.

"Center Bar, You-chan."

"Alright."

"Follow me, Ruby-chan, don't get lost."

"Y-Yes!"

Ignoring Hunters that were lining up nearby the gate area, they made their way to the building separated from all tight houses.

A neon sign kept lit by the doorway saying 'Center Bar', which is their destination. The house was elevated, composed of mahogany rather than boring bricks. There's hardly no window available, save for the glass door which is their entrance way. Inside, lights were hanging in differently-sized bulbs, no one occupied the round table beside the main bar stools. There are two male and one female attendants around the far left corner, though the attendants ignored their presence. The bartender, a huge man in her fifties with fully white hair, black, stern-looking sharp eyes and big mustache shared a welcome salutations. His white shirt a bit tight on his big, round muscles, he also had this black apron with him, but no visible name tag to address him.

"Welcome—oh, it's you, human." His gruff slowly morphing into a stretch of smile. He's putting away glassware which he wiped earlier. "Here to get your rations, I bet?"

"Would it be strange if a human like me wanted a glass of blood cocktail, huh, gramps?" Chika playfully jested. The orange-haired merchant cued You and Ruby to sit on the nearby stools from her. "So, where is it?"

"I'll get it for ya," said the bartender. "That aside, it's rare that you brought a fledgling here, and oh, we get Lady Sakurauchi's trusted scout, too."

"You sure talk smooth, gramps." You commented. Ruby wasn't sure to comment, so she just let the conversation flooded. "How 'bout you serve us while at it?"

The old man laughed at that, "Well said, wait for me to get rations for this human, okay?"

Chika's red eyes wandered through the interior of the bar after the old man disappeared to the back door. You, noticed Chika's restlessness and asked, "Guess he'd want to say that your messengers are dead."

"How can you say that, You-chan?" Ruby piped in.

"You-chan is right. Must be because of the outbreaks too. Humans blood smell the most delicious to hungry fella, after all," Chika had a forlorn expression before she sighs. "They would usually go here in the day to talk up their plans and waited for me, but here it is, the bar's dead save from vampires," the merchant looked to Ruby. "Get it, Ruby-chan? Vampires are hardly around at day except they are matured enough or able to waste money for incenses. So if someone fills in the blood bar by the day and being loud, it's us humans."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear about your friends, Chika-chan."

"Nah, no worries. It's the risk to work for information gathering." Chika quipped. "Now that you mentioned it, You-chan sure already have a name now, eh? Lady Sakurauchi's trusted scout?"

"C-Chika-chan, that's ... not exactly important right now! Oh, look, the gramps is back."

The old man shoved a small book with worn brown leather cover to Chika. You and Ruby watched in curiosity as Chika flipped open the pages, revealing a grass-like writing they couldn't able to discern.

"Heh, cheap language," the merchant mumbled. She proceeded to take something out from her rucksack, which is a ... thick butterfly-shaped glasses. Finally, not a Mikan. "Sorry, give me time to translate this, I'll tell you all later."

"What are your orders then, young ladies?" the old man offered. "Our specials are Rat's Blood."

Ruby's face was once void of color. "R-R-Rat's Blood!?"

"Fear not, fledglings. It's just a name of the cocktail." The man let out an amused laugh, in which Ruby shrunk in embarrassment. "It's good, I can guarantee that you'd love for seconds."

"Then make it two Rat's Blood cocktails, on the rocks, gramps. Put the tab on me." You said.

"Comin' right up!"

Chika busied herself within pages to pages, turning to next rather slowly as she progressed. Ruby wanted to ask whether she could help, but You's hand stopped her.

"Let Chika-chan be, Ruby-chan. She's always absorbed in her work once she started, we shouldn't bother her," the vampire said. "Why don't we talk about other things as we waited?"

Now that You mentioned it, and it said that You might be able to help her. Ruby wondered if Chika thought of it as a cause, the similarity of being in the same boat as human who's turned to a vampire, or of other reasons that Ruby has yet to know from You herself – she has yet to get to know the grey-haired vampire.

"They said you are ... Lady Sakurauchi's trusted scout? What's that, You-chan?"

"Straight to that, I see, oh, I'm so embarrassed," You fanned herself over. "Err, how can I explain it? Lady Sakurauchi is my mentor, she's your kind of 'old vampire' noble, and before I was turned, I was working on the open seas," You was a bit fidgety as she told the story, Ruby found it cute. "Most vampires are afraid of water in general, but I'm not—maybe because I love the sea so much? I dunno—and I'm very knowledgeable with sea and ships so my Lady sometimes sent me out to help humans or vampires to anticipate seaborne attack."

The little vampire unconsciously clapped, "Wow, that sounds incredible, You-chan."

"I-It's not that big, really. It's the least I can do to be useful to my mentor~" the grey-haired vampire scratched her cheek, feeling self-conscious. "That aside, umm, is this your first time in vampire district? I see that your eyes wander around ..."

"Oh, no. It's just ... it feel different, somehow," Ruby answered. "It was crowded everywhere when Mari-chan introduced me to this place. When I was human, I never go to this area of town."

"It's like Chika said, the one's crowded bunch are humans; well, blood whores, though," You explained. "Gramps, are there still humans hanging around at night after the restrictions?"

The old man was measuring red-colored liquid in two small cups as they speak. "Only the brave young'uns, kind of this human who loves the thrill of information. Some are lucky not to be found dead by the next day. The outbreak is escalating rather in worrisome note, must I add," he poured the measured liquid to the shaker, adding some colorless syrup to the mix before sprinkles of ice and started to mix it. "There also Hunters stationed here day and night, but it's not easy to control rampaging, hungry vampires, don't you think?"

Ruby looked to her feet. Rampaging, hungry vampire—it hit her, it was the feeling of monstrosity; a call of devil, she could say, when the urge to get nothing but blood and be a mindless, unstoppable scary being. Part of her memories flashed directly at when she accidentally bitten her older sister, shame and regret crawled under her skin and made herself shiver.

"... Are you alright, Ruby-chan?"

You's voice chimed in like a bell, waking her up from the reverie. The little vampire looked up to see blue irises directed at her in worry. She noticed that the old bartender there did the same.

"I ..." Ruby swallowed. "I was also ... went out of control before and I hurt someone—a precious person."

All that Riko talked to her was more like reciting a vampire history from top to bottom, Dia surmised. What's different, beside how serene and collected Riko's tone was going, compared to how Mari conversed with her in riddles, is how the burgundy-haired vampire shared some key points in simple summary after answering questions in such length.

"There, might be times when older vampires wanted to create an army or a cause for our own greater good, but," said Riko. "After the war and the pledge with humanity, we're no longer seek for such theatrics."

"How can you say that? I can still see vile vampires around."

And Riko didn't even mind every single of Dia's direct to indirect mocking about her race, just like how Mari is.

"I can't blame fledglings and a little thirsty vampires population for that. You can see that blood is our source of power, yet it could be our true weakness," Riko smiled at this, the first time in the day. "Blood make us strong, but our dependence of blood is what makes us weak. It's simply our nature to desire for blood, and we can't deny our birthright. We might attack when we're hungry, it's unavoidable."

"Why do you have to turn someone, rather than sucking them until dry?"

Riko took a sip to her tea again, which finished the cup. Her amber softened, "I have to repeat that we won't turn someone unless the human agreed to it," the vampire was looking at Dia, but the raven-haired huntress could feel that she was ... reminiscing. "True that we can suck somebody to the point we dried all of the blood, but we're not greedy. We loved frequent single sips to taking down a bottle of everything," those amber eyes kept glazing. "That ... makes me remember of a question."

Dia's brow perked up. "My assistant asked the same when I found her years ago."

Right, Watanabe You said herself that she was a human and she was willing to be turned. Dia though didn't bother to speak a comment and waited for Riko to continue.

"Why don't you end my life instead? She asked," Riko went on. "Vampires were attacking her ship that day and she was the last one who's still breathing. I was happened to be nearby and exterminated those strange vampires. Her eyes were ... brimmed with life," there was a happy sigh in compelling her emotional story. "Though our method, as you continuously said, unacceptable by exchanging humanity for immortality, but it's all we can do to keep somebody 'alive'. Us vampires love the breathe of living."

Is this the fact she really want to accept, or will she keep denying it?

The cocktail was done at the point when Ruby finished her own story to the old man and You. Rat's Blood was a dark purplish liquid combined with syrup and another few drops of 'secret flavors' per the old man described. Served in tall glass with small umbrella and a swirl mimicking a rat's tail made from chocolate, the cocktail's appearance made you forget that it was a glass of pure blood.

The bar is now silent except for them, no more customers are coming in and the old man was busying himself with the cupboard of wines behind.

"That reminds me when I was turned; I keep biting at my mentor to the point I was chained by the authorities back then," You laughed.

Ruby watched her glass, giving the content a stir and the chocolate tail melted in. You gave her shoulder pats, seeing that the little vampire was looked down.

"My mentor was a respectable vampire back in Tokyo, and they despised me to be a useless fledgling to her presence. And how my family is hard to accept me sometimes," she popped at her straws. "There will be hardships, but believe me, everything will be alright when the time comes, as long as you keep trying your best and yousoro."

Trying her best – the words echoed inside her as it coming, everything will be alright, there's nothing to be afraid of. Will it be okay for Ruby to not give up, even though it's nearly no chance for everything to be back to 'normal'?

A rattling sound came from beside them, Chika was up, stretching her arms and taking off her glasses averted their attention from the sappy conversation. "I'm do~ne!"

"Ooh, welcome back, Chika-chan~" You exclaimed, chin resting on her palm. "Find anything good?"

"Nothing much," there was an 'eehh' from You. Ruby listened. "It's still much of speculations by the end of the notes, it has yet to be proven, though guess everyone is pretty much dead already."

Chika opened the book and pointed at the last page that's still written, both You and Ruby unable to read it, Chika outlined the said words in a circle with her index finger. She spoke with a small voice.

"It says, 'the source of vampire's wilderness is not normal'," Chika continued forth, to the next entry. "it is unknown of how the outbreak has spread, it might be same to how humans catch a cold, a virus, or something similar," the orange-haired merchant made a line on the last sentence. "A further inspection is needed, maybe from the dead human bodies, or from the caught vampires who once went out of control."

"So it's that ... dangerous?"

"It's still a speculations, You-chan, we can't jump into a conclusion yet," Chika closed the book. "We should tell somebody in the authority to have this matter checked ... oh, I can't contact Mari-chan directly, it would take a few days."

Ruby asked, "How about we ... go back to the town and ask You-chan's mentor? I mean, umm, she's an old vampire, right? I-I might ask for Onee-chan to do some research as well."

"—Sounds great!" You snapped her fingers, she jumped away from the bar stool and saluted. "Then, then, let's jet!"

"U-Umm, but first, can I ask to go to the market? I, I need to buy something for dinner."

A vampire with the love of the aspect of life.

A human who's skeptical with the vampire's way of thinking.

Everything Riko has been saying up until now is surreal, a story coated with honey that couldn't prove to be poisoned. It contradicted every Dia's view of world, the world Kurosawa family etched deep in her brain of how vampires, or other supernatural beings is only there for human to be extinct; of how they were nothing but thirst of power and recklessness to human's superiority of reasoning.

Part of Dia wanted to deny, but her heart wanted to believe in the fact that her sister is still her sister; the same old Ruby who's trying her best to be a strong huntress.

What's her hesitation – is it really her pride that rejected this 'truth'?

"Your tea is cold." Riko repeated. "And I know that there might be many things in your mind now, though I might say that what I'm telling you is nothing but the truth. It's still up to you to believe me or not."

.

Dia was standing on a branching road, one lead her to hell and the other one to heaven. The time has come for her to choose, since the road behind her was no longer to be found.

.

"—I'm sorry to bother you, but I sense guests are coming to our way," Riko stated, getting up from her seat. "It's my assistant bringing a vampire and a human with her."

"How can you tell?"

"I can tell if my assistant is nearby and if the particular people is close to her, it's just the power of vampire's domain," Riko explained. "I'll greet at the door, please take your time, Kurosawa-san."

.

The vampires which were turned from humans are not soulless. The vampires turned them by the will of the humans, not by the vampires' selfish conduct. The vampires loved to see living flesh rather than taking on greedily. Should she believe this to her own benefit, or—

.

"O-Onee-chan."

Dia turned to see Ruby was up there from the direction of the door. The assistant Watanabe was talking with Riko and other orange-hooded person. Ruby descended from the stairs, in her hold was a big paper bag with tall french bread sticking apart from other contents. It must be for dinner, Dia surmised as she walked closer to see her younger sister. There lies an awkward pause as their eyes met, Ruby was visibly tracing on the paper bag.

"I, I was shopping for dinner when I met You-chan," Ruby began to talk, though Dia didn't ask for Ruby to explain herself. "w, we happened to find something leading about the vampire outbreak, s-she might be explaining to you soon. And umm ..."

So she was going on her own – it's not like she would be a little sister who must ask her for a permission every time. She's matured already, she knows her priorities, and not to mention, she's no longer—

"I'm ... I'm sorry that I wasn't at home," Dia could see that Ruby is clearly afraid; the older Kurosawa memorized every movements in detail when her younger sister is scared, from the droop of shoulder and how she fidgets ever so often. Though, she could say Ruby is changed – she's not straying from the eye contact, she stood firm. "I promise not to be reckless again."

And finally, Ruby stopped, chewing on her lips, waiting for Dia to act – or at least, saying any word. Speaking with her sister holding the silence with a straight face is very nerve-wrecking, she hoped that she won't be yelled at or—

Ruby didn't expect that Dia would come closer, warm fingers tracing on her magenta hair, and ruffling it, tenderly. Emerald eyes looked up to see Dia's lips stretched slightly upwards, and it parted, flowing the words.

"Good job, Ruby." Dia said. "I'm proud of you."

Ruby felt her corner of eyes grow hot, but she held it back, the overwhelming burst of different feelings. "T-Thank you, Onee-chan."

"Shall we go home and make dinner together once the matter is settled?"

[ For the first time after walking in the darkness, Ruby happily smiled. ]

[intellectuallyawkward-blog]

Origin of super mario names

Nintendo figures make the VR of theirs (arcade) debut with innovative Vive driven Mario Kart

Bandai Namco showed a virtual reality model of Mario Kart, Mario Kart Arcade GP VR, that is going to make its debut in a VR arcade the business is opening using Tokyo, Japan upcoming month.

The game appears to mark the VR debut of one of Nintendo's flagship franchises, although it is crucial to be aware it is licensed by Nintendo as well as created by Namco - just like its non-VR predecessor, Mario Kart Arcade GP.Not many details are currently available in English regarding the game, even thought it's mentioned about the arcade's site as running on HTC Vive headsets and specially-designed racing seats.

Nintendo has thus far been publicly reticent about the promise of VR - last calendar year frontman Shigeru Miyamoto told investors that for VR wearing specific, we're ongoing the research of ours, in addition to exploring improvement with a mind to how our existing key products are meant to be played for a somewhat long period of time of time.

We are considering the choices of delivering an adventure which gives value when played for a little while, he continued. And how to eliminate the fears of long-duration use.

When I discovered that out I did two things. To begin with, I whipped out the copy of mine (yes, I maintain it which real/nerdy that I still need a well used NES hooked up in the room) of mine and then made positive I will be able to match the game at will. (I can. Childhood not wasted.)

Secondly, I launched down a rabbit hole of reading through Mario websites and Articles and Wikis. In the operation, I stumbled upon the etymologies of the brands of several of the key players in the Mario universe. Consequently, in honor of the video game which often changed the planet, in this article they are, given in useful 11-item describe form.

Mario.

When Mario debuted in the arcade game "Donkey Kong", he was just referred to as Jumpman. (Which also is the generic label associated with that Michael Jordan spread leg Nike logo. Two of the most legendary icons actually equally have generic versions of themselves known as Jumpman. But only one of them has today gotten to a point of remaining extremely impressive that he shaved himself a Hitler mustache before filming a professional and the balls were had by no one to correct him.)

In 1980, as the Nintendo of America team imported Jumpman to raise him right into a franchise-leading star (Hayden Christensen style), somebody discovered that he looked just like their Seattle office building's landlord... a guy called Mario Segale.

Mario Segale did not get a dime for becoming the namesake of pretty much the most prominent video game persona ever, but he most likely isn't very concerned; in 1998 he sold the asphalt small business of his for over $60 million. (Or 600,000 extra lives.)

Luigi.

Luigi actually has one of probably the weakest name origins of most of the mario brothers characters in the Mario universe (once again displaying exactly why, in life that is real, he'd have a larger inferiority complex than Frank Stallone, Abel or that 3rd Manning brother).

"Luigi" is simply the result of a group of Japanese men trying to consider an Italian name to accentuate "Mario." Why was the Italian label they went with? When they each moved from Japan to Seattle, the pizza area nearby to the Nintendo headquarters called Mario & Luigi's. (It has since gone from business.)

Koopa.

Koopa is a transliterated variation of the Japanese rap for the opponent turtles, "Kuppa." Stick with me here -- kuppa is the Japanese phrase for a Korean dish known as gukbap. Basically it is a cup of soup with cereal. From what I surely explain to it's totally not related to turtles, especially malicious ones.

In an interview, Mario's creator, Shigeru Miyamoto, explained he was deciding between three different brands for the high-speed of evil turtles, all of which happened to be named after Korean foods. (The other 2 were yukhoe and bibimbap.) Which means among 2 things: (1) Miyamoto loves Korean food and was looking to offer a tribute or even (two) Miyamoto believes Koreans are evil and really should be jumped on.

Wario.

I sort of missed the debut of Wario -- he debuted in 1992, right around when I was hitting the age exactly where I was extremely cool for cartoon y Nintendo games. (Me and the middle school buddies of mine happened to be into Genesis only. I was back on Nintendo within 4 years.)

Turns out his label works both equally in Japanese and english; I kinda assumed the English fashion but did not know about the Japanese element. In English, he is an evil, bizarro world mirror image of Mario. The "M" flips to become a "W" as well as Wario is created. The name also operates in Japanese, where it is a mix of Mario and "warui," that means "bad."

That is a very high quality scenario, since, as I covered extensively in the list eleven Worst Japanese-To-English Translations In Nintendo History, not every language distinction finesses again and forth that efficiently.

Waluigi.

When I 1st seen "Waluigi" I assumed it was hilarious. While Wario was obviously a natural counterbalance to Mario, Waluigi believed really comically shoehorned (just tacking the "wa" prefix before Luigi) -- including a giant inside joke that somehow cleared every single bureaucratic step and then cracked the mainstream.

Well... according to the Nintendo folks, Waluigi isn't only a gloriously lazy choice or maybe an inside joke gone massive. They *say* it is dependant upon the Japanese phrase ijiwaru, which means "bad guy."

I don't understand. I sense that we'd have to supply them much more than halfway to buy that.

Toad.

Toad is built to look as a mushroom (or perhaps toadstool) because of his giant mushroom hat. It's a great thing the gaming systems debuted before the whole model knew how to earn penis jokes.

Anyway, in Japan, he's considered Kinopio, which happens to be a mixture of the term for mushroom ("kinoko") as well as the Japanese version of Pinocchio ("pinokio"). Those combine being something along the collections of "A Real Mushroom Boy."

Goomba.

In Japanese, the men are known as kuribo, that translates to "chestnut people." That seems sensible because, ya know, if somebody asked you "what do chestnut individuals are like?" you would probably reach something just about similar to the figures.

When they had been shipped for the American model, the team stuck with the Italian initiative of theirs and also known as them Goombas... based off of the Italian "goombah," that colloquially means something as "my fellow Italian friend." It also sort of evokes the photo of low-level mafia thugs without too many capabilities -- like individuals younger brothers and also cousins who they'd to retain the services of or perhaps mother would yell at them. That also applies to the Mario Bros. goombas.

Birdo.

Birdo has practically nothing to do with this particular initial Japanese name. Generally there, he's considered Kyasarin, which regularly translates to "Catherine."

In the teaching manual for Super Mario Bros. 2, in which Birdo debuted, the character description of his reads: "Birdo believes he is a female and likes to be known as Birdetta."

What I do believe all of this means? Nintendo shockingly chosen to create a character who battles with his gender identity and referred to as him Catherine. In the event it was some time to show up to America, they got feet that are cold so they determined at the very last minute to phone him Birdo, although he's a dinosaur. (And do not provide me the "birds are descended from dinosaurs" pop paleontology line. Not shopping for that connection.) In that way, we would just understand about his gender confusion if we read the mechanical, and the Japanese were fairly certain Americans have been either way too lazy or even illiterate to do it en masse.

Princess Toadstool/Peach.

When we all got introduced on the Princess, she was known as Princess Toadstool. I guess this made perfect sense -- Mario was set in the Mushroom Kingdom, so why wouldn't its monarch be called Princess Toadstool. Them inbreeding bluish bloods are usually naming the children of theirs immediately after the country.

Nobody seems to be certain precisely why they went the guidance, nevertheless. In Japan, she was recognized as Princess Peach from day one. That title didn't debut here until 1993, when Yoshi's Safari became available for Super Nintendo. (By the manner -- have you played Yoshi's Safari? In a bizarre twist it's a first-person shooter, the only person in the entire Mario history. It's as something like a country music superstar creating a weird rock album.)

Bowser.

In Japan, there is no Bowser. He is simply referred to as the King Koopa (or perhaps comparable variations, like Great Demon King Koopa). So just where did Bowser come from?

During the import method, there was a problem that the American masses wouldn't see how the small turtles and big bad fellow could very well definitely be known as Koopa. Thus a marketing staff developed dozens of choices for a name, they adored Bowser the best, and also slapped it on him.

In Japan, he's nevertheless hardly ever called Bowser. Over here, his title is now so ubiquitous that he is even supplanted Sha Na Na's Bowzer as America's a good number of famous Bowser.

Donkey Kong.

This's a far more literal interpretation than you think. "Kong" is based off of King Kong. "Donkey" is a family friendly method of calling him an ass. That is right: His label is an useful variation of "Ass Ape."

Super Mario Bros. is a video game launched for the household Computer and also Nintendo Entertainment System found 1985. It shifted the gameplay far from its single screen arcade predecessor, Mario Bros., along with rather showcased side-scrolling platformer quantities. Although not the original game of the Mario franchise, Super Mario Bros. is really famous, in addition to introduced many sequence staples, from power ups, to classic enemies like Goombas, to the basic premise of rescuing Princess Toadstool from King Koopa. As well as kicking off an entire compilation of Super Mario platformer online games, the untamed success of Super Mario Bros. popularized the genre to be a whole, helped revive the gaming sector once the 1983 footage game crash, and was mainly the cause of the initial good results on the NES, with that it was included a launch title. Until it was finally exceeded by Wii Sports, Super Mario Bros. was the most effective marketing videos game of all time for about three years, with more than forty million copies marketed globally.

[barbecuedphoenix]

Hello! I just need to say I LOVE your writing, omg I read and re-read your stuff AT LEAST once a week, seriously, you're a genius *kisses your face*. This is not really a request, just an IDEA for you to think about, but have you thought of how would be the first time Nevra drank Guardienne's blood? Maybe during sex, or before their first time...? I'm just curious to know what you think of his drinking habits if he were in a relationship with her.

*She reaches forward togently cup your cheek, her thumb tracing feather-light crescents around thepoint of your cheekbone that sends sparks dancing, waves of fire rolling across your skin withevery sly, knowing stroke*

You flatter me too much,my dear. ;)

Ahem. To answer your question, Anon., I do have a few ideas on what blood-feedingentails for Nevra. Because it’s a pretty fascinating subject for an aspiringbiologist. And you can never skip out on blood-feeding with a vampire beau. ;)

But first, I’ll have toseparate what’s implied in canon with, well, my headcanon. Brace yourself for adouble-serving of analysis and imagination. Plus science. Because there’salways science involved when talking about vampires. ^_^    

Warning: Not NSFW… but it still has a lot of innuendo. Don’t try reading thisout-loud if you’re babysitting. Not even if the kid in question likes Twilight.

What does blood-drinking mean to him? (CanonAnalysis)

Seeing that Nevra is quick to offer a bite (as a joke or agenuine pick-up line) in several episodes, and given that he does drink fromladies he isn’t dating (i.e. that awkward moment in Episode 10), my impressionis that blood-drinking is more a casual activity for Nevra than a seriouscommunion.  

The impetus also seems to be more sexual than nutritive: hedefinitely seems to prefer drinking from young ladies, instead of—shall wesay—more robust sources of blood plasma. Like young men of Valkyon’s size. (Sorry,fans. But that’s why we have headcanons.) Furthermore, Nevra has alreadymentioned in Episode 8 that it’s ‘fun’, which lends more credence to him seeingblood-drinking as a form of foreplay.  

He’s clearly unabashed about his appetite for blood, from theblasé way he shrugs off criticism, jokes, and put-downs in Episodes 10, 4, and 8 respectively. This can be due to his supreme confidence in himself… and/or his knowledge of how vampires are walkingsexual fantasies in human literature (see episode 6). But from the number ofdinner/pantry jokes he makes, I’m willing believe that– on some level– Nevrabelieves blood-drinking increases his mystique among non-vampires. Sorry,buddy… but vampires are still a niche fad in this world

It’s unknown how necessary blood-drinking is to his survival,or what benefits it gives him. But it definitely isn’t the sole component ofhis diet: Nevra can consume regularfood (see episode 8), and is partial towards certain treats like red wine andthe oh-so-appropriate blue steaks (i.e. extremely raw steaks). Personally, Isupport the idea of him having a varied, omnivorous diet (sacrilege for vampirefans, I know) because blood in itself—per volume—is not nutritious at all:mainly composed of water, protein, and salt, with some iron and trace lipidsfrom red blood cells, and a very light sprinkling of sugars and importantminerals dissolved throughout. In fact, all full-time sanguivores—i.e.blood-drinkers—in nature are on the tiny side by necessity, and still need toconsume huge quantities of blood relative to their body weight just to avoidstarvation; vampire bats, for instance, need to drink half their body weight inblood per meal. So biologically-speaking, it’s just more feasible for Nevra toeat solid meat and other concentrated sources of carbohydrates, fats, vitamins,etc. (Besides… can you imagine how many people each day have to ‘donate’ forhis most basic rations if blood is all he consumes? Between him and Karenn,they’ll drain El dry. That won’t look good for the Guard. >_>)

Consent is necessary in Nevra’s book (see Episode 10), and heaccepts refusals (and borderline insults) with aplomb. So my guess is thatblood-drinking is still considered an intimate act, despite Nevra’s ‘swinger’approach to it. And that he’s aware it isn’t the most mainstream/popular/politesexual kink in El (check Ezarel’s ire in Episode 10 on him ‘chewing on’ one ofhis alchemists). That doesn’t mean he won’t stop trying though…

Blood doesn’t turn him on every single time. In fact, Nevra compartmentalizeshis reactions to it depending on the situation. For instance, if blood isspilled as a field injury, he jumps straight into Shadow Dad! Mode (see episode6), and all sexy/food-related thoughts are forgotten. This ability to switchmindsets on a dime indicates excellent self-control… and could be an adaptationto working with non-vampires who may get uneasy at spilling blood in front ofhim. Nevra even makes a joke in episode 8 (if you take him to the kitchen) thathe’s offended that the MC thinks of him as a ‘bloodthirsty beast’.

The effects of blood-drinking? (Canon Analysis)

According to one discussion in Episode 10, you can ‘turn’ into a vampire, but having avampire feed from you isn’t what causes it (at least, not on its own). So untilmore information comes to light, blood-drinking mostly seems like a funindulgence for Nevra, with no real long term consequences.

Nevra is implied to have the capacity to drink quite a bit of blood day after day, ifValkyon’s deadpan remark in Episode 4 is anything to go by. So anemia and even shock would be the most common health risks involved inblood-drinking besides infection (unsurprisingly). How much Nevra can drink ina single sitting is still up to debate, but he does have his principles andisn’t likely to drain partners to the point of shock. How else did he gainsuch a wide net of… voluntary donors?

His vampiric skills involved withblood-drinking? (Headcanon)

Like allvampires, he’s gifted with an extremely nimble tongue… which he uses to drink andpurr like a cat, never wasting a drop of blood and being finicky in lickinghis lips and fingers clean. And his partner’s skin, of course. Wheneverpossible, Nevra also avoids staining the bedsheets and his or his partner’sclothes; only amateurs are thatsloppy.

His nose isn’tjust good for sniffing out blood and fear from a quarter-mile away: theskin on the underside of his nose is highly thermosensitive (just like avampire bat), which allows him track rich arteries under the skin forprecision-bites, even in pitch darkness. His lips and fingertips too are packedwith biological thermo-sensors (not quite like a vampire bat). You cancompletely blindfold him, and he stillwon’t miss your carotid artery.    

Good news: his bites don’t hurt. This is because the razor-sharppoints of his fangs are the envy of swordsmiths and surgeons. Not to mentionthat they’re coated in a natural anesthetic compound found in his saliva. (Likevampire bats; how else do they sneak up on their prey and dine on them for half-an-hourwithout waking them up?) At most, if he’s really eager and/or careless thatnight, you’ll feel two tiny pricks where his mouth meets your skin. Rightbefore he distracts you with all the other things he’s doing.

The bad news: there are also natural anticoagulants in hissaliva that prevent blood from clotting easily. (How else can his people get a long drink?) So the only way to staunch thebleeding from his bite is to clean and bandage the wound, maybe tie atourniquet if it’s a deep one, then wait it out. Fortunately, he also offers thisservice as a courtesy.

Nevra has an uncanny way of estimating his partner’s bodyweight, and then approximating how much blood he can afford to drink from them withoutrisking shock. Sans instruments. Just try lying about your weight to him. Hehas an excellent eye for volumetric amounts and measurements, honed byexperience.

His sense oftaste is actually very poor—an adaptation among vampires to cope with theirpeculiar drink of choice–, so the bracing iron taste of fresh blood doesn’tmake a difference to him. As do many foods, though he won’t admit this toothers. (So if there’s any poison in his food or drink, he has to do his bestto sniff them out instead. And bet on his robust immune system to buy him enoughtime to reach his cache of antidotes.)

He has abody built for the bedroom, uh, I mean blood consumption: his liver cancope with very high concentrations of iron, and the lining of his stomachabsorbs excess water rapidly. His immune system also lends some credence to thelegends of ‘immortal’ vampires: allowing him to resist most common diseases,and rally quickly from pathogens in infected blood.      

How does he generally treat his partners whendrinking from them? (Headcanon)

I see blood-drinking as a fringe kink, fetish, and longtime socialpractice that Nevra’s people have. It combines food-play with sex, formalizesan intimate bond between individuals, and is even used as a form oftreatment in traditional medicine. (Why pointed fangs and an appetite for bloodbecame hereditary traits suggests some strong evolutionary benefits…but that’s for another day.) But Nevra, being a modern young vampire, prefersto apply blood-drinking as a form of tasty foreplay, to be carried outinside or outside the bedroom, with casual or serious partners. Drinking during sex though is what automatically flipshis high-voltage switch and unleashes the fireworks. From that point, it’s aone-way ticket to a wild night. Expect soreness and a tactical scarf the nextmorning.  

The mood to drink is never far from his mind once he startsgetting cozy with his partner, and Nevra is never shy about suggesting itthrough heavy innuendo, slow kisses that nibble lightly at their inner wrist orneck, or merely smiling and posing a two-word question that leaves no doubt onwhat he wants. Still, winning consent is a matter of honor for him, and henever tries to surprise partners with a bite, even if he has fed from them before.If they’re not keen on the idea at the moment, he may pout and try to cajolethem, but will ultimately accept their refusal.

Location is key: some arteries are in patently sexier placesthan others. Drinking from the wrist is the most chaste by far, whereasdrinking from the neck is getting pretty heavy (but still possible to dooutside the bedroom). And drinking from the inside of the thigh is savedstrictly for behind closed doors. Depending on Nevra’s mood, the state ofhis partner’s skin at that location (some places might still be healing fromprior bites), and/or the need to look halfway decent in public, he’ll switchbetween different areas.  

No matter his partner’s species, Nevra aims to keepblood-drinking safe, health-wise, as a point of pride and courtesy. (He of allpeople knows the risks involved with infection, blood-transmitted diseases,tissue scarring, anemia, and shock from blood loss.) So he’ll limit himself ifhis partner is on the petite side, and always spaces out feedings until they’rein optimal health again. And he’ll never so much as nip at his partner if they’rerecovering from an injury, are sick, or are susceptible to the health risksinvolved in opening a vein. Hearing that his partner consulted a doctor right aftertheir bedroom shenanigans will embarrass Nevra to no end. He is looking after them, he swears!  

He never goes anywhere without keeping one black silkhandkerchief in his pocket, just large enough to wrap around a neck or sveltethigh that’s been offered to him. Staunching the bleeding and covering up themarks of his teeth is what he considers his obligation, and he’ll be happy tolet partners keep the handkerchief afterwards; he’s a gentleman, after all.As a result, Nevra is on first-name basis with city tailors, mercers, andlaunderers from all the silk handkerchiefs he orders and washes—in bulk– everyfew months. Which he then keeps folded in one drawer of his bedside table. Forconvenient access.

Contrary to expectations, Nevra is automatically turned-offif partners tease him by flaunting fresh papercuts and knife-nicks, evenaccidental. In his book, it’s a crass way to snag his attention (not to mentionidiotic, from the infections they’re risking), so he’ll at most lecture themand bandage those cuts straightaway. Part of the allure in blood lies in itsmystery after all, flowing secret under the skin until he makes the firstpierce. He’s a bloodthirsty beast only some nights in the bedroom, thank you.

How does he behave if drinking from theGuardian for the first time? (Headcanon)

For all hisjokes, Nevra is very aware that this is a gesture of trust, especiallyfrom a non-vampire and a novice who isn’t fully familiar with the practice. Sohe makes a point to be reassuring, aiming to keep the experience comfortable,sensual, and enjoyable for both parties (even if he’s the only one who’ll befeeding). Because if he likes them enough… he’ll want them to return to offerhim a ‘second serving’.  

A privatelocation is really all he needs because this is the closest thing to aquickie that he can offer. But if there’s someone he’s looking to impress,he’ll take them straight to his room (prepped beforehand) where they can both befully comfortable, and he’ll be able to wash clean the bites. And where they’ll be free to indulge themselves a little more, if there’s time…

As with allpartners, he is very sensual whenfeeding, clasping the Guardian full against him and letting his hands wander. Teasingtheir skin first with kisses that grow increasingly less chaste, warming up hispartner in his arms while he tests out the best places to make an ideal bite. Fora first-timer, he’ll double this ‘warm up’ period until he’s absolutely surethat his partner is comfortable. And as turned-on as he is.

Just like anydentist, surgeon, or physician armed with a needle, Nevra never warns partnerswhen it’s actually time for him to make that bite: anticipation will only makethem anxious (and kill the mood). So the Guardian will still be lolling aroundin his arms and under the prints of his mouth, oblivious to what’s happening, until they suddenly feel that warm welling of their blood right where his mouthis fused determinedly against their skin. And when they freeze up, he’ll workto reassure them with his hands, his embrace, the pressure of his lips, and oneor two tactical noises of satisfaction, encouraging them (wordlessly) to relaxand enjoy the feel of his body against theirs. And not think too hard aboutthis moment.

For thisoccasion, he’ll keep the feeding light and neat, drinking from wrist or neckonly. After he staunches the bleeding with his ever-ready handkerchief, he’llpress a teasing kiss against the fabric right where his bite is, determined tomake the Guardian blush. And he’ll insist that they ‘hold onto thehandkerchief’, to not worry about returning it to him; it’s a standard gestureof magnanimity on his part, but for a first-timer, it’s also a way to give thema memento of this moment. To let them mull over what they did enjoy, andhopefully, return to him for a reprise…

If theGuardian is particularly concerned, he’ll oblige to answer what questions they have about health and sanitary concerns… as well as rumors they mighthave heard about vampires. But frankly, only the last part is fun for Nevra;giving medical explanations is always a tedious chore for him, so what answershe does offer are kept simple and reassuring. All they really need to know isthat he knows what he’s doing; they can trust him. He’s been doing this fora long while.

How does he treat longtime partners whom hedrinks from? (Headcanon)

Although infamousknown for biting casually, Nevra will restrict himself to drinking only fromhis partner if seriously involved with them. Feeding from others at this pointis akin to getting frisky with them, and thus putting one foot on the line ofinfidelity. For all his bad jokes and playboy reputation, Nevra’spartner is his very first preference for sharing such an intimate moment. Andif they’re really not in the mood to be nibbled at, he feels put-out.

They’ll start receiving naughty gifts… and not the expected type either. He’ll buythem scarves. Ascots. Satin opera gloves. Plus a healthy supply of dark silkhandkerchiefs for them to keep in their room, chokers and thigh garters made ofsatin or black lace, and velvet wrist corsages each pinned with a singleblood-red rose. All to cover up the bite-marks he left on their skin as theyheal… and remind him pleasantly of ‘what he did’ at their last encounterwhenever he sees them. When they’re alone, Nevra likes to slip these tacticalgifts an inch or two lower just to peek at, stroke, or kiss the marks he left behindthe other night. What a horny bastard.

He’ll be more open to gentle, affectionate blood-feedings.And if he’s having a rotten day, and his partner is the one who offers him a drink,his mood is guaranteed to shoot up by several notches. For once, he won’t dropsly suggestions to continue to the bedroom immediately, instead being perfectlyhappy to cuddle or spoon them in silence wherever they are. A blood-feeding maybe a sexually-charged gesture, but it can become an act of solace and caring ifoffered by a partner he trusts. One he won’t forget for a while.

He certainly won’t say no to his partner bitinghim back, even if their teeth are flatter and can’t (or won’t) pierce his skin; it’s the sensation that counts. And he himself is very sensitive around the crook of his neck. Still, Nevra prefersto do most of the biting—to draw blood or simply to tease. He has the right teeth, and knows how to be the boss use them for maximal mutual pleasure. 

For a darker take on how Nevra might react to blood spilled on the battlefield, check out this pure headcanon. 

[graciecatfamilyband]

Han/Leia Appreciation Week Day 5: AU

It’s still 11:00pm Pacific Time, folks! Thanks for @asmoonlightthroughthepines for goading me on and for the metaphor “like a gundark walking on ice.” Thanks to @organanation for a quick, sleepy look-over as I finished it up (any typos and errors should be attributed to me!!!!). And credit to @rogueandjedi for the Corellian love stone head canon that plays a small role here, as well as to @otterandterrier for reminding me of it and letting me steal her idea of a box. And @onwardintolight for a last minute suggestion I needed. Mild torture references.   

Bail Organa was rooting around in the galley, trying to find one of those pre-made, generously titled “meals” he knew the smugglers kept. The former Viceroy of Alderaan had gotten peckish and, estimating that there was some time before either the Corellian or the Wookie began to make the evening meal, had decided it was useless— silly, really— to sit around and wait. It felt invasive going through the other man’s ship. But neither was Bail comfortable with asking the smuggler for everything, like a child— “Can I have? May I please?”— and he could tell Solo was frustrated with him going without and equally uncomfortable in the role of giver. Look, I’m not some Imperial stooge who needs his ego fed by you either beggin’ or sufferin’, Solo had snapped, tossing him an extra jacket when he’d found Bail shivering at the Dejarik table earlier that day. So unless it’s the hyperdrive or somethin’, for kriff’s sake, just take whatever it is you need.

Still, it felt strange to be rooting around in the Corellian’s domain, sifting through his possessions. Almost dizzying— either the freedom of it, or the fear of it going somehow terribly wrong. Perhaps both. Everything Bail had touched in the last six years had served a purpose secondary to its function. A book was a gift to Bail for being a good pet, a well-chosen reminder of all he had sold out to survive every day. A humiliation to taunt him as much as to force agony over whether to accept the degradation of the book or to brave the stifling, physically painful boredom of his isolated days. Medical attention was a reminder of Imperial Colonel X’s power to give as well as to take away, and ultimate control over Bail’s body. After all, Bail couldn’t even die. He shuddered, and did his best to put those thoughts from his mind, and to ignore the dreadful sense that the other shoe could drop at any time. Solo might be a lot of potentially very unsavory things, but he wasn’t a sadist. Bail could tell that; Bail knew knew sadists.

Neither Solo nor Chewbacca seemed not to trade in such double meanings. If Bail was given an extra blanket, it’s because the temperature regulator on the Falcon was on the fritz and humans, not being Wookies, get cold. A book was whatever datachips happened to be lying around, and the Viceroy was equally welcome to choose 1,000 Modifications for YT Series Freighters to Try Before You Die (Or Until They Kill You) as he was to choose Foundations of Democratic Societies— the latter being a favorite of Bail’s that Solo dubiously claimed was accidentally left by a diplomat he’d supposedly been transporting on New Republic business. Bail grimly hoped it wasn’t left by a diplomat Solo had killed in his sleep.

The Viceroy supposed he was only riffling through food and kitchen supplies anyway, although he desperately wanted to check the rest of the ship to find out who the man was really. It was plausible enough Solo had done some runs for the Alliance at some point in time, but if there really was a New Republic, it seemed doubtful he was currently in their employ. Bail didn’t have the courage yet, though, or the sense of how to do so without getting caught. And it wasn’t as if there was much he could do if he found something unsettling. He knew literally nothing of the state of the galaxy, had no money, no connections. If Leia really was alive, and he could get somehow a message to her— but then, that information came from the smuggler too, and he was afraid to let himself believe.

In a cabinet, Bail found a packet labeled in Mandalorian that appeared to be food. The graphics on the wrapper appeared to indicate all that needed to be done was to add hot water and wait two minutes. Easy enough, he told himself. The electric kettle was prominently displayed in the galley. All he needed was a bowl. And maybe some scissors, he thought, as he fumbled with the package. Damn. How did anyone open these things?

Rooting around another shelf, Bail hit something with his outstretched hand and caused a domino effect as items came tumbling out of the cupboard. His clumsy attempt to stem the clatter seemed to knock over another slew of kitchenware, and the clatter continued. Something fell, heavy, onto his foot. Sithspit, that hurt. What in the Corellian’s hells could be that heavy?

He looked down to find a box of fine, maroon velour near his foot, metal kitchen supplies and cast-plast cups scattered about. Not his business, he told himself, as he bent down to examine it. He found the box took some exertion to lift. Not his ship, not his business, Bail repeated to himself, as he shifted the box from one hand to the other. It was soft and beautiful. Pristine. Nothing like the ragged, utility-based, slightly dirty surroundings of this ship, nor like the clinical steel of his recent cell. He hadn’t touched anything like it in— he sighed, and looked around. He couldn’t hear Solo, which meant he must not have heard the commotion or cared enough to investigate. Bail knew he should put it back.

It was probably something the man was smuggling. Still, who stowed “merchandise” in the galley? That seemed a bit much, even for smugglers. And what could it be? It was too heavy for jewelry, despite the box. Maybe a solid brick of a precious metal or gem. Still, it would have to be extremely precious to be worth transporting so small a quantity. Was it possible that it was some small, dense weapon? He should put it back.

His fingers tingled with a need to know, to gain as much information as he could about the man who held Bail’s life in his hands more than he cared to admit, and he found himself opening it. For a moment he was confused, then realization dawned—  

Oh. Oh. Well, that was— unexpected. There were no feminine touches on the junker ship, nothing that gave away that there was a woman in this man’s life. Or another man, for that matter, he shouldn’t make assumptions. The rock didn’t look quite, traditional, but it was definitely—

Bail started at an almost familiar stomping that was accompanied by a shout of, “You makin’ us dinner, Viceroy?” Solo entered the small galley space, wiping his hands down on an already grease-covered rag. Bail watched the cheerful look fade from the man’s face, and felt the color drain from his own. “What are you doing with that? That isn’t yours,” the Corellian continued, pointing at Bail, nostrils flaring. “No, it isn’t,” Bail agreed firmly, hands shaking only slightly as he held it out the smuggler who closed the gap between them to snatch it back immediately, snapping the box shut. Solo held it close to himself, protectively, and glared. Breathe, Bail told himself. Just a misunderstanding. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” “You shouldn’t go prying into other people’s stuff!” “I was just looking for the scissors.” “Well, there they are,” Solo pointed to the floor. “So they are.” The two men stood there for a moment, kitchenware scattered between them, Solo grasping the box as if Bail might yank it from him at any moment. After an impossibly long moment of tension, Solo relaxed.  “S’okay.” He ran his thumb over the velvet. “S’ not a big deal,” Solo said almost to himself, bending over to deal with the spilled silverware. One-handed. Bail bent down to assist. The silence stretched between them, except for the clanking of the kitchen stuff. This is ridiculous, Bail thought to himself. I can’t tiptoe around here forever like a gundark walking on ice.

“Is there an order to this?” the Viceroy asked, as he contemplated where he was supposed to put the— mittens? “Not really.” You don’t say. “Think you wanted these,” Solo said, handing the scissors over. “That’s alright,” Bail said, taking them, but placing them back in the cupboard. I’m not really hungry anymore.”

“Almost dinner time anyway,” Solo observed. Silence again. Bail hesitated for a moment before saying, “That’s a very unique stone.”

The smuggler stiffened. “I said it was okay, not that I wanted to talk about it,” Solo avoided Bail’s eyes, resuming his task of lifted a chipped mug into the cupboard a bit more firmly than necessary. Bail wondered vaguely where the Wookie was as a chill ran up his spine. Peace, he told himself. Captain Solo’s irascibility seems to be an important part of his personality. He’s no threat to you.

“Whoever that’s for, they’ll like it,” Bail ventured, pointing to the box Solo still clutched close.

“Y’don’t have to suck up to me, Viceroy,” Solo groused. He closed the cupboard and was silent for a moment, leaning back against the counter. His face seemed to change, as if weighing something. In a rush of air, almost as if before he changed his mind, Solo asked. “You think so?” Without waiting for a response, he shook his head, muttering to the box or himself, “I’m not sure.”

Bail didn’t think Solo seemed overly eager for his opinion, but he had asked, and it was more of a discussion than he’d had with the man about non-“need-to-know” information thus far. He wasn’t sure if he sought to be useful to Solo out of a sense of self-preservation, to alleviate boredom, or simply out of habit from playing the game with X. Maybe even a desire to connect with people, if he could still do that. Did it matter, really? Drawing on his knowledge from a previous life, and taking in a deep breath, Bail went on.

“The fusing of the two rocks is highly unusual for the tradition of the Corellian- ah, stone,” Bail said. He hadn’t missed the tightening of Solo’s jaw and tensing of his shoulders, and he decided to skip over the word love. He was rewarded by a slight sagging of the smuggler’s shoulders, so he went on. “It looks like it was done with great care, by someone who knew what they were doing. It must have been expensive.”

“Yeah.” Solo rubbed the velvet absently. “She’s not gonna care so much about that. I mean, I didn’t want to get her something cheap.” He looked at Bail as if to emphasize that he wasn’t— what was the phrase?— cheaping out. “But it’s not gonna impress her that it cost a lot.”

Bail thought it didn’t seem like the smuggler made all that much money, and that it must mean something to the lady that he was spending it on her. Solo certainly wasn’t spending it on himself.

“So it is for someone then,” Bail said, failing to suppress a small smile. A narrowing of the eyes from Solo. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Bail said mildly, putting his hands up in (mock?) surrender. “I just didn’t know you, uh, had someone. I don’t mean anything by that either!” he added, preemptively, as something dark across Solo’s face. “I’m just trying to make conversation.” He brought his hands down but left his palms up as a gesture of peace.

Solo blew out more breath, and tucked the box into a vest pocket. He began opening other cupboards, presumably getting dinner started. “If you wanted to do something helpful, you could fill this pot with water and put it on the stove to boil.”

Bail did so, musing slightly on the ordinariness of the situation. An older man discovering a younger man had a girl he was sweet on. And he was pretty sure Solo must be quite sweet on her. Even his guardedness suggested that, like the stone, the relationship was— well, precious. The whole thing was practically ordinary. Endearing even, if you could apply that term to the rugged (Alliance-affiliated?) criminal he’d fallen in with. Perhaps the woman thought so.

“Thought matters more to her than expense,” Bail said sagely, bringing back the topic. “Smart woman.”

“Mmmm, incredibly,” Solo said absently.

“The first rock is Corellian, yes? From the Thaos region?”

A nod from Solo. “You know your stuff.”

““The second rock, is it a meteor?”

“No.” Solo said it so finally, Bail decided not to push it. 

“What’s she like?” he tried. “The woman to whom you plan to give this stone?”

Solo shrugged, “Y’know.”

“I don’t.” Bail chuckled slightly. All men seemed to think that they woman they chose was the universally desired kind, but you could tell a lot about a man by the qualities he valued.  

Solo grimaced a little, as if letting Bail in might cause him pain.

“I haven’t heard anything but Imperial drivel in years, Solo, give me something.”

“Here,” Solo handed him a pot lid, “it’ll boil faster.” Bail covered the pot and checked the electric heat of the stove to make sure it was on. Solo opened the conservator and took out some kind of vegetable, and began chopping it. “Like I said,” Solo said after a moment, “Real smart. Funny.” He shrugged. “Y’know. Tough. Doesn’t take shit from anybody.”

“A quality I’m sure comes in handy for being in a relationship with you,” Bail mused.

The Corellian looked up from his chopped vegetable, and for a moment their eyes met. In that moment Bail felt his heart jump back in unexpected fear. He’d been really pushing it this whole time, had he finally gone a step too far?

Solo leaned in. “Are you suggesting I’m difficult to live with, Viceroy?” The question had none of the cold steel that preceded a punishment from X, a mild deadpan from slightly upturned lips. The flash in the Corellian’s eyes was surprise rather than anger, and there was the glint of amusement.  

Without thinking, Bail countered, “Who puts forks on a shelf when they a perfectly good drawer?”

Solo smiled, pulling out the drawer behind him. “Drawer has hydrospanners and some good copper wirin’ n it.”

“Ah, of course.” Bail assented.

The Viceroy didn’t know anything about the Corellian. Didn’t know if he’d be a faithful husband, or a good provider, or whatever it was he or the lady hoped for in their relationship. But he’d always liked married men- a prejudice perhaps, but he frequently found them to be more solid, and that he had more in common with them. Especially when they valued their wives’ intelligence and independence.

Maybe Captain Solo wasn’t so bad.

[redphlox]

High and Low

this is for soma week 2017 day 1: confession! i asked for prompts and @whos-that-foxi-lady said: “maka being fascinated with the way Soul sings when he thinks no one is listening.” so here you go! warnings for swearing and mentions of blood and an accident.  

She’s hooked on the way he sings when he thinks no one’s listening. Dress skirt bunched up in her hands, she stands a safe distance away from his rolled-down car window, steeping in his voice’s melancholic highs and lows. The moments before he notices her and cuts himself off are brief but glorious and leave her heart full.

In this newfound silence, she offers a gentle smile and takes in his neatly parted hair, pressed blazer, and black bowtie. The vulnerability on his face is divine, a privilege to witness. Her fondness for him deepens even more than she thought it ever could. “Hey, you. You look nice.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Can I climb in?”

“Always.”

Sliding into the passenger seat is instinct to Maka, who probably knows the car better than Soul because she keeps up with its maintenance schedule for him. Together they’ve added roughly twenty thousand miles to the odometer during the last year he’s had it, going on day trips each Saturday, cruising the streets until curfew when one of them wants to get out of their house and needs the other’s company. Even when they’re deep in their own thoughts, they’re together, which is how Maka knows she’s needed right now.

After all, she only catches Soul singing when he’s fighting off an extreme emotion.  

He drums his index fingers on the steering wheel before glancing over at her. “You look beautiful, Maka.”

Thanking him, she wonders if she’s come down with a fever all of a sudden. “Ready for prom?”

Nonchalant shrugs are his expertise. “I guess. If your dad doesn’t show up to punt me to the moon...”

“He won’t. He thinks I have a headache and that I went to bed early.”

“Ohh. No wonder you asked me to wait here.” He pauses, blinking. “You’re bad.”

“I know,” she says, and they grin at each other, sharing a secret.

Everything about the situation is surreal. In her pearl-pink, floor-length dress with the sequined bodice, with him in his elegant tuxedo, they look like they walked out of a Macy’s catalogue. They look wonderful together, if she dares admit, feeling giddy and hopeful for reasons she can’t quite articulate. But there’s something slightly wrong with Soul tonight, and it seems to be growing the longer they sit in his car, going nowhere.

It’s like he’s struggling to breathe, tugging at his bowtie distractedly.

“I hate these. They’re stupid.”

“You can take it off. You would look cooler that way, anyway. Like a rebel.”

But he doesn’t seem to hear her at all, and she doesn’t know how to reach him.  

Maybe he needs time alone. Maka tries to aim her attention elsewhere and finds that she can’t stop staring at him. It’s her own fault she’s too curious - he rarely lets her see him gussied up like this. He’s played piano since the age of four and has never invited her to a recital, but now that she’s got a glimpse of what she’s been missing out on, maybe she should pry, just a little.

She twiddles her thumbs in her lap, wishing he would start the car and drive them away. Maybe she could hold his hand, too. “Are you okay, Soul?”

“God, no. I hate my singing,” he confesses.

The revelation is jarring, ugly even, because Maka senses the deeper meaning behind such a trivial statement. Suddenly teary-eyed, Maka winces, hand flying out to grasp his shoulder as if to hold him together. But you have such a lovely voice, she wants to confess, whimpering instead, “Tell me more, Soul. I’m here.”

He stares ahead of them, hands on ten and two, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles lose their color, clenching his jaw to filter whatever else is on the tip of his tongue. Nothing is more bittersweet than the moment his chest concaves and he slumps forward like he’s driven the car into a lamppost, his guard finally down. Trust is a finicky thing, but Maka can feel his misery through the expensive material of his blazer, and that's when she understands he can’t pretend to be brave anymore.

“I hate singing,” he repeats. “I hate music. It gets boring. I get bored a lot, and that freaks me the fuck out. What’s the point of anything, if I feel tired and uninterested all the time?” Gulping, he furrows his brows, taking a shallow breath. “And the shittiest part is, it’s only going to get worse.”

Helpless - that’s what Maka is, sitting beside her best friend but feeling too far away, too clumsy, too idle to ease his pain. They’re parked at the end of the alley that runs behind her house because her papa hadn’t approved of their prom plans, hadn’t approved of Soul, who scowls at strangers and possesses an endless arsenal of snark. She had snuck out to be with him, and now she can’t stop thinking it’s ironic that the console between them isn’t their only obstacle. What’s worse is it had been the feature Soul had been most impressed with most when his older brother Wes had taken him car shopping, because of the huge cup holders. She and Soul had laughed over it the first time he drove her around town, picking her up right in this spot, actually -

Maka thinks she’s swallowed glass. Her throat hurts. All she can do is rub his back and listen, asphyxiating along with him. Graduation is weeks away, and he’s not yet told his parents he lied about auditioning for both Juilliard’s voice and piano performance programs, that he had accompanied Maka to her college entrance interview that weekend instead. He’s not built for the demands of higher education, and he’s not sure what to do about his future, either.

Disappointments like him put things off until the last minute, he reminds Maka.

“No,” she insists, to all of it. “You’re so good, and - and, and, you don’t have to go! It’s okay.” Her mind is like molasses, moving painfully slow.

Forehead now pressed against the steering wheel, Soul turns his head a bit to look at her. “Can we stay here? Is it okay if we don’t go to prom?”

“Of course,” she breathes. Only the tiniest speck of it is a lie. Steadying her hand to apply winged eyeliner and curl her hair had demanded more finesse than she could muster, what with the thought of swaying with Soul to some slow song pausing her brain, making it skip like a record. She’d rather much be here consoling him, even if this darkness is less sweet than that of the dance floor, a different but not unwelcomed kind of intimate.

“I’m going to miss you, Maka,” he says. It’s barely audible.

This time, she does break down in a whimper. Everything goes wet and blurry, but she can make out Soul hiding his face. “I’m going to miss you, too.”

X

Twenty-year-old Soul trades in his high-class blazers and four door car for a leather jacket and a motorcycle, but the boyish grin with the lone dimple is still there. His hugs haven't changed, either. They’re the best: comforting and warm and safe, like curling up in bed after a long, soul-draining day. And is he taller now? Three months ago he hadn’t been able to rest his chin on top of her head as they sway around in circles, neither willing to let go first.

“I missed you so much,” he says, and she’s crying all over his shirt, ear pressed against his chest, listening to the familiar rumble coming from within.

She closes her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

Each time he visits is like this - they hug until their arms hurt, laughing and touching each other’s faces for a long time after they’ve finally pulled away, making sure the moment is real. Another two years and she’ll be done with her psychology degree and he’ll have saved enough money from working at the record store to move wherever she ends up going for law school. They’ll definitely be together in the future, but getting through the present is unbearable sometimes - the distance is daunting, especially when there’s barely enough time to sleep, much less dedicate a weekend to going back to Nevada.

She’s homesick. When Maka is too overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of reading she has to do and the weekly twelve-paged essays her professors love to assign, she calls her best friend, and he answers if he can and texts if he can’t. This aspect of their relationship still stands, despite the months apart.

But change is good, and even Soul has learned this, too, because he’s stood up to his parents and has ironed out his slouch over time. Here in the crowded sidewalk in the heart of the city, he disentangles himself from their embrace much too abruptly for her liking. The briefest pang of pain shoots through her, but he holds her out at arm’s length before it dawns on her why, excited and hopeful. “Want to go for a ride?”

Maka’s stomach drops. She’s never been on a motorcycle before, and while Soul is too cautious and law-abiding to speed and endanger their lives, the thought still terrifies her out of her mind. Maybe it has something to do with how close it would put them. She’d be behind him instead of riding shotgun, her arms around his waist instead of in her lap. It would be loud instead of semi-quiet, the radio playing, Soul singing under his breath without realizing it. Car rides with him used to give her a glimpse into his solitude, and he never sings unless he thinks no one’s listening.

“We could just cruise around, like we did in Death City,” he says, sensing her hesitance. “Want to?”

“Of course,” she says, but that’s not the lie she tells today. It comes minutes later, when she’s nestled against him and he screams over his shoulder at her, asking if she’s afraid. No, she lies, her heart hammering. Maka only holds on tighter when the bike lurches forward, the thrill making her shaky, but not all of that stems from the engine’s roar. When she closes her eyes and concentrates, she thinks she can feel Soul humming, and she spends the rest of their time together thinking about how the vibration she felt coming underneath his jacket was different than the bike’s rhythm.

X

Two weeks before she walks the stage, Soul drives four hours to whisk her away for a weekend getaway. It’s a surprise. She opens her door and the world blurs and tilts on its axis as she takes in Soul standing on her welcome mat.

“Hey, you. You look nice.”

She’s wearing pomeranian patterned pajamas, yesterday’s eyeliner, and only one slipper. Finals hell began prematurely months ago because she’s an overachiever, but she’s a do or die kind of person - always has been, always will be. “Thanks.”

“Can I come in?”

Maka leaps out to meet him instead, holding him tight, her throat swollen. She only lets go when it’s necessary: to pack, to change her clothes, to lock the door and let him take her away from reality. It’s like high school all over again, except they’re not driving into the dusk, Maka vaguely wishing they could meet halfway and hold hands over the console. No, she hadn’t wanted him to take a hand off the steering wheel then, and that’s impossible now because he’s replaced his car with something more dangerous, more risky.

But at least she’s gotten closer to him, and not in the emotional sense. This type of nearness feels good, too. Conflicted as she feels about the motorcycle, Maka believes in change, and that’s why she resists holding his hand when they’re walking along the beach on Saturday. He wanders off - not too much, but far away enough that he thinks he’s alone and starts singing absentmindedly, the highs and lows of his voice moving.

He must feel her staring because he turns and looks at her.

“Did you hear me at the beach?” he asks, sinking into the bed next to her, a safe distance away. The hotel sheets are crisp and fresh and Maka appreciates the sweet scent of his shampoo.

“No.” Her lies don’t stop here, though. When she closes her eyes and goes still, head swirling with confusing thoughts, and she has no choice but to pretend to be asleep when he starts singing to himself.

X

“Are you okay?”

Lies, so many lies. She can’t keep them straight. “Yes.”

“Then why are you mad?”

Maka wasn’t there, but she hears brakes screeching and metal crumpling whenever he says the word motorcycle. Ten weeks ago, Maka had called Soul at two in the morning to pick her up from the library, and while she had waited out front with her textbook filled backpack breaking her back, Soul had gotten into a little fender bender, as he’s taken to dubbing it. What actually happened is something Maka thinks about on repeat: the driver rear-ending Soul at a four way stop, and him soaring off his bike and skidding across the road facedown, his chest sliced open by a stray shard of glass.

That intersection needs a stoplight, Maka had thought when her phone lit up and a gentle voice confirmed the sinking feeling in her stomach when Soul hadn’t shown up. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he had been in a car. Hadn’t she always thought motorcycle were dangerous?

He’s lucky he hadn’t died. Jagged and crude stitches aside, Maka can’t believe he hadn’t broken or ruptured anything, but losing so much blood must have done damage to his brain because he’s determined to fix his baby and hit the road again. She wants to burst every time he chalks the accident up as nothing less than a physics-defying inconvenience, and she feels like a teakettle that’s about to start screeching because she balls her hands into fists at her side to keep from exploding.

“I’m not mad, Soul.”

“Then what are you?”

Scowling, she spins around and is momentarily thrown off that her roommate is so close. Her nose brushes against his chest - right over the spot where he’s split in two, and she flinches and jumps back. “I’m annoyed, because you don’t listen. That motorcycle will end up killing you.”

Patient as ever, Soul nods to show he’s heard her, but stands his ground. “I’m fine, Maka, really.”

Maybe he’s not the one that still needs to heal. Traces of the miserable Soul who couldn’t get out of bed some mornings surface every once in a while, but he’s found a way to live with his demons in the time after their graduation. Meanwhile, Maka had packed her whole life into a suitcase and moved without stopping to catch her breath. There had been no soul searching; it only makes sense that she’s struggling. Rationally, she knows and accepts this, but thinking isn’t possible when her blood’s boiling.

There are too many things in her chest. A lot of them are about Soul. Dinner is always waiting for her after an overwhelming fourteen hour day, and she never has to think about finding time to wipe down the counters or fold her laundry because her best friend takes care of those chores. They look after each other, but lately it seems uneven, what with him almost dying at that intersection and Maka being unable to look at him in the eyes since.

She just wants for him to be safe. Nostalgia has her wanting back all those times they shared shy smiles while sitting in his car, parked in the alley behind her house. Rain or shine or snow, it had been their refuge from their parent’s disapproval and homework and life-changing decisions, and Maka can’t help but resent Soul for trading all of that in for that death-trap of a motorcycle.

It might be the fear talking, of course, but it feels real, too real.  

“I hate that motorcycle,” Maka seethes. She’s shaking. “I miss - I miss the car, it was cozy-”

“I hated the car,” Soul interrupts, breaking Maka’s heart without knowing.

“But we had good times, didn’t we? We napped in it and studied and even camped in it!” She prays for strength but her eyes go glassy. Remembering all those moments that made her weak-kneed doesn’t help. “We were safe in there.”

“When you were there, yeah, but it was hell when you weren’t.”

“Exactly! And I’m here now. We’re together again.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, frowning. “What’s going on? You’ve been so weird lately…”

Maka Albarn understands that she and Soul are having two different conversations. She’s an intelligent girl, having taught herself to tie her own shoes at the age of four. Book smart, but lacking emotional grace, living by the fight-first-ask-questions-later rule even now, as she thinks he just rejected her. This is nothing less than a plain misinterpretation, and it feels like she was at that intersection in his place, being slit open.

She’s a bleeder. “Fuck your motorcycle!”

“I’m not giving it up, Maka. It was the first thing I bought with my own money, and the car was just another reminder that I was dependent on other people, especially my parents.”

“You almost died.”

He combs his fingers through his hair, tired. “I hated the car, not the time me and you spent together.”

Meltdowns are Maka’s specialty. Even her voice is trembling. “FUCK THAT BIKE!”

Soul moves from the kitchen and toward the front door, moving like a ghost, his face unreadable.  

She sees red but panics all the same. “Where are you going?”

Nonchalant as ever, he shrugs. “Leaving. I need to get some air…I’ll be back.”

“Fine, I don’t care,” she lies, crossing her arms. “Go.”

But he doesn’t. Paused at the door, he turns and tries to reason with her one last time. “Maka.” He lets out a slow breath. “I… fuck, how do I say this? …I care about you a lot. I know you loved the car, but you have to know that I, uh…. Shit. I feel the same way about you.”

“I thought you said you were leaving,” she snaps, clenching her jaw so hard it triggers an instant headache. Or maybe it’s been creeping on this whole time while she had been busy seething. Listening is hard to do when her heart is pounding in her ears.

Hurt. Soul looks hurt, and lost, and dazed, and Maka’s mind is blank as she watches him slip into his shoes and close the door softly behind him. The click it makes is what brings her back to reality. She pops like a balloon, folding over, regret instantly flooding her, and she knows he’s probably walking slowly and she could catch him if she ran, but her legs aren’t functioning.

Who knows how long she stays like that, reliving every time she snuck up on him singing in his car when he thought no one was listening nearby. How had she not understood? After all, he only sings when he’s fighting off some extreme emotion, and she’s always catching him in the act. The pieces fit. But shit, has she been blind.

For a straight A student, she can be too damn dense for her own good.

All of it makes her stomach ache. They obviously feel differently about the car, but it doesn’t take away the comfort it brought her, nor does it invalidate his experiences. It’s just - she misses those tender moments in his car, and the motorcycle accident has stolen her ability to relax around him. It’s going to take time to heal from this, but they’ve already proven they can do anything as long as they’re together.

By the time Soul comes home, she’s somewhat level-headed and has put a name to why she feels so strongly about him.

“I lied,” she blurts out. “I’m sorry. I…” Squinting, she bites down on her lip. “I care about you, too.”

“I know,” he says, and Maka counts four seconds before he breaks into a grin. Feeling brave, she takes a careful step toward him, tilting her head, and they’re not teenagers driving in the car he had sold all those years ago, but they finally meet halfway. It’s better than holding hands over the console between their seats. She goes up on her tiptoes and he bends down, hand rubbing her throat as their mouths meet, humming a little before pulling back to check on her.  

Suddenly, Maka wants to spill all her secrets. After all, they have a lot to talk about - she might as well start with this confession. “I’ve heard your singing when you think no one’s listening, and it’s beautiful.”

“Ugh,” is all he says, and they laugh before meeting halfway again, and again, and again.