#I suppose it's stretching it a bit to call him niche considering that but I just find him so fucking funny. so much work and so little done

[vaguely-concerned]

there's something so real about having read up on a specific period of history enough that you're starting to get your own niche faves. you read or watch anything about tudor england and have that bright blorbo-like moment of 'awww look it's my good good friend french-speaking ambassador to england from the holy roman empire eustace chapuys! <3' recognition

[shihalyfie]

The difference between the friend dynamics in the Adventure and 02 groups

This is a point I’ve reiterated in a lot of my 02-based metas, but there is a fairly distinct difference between the Adventure Chosen Children having a tight, deep bond and yet not quite being friends in “social life”, whereas the 02 group was a much tighter group on a social level. I always feel that I need to be really careful about saying this, because if I don’t word it carefully, it sounds like I’m trivializing the Adventure group’s bonds (plus, a lot of Adventure diehards will get very upset at you for suggesting this no matter how you put it), so I thought I should write something a bit more in-depth about it.

I think a lot of of this ultimately ties into what each series was about. The fact that Adventure was meant to be a series about “self-recognition of the individual” whereas 02 was about “relationships with others” has been pointed out by many a fan (and official staff too, while we’re at it), and it naturally lends to how the characters and the relationships between them will have a fundamental difference.

The idea that the Adventure group wouldn’t be the type to get together all that easily never really took that long after Adventure to set in. Of course, Our War Game! having this as a plot point also had a meta purpose (basically, limiting the number of people who could participate in the Diablomon battle), but it also has a very important point behind it: the Adventure kids’ social lives were never all that intertwined.

Again, this is something that sounds really awful to say without further qualification. What do you mean, the Adventure kids weren’t friends? Does that mean their entire adventure was for nothing? Did they go through all that only to forget about each other right after it?!

Well, no, that’s kind of exaggeration. I think to properly flesh out the nature of the issue, it’s important to define the differing ways you can be friends with someone. Imagine that you go on the best vacation in your life. You meet a handful of people there. You swap stories and get life-changing advice. You take commemorative photos after some really spectacular experiences. You swap numbers and social media contacts and then you go home. Are you going to keep in touch every so often with the people who gave you some very important advice, and maybe check on their important life events or organize a reunion sometime in the future? Very possibly! Does that mean everyone you met at that trip will now be regularly going out for lunch with you every week now?...Probably not, especially if you already have friends from school. That doesn’t mean you aren’t friends with the important people you met during that best life-changing vacation; it just means that they fill a very different niche in your life from the friends who don’t necessarily understand the life-changing vacation but have the free time to chat with you over lunch.

When the Adventure group found themselves pulled into the Digital World during summer camp, they had already come from very different social spheres. In short:

Taichi, Sora, and Koushirou were the only ones with a background of knowing each other beforehand, thanks to being in the soccer club;

Yamato went to the same school as the others but was a stranger to them, to the point people didn’t even realize Takeru was his brother at first;

Mimi had her own friend circle (see Adventure episode 29);

Jou was assigned as Mimi’s camp group leader but had no other prior relation to her, and Yamato didn’t even initially know his age;

Takeru wasn’t even supposed to be there since he didn’t go to their school and was only tagging along with Yamato;

Hikari was brought halfway into the adventure by virtue of being the eighth Chosen and Taichi’s sister.

Although six of the eight come from the same school, you can see that they’re basically “kids brought together by a certain circumstance” -- they’re not kids who would have normally come into each other’s purview had it not been for this. Which also means that as soon as their adventure ended and some years passed, the aspects of their real lives and social circles started kicking back in:

Taichi continued soccer;

Yamato formed a band (and presumably had a good relationship with his own bandmates);

Sora quit soccer for tennis;

Koushirou quit soccer for the computer club;

Mimi moved to the US;

Jou started attending a private school outside Odaiba;

Takeru and Hikari were never in their age group to begin with.

In the case of Taichi, Yamato, Sora, and Koushirou, it’s representative of how, although they originally had a shared interest in soccer, ultimately, they started to drift into their own specialties. Again, remember that Adventure was a series fundamentally about finding yourself and finding your own path, and all of these choices actually tie into their character arcs: Taichi is a straightforward person and a natural, charismatic leader, meaning soccer was good for him to begin with; Yamato learned to become more sociable and make friends at school; Sora started playing tennis as part of properly reconciling with her mother, and Koushirou decided to pursue a club relevant to his actual interests instead of one purely so that he could have minimal presence in it.

Mimi’s moving to the US is an interesting case because it’s likely because she’s often described (by both fans and official staff) as someone who is easily likeable and can get along with practically anyone. Considering that she’s constantly considerate of others and lacking in condescension or malice, it’s easy to see why; her infamous bouts of complaining were largely because she was under a lot of stress at the time of Adventure’s events (it’s even said that her cracking under pressure was meant to be representative of how an ordinary child her age would react to the situation), and otherwise she has no problems making friends -- hence why she was shown in Adventure episode 29 as already having friends in Taako and Mii-chan that she presumably hung out with prior to the events of the series. So in moving to the US, the point is made that Mimi could move to an entire other country and still hit it up with people there (and she does, given how she makes friends in Michael and the other American Chosen without issue). So thus, Mimi’s moving is also part of her own path -- becoming an effective “ambassador” between international Chosen as they start to pop up all over the globe.

As for Jou, his character arc has heavily to do with the fact that he’s always been on the “elite” academic track -- Japanese school entrance exams stretch back as far as high school, so the fight to get into medical school comes back as early as here, and since the events of Adventure helped Jou come to terms with why he wanted to be a doctor rather than just following his father’s wishes, it’s understandable that he would now be putting everything into that goal -- even if it means going to a different school outside Odaiba and committing himself to the prep school life. And, generally speaking, the other kids respect that too, given that the only time they tried to pull him from it was a time they were literally suffocating on the spot and needed Ikkakumon’s specific backup badly (02 episode 16).

And finally, Takeru and Hikari? The fact that they’re that much younger than the others in this group really is a big deal. When they’re on something “purpose-based” like an adventure, of course the others will have no problem keeping them around, and of course they’ll be happy to participate with these older kids. But if we’re talking about mundane, ordinary life -- there’s not a lot of evidence to suggest they really would prefer the company of kids so much older than them for conversations over lunch. This is especially because it’s hard to imagine they didn’t have other friends at school, too.

Not that they mind being around all these older kids when the time calls for it, but as far as socialization goes, they have their own lives to live. And that’s fine; again, Adventure was a narrative about kids coming to terms with themselves and what they wanted, and it’s not their fault for prioritizing those paths and forming their own social circles rather than insisting on being a specific eight-person group (no matter how much the fanbase wants to have the romantic image of them sticking together all the time no matter what).

Plus, it’s not like they all completely drifted apart and cut each other off!

Just because they’re not “daily life friends” doesn’t mean they’re not still important to each other. 02 episode 38 has Taichi, Sora, Jou, and Koushirou show up for Yamato’s concert -- it’s unlikely they were attending every single one of his concerts, but this was a very important one that was going to be broadcast on TV, so it’s only natural that even Jou (who, again, doesn’t go to school in Odaiba anymore) would still come to support him.

In fact, the fact they can come together when a situation like this happens even without necessarily meeting up every single day of their lives is probably a testament to how strong that bond is in itself. They don’t need to hang out once a day or week to maintain their friendship, and having other friends they’d rather hang out with throughout the day or invite to events doesn’t necessarily mean the other Adventure kids are less worthy friends to them. That experience in August 1999 was so impactful on all of them that they will never forget it, so even if they spent quite a long amount of time not interacting with each other, when a circumstance that necessitates them coming together does bring them together, they can hit it off like nothing happened. Think about how you might have an important friend that you may not chat with on a daily basis, but you talk to them once in a while and hit it off like you never had a break in the conversation. But because that strong bond is based on that one very specific experience that happened in one specific summer, it’s only natural that the majority of meetups over this are going to be based on something to do with that experience, like Digimon incidents; for ordinary things like “band concerts” or “club activities”, it’ll naturally be easier to stick around friends who have more similar social interests, like fellow band or club members.

On the other hand, this is very much not the case for the 02 group.

To understand why the 02 group has a fundamentally different dynamic, we need to dial back to a little before the actual “adventure” part of 02 started.

Right off the bat, we see:

Takeru moves to Odaiba from Sangenjaya, and specifically to the same building Miyako and Iori live in, meaning he’ll be walking to school with them every day;

02 episode 7 indicates that the Motomiya and Yagami families live in the same apartment complex, meaning Daisuke and Hikari are also likely to walk to school together;

Miyako and Iori are established as having already long hit it off with each other as neighbors;

Daisuke, Hikari, and Takeru end up in the same class (with Daisuke and Hikari having known each other already).

In other words: Even before anything to do with Digimon had been introduced (or re-introduced, technically) into their lives, the kids were already being thrown into each other’s social circles. You could technically argue that Daisuke wouldn’t have necessarily met Miyako and Iori if not for the Digimon incident coming into his life later in the episode, but Takeru being neighbors with them basically fills in all of the gaps here -- unlike with the Adventure kids where the adventure in August 1999 threw them together when they likely wouldn’t have been in the same social circle otherwise, the 02 kids are the social circle even independently of the Digimon incidents. In fact, due to being functionally neighbors, there are a lot of ways these kids’ social lives intersect, with Daisuke and Miyako being Taichi and Koushirou’s juniors, Miyako working for Yamato’s band, Yamato being classmates with Miyako’s sister Chizuru, and Jun and Miyako’s other sister Momoe being classmates.

Since, again, 02 was a series fundamentally structured on examining relationships, you can basically view Adventure being a series about “bringing some people together as they find self-assertion even when they’re from different social circles” while 02 follows that up with “so if they were in the same social circle, how would they deal with that?” -- especially since 02 makes it clear that certain kinds of emotional baggage associated with that can actually make it much more complicated.

A lot of 02′s first half is dedicated to the 02 kids doing completely mundane things that have very little relevance to the Digital World conflict -- watching TV in the computer room (remember: this was before they realized the “genius boy” being covered on the news was actually relevant to this), or having a picnic in the Digital World. Mimi even explicitly points out that this kind of thing wouldn’t have happened with the Adventure kids, but it’s not just because of the fact that Adventure involved a lot of running for their lives! It’s easy to dismiss a lot of what happens in these early episodes as “filler”, but a lot of this is dedicated to depicting how the 02 kids were constantly spending time with each other for reasons completely separated from Digimon incidents. This even includes completely ordinary things like soccer games -- Takeru, Hikari, Miyako, and Iori come to support Daisuke with an obvious motive of seeing him do well, so it’s apparent that they’ve come to enjoy hanging out with him beyond just obligation.

Part of this is because of the different nature of the Digimon conflict that they experienced. The Adventure kids had an experience that really was, functionally, “one” experience -- an extremely formative and important one, but one condensed one that they all experienced together. The nature of what the 02 territory war and conflict was, on the other hand, meant that what the conflict “was” to the 02 kids was of a completely different nature. This wasn’t summer vacation; this involved going back and forth between the fight and real life, to the point where Digimon fighting became integrated into “daily life” -- so of course you’d probably hope that the people you’re fighting with are also people you like to bond with on a social level. “Digimon life” and “social life” became synonymous to them.

And when it all comes down to it, it’s hard to pinpoint a “single experience” that the events of 02 embodied, or at least in the same way August 1999′s adventure was. As much as they were running for their lives, the Adventure kids have the luxury of looking at the events of their series as a formative singular time for them, one that they could even look at nostalgically, but for the 02 kids, it’s hard to condense everything into one singular experience (it’s easy for the audience to see it as one series, but for the kids themselves, it’s a very long chain of vaguely connected events). Actually, most of the year involved fighting with someone who ended up becoming their important friend and the other involved helping him deal with his trauma, so it’s not like everyone would be likely to have the most romantic image of this experience itself to “bond” over as much as they care more about the take-home they got out of it: each other.

One thing that 02 doesn’t really spotlight front and center with its starter cast of characters is that, unlike the Adventure kids, who either came with their own social circles prior to Adventure or eventually developed their own in the course of their lives, it’s heavily implied that the 02 kids actually had difficulty making other friends even on a social level, or at least were likely to be in a situation where the other 02 kids really were better company than their other options even for mundane situations. This is especially in the case of the newly introduced characters, who are, effectively, a bit socially “displaced” from others and likely to have struggles fitting in.

There are quite a few signs that Daisuke had serious difficulty making friends prior to the events of the series (with Hikari being the closest thing he had to one), and the fact that the 12-year-old Miyako is portrayed as constantly hanging out with the 9-year-old Iori, brought together by being neighbors, rather than people closer to their own ages stands out. Iori is particularly interesting in that, unlike with Takeru and Hikari, who were portrayed as kids likely to socialize better with those their own age, Iori’s unusual maturity for his age heavily implies that he would actually be out of place with his classroom peers (a very common phenomenon for some people in real life, too!). 02 episode 3 depicting him left alone in the classroom with only a teacher to watch him while his stubborn fixation on principles leaves him slow to finish his lunch says a lot -- his own behavior is liable to isolate him from others, and it’s thus not all that surprising he ended up bonding with some kids who are older than him and more accepting (and even treat him with proper respect, too).

Takeru and Hikari, too. There’s been a lot of arguments over whether the two of them would theoretically be closer to the Adventure kids or the 02 kids, but I would honestly say it’s technically both at once -- they have the same “not socially close, but intuitively understanding” relationship that the Adventure kids all have with each other, but hold the other 02 kids as part of their social circle and hang out with them in “daily life”. So in other words, they have the Adventure kids’ relationship with the other Adventure kids, and the 02 kids’ relationship with the 02 kids. This is presumably why Takeru and Hikari end up hitting it off so well at the start of 02 even though they didn’t interact all that intimately in Adventure; not only do they have that shared experience they intuitively understand, they also were able to start hanging out in day-to-day life and actually, well, socialize.

This applies to them in relation to the rest of the group as well. While neither of them were necessarily portrayed as having social problems, one common thread between the two is that they’re both very emotionally closed-in. Takeru’s response to negativity is to cover it up with smiles, until he can’t hide it anymore and bursts (which scares the hell out of Iori in 02 episode 19 and ultimately forms the basis of their Jogress arc), whereas Hikari has issues vocalizing whenever she’s hurt or in pain (said by herself in 02 episode 31, but with precedent from Adventure episode 48). That means that, even with potential social circles at school, it’s unlikely they necessarily would have had someone they could emotionally bond with deeply off the bat (especially since Takeru had just moved from Sangenjaya), and it’s likely why they kept gravitating towards each other (despite never truly talking about anything in-depth for most of the series) up until the Jogress arc.

In other words, while the Adventure kids’ adventure of self-actualization meant that their relationships to each other were mainly formed on simply understanding that they had a similar experience and empathizing, the 02 kids -- full of a group of somewhat socially maladjusted and out of place kids, plus two who had been on the prior adventure but were young enough to now still be carrying some deep-seated, unresolved emotional baggage -- were in a position where they arguably needed each others’ help to grow.

Jogress isn’t just an obligatory evolution gimmick; it’s something very important to 02 as a series and understanding what it wants to say about relationships. I think one thing that makes me very sad is how often its constant pigeonholing as a gimmick makes me hear people saying that Daisuke and Ken was the only plot-relevant one and the rest were forced “spares”, saying that something like Takeru-Hikari and Miyako-Iori would make more sense. But when the point of the series is about building your relationships from scratch and learning to grow together, I really don’t feel that a story about relationships that naturally existed already would have helped it nearly as much. It’s not like Daisuke and Ken was that likely of a friendship, either!

This is especially in the case of Takeru and Hikari, who certainly were vibing pretty well with each other, but were still very emotionally closed-in with a lot of emotional baggage until the more to-the-point Miyako and Iori were able to break through their shells. (02 episode 13 is so often considered a “Takeru and Hikari bonding” episode, but while it does do a lot to show off the depth of their relationship that hadn’t been depicted much besides them just hanging out all the time, it also does not solve Hikari’s core problem in nearly the same way Miyako gets to the bottom of it in episode 31.) This is also why Takeru and Hikari have such a different relationship with the 02 kids compared to theirs with the Adventure kids; while they were largely tagging along with the older kids and learning a bit about inner strength back during their summer adventure, the 02 group is the one who not only provided them with friendship on a more equal peer level, but also poked deeply into their emotional issues that they very much needed others to help them out of. These are friends who finally get them.

That Ken ultimately becomes yet another addition to this group of kids in need of friends finding support in each other should go without saying -- after all, it’s made abundantly clear he was very lonely and friendless until Daisuke and the others reached out to him -- but it ultimately culminates in them choosing to integrate this lonely boy from Tamachi into their social life. (Remember: Ken is the only of the six 02 kids to live in Tamachi and not Odaiba, but the last quarter of the series has them going out of their way to meet up.) The episode that establishes that everyone has truly made their peace with Ken and wants to unequivocally support him (with the most originally stubborn against it, Iori, graciously accepting him) is sealed off with a Christmas party. A completely ordinary Christmas party that has nothing to do with the Digimon incidents at hand, where they can play meaningless card games and celebrate the little things like Ken laughing, because it’s not just forgiving him or learning to work with him, but actively enjoying his presence and supporting him.

The Digimon Animation Chronicle profile for Ken in Diablomon Strikes Back refers to him as Daisuke’s “best friend” (親友). Usually, the word for “friends” within Adventure and 02 would be nakama (仲間); you may have heard this word from One Piece fans, but this is a word that roughly means “one of us” and has a stronger emphasis on being in a certain group, or being like-minded. Thus, “you’re a Chosen Child like us,” or, more pertinently, “you have the same goal as us and we’re in this together” (after all, it’s not like being a Chosen Child was ever an exclusive club or anything).

But in the case of Daisuke and Ken’s relationship, it’s not just about having happened to gain a deep bond over the course of 02, it’s that Daisuke now really does have a sense of emotional closeness to Ken that the two are considered best friends by default -- in any situation, despite him living all the way in Tamachi. Even though the franchise loves to put them in the category that “protagonists and rivals” usually get, where most others are ones who tend to have friction but understand each other in the end, Daisuke and Ken are unique in that they’re not like that at all. They have a very straightforward sense of emotionally confiding in each other, at worst maybe lightly bantering a bit, but they are friends before anything else, and that extends to the rest of the 02 group as well.

The aftermath

On its face, it sounds like the 02 kids are getting a pretty luxurious deal -- they got a fun adventure of emotional growth out of it, and they’re tight friends with each other at that! Well, that probably sounds great, but there’s a flip side to all of this.

Firstly, as I mentioned earlier, the Adventure kids’ adventure in 1999 was a lot more “romantic” than the 02 kids’ eight-month-long ordeal. Sure, a lot of it definitely was stressful, what with the running for their lives and the scary villains and the emotional conflict, but there was also the part about getting to meet Gennai and the other friendly Digimon around and getting to explore villages. They were on summer break, so they didn’t even really have to worry about school (especially once they realized time dilation was a thing); it’s basically the epitome of the romantic coming-of-age story. (Fun fact: Stand By Me is really culturally influential in Japan.)

02, on the other hand, was an eight-month-long ordeal of having to fight a territory war crammed into the after-hours of school, juggling fighting this war with keeping it from parents, in a fight that would retroactively turn out to be against what would later become a heavily traumatized and beloved friend, plus eventually watching him get subject to even worse trauma. Oh, and the series also ended on witnessing a bunch of deaths (or in other words, the worst New Year’s Eve ever). While it seemed like the kids had the luxury of enjoying the Digital World in ways the Adventure kids couldn’t at first, actually, they didn’t get to enjoy as much of it at all, since they never got to form any lasting relationships with anyone like Gennai or Elecmon. These kids were basically too busy trying to keep each others’ heads on straight to really be able to focus on that.

The comparative mess that the 02 kids went through, and the messes that they kind of are, means that they’re rather dependent on each other for emotional support. This is not inherently a bad thing, mind you; the fact that some people are more independent than others is a simple fact of life, and the 02 kids (whether it’s from naturally being a bit misfit or from the degree of their experiences) being the type who grow together with mutual support isn’t inherently anything bad. It does, however, mean that they’re likely to have some difficulties ahead coming out of 02 as “growing up” conspires to make it more and more difficult for them to stick together -- after all, how many people have actually been able to stick with their elementary school friends all the way into adulthood? This is especially because Japanese high schools admit students by examination, and rank by academic ability; it’s not particularly common for those from the same elementary/middle school to attend the same high school, even if they live close to each other, and it’s very unlikely that all of them will be sticking together in school by that point.

So, how did they fare?

Well, before we get into anything else, we should probably bring up one thing that seems like such a tiny little detail but is actually very important for this: Technology didn’t stagnate at 02′s D-Terminals, and by the time of Kizuna in 2010, smartphones and group chats existed! (Earlier than they did in real life, at that.) This is actually really important because of how much it does for that question of “how to keep in contact when circumstances like school keep you apart” -- especially when the Adventure group would certainly appreciate the method to keep in touch despite their lives largely getting increasingly separate. That, and even more so if other similar technological things like social media existed; there’s a lot of ways to keep in touch despite physical and circumstantial distance.

Of course, they’d been keeping in touch via email since 02, but a group chat is much lower pressure and actively encourages everyone to keep in touch; think about how useful group chats have been for connecting with your own longtime friends. It’s ambiguous whether the 02 group was privy to this particular chat from To Sora given that they were clearly on call for incidents like the Parrotmon one, but it’s also entirely possible that this is a room for The Ones Who Went on That One Adventure in August 1999, especially since they use the Crests as their icons, and the 02 group has their own (let’s be real, they totally would; think about how many Discord servers with overlapping people you might be in right now). This, combined with the fact that the Adventure and 02 groups seem to have formed a sort of recon squad for the increasing number of Digimon incidents in Tokyo, means that there are actually a lot more opportunities to stay involved with each other than ever before!

As it seems, the Adventure group does seem to be rather emotionally close to the point that Taichi is willing to reach out to Yamato simply to dump his emotional troubles about his future career prospects on him (despite them going to very different universities at this point). Yet, at the same time, there’s still a palpable sense of distance going on here, and a depiction of Taichi and Yamato having developed separate social lives and their own friend circles -- Taichi with Morikawa and Nemoto, and Yamato with Abe (their names come from the novel), who are also acquainted with each other enough to talk about career and worry about each other.

When Taichi and Yamato talk over beer, they don’t even have updates on the same people (Yamato has to update Taichi on Sora and Takeru’s status), and ultimately, Yamato comments on their drifting -- saying that it’s a potentially inevitable part of choosing one’s path. It’s not hard to see why he says this; it’s been a recurring theme for them since after the events of Adventure. Sora and Mimi haven’t been around for Digimon incidents lately because of their careers, and it’s highly likely Jou hasn’t either; Koushirou keeps in touch, but our only depictions have been in the range of business and Digimon incidents.

But for the 02 group? Absolutely not.

The Kizuna drama CD has a lot about what the 02 group was doing (and planning to do) during their little “vacation” in New York. In fact, there’s a lot to go on about here:

Daisuke and Takeru show up together even though Iori was allegedly said to be “first” approached, meaning the two of them were basically hanging out anyway.

Daisuke insists on going on a trip that’s about his own personal career with friends -- and not just any friends, but specifically the group of himself, Ken, Miyako, Iori, Takeru, and Hikari. He also wanted his seniors along, but they were too busy -- but it’s pointed out that the other 02 group members aren’t exactly full of free time either, meaning that these five have a special place of importance to Daisuke in his ramen career trip.

Even the Digimon are aware of what the other humans (the ones that aren’t even their partners!) have been up to lately.

Miyako and Hawkmon say that it’s only natural for them to show up when the group is getting together -- i.e. being with this specific company is a fact of life to her, to the point she invents D-3 gate exploitation to be with them.

The group keeps saying “it’s been a while” for periods of time in which it is made pretty obvious it’s actually not a lot of time at all. (Miyako had just left for Spain to the point her coming back elicits an “already?!” kind of reaction, yet that constitutes “a while”, and the most likely very short time between the trip planning and the movie is also apparently “a while”, and it’s very likely that Takeru’s “a while” in greeting Iori may well have not been that long, either.) It really makes you think about how often the people in this group must be meeting up to think that this constitutes “a while”...

Hikari is ready to fight people for denying her the chance to play with Miyako.

Beyond that, they’ve all apparently been regular enough presences in Daisuke’s life for completely offhand comments and actions to have major impacts on his career thoughts.

In the movie itself, Miyako refuses to take on the exact same request that she ultimately gladly participates in with the rest of the 02 group in New York -- presumably, because the fact her friends are there makes it all better.

As it turns out, despite everything -- despite everyone going in completely different directions with their careers, attending different schools (Iori’s still in high school while everyone else is in university!), the 02 group has been maintaining this attitude of going out of their way to hang out with each other, in a sort of “we do it together, or we don’t do it at all” sense. Of course, that’s not to say they’ve all stayed so socially maladjusted that they’ve become completely incapable of making any other friends at all, but there is a very clear, strong preference of them wanting to be in each other’s specific company to the point that they would do ridiculous things to make it work.

So, you might be asking: what’s the trade-off?

Yamato attributes the alienation between the Adventure group to “choosing one’s own path”. Inherently, this is not quite right (nor is the sentiment that “choices are bad” in general), especially considering that Daisuke, Iori, and Hikari already made their choices in path a long time ago, yet are still behaving like this. The question is actually more of priorities; notice that while the older Adventure characters are mainly portrayed in Kizuna as aggressively pursuing career prospects, the 02 characters, despite having their current educational statuses listed in their profiles, simply seem to have this as not an object.

Iori’s still in school uniform; he’s arguably cramming this all between school club obligations. Ken, Miyako, Takeru, and Hikari don’t have their current educational status involved at all, and even though Daisuke’s ramen trip is technically for his future career, he’s also happy to just “play around” about sightseeing (and, again, there’s also no reason he needed to bring his friends for this). Takeru’s working on his novel, but he hasn’t actually decided it’ll be his career yet. It’s not about whether they’ve made choices or not; it’s about the fact they’re going about this remarkably casually to the point where maintaining their relationship with their friends is more important than career. And this extends to the 02 epilogue as well; compared to their seniors’ more prominent history-making careers, the 02 group’s is more low-scale and community-oriented (the only exception being Sora, but even that ties into individual ambition more than anything else, considering that not succeeding her mother is already a pretty big deal in itself).

The take-home

Adventure and 02 are both very well-known for showcasing people with different personalities and goals in life, and celebrating their differences. I think, personally, the difference between the Adventure and 02 groups’ dynamics is also something that reflects on the different ways to live one’s life as well. This is especially something that most of us can probably understand well now that we’re adults looking back at this, especially in light of Kizuna.

There are some of us who really want to do large-scale things in this world, and will need that understanding of the self to get there but may struggle with maintaining consistent friendships on that turbulent path, and have to adapt by managing the different levels of their relationships and learning to get along with different people in different ways. There are some of us who gain happiness more from mutual support with the people around us even if it means not ostensibly achieving as “great” things, and feel most comfortable with a single consistent set of friends. Some of us are in between, or feel elements of both as we try to experiment with things in life (actually, I’m pretty sure that’s probably most of us to some degree).

Think about your own life and future prospects right now, and then think about the friends you may be in touch with, or haven’t been in touch with for a while, or the ones you talk to for different purposes or fulfill different niches in your life. We’re all trying to straddle this balance; there’s no one right way to live.

[foreverydinger]

Graduation Flashbacks 2k21

Tony reminisces on graduations past while sitting in the ceremony.

Featuring: @tallulahrobinson @notmuchofatail @notbad-justsungthatway @oh-phineas @devyn-morey (lol)

Tony was in his stupid hat and gown again. It was the same one he’d had for years, only updating it when the school decided to change the style of cap and gown they’d want their students to wear. He glanced to the side, daring a look at his ex-boyfriend Haechan Roberts that he was assigned to sit beside. They had both been ignoring the other since being told that they would be sitting in alphabetical order. Tony had known it was coming, had known the moment he found out the other’s surname. This wasn’t his first rodeo, he’d done this sixty times before. Though Haechan reminded him of a few other R-named exes he’d been with many years ago.

“Promise you’ll write to me,” Tally had insisted when they’d discussed the breakup. Tony blinked at her, his heart aching as he realized what he’d have to do. He didn’t want to lie to her but what was one to do when the great and powerful Tallulah Robinson asked something of you?

“I promise, Tally. You go off and get your degree, see the world, send me postcards. I’ll be here, in Swynlake. It’s not like you’ll never see me again, your family’s here after all.” He chuckled through the pain, eyes beginning to water.

Sitting in the ceremony didn’t feel cold, instead they held hands side by side. Squeezing whenever something particularly emotional started to be said. ‘Goodbyes are hard,’ Tony thought as he stared not at the presenters but at her face. ‘She’ll be alright, though. She’s a force.’

“Congratulations, Class of 2010,” came the headmaster’s voice booming over the speakers. “You did it!”

As a roar rang out over the crowd Tony felt that same tingling, saw those same sparkles only he ever seemed to notice as the ceremony came to a conclusion. Despite his desire to hang on, to cling to Tallulah’s hand for dear life, he felt her grip slacken until she had completely dropped Tony. She had no reason to hold the hand of the boy beside her, she didn’t know him despite how small the school was.

She had places to be and a small town to forget.

The speakers were giving some emotional speech and Tony swiped at his eyes in frustration. Most people, if they saw him, might think he was just getting emotional about leaving Swynlake. The rumors had swirled around him about whether he was staying in the small town or leaving them for MIT. It was stupid, he regretted even posting the fake acceptance nowadays, but he supposed it wouldn’t matter shortly. He’d have to just fake a Pride U acceptance instead, as he usually did.

He looked around the expanse of graduates, spotting Phineas Flynn across the room. One of the few people whose relationships had transformed the most. Tony had barely considered the kid back when he had moved to their peculiar little town which had transformed drastically to incensed rage and been doused much like the flames he’d been spared from with, of all things, the power of music. Tony nearly rolled his eyes at the memory now if he ignored the very real damage that had been done to his person at the time.

The evolution of their friendship caused him to reminisce upon another relationship of his that had changed drastically since their first meeting: Gregory Eeyore.

He thought about Greg whom he had been texting constantly the past few days. They were best friends now, Greg had even believed Ian and Tony about the curse, even if the recollection of memories hadn’t been made possible unlike Ian. Honestly, the teenager wasn’t sure whether or not that was such a bad thing given their rocky past.

Tony scanned the sea of people who were all about to leave him behind. He spotted the likes of Devyn Morey—’Good for them, making it this far!’—before his eyes landed upon one Gregory Eeyore. It wasn’t as though Tony had been friends with Gregory by any stretch of the imagination. On the contrary, Tony was convinced that Greg hated him by association with his friends who had done little more than torment the quieter student.

Over the last few years Tony had dissuaded his friends from torturing their classmate, though the attempts were quieter than Tony knew he should have been and filled with the fear of being socially ejected. It seemed silly, sometimes, thinking about his fear of being rejected from a social group given he had a built-in redo in a way but recovering from that and climbing back up the social ladder even with the help of his curse’s bonus popularity air still took time and effort that he didn’t always want to do.

So Greg had suffered for it.

As Tony watched the other he made a silent wish—something that he should have stopped doing long ago after having his wish granted to never leave secondary—that Greg would find his niche out in the world now that secondary would be left behind him. Tony wanted nothing more than for Greg to find the peace he deserved.

“Congratulations, Class of 2017,” came the headmaster’s voice booming over the speakers. “You did it!”

As the announcement was made and caps were thrown into the air in celebration Tony felt that familiar tingle and sparkle surround him. He hoped that perhaps a part of that magical seal would grant this new wish.

Focusing on what friendships would prevail, Tony had to focus on the positives.

He would still have Pip, feisty and loyal Pip, to keep his feet on the ground and yet also keep him on his toes. There was never a dull moment in their friendship and he couldn’t wait for long nights with him listening to musicals or any of the other interests that the younger boy held to his chest.

Tony could hold onto the friendship he’d newly cultivated with Mim Ambrosius who was a brushfire. Chaotic and terrifying in the danger she could create while also being capable of cultivating a sort of refreshment on life much like the sorts of plants that had to burn to spread their seeds and flourish elsewhere.

He scanned the crowd to see if he could spot any particular faces turned toward himself. He caught a glimpse of someone’s profile for a moment and mistook them for the one and only Jessica Rabbit.

“We’re still friends,” Jessica whispered as she sat beside him.

“What?” He tore his eyes from the headmaster manning the ceremony to look her way. They had determined this when Jess had broken up with him a couple weeks prior, Tony had almost been relieved he wouldn’t have to break her heart. Jessica was of a rare breed; kind to a fault and sharp as a tack. Tony hadn’t wanted to live on in her heart as any form of regret.

“We’re still friends, Tony.”

“‘Course we are, Bun,” he teased, the old nickname slipping into the sentence without his permission. “‘Til the very end.” It wasn’t a lie at least, not really. He didn’t want to lie to her, not ever.

“If you’re not leaving Swynlake then—”

“Don’t worry about it, Jess,” Tony cut her off, not wanting to know where that sentence was going. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.” Just because she was figuring it out without him didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to assuage her fears. He reached over to give her hand a short squeeze before returning it to his own lap.

They had been each other’s support system over this short time together. The long nights at work and the longer nights in his flat reading comic books while a record spun in the background. The hushed and reverent voices mingling in the dark as the two tired teens just allowed themselves to unwind from the pressures that threatened to break down their doors.

“Love you, Bun,” he admitted, glancing at her face for a fraction of a second. He tried not to seek what emotion was shining there before turning his attention back to the headmaster.

“Congratulations, Class of 2003,” came the headmaster’s voice booming over the speakers. “You did it!”

He’d see her again, just under different circumstances.

Ah, there were the tears once again and Tony chuckled at his sappy self. Haechan turned their face to raise a brow at him but he ignored their questioning expression. It would be alright, Tony told himself. He wasn’t alone, he was determined to believe it. He thought about Ian at home, the journals placed out upon the table ready to inform him of Tony’s existence once again. If it had worked once it had to work again... right?

When his row’s time came, Tony stood from his seat, walking across the stage as he always did. He knew every step, knew every creak in the stage floor that the attendant eyes of the crowd wouldn’t hear but still brought a bit of cringe to him so he avoided it easily. It wasn’t long, then, for when his name would be called. He walked across the stage, hearing a couple cheers for him despite the announcer saying not to cheer until the very end. No one ever listened to that announcement when their kid got called.

After being handed another diploma Tony thanked the headmaster as he always did and retreated back to his seat. This diploma was one of many and he just sighed as he realized it would go into that box beneath his bed like all of the others where it would collect dust unless—until—Tony and Ian broke the curse.

“Congratulations, Class of 2021,” came the headmaster’s voice booming over the speakers. This time breaking him of his reverie. “You did it!”

‘Maybe this time,’ Tony thought with a hint of optimism in his heart. ‘I don’t think that I’ve broken the curse, not by a long shot, but maybe... just maybe... I’ve actually managed to accomplish something. A family. A life.’

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 29. Borrowed Time

‘Harder days are coming. The loan of borrowed time will be due on the horizon. (...)’ - Ingeborg Bachmann

The most northern village in Savoy was Valois-Narcisse, so small that it wasn’t actually reachable by any form of public transportation. Not a lot of people in Savoy even knew Valois-Narcisse by name; Bayona, on the East Coast, was the closest reference point, a beach village considered an under-rated touristic spot. Historically, Valois-Narcisse was populated by sheep and eggplant farmers, not a very sexy niche, and it was still how the village’s only export to local and regional farmer’s markets.

For the following few weeks after Ascot, every time Harry tried to talk about it, his phone corrected the name to ‘value narcissism’, so by the time I drove past the small, rusted iron sign that read its name, I couldn’t help but smile.

One of the reasons Valois-Narcisse was so abandoned was that it was mostly situated up a mountain. Not at the top of the mountain, exactly, although parts of it were. The village just stretched along the mountain, with most of its commerce and eateries, however scarce, down below, and the houses built towards the top, including a couple of small hostels and, lucky for us, one very odd Airbnb.

The houses, bridges and streets were all built of stone and wood, with wildflowers and weeds growing in between, and across the mountain, beyond the village, stood the vast, beautiful Celtic Sea. On days of low tide, locals swore they could see the outline of the Irish coast on the horizon, at least according to the description on Airbnb.

But even if that was an exaggeration, we wouldn’t have cared, because what drew Harry and I to Valois-Narcisse that weekend was how desolate and empty it was. Paparazzi wouldn’t dream of finding us there, so it was there that we scheduled our first getaway. Our first secret rendezvous. Or, as Harry kept reminding me, our first date.

We had been texting non-stop since I left his house after Ascot, about what happened, and also about all things around us, what we were doing or not, and a lot of nothing. It was over text that we made the plans to meet in Vallois-Narcisse for the first time since getting together, it was over text that we discussed the latest of the Adrien saga (he’d been seen out in a club with the singer-girlfriend and their friends), and it was over text that he informed me that since we never got to go on our date the previous year, during our weekend in Vallois-Narcisse, he was going to pull all the stops to ‘take me out’’.

“Are we going out for dinner?” I asked, in our Airbnb, while I got ready in the middle of the afternoon.

“Not really.” He replied, from the small sitting room right outside our suite. “And stop trying to guess, just get ready.”

He had refused to tell me anything about the date, claiming it was supposed to be as real as the real one would have been and in the real one, it would have been a surprise.

“It’s very hard to get ready when I don’t know what we’re doing.” I sighed. “How casual am I supposed to look?”

“Casual.” He replied, unhelpful. “Maybe wear sneakers.”

“Well, that’s one decision off my conscience.” I mumbled to myself, staring at my options laid out in the bed, my small suitcase open on the floor.

I had chosen a preppy, plaid short skirt in shades of white and blue, and I had all the tops I had brought in the bed as possible options. For shoes, I removed the flats from the lineup, and put on my white Nike’s, turning around to look at the tops again.

“Are you ready? It’s time.” Harry called from the other room.

“Just–! Just give me ten minutes!” I shouted back, nervously.

I realized how ridiculous it was. It was just a gesture – a sweet, romantic, gesture – to have a first date when we had already slept together more than once. More than twice. The previous night, for instance. It made no sense, it was just sweet. So there was no reason to be nervous, and I knew that. Rationally, I knew that.

Still, as I looked at the clothes I brought, I hated every single one. I threw the Jurassic Park tee back into the suitcase – too casual –, and looked at the Kimono top, a greenish blue shade, long, loose sleeves, a nice, laidback fit to contrast with the skirt. The other two options, a tight, square neckline, navy blue, crop top, and a loose, green, blouse with spaghetti sleeves, both matched the skirt and were casual enough, but seemed more appropriate for the weather.

“…It’s been ten minutes.” Harry’s voice came back from the other room, patiently cautious.

“Coming!”

In one panicked move, I grabbed the green, strappy blouse and put it on. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly applied some tinted sunblock to my face. I wanted to apply actual makeup, but convinced myself it was silly. He’d seen me without makeup many times already. It wasn’t a real first date, no matter how big the knot on my stomach was, so I just grabbed a pair of earrings, my every-day necklace, and sunglasses, and burst through the door in a hurry, ready to run as if we had an actual reservation, even though I was perfectly aware that no restaurant in this village town worked like that.

“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go!” I said, looking at him, who startled up from the couch and looked me up and down, appreciatively.

“Mary, wow.” He smiled, slowly, approaching me with careful steps. “You look…”

“What are you doing?!” I laughed, blushing. “You saw me five minutes ago. I look the same. I just put on a different, very casual, outfit.”

“Will you just pretend with me? Please?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “We never got to have our first date, just… let’s just pretend we’re a normal couple today.”

I shook my head, grinning. “…Fine.”

He took another step towards me and, from seemingly thin air, produced a white daisy.

I sighed. I wanted to say ‘really?’, but I bit down my sarcasm, and took my flower.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful!” I said, adding a little more emotion than necessary.

He sighed heavily, making me laugh. “Come on, ma’am, we have a date.”

“Yes, sir.”

Our Airbnb was in a secluded property at the end of a dead-end granite driveway off of the main road. Instead of taking that direction, however, we walked towards the hike trail in the opposite direction. I wanted to ask what was on the huge backpack he’d brought, but I knew he was just waiting for the opportunity to tell me it was a surprise, so I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He announced we had arrived when we reached a clearing amongst the trees. The grass and weeds were a little high, but nothing that made it impossible for us to sit down and enjoy ourselves. Especially because, as I soon discovered, Harry had a picnic blanket in his backpack. Because Harry had a whole picnic in his backpack.

“A picnic?!” I asked, excited.

“You like picnics?” He smiled, setting the blanket down.

“I love picnics!” I said, excitedly. “Don’t go to many, because… you know, outside, not very safe.”

“Yes, I do know.” He nodded, going through his bag, “Fortunately this place has enough privacy for us.”

“How did you even know to come here?”

“I googled it.” He replied, simply.

From his bag, he took out a bottle of sparkly wine and two ceramic looking plastic plates, which he sat down at opposite ends of the blanket. He then placed two linen napkins, folded, on top, with a set of cutlery over each.

“You thought this through.” I noticed.

“Of course I did.” He shrugged, removing a piece of paper from his pocket and reading it quickly. “I do have visual aids, though.”

In his bag, he also had acrylic Tupperware with a number of cheeses, which he then laid out on a wooden board. In another container, he had brought an assortment of cut veggies with a smaller cup inside, with ranch, which he remembered was my favorite. For our main course, he dramatically revealed large sandwiches from his favorite London restaurant, perfectly packaged and cut, for easier consumption. And for dessert, there were also a number of fruits and two small pots with what looked like cheesecakes.

“This is… incredible.”

He seemed the most flattered I had ever seen him.

“Thank you!” He said, folding his note quickly.

“Can I see that?”

“What? Oh, no, it’s just a little reminder of where things go–Oh–okay.”

I walked over to him and grabbed the paper before he could return it to his pocket; it was a list of instructions on how to set up the picnic, in his own handwriting. It even said ‘transfer cheese to wooden board’ and included a drawing of how to set up the napkins on top of the plates, with the cutlery on top of the napkins.

“This is… so sweet.” I gushed, watching him blush. “Where did you get this from?”

“I googled picnics.” He shrugged. “Well, first I googled first date ideas. Then saw the picnic idea and went on google street view to see if this place would be good for one. Then googled how to do a picnic.” He shrugged, grabbing the paper back and folding it. “Not a big deal.”

It was the way he blushed slightly and still made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal that he put in that much effort into giving us one afternoon where we could pretend we were a normal couple, untouched by tragedy. That’s what made my heart swoon for him.

I didn’t even have time to kiss him, though. He was so adamant to continue as if nothing was the problem that he just held my hand and sat down, pulling me with him.

“So…” He started, smiling. “So good that we are finally able to do this.”

“It is.” I agreed, amused.

“Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

“So, tell me, what is it that you do?” I laughed so loudly he reluctantly joined me.

“I’m sorry, it’s just too weird.”

“Come on!” He complained. “Like a normal first date, just go with it.”

“Okay, okay…” I sighed, still smiling. “What I do for a living… I… I am a lawyer.” He gave me an annoyed look. “What? If I’m talking to someone who doesn’t know what I do for a living, I’m not gonna tell them.”

“Fair. But be honest.”

I sighed. “Alright. I have a law degree from Harvard, which I’m really proud of, and I mostly have experience with copyright law… But I am not practicing right now.”

“Really? How so?”

I gave him an annoyed look this time. “I… I made a career change last year towards working on my… family business.”

He grinned. “How interesting.”

“Thank you. It’s been very rewarding.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice to make.”

My smile faltered slightly. “It wasn’t fully my choice… But I’m happy with it, regardless.” I added, to assuage his reaction.

He nodded, silently. After a while, he added, “Are you?”

I shifted the position of my legs under me, using the time it took to think it through.

“Yes. Yes? I think so.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t really stopped to figure that out… Not exactly a priority.”

“It should be.”

I smiled. Not knowing how to change the subject, I reached out to the platter next to me and grabbed a piece of cheese.

“This is really good.” I added.

He smiled, accepting of the change of subject.

“Alright, time for you to ask something.”

“Oh. Okay… Uhm.” I finished chewing slowly as I thought about it. “Where… are you from? Originally?”

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m from England.”

“Oh, really? Interesting.” I said, overly impressed. “Where in England?”

“London.” He added, grinning. “I was born and raised in Central London.”

“Fancy.” I added, appreciatively, making him chuckle. “Do you like living there?”

He considered this. “…not particularly.”

I stopped chewing. “Really?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know… I mean, I liked it, yes, in that… generic, mandatory way you always feel you must like the place you are from. Like, I will defend it if I must. But… if I had a choice, would I want to spend the rest of my life there? I’m not sure I would.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Well.”

“Go on.” He said, grinning.

“Oh, I just mean… I love New York, it was one of the best experiences of my life living there for a year after law school, even if those memories are tainted with the presence of my ex… But as much as I love New York, and a lot of other places I’ve been to… coming home to Savoy is just…” I shrugged. “I don’t know, I couldn’t imagine staying away forever, you know? It’s home.”

He nodded. “I don’t know, I just don’t have that sense of attachment to England. To my family and friends, sure. But to the place? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

We were silent for a while, eating cheese and drinking wine, and pondering over the words said. Then he perked up again, cheerily, and said,

“Tell me about your family.”

I gave the sky an eye roll. “…Fine.”

“Wow. So aggressive.” He noted, chuckling.

“Shut up.” I said. “Okay. Well, I’m the oldest of three. My brother was the middle child, but he passed away last year. He was three years younger than me and we got along really well. My sister is about eleven years younger than me, so we are not as close, though we’ve gotten a lot closer recently.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He smiled.

“My mother was born in Northern Savoy, her father is French, her mother is Savoyen. My grandfather has a property management and consultancy business, and my grandmother was always a stay-at-home mother. My mother only has one sister, Aunt Katherine, who’s now taken over my grandfather’s business, though her husband, Merlin, who is a Lord, seems to be making most of the calls. That is the root of most of the disagreements between my mother and Aunt, currently.”

“Tough.” He noted.

“Aunt Katherine has two children, Camille is the eldest, she’s been married to Hamilton Costeau for a few years, he’s a hotshot nightclub owner from the capital, and they’re expecting their first child currently. Her brother, Adam, is a freelance graphic designer, he’s married to a writer named Marcia. They’re probably my most normal relatives except that they’re wild, crazy hippies.”

He laughed. “How so?”

“They had a fully vegan wedding in a bowling alley and they live in a boat.”

He almost spit out his wine laughing. “What?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna need more information.”

“There’s not really that much more to it. To be fair, the vegan menu was actually pretty good and bowling is fun. Haven’t been bowling since, so it’s a good memory. We don’t see them a lot, because of the boat.”

“When you say boat…?”

“Not a yatch or anything like that. It’s one of those small, house boats, like in Amsterdam? Except they actually use it to sail around since they’re both freelance and can work from anywhere.”

“Honestly… that sounds great.”

“They’re cool.” I nodded. “Let’s see… on my father’s side, he has two older sisters. Marilou Bondy is in her sixties, her husband is a Vice Admiral in the navy, and they have two kids in their mid-thirties. Zaccharie, married to Amber, they have two kids who are three and five years-old. Zacc is a business manager in a shipping company, his wife has a graduate degree in Psychology, but now is a stay-at-home mom. Zacc’s sister, Heloise, is CEO of a multinational company, and her husband is a doctor. They’re by far my relatives who’ve got it together the most.”

“Sounds like it, those are some big jobs. They have kids?”

“A two year old, adorable. All my cousin’s children are. We have good genes.” He laughed. “Let me see, what else? My father’s second oldest sister, Stephanie, married a Lord of Luxembourg, uncle Ellis, so they live there. They have three kids, Josephine, Klaus, and Catarina.”

“Klaus! I know Klaus!” He said, happily, “Love Klaus. He’s fun!”

“Yes, he’s… very you.” I noted, amused. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“Oh, he met a friend of mine during gap year, so my friend introduced us at a festival later on.”

“Of course.” I nodded. “As you know, he works for an investment firm. His youngest sister, Catarina, is twenty-three, she took a few years after school to figure it out, so she’s still finishing her degree. And the oldest, Josephine, is an interior designer, and she’s actually getting married next month, to Marius Allard, who owns a network of gyms in Luxembourg.”

“Royal wedding?” He asked.

“A small one, but yes.”

“You going?”

 “Yes.” I smiled. “Anyway. Then, there’s my father, the middle child, oldest brother, and they also have two youngest brothers. Or, had. Adrien’s father died many years ago of lymphoma, so now Adrien is next in line for the throne after Lourdes. You know him, so no need to go into it.”

“How is he doing in New York, by the way?” He asked, pouring us more wine. “I read he and the singer were seen partying in a boat?”

“For the fourth of July, yes.” I nodded. “My father and the advisors are… how can I say it? Pissed.” He chuckled. “Celebrating an American holiday, half naked, in a boat, with a bunch of celebrities, including his pink-haired girlfriend… they want him to come back.”

“Of course they do.”

“Adrien has a younger sister, Natalie, who’s my favorite.” I said, gushing. “She’s awesome, sweet, positive, always down for a good chat, though not big into parties or crowds–”

“So, the opposite of Adrien?”

“Yes.” I laughed. “Nat is getting her masters in Sorbonne, she studies literature and communications. Their mom, Princess Annette, has been a working royal for many years. Finally, my youngest uncle, Prince Albert, is also a working royal. He divorced his wife about five years ago, which was a huge scandal at the time, but we’ve managed to ride it out, and now everyone gets along fine. His ex-wife is even still a working royal, as well.”

“Woah.” He said, brows raised. “We could learn a thing or two from about how to handle divorce in a healthy way.”

“Agreed.” I said, teasing. “They have three kids. Maryanne is eighteen, currently serving her minimum military course post-graduation. Her brother James is sixteen, he’s in boarding school in Switzerland, and Sarah, who’s ten, attends the same boarding school as Lourdes… and that’s it. Unless you want to hear about my extended family, in which case we might be here a while.”

He nodded. While he digested the info-dump I’d just given him, I took the time to finish my wine and have some veggies and ranch.

“Question.” He said, unwrapping our sandwiches, “Why did you only mention two or three working royals?”

“My father’s oldest sisters lost their title upon marriage, and Aunt Stephanie lives in Luxembourg. Aunt Marilou and her husband do work sometimes, but that’s mostly because of her husband’s Admiral job. So, it’s mostly my father and his brothers who work for the Crown. Since Uncle James died, Adrien and his mom work, too, although he’s in New York now. His sister is still in school, so she’s excused. And that leaves uncle Albert and his ex-wife, and their kids are too young. There’s also some cousins of my father who are working royals, though they also have private careers.”

He nodded. “So that’s why you said you would have to become a working royal eventually.”

“Yep. That’s why a lot of the burden was already mine before, and also why I knew it would eventually be mine again. I just… I had hoped I’d have some time in-between.”

“Well,” he took the cheese platter and moved it to the side, leaning in closer to me. “You have time now.”

“I do, don’t I?” I smiled. “What should I do with it?”

“I have an idea.” He grinned, leaning in the rest of the way to touch his lips to mine.

His hand cupped my jaw as we kissed, my skin warm either from the sun or his touch. I put my glass down, mindlessly, not caring when I felt it fall to the grass. I slid my hand across his hair and laid back down, pulling him on top of me.

It was just one afternoon of borrowed time, but it was ours.

— ---- —

It was a cloudy summey day, not great weather for a royal wedding, but it would have to do because Princess Josephine Anne-Marie Elyse of Luxembourg was ready to become Mrs. Marius Allard.

Normally, we wouldn’t all go to a royal wedding just because we were royals, but we were family this time, so we arrived, my family and I, in Luxembourg two nights before. The rehearsal dinner went without a hitch, and so the following morning we got ready in our hotel and waited with other foreign family members for the shutles that would drive us to the church.

I had changed Harry’s contact on my phone to Hedwig – a name I took from Harry Potter – just in case someone saw me texting him, which was bound to happen as were texting so much more often. This didn’t stop my heart from nearly freezing when I received a photo from him. It was a mirror selfie showcasing him in his ceremony military uniform, black and red, with medals to his chest. The text read: ‘beautiful day for a wedding’.

I sighed; A few weeks prior to this, Harry had excitedly informed me during a late-night facetime call, that his family had assigned him to represent them to Josephine’s wedding.

“Why?!” I asked then, astonished.

“Ouch.” He said, sarcastic. “I’m great at weddings.”

“I’m not saying you’re not.” I said, rolling my eyes. “And of course I want to see you! But… my whole family is going to be there! Isn’t your father supposed to do these things? Or your uncle?”

“My father will be busy, my uncle was going to go, yes, but turns out his son has pneumonia so he’s staying put.” He shrugged. “And since I know Klaus, they figured I would be more familiar to the bride and groom than my brother.”

I was quiet, biting my lower lip nervously.

“What? This is good! I’m excited I get to see you all dolled up so soon!”

But I couldn’t get my excitement to match his – and I tried. It was just too risky, not to mention it felt like the day would be torture. To be near him again and have to pretend I didn’t want to hold his hand? Kiss his lips? Rip the clothes right off his body? It was too much.

Sighing, I went to the bathroom and discreetly took my own mirror selfie showcasing my light pink dress with a darker pink on a slit falling from my hips, and my large disc fascinator, and texted it to him.

‘It is unfair how perfect you look’, he replied. It made me smile, and I tried to hold on to that feeling as we rode to the church.

As family, we were close to the last group to arrive, so when I walked down the red carpeted entrance towards the church behind my parents, all I could think was that Harry must already be inside.

We trotted behind, stopping to salute the military battalion in formation under the country’s flag – a Luxembourg tradition. Military personnel saluted, civilians lowered their heads or curtsied. Since mandatory minimum service was still considered service, I saluted with my father, as mom and Lourdes curtsied.

Inside, we were ushered to the front of the church by a palace aide. Because of the odd number of seats, our parents and I were seated one row in front of Lourdes, who found herself sitting between, of all people, Adrien and Harry.

My parents greeted Adrien, who was there fresh from a plane from New York, and then looked at Harry, who received from then a curt nod before they turned to the front.

"How's...? Uhm?" I started, as my cousin kissed my cheeks.

"Sienna?" He asked, sighing. "Her name is Sienna."

"Right. Sienna."

"She's good. She's recording a new album." He replied.

"How... fortuitous." I nodded, as he took his seat again.

Before I sat down, Harry managed to give me a sneaky wink. I blushed, and turned to the front.

We seemed to be the last frontier between family and important guests, as next to Harry sat other royals and in front of us, were mostly empty seats that filled quickly after we arrived.

Just as the music started, Lourdes, who'd been chatting excitedly between Adrien and Harry, sighed loudly and stage-whispered,

"Ah, damn, I'll barely be able to see Josephine from here." She complained. “Margueritte’s hat is too big.”

As calm as I could, I turned to her, taking the care to make myself sound annoyed. "Do you want to trade seats?"

"Really?" She asked, "Is that allowed?"

I looked at my parents, who were already discreetly looking at us.

"Is it?" I asked.

"I believe so." My father said.

Mom leaned closer to me. "Are you sure you don't mind, chérie?"

I smiled, already getting to my feet. "It's fine. At least this way she'll be quiet."

"I heard that." Lourdes said as she passed me by.

I took her seat and crossed my legs at my ankles, holding my head high facing forward, pretending I didn't see the grin on Harry's face. 

Josephine looked breathtaking; lace bodice, three quarter sleeves, flowy, tulle, ball gown skirt, hair pinned back in a low hairdo, a long veil falling down from her family’s tiara – a Luxembourg tiara –, matching diamond earrings. It was difficult to take my eyes from her, except from one thing.

Harry was touching my hand. His fingers very gently grazed mine, slowly stretching until our middle fingers were enlaced. It was such a simple gesture. Such a light touch. But so many people around who were not meant to know about us. My heart beat faster on my chest and I felt my skin warmer as I remembered all the other ways in which that hand had touched me. I risked a look at him, who stared ahead determinedly.

As the song came to a slow end, I pulled my hand from his, startled, thinking for some reason the silence would make us more visible.

The priest began to speak in a monotone, calm voice up front. By my side, Harry adjusted himself in his seat, leaving his left knee to lightly, but very deliberately, touch mine.

I bit down a grin, sighing. Thinking two could play this game, I reached for the neckline of my dress with my hand, adjusting it slightly as if to fix something, but ‘accidentally’ pulling it down sligthly. As it was V shaped, this enlarged my cleavage only slightly, especially as I crossed my arms over my lap, pulling my breasts together.

I stared ahead, ignoring Harry, but I felt his leg press harder against mine.

“Beautiful wedding, isn’t it?” I whispered to him, pointing my chest in his direction.

“Is this another catholic tradition?” He whispered very lightly leaning closer to me. I smiled, blushing.

I looked down at my lap, fiddling with the program. I had no idea where we were on it, which is why I startled again as suddenly everyone rose from their seats to sing another hymn. I followed, pulling my dress up nervously, but I did leave my arm down hoping Harry would touch my hand again.

It took him what felt like the whole song, but then he finally did. I allowed my own fingers to caress his this time, missing being able to touch him, feeling my palms sweating as the thought.

When we sat down again, and someone else started speaking, he leaned down slowly and asked, whispery:

“Truth or dare?”

I sighed dramatically, and gave him a stern look, hiding my amusement.

“Truth.” I mouthed.

He grinned, and leaned down again. “What were you thinking about during the song?”

What he was asking was, of course, ‘what were you thinking about while our hands touched secretly in the middle of this very full church?’

I leaned to him, but starting ahead, said, “About how good it felt last time you fingered me–”

He sighed, heavily, leaning away from me, adjusting his tie as if it was the most important thing in the world.

He didn’t allow me to ask it back, his eyes stared firmly and frustratingly ahead for the rest of the – very long – service.

When Josephine and Marius walked out as husband and wife, we all waited for their close families to follow and then to the aides to guide us away at the right time. Harry continued to deliberately look away from me at all times. 

We were ushered back into the shuttles with the rest of the family, everyone talking excitedly about their favorite moments of the ceremony. I kept my comments to the dress, the only part I remembered in detail.

The reception was held in the palace; I didn’t see Harry again for a very long time. No one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, other than Lourdes who asked if I was mad at him because we seemed to have ‘barely spoken’.

As all the guests were in their seats, I finally found Harry in a distant table with other foreign royals who weren’t family. There were speeches, there were dances, there were entrées and champagne, and Harry’s eyes continued to find mine whenever I looked at him. Luckily, I was able to distract myself by my family grilling Adrien about his inappropriate girlfriend.

Conversation was the sound of the night in between courses when I decided to find a bathroom to re-apply my lipstick.

“If you pass by a waiter, would you ask for someone to bring me more water?” Lourdes asked as I left.

“I’m not your maid.”

“Really? It’ll cost nothing–”

“Shut up, of course I’ll do it.”

She rolled her eyes in response.

I was distracted, looking around for a waiter, when my eyes found Harry’s again. This time, too intense to look away. He put his hands in his pocket and pointedly walked out of the hall.

I sighed. It was too idiotic a choice to follow him. Yet, there I was. My feet moving of their own accord.

He walked off down the hallway, calm as can be, stopping only to ask an aide for directions. Down another hallway, he turned to the right, before confidently opening a door, turning back to lock his eyes on mine, and walk inside.

I bit my lower lip and looked around. There was a staff member walking off in the distance, but no one around other than that. I didn’t know if that would last. I walked to the door,  and casually looked around one more time. No one was watching. No one around. I took in a deep breath, and walked inside.

I quickly closed the door behind me, but I had no time to notice anything else. Harry’s lips were on mine, strongly, arms framing me in place against the door. One hand turned the lock, the other traveled up and down my side, his heavy breath on my skin.

“That was not okay.” He said, voice low, anguished, against my neck. “Back there.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, innocently. “All I remember is a lovely ceremony.”

He grinned against my neck in between kisses. “Fuck you.”

"It's true.”

“You liked when I fingered you, right?” He asked, lightly biting my earlobe. “Maybe I should do it again, then.”

My whole body trembled at the thought of going back outside, pretending nothing had happened, still pulsating with his touch on me.

“…maybe you should.” I said, weakly, feeling his large hand grasp my breast. “Right here. Right now.”

“…that would be really stupid, now, wouldn’t it?” He asked, reaching down for the hem of my dress, pulling it upwards. “We wouldn’t want to be caught… what would they think?”

“It would be such a scandal.” I agreed, feeling his hands now grip my thighs, pulling me up in one quick move.

He pinned against the wall, legs around his waist, leaving me in the perfect position to feel him thrusting his hardened dick against my crotch.

He touched his forehead to mine, and grinned.

“You’re fucking torture, Your Royal Highness.”

I grinned, happily, wrapping my legs tighter around him.

“You like it.”

He smiled in response, his hands rounded my thighs to reach below in between my legs, finding a path under my wet underwear.

“I do.” He confessed, touching me like it was the very first time. “I like it a lot.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: Well. This was a lot. LOL what do you think??? A lot of...stuff coming so I wanted to take a chapter for happiness only. Also, I promise all that family tree stuff is important. THANK YOU FOR READING AND SORRY I’M LATE! Have a grat week! Next chapter: invictus games! harry’s birthday! MM and Harry get careless... tune in to find out what happens ;) ]

[jubans]

title: chance encounter pairing: settsu banri/fem!reader rating: g (general) premise: on a perfectly normal morning, at the perfectly flourished breakfast table, taichi asks banri a perfectly off-putting question.

"ban-chan, how the heck is your hair so silky?!"

Banri usually starts up his day skirting everyone else in the lounge to be the first one in the showers. Unlike most of the men that reside in the Mankai dorms, he actually takes the time to scrub down every niche in his body until it's squeaky clean. But, oh, don't even get him started with the intricacies that came with taking care of his hair. That conversation is something none of the members of the troupe (except, maybe, Azuma) are ready for, and he likes to keep it that way.

But on a perfectly normal morning, at the perfectly flourished breakfast table, Taichi asks Banri a perfectly off-putting question.

"Ban-chan, how the heck is your hair so silky?!"

The neo gangster, as Yuki typically calls him, just finished shrugging on his school blazer when he casts Taichi a bizarre look. He has a notepad and a textbook in front of him, balancing a pen in his fingers as he stares back at Banri expectantly. The little brat is in the middle of cramming his homework, and he has the audacity to distract himself like that?

"Conditioner," is all he says in return, grabbing one of the toast slices Omi left for them.

Juza scoffs from where he's stuffing his face with pancakes on the other end. "That ain't very helpful." 

"I wasn't fucking talking to you, Hyodo," Banri grates at him dismissively. 

"Banri-kun," he hears Sakuya calling out from the lounge, where he and Masumi are already slinging their schoolbags across their shoulders. "You ready to go?"

He spares Taichi a minute nod of the head, telling him to stop doing his homework the day it's due before picking up his own bag. Then, he gives Juza the finger, earning a momentary scolding from Sakyo, who just happens to pass by when he does it. Then, after a few words in farewell bid to those who don't work nor study—Citron delaying their departure a little because he'd wanted to show how to make a blade (braid)—the Hanasaki High boys were on their way. 

"So noisy," Masumi mutters as he pulls the door behind him. "But if it was the Director, I wouldn't mind." 

Sakuya laughs, leading the way for the three of them. "There's never a dull moment in the dorms, huh?" 

As they traverse the short distance to school, Banri hangs back a little when Sakuya asks Masumi about the younger boy's literature class. Their conversation fades into background noise in his ears as he let his eyes wander around the neighborhood. But when they pass by a familiar intersection, Banri instinctively flickers his gaze at the tall, white house in the corner lot—a girl in a dark green uniform closing the gate behind her. 

You're preoccupied with something on your phone, oblivious to the three boys that are walking past your house—him included. But given that Ouka High is the opposite way from where they're headed, he doesn't even get the chance to slip in a quick hello. 

Well, it's not like you'd remember someone like him, right?

"Ugh, this sucks!"

A week after Banri moved into the Mankai dorms, he found himself facing a rather pressing dilemma: the shampoo provided for the troupe members made his hair disgustingly greasy.  

And that was how he wound up at the nearby grocery store, grumbling about how cheap that yakuza, Sakyo, was being with their commodities. If you want something else, buy it yourself, he told him. Giving the old man the last word might have let his pride take a hard blow, but it was a small price to pay for comfort. He'd rather kiss ass to the cheapskate than live another day with greasy hair.

But when he reached the toiletries section, he realized another thing. 

The brand he used at home was something his sister imported from another country. 

"Having trouble picking something out?"

Banri cast a withering glare at the girl who dared to point out his predicament, but his irritation morphed into curiosity when he noticed that you donned the familiar green of the Ouka High uniform. The next thing he noticed was the way your shiny, luscious hair cascaded down your shoulders, as smooth as a waterfall. He retracted his hostility for a minute, wondering if you could be his saving grace. Banri was good at a lot of things, but he didn't want to make any gambles with his current conundrum. 

"Yeah," he answered hesitantly. "Uh, do you know which brand doesn't make your hair oily? Shampoo brand, I mean." 

You blinked up at him for a second, confused, before your eyes lit up with realization. "Ah, O'Real is a really nice brand. Makes my hair really bouncy." To demonstrate, you swished your head around, making your long tresses sway with the movement in a dazzling fashion. "But you can't just settle with the shampoo. It's better to buy the value pack with conditioner over...here." 

Plucking one of the aforementioned value packs, you handed it to Banri without much preamble. He glanced at the price tag stuck to the bottom, and he had to force himself not to wince with how much it'll cost him. 

He was momentarily spared from his monetary concerns when he noticed you struggling to carry the basket you held in both hands. It was filled with an assortment of products ranging from laundry detergent to cold cuts. While he usually didn't offer girls his help lest they asked for it, Banri decided to make an exception.

"You need a hand with that?" He flicked his gaze downwards. 

You flushed at his offer, shaking your head (his eyes staring a bit too long at the way your hair moved once again). "Oh, no, no! I couldn't possibly bother you with—"

"Come on," he said, clicking his tongue as he plucked the basket from your grasp. "I ain't taking no for an answer. Consider this as...payback. For helpin' me out."

Relenting, you folded your arms across your chest, smiling up at him cheekily. "Would you at least tell me your name, then?" 

"Settsu Banri," he replied coolly. "You still headed to the other aisles?"

"Nope. I remembered last minute that I still have an unopened bottle of conditioner at home," you sigh, giggling at him. "You're not very delicate with girls, are you?"

He stiffened for a moment. Well, you weren't wrong. His sister was one of the toughest women he'd ever seen, and even though he didn't expect every woman to turn out the same way, Banri never once treated girls like fragile glass. His raucous behavior around them prompted most of his female classmates to steer clear of him—not that he'd minded, but this was the first time someone had spoken the words to his face.

"What about you?" he wondered gruffly in hopes of switching up the conversation. "What's your name?" 

"(Surname) (Name)," you told him with a cheeky grin. "Shall we go, Settsu-kun? I mean, you'd want to wash your greasy hair as soon as possible, right?"

His mouth hung agape with disbelief as you happily pranced out of the toiletries section—leaving him with the realization that there were people aside from Juza that could pick a fight with him. 

And, surprisingly, he'd let this one slide.

"You know (Name)?" 

Okay, he didn't expect Juza to react like that when Banri decided to ask him about you when his roommate arrived at home. 

"Yeah, I ran into her at the grocery store a few months back," he says, ticked off. "What's it to ya?"

"Stay away from her," Juza tells him off sharply as he swings his school bag up to his bed. "I mean it, Settsu. Fuck around with me, I don't care. But I swear to god, if you touch my cousin—"

Banri does a double-take on that one. "Cousin? How much fuckin' family do you have, Hyodo?" 

"A lot," he replies like he doesn't want to talk about it, but Juza's glare doesn't ease up and for a minute, Banri feels a genuine spite emitting from his roommate. The neo gangster sighs, twirling his phone in his fingers. He sort of knew that asking Juza about you would be a stretch even if you both went to the same school, but how the hell was he supposed to know that you were his goddamn cousin?

After you checked out your groceries that day, you managed to scam him into carrying them for you to your house as well. You were quite the charmer, he had to admit. You'd smooth-talked him into doing your bidding so easily that it was hard to imagine you being related to the mumbling nervous wreck of an actor that was Juza. 

It was a chance encounter, he thinks. He could have gone to a different grocery store at a different time at a different date, yet he was there specifically when you found him glaring at the shampoo and conditioner on the shelves. Banri doesn't believe in shit like fate or destiny, but it was a little freaky when he'd seen you again this morning after Taichi asked about his hair—months since he'd last seen you. 

"If it means anything, she's always been going to our shows, though," Juza mumbles a few minutes later, catching Banri by surprise. "She's been curious about the guy that's been pickin' fights with me all this time, and I told her it was the one who played Luciano in Picaresque."

"O-Oi!" he yells out. "Don't sully my name before she can even properly meet me!"

"Why do you care?" Juza challenges, brows raised with curiosity. "I thought you didn't give two shits about girls."

For the first time, he can't offer up a single retort. In a battle of wits, he thought he'd win against Juza in every instance, but now...

"Fuck off!" Banri shouted at him, storming out of their room as he hid the blush creeping up his neck from his roommate's view.

[honeydots]

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

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(ao3 link)

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“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit. 

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die. 

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had. 

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule. 

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable. 

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices. 

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant. 

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns. 

But, god, of all the coworkers. 

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left,  “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’” 

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else. 

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.” 

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant. 

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too. 

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.” 

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind. 

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.” 

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.” 

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance. 

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly. 

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.” 

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around. 

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped. 

“Quick reply there, buddy.” 

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things? 

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.” 

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.” 

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.” 

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.” 

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime. 

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.” 

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.  

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand. 

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass. 

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.” 

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—” 

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.” 

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of. 

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something. 

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto. 

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck. 

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.” 

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.” 

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance. 

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was. 

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched. 

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals. 

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated. 

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.” 

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter  shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie. 

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.” 

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up. 

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?” 

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!” 

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.” 

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned. 

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence. 

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now. 

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto. 

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.” 

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.” 

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point. 

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too. 

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.” 

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?” 

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.” 

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.” 

“This is not—”  

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.” 

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad. 

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care. 

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself. 

“What the eff, man!” 

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger. 

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?” 

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.” 

“Sweet,”  Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy. 

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.” 

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy? 

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?” 

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.” 

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now. 

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing. 

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead. 

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. 

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.” 

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?” 

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?” 

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living. 

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?” 

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job. 

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone. 

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add. 

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically. 

“Go on, dude,” he smirked. 

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach. 

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.” 

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant. 

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him. 

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself.  At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers. 

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it. 

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?” 

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.” 

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again. 

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.” 

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.” 

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now. 

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed. 

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand. 

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro. 

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.” 

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?” 

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible. 

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time. 

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.” 

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.” 

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.” 

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record. 

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more. 

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use. 

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t. 

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.” 

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense. 

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.” 

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable. 

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.” 

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.” 

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back. 

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.” 

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep. 

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.” 

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop. 

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet. 

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before. 

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind. 

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way. 

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today. 

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing? 

Perhaps. 

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later. 

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home. 

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through. 

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times. 

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way. 

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got. 

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do. 

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises. 

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category. 

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything. 

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad. 

Not so bad at all. 

[inventors-fair]

Brushwagg Commentary part 2

Okay I’ve calmed down now

There were a lot of themes this week. I noticed a lot of deathtouch, which is understandable considering the flavor of the brushwagg. One thing y’all gotta watch out for is repeatable deathtouch tokens. It makes limited games absolutely grueling when any attacker on the ground can be kileed by paying a couple mana or tapping a creature. And these would show up in limited, because boy you guys really like making uncommons! I know one of the winners was going to be a lower rarity card, but I think only about 6 or 8 people even bothered making rares. What’s up with that? Lastly, all of your guys’s homemade art was glorious. I was not expecting any new art, and while I don’t usually let it impact my judging (since this is about card design, and I don’t want to give artists an advantage), I was delighted at every piece.

@aethernalstars​ - Nyxthorn Brushwagg

Is that a pun? Because most enchantment creatures are called something like “nyxborn” which rhymes with “nyxthorn?” Because if so, shame on you. Anyway, a bestow brushwagg! I really like the idea of this, because putting the icnonic brushwagg coat on another creature just seems fun and cool. On his own, this guy makes your guys a little harder to kill in combat but also makes them worse at killing. The “may” here is really nice, though. Reminds me of Gustcloak Soldier in a way, which means that the bestow cost is right on the money. The fact that you can put this on a big guy to keep everyone safe is nice, and the idea that if you put it on just the right creature you can survive the fight AND kill the guy will feel great when it happens. I do worry that the effect is too niche and weak to see much play outside of Doran style decks (in which case dear lord), and I also don’t know how I feel about the bestow not granting +1/+1 like every other bestow creature. Regardless, the card seems fine, just a little hard to play, but great for those who want it.

@demimonde-semigoddess​ - Porringer Brushwagg

A porringer is a small dish used for soups, stews, and other dishes. Anyway, here’s a brushwagg. So first off, a 2/3 with persist for that mana cost is good! It’s the right cost I feel. The bad news: that ability is way off color. Only blue and red really do that, and with this being a hybrid card, both mono black and mono green need to be able to do it, but neither really do outside of the 5 color “-ling” cycle. It also seems a little bit pricey considering it already comes with a downside, but maybe that’s fine. I do like the idea of the card, it’s just a bit too hard of a color bend for me. Oh, and the art and flavor of this card are really good, I like how it tells a story.

NOTE: After writing this I found out porringer is a place in Lorwyn. That seems fair, then. Good name.

@deafeningsandwichpeach​ - Unstable Brushwagg

Second card with this name, but a completely different take. For one, our only artifact entry! So it’s a one mana 0/3 that acts as a one-time mini-boros reckoner, but only to creatures or planeswalkers. But it also has to survive the hit. Seems kind of narrow? Your opponent would have to attack into it, or knowingly block it just t let their stuff die anyway. But as soon as they get 3/X creatures all that’s out the window unless you hold up 3 mana each turn, which is not as easy as it sounds. I think if you reverse the phrasing on the first ability, something like “you may have it deal damage... if you do, sacrifice it,” you can get it to send the damage back even if it died from it. I think I’m making this guy sound worse than he is. Colorless pumping isn’t the worst, and an 0/3 for 1 with text will often see play for any number of random reasons. I think this card is perfectly fine, but nothing spectacular. It does feel adequately brushwaggy, even without some of the standard brushwagg stuff, just because of it’s self-pumping and vengefulness.

@deg99 - Apex Brushwagg

Our only silver-border brushwagg, surprisingly. Thoughhonestly? It could stand to be a little more silvery. That activated ability was a prime spot to put something silly for X. But hey, the last ability is definitely silver-border, and feels very on theme for such a prickly guy. The two keyword abilities are a scary mix, making sure that if this thing dies, it’ll die in combat, and when it does, it’ll take something down with it. Still, it’s weak enough that it can get hit by pyroclasms and the like if you tap out, so it’s not game-breaking. All in all this guy is fine, he’s just got a little too much pulling him in different directions to really work for me. Though the fact that you found brushwagg fanart is impressive all on its own.

@gollumni​ - Brushwagg Elder

Not with that creature type he’s not! I jest. This guy is pretty neat! The idea of an “activated ability matters” theme is neat in concept, and the fact that a lot of activated abilities require mana or to sacrifice something means the ability wouldn’t be so easy to trigger as you might think. I could even see this thing seeing play in older formats where no-mana abilities are easier to come by, like an arbor elf tap. On the other hand, in standard right now most creatures are played for ETBs, aman abilities, or just their bodies, so finding easily repeatable activated abilities is tough enough to not make this 1 mana 5/5 too easy. I still might either drop the P/T by 1 each or raise the cmc by 1, but I might be pvercompensating because this guy is hard to judge. Still, I really like this card and this concept, either as a draft archetype or possibly an overarching tribal theme.

@kytheon4-4 - Tumblewagg

Well, they are just tumbleweed monsters I suppose. So I’ve kind of got a big issue with this guy. Green does get indestructible and supertrample, and red gets “attacks each turn if able” and firebreathing, but together they make this card a color pie break. The only difference between supertrample and unblockable is that the blocking creature can still kill the attacking creature. But that’s not the case here. An opponent blocking here accomplishes nothing unless they have wither or something. So this just becomes an attacker that can’t be blocked and can pump for extra damage. That’s not particularly red green, and it’s not going to be fun to play against, and probably not great to play with, either. Not a fan.

@misterstingyjack​ - Flatlands Brushwagg

Wow does this guy have a lot going on. He’s got an ability counter, a dinosaur ability word, a flavor text referencing something that I can’t suite recall if its canon or not, and it’s a brushwagg! So a 3/2 with defender is pretty rough. Green is getting 3/2′s for two with upside nowadays, but the fact that this is common makes it a little more reasonable. The enrage ability is very weird here. 2 toughness means he has to somehow be dealt exactly 1 damage, and I doubt any opponent is going to attack with a one 1/x into it. So this guy needs a little help, either a ping from something or a defensive pump spell. And then you get a 4/3! That’s pretty good! I like it. I do worry about the wording on the enrage ability. It is phrased so that it gets the +1/+1 counter even if it has already lost it’s defender counter, but some new players might not realize that. At common, you better makes rue there’s nothing to trick new players. In general, I think this card is pretty good, but it’s just a little clunky here and there.

@naban-dean-of-irritation​ - Progenitor Brushwagg

I was expecting “protection from everything” with a name like that, but this is fine. It costs one more mana than the almighty ‘wagg and loses trample, but in return it pops open like a spider mama from that vine. Seems a little strong at uncommon, as any sort of pump, aura, or god forbid anthem makes this guy pretty ludicrous. We’ve seen sprouting thrinax do something similar but at a locked number in 3 colors, but myriad construct and thopter foundry have been artifacts at rare with the ability. So I think the power is not quite right. But the ability itself seems fine. I could see it being a pain to fight against, since you don’t really want to attack into it, but you don’t really want to kill it, and if you do then you have to deal with its babies, but I don’t think it’s a bad enough situation to make the card bad. I’d just say it needs some limiters, perhaps a more expensive activation cost, or a once per turn limitation.

@scavenger98​ - Possessed Brushwagg

I want to slap the roof of this guy and say he can fit so many tokens in him, but then I’d hurt my hand. So this guy is sort of afterlife 2, but also kind of just unblockable. Blocking this guy is just so much work and can go so poorly. Blocking with more than two creatures also seems unlikely, so I think it’s be safe to just say 2 instead of X for this card. It also seems really strong: it’s an evasive attacker with a big body and leaves behind flyers when it dies. That’s kind of comparable to the mythic Seraph of the scales. However, this still dies to removal much easier and doesn’t do anything in that case, but I could say that about any creature. I guess this is fine as a 3 color uncommon in most sets, but I think the power level of it is a little screwey, and the design itself is a little unnecessarily extravagant.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path​ - Tasty Brushwagg

I’m glad someone finally managed to do it. I like how this card tells a little story. I like how there’s an ability that wants you to let it die and an ability that stops it from doing it to create some tension. I don’t like the unlimited (as in not once a turn) pumping in green. Almighty Brushwagg had it, but that was a bit of a stretch already, and this guy can do it for way cheaper. It’s stepping into shade territory. I also think the power level on this common is a little high. A bear with one amazing upside and one pretty good one probably deserves to be at least an uncommon. So yeah, a little bit of power concern at common, and a bit of color pie bending.

[forgadgetsandgizmos]

What Comes Next

My final piece for Alex Manes Week 2020, written for day 6 | Prompt: The Lost Decade. Also, italics may not show up on mobile. They aren’t for me, not sure why. If that happens, you may want to read on AO3. 

Read it on AO3

May, 2009

Alex Manes had lost his virginity to a man.

The to a man part of that statement was important to him. The most important part, if he’s being honest, because six months after basic and it still surprised him. Growing up under Jesse, in Roswell of all places, he had expected to have to bite the bullet with a girl he (hopefully) didn’t hate, therefore crushing of the last thing of he had to fantasize about that his dad couldn’t poison. That, or stay a virgin forever.

Neither were very appealing options.

And it turned out that the poison of his father was far more infectious and lethal than he had imagined.

So yeah, the fact that he had managed to lose his virginity to a man without the world ending was what allowed him to find a bar two days before his first deployment, buy a man a beer, and follow him to his apartment where said man currently laid sprawled out under him, one hand on his chest and another gripping tightly to the headboard.

“Fuck, Alex.” His back arched up as Alex added another lubed finger in his ass, spreading them and stretching him open.

The man – Bryce? No, Boyd, – had started to top, but Alex hadn’t let him get as far as ripping open the condom before flipping him on his back and taking it himself. There was only one person Alex had bottomed for and he wasn’t interested in repeating the experienced for a drunk nobody from a bar he drove an hour to get to. Based off the loud moans coming from the man underneath him, it hadn’t been a problem.

“Just, just fuck me, please,” Boyd begged, spreading his legs further.

Alex pulled his fingers out and pressed his mouth to a nipple instead, flicking it with his tongue. This was his only chance to get laid until after an 8-month deployment.

They were just getting started.

* * *

December, 2010

The beers had yet to stop coming, the cheering and base of the music growing louder with each glass bottom he reached. Alex had raced past drunk 2 hours ago, eager to chase away pangs of regret over the beautiful man at the club’s bar who had caught his eye as soon as he walked in. Half his unit was here, still wearing their t-shirts identifying them as Air Force. Beautiful men weren’t in the cards tonight.

Based off the number of hands clasping his shoulder and inching him towards a group of obviously tipsy, well-dressed women, everyone else hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Come on, Alex, you need to lighten up,” Montgomery yelled over the music from behind him. “I know just the thing.”

And then warmth filled him as soft lips met his and a chest pressed against his own. He wrapped his hands around the hips and was faintly aware of his name being hollered.

The next thing he knew, wind was hitting his face and fingers were fumbling for his belt buckle. Another hand pulled his hair hard and Alex leaned into the touch, eyes closed. The hand on his belt, job completed, pulled up his shirt and pressed a cool touch. Lips hit his own again, a pair of breasts the only thing touching when they did.

Breasts?

Alex flung his open and took in everything he had missed before. He was in an alley, presumably behind the bar. The tug on his hair almost numbed it, but he could feel nails digging into where fingers curled against his skull. Long hair tickled his back where it slipped under his shirt. This was one of the women from the group inside, the one in the tight dress and heels she now teetered on.

Alex pulled back and gently pushed her off.

The dazed woman looked back at him.

“You’re drunk. Go back inside,” he finally said, still flustered. The alley around him seemed to spin.

He ignored the annoyed curses in favor of kneeling over and giving into the churning feeling making its way up his throat. He doesn’t know how long he laid there with a hand pressed against the stained bar wall before the city sounds where joined by faint music from inside.

Rough hands gently lifted him up, tilted his head back, placed something hard against his lips.

“Come on, Alex. Can you drink this for me?”

Cool water rushed down his throat. He grabbed the bottle, chugging the rest in an effort to wash away the taste of beer and cherry Chapstick. It ran down the sides of his chin onto his shirt. He dropped the empty bottle and pressed both hands against the cool concrete, intending to push himself up against the wall.

“Careful,” the voice warned.

Not fast enough. The word had barely registered before what colors he could see in the dark haze swirled together and the building pressure in his head finally popped.

-

Here, open up.

Light burned his eyes. He squeezed them tighter. The light was gone. It helped, a bit. Something small and round was pressed into his mouth, followed by a straw he slowly sipped from. It tasted strangely metallic.

Voices he couldn’t distinguish echoed.

A blanket was laid over him. He pulled it over his head and the hushed voices faded completely.

-

The pounding in his head woke him. At least it was dark this time. He curled in on himself and willed it away.

-

Alex opened his eyes to morning light just barely peeking out from behind his blackout curtains. He was in his bed, tucked under a pile of blankets. A note folded in half was placed on the nightstand.

>>Take these, dumbass

Advil lay beside a glass of water. A trash can was underneath.

Alex moved to sit up and a body in the bed shifted next to him. Jaimie and Nibble’s sleeping forms snored lightly beside him. Across the room, Montgomery slept in a chair, curled up with a blanket Alex recognized from his living room.

They had stayed. Alex did as he was told and laid back down, a ghost of a smile on his face.

* * *

January, 2012

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed officially back in September of 2011. He got the news from a friend of a friend while he was deployed in West Africa.

Alex didn’t sleep that night, and it wasn’t because of the heat.

* * *

June, 2013

The couple across from him was laughing. Clay’s old service buddy had told a bland military joke that had sent Clay and the other couple, old friends he’d met before, into a fit of laughter. Clay apparently saw his confused expression over the reaction it had caused and explained: it had been an inside joke from before their unit had split up and the buddy (whose name was currently unknown due to Alex forgetting to listen when the man introduced himself) had retired with an honorable discharge.

To his annoyance, group of 7 isn’t enough to hide in and the wine in front of him couldn’t make up for that or the bland chicken casserole in front of him. Alex consoled himself by remembering that in hour, maybe less, he could excuse himself from the family-and-friends dinner from hell without offending anyone or getting an angry phone call from Dad later about how he had, yet again, disappointed and embarrassed him.

“Don’t like that kind of humor,” a gentle voiced asked. Miranda, Clay’s wife, sat to his right. Clay had taken the seat at the head of the table, leaving Miranda sitting between them.

“You hear it a lot,” he answered. And you did, especially as the youngest of four in a military family where everyone joined a different branch.

“I’ve been a military wife for a decade,” she said with a laugh. “Trust me, I know. But that’s not what I asked.”

Alex tipped his head. “Very astute. And to answer your question, it’s not exactly my niche.”

She hummed. “No date, tonight?”

“I’ve been pretty busy with my station at base. Haven’t had a lot of time for meeting people.”

“Well, we missed you at Christmas.”

It was Alex’s turn to humm. He appreciated the sentiment, but considering he’d had one of the best Christmas’ in years celebrating at Patrick’s place with eggnog, rum balls, and a family that, despite not being his own, had welcomed him with his own stocking hung among the others? He somehow doubted that.

“Okay,” Miranda rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I missed you at Christmas. You left me alone with a bunch of vulgar boys!”

“I don’t count as a vulgar boy?”

Miranda shot him a sly smile and leaned in until she could speak directly into his ear. “I think we both know you’re the exception to the Manes family, in the best ways possible.” She met his eyes and glanced pointedly down to her stomach and glass of water. “I hope they take after you.”

The wife of Clay’s buddy, who’d brought the bad tasting casserole, caught Miranda’s attention to ask about a fundraiser she was planning.

I hope he takes after you.

Huh. Clay, a father. He felt a twang of regret over the state of his strained relationship with Clay at the idea of missing out on knowing his little niece or nephew.

“It’s for a good cause,” the woman was insisting. “Fundraising is important in times like these. It’ll do good to see a handsome Airman like you supporting them.”

Alex regretting tuning the woman out earlier. Aside from her asking him to involved in a fundraiser, he had tuned out what exactly he was being asked to do, and for what. It must be something military, he supposes. He hadn’t heard them talk about other causes.

“It’ll be good to see you again, Alex.” Miranda nudged his shoulder. “I miss having a brother-in-law around. And you’ll still be placed at Griffiss in December, so it’ll only be a short train ride down.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Clay added, almost an afterthought.

Alex took another bite of his chicken casserole, thought about a baby growing up in Clay’s household, with his father and Flint for regular visitors, and agreed.

-

An hour later, Alex excused himself with fumbled explanations and Clay clasped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate you helping out, baby bro." He leaned in closer to whisper “I know this isn’t your usual style.”

“The department really appreciates your donation,” Clay’s buddy (whose name Alex still hadn’t found out) exclaimed with an obvious wink.

The department?

Oh. Not his style.

This was a Christmas police fundraiser. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He would never admit to it, but for the first time in his life, he sent up a (unanswered) prayer to get deployed.

* * *

December, 2013

“Wear your dress blues,” they said.

“Make sure you’ve got a nice change of clothes,” they said.

“You’ll have to plan on staying for a day or two after the fundraiser,” they said.

At no point did they bother to say by the way, you’re going to be on a stage being auctioned off to woman and wives of the force for a date.

Alex got to find that out from the announcer on said stage.

It wasn’t nightmare-worthy embarrassing, but only because an older woman in her sixties named Barbara had bought him for $600 in auction. She said she had a grandchild who’d appreciate “a man like himself.” What that meant, Alex didn’t know.

He got to see Miranda, 7 months pregnant, waddling around in her dress. She beamed at him and pressed his hand to her stomach. She didn’t tell anyone that his eyes teared up when he felt the tiny kicks.

-

Barbara insisted Alex accompany her and her grandson, Will, to mini golf. It was innocent enough until the end, when Alex climbed into Will’s car alone after She ditched them for a friend who she ‘coincidentally’ ran into right as the three finished their game.

It seems that ‘a man like himself’ turned out to mean gay.

Will took Alex back to his apartment where Barbara had insisted Alex drove meet them and then leave Clay’s borrowed car.

He had barely shut the door behind him when Will had him pressed against the wall, inches from his face.

“Is this okay,” he whispered.

Alex leaned forward and kissed him.

They didn’t waste any time before making their way over to the bed in Will’s small room. Sitting against the bed while Will stood between his legs, Alex ripped off Will’s shirt and unfastened his belt while Will undid his own.

Alex grabbed Will’s hand seconds before he could pull down his briefs. “I’m a top,” he stated. “Is that okay for you?”

“Lube and condoms are in the top drawer,” Will grinned.

Alex didn’t tease him. After Will was prepped, he turned him around and lined up his cock with Will’s ass. He traced a finger lightly down his spine, feeling Will’s body tremble at the soft touch, and pushed in.

Unlike Alex, Will wasn’t quiet. He came with a shout onto the bed just before Alex, and both men laid on the bed panting.

They exchanged numbers before Alex left.

* * *

February, 2015

The news came that Miranda had filed for divorce.

In October, a judge grants her majority custody of Eugene ‘Tripp’ Manes IV. Clay would have visitation every other weekend.

-

Alex visited for Tripp’s one-year birthday. It was adorable; Miranda got him this miniature cake that he shoved in his mouth face first.

Clay is there. Miranda says they parted amicably enough, and she wants Tripp to have a father, even if she can’t have a husband.

It’s the best trip there he’s ever had.

-

Alex visited Will before he left and ended up staying an extra day. They don’t do much talking but agree to meet up when Alex comes down to babysit Tripp for a weekend that Miranda and Clay will both be out of town.

-

They do. It’s nice.

* * *

April, 2017

Alex got the notice that he’s being deployed via email at midnight two weeks before he’s due to report.

He almost didn’t, but he called Will. They spend the two weeks in bed.

* * *

September, 2017

He’s a codebreaker. He doesn’t go out in the field. It’s what he told Will when he left (It’s as safe as it can be, don’t worry. I’ll call if I can, okay?) He actually does, too.

“Don’t be typing too much, now,” he always says at the end of every call. “Don’t want those fingers cramping up.” He sounds suggestive when he says it and it reminds Alex what they are: fuck buddies that ended up friends-with-benefits. In that sense, he likes it.

On the other hand, him saying ‘other activities’ always makes him picture freezing up when he needs to pull the trigger, and the other guy pulling it first.

He has nightmares about that.

-

The combatants they’re up against got a new hacker. They must have, because someone had the sense to limit system access to a specific location ping tied to the server that he needs to access.

“What does that mean?” Patrick sounds nervous at Alex’s tone and it’s not fucking helping.

“It means that even if I spoof my location and claim I’m within the vicinity of the system, the server sweeps for a signal to be bounced back within the set perimeters. Since I won’t be there, the signal can’t get bounced back and the system triggers an alarm that shuts it down.”

The team stared at him, silent.

“And?” Patrick again, apprehensive this time.

Alex sighed. “It means I have to go there.”

-

No one is happy about it, but they have a plan.

Another unit fakes a mission gone wrong on the opposite side of base to draw attention. Montgomery takes out the guards left on side Alex needs access to with a sniper. Jaimie and Nibble drive Alex to the perimeter edge so he can step inside. Ten minutes, and his program gets everything they need. He, Nibble, and Montgomery on sniper can watch Jaimie’s back while he drives away.

Alex got all the way inside the perimeter before things go sideways. With three minutes on the clock, they’re spotted. And for three minutes, everything is fine. He’s dressed like them, they all are, so no one attacks him in his hiding spot in a personal tent. He made it within feet of the jeep when the world explodes. He woke up to screams and a piercing ringing filling his head. Smoke clouds his view of anything past him, but he doesn’t need to see to feel the heavy metal of the jeep railing crushing his leg.

The ringing doesn’t stop, he can’t hear, and if he can’t hear, he doesn’t know if it’s safe to call for help or move or do anything. Bullets flying light up the red-tinged smoke. The red doesn’t make sense at first, but he tried to lift his head, to understand, and the dripping on the ground is clear. His eye has blood over it, from a head wound it seems, and the stinging is so bad that despite his best efforts, they shut.

Private.

Can you open your eyes for me, private?.

He’s hallucinating. Why else would those curls be brushing against his head?

Captain Manes!

* * *

October, 2017

Alex let the darkness take him in Iraq and woke up in Germany.

He’s been in a medically induced coma for two weeks. There are three things that he knows.

Jaimie and Nibble are dead. Patrick’s eyes are rimmed red when he tells him.

He missed the funeral.

And it turned out that he’s missing a lot more than a funeral. It’s not there but he feels it, feels it fucking burning and it won’t stop and he’s screaming and screaming and screaming.

Patrick offered to call Will. Alex remembers trying to shake his head and shooting pain. Whatever happened, Will never called.

When Alex opened his eyes after that first time, Jesse was there. He couldn’t deal with – but he hadn’t seen him yet.

Alex closed his eyes again.

* * *

January, 2018

Physical therapy makes him want to pull out his hair, but he still doesn’t think it as bad as actual therapy.

His PTSD triggers aren’t so black and white as a lost limb, and he isn’t about to unload the drama of his abusive Air Force father onto an Air Force-mandated therapist. It’s a waste of time for the entire eight weeks mandated.

* * *

April, 2018

The news was early, which was unusual. The Air Force is anything but fast acting, and he submitted his request four days ago. Allowing for a week, the earliest he should be getting this letter is Friday.

It was Wednesday.

Alex ripped it open and read the words. And read them again. And again.

But no matter how many times he reads them, the words haven’t changed. Aren’t going to.

Per request, you are assigned to Roswell, New Mexico for the duration of your commitment.

He’s going home.

See it on AO3

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 1

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, me writing Niall’s accent

WC: 6.7k

-----------

“So… are we talking like, full on whips and chains and nipple clamps and shit?”

Shawn’s eyebrows are lost somewhere in his hairline, but at least it’s more life in his eyes than Niall’s seen in a while. Niall tries not to go pink at Shawn’s assumption, but he’s still not that good at talking about all this.

“No, no, mate. I mean, some of ‘em do that. I think, I mean, based on what you pay for it, they’ll do whatever you want.”

Both guys go quiet and squirm a little uncomfortably. They’re sitting in Shawn’s living room in his $3 million bachelor pad, furnished very tastefully and expensively, talking about hiring sex workers. It doesn’t look or feel great.

Niall sighs. “It’s not like Pretty Woman. These girls don’t even charge by the hour. They’re escorts, not hookers. They’re educated and articulate and the kind o’ woman you could have on your arm at any industry schmoozing event and no one would bat an eye. That’s the whole point.”

Shawn nods thoughtfully. He’s heard of agencies like this, obviously. He’s been around the industry long enough to know guys like him, and producers and managers and agents and other high-powered men, aren’t driving down Hollywood Boulevard looking for $200 an hour streetwalkers. But that doesn’t mean Shawn’s ever remotely considered utilizing a service like this.

“But… they’re dominatrixes?”

Niall tips his head back and forth, squinting as he looks for the words. “They’re dommes. ‘S a bit different. La Splendeur is the name o’ the agency. They hire women that boss you around a bit, in some form or an udder. I mean, have you ever tried that?”

Shawn flushes a little and scrolls through his relatively short sexual history. “... sort of? Like, she’s on top?”

Niall sighs and closes his eyes with a wise smile. He has much to learn.

“‘S just a suggestion. La Splendeur is the best of the best. Super discreet. Beautiful. Interesting girls. And it’s better stress relief than I’ve found anywhere else.”

“Including golf?” Shawn quips.

Niall barks a laugh. “Including golf. I’ll leave you the number and you can decide. I really like Karina, but it might be weird knowin’ we’ve both had our hands in that cookie jar. Up to you, mate. Totally up to you.”

+

Shawn has never been so anxious about a phone call in his life. He goes through his phone and turns off location services first, suddenly paranoid that they could somehow track his device and be able to broadcast this for the whole internet. Plus, he’s busy with pre-festival run promo, so he’s forced to make the call in the middle of the day. 

He goes to great lengths not to be heard, very publicly excusing himself to the bathroom and then running off to a quiet conference room down a hallway that was deserted. He shuts himself inside, stands in the corner by the window and dials, hands shaking.

The voice on the phone is smooth and easy, probably used to dealing with nervous wrecks like him all the time. She explains how it works -- the rates, the wire transfer, the security, the booking. Selecting his date comes down to an emailed photo portfolio, password encrypted and accompanied by a very stern warning not to share it with anyone, even potential referrals. Shawn supposes that makes sense -- they don’t want these photos getting passed around without the safety net of knowing that in return, the agency has the client’s private email address.

He’s twitchy all day before he can get home to his laptop, kick off his Saint Laurent chelsea boots, and pick his date.

‘Date’ is how he’s trying to think about it. Niall encouraged that, too. Shawn texted to let him know that he’d made the call (less than 24 hours after Niall had made the suggestion). Niall was over the moon, reminding him that it’s supposed to be fun and he shouldn’t feel weird about calling. It’s like a guaranteed great first date, just… a really expensive one.

Shawn opens the email to a PDF of professional and truly stunning photos. Each girl has a short bio and a series of shots that really don’t feel at all like advertisement for sex. He takes note of Karina, Niall’s favorite, a short and curvy Filipino girl who apparently excels at tennis, loves to sail and has an MBA. Her photos are gorgeous -- her on a beach wearing a tasteful cover-up and a flower in her hair with just enough cleavage to catch a guy’s attention, standing beside a tall window in a snug dress and heels, and grinning on a tennis court, a cute candid.

In total, there are about 25 women on La Splendeur’s roster of sorts, more than Shawn expected. They’re incredibly diverse in terms of race, shape and size, all accomplished and learned and surprisingly non-threatening, given the niche service they provide. Only one had him scrolling back up to look at her again and again.

Penny, 26, has a master’s degree in criminal psychology, is fluent in four languages, is an excellent skier and has a German shepherd named Pamela. Her photos show her lying barefoot in a cocktail dress on a lounge chair with a look in her eyes that says she already knows everything about you, looking over her shoulder to laugh at the camera during golden hour from above the Hollywood sign, and his personal favorite, a black and white close up headshot. She doesn’t look to be wearing a stitch of makeup. Her hair is wet and slung over and around her face like it’s in the wind. Her lips are parted, her eyes are dark, and Shawn has to meet her immediately. 

Penny. Penny. Penny.

God, he can’t fucking wait. He’s so keyed up he actually grins at the change he gets from a barista at Commissary because she gives him back two cents.

His instructions are clear and concise. He is to get himself to the Chateau Marmont and head into the bar, where he will give his name. Someone will escort him up to his suite for the evening, where he will be greeted by security, who will confirm the receipt of the wire transfer and wait until his date arrives. Check out time is 11:30am the next morning.

The big guy who lets him into the room seems friendly enough, but Shawn is sure his every move is being watched by a hawk. Even with rich and famous clientele, agencies can’t afford to take risks with their employees. At least he doesn’t feel like a nervous kid being scrutinized by his prom date’s dad while he waits. In fact, the guy, Gus, he says, sees him shaking like a leaf and murmurs that the mini bar is fully stocked. He excuses himself to wait outside.

Shawn pours himself a glass of bourbon on the rocks and looks around. He’s never been in a room at the Chateau. It’s a bit odd -- almost too comfortable to be a hotel. There’s a full kitchen and vintage furniture that looks like it belongs in a warm, comfortable apartment rather than the stoic uniformity of a hotel.

He’s rattling ice in his glass anxiously and staring out at the lights of West Hollywood when the door opens. He’s just distracted enough not to stand immediately when she walks in, and he realizes a little late that it’s rude, so he scrambles to be upright and almost drops his fucking crystal glass.

She’s smiling warmly at him like they’re old family friends. It’s not clinical or superficial or forced. It’s a real smile, and it’s so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

I mean, wow.

She’s medium height, 5’7” probably, but taller in her spiky heels. Her hair is lighter than he saw in the pictures, probably from the summer sun. Her olive skin is gorgeously bronzed. Her brown eyes are darker than his, like espresso. Her eyes are wide set and framed by well tamed thick brows. Her lips are full and European. Italian, he’d guess.

So why is her name Penny?

Shawn almost rolls his eyes at himself. He doesn’t know why that’s sticking in his head now, of all moments. Gus gives her a nod and shuts the door. As she approaches, graceful and quiet even in her heels, Shawn blinks, staring at the door.

“Is… uh, does he stand outside the whole time?”

Penny smiles again and cocks her head, shaking it. “No, no. He’s my driver, not my guard dog.”

Shawn gives a weak chuckle and it sounds pathetic to his own ears. At the mention of dogs, his mind springs to Pamela the German shepherd. He wonders if she’s real or a line in a bio to make Penny sound quirky and likeable. He watches her lift her sheath of thick hair over one shoulder and reach for the glass of bourbon in his hand to take a sip. He decides he doesn’t care.

“Please, have a seat,” she suggests, gesturing to the sofa. He blinks too much and plunks himself down, clearing his throat.

She lowers herself beside him, facing him with her arm stretched along the back of the couch toward him. She folds her ankles and for a second Shawn thinks about the scene in The Princess Diaries when Mia falls out of her chair trying to pull the same move. Penny emulates Queen Clarisse instead. Shawn tenses against his own will. He can feel himself shutting down.

Penny takes another sip of his drink and eyes him carefully from over the glass. She’s been doing this long enough to know when a guy is locking up in front of her eyes. 

It’s like Operation. You have to move slow and careful, or you get zapped. He could be the kind of guy that would respond well to her dropping her hand to his knee while they talk, or it could send him springing across the room. Penny follows her instincts and instead flicks her heels until her multi-thousand dollar shoes clunk onto the hardwood below her. She curls up her feet beside her and tilts her head to rest against her fist.

“How long are you in LA for?”

It’s one of her favorite safe questions. It offers potential to discuss work if he wants to go there, but is vague enough to offer him an out if he wants it.

“Uh, for another couple weeks. I’ve got some meetings and events and stuff and then I think I’m bouncing around. New York, maybe. I don’t know my schedule as well as I probably should.”

Well, at least he’s talking. She hands him back his glass with a wink.

“Schedule schmedule.”

Shawn smiles. It’s tentative still, but sweet. She made the right move by taking off a layer of the untouchable glamour.

It’s her move again. She considers the board, eyes her options, keeps her fingers delicate on the tweezers.

“I listened to your music this week.”

It’s a risky shot, like going for the funny bone. She already knows, can tell by the way he carries himself, that he’s here to work something out of his system. This appointment isn’t about satisfying a rakish curiosity or an ego thing, or worse, a sex addiction. He needs something from her -- comfort, release. If it’s his music that’s driving him to need her, mentioning it off the bat like this could do some damage to the trust she’s working to build. She holds her breath.

He lights up.

“Oh, cool. All of it?”

She wiggles her naturally shaped eyebrows. “Right down to “Something Big.””

Shawn winces playfully and laughs. It sounds real this time. “Yikes.”

“No, it was cute,” she insists, her fingers stretching out along the back of the couch to nudge at his very solid arm. He goes a little pink.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Shawn doesn’t mean to put her on the spot. For all he knows, she just googled his albums to have something to say. But he asks anyway, despite himself, because he’d like to know which, if any, of his songs caught the attention of a woman like her.

“I like “Particular Taste.” It came on in my car the other day while I was on Mulholland. It’s a damn good car song.”

Shawn feels himself get a little smug. “Thanks. I like that one, too.”

They’re watching each other quietly, feeling the tension build. Penny wets her lips and leans in, getting ready to speak again.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Shawn blurts. His eyes go a little comically wide before he course corrects and inspects his nearly empty glass.

Penny is startled, but tucks some hair behind her ear and regroups. “Almost five years.”

“Wow. That’s… wow.”

Penny shares a wise sort of smile that reminds Shawn uncomfortably of Emily. “It’s nice work if you can get it.”

“Right,” Shawn croaks, glancing away.

Penny feels the gentle sting of having nicked the board just a bit with her tweezers. She reaches out the arm against the couch and lets her fingertips skim his lush curls. His chest shudders and his eyes dart toward the window. He raises his shaky hand with the empty glass to his lips for something to do.

Penny drops her other hand to his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, all honey, “Would you like me to refill that?”

Shawn looks down at his drink and shakes his head. “N-no, that’s ok.”

Penny swipes her tongue over the front of her teeth and decides to toss her playbook aside the way she does on rare occasions.

She scoots in, cups his cheek in her hand and focuses his eyes on hers. His jaw twitches under her fingers.

“What do you want, Shawn?”

He blinks quickly, startled that she said something, confronted him with the actual situation they’re dealing with.

“I’m… I don’t know. Can… can we just talk for a while?”

She eases back a little, drops her hands in her lap. “Of course. About anything in particular?”

Shawn bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “How did you get into… escorting?”

He emphasizes the last word as a question, unsure if he’s using the right terminology. She nods reassuringly.

“Well, around the time I was graduating from college, I met a girl at a party who recruited me, for lack of a better term. She told me about the money, the tips, the security, the gifts. Sounded pretty good to a 20-year-old without a post-grad plan.”

Shawn’s eyebrows lift. “You graduated college at 20?”

She shrugs. “I skipped the 4th grade and AP tested out of most of my freshman year.”

He’s impressed. And intimidated. He fights the instinct to curl him up into himself. He doesn’t want to feel small beside her. He wants to feel impressive, too.

“That’s pretty cool. Do you do this full time?”

Penny laughs. It’s light and airy and maybe just a little… restrained somehow.

“Yes. You’re very curious about my line of work.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be-- I mean, I just… Sorry--”

She stops him from stumbling all over himself by planting a hand around his wrist.

“It’s ok. I’m just not used to being asked. Most people… they don’t want to be reminded that they’re paying for it.”

As soon as she says it, she hears the mistake in her words. Fucking amateur bullshit, she scolds herself, watching him cave in. His eyes drop to his feet and his chest rises and falls a little harder.

“Hey,” she prompts gently, keeping her hands off this time for fear of sending him flying, “Don’t shut down on me.”

He looks back at her blankly. “Don’t…?”

She presses her tongue out to smooth along her lower lip. “I’m here to help make you feel good, Shawn. I’m excellent at knowing how best to do that, but I think I’m gonna need an assist from you this time. So just… don’t think, don’t act, don’t react, just feel it. And tell me what you want.”

“I want to cuddle.”

He says it so suddenly he surprises himself. Without missing a beat, Penny nods, formulating a new gameplan in her head. She bites her lip and reaches for his twitchy hand in his lap.

“Ok. I can do that. I just want to get comfy first, ok?”

Before he can wonder out loud what she’s going to change into and how she got clothes in here without him seeing, she leans in and presses her lips to his delicately. His frazzled brain lights up like the 4th of July, sending thoughts flying like out of control fireworks. He kisses back after a second or two, firm but chaste. He murmurs subtly into her mouth.

Small victories.

When Penny walks out of the bathroom five minutes later, her makeup is wiped clean, leaving her face a little shiny and flushed. She’s in touchably soft clingy leggings and a Lululemon hoodie, looking like an athleisure ad. She’s still barefoot, her white painted toes winking up at him before she drops onto the bed and waves him over. He makes to climb up next to her and she hisses, gesturing to him with a wave of her hand.

“I took off my armor, Mendes, you need to do the same.”

Shawn swallows and smiles shyly. He kicks off his shoes, balls up his socks and drops his jeans into a heap by the bed. In his taut navy t-shirt and custom printed Calvin Klein boxer briefs, he settles in beside her, mirroring her position on his side.

“Ok, cards on the table, I think. Bad breakup? Tour anxiety? Voice struggles?”

Shawn’s chest rises and falls heavily with a deep, unrestrained sigh. There’s no reason to hide from her. She doesn’t know him. She doesn’t have expectations. She’s a safe space.

He stares down at the curve of her hip as he speaks. He tells the story from what he thinks is the beginning -- Emily’s first mention of the idea of the PR relationship with Bex. He explains the strategy and the trajectory, that they expect to be in and out of the public eye throughout the summer festival run and will not-so-quietly break up just around the time his album releases in the fall and Bex heads out on tour for her brand new EP.

Penny nods along while he speaks, pursing her lips and shifting slightly closer to him. She’s not working consciously, not timing the seconds between movements like she sometimes does, like she did even just on the couch a few minutes ago. But as he talks, she feels the tension start to drip off him and release to the point where she has no hesitation in slipping her fingers into the tight, short curls at the back of his neck while she runs her toes up and down the back of his calf.

He seems comforted by being able to touch her, too. He rests a hand in the dip of her waist and it wanders slightly up her ribcage and upper arm, twisting his long pale fingers in her hair. He watches it curl and bend for him. He can’t remember the last time he played with a woman’s hair like this.

When his cursory explanation ends, he closes his eyes and rests his head on his folded arm. Penny’s fingers tug gently at the nape of his neck for his attention.

“Sounds like a lot.”

Shawn’s chest stutters. His eyes well. He turns his face into the pillow, embarrassed by the hair trigger of his emotional reaction.

“S-sorry, I just… fuck. I don’t know why I’m--”

He cuts himself off with a final unintended whimper of defeat, a nice bookend on a chunk of shame he can hang onto and revisit in his head when he needs it the least.

His eyes are snapped shut. The tears on his lashes start to wick into the expensive fabric of the pillowcase beneath his head. He’s waiting for her -- he doesn’t know what for. He’s waiting for her to leave him there to cry it out, get back in her expensive shoes and clack away from his misery. He’s waiting for her to shove a hand down his boxers and give him what she thinks he paid for. He’s waiting for her to hate him like he hates himself right now.

Slowly, timidly, he opens his eyes. She’s there, blinking at him, face as placid and reassuring as he’s seen since she got here. She doesn’t look ready to run. She doesn’t look at him like the pitiful creature he’s acting like. She slides her long fingers up further to cradle the back of his head and make his wet eyes flutter.

“Would you like to hear what I think?”

Shawn pauses, then nods.

Penny wets her lips. “I think maybe you’re not very good at compartmentalizing yet.”

Shawn frowns slightly and starts turning circles on her lower back with the pad of his thumb, nodding at her to continue.

“This relationship stunt doesn’t define you as a man or as an artist. It’s publicity, the same way appearing on GMA is publicity. It’s not as honest, maybe. I can see that’s part of what bothers you. I can understand that. But this is a means to an end. You’re not using Bex; she’s aware of what she’s involved in. She benefits, too.

“So instead of letting this become something that bothers you in quiet moments, makes you question what this makes you look like or even who this means you’re becoming, you need to accept that this is a part of your job and it’s not who you are.”

Shawn blinks dumbly. He’s been trying to convince himself of this for a while, but he’s never come close to sounding as soothing and confident as she does right now. This woman listened to him yammer for seven minutes about his stupid pop star problems without rolling her eyes or waving off his concerns.

Thank god he’s paying her to be here or he swears he’d already be half in love with her.

Shawn closes his eyes and nuzzles his cheek against the pillow. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes you may.”

He opens his eyes and watches her, settled by the distinct sensation that she’s allowing him to proceed as he’s comfortable. At the same time, he’s deliciously unnerved by something lurking behind her eyes, like she’s deciding how long to give him before she takes over. He hopes it won’t be long.

Shawn cups a large palm around her cheek, marveling at the silkiness of her hair in his fingers as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. He hears himself murmur gently at the slick warmth of her lip balm. It tastes like rose water and coconut. 

He eases back after a moment, his head spinning.

“Jesus Christ, that’s incredible.”

Her long, dark lashes lift and lower lazily, casting shadows on her cheeks in the lamplight. “Kissing me?”

He shakes his head, marveling with a gentle groan, “Yes. Why does kissing you feel like the best thing that’s happened to me in months?”

“It’s simple. It’s stable. It’s honest.”

She says it like she didn’t have to think about it. She’s unwavering and direct and he knows she’s probably really good at all this because of who she is and what she does but he doesn’t think he cares right now if it’s not genuine. It feels too fucking good.

He smirks. “Do you have an answer for everything?”

Her full lips spread in a lazy grin. “Yes.”

“Thank god,” Shawn mutters just before pressing his lips back to hers.

Shawn has no idea what to expect. It’s been what’s had him on a knife’s edge since he booked this appointment. His curiosity has been his friend while zoning out in meetings, standing in security lines at airports, stripped down to his boxers in front of a team of people while trying on show clothes. An experience like this to look forward to was an intense enough distraction from his anxiety.

And now, lying in a bed next to her with her perfect tongue tangled with his and her soft hands roaming his body hungrily, but with purpose, his mind races -- what will this be like? What will this feel like? Is it really as good as Niall says?

She pulls back suddenly, her lips leaving his with a wet smack. His hips rut against her stomach in response.

“Time for you to stop thinking,” she rasps. Shawn squirms at the fucked-out quality of her voice. Is it at all possible that he’s got her as worked up as she has him? He’s already throbbing for her in his briefs, which he knows she can feel against her thigh.

He brushes his nose against hers a little desperately, silently begging for more. Even with his eyes closed, he can tell she’s smiling when she cups his cheek and rolls their bodies so she’s lying slotted up against him in every way that makes him crazy.

“You like kissing, huh?” she breathes. It’s not teasing, not really. It’s curious and gentle. He can feel the way she takes note of the things that have him panting a little harder, pressing into her more insistently. It makes him feel important and a little bashful. He nods anyway, lifting the corner of his mouth.

“You’re a good kisser, Shawn,” she sighs into his mouth, dropping her weight into her hips and sliding her hands up his chest to rest over his pecs.

If her tongue wasn’t teasing his lower lip, he’d be grinning like an asshole.

His hands are growing frantic. They can’t decide where they like better -- her supernaturally soft hair, coursing up and down her spine, or resting on the toned swell of her ass. So they wander, getting grabbier as they go, until she pulls away again with a long lick of her wet lips.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He hears himself ask it over the rushing of blood in his ears. He can tell by the way she smiles down at him that he looks horrified at his own question. She pushes some curls off his forehead and looks him over, slowly, carefully, admiringly. Shawn is on fire beneath her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

As if in slow motion, she tucks a hand under his neck. The motion fixes his manic, desperate eyes on hers. His breathing slows. His heart drops into his gut. His jaw tightens.

“Anything I want.”

Her voice is hot and sharp. Shawn’s face screws up like his body is physically overwhelmed by the idea of all the pleasure she can offer him. His eyes snap shut and the groan he releases is inhumanly loud.

When he can force himself to look back up at her, Penny has straddled his hips and works on lifting her hoodie up and over a black bra that he’s sure only a woman like Penny could wear… like that.

Her breasts are full and soft, as evenly tanned as the rest of her, from what he can see, which is not enough. He gets a flash of a vision of her lying on the chaise on the balcony outside their Chateau suite without a stitch on her, sipping a mimosa and smiling when she catches him admiring her. He grunts and reaches for her, needing to take and touch and taste.

His hands are pinned beside his head before he gets far. He gasps. His eyes blur with her quick movement until they can refocus and realize she’s holding him down, her breasts a breath away from his mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

“Listen to me.”

It’s clear and stable and calm like a beacon in a storm. Shawn juts his chin up defiantly, licking his lips.

“You don’t touch me until I tell you to. If you do, you don’t touch me at all, not for the rest of the night. Do you understand?”

Shawn’s fingers curl into fists beside his head. His body aches, straining for the control she’s sapping from him. He’s not used to willingly giving it up, not anywhere, not for anyone.

“Take a deep breath,” she advises, feeling him struggle with the release of it, of the reins he’s held for so long his hands are fucking raw. His whole body feels raw looking up at her.

He does as he’s told. Her eyes are nearly black in the low light. He feels his shoulders soften and the squeezing of his heart start to slow, just a bit.

“You’re gonna have to walk me through this,” he grunts, shaking his head, “I-- I’m… for so…”

“I know,” she soothes, not to placate him, not to baby him. She wants him to know she understands. He feels it in the way she looks at him, the way she massages her fingers around his wrists. 

He’s ok. He’s safe. He’s safe with her. It hits him all at once like a brick over the head. He swallows.

“I’m here to take care of you. I want to make you feel as good as I possibly can.”

He nods again.

She moves slowly, gracefully, like a lithe and dangerous predator. She pushes her leggings down her hips, sliding them off her feet until they’re forgotten in a pool at the end of the bed. His shirt and boxers join them, leaving his cock aching and leaking from the tip on his lower belly. He lies beside her, as instructed, with his arms over his head, grasping a pillow in his needy fingers.

She just… touches him. 

He thought at first she was just going for a slow tease, would wrap her warm fingers around his cock after thirty seconds or so to get him somewhere, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan. He’s flat beside her, legs slightly spread, tensing and relaxing with each brush of her fingertips.

Before long, he realizes what she’s doing and it stuns him into holding his breath for so long that the gasp he releases when he remembers he needs oxygen makes her jump a little.

She’s studying him. She wants to know every inch of his body, wants to see how every subtle touch affects him. She is reading him like an instruction manual. Her eyes flicker, narrowing and darting and taking it all in. She can see every goosebump, every subtle lift of his hips, every intake of breath, every clench of muscle and little smile when she finds somewhere ticklish. By the time her scan seems complete, he’s panting, shaking, vibrating with need, and he knows she knows his body better than he does now.

And she gets to decide what to do with it.

From beside him, keeping her eyes on his, Penny reaches back and unclasps her architecturally stunning bra, draws the straps down her arms, and drops it off the side of the bed, revealing what Shawn had suspected to be the most perfect pair of breasts of all time. He was right.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he hisses, pressing his head back into the pillow to keep from lunging at her stiff brown nipples. He’s rewarded for his compliment with a sweeping hand down his stomach, her fingertips just skimming the line of pubic hair that reaches down from his navel. His hips roll up in response.

Penny turns. Shawn watches her hair swing low against her back like a pendulum, entranced before he realizes she’s standing and bending over to shed her black lace cheeky panties. He remains still, his head turned toward her as she bares herself, until she turns back and faces him and he chokes on air.

He’s seen beautiful women naked. Plenty of them. Really, he has. He knows somewhere in his addled mind that it’s the performance of it that has him so fucking high strung that he almost coughs up a lung when he sees Penny without clothes, that he really, legitimately feels like he’s going to have a heart attack just from looking at her. 

But he’s never been so goddamn hard in his life.

She takes a step toward the bed and lifts her leg to climb up next to him. He realizes with a jolt as he watches her legs separate that she’s soaking fucking wet. The insides of her thighs are slick. Shawn presses his heels into the bed to ground himself.

You can’t fake that.

Without a word, she positions herself on top of him, her strong legs on either side of his hips, her hands sunken between pillows by his head. Their eyes are locked. Shawn’s cock shifts against his stomach impatiently. Penny lifts a corner of her soft wet mouth. Shawn chokes on a whimpering sound he’s never heard himself make before. She drops her hips and he hears himself gasp.

“Oh!” he cries, throwing his head back as his hips thrust up to meet her. He vaguely feels the warmth of her lips on his chest, but he’s busy trying to fight back his orgasm that, with just the pressure, warmth and wetness of her pussy resting against his length, is roaring up in his abdomen.

“J-jesus… fuck…” he hisses, rolling his head to the side, sure if he looks down at her pretty face he’ll be coming like a freight train before she even has the chance to really do anything.

“You’ve never felt anything like this before,” she tells him smoothly. It doesn’t smack of arrogance or condescension. It’s simple fact. They both know it.

He shakes his head no, panting breath into the pillowcase.

“You never knew it could be like this.”

Again, he’s agreeing.

“I want you to remember this, what this feels like with me in your lap, wet for you, showing you how this can feel with me. I want you to look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me, Shawn.”

Another purring whimper escapes his throat. Slowly, he peels his sweaty cheek from the pillow and blinks down at her. There’s something feral that’s taken the place of what he saw in her before -- the white painted toes, the cozy hoodie, the gentle giggles. This part he sees now is going to swallow him whole. He’s going to let it, with pleasure.

Penny rolls her hips from left to right, swinging back again easily, with the rhythm of a dancer. The sound their bodies make is absolutely obscene. He grits his teeth through a hiss, watching her eyes flutter.

“You feel… incredible,” she pants slightly, establishing a slow, aching pace that makes Shawn’s brows draw together and his knuckles whiten against the pillow.

“I don’t know how long I can--”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell you when you can come.”

She says it easily, like he’s in no danger of losing his fucking mind and spurting all over her stomach in probably only a few seconds. He realizes with a shiver it’s because she knows, for certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that he won’t come until she tells him.

“You’re so nice and hard for me, fuck. Touching you got me so wet. Can you hear us?”

Shawn is quaking, clinging to sanity, as her slick folds hug his cock, grinding harder with each pass of her hips. He doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore. He has no idea what could come out of his mouth at this point. He just nods eagerly, begging his eyes to stay open so he can obey her.

“Can you feel the way the head of your cock is rubbing my clit?” she nearly squeaks, sounding genuinely as close to orgasm as he is. His eyes go wide. His stupid mouth opens.

“Are-- are you gonna come like this?”

Holding her quick rocking pace, Penny springs up, snapping at his lower lip like a snake. He freezes, whining, and very nearly loses control of his tensed arms.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” she moans, and it’s the only warning he gets before her whole body goes tight atop him and she gushes all over his cock and thighs.

“Holy fuck, holy fucking shit,” Shawn gasps, rolling his hips to cradle her as she stutters through it, mewling and humming against his chest. He watches her eyes squeeze shut and open again slowly, looking up at him like she forgot he was there.

In the stillness, the room is so quiet, it’s loud. Shawn feels every cell in his body screaming, begging.

Penny licks her lips and shifts, getting ready to bear down. “You can come now.”

His hips take off at a sprint with her permission. She keeps up easily, using her weight in her knees to drive herself back against his every stroke, egged on by the wet slap of their skin and the glazed look in his eyes.

“Penny, I’m coming,” he warns her, because he feels like he should and he doesn’t know quite why other than he thinks she craves her permission for everything now. She squeezes her swollen lower lip under her row of straight white teeth and watches curiously, doubling down on the stroking of her hips.

“Shit! Oh fuck!” Shawn screams, hips roiling and rioting beneath hers as he comes hard, spurting against her swollen folds and between their clenching stomachs. His vision goes white. He can’t hear himself if he keeps talking, or yelling, and he can’t hear her if she’s trying to soothe him through it. It’s several seconds before he crash lands to feel her peeling her body off his and sees her shifting back over his thighs.

He doesn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to speak before she reaches between her legs and swipes a hand through her wetness and his. Her palm is slick, glistening in the low light. She reaches for his tired cock and gives it a squeeze.

“I want one more.”

His eyes bulge. “What?”

“One more, Shawn. Come again for me. You’ve been waiting for this for a week, I know you have it in you. Now fuck my fist and come for me.”

Shawn’s jaw drops as she pulses her fingers again. Despite everything he thought he knew about his own body, he feels himself already starting to harden in her palm again. He groans loudly, pulls his shaky legs so his feet plant below him, and starts lifting his hips.

“Ohmygod. Oh… oh my god,” he pants, eyes wild as they fix on her in disbelief. How did she know? How does she have this much power over him already? How does he make sure she never gives it back?

“Yes,” she praises, looking ravenous as his hips pick up speed and he grows fully hard in the clench of her fist, “Fuck, you’re so fucking good for me.”

His head tips back. He mewls a noise of overwhelmed pleasure and fucks his hips up even harder.

“Jesus Christ, I’m gonna fucking come again!” he shouts, pupils blowing out as he comes up on his forearms and bucks his entire lower body, quaking as he hurtles toward a second orgasm.

Penny lurches forward, swallowing the scream she knows is building in his chest with a searing kiss. His abdomen clenches as he bursts for her again, drenching her fist and his belly. It’s shorter and rockier than the first orgasm, sending him falling back to the bed totally limp and sated in only a few seconds. Penny mercifully releases him from her fist, using her other hand to smooth through his hair.

She’s concerned for a minute that she broke him. He just keeps staring at her, blinking too slowly, not speaking. She presses little kisses over his face, partially to encourage him, and maybe a little bit to distract herself from trying to make him come again because holy shit, she loved that.

“Never done that before,” he mumbles finally, his eyes sliding shut, like he’s finally secure enough to close them and believe she’ll still be sitting there when he does.

She nods, though he can’t see her. On her own wiggly legs, she manages to stand and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When she returns to wipe him off, he’s blinking at her curiously.

“Can I touch you now?”

She grins. “Yes you may.”

Shawn smiles gently. His eyes slide shut. He lifts a heavy palm to her thigh, rubbing her soft bronzed skin in a tender gesture of thanks. 

Penny tosses the cloth aside and folds up against him, manipulating his arm around her as she lies against his chest.

“Wanna see you again,” he whispers. She bobs her head.

“Anytime you want.”

He presses his face into her hair, inhaling expensive salon shampoo and exhaling at least three months’ worth of stress. He’s asleep in under ten minutes. She decides to let him rest and behaves herself enough not to wake him up for round two (or three, technically) for at least an hour.

----------

This is gonna be a wild one, guys. If you’re so inclined, the link to buy me a Ko-fi is in my bio!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisaho @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @tnhmblive @greedydevil

[aye-write]

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex​

*****

Chapter Two

The kitchen was teeming with heat when Isla walked in. Everyone’s eyes flickered towards her, leaving her feeling very much like a prized Miltank on show. Heat crept into her cheeks. She glanced around, trying to find somewhere to let her gaze settle. Skye and Blair were working through plates of pancakes. Kenneth leaned against the countertop sipping black coffee. Rhona had her sleeves rolled up and was tending to something on the stove. Anxiety spiked in her chest. Discounting Nana Morag, she was the last one up.

“Good morning!” Isla said, trying to inject cheer into her voice.

Rhona turned around to face her. “Good morning, chick!”

She was smiling. Good. At least Isla knew she hadn’t committed some unspeakable faux pas before it even turned ten in the morning.

“Have a seat,” Rhona continued. “Do you want tea? Breakfast? It’s just pancakes today, so I hope you like them.”

What kind of world did she live in where home-made pancakes were “just pancakes”? Rhona obviously didn’t get enough appreciation. “I love them! And tea would be grand, thank you.”

“Help yourself, there’s some in the pot.”

A fat teapot sat in the middle of the table with a brown tea cosy pulled around it. Fixed with a pair of floppy wings and a crocheted head, the Pokemon it was supposed to represent looked like a fatter, happier version of Rhona’s Ruchter. Isla sploshed milk into her tea from a jug that looked suspiciously like a Miltank and loaded it with sugar, the first sip sending a pleasant, energising warmth through her.

The tea worked its magic on Isla, but everyone else looked pale and withdrawn, like they’d woken up on low battery. Isla sipped her tea and battled between two impulses that both felt equally rude.

Eventually, she settled on, “Is there anything I can help you with today? Like around the croft or… or anything?”

Blair leant back into his chair and stretched. “It’s all done,” he said. Something in his back popped, the noise like a gun going off.

Isla blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. We start at six.”

“In the morning?”

Everyone stopped. Kenneth’s eyes found Isla’s over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I just didn’t… hear anything.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to help out with anything,” Rhona said kindly. “And we didn’t want to wake you either. Especially with last night’s storm. We’re used to it here, but it can be quite distracting for folks not local.”

Isla had almost forgotten about the storm. The mention sent the image of the child from last night flashing into her head like the sear of a lightbulb. Her fingers tightened around her mug of tea. “Yeah,” she heard her voice waver. “The thunder and lightning were something else.”

Rhona’s eyebrows creased. “Thunder and lightning?”

“Yeah,” Isla said. Then she saw everyone else’s expression. “You guys didn’t hear it? It was like… It was like the world was coming to an end out there.”

They all returned blank looks.

“Well, did you guys notice the power going off?” Isla tried. “About 3am, I think it was.”

“I was asleep,” Skye said, spearing her pancakes and oozing sauce all over the table.

“So was I,” Rhona said, and Kenneth nodded his agreement. Isla was beginning to wonder if that man ever spoke.

Everyone looked at Blair, who bristled under their stares.

“I don’t remember the power going off,” he said, swilling the liquid in his mug. It smelled bitter and strong. Black coffee. No wonder.

“Then you didn’t see the—” Isla stopped herself. What would they think if she told them what she saw? She wasn’t even sure she knew what it was. Something deep inside her told her to hang onto it. At least for now. At least until she could do some further research.

Luckily, her trailing off went unnoticed as Rhona put a plate of pancakes down in front of her. She busied herself adding sugar and a squeeze of lemon as conversation slowly resumed around the kitchen table.

“So what’s on your agenda today, Isla?” Rhona asked, sitting down heavily in the spare chair.

“I’d like to get started on my research,” Isla replied, her mouth full of soft, fluffy pancake. “I brought some books and copies of old script with me, so I’d like to start organising my thoughts and think about what I’d like to tackle first.”

The others nodded politely as Isla explained her plans. Kenneth was the first to leave, dumping his coffee mug in the sink and ducking outside. Isla saw him lumbering towards the field of Wooloo in the distance a few moments later. After that, the rest of the family moved off like falling dominoes, until it was only Rhona and Isla left at the table.

“You’ll need the Wi-Fi password,” Rhona said, tearing off a strip of paper. “You might have a couple of wee connection issues since you’re a bit far away from the router, but you can always come down and work in the living room if you need to. Here,” she handed Isla the paper with the code. “We’ll try keep out of your way. We’ll be out working on the croft for a bit. Skye’s got some work to do in her room, but she should give you peace. Oh, and help yourself to anything you like from the fridge. Lunch will be about 1 o’clock. I’ll shout you down or I can take something up to you if you like?”

“It’s okay, Rhona,” Isla interrupted gently. “You’re doing so much for me at as it is. I’ll come down for lunch. I’ll probably need the distraction,” she paused. “Thank you, Rhona. I mean it.”

“It’s okay, chick. We’re family. That’s what we do.”

With that, Rhona headed out, leaving Isla standing in the kitchen, fighting a lump the size of a walnut in her throat. A minute to compose herself and she turned with renewed determination towards the stairs.

Back in her room, with the door shut against the world, she let out a long, slow sigh. The bedroom wasn’t the best as far as study spaces went. It was pretty small for a start. And like everything else in the house, it was cluttered and claustrophobic. But it was welcomely cool after the humid heat of the kitchen and after taking ten minutes to straighten up her things and clear the desk of all the tat and mess, she was starting to see its potential as a working space.

Isla unearthed her laptop from under a pile of clothes and plugged it in. As it chuntered into life, she released Soba, who curled herself up into a tight ball on the rumpled bedclothes. The WiFi was a bit dodgy as Rhona had fretted, but it was serviceable. As long as it didn’t drop entirely whenever she’d have to have a video call with the university department, she’d be fine.  

For the first ten minutes, she picked between a handful of internet tabs tuned to information she’d found vaguely useful in the initial research stage. Now that she was supposed to actually make sense of it all and turn it into something halfway presentable, it was like her brain had stalled entirely.

No, she told herself. She wouldn’t be beaten. She clicked open a new Word document and started to type.

To Do For Thesis:

Get translations for Kildonian Chessmen texts

Interview locals about legends

Find, research, and visit rumoured Chessmen resting places

Research divide in Kildonian population (Vitalities?)

 She paused, then added in:

Find out what was in the garden on the night of the storm.

**

A knock at the bedroom door startled her. Soba’s ears pricked up as Isla dragged herself back to reality. What was the time? She glanced at the clock. Nearly midday. Almost three hours had gone by no quicker than a blink as she clicked through research articles and flicked through books.

Scrambling to her feet, she answered the door to Nana Morag’s lined face. She was smiling, in a sort of mischievous way, one side of the mouth curved more upwards than the other.

“Heard you had a little powercut last night,” she said, conspiringly.

“Yeah,” Isla rubbed the back of her neck. “I think it must have skipped the rest of the house though. Or… or maybe it was just my imagination.”

“You think so?”

“I mean, it could have been,” Isla said, half-wondering why she was trying to rationalise it. “I was pretty tired. My mind could have been playing tricks on me.”

“Hm,” Nana Morag didn’t sound convinced. She glanced back down the hallway, before taking a step closer. “Isla, have you heard of Basinish Island?” When Isla shook her head, Nana Morag’s whole face illuminated. “Basinish Island is a small, abandoned island off the coast of Port Glen. About three or four miles…. that direction,” she pointed over Isla’s shoulder, past the window and towards the tracing-paper grey sky. “Legend has it that you can walk there and back from Port Glen on days when the tide goes out. Of course, no-one ever tries. It’s very dangerous.”

“Okay,” Isla said, wondering exactly what Nana Morag was getting at. “What does this have to do with—”

“There’s rumours that Voltean – the Electric Vitality – lives out that way. Of course, it’s never been proven,” she said, in an off-hand way like she was telling Isla the brands of cereal in the cupboards. “But I thought you might like to read about them in this.”

Nana Morag pressed a thick hardback book into Isla’s hands.

“This is an old text,” Nana Morag continued. “There are some newer edits now, but I think you still might find it relevant. Especially for your research. It’s translated, so it might read a little funny. But there should be plenty there to keep you occupied.”

Isla looked through the book in awe. Pages of intricate illustrations and small, looped writing teased her from within. She could barely get her words out to thank Nana Morag. Soba purred and chirruped from the bed in appreciation.

“Nana Morag, thank you so much. I’ll take really good care of it. I promise.”

“Not to worry, Isla. You seem to have your head screwed on tight. If there’s anything in there you need some help with decoding, you let me know and I’ll try and help.”

“That would be wonderful. I was actually wondering if I could ask another favour of you,” Isla said, feeling opportunity shoulder its way in. “I have some old translations about the Kildonian Chessmen and I need some help translating them. Could you help?”

“I can do one better,” Nana Morag said. “Come along to my class this afternoon. I teach the young ones how to read and write the old language. I find there’s so much more meaning in having done the work myself. Don’t you agree?”

The expectation trickled down Isla’s back like a sliver of ice. Would she have the time to learn for something like that? Surely it would only take a couple of hours, tops, for someone to translate the documents rather than possible weeks to learn even the basics of an entire ancient language? It didn’t seem like a good trade off. But Nana Morag had already been so kind to her. And there was no telling how she’d react if she refused. Maybe if she showed willing now, Nana Morag would be more flexible later.

Isla clutched the book to her chest. “When does it start?”

“I’ll be leaving now,” Nana Morag said, her eyes gleaming.

“Alright,” Isla nodded. “I’m with you.”

**

Nana Morag lead Isla towards a small community centre, off a narrow lane from the high street. The whole area was residential, cluttered with redbrick terraces and full of people going around their daily business even with the biting wind and the overhanging threat of rain. Nana Morag was stopped nearly a dozen times by passers-by, each one making the same guarded enquiries about Isla, wondering who she “belonged to”. Isla couldn’t tell if they were pleased or not when Nana Morag explained they were family.

The classroom was perfect for children, bright, colourful, and visually appealing, but its cheery theme did little to soften the sharp edges of anxiety in Isla’s stomach. It spiked even more when she sat down, on a too-small chair that creaked every time she even considered moving.

Nana Morag didn’t call attention to Isla when the children came in for her class, which she was eternally grateful for. Along with the rest of the children, she was given an easy-reader book in Old Kildonian, a language heavy with vowels and punctuated with strange looping symbols. There was also a sheet of paper, typed in large print, with what looked like an alphabet and a few short words paired with an English equivalent. Isla stared at them until her eyes went blurry. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her mouth contort itself to make those noises. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The words were simple. Too simple. Words for “Mum”, “Dad”, “good”, “nice”, “friend”, and other twee phrases ran through her head. Not even a full sentence. Not even “Mum is nice”, “my friend is good”, just words, scattered over the page as if they were plucked from the ether. How would this help her? How could she translate complicated archaic documents with these basics?

The class hadn’t even started yet. Nana Morag was still talking to a parent while the children shouted and ran around the tables, obviously too overstimulated even before the lesson began. And Isla was spiralling. She could feel it percolating within her. As her breath raced out, she tried to clear her head.

This wouldn’t do. It couldn’t. Even if she attended one of these classes every day for a month, she’d be nowhere near ready to decode the Chessmen documents herself. She didn’t have that time to waste. The exhibition in Hydrogate opened in three weeks and she still had most of the region to see. Places to go. People to interview. Legends to find. She just couldn’t do it.

A blip pinged her phone, making her jump. While Nana Morag’s back was turned, still in conversation, Isla slid it out of her pocket and looked at it under the table.

Isla,

The Anthropology Department is concerned that you have not yet been in touch to update on your project. As such, we are writing to inform you that we have arranged a video conference with you at 1pm Johto Standard Time in two days’ time. Please follow the link below to attend your slot.

The department would like you to prepare a short presentation to highlight your progress as part of the video conference.

Please also remember you must submit proof of your passage to the Kildo region as evidence.

Regards,

           Prof F. S. Gardener

Isla could only stare numbly at the email for the first few minutes. Slowly, heat crept into her face. Anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. How dare they? How dare they talk to her like that? The condescending attitude dripped off the words like hot grease from a searing grill. They wanted a presentation? In two days? It couldn’t be done.

At least, not while she allowed her time to be wasted.

**

Nana Morag looked disappointed, but said she understood when Isla explained that something had come up that meant she had to leave early. It didn’t make her feel better.

Outside the community centre, she sat on the nearest bench and took large lungfuls of crisp, cool air until the anger and anxiety gurgling in her stomach finally ebbed away. She cast a guilty look back at the door. Hopefully Nana Morag would forgive her.

It would take nearly half an hour to walk back to the house. Plenty of time to think about what direction to take the presentation. Even as she thought about it, her mind unspooled ideas. She could look through the book Nana Morag gave her, cite the conversation they’d had about the Vitalities, maybe ask Rhona and the family for any other stories they had. She could do this. She could pull this together. She’d show that professor exactly what she was made of.

Just as she pushed herself to her feet, something thudded to the ground. Isla froze, her concentration shattered. Her hand sought the familiar Pokeball hanging at her waist and she rolled her fingertips across its keenly smoothed surface. Something crept into the corner of her peripheral vision. A dull, murky, red-brown shape, a rusted stain on the greenery encroaching the community centre. Her stomach tightened. Nausea crept up her throat and she had to fight a sudden, violent urge to vomit.

When the nausea passed, and the world faded back in, a noise trembled through the earth under her feet. A low rumbling whinny followed by the steady, echoing beat of hooves.

 Isla called Soba out. It was an unwelcome return to reality. She was in a new region with strange new Pokemon and she hadn’t even taken five minutes to look at the kinds of creatures that lived in the area. If there was something there that could hurt her, then she was playing a dangerous game. Could she even defend herself?

She should ignore it, she reasoned. Ignore it and head back to the croft. Wild Pokemon attacks on humans weren’t common, especially in fairly urban areas, but something still spurred her into action. Sweat stood out on her brow as she circled the Community Centre, Soba in pursuit.

There was nothing there. No people. No Pokemon. The only thing that stood out was a patch of disturbed grass by the window that looked into Nana Morag’s classroom. A line of hoofprints sunk into the long, leafy fronds, each one fringed with thin purple liquid. .

Soba coughed and retched.

“Easy, girl,” Isla returned Soba to her Pokeball. The last thing she needed was for her only Pokemon to become unwell. That would just be the rotten cherry on the top of the already disgusting cake.

She took one last cautionary glance around the area. Leaves trembled in the trees. Cars sloped down the road. Children played in a park down the street, their voices carrying over a thin, brisk wind.

When she looked down at the prints again, the strange liquid was gone.

**

Back at home, Isla shut herself back in the tiny room, opened her laptop, and focused. Hours fell away. Daylight morphed into darkness. All Isla knew was the tapping of keys and the pages of books stiff with bookmarks and post-it notes.

She was turning over into a new chapter – The Shifting Traditions – when her stomach gurgled, lifting her out of her study induced stupor. What time was it? It had gotten dark without her even noticing. She groped for the desk light and clicked it on, the room touched by a jaundiced yellow light.

The clock flashed back; 18:47.

She didn’t want to seem presumptuous. Running a croft with only a few family members must have been tough. She could imagine it was the kind of work that never had a clear end goal, that there was always something that needed done. And she’d only been here a full day. She didn’t know their routines yet. Maybe they were a late dinner type of family. And she definitely didn’t want to pressure anyone. But it was very late now. She hadn’t eaten any lunch. And there hadn’t been any noises in the house for hours.

Downstairs, every room was draped in darkness. Isla felt around for the light switches, but the unfamiliar walls wouldn’t give up their secrets, and she clattering through the house like a particularly ungraceful Hippopotas. It confirmed one thing. There was nobody home.

Panic rose in her chest as she picked her way towards the windows, hoping that she could let some light in via the curtains. I

With a bang, the door opened, bounced off the wall, and light spilled into the room. Rhona stood in the hallway, shelling herself from a puffy jacket.

“Rhona?” Isla squeaked.

“Oh, gosh! Isla!” Rhona’s hand flew to her chest, her skin translucent. “Chick, why were you standing there in the dark?”

“I couldn’t find the light switch,” she said lamely. “I’d been upstairs, and I got a bit worried I hadn’t heard anything down here for a while.”

“Oh, God. You didn’t get the message?”

“What message?”

“Kenneth sent Drambark to the house with it,” Rhona said, hanging up her coat.

Isla wasn’t sure exactly what a Drambark was, but she didn’t think now was the right time to ask. “I didn’t get anything, sorry. What’s happened?”

“It’s Nana Morag, chick. She came over very ill just before she finished her class. She was taken to hospital.”

“Hospital?!” Isla gasped.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, but she’s okay, she’s stable and responsive. They’re keeping her in overnight, but I think it’s just as a precaution.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“They don’t know yet. They were running tests when I left.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Isla stammered. “I should have stayed with her.”

The look in Rhona’s eyes became sharp and probing. “Yes, why did you leave? I thought you wanted to learn about the language.”

“I do, but…” Isla heaved a sigh. “I got an email from my course supervisor when I was in the class telling me I have to do a presentation for them. In two days. About the progress I’ve made in the project. And I haven’t… I haven’t had much progress yet because I’ve only just got here. So I panicked and came back here to start working on that immediately because… well, if I don’t jump through their hoops, they’ll pull approval on the project.”

Rhona nodded the whole time Isla spoke. “Och, chick, maybe it’s for the better that you didn’t stay.”

Isla frowned. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t just Nana Morag who became ill. Everyone attending that class did.”

[theeeveetamer]

Extended Three Houses Thoughts

I’m about two chapters from the end of the Blue Lions route but I do have some extended thoughts on the game that I wanted to type up and share before I get back to it. Spoilers below the cut, in case that wasn’t obvious.

So first off I want to say that I have far more positive things to say about this game than negatives, but I do think this game has some negatives. These aren’t in any particular order I just kind of typed them as I thought of them.

I feel like a lot of what this game does was in direct response to Fates. There was a lot of swinging the pendulum back in very noticeable ways, and for the most part I think that’s a good thing.

The seriously slimmed down cast, for one. I was kind of surprised and a little worried when I first picked up the game and I found out that each house only had about seven core characters, but I like it. Fates had too many characters, and most of the time they ended up being redundant. You had, what, eight fliers in Revelation including children, with at least five more characters potentially able to become fliers through their normal promotion paths? When, at most, you probably needed three. And some were significantly better than others, so obviously you went with those and the rest kind of rotted away in your barracks.

With Three Houses each character feels important. Since you can now train basically any character to be anything it also means you can have some fill specific niches. You can have Sylvain be a sword cavalry unit, and Dimitri be a lance cavalry unit, and Ingrid an axe cavalry unit if you want, drop their breaker skills on them, and they can all be useful and important on the same team.

The supports also feel more meaningful. Don’t get me wrong there’s still a lot of re-hashing of already covered territory (basically all of Dedue’s supports involve either cooking or the fact that he’s from Duscur, most of Ingrid’s revolve around wanting to be a knight or marriage contracts, etc.) but the fact that there’s less of them makes this feel like less of a problem. And it’s nice that, now, they don’t try to force every conversation into a C-B-A-S format. Some characters only have C-B, others have C-B-A-A+, etc. I think it makes sense. Not every character will be as close as others, and not all support conversation threads need three parts to be meaningful and impactful. Some need more, some need less. Trying to squish them in or stretch them out always hurt more than it helped.

That said, I’m a little disappointed there’s no match-making to be had. Everyone in this game gets brother-zoned/sister-zoned so fast it’s kind of comical. There are a few A supports that hint at feelings but you can’t actually make them S-support. Also, a character might indicate feelings for more than one other character in their A supports so it’s not definitive. Maybe there’s more once the game is finished, but within the actual main story there’s nothing.

Don’t get me wrong, it makes sense to me. As young teenagers in school there wouldn’t really be any reason for any of them to get married. I thought that might change after the time skip but it doesn’t. I don’t necessarily hate that it’s gone, it’s just a feature I enjoyed fucking around with in Awakening and Fates (and I was looking forward to, hopefully, more gay representation. I was really hoping that they might allow characters to be gay for each other and not just the Avatar character, especially since they included so many lesbian options this time around. But alas, maybe next game).

The exclusion of child characters was a good call. Barring the fact that the exclusion of S-Supports would automatically exclude child characters, I still think it was a good call. Unless the game had a significant time skip (15+ years) then they just wouldn’t have made sense. They worked in Awakening because the central narrative included time travel, but they didn’t work at all in Fates. The narrative only had tentative connections to the “multi-verse/multiple realities” thing. And, let’s be real, it’s fucking weird to have kids walking around that are the same damn age as their parents (and parents that didn’t look a day older than 17). In Fates they’d just needlessly ballooned up the cast of a game that was already way too big anyways. If they did it then they needed to do it like Genealogy, where the main cast was essentially replaced by their children instead of strapped onto the game alongside them.

I was worried that Fate’s poor handling of them meant the series was doomed to include them regardless of relevance. Glad I was wrong on that one.

The calendar progression is pretty cool, as is walking around the monastery. It was pretty fun to run around and figure out where each character liked spending their time, which characters interacted with which, etc. I’m always a fan of a little flavor text and having each character say a few lines about current events was really cool and helped give each one a little more personality. The more structured pace of things makes sense for the school environment. Though it does take out some of the urgency when the mission is “FIND FLAYN IMMEDIATELY” and then you have to wait until the end of the month anyways to do it. But for other things, like a mission to march on enemy territory, it makes sense (your entire army isn’t ready to go immediately, there’s preparations that need done).

The designs of the characters themselves were pretty well done. I especially appreciate how they toned down a lot of the sexualization that Fates became pretty famous for. And considering basically all of these characters are between 15-18 all I can say is THANK GOD. Even their aged up versions don’t seem too bad, though I’ve only really seen the Lions (because I was dumb and didn’t recruit very aggressively).

I’m still NOT a fan of this “silent” protagonist thing. It just makes some of the cut scenes and dialogue sections feel really disconnected and awkward. From what I can tell a lot of your dialogue choices don’t particularly matter, anyways. You only have two options, and for the most part they have the same meaning (”You shouldn’t talk that way!” versus “I wish you would calm down.”)  and the character you’re talking to responds the same way regardless of your choice. Or you pick between two different options (”Tell me about the officer’s academy” and “Tell me about the church”) and the characters proceed to explain both anyways.

I think the biggest issues I have with this come from the fact that the game itself is fully voice acted. I think Three Houses fell into the same problem that Breath of the Wild did. Dropping a character that never speaks aloud into a cast of characters that are fully and beautifully voiced feels unnatural. I think they had two options here: Either go back to what they did with Fates (No full voice acting, just some lines spoken here and there) or they needed to have Byleth fully voice acted. After Echoes did full voice acting I really don’t think they would have been able to go back without some serious backlash. 

Personally I would have preferred it if Byleth were fully voice acted but they got rid of some of the dialogue “options”. They don’t feel like a meaningful feature, it’s just a thin veneer so they can say they had dialogue options, because that’s what every other game on the market is doing. Part of me wonders if they did this as a response to the Corrin hate after Fates. It’s hard to hate a character when you pick all of their dialogue, right? If that is the case, then they clearly didn’t understand why people hated Corrin so much.

Overall I don’t really feel any connection or attachment to Byleth. That might just be me, though. The three “lords” of the game are clearly meant to be the main focus, especially when it comes to character development. Maybe I’ll change my mind on that after I beat the game.

That said, thank fuck they toned down the avatar hero worship. Circling back a little bit, I just feel like the character of Byleth is handled much better than Corrin. It’s kind of unfortunate that Awakening, Fates, and Three Houses kind of have this avatar hero-worship vibe to them but if we’re going to have to live with it then I guess I’ll explain myself.

In Awakening the hero worship worked. Robin was, essentially, a brilliant tactician that brought a lot of success to Ylisse’s army. There were at least a few characters that were initially wary of Robin, but they were treated respectfully by the story and it’s presented as though they are just exercising a healthy amount of caution.

In Three Houses the hero worship works. It feels much less like worship and more like genuine respect and admiration. Byleth is a professor and a mentor to these young people so it makes sense. There are a few that were initially skeptical of him/her (which is totally justified in the story because Byleth appears to be barely older than them with zero teaching experience) but they come around after Byleth’s skill is demonstrated to them throughout Part 1. The only character I’d say seems to blindly worship Byleth is Rhea, and that’s justified because she clearly knows something about the main character that no one else does.

In Fates the hero worship was excessive. Corrin as a character is nothing really special. He/She isn’t particularly intelligent or particularly skilled at anything. The most you could say is that Corrin is probably supposed to be charismatic (since every character falls at their feet the second they meet) but Corrin doesn’t feel charismatic to me. They have multiple characters that seem to exist for the sole purpose of worshiping the ground they walk on (Camilla, Ryoma, Sylas, Jakob, Felicia, etc.), to the point that I felt it ruined otherwise interesting characters (Camilla mainly). Any character that doesn’t immediately worship Corrin is either forced to come around, brainwashed by the big bad and turned into a villain, or just wanted to love Corrin so much but circumstances made it impossible so they had to be evil. I could make an entire post about how much I hate Corrin but I’ll stop it here since this is supposed to be about Three Houses.

So considering where they were coming from... Byleth is fine. I don’t know if I like them more than Robin, but I definitely like them more than Corrin. I’ll feel more definitively about them after I’ve finished the game and played some of the other routes.

They re-use maps in this game. A lot. I noticed it pretty quickly about five chapters in, but IMO it’s a serious problem that this game never quite seems to shake. If the battle is in a city, they pick one of two city maps. If it’s in a forest they’ve got one of three forest maps. And I’m not complaining about Auxiliary battles because I only did a handful of those (and they always reuse maps for those, even in Fates and Awakening). I’m talking about main story and paralogue mission maps.

Sometimes they have a unique map (like the tomb/catacombs) but it invariably comes back later for a paralogue or another main mission. Sometimes it comes back less than two chapters after it first appeared (the monastery fight right before the time skip and then defending the monastery two chapters after the time skip.) I could understand if they re-used maps across different routes (because Fates did the same thing), but so far I’ve only been in one route and it’s the same maps over and over.

Finally, I have no idea how I’m going to survive playing this game two (three?) more times. I mean, I like it. It’s fun. But it took me like 40 hours just to complete one route I have no idea how I’m going to do all three (possibly four, since I’ve been told the eagles route can be different depending on if you side with the church or not).

[mininky]

Tainted Souls (Hoseok)

Summary: Vampires were no longer a myth, the world knew that they were very very real. The world wasn’t ready for it, and they really weren’t ready to find out that all those whacky conspiracy theorists finally got something right. A lot of celebrities were, in fact, undead. Including BTS. Touring constantly, always on the move it was painfully difficult to ensure that they received their meals. Until their manager learned of a business that specialized in vampire fine dining.

Pairing: Vampire!Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: sex for pay, biting/marking, dom!Hoseok, sir kink, belting, safe sex, oral sex (M/F receiving), handcuffs, multiple orgasms, praise kink. I think that’s everything but listen this is just pure filth.

Word Count: 5.4K    

Series list: Prologue, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung, Jungkook

   Little in life shocked you anymore. You'd long grown used to the strange and absurd until it felt rather mundane. You'd worked at Tainted Souls for five years, three years before vampires had gone public. While you'd never met any other supernatural creatures you highly doubt any of them would surprise you at this rate. For five years you've gone from dabbling in this job out of sheer boredom to embracing the lifestyle it brings. It was a win-win for you. You had rather unusual tastes and vampires often times were able to sate them while also filling your bank account. Not that you ever did anything you didn't agree to for the pay though. Money is great, but you still have a moral backbone. One that's rather warped in comparison to society's backbone but one nevertheless. It's safe to say that after years of working one on one with the undead in rather...intimite fashions...has left very little in the world to shock you. Jung Hoseok however, now he certainly shocked you.    You weren't prepared to see his radiant face as you sat down for your interview. Glowing tan, bright smushable cheeks, sun stealing smile. It wasn't his face that surprised you though, oh no what surprised you was that you knew that face. Now, most would say 'of course, he's internationally famous' but no that's not exactly how you knew Hoseok. And you couldn't help but squirm slightly in your seat as the interview begins and his smile transforms into something slightly more wolfish. Something closer to the Hoseok that you've met once before.    You met Hoseok at Tainted Souls. Not for the first time at your interview, unlike all the other blood types. You would later find out that the interview was a necessity for Big Hit to ensure that you understood the scrutiny your life would be under and the secrecy you would be sworn to but Hoseok...well Hoseok didn't really care about that aspect of the job.    You see Hoseok is a lot more then he lets on. Loud, bubbly, talkative, the depiction of joy yes those are indeed all sides to Hoseok. But he's more multifaceted than that. And just like you, he too has rather...unusual tastes that extend beyond the need to live off of blood. Perhaps unusual isn't exactly how most would phrase it. Kinky. Yeah, that's how most would phrase it. But considering how sweet and funny he normally appears the other side that he buries away from everyone else is a twist, one that you enjoy. You suppose in that sense the two of you are rather peas-in-a-pod. To the vast majority of the world, you look rather unsuspecting, some might even say sweet. Hoseok certainly still thought you sweet, the ripest fruit he'd ever tasted. But his meaning of sweet was far different from the unsuspecting strangers descriptive meaning.    And you can't help but see flashes in vivid technicolor detail of your first encounter with Hoseok in the meeting room at Tainted Souls as you listen to his manager drone on about rules and regulations and travel expectations.    You had received a call from your boss to come into work that day, which wouldn't be unusual if it wasn't for the fact that you had literally just been in last night and Tainted Souls has a strict 'once a week max' feeding policy to ensure that the blood remains tip-top shape and that there's no anemia or any other health problems occurring from blood loss. She had assured you that there would be no feeding, but a client was interested in specific things that your menu matched up to perfectly and they had arranged a meeting with you to allow you to decide if you'd take them on as a client or not.    Tainted Souls is a lot of things, and at first, it might seem like a rather shady business but they're firm believers in consent and choices for the humans on their menu. If the human isn't happy, doesn't feel safe, or even thinks the vampire just isn't their type then they're free to send them on their way to find someone else or go somewhere else. When you work at a place as prestigious and expensive and exclusive as Tainted Souls you are indeed allowed to be picky. And your menu, well unlike some of the other employees, it's rather extensive. One that you've perfected and added to and narrowed down to just your favorites. You have a niche, and it's gained you a good following of clients that you've selected very carefully. Your boss knew your type and after a few years of watching you reject many of the clients she sent your way she started doing it for you. If it was clearly not a type you were interested she would offer another employee with similar menus in order to save her time. In fact, it had actually been nearly 10 months since the last time she'd even given you a possible new client. Not that you were complaining, your books and bank account were rather full anyways. But you couldn't help but grow in excitement and anticipation of meeting this stranger when she said 'trust me on this, you won't be turning him down.'    The first time you met Hoseok you were dressed as professionally and demurely as possible, always fun to leave it up to their imagination. God was your boss right. He was painfully handsome, and you could see his lean muscles flex ever so slightly under his t-shirt as he spoke. He seemed sweet, endearing, kind and that was refreshing but also stimulating. Because you knew, if he was coming to you then that beagle like attitude wasn't the only side to him. But also, if you were honest, you rarely saw a vampire that seemed so human and not completely broken down and unamused by the world and that intrigued you.    "Hi, you must be Hoseok. I'm (Y/N). I hear you're interested in my menu. Just to review this is just a small meeting to get to know one another so we can figure out if we're actually compatible. We'll go over mutual interests, what will and won't be allowed in this relationship, and a little bit more about each other as well if you like."    "It's a pleasure to meet you (y/n). And yes, I'm very interested in your menu. What would you like to talk about first?" You watched his heart-shaped lips form your name, a zing of pleasure coursing through your veins at the silky way it rolled off his tongue. Oh yes, he'd be a new client of yours. You'd make damn sure of it.    "Well, let's talk about my menu first and see what we need to tweak for you. This is, of course, a customizable 'dining' experience. So let's get started. I'm assuming that you're interested in more than just a simple feeding?" You glance up to see his eyes gazing intently at the prominent vein of your neck before traveling over to your lips.    "Much more."    "Good." You quirk your lips up and bat your lashes almost innocently as you read through your menu. "I specialize in a submissive role. Tying and handcuffing are fine, spanking is encouraged, paddling and caning after some time of a relationship and I know your force is possibly on the table but not while this is still new. Oral sex, face fucking, shibari, edging, and breath play are also on my menu. Anal for some, but again that's usually further on down the road no pun intended. I have a list of approved sex toys that I already own as well, but I will refuse anything new that you try to bring in without prior notice and if it's not in new never before opened packaging. Now as for my hard limits I'm fine with being called slut but I refuse the word whore and if I'm being very honest with you degrading names aren't my favorite in the world but some, such as slut, can be used occasionally. Too much though and I will end the session.  I enjoy a good debauchery, not to be demoralized for my job. You'll also notice that you do have to be tested before the session. We understand that as a vampire you shouldn't carry any diseases as there are only two known STDs that can possibly be afflicted on your kind and they're still rather rare, but two is still a possibility that I'd rather not have. Ah! I almost forgot! Threesomes with approved parties aren't off the table, but the key word there is approved parties. I won't meet with you outside of work so you'll have to schedule this accordingly." You give a small smile but internally you feel yourself light up at the way you see his fangs show and you know that oh yes he is very interested. "Now that we've gotten all that out of the way I'd like to know what you're interested in." You hand over a copy of your menu and a pen so he can go through and check the boxes off.    He leafs through it for a brief second before you watch him hastily mark one, two, three and then finally almost every single box. You watch a wide grin stretch on his face as he fills in the last box and scribbles something else in before handing it back. He settles back into his seat, legs spread wide and hands lacing behind his neck as he watches you. Your eyes dance around the words in elation at his preferred name. Oh yes, Hoseok was certainly going to be a pleasure to work with.    "Do you have any questions for me?"    "When can we get started?"

   The next time you would meet Jung Hoseok would be in your own room at Tainted Souls. Some of the others shared rooms considering that employees were only allowed to come in once a week so newer ones would be assigned to the common rooms that were open but you had been there long enough to acquire your own little space. It was simple, with soft pinks satins and silks that looked oh so delicious next to all the sinful goodies tucked away in various places. You had plucked, preened, waxed, and oiled yourself to perfection for this. There was something about the feeling of your skin being perfectly smooth against silk sheets while getting railed that was just utterly tantalizing.    You find yourself zipping around the room excitedly as you start pulling everything out for display. A small treasure chest of toys sits open at one side of the bed. On the other, you've laid out some ropes, silk ties, and handcuffs before finally pulling out various lubricants on the nightstand. Just as you glance over into the various mirrors positioned around the room you hear a small knock at the door and you almost trip over yourself to open it up. You're not sure what you like more, Hoseok in a t-shirt and jeans or Hoseok in the pristine suit before you.    "Pleasure to see you again, Hoseok." You step back from the door and watch him walk in, your eyes lingering on his ass before shutting the door and walking over to his side. "How was your day?" You help him take off his jacket, placing it carefully on the coat rack by the door before turning back to him. He gives a lopsided smile, one that unlike in your first meeting isn't all sunshine and butterflies but carries more the scent of a predator catching its prey.    "Fine and dandy, and I'm sure yours was as well. I don't mean to be rude, but I highly doubt either of us are interested in making small pleasantries and really I'd rather spend my time buried in your wet heat. Wouldn't you agree? I have all sorts of plans for you." His nose is skimming across your neck, eyes glazed red at the feeling of your vein so temptingly close to him.    "And what plans are those, sir?" You say the last three syllables with syrupy intent, and you feel desire spike at the way his body language changes and tenses, soft lips falling open and eyes closing at the word before he's pulling your hips flush to him. His lips ghost over your ear as he speaks, goosebumps rippling over your flesh and lust climbing its way down your spine at his low voice.    "Well for one, I want to taste your blood but I suppose you've already gathered that. I want to see your pretty little knees on the floor for me, I want to watch you try to take every bit of me in that cute little mouth of yours. I want to watch you fall apart over and over. I want to see that pretty ass of yours turn red and purple. I want to watch you fall apart over and over on my cock. I want to fuck you in every position. I want to tie you up and watch how you writhe under me without being allowed to touch me. Oh, there's so much more, but most of all I just want to fuck you so hard that the only man or vampire that can ever satisfy your needy little cunt again is me." A small whimper of need leaves you, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not just fall to your knees right then and there. It's been too long since you've met someone who seems as comfortable in their skin and so dominant and it makes your core throb at thoughts of what's to come.    "My safe word is cherries." Your words come out slightly shakey, lust choking the syllables in your throat slightly. His lips crash onto yours with fervent force, your hands ball the bottom of his shirt instinctively. He tastes like cherry chapstick, and it's addictive the way his tongue tangles with yours with dominant flicks. It's heavenly the way his hips rotate so smoothly and rhythmically into yours, his rapidly hardening dick brushing up against you as you mewl into his mouth. His hands dig into the soft flesh of your thighs before picking you up with ease and wrapping them around his waist as he backs you into a wall.    His fangs press slightly into your bottom lip and he laps away the tiny dots of blood that come up with a groan. "God, you are just the sweetest fucking thing aren't you?" You preen under his praise, a small jerk of your hips into his at the words. His lips press bruises into your neck and decollete in between speaking to you. "Ah, praise. You enjoy praise don't you little girl?" A tiny yes pops out from your lips. Usually, this is about the clients and only the clients but for him god you want more. You want this to be about both of you for once, and while it should terrify you, instead, you just fall deeper at the grin adorning his swollen lips. "Keep being such a good girl and I promise I'll praise you."    "Yes sir, I'll be a good girl for you, sir!."    "Mmm. I bet you will." His hands trail gently over your breasts, your nipples puckering under the light touch as his mouth falls back on yours. You're not sure where to touch, you want to feel everything. From his hair, down to his neck, onto his firm chest and down to the buckle of his belt where it rests for a moment before quickly toying with the buckle. His hands grip at the flesh of your breasts with force as he pulls back and looks at your hands. "Did I say you could take off my belt?"    "No, sir." Your hands fall limply to your sides and you try to tamp back your own need to explore his body as he plants your feet back onto the ground.    "I didn't think I gave you that right. I thought you already knew, a good girl like you should be asking for permission and yet you didn't do that did you?"    "No sir." Your eyes fall onto the ground, the words coming out as a grumble as your hands ball up into small fists.    "What was that?" You can see elation in his eyes though, something bubbling under the surface at your bratty response.    "I..." You gulp at the twitch in his jaw, his fangs shining as he opens his mouth and tongue skims his bottom lip. "I said no sir, I didn't ask for permission."    "Hmm, I would've let it go but I'm not exactly fond of your grumbling." He unzips your dress quickly, his head tilting to the side as he drinks in the sight of your soft pink lace set. "On your knees."    You fall swiftly to your knees and almost reach up for his buckle before your hands fall back. He hasn't told you what else you can do yet, and while a part of you almost wants to be bratty you really would rather have him inside you sooner than later so instead you look up at him with a jubilant smile.    "Good girl." Something melts at the way he coos the words out before you feel your mouth run dry and panties stick to you as he swiftly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He pulls his dick out of the confines of his brief but doesn't move to take any of his clothing yet, and a part of you hates that you don't get to see his legs bare but you know better than to complain. "Open your mouth for me, baby."    You open wide, tongue pushing slightly past your lips as he strokes himself. He's lean and long, precum spilling out and you can't help but groan at the sight. He gives a dark chuckle before he's weaving one hand through your hair and pulling you onto him in one go. You gag at the intrusion of his cock running quickly and forcefully past your molars before relaxing as it almost hits the back of your throat. You maintain watery eye contact with him as you swallow around before he begins pushing his hips rapidly in and out. There's no warm-up period for you, no this is a punishment for your brattiness. But you're well apt in this department and after the first gag there's just the sounds of wet movements and your muffled moans. "Shit baby girl, your mouth is fucking fantastic. To think you can take my dick so well in that cute little mouth of yours."    "Unnnh!" Your moan at the praise comes out awkwardly from the constant movement in his mouth, and you can see him beam down at you at the noise. His thrusts grow faster, your jaw beginning to ache at the movement and you feel yourself begin to drip down onto your thighs. You need relief, you need some sort of friction to help you get through this but you keep your hands staunchly behind your back. It's deliciously painful to feel that ache in your core and to know that Hoseok is in charge of whether or not you'll reach your own climax tonight. You watch his eyebrows scrunch together, eyes clamping shut and bottom lip pulled in between his teeth. A lesser man would be a sweaty, panting mess. But he's a vampire so sweating takes extreme exertion, and he's also clearly a man of steel reserve who won't break this easily.    You run your tongue over the bottom of his dick with each move, swallowing in time to the rhythm he's set. You know it's just a matter of time before you'll be given the pleasure of what you hope will be just the first orgasm of the night. His hands grip harder through your hair, your scalp zinging at the force and tears spilling out at the lack of oxygen as he pushes you down further as he spills into you in thick spurts, far enough back that unfortunately you don't taste much.   He pulls back with a throaty groan as you swallow the remnants left behind before sticking your tongue out to show your cleaned plate. "If it weren't nearly impossible to kill me I'd say you'd be the death of me." He pulls you up to nuzzle into your neck, his fangs lingering for just a moment before he's pulling back. He watches intently as he snaps off your bra and you let it slip off your shoulders and onto the floor with a light thud. "Beautiful, absolutely beautiful. You've been so good for me, but I think I still want to play."    He picks you up with ease and places you onto the edge of the bed before turning you over. You prop yourself up on your elbows and turn around to see him pulling his belt off with a devious glint in his eyes. Two things run through your head. Elation at the thought that perhaps he's about to use that belt. The second being a small zip of uncertainty at his force, a slight bit of fear running through you. He pauses when he sees your eyes growing wide and eyebrows raising up as he winds the belt around his hand before cracking it into the air. "It's okay (y/n). I can just use my hand if you'd prefer, or we don't even have to do anything at all. This is about your pleasure too, not just my own. If it concerns you we don't have to do anything else." His words come out soothingly and gently, and you know then that you can trust him. He wants this to be about pleasure, not pain.    "You can use the belt sir. I can take it." You grin under the kiss he pulls you into, his lips melting onto yours for just a second before he's pulling away and back to drink in the view from behind.    "What a good girl. I think just for that we'll do just three. Count for me."    "Yes sir." You wait with a bated breath for the first blow. It comes straight across your ass, the sound of the crack reaches your ears before the zing of pain and pleasure comes to you. "One!" The second comes down harder this time, your flesh rippling and you know it'll be hard to sit down for a while. "Two!" The third comes down hardest, the crack echoes through the room and you feel your wetness pool out as you choke out, "Three!" His hand rubs soothingly at the marks left behind and you look back into the mirror behind you to see the flesh red and angry under his hands.    "That's my good girl, you did so well." Pride beams through you at the praise before a choked moan spills out at the feeling of his fangs pressing into your ass. It's nothing deep, nothing that would bring enough blood to satisfy his thirst but it will mark you that's certain. And the thought of seeing his marks left all over you for days to come has your head spiraling into lewd thoughts. "Ah, just so sweet for me." You can hear the slick sound of your panties detaching from your core as he slides them off of you. You don't even have time to think before his tongue runs a long stripe along your core.    "Ah, fuck!" Your knuckles turn white as you grip the bedsheets, a shiver running through you at the lightest touch of relief before you hear him grab something on the bed. It takes a moment for you to realize what's going on as he grabs hold of your wrists and you face plant into a pillow before you feel cool leather encompass your wrists and hold them into place. His fingers dance along your back before dipping down your drenched folds and quickly inserting two fingers.    "Look at you, dripping and cuffed. God, I've wanted to see this sight from the moment I laid eyes on you, but I have to tell you baby girl this is prettier than I ever imagined." A whimper of need falls out from you as his lips attach to your clit. It doesn't take much time what with the lewd sucks and curling fingers for you to reach your first orgasm.    "Sir, oh god, I'm going to cum!" Toes curl, muscles spasm, and you feel yourself clench around his fingers.    "Cum." His words shoot fireworks behind your eyes, a scream ripping out of you as your hips rut into his hands and ride out the pleasure. You move your head slightly at the loss of his fingers and mouth and you watch with interest as he unbuttons his shirt slowly.    "Sir, sir please let me touch you." You pull yourself up, hands twisting in their confines as you watch his tanned skin and firm chest finally make an appearance.    "You want to touch me?"    "Yes please, please let me touch you, sir."    "Hmmm, maybe in a bit love. Right now I just want to buried in that tight little cunt of yours." A slight part of you cries out at the thought of not touching him, but lust rears back up stronger than ever at the realization that he's going to be inside you soon. You watch with hungry eyes as he strips down, honey skin and lean muscles on full display as he fists his leaking cock before walking over to your condom choices. "Which one's your favorite?"    "Ah, the ribbed Durex ones are my personal favorite." You watch him pick up the purple foil and tear it back before slipping the condom on. It feels like an eternity before he's finally behind you, pulling you by your ankles to the edge of the bed and lifting your hips up as he pours a generous amount of lubricant on.    "Tell me, baby girl, have you ever been fucked so hard that you can't even walk properly for a few days?"    "No, sir." It's true, even with all the vampires you've bagged you have excellent stamina and your recovery time is never as long as a few days. You feel yourself whine at the dark chuckle that emanates behind you.        "Then tonight is your lucky night." With that he pushes in swiftly, bottoming out almost instantly. His hips still for a moment, allowing you to pulse around the stretch and finally get comfortable. Soft mewls fall out of you as he moves back slowly. "You are so fucking tight and so fucking perfect. Let's see how much of this you can take, hmm?" His hands grip your hips as he bucks into you quickly, all thoughts become incoherent as he sets into a rapid pace. The slight curve of his dick pounds your g-spot with each movement, and the ribs and studs along the condom have you shuddering and writhing under him. Sweat prickles your skin as you feel your second orgasm coming, moans stuttering out of you with each thrust.    "Sir!" You try to make out the rest of the words, but his hand falling into swift circles along your sensitive clit has you shrieking underneath him. Your second orgasm hits you harder, body writhing and jerking as stars blur your vision.    "Good girl, fuck, oh fuck you're so fucking tight." Your mind is too hazy to realize that your hands are finally free until he twists you into missionary. While typically it's not your favorite position the idea of finally being able to see Hoseok in all his glory has you clenching around him again, excitement taking over the oversensitivity.    Greedily you feel around his chest and abs before hands fly up to his face and skim along his sharp jawline. "You're so handsome..." The words come out just a whisper, and you watch his face light up into the most beautiful grin you've ever seen before he's thrusting back into you and your teeth clack shut.    "Ah, fuck, ah. You're so fucking good to me, you're so fucking tight. I don't think I'll ever get enough of this!" His mouth latches onto one nipple and clamps down, his fangs sinking into the sensitive flesh and leaving behind an angry mark before he repeats it on the other one. His hips leave bruises in their wake as he slams into you, your legs shaking around him as moans pour out of you.    "Fuck, fuck!" Your head is reeling, placed in the most delicious world of pleasure and pain as you watch him finally nuzzle into your neck. "Bite me, please Hoseok!"    He stills at the use of his name, a dark whisper moaned out, "You're mine, don't forget that," before he sinks deep into your vein. It's almost searing, the burn and the lust that consumes you as you feel him lap up your blood. It only takes one, two more thrusts before he's spilling inside the condom as he laps up the last bits of your blood.    "They weren't kidding, you really do taste just like honey. Maybe that's what I'll call you now, honey." His lips are twisted in a grin as his tongue swipes away any last drop remaining on his lips before you're pulling him into a needy kiss.

   Your thoughts are pulled back into the present as you watch Hoseok lick his lips while his manager finally finishes speaking. "Well, I think that just about sums up everything (y/n). You have glowing recommendations, and as long as everything here is something that you can work with we'd love to have you here."    "It would be my pleasure." You stare at Hoseok, flashing him a smile dripping in lust as you take the stack of paperwork from the manager and fill out all the various forms. It's only a few more minutes before you finally find yourself standing alone with Hoseok in the hallway.    "I suppose it makes sense now why I haven't seen you since last time." You want to be a bit annoyed considering you've had that first, and last, interaction on your mind for over a month now but it's impossible with him finally next to you. It's kept you awake at night, needy hands falling into place with the desire that ignites from the memory. From his grin and sweet words to the way he marked and claimed you, Hoseok had fully taken over your thoughts and no one else had come even close to flooding your system with need the way he did. Perhaps it was the stark contrast from his sweet face to his dark intentions. You suppose that in that sense, the two of you are much one in the same.    "Missed me?"    "Yes." You watch Hoseok give another sun stealing grin before looking around the hallway and pulling you in for an almost innocent peck.    "You know, I came to scout you guys out before they confirmed anything. My manager still has no clue I went, but god I'm so glad I did. And if I'm honest, you're the only girl I allowed them to interview for my spot. My manager was going to kill me if you didn't take it and we had to start searching through that stack of resumes all over again."    "Hmmm, I suppose this means that I'm technically all yours now?"    "Yep, no need to schedule anything. Just you and me, honey."    "I like the sound of that. Although you could have explained all of this before you know."    "Ah, I like the element of surprise!" You nestle into his body as he slings his arm around your shoulders.    "Hoseok?"    "Hmm?" He stops walking to peer down at you through his long lashes.    "I'm really glad you came to Tainted Souls. And I'm also glad that you asked for me here. It's a lot, but for you, I think I'm more than willing to commit to it."    "That's my girl." You can't help but blush under his words, gazing down at your feet for a moment as you recall him uttering 'you're mine' before sinking his fangs into you last time. Perhaps you weren't the only one who wanted more. Whatever would happen though, you knew that with him it would always be fun, different, a little wild. You might not have the most 'acceptable' of jobs, and you might have a rather odd relationship for those on the outside looking in, but really you get to be with Hoseok and that's all that matters.    

[elsewhereuniversity]

Folklore and belief

You bring your beliefs, and your ancestor’s beliefs, with you.

Your parents raised you to believe in a god and a saviour and, to some extent, fate guided by what they hold faith in.

But you don’t believe in anything much these days

You loved fairytales and horror stories as a child, and, as a child, believed some things you knew were nonsense even as you made sure not to dangle your legs in reach of anything under the bed, even if you mentally went through a list of things that would keep werewolves and vampires at bay, even if you went looking for fairies in places that weren’t quite nature and weren’t quite human places.

But you, while not quite an adult, are not a child anymore, not by law, and not in mindset, and don’t believe in anything much these days

You don’t really do superstitions, so the rules don’t make sense to you, but the salt packets are free, so there’s no harm in taking a handful or so, and your roommate does the cream thing.

You think it’s a waste of good milk, but ey, you didn’t pay for it, so it’s not a problem.

You don’t believe in anything much these days, but the fact that the milk, and the cream, and whatever other dairy products are placed at the door are gone each morning, gives you a strange chill that takes a while to dismiss.

Eventually, you just don’t think about it, but…

The coincidences keep stacking, and you don’t believe in anything much these days, not that you know everything, not that the world is safe, not that everything is predictable, not that science has figured out every answer already.

People bring their beliefs, and their ancestor’s beliefs, with them.

You notice. Eventually, you notice.

When your roommate disappears, you take over her habit of leaving dairy at the door.

You’re not the only one who is aware that avoids the water. Others may mutter something about horses, when pressed, but you worry that one day you’ll hear a voice from beneath the waves that will say “here is the place, where is the man?” as a prelude for a disappearance or unlikely drowning. Maybe yours. Maybe some other unlucky soul who’ll get curious, or who’ll, say, lose control of their car and drive into a creek not four feet wide and one foot deep and disappear to nowhere, car and all.

You don’t know a whole lot, but you know that foxes that hang around people whose names end in -ko, -maru or -suke are a lot less dangerous, but also a lot less predictable than foxes that hang around people whose names contain things like Kim, Yeong, Sook or Hoon. (Cover a name that is yours with one that could have been is fairly common among those students aware enough that nobody wants to be stuck with a moniker like “Phoenix Dark”, but don’t feel like calling themselves “Creampuff” or “Dementia Raven Way” either.)

You might miss a whole lot, but it’s hard to miss when your roommate comes back with a missing leg and an empty sleeve and brags about getting all her friends back for the cheap, cheap price of an arm and a leg, and later, when it is quiet, is relieved that that was all it cost, because fair folk who make deals like that, are not the sort you want to leave your friends with. She cries on your shoulder, and she is careful not to thank you.

She graduates earlier than you do. She is clever, and persistent, and driven, where you only ever sauntered through life at the best of times, and mostly ignore the days that are stretched out and numb and gray where you can’t seem to get anything done.

Sometimes there are big black dogs that aren’t quite dogs, and while to some, those are a death omen, to you, they are mostly a warning sign. Do not go here. This is not your place. Danger if you go any further.

Just in case, you bring rye bread wherever you go, afterwards, because while most big black dogs that are no animal you know off are only warning signs to you, and to some, only death omens, you do remember a story where one of them was a little more; something that spared nor cared, something that walked through buildings and people and left nothing standing in its wake, but could be stopped by throwing brea at it. Rye bread.

You bring your beliefs, and your ancestor’s beliefs, with you.

You don’t notice much in the way of fairies in the traditional sense, especially not one from specific courts; there was not much about fair folk in the stories of your home. You were born and raised on what was once considered the edge of the world, and edges don’t leave a lot of place for royalty.

So you know there’s odds of students that hang around you becoming nightmares for several years, but think it unlikely; the university already has selkies to fill that folkloric niche - stolen skins rather than blocked keyholes for trapping a wife, humans intruding upon the strange, rather than the strange intruding upon humans.

You bring your beliefs, and your ancestor’s beliefs, with you.

And your ancestors were more likely to believe in strongmen (and women) who could lift several tons without effort, and crush cheating boyfriends in their embrace, and doctors who were secretly wizards, and witches who shapeshifted and milked cows to death (and occasionally targeted babies, because grieving parents and infant mortality demanded more explanation from the universe than “it just happens”).

There were few if any stories of smiths being in any way special, except for the one who tricked the devil and crushed him with a single strike of his hammer.

But there were some beliefs that weren’t about humans or animals, or the water, and you take care not to go out when it’s foggy at night, though you quite like fog; you don’t want to risk being dragged into a dance and being found dead in the morning. White women, after all, didn’t always play nice, and you had noticed the fog here being a lot stranger than what you were used to.

Sometimes you wished you had read a whole lot less about some subjects as a child, or that your memory was a bit worse, but it had its advantages.

Your new roommate after all, is a freshman, and a romantic, and quite likes fairies.

Or, well, liked. It is only after that she has vacuumed the room and started on the dishes that you think she looks a little too tense, and might be stress-cleaning.

Fair enough. This was a university after all.

Except that at midnight someone knocks at the door, and she startles and then freezes, and makes no attempt to open it.

You blink, rise from your books, and open the door, behind which is a gentleman with a gleaming face and a too wide grin.

He was quite handsome, if you didn’t mind anachronisms of a few centuries in fashion, and getting the face wrong in a way vaguely reminiscent of the more pleasantly stylized CGI, and, oh, the goat eyes, couldn’t forget the goat eyes.

His voice rose like a swarm of bees; manifold and with the imminent possibility of unpleasantness.

“I am here for the maiden you room with, as pertaining the deal I made her.” he told from behind the salt line.

Behind you, your roommate whimpered.

Well. “What deal?”

A flash of self-satisfaction rippled across his face.

“She fell. I helped her stand up. She thanked me.”

Ah. One of those.

“Surely you’ll allow that she finish the task of cleaning those plates before you’ll take her?”

His perceived victory made him smug. “I suppose I’ll allow that.”

You turned to your roommate, who looked right at you, absolutely terrified, her grip on the plates rigid, her motions of lifting the sponge jerky. As you looked, she made an attempt to continue to clean the plates.

You looked at her attempt, huffed, and walked over to her. You didn’t have to exert much power to keep her hands from moving once you grabbed her by the wrists.

“You’re supposed to say, “Then I won’t clean these plates in all eternity.”“ You tell her to her face. You lift the hand she has the half-dirty plate in it. "And then you do this.” You push her hand down with force.

The plate breaks in half on the edge of the countertop.

Her eyes widen.

She swallows.

“Then I won’t ever clean these plates.” she says hoarsely, and grabs the next dirty plate. It hits the ground hard enough to shatter, and the look in her eye is manic. “Ever!”

You slowly back away as she smashes plate after plate after plate.

This would mean eating from the cutting board and pan lids for a while.

You looked at the thing in the doorway, who, by now, looked a lot less gentlemanly and a lot more hideously angry.

“This is the part of the story where you leave, dude.” you tell him.

He turns to you. “Story? What story?” A whole lot of the anger is displaced with confusion.

“You haven’t noticed yet? You’re part of a story that just ended. You should leave.” He looked confused and a little bit afraid as he disappeared from view.

As you closed the door, you reminded yourself to make sure both you and your roommate wore iron tomorrow.

A deep, resigned sigh. It really had been too much to hope for something as simple and innocent as a nightmare.

x

[sunbrights]

For the prompts post: “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

17: “Looks like we’ll be trapped for a while…”

Anon asked for kuzupeko in another message! Ask and ye shall receive!!

(Leave me a number and a pairing and I’ll write you a thing!)

Hope’s Peak isn’t like other schools. Anybody with a brain knows that, but some things are more obvious examples than others. The school’s exam layout is different; that’s obvious. The practice exam left up and unmarked by the third-year Ultimate Trapper trying to prepare for them, less so.

It’s a hidden compartment disguised as an ordinary classroom door; he’s the first one to reach it, and that more or less seals his fate. The compartment itself was probably meant for just one person, or maybe a medium-sized animal or something— but Peko is right behind him, and her instinct will always be to reach out and pull him back from a threat, or barring that, follow him right into it.

She’s slender, and he’s, well. He’s small enough that the two of them fit inside together just right for the automatic door to swing shut and lock behind them.

There’s a lot of confusion, some shouting. Saionji laughs for two or three minutes straight. Once they’ve figured out what happened, the rest of the class scatters to find the asshole who put the stupid thing there in the first place.

He and Peko wait.

They find a configuration that’s comfortable, sort of. They sit folded up on the floor of the compartment at opposite ends, his knees bunched up next to her shoulders, and vice-versa. After about ten minutes, it gets old.

“Shit, my leg’s falling asleep. This is such a fuckin’ pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’re you apologizing for?” He braces one foot against the side of the compartment, to at least stretch his hamstring. Peko presses her shoulder against the opposite wall to give him more room. “C’mon, don’t do that,” he says. “I got plenty of space. All you’re gonna do is give yourself a cramp.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“Peko.”

She resettles herself, but now she looks even more uncomfortable than she did before. She looks mechanical, her muscles locked up.

“I should be able to disarm the trap,” she says. “I’m not. That’s why I need to apologize.”

“Well, don’t,” he tells her. “What’re you supposed to do, fight the box?”

Her answer is seamless. “I could find and exploit weak interior hinges, puncture a hole in the ceiling or base, or use force until the lock fails.”

“That’s not— Look, it’s fine, okay? This isn’t dangerous, it’s just stupid.” The only light that’s coming in is from the thin seam at the top of the door. It’s just enough to see the whites of her eyes swing down to her knees. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“Yes, young master.”

It’s the first time she’s called him that in a while. Weeks, maybe. With as loose as the school’s scheduling is, they aren’t often alone, and she took his instructions to pretend not to know each other to heart. Kuzuryuu has been rolling off her tongue with what seemed to him like no effort at all.

Maybe he got too used to it. The title stings more than it usually does.

They wait awhile. It’s hard to know how long for; he left his phone in the classroom, and the seconds feel like they stretch out forever. She’s as calm as ever, eyes closed in silent meditation, and he realizes all at once that he has no fucking clue what to say to her.

He’s been pretending for weeks that she’s just some girl in his class, but it was never supposed to mean anything. Not to him, anyway. It was supposed to be an opportunity for her, and incidental to him. He was still supposed to see her sometimes, talk with her, that sort of thing. Maybe find a way to be friends, on their own terms.

It just hasn’t quite unfolded the way he thought it would when he came up with it.

“Can I ask you something?”

Her eyes flutter open, her sclera bright points of orientation in the darkness. “Of course.”

“Do you remember last week, when you sparred with that third year? What’s-his-name.”

“Nishihara?”

“Maybe. The dude with the pike.”

“Yes.” She shifts, ankles stretching near his elbow. “… I didn’t know you saw that.”

“Well, I mean, just some of it. It got pretty rowdy in there so I stuck my head in.” It’s not technically a lie. He’d shown up in the middle and stayed through the end. “Anyway, the point is, you demolished that guy.”

“He was a formidable opponent,” she says, perfectly polite even though it’s just the two of them. “I was always going to have the advantage in close quarters. He didn’t surrender the win lightly.”

“You kidding? He didn’t stand a chance. It was like you were running circles around him.” He clears his throat. “I just- you’re working really hard, and it shows. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after, so…”

The longer his eyes have to adjust, the easier it gets to see her face. She’s not really smiling, but the muscles around her mouth and eyes are softer.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “It’s one benefit of the academy, being in contact with so many skilled warriors from different disciplines.”

“Yeah? What, you guys like, compare notes and stuff?”

“Sometimes. They have perspectives that I lack, and vice-versa. Also…” She looks down again, but this time it’s more shy than ashamed. “It’s… nice, to be on good terms with everyone in the dojo.”

She’s dancing around the word. “So, you’re friends,” he says.

“I… believe so, yes.” She goes prematurely silent, thoughtful and a little awkward, the way she does when trying to pick tracks in a conversation.  “… Nishihara told me a joke the other day,” she says finally. “Would you like to hear it?”

It had to be Nishihara again, didn’t it. He smothers the flare of annoyance in his chest. “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Hit me.”

She looks him dead in the eye. “You know,” she says, very seriously, “there is a difference between having no-mind and having no-mind.”

It’s totally nonsensical, but he laughs anyway, without meaning to, loud in their close quarters. Maybe it’s her delivery, or the absurdity of the situation finally getting to him. Whatever it is, it manages to break the lock on her smile; her mouth turns up at the corners, just enough.  

“Peko,” he says, once he can, “I gotta be honest, I’ve got no clue what the fuck that means.”

She considers. “… It might be a niche sense of humor, that’s true.” She’s still smiling when she says it, though, and maybe she just played him, but that would be just as good, if he’s perfectly honest with himself.

He tells her about his first time running the yakisoba stand during the school festival. She tells him about how the school is apparently scouting a martial arts expert named Oogami Sakura, and how much she’s looking forward to talking with her.

It’s hard to know how long they wait.

Eventually, there’s a knock on the outside of the compartment. “Kuzuryuu-kun,” Komaeda calls from the other side, “Pekoyama-san? Can you hear me?”

Fuyuhiko leverages himself up toward the gap in the door. “Yeah, dumbass, we can hear you,” he calls back. “What the fuck’s going on out there?”

“I happened to bump into Akagi-senpai when she was on her way out of the building. Literally, actually. Bad luck for her blouse, and for my coffee… but good luck for the two of you! She’s coming down now to release the trap mechanism.”

“Well, get her over here, then! Jeez.”

Komaeda’s steps retreat down the hall, and Fuyuhiko sinks back down into his spot. “Fucking finally,” he mutters. “Those bastards took their sweet goddamn time, huh?”

She only nods. They sit in silence a while longer, and then she says, “Young master?”

It almost sounds like an accident. It’s hushed and clumsy, syllables tripping over each other. When he looks at her, there’s some expression on her face he’s never seen before.

His heart rate spikes, for no reason. “Yeah?”

“I know this situation has been uncomfortable for you,” she says, in that same rushed whisper. “And… I understand that when we’re released we’ll both need to return to our respective roles. B-But… I wondered if… maybe after, we…”

She doesn’t get there fast enough. She runs out of steam, and her confidence falters; when her sentence peters out, her mouth flattens into an unsure, disappointed line.

He can hear distant footsteps in the hall, and goddammit now? Over an hour spent wedged in a stupid fucking box, and now suddenly everybody feels like being snappy.

“What?” he presses.

She must hear it, too, because the she puts the brakes on whatever rocky, impulsive path she’d turned down. All unfamiliarity in her expression melts away, until she’s every bit as calm and impassive as she always is.

“Peko—”

“It’s nothing,” she answers softly, when the distant footsteps have turned into not-so-distant voices. “Please, do not concern yourself over it.”

The compartment cracks open. Light spills in, and when his eyes adjust, the class is huddled in a semi-circle around them.

“Alive!” Mioda whoops. “They’re aliiive!”

And that’s it. Peko hoists herself up out of the compartment, he follows suit, and the wall comes up. They’ve been doing it this long; he barely even needs to think about it.  

“Will you cut it out?” he snaps, when Hanamura won’t stop poking him in the ribs. “The only good news is that it turns out Pekoyama isn’t half as annoying as the rest of you dumbasses.”

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” she’s telling Koizumi behind him. “I think Kuzuryuu may have been more uncomfortable than I was.”

That’s it.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Binary Star (VII)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jaebum / Mark

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4,270

Summary: “In some cases, these close binary systems can exchange mass, which may bring their evolution to stages that single stars cannot attain.”

You and Jaebum have been dating forever when Mark Tuan shows up in your classroom. You’ve always been against change - a bit debilitating, being a writer - but for some reason this new kid has you thinking there might be an upside to chaos.

Jaebum’s jaw tightens and he can only stare. In his look is everything you needed to know. Jaebum is scared. He doesn’t know how this will work. He feels the strain on your relationship, understands the dual demands he’ll be facing. It’s stretching you, twisting your love into something unrecognizable.

Jaebum knows. Jaebum sees.

Shaking his head, Jaebum’s eyes darken. “I’m not letting go of you,” he says, tone demanding. “That’s all I know.”

When he kisses you again, it’s with the same desperation of earlier. You don’t fight it, breaking away and letting him hold you. For tonight that’s all Jaebum can offer.

For tonight, that’s all you need.

Jaebum sits in the dressing room while the rest of the band files out. Jackson touches his shoulder before exiting, lingering for a second longer. “Listen,” he says, eyebrows scrunched together. “We don’t have to do it. Just don’t say the intro – we don’t have to…”

Ignoring this, Jaebum shakes his head. Slides even lower in his plastic chair. “No,” he says, voice empty. “The label was clear about this. The dedication needs to change.”

Jackson looks taken aback. “But Jaebum…”

Jaebum looks up. “You heard James, didn’t you? We’re supposed to be fun, friendly – the always attainable band. That’s our niche – the boys next door. The rockers you can take home to mom. We have to be humble, we have to be kind and we have to give everything to our fans.”

Jackson stares at Jaebum and slowly, his expression deflates. “You’re right.” He swallows, shaking his head as he looks away. “This is it – this is our shot, our break and the best way to get there. I just –" Jackson stops, exahling. “Well. You know better her better than I do.”

As Jackson leaves, Jaebum buries his face in both hands. Jackson is right – he knows how much you can take. The thing is, he doesn’t know if you’ll be able to take this.

The bar is dark, smoky with the dust of cigarettes and god knows what else. It’s hard to hear over the raging bass, played by a DJ in the back, right corner who looks way too into his music for his own good. Fiddling with the cup in your hand, you stare forlornly at the empty stage in front of you.

It’s about a half hour until tonight’s show. The past few weeks have been busy, what with Jaebum and the band practicing and recording and booking flights every which way. Jaebum sees you when he can and you know he’s trying – you can see it in the amount of effort he’s been putting in since your fight.

He’ll text you at morning and night, dutifully before falling sleep. More and more, Jaebum leaves school before the day is at an end. Disappearing on weekends for label visits and meetings with marketing or management. He calls you, the two of you Facetime but every night you go to bed empty, a pit in the center of your stomach where you miss the sight of him.

It’s been better, you’ll admit. But ‘better’ is never the same as before. It feels as though you’re trying and you miss the days when you didn’t even have to. Back when you called Jaebum because you wanted to, because you knew he would want to fall asleep on the phone together.

These days there’s always someone in the background. Always someone else demanding his attention and though you try to be supportive, it’s hard. Maybe you’re being the selfish one. Maybe it’s demanding to want Jaebum to put you first. But then you tell yourself no – It’s not demanding to want to be first when you’re over here, doing the same.

When you think about what the future would be like, it scares you. A future of always supporting Jaebum means you’ll always be second. His concerts, his meetings will come first. His schedule will always come first because it’ll be fixed, immovable. No matter how successful you become, no matter how important your dreams turn out to be, they’ll always be second to his. Less important since you’re not famous. There’ll be no one depending on you but you, whereas Jaebum will have his fans. Have his music, have his artistry.

These thoughts have made you write more. Fueled by the gaping uncertainty lying before you which pours words onto paper, a litany of wildfire. You want to share your writing with Mark but stop yourself. The two of you haven’t spoken since that day. After your fight with Jaebum, you sent Mark a simple text. Just one sentence, but it was enough for him to understand.

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t. [Sunday, 11:58 PM]

The next Monday, Mark sat in different seats in your classrooms. No longer the seat beside you, it forced you to stare at the back of his head. Losing him hurt, but not as much as the idea of losing Jaebum. No, this is what you needed to do.

Which explains why you’re sitting here alone, staring up at the stage and waiting for the lights to go down.

Maddie slides onto the stool beside you. “Hey,” she grins, breathing hard. “Sorry. Was saying hi to Jackson.”

You raise an eyebrow over the rim of your water glass. “Oh? You and Jackson have been spending an awful lot of time together lately.”

Maddie blushes, a very un-Maddie-like gesture. “Yeah, well.” She glances down at her phone. “I didn’t know he liked me.”

“He told you?” You gasp, leaning in. “Tell me everything.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Maddie grumbles, smiling as she stirs her drink. “Their band takes up so much time, we barely get to see each other. Honestly Y/N, I don’t know how you and Jaebum are doing it.” She sighs looking at the stage. “You’re made of stronger stuff than I am.”

You don’t respond, taking a sip of your drink as you’re thankfully saved from answering by the dimming lights. There’s a crowd before of you – a fact which shouldn’t be surprising, but it is. The boys are still in that state where they seem like yours, though it’s becoming quickly obvious it’s no longer true.  James Manolin and his impressive marketing department have seen to that.

New people attend every show and you know the boys are almost done with the recording of their album. What happens after – who knows? You and Jaebum haven’t really discussed it. Every time you try you have no new answers. No miracle solution to keeping you together.

“We’ll make it work,” Jaebum always says.

Make it work – but how? And for how long? Everything is up in the air, the things you once considered solid crumbling away beneath you. Like Jaebum. Jaebum was always the constant in your life but he’s being pulled further and further away, through no fault of his own. At least you’re communicating better now. At least you’re finally talking about how you feel.

When the lights come back on, the band is already arranged onstage. Gone is the way they used to walk onstage, waving sheepishly at the crowd while adjusting their instruments. No, this entrance is polished, clean. The boys are wearing leather and skinny jeans while the spotlights dim from above.

“Hey,” Jaebum says, grabbing the mike with one hand. He quickly scans the crowd. “We’re On the Shore.”

Without further ado, Jackson launches into the first song. It’s upbeat, one of their new dance anthems created by Jaebum and Brian. Your foot taps to the beat and you smile, despite yourself. It’s good. Really good. The crowd seems to think so, too – dancing adamantly and you frown, noticing that they seem to be about seventy percent female. Deep down you know this is inevitable.

The boys are too attractive not to have fangirls. Too young, too attractive and too good not to garner that sort of attention. Your heartbeat races though, clenching your stomach in a way that forces you to swallow heavily. Instead of thinking about that, you look at your phone. Staring confusedly at the message Jaebum sent you right before the show.

Jaebum: Y/N, I love you. Please don’t be mad. [8:28 PM]

When you first got the message, you felt sick. Wondering what he did and with whom. Your first thought was that maybe he wanted to get back at you for liking Mark. You dismissed this thought almost immediately – revenge wasn’t like Jaebum. He wasn’t vindictive, he was unusually mature for his age – which explained how he handled the Mark situation and the band.

Though Jackson joked about them being an autonomous collective, they all knew Jaebum was their leader. The propeller behind their stroke of fortune. He pushed them, drove them. The thought of him having something to apologize for made you more than a little nauseous. If Jaebum thought something was bad – it usually was.

Thumb drifting over your phone case, you wish you had someone to talk to about this. All your normal culprits don’t feel quite right. You could tell Maddie, but then she’d tell Jackson and you don’t want Jackson to know about your problems.

You could tell Robbie, or your mom but they both love Jaebum. You don’t want them to assume things before you even know what this is. If you’re being honest with yourself, you want to talk to Mark. Mark with his kind eyes, his steady words. He would know what to do. Or rather, he’d know how to help you understand what you’re thinking.

Onstage, On the Shore is transitioning to their next song. A ballad, one which Jaebum drops the guitar for. Allowing it to fall behind his back while cupping the mike with both hands. Some of his hair falls forward as he sings and more than a few girls shriek in glee.

Closing your eyes, you rub your temple with one hand. It’s completely ruining the song – don’t they see that? Jaebum doesn’t seem perturbed, pushing on despite the yelling. The band even seems to draw strength from it, playing better than they ever have before. A new reality presents itself to you. One where this is your permanent seat in the back of the house, hidden in the shadows. Next to the other girlfriends and wives, cheering from the sidelines.

The pit in your stomach deepens.

It’s hard to concentrate for the rest of the show. You continue to glance at your phone, then up at Jaebum. Wondering what he could possibly be sorry for – though it doesn’t take long for you to find out. The last song is your favorite since it’s your song, the one Jaebum wrote for you. The one he dedicates every night. You sit up straighter, knot in your stomach slightly loosening when Jaebum starts speaking.

Touching his mike, he shakes hair from his eyes and squint into the crowd. “Thank you all for coming.” He smiles, the gesture shy. “It’s amazing you’re all here. Seeing your faces every night gives us such a thrill – it’s why we’re here, why we love to do this.” Pausing, Jaebum swallows before carrying on. “We love you. You’re our fans, you’re our inspiration for keeping going every single day.”

There are cheers and aws from the audience – they’re all transfixed by Jaebum. You’re just another one of the many, unable to keep your eyes off him. It’s like watching a train wreck, knowing something is about to go horribly, terribly wrong but unable to look away. Instead you watch as the thing transforms into a nightmare, helpless as you sit there in your frozen shell of a body.

Jaebum’s eyes flicker with something like pain. “This song is for you,” he whispers, looking down. “For the fans.”

He drops his mike as he takes a step back.

Though you don’t see, the lines of Jackson’s face tighten. Bambam looks on in confusion, scanning the audience for you. Even Brian looks surprised, gaze darting to Jaebum before stepping up to take the mike. “Yeah,” he agrees, running his hand through his hair. “Thank you to everyone coming out to support us. We owe you it all and here’s your song.”

Brian strums, repeating the chord until Jackson’s drums join in. Bambam is next, adding onto the harmony with his keyboard. Jaebum is last, turning from where he’s faced upstage to grab his discarded mike. He sings, his voice loud and clear. It soars over the bar, drawing in everyone who wasn’t before.

You sit there, frozen.

Maddie’s hand finds yours. You look down, dazed and struggling to comprehend. Staring at her as though you’re seeing for the first time. All around, your song continues to play. But no – it’s not your song anymore. It’s theirs. Theirs and Jaebum’s. Maddie’s other hand finds yours, her eyes full of concern, and somehow it’s worse than before.

Somehow your feet hit the ground. You nearly knock over the stool in your mad dash to get outside. Looking down, you see that you’ve grabbed your purse – good, good. Less reason for you to ever enter that club again. The street blurs the longer you stare and it’s then you realize that you’re crying.

Maddie’s arm slips into yours. “Come on,” she says, gentle and calm. “Let’s go home. I’ll take you home.”

You nod feebly, since Robbie was the one who drove you tonight. He said he needed the car and you thought you would just get a ride home with Jaebum. Maddie brings you to the edge of the building, clicking the lights of her red Ford sitting in the first row of the parking lot. She opens the passenger side door, setting you inside and going around front.

When she turns on the engine, you grab her arm. “Maddie,” you say, voice surprisingly clear. “Please… can you just take me to Jaebum’s?”

Maddie winces. “Is that a good idea, Y/N? You seem upset and I don’t want to make things worse.”

You let out a harsh laugh. “Worse?” Your hand falls from her elbow. “How can things get any worse?” Then, quieter, “I need to talk to him, Maddie. Tonight.”

Maddie is quiet before she nods, pulling out of the lot to drive the several minutes towards Jaebum’s house. When you reach his yard she stops, sighing and turning to face you. “Do you want me to wait?”

“No,” you say, voice dull. “No, I need to do this alone.”

Maddie is silent as you open her door, letting yourself out. You swallow hastily, turning to face her. “Thanks,” you say, attempting a smile. “Really, Maddie. I appreciate this.”

Nodding, Maddie stares sadly back at you. “Anytime, doll.”

Once the lights of her car disappear around the corner, you turn to face his home. The lights are all off and you remember vaguely that Jaebum’s dad is at a work conference. He mentioned his mom was also attending so you wander forward until you’re at his front steps. Sinking down onto them and drawing your knees into your chest. It’s kind of chilly out. You wish you had brought a heavier jacket.

You don’t know how long you sit like this. It could be minutes, could be hours, maybe its days later that Jaebum’s headlights swing into his driveway. He doesn’t turn off his car. You watch dazedly as he leaps from the driver’s side, engine running as he sprints up the walkway.

“Baby,” he gasps, equal parts furious and relieved. “Why are you here? Why weren’t you answering my texts or calls? I’ve been looking everywhere,” he exhales, and you notice that his eyes look bloodshot. “Finally I got ahold of Maddie and she said she’d dropped you off here…”

Without answering, you glance at your bag beside you. Rifling through the compartments until you realize you left your phone at the club. Alone and unanswered on that table next to an unfinished glass of water. Thinking of this makes you think of other things that happened tonight, and you push these thoughts aside.

“Why?” you manage to ask, hating how small your voice sounds. “Why did you dedicate it… to them?”

Jaebum is quiet. When you look up, he’s dropped to his knees in front of you. There’s dew here and you know the front of his jeans must be getting soaked, but Jaebum doesn’t seem to care. “I – I don’t know,” he says, then stops. “That’s not true. I did it because the label asked. They said it would be better for our image if the first single was a fan-oriented song. One about some mysterious girl, not one girl in particular.”

A bitter laugh escapes. “Oh? Is that all I am? Some girl?”

Shaking his head no, Jaebum’s hands cup your face until you turn to look at him. “No,” he says fiercely. “Never. You’re the only girl for me.”

Licking your lips, you look quickly away when the first tear falls. “That’s not true, Jaebummie,” you hiccup, using his nickname. “It hasn’t been that way for a while. You keep saying we’ll make this work.” Another tear escapes, silent and angry. “Keep saying we’ll stay together, but how? You want to follow your dreams and I’m in the way of that. Please,” you cut him off, throat tightening. “Please just admit it.”

“But.” Jaebum is seemingly at a loss for words. “Y/N… you’re my dream, too.”

Somehow your hands are in his and somehow you manage to look at him, though he’s blurry with tears. “I know,” you tell him. “You’re mine, too. But this… how can we get through this?”

The tears are really falling now, and Jaebum wraps his arms around you. Pulling you to his chest and stroking your hair.

“This is the end, isn’t it?” you ask, the words muffled against his chest.

It’s the silence which kills you. The silence, which is the last and final nail in a coffin you’ve been building for some time now. Neither of you want to see it, so you’ve ignored that it’s there. Neither of you wants to let go but it’s now become impossible to hold on.

When Jaebum pulls away, you’re surprised to see that he’s also crying. Jaebum, who never shows his feelings to anyone. “Y/N,” he manages to say. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not,” you say weakly, hands interlacing with his. “I’ll be here. I’ll always love you, Jaebum.”

This only makes him cry harder, sobs which shake his shoulders. “I really do love you, Y/N.”

“I know.”

You don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Jaebum leaves six weeks later. On the Shore’s record is sent to the main agency in LA and they’re stunned, floored – ecstatic about this wonderful new band. Jaebum and the boys are flown out almost immediately, booking gigs and talk show appearances in record time. They make a YouTube channel, doing collaborations with established artists. Forming other social media accounts, ones to stave off the rabid fangirls which come with their rise to fame.

It’s so strange to watch it happen. It’s like watching a play you thought you’d be seeing from the wings, only to find yourself in the last seat of the balcony. Oddly familiar, but totally separate. For a long time, you avoid even mentioning Jaebum or the band. Despite what you said to Jaebum on the night you break up, you just can’t be there for him right now. Can’t or you’ll break apart, since you’re just barely holding it together as it is.

You try to talk to him multiple times. Giving in to his texts the first couple of times, only to delude yourself into thinking maybe you’ll get back together and then ending up heartbroken all over again. You’re not getting back together and you need to stop trying. Letting go of him hurts. It’s cutting out a part of yourself, but it’s what you have to do so you do it.  

You listen to other music. Any song which doesn’t remind you of Jaebum – hard, considering he likes a lot of music. After you unfollow all his social media accounts, you stop asking questions about him to Maddie. She keeps in touch with Jackson but then, Maddie was never in love with Jackson. You were – are? – still in love with Jaebum.

The pain of missing him isn’t something you can just get over. You wish it were as easy as healing an actual wound, where you can watch the healing process and know you’re pulling yourself together. Some days it’s just as bad as the first day and you cry for weeks, every time you think of him. Reaching for your phone, typing him texts you never send. One day maybe you’ll delete them but for now they just sit there, taking up space.

Becoming withdrawn, you spend days at a time in your room. Frantically typing and channeling all your pain and anger into writing. The day you get your acceptance letter to your dream school, you cry for a different reason. It seems that’s all you do lately, but that day is the first time you cry tears of joy.

Mark is the first person you text.

Y/N: Hey, I know it’s been a while and things are weird with… well, with the whole Jaebum thing but I thought you would want to know – I got accepted. [10:04 AM]

You thought it would take him longer to respond, but it doesn’t.

Mark: that’s amazing, Y/N!! I knew you could do it [10:07 PM]

Staring down at his text in your hand, you wonder what now. It’s been so long since you’ve spoken – two months, at least. Mark didn’t have anything to do with your break up – not really – and you miss his presence in your life. Miss his friendship, miss the quiet sense of composure he gave you. The bottom line is, you could really use more friends at the moment.

Y/N: Hey, Mark [10:09 PM]

Mark: yes? [10:10 PM]

Y/N: Want to do something crazy? [10:12 PM]

You and Mark hang out more and more – not in a romantic way, but more because he seems to be the only one who understands you. You, he and Maddie become close and by the time spring rolls around, there’s a whole new group of friends. People you never would have hung out with had it been just you and Jaebum staying together. Jaebum was safe for you, Jaebum was your home – and without him, you’re forced to expand. Forced to grow, to take risks.

You find you like taking risks. Your growth is slow, but every step becomes more confident. Your strides getting longer, the time between moments when you think of him growing longer as well. Eventually the day comes where you think of Jaebum and don’t tear up. When the pain in your chest unclenches just a little and you realize there are things you care about more.

Things like your dreams, your ambition, your happiness. Things like a sunrise over the ocean, with someone who shows up at 4:00 AM. White water rafting and a hike to the top of a mountain. Or trying and horribly failing at making crème brulee.

Mark doesn’t try to be more than your friend, though sometimes you look at him and wonder if he still feels the same. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light, a certain way he has of looking at people. Sometime during the spring, you find yourself looking at him the same way.

When Mark asks you to prom, it’s so hopelessly Mark that you almost laugh. You’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, feet propped up on his dash as you flip through the book you’re reading. Mark looks over, chewing his lip. “Are you going to prom with anyone?”

Shaking your head, you don’t look up. “No one asked, shockingly enough.”

Mark doesn’t respond. Then he exhales. “Want to go with me?”

You put your book down. “I- uh. Okay,” you answer, staring at his profile.

A smile grows on his lips.

That’s the night that Mark kisses you. Outside his car after dropping you off. You laugh at something he’s said, giggling helplessly while strands of your hair fall out of your bun. Mark steps closer, pushing them away before his hand freezes. He stares silently at his fingertips, as though unable to believe he’s touching your face.

“Mark,” you say, somewhat shakily. Your hands find his waist, pushing the jacket of his tuxedo back. “Do you still… Do you?”

Instead of responding, Mark kisses you. Lips tentative at first, asking if this is okay. It is and you nod, nose brushing his while he threads hands through your hair. It’s new, it’s different and it spark a familiar emotion in your chest. It’s been too long since you felt anything like this and somehow, his body pressed to yours makes you shiver. He awakens hope, breathing new life into your future.

Slamming the trunk of your car, Mark dusts off his hands and squints. “Come on Y/N,” he grins. “We’re going to be late.”

“But what if I forget something?” you ask, relaxing when he comes up behind you. Wrapping both arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Well, I didn’t forget that,” you grumble.”

Mark laughs. “With all your list making?” he grins, turning you to face him. “Slim chance.”

“Ah, you’re right.” You stare past him, to your house. “It just – it doesn’t seem real, you know?”

“I know.” Mark is quiet, fingers brushing against the edge of your shirt. “It will be amazing. College will be amazing. A whole new adventure – just for you.”

“And you,” you remind him, laughing lightly. “We’re going to the same college, don’t forget.”

Mark shrugs. “True. I have a feeling though – call it premonition or whatever you want – but I have a feeling that your journey is just beginning.”

Humming in agreement, you lean closer. “It’s funny,” you muse, turning your gaze to his. “There was a point in my life where that would have scared me.”

“And now?”

“And now,” you smile, lacing your hand in his. “I can’t wait.”

[Master List]

Author’s Note: There is an Epilogue! <3 

Playlist: The Other, Lauv; Break a Little, Kristin; Foreigner’s God, Hozier; Coffins, Misterwives; Incomplete, James Bay; Little Things, One Direction; Lost Stars, Keira Knightley; Nicest Thing, Kate Nash; Pricked, Winner; Holic, Def. 

[shiparmada]

More than One Path

So, back in the old expanded universe of Star Wars there was a spice called Glitterstim. Glitterstim was featured prominently in the Han Solo trilogy as well as other books. Glitterstim was a spice that granted the user psychic powers temporarily, but it came with some pretty steep penalties.

trigger warnings: Drug use and abuse.

@sarkastically made me write this, and it is the angstiest, longest piece of spiritassassin fic I have written to date. Enjoy?

AO3 link

Chirrut opened his eyes as he exited his meditation and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing. He had felt nothing again. He had successfully slipped into the meditation, cleared his mind, and reached out with his feelings but he had felt… nothing. Chirrut swallowed and he bowed his head. It had been three months since Baze had successfully felt the Force through meditation. There had been stars in Baze’s eyes when he came out, gasping for breath and trying to explain over stumbling words. Chirrut had pulled Baze into his arms, smiled brightly, and told Baze how proud of him he was. Of course Baze would sense the Force first. He was devoted and kind, the best student of them all. It only made sense.

That had been three months ago now, and Chirrut still felt nothing. He had tried every day since then, and all anyone could tell him was to be patient, it would happen in its own time. He just had to be patient.

Chirrut was getting sick of being patient.

“Nothing?” Baze’s voice brought him back to the present, and Chirrut turned to look at his friend, sitting across from him. Chirrut bit off the jealousy that was building in his chest and shook his head. Baze’s eyes softened and Chirrut’s anger grew. He hated the pity. He hated it more than the words to be patient. “We’ll try again tomorrow,” Baze said, reaching over and touching Chirrut’s shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting, but instead it made Chirrut tense up, and Baze carefully pulled his hand away. “It will happen in time.”

“Of course,” Chirrut said and then he stood up. “I’m tired.” Chirrut turned and he pulled off his robes, carefully folding them and putting them on the end of the bed before he tugged off his shirt and trousers, reaching for his sleep clothes and changing. “Goodnight.”

Baze let out a long sigh. “Chirrut,” he started, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat as Chirrut turned off the lights with a huff and climbed into bed. The silence stretched between them. “Goodnight,” Baze finally said quietly, and Chirrut listened as he got changed for bed. Chirrut continued to listen long after he was sure Baze was asleep, before he let out a breath and rolled out of the bed.

Chirrut sat on the edge and he tried again, tried to focus on a single glowing ball inside of himself. He imagined the ball in his head, bright white and glowing beyond himself, enough to illuminate the room. He followed the strands of light and… nothing. Chirrut stood up with a huff, grabbing at his robes and getting changed quickly before he charged from his room. He needed room, air, space, anything to clear his head.

Chirrut pulled his robes against him as he walked, trying to push away the cold of Jedha’s night air. He let his mind wander as he walked, following the pathways to the gate and breathing out clouds into the night air that rose and dissipated before the next breath came, absorbed hungrily by the dry air. What if he never found the Force? He had heard of Acolytes leaving the temple because it had taken them too long, because they gave up. Perhaps he was one of those, the ones who were there until the Force called them somewhere else. The temple could be a stopping point. He had always thought training to be a Guardian was his destiny, but perhaps he had been wrong. That would mean that one day he would have to leave Baze.

Chirrut stopped in his tracks. Chirrut let out a stuttering breath as a great force squeezed around his heart, making it ache, tears hitting his eyes. He had never truly considered it before, that there might be a day where he would have to leave Baze. He had not realized the thought hurt so much. He placed a hand on his chest, taking a deep breath in and then letting it out slowly, focusing on the feeling of his chest rising and falling under his hand. He moved to do it again when a voice called out, “Are you alright, Acolyte?”

Chirrut turned to face the sentient who spoke. They were a Twi’lek, tall and thin with gold skin, lit by a single lamp that hung on the wall in the alley. Chirrut had never been shy but there was something about this Twi’lek, perhaps the way he stood or the look in his eyes, that made Chirrut feel uneasy.

The Twi’lek seemed to take his silence as agreement and he continued, “Haven’t communed with the Force yet, have you?” Chirrut’s eyes widened and the man began to smile. “You are not the first Acolyte to face this issue… I have something that can help, if you are interested.”

Chirrut paused. He should turn around, walk back the way he came, go back into the temple and crawl into bed and go to sleep. Instead he took a step closer to the Twi’lek, swallowing down his suspicion building in him. “What is it?”

It turned out to be a small paper package, produced from one of the many pockets in the Twi’lek’s clothes. “It’s called Glitterstim,” he said, sliding the packet into Chirrut’s waiting palm. “It is a spice that allows you to commune with the Force, no meditation necessary.”

“Does it?” Chirrut wondered, looking at the small packet in his hand. It did not look like anything much, like one of the paper envelopes that were passed out to children in festivals that contained candies or sweetened fruits. All it was missing were the gold painted letters or pictures of loth cats on them. “If it does,” Chirrut said skeptically, looking up at the Twi’lek, “why doesn’t everyone take it?”

“If everyone took it and knew of the secrets,” the Twi’lek answered easily, a question he had been asked before surely, “then there would be no need for the practice or meditation. Those who train in the Temple of Kyber do not want people taking the easy way out. But I do believe that this could help you, truly. Do not think of this as a cheat, think of it as an aid. You can find other ways to the Force later, wouldn’t you like to know what it feels like now?”

Chirrut stared at the packet in his hand, rolling it over his palm quietly. “How much is it?” Chirrut asked, watching as the corners of the packet crinkled and came back together.

“No price,” was the other’s answer. “I will consider this my act of charity for the day.”

“What do I do?” Chirrut swallowed, his thumb finding the packet’s seal, nudging the corner of it and pushing it up a bit. The contents shifted inside, moving to the seal.

“You eat it. Just open the packet and put the contents in your mouth. Be careful though, Glitterstim loses its effectiveness if it is exposed to light.”

Chirrut knew he shouldn’t. The Masters preached that hard work was the way to the Force, that those who worked would find themselves in it. But if everything was as the Force willed it, perhaps the Force had willed Chirrut to an answer. Perhaps this was the Force telling him how he could commune with it. It had shown Baze the way, why not him? Who was to say that their paths had to be found the same way? He used his thumb to open the packet before he could question himself further, and dumped the contents into his mouth, swallowing the grainy substance.

It was gross. It made Chirrut think of the many times he had fallen during training, getting a mouthful of sand as his punishment. He had learned quickly after that that the ground was not where he ever wanted to be. Chirrut was considering going to find water and rinse the texture out of his mouth when it hit him. It was a calming wave that flooded out from him and he stumbled back a step. The anxiety, the jealousy, all of it was simply… gone. He felt lighter, like a giant weight had been taken off his shoulders, placed somewhere far away. Where, Chirrut did not care. He found he did not care much about anything in that moment.

“I see it’s kicked it.” Chirrut startled and looked over at the Twi’lek who was still standing there but hadn’t opened his mouth. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Chirrut blinked slowly, swallowing down another dose of the sandy grit in his mouth. He had heard that in his head. “Am I… hearing your thoughts?” he asked.

“Yes, that is the Force.”

Chirrut tried to think back on his teachings, on if anyone had said anything about being able to read the thoughts of others. Moving through his brain for the memories though was like walking through pudding. The thoughts just would not come to the forefront. The only thought that did come to mind was that he should be more worried about it. He was not. “I have to go tell Baze,” he said before he realized he had the thought.

“Of course,” the Twi’lek’s voice slid through his head. “Feel free to see me again if you want more.”

Chirrut blinked at him and nodded before he turned and ran back for the temple. The run back took less time than his walk into the city, and when he got to their shared room he went straight for Baze’s bed. He knelt on the floor next to him and shook Baze’s shoulder quickly. “Baze,” he said quietly. Startling his friend, he had discovered in the past, was a bad idea. “Baze, please, wake up.”

Baze shifted on the bed, letting out a small groan as he was pulled from sleep. “Why won’t he just let me sleep?” came Baze’s thoughts, and Chirrut felt a thrill go through him. Baze’s sombrous voice echoed into the back of his head and filled his mind. It found little niches in his body and made their home there. “Chirrut?” Baze asked quietly, this time in the real world and outside of Chirrut’s head. “Chirrut, is something wrong?”

“No, no no no,” Chirrut said, and was suddenly grinning down at his friend. “No, I just. I felt it. I felt the Force. I feel the Force.”

“You feel it right now?” Baze asked, sitting up. Questions rushed through Baze’s head, questions that went by too fast for Baze to follow. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You look a little flushed.” And then a single thought pushed through the questions as Baze’s hand reached up and touched Chirrut’s forehead. “He looks cute when he’s excited.”

“You think I’m cute?” Chirrut blurted out, his grin growing across his face.

“What?” Baze asked, staring at him. “How-“

Chirrut decided he was not going to think anymore. He leaned forward and closed the distance between them quickly, catching Baze’s lips with his own and pushing up against his chest until Baze relented and laid down on the bed. Chirrut caught none of Baze’s thoughts, his own head spinning too much from the rush of it all. Baze’s lips were chapped and rough and Chirrut could not remember the last time he had felt something so good. A moan escaped, deep and needy, and Chirrut was shocked to discover it had come from his own throat. He felt he should have been embarrassed. He was not.

“Chirrut,” Baze finally managed to get out, breaking the kiss and panting hard, looking up at Chirrut. Underneath Chirrut’s hip bone he could feel how much Baze had enjoyed the kiss, and Chirrut’s grin was born anew. Chirrut’s hands slid over Baze’s broad chest, wanting to touch every inch of Baze’s skin with warm seeking fingers. “Chirrut what is wrong with you?”

That snapped Chirrut out of his reverie, though he could not feel angry or upset about it. He wondered for a moment why that was, but then moved past it. “Nothing is wrong with me!” he said, his voice sounding infinitely bright even in his own ears. “I am just excited, I am happy. Is there something wrong with being excited or happy?”

“No, of course not.” The huff that Baze let out was long and annoyed, and at any other time it would have annoyed Chirrut, but Chirrut could not be bothered to be annoyed. “Chirrut, you’re acting strangely. More than usual, I should say…” Baze’s hand came up, gently touching Chirrut’s cheek. Chirrut leaned into it, nestling his face into Baze’s hand.

“Just excited,” Chirrut said, and his lips kissed their way over Baze’s hand happily. He nipped at the palm of Baze’s hand gently, a shiver of excitement going through him, before he pulled away. “You’re right, this feeling is indescribable, I’m almost mad that you tried to keep it from me.” Baze spluttered, and Chirrut could hear the numerous objections to Chirrut’s words in his head, but Chirrut silenced them all by kissing him again. “It is late,” Chirrut said, breaking the kiss and then rolling off Baze to press into his side. “We should sleep.”

Baze let out a huff, and his arm slid under Chirrut’s neck and pulled him close, fingers stroking at Chirrut’s side. “You expect me to sleep after all you just did?”

“Yes,” Chirrut answered simply, kissing his shoulder. “Sleep, Baze Malbus.”

/

The world was grey. It was the only real way to describe it. When Chirrut woke up the next morning the world had lost some of its color, it dragged on him, pulling at his limbs and feeding into the darker thoughts in Chirrut’s mind, the ones that Chirrut did not like to acknowledge or think on. He went through his day in this state of gray. He smiled when Baze smiled towards him, small spark of affection hitting when Baze smiled, but then when Baze turned away the smile would be gone, and Chirrut would go back to feeling grey.

Chirrut wondered why Baze had not warned about this.

Evening came back and Chirrut walked back with Baze to their shared room, his hand sliding into Baze’s easily, as if it always belonged there, but there was no rush in it, Baze’s thumb sliding over his own did not illicit the same spark Chirrut had imagined it would. Chirrut’s heavy heart was lifted some when Baze kissed him in the darkness of their room. Bodies pushed together and hands discovering new things about each other. It was amazing and exhilarating but it was also not enough. Chirrut did not know how to make it enough. He felt his frustration build, and long after they had finished kissing, and after Baze had gone back to sleep, Chirrut got out of the bed and pulled up his own, finding the small bag of Jedhan knots underneath.

He spent ten of them just to feel colorful again.

/

It took a month for Chirrut to realize that something was wrong.

“Chirrut?” Baze asked him when he caught Chirrut staring out the window, up into the sky. The worry was plain in Baze’s voice, a gentle softening on the edges and a larger hitch at the end of the question. Chirrut barely stirred when he felt Baze’s hand on his arm. “Is everything alright?”

“I wish you would stop asking me that,” Chirrut said, amping up the agitation in his voice to counteract the lethargy in his bones.

The huff that left Baze’s chest was deep and annoyed, a sign of the actual anger Baze often kept buried in his chest, afraid to let out and hurt something or someone. “I will stop asking it when I feel that everything is alright again.” Baze shifted and sat next to Chirrut, his hand sliding down until he took Chirrut’s hand. “You haven’t been eating as much, and you always look so distant. You smile and laugh when you know that I’m looking, but stop the instant you think I can’t see you anymore. I’m worried, Chirrut. Please, tell me what is wrong…”

Chirrut did not know how to answer, did not know how to explain the deep pit of apathy that lived inside him whenever he had gone to long without touching the Force. He did not remember Baze going through this after he had touched it, but Baze never was one to show pain. Perhaps this was normal. Perhaps he should talk to the masters and find ways of coping with it. He did not want to. He just wanted to sit. Instead of telling Baze the truth, he came up with a lie. “I believe it is the weather affecting me.” Chirrut had heard of other sentients being affected by the weather, how deep fog would make them feel morose or the sun would make them jubilant. It was an easy lie to fall into.

“The weather?” Baze asked skeptically, and though Chirrut did not turn to look at him, he knew Baze was now looking at the sky as well.

“Yes,” Chirrut said, his hand gently squeezing Baze’s. “The sky has been grey with clouds for several weeks now. I wish it would just rain and get it over with.”

“Chirrut…” Baze’s voice was cautious, not wanting to earn Chirrut’s ire. “Chirrut, the sky is blue. Bright blue. It’s brighter than I have seen it in years.”

Now Chirrut did turn to Baze, eyebrows coming together. “What are you talking about?” Chirrut turned and looked back at the grey sky, trying to see the blue that Baze was describing. “Baze, if this is some sort of prank-“ Chirrut did not get to finish his thought, Baze’s rough hand coming up and grabbing Chirrut’s jaw, yanking Chirrut to face Baze.

“What is wrong with your eyes?”

Chirrut pulled away, with a short growl. Baze should know that Chirrut did not like to be grabbed like that, not outside the training ring. “What are you going on about this time, Malbus?” Chirrut saw the pain on Baze’s face at that, but Baze said nothing, staying focused.

“There’s something wrong with your eyes,” Baze said, standing up and grabbing Chirrut’s arm. “We’re going to the healers, now.”

“Baze!” Chirrut complained, trying to tear his arm away from Baze. “Baze, let me go! I’m not going to the healers!”

Baze did not listen, dragging Chirrut out of the room and down the steps to the healers.

/

Chirrut was going blind. There was nothing that could be done about it now, not on a small moon like Jedha, his vision would most likely be gone before he could reach any of the large facilities. He told them everything, about the Twi’lek in the markets, about the strange and mesmerizing drug that let him touch the Force, about how he went every night because the daytime was so hard to live with.

Then he learned the truths: Glitterstim is not the same as communing with the Force. Glitterstim took more than it gave. The effects of losing his sight had started off gradual, but the more he took the faster it became. He would have to be detoxed, and it would be difficult and painful, but he would live. He was lucky the Glitterstim had only taken his vision and not his life.

Chirrut was not so sure about the last one.

He was not going to be sent out of the temple. He would stay there to recover and to heal. He would not be allowed to leave at that time, and a guardian would always be near him. Adaptations would be made, an echobox would be procured and they would start training with it as soon as it arrived. Once the Healers deemed him ready, he would go back to his training as if nothing had happened. Except everything had happened, and Chirrut did not know how to live with that yet.

He sat in the infirmary, staring at his hands. The grey he felt inside him had become a darker, deeper black, one he had never felt before, one he wanted to run away from. He wanted desperately to run away, to leave the temple and go to the market. He desperately wanted to find the sentient he had become dependent on and lose himself again, to feel happy again.

Chirrut looked up when he heard the door open, expecting to see Healer Morel coming in to give Chirrut more bad news, but instead it was Baze. Chirrut looked away quickly before he could see the pity in Baze’s eyes. He swallowed as he listened to Baze walk across the room, walk towards him, and Chirrut spoke before Baze could start attempting to comfort him, “You must think I am some sort of fool, not being able to tell the Force from a doppelganger.”

Baze’s footsteps hesitated a moment, and Chirrut’s heart squeezed. Tears prickled at Chirrut’s eyes and he suddenly wished he had not stopped Baze, had allowed him to comfort. Chirrut needed that comfort right now, he realized. Then Baze was moving forward again, and Baze’s heavy form sat next to Chirrut before Baze’s arms gathered Chirrut up and pulled him close. “I do believe you are a fool,” Baze rumbled out, holding Chirrut close to him. “But not because you could not understand the difference… there is no shame in ignorance, Chirrut.”

Chirrut’s wet laugh escaped him without warning and he pressed his face into Baze’s chest to try to hide the escaping tears. He knew Baze would see them anyway, but Chirrut did not have much dignity left and he wanted to hold onto it for just a little longer.

“Chirrut…” Baze said quietly, hand sliding over Chirrut’s short hair. “I am sorry.”

Chirrut hesitated before pulling away, looking up at Baze and trying not to think on how he looked less saturated than Chirrut’s memory of him. “Baze, what could you possibly have to apologize for?”

“I did not see how much pain you were in,” Baze said gently, reaching down and taking Chirrut’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I did not see how much not connecting with the Force hurt you. I did not see your suffering. I knew something was wrong, but not the extent. I should have-“

Chirrut smacked Baze on the back of the head, a little awkward from their position but worth it. “Baze Malbus, you carry too much.” Chirrut took a deep breath, and he squeezed Baze’s hand with his other. “You are not to blame for this, only I can have that blame. I wanted an easy solution and I thought I had found it. Now I am paying for it. It went against everything I have ever learned and I did it anyway… I will not have you taking the blame for my mistakes.”

Baze let out a huff and Chirrut knew that he had not assuaged Baze’s guilt, but at least the words had been said. They sat quietly for a moment and Baze pulled Chirrut closer with his arm. “Do you actually love me?” Baze asked quietly.

“Yes,” Chirrut answered without any hesitation. “Yes, I do. I am sorry that I… I’m sorry.”

Baze let out a small rumble. Chirrut knew that Baze’s instinct was to say that it was alright, but that nothing in this situation was alright. Baze forgave him though. “No more lies,” Baze said instead, the hand around Chirrut shifting to his back and rubbing circles there. “If we want this to work there can be no more lies between us.”

“Agreed…” Chirrut said, and he rested his head on Baze’s shoulder. The gnawing pit inside him was still there, but it no longer seemed such an impossible task to cross it. Perhaps the bit would no longer be there. “…My recovery is going to be difficult. The healers say that it will not be easy for myself or anyone around me…”

“That is alright,” Baze answered.

“And they said that I may always want to go back to it,” Chirrut said. “That I will always be tempted to go back to it…”

“I can help keep the temptation away,” Baze said quietly, pressing a kiss into Chirrut’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” Chirrut said, his voice cracking before the words were finished.

“I know,” Baze responded, another kiss placed into Chirrut’s hair. Chirrut felt his eyes close, more tears rushing down his face, and he pressed back into Baze’s shoulder. “It’s alright,” Baze whispered to Chirrut, and the tone drew up more tears, “You can cry, I am here…”

The road ahead was not going to be easy, these would not be the last tears Chirrut would shed, but despite the pain, despite the tears and sobs that left him, Chirrut felt a spark of hope.