#I will get bored and take entire limbs off of my OCs.

[youngpettyqueen]

it is perhaps just slightly concerning how good I am at writing people being in pain

[the-raven-lady]

(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 3]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Nocturnal Me - Echo & The Bunnymen  [YouTube] [Spotify] “Do or die, what's done is done / True beauty lies on the blue horizon / Who or why? What's one is one / In pure disguise of vulgar sons / Oh, take me internally / Forever yours, nocturnal me.”

Warnings: Getting tattooed in detail (needles and pain), vomiting / emetophobia, illness and recovery, mentions of violence and gore, cannibalism, food (and lack thereof) talks, partially unreliable narrator?

Word Count: 3.3k

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone for being straight feral for this man. It makes writing for him far easier. Thank you @mothiir for keeping me company as I wrote and happy late birthday.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual 

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender @historitor-bookshelf

The needle digging into your skin alternates between a carpet burn and the drag of a razor blade as the apothecary packs black pigment into your nape. Vibrations electrify your entire nervous system and tingle deep into your bones, sending all of your systems haywire. You lost the ability to hold yourself upright through the pain a long time ago, your master having simply pivoted and shoved you face-first into his bed when the iron grip around your neck wasn’t enough to silence your incessant whimpering. 

You ball your hands into fists and press them hard into your lap as an aggravated spinal nerve shoots lightning down your arm. The apothecary hisses in Nostraman, but the foreign words are lost to your pain-addled brain, too much blood whirring in your ears. The Contekar holding you steady digs his fingers into your jaw, the greater pain refocusing you and inadvertently soothing the ache in your clenched teeth. Your eyes blink open to his creased brow and tired eyes glaring at you in warning. You hadn’t even noticed the high pitched whimper leaving your throat with how focused you’d been trying to hold your breath, but it’s not a difficult leap in logic to realize that your tattoo artist was getting annoyed with the constant sound of a balloon leaking air.

The next time it happens is after you cry out from a stab to a particularly tender area above the spine, and both parties were substantially less polite about it. The apothecary lifts the needle from where it bore into you, and you don’t even have the time to catch your breath before someone kicks your chair and spins it round. The next thing you perceive is total darkness and the inability to take a full breath, as well as an immovable force preventing you from lifting your head back up. Your entire body tenses up as the needle once again makes contact and angry vibrations rattle down your spine.

Gentle wipes of a cold cloth against the entirety of your nape jarringly signaled the close of the session, temporarily calming the constant burn. What felt like an eternity had at most been three hours, but by the end your entire body was exhausted. You were dehydrated and nauseous, trembling from adrenaline and low blood sugar. Your limbs were torn between desperately needing to stretch out and being completely uncooperative. 

On legs of jelly, you slowly stagger up out of the chair and lift your face off of the bed, firmly planting your hands into the soft mattress to stabilize yourself. Moisture from where you had been crying stains the blanket and your cheeks. Disorienting static buzzes within your head.

The apothecary is packing up his cart, tossing used supplies into a bag on the side and putting the used needles in a rigid case with an occasional clink, clink. You squint as you notice a scarlet ink cup on the tabletop, not remembering when that had been poured despite trying to pay attention at first. The terminator and apothecary exchange quiet words in their native tongue before the apothecary pulls a tub of… something from one of the cart’s many drawers. The terminator accepts it with a scoff, shaking his head in annoyance, and puts the object next to his ornate armor. 

The back of your neck is lit up like a severe sunburn, curling around the edges of your traps and up behind your ears. Turning your head from side to side gives no glimpse of the new ink (but it does remind you of how stiff your body is). Whatever substance had been put on top of the tattoo is greasy and warm; you guess it must be there to protect the fresh wound.

The creak of the door opening and closing alerts you to the apothecary taking his leave, dragging the cart out behind him. The terminator gives the room a once over, then turns his black eyes to you. Your brain is too tired to react to the weight of his gaze at the moment, clouded by adrenal buzzing, and you feel the corners of your lips quirk up as you meet his stare. The slivers of white in the corners of his eyes make him look like an overgrown dog.

He huffs and looks away, sitting back against his table and grabbing the tub of whatever from earlier to read its label over. The way folds his arms over his broad chest conceals several of his larger chest ports, and you wonder why they’re placed along his body in each specific location. Questions for another day.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself moving in the direction of the bathroom. Each step is messy and uncoordinated, feet dragging, but you manage to not fall over as you push yourself off of support of the bed. Getting tattooed so close to the head must be making your brain do spirals. Head warm and floaty, vision dreamlike and unfocused. Everything simultaneously feels better than it ever has and dreadfully wrong, but you can’t find it within you to care. The world has never been so ethereal.

You jump as you recognize the face in front of you. When had you gotten to the mirror?

Craning your neck to the side, you catch sight of the red and black artwork wrapping around your neck. Inflammation has set in over the entire area, an angry flush from head to chest. The thick black outline of a bat wing curves down from behind your ear to the top of your shoulder, packed with crimson. Red waves and spirals flow along its webbing in cascades. You turn fully to your side and drag the skin of your shoulder down to see the rest of it.

Subtlety was not considered for this design.

A skull sits between the bat wings along your spine, perfectly aligned with where the vertebra of your neck meet those of your back. Above the skull sits two symbols you don’t recognize: one in the shape of a cross, and another like a rotated ‘F’. You’ve seen similar script on some of the older Night Lord’s armor, but you never inquired about their meaning before. Whatever they are, they likely serve some function beyond purely aesthetic.

A sudden warmth overtakes you. Your hand slips from its perch on the oversized sink basin, and you nearly topple over, just barely catching yourself in time as a wave of vertigo washes over you. Alarms ring in your ears, tinnitus deafening everything around you. The grey tiled floor begins to swirl, churning tides at your feet that double and triple. Dull throbbing pounds from the inside of your skull. 

The only warning you get before the contents of your stomach paint the surface of the sink is a furious twist in your gut. You violently retch the remainder of your last meal, coughing and sputtering sour yellow chunks off of your tongue. 

You meet your own bloodshot eyes in the mirror as your legs begin to give out, clutching weakly at the sink to keep yourself upright. A sheen of sweat coats your face, cheeks flushed despite a sudden pallor to the rest of you. Each breath you take is labored and intense, diaphragm screaming at you for oxygen you can’t seem to get. 

What is happening–? You try to speak but the words won’t come out, tongue too large for your mouth. Am I dying–? 

The slam of the door is the only thing that reaches your fogged brain, and you sluggishly turn your head to meet it. Shadows crawl in from the opening like licks of dark smoke.

Everything tunnels around you, and a sharp sting of blinding white floods your vision.

Soft. The surface is soft, warm. 

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so comfortable.

The heavy blanket around you anchors your sore body down, faux fur and minky sending little prickles up your arm as you brush your fingertips against the fabric. You must not be in your spot on the floor, unless your pillow had grown three sizes from the last time you checked. 

Honestly, you couldn’t tell if it did or not. A heavenly glow basks the room around you, hazing the edges of your vision. 

The tattoo had killed you— it must have, for why else would you be so at ease? This couldn’t be the Nightfall. 

An angel walks into your view, a vast colossus of perfection. Its form radiates with light, grey eyes dotting along its body in random locations that all seem to stare right at you. You’d dare call it beautiful. Gingerly, you reach a hand out towards it, hoping to share in its magnificence.

The afterlife wasn’t so unwelcoming after all.

Elias swears if you grab his leg one more time he’s going to tie you to the chair and leave you outside for the vermin. For the tenth time he swats away your hand, trapping it against the edge of the bed. He pushes away the blanket covering you to check over your weeping tattoo as the apothecary instructed. His eyes hone in on the subtle beating of your heart, capillaries expanding and contracting as lymph tries desperately to carry away the astartes blood in the ink. You haven’t died yet, which is a positive; it would reflect poorly on his abilities and reputation otherwise.

Your frail little body treats him like an infection. Elias had heard you vomit from the bathroom and surged in just in time to watch your head slam into the metal sink as you collapsed. There’s still a yellowing bruise on your cheek from where it had impacted, but the deep purples and reds have dissipated. He couldn’t remember a time when he was so delicate, even as a human. 

…however long ago it had been since then. The Night Haunter had only just been found by the Emperor and joined forces with the Imperium at the time Elias became a neophyte. 

You give a pathetic whine at his touch, and it grates him. It’s as if Apothecarion Rathal had tattooed the intelligence straight out of you, reducing you to a groveling ape and no more. Your skin was perpetually damp and perspiration soaked into the fine linens of his bed sheets, which made them reek of you (did you not understand how difficult it had been to acquire those?). You moan and hyperventilate in your sleep, demanding his attention away from the responsibilities you had shirked in your illness.

And now it was his responsibility to care for you? Absurd. Still, the human medicae would surely do no better than he could. It was bad enough that he can’t even use his own bed during this extended downtime because you’re in it.

It isn’t as if he hasn’t tried, but it’s difficult to focus on his own activities when every few minutes a sick human is trying to clutch onto you like a child in need of comforting. 

First, he had been attempting to clean off the plates of his armor while you were unable to do it for him. Elias sat over the edge of the bed to avoid getting any of the flakes on his expensive spread, when your needy little hands had snaked around his waist and pulled at him. “No,” he had scolded, pushing you off, but your foolishly feverish mind wouldn’t take that for an answer. You redoubled your efforts, forcing him to move to his far less comfortable chair to finish. 

Second was after a brutal training session. Elias had worked himself nearly to collapse, pushing the limits of his underfed body. He returned to his quarters drenched in sweat and exhausted, ignoring your sleeping form as he walked past you to take a much needed shower— he didn’t subscribe to the filth of the rest of the Eighth, taking more pride in his image and heritage than the lowly degenerates that had recently populated it. Dried and clean, he pushed you as far to the side as he could before taking up his spot in bed, sinking into the soft mattress with a sigh.

Only to wake up to you snuggling against him.

His back had begun to ache from the amount of half-sleep spent in his chair to accommodate for your needs. If you had been any less diligent at your job, Elias would have already disposed of you like the rest. 

The previous serfs he’d acquired had proven inadequate. Some would beg and cry to him for their freedom— freedom, as if he had not offered them a better life than they ever could have hoped for on this wretched ship. Others had damaged his armor or belongings, which infuriated him to no end. You at least seemed to know your place and understand the magnitude of the gifts he had given you, even if it had taken multiple days for you to use the pillow and sheet he provided for your floor spot at the foot of his bed.

He may not have kept you around at all if one of his useless younger brothers hadn’t been present in the armory he found you in. 

Elias had just returned from a six month long campaign on a noncompliant feudal world, utterly ravenous and annoyed. The fleet had stopped supplying rations to the squads weeks prior as ‘encouragement’ for them to finish their mission faster. The casualty rate had shot up as a result of the ration cuts, each Night Lord left to fend for themselves. The civilians and guardsmen stood no chance.

Elias had already never been given proper portioning for his body size to begin with, being larger than the majority of his legion by a substantial margin. He left most meals hungry, but he learned how to make up for it in his own ways. 

And there you had been, crying in the corner against a storage locker as his brother cornered you in while spewing ridiculous notions about gutting you. There had been two priorities on Elias’s mind at the time: have his armor refreshed so that he would stand out amongst his squad, and have his belly filled. How kind of his brother to so willingly volunteer for slaughter, getting in his way as he did. Elias had been craving such a protein-dense meal for ages.

You had done an admittedly excellent job cleaning his helmet as he ate. It brought him something akin to happiness that you were intelligent enough to shut up and just work, leaving him to his devices. He was almost grateful he wouldn’t have to devour you. The chances of finding a serf that didn’t question or cry about every little thing were slim.

Speaking since his lip had been torn a half-century ago brought Elias no short amount of annoyance. Sharp consonants like F’s, P’s, and S’s would catch on his lips, causing them to whistle and lisp. It was even worse in Gothic than his native dialect of Nostraman. Eloquent speeches and curt words were softened by the reality of their vocalizations, and over time Elias decided to speak only when necessary to avoid the stress.

He wasn’t ‘self-conscious’ about it. He doesn’t get self-conscious. That was only for the weak minded, and Elias is not weak.

The jar of antibiotic balm has gotten warm in his hand. Deftly unscrewing the lid and dropping it aside, he hooks a dollop onto his finger. The apothecary made it very clear that the tattoo had to be kept moisturized and coated to protect it and have it heal properly, and Elias wouldn’t settle for any imperfections in the design. He had overseen the entire process from start to finish to assure the outcome was as favorable to him as possible. The best tattoo artist, the finest supplies, the most reliable machine, everything. He wouldn’t skimp on the recovery process no matter how difficult you intended to make it.

The terminator kneels down on the bed and rolls your head to the side once more to apply the ointment, diligently spreading it over every exposed inch of the tattoo. The process would go so much more smoothly if you would stop nuzzling into the hand holding your head like a damned kitten. He needs to use both hands to lift the back of your collar up, but your complete inability to stay still and let him work stalls the process. 

An annoyed grunt leaves him, and he sits back to glare down at you. Your eyes are half-lidded and unintelligent when they meet his, and you give him another useless smile. Never learning your lesson, you lean forward to rest your head against his knee, letting out a deep exhale at the contact. It’s ridiculous, the basal creature you’ve become.

But it also puts you in the perfect position for Elias to finish his work. He supposes this is fine if it means you’ll cooperate with him, and he allows himself to relax. He’s only taking advantage of your weakness.

He hooks a finger into your shirt and pulls it away, working the balm down under the fabric to make sure the entirety of the tattoo is coated, rolling it an inch farther out than necessary in all directions in the event you smudge it. He relinquishes your collar and stares down at the runes between the wings. On a whim, he scoops up another small dollop of the salve and focuses more attention to the area. He would prefer his claim on you be clear if nothing else, and no part of the tattoo was more important than his name.

Content, the Night Lord pulls the blanket back over the area and reaches for the lid of the jar to close it.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He stops at your words, returning his gaze to where your cheek rests on his thigh. Your eyes are cloudy and red, pupils dilated so large they nearly envelop your iris. The look is almost pathetic, so reliant on him for your needs.

You have been since he chose to keep you. Unable to stand up to any of his brothers and most other serfs before. You could not find your own clothes, find regular sleep, or find consistent food. Elias had so generously made up for that, providing you new garments and a safe place to sleep, and you still tried to leave at first. Perhaps if you had just spoken up about your needs, he would have known you were hungry sooner. Taking the finer foods the Imperium provided to the remembrancers had been tantamount to stealing from children. No one dared stop him from entering their hall and commandeering what he saw fit to nourish you.

He has now sacrificed his bed for you, but at least it is visible how grateful you are for it. It stirs an odd fluttering in his hearts that makes him grimace.

“Elias.”

Your eyebrows knit together as your obtuse brain thinks loud enough to hear each cog within whir. Are you always so transparent?

“Pardon me, my lord?” you reply, unable to piece it together yourself. Perhaps he has given you too much credit.

With a sigh, he responds, shaking his head. “My name is Elias.”

A light enters your eyes for the first time in a week, a modicum of intelligence coming back to you. The adoring smile on your face widens to a full fledged grin as if you have just been given all of your dreams in life. It would be impossible for another human to look more reverential than you do in the moment, face pressed against him like you’re venerating a god.

If you could purr, Elias swears you would be.

If he still could, he might be too.

And here's the tattoo you got. Hope you like Night Lord Tribal!

They say bold will hold for a reason. Unfortunately for most serfs, it doesn't have to hold very long. I overlayed it on top of some skin tones so you guys had a better idea of what it looks like on the skin.

I debated doing the entire Fenty Beauty shade range but the time sink was high, so here are 18 common shades. If your skin tone isn't on it, feel free to send me a picture and I'll throw the transparent tattoo on top of it :)

[the-demon-of-a-thousand-eyes]

𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓈: 𝑜𝓃 𝐻𝒾𝓈 𝒮𝑒𝑒𝓈, A Fic in the Theia Universe

Pairing: F!OC (Theia, The Demon of a Thousand Eyes) x Valentino

Story Summary: Theia is done with Tino's insolence. Maestra will have him how she wants him: on his knees and begging for her, and he'll like everything she allows him to have.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Knife, blood, tentacles, Valentino

Theia materialized in Tino’s porn studio with a sigh and a smirk. As she glanced around, she saw the employees hard at work making their usual drivel. If she had her way, they’d be making better content with far more interesting scripts. The actors were decent, and Angel Dust—who apparently was taking one of his rare days off today—was a star in disguise. He could be doing real films, not porn, if he had the right guidance. 

She would change this place so they made art not just sex, with stories so compelling and interesting that the sex was just a delicious and delightful bonus. They’d make shitty porn too, to appeal to those who wanted it, expected it to be churned out en masse as it always had been, but the idea of branching out into something better and more was so tempting she could taste it. 

There were a few ways of getting what she wanted, but whenever she looked at Valentino, she knew what choice would be best. He sat in his favorite chair, legs crossed over each other and nursing his cigarette holder as usual. He looked bored. No one should ever be bored behind the camera, especially when the topic was porn. If he was really that bored doing his job, he should be removed from it entirely, let someone else handle it for him. She shivered at the idea of him at her feet while she did his job instead. He needed to be put in his place.

Just like always, it took him quite some time to notice her, even when she was feet from his favorite chair beside the director. When his gaze finally caught hers, she saw him swallow a gulp, and she stalked the few feet towards him as his employees and soul contracts bolted from the studio yet again. “Ugh, Ojitas, to what displeasure do I owe your visit to my humble sex dungeon this time?” 

He blew smoke throughout the room, taking a drag off his cigarette holder, but just like always, it had no effect on her. He did it out of comfort to himself more than anything else. The hands not waving the cigarette holder around were splayed in a grand, mocking gesture, but it didn’t last long as she closed the gap between them.

“Tino, Tino, Tino.” She tsked at him, blinking her twenty-nine eyes and shaking her head. “I hear you haven’t learned the lessons Maestra has been trying to teach you.” Unsheathing her angelic blade knife covered in eyes, she slid it against his neck and leaned over his chair with a smirk. “I told you that bad little pupils get punished. I’m here to make good on that.”

He squirmed in his seat, and she laughed. It was cruel and amused, thrilled at the notion that she’d caught him off guard. “You��re such a pathetic little puta, aren’t you Tino, desperate and squirming for me under my knife. You’d beg so prettily wouldn’t you, let me tear you apart, limb from limb, while your stupid little LED lover watches from his network of cameras for just a taste of this coño, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes, M-Maestra.” Tino kept squirming, three of his four hands gripped the chair tightly. “Are you going to let me finally taste you? I know it’ll be simply delicioso.”

“I’ve considered it, and while I’m sure you’re quite skilled, it’s truly a damn shame.” She ran the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to his neck across his face and down his torso. “It’s a shame, Tino, because bad pupils don’t get rewards. You know this.” She tsked again, and nicked him with the blade. He hissed as his blood seeped from where she’d dug it into his flesh. She hummed as she contemplated it. “Yet I suppose I can make an exception, find a way to make it another lesson.” She decided with a smirk, grinning toothily down at him. “Up, Tino. Out of the chair and on your knees.”

She laughed as he very nearly tripped over himself, scrambling to the floor, his cigarette holder dropping into the chair, still lit. Kneeling before her, he was still very tall, but he had been quick to follow her instruction. He wouldn’t get praise, of course; she wouldn’t praise a pupil who’d been so bad, who insisted on ignoring the rules of her classroom over and over again, but she’d take what she wanted from him and he would be pleased with it. 

Knife still to his neck, she lifted her right foot and pushed him onto his back, getting him to turn with the angle of her kick. He toppled effortlessly, and she snickered. “So desperate to please me.” She removed the blade from his neck and moved it lower, trailed the knife up his torso to his neck again as she moved to stand above his face. As she smirked down at him and tugged on her collar, her dress shortened as it retreated up her thighs, and she knew he saw she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, had arrived with this in mind. 

“You’re going to be a good little pupil and make me cum. Dare to try and touch me and The Thousand Eyes will strangle you.” She bent her knees and he shivered as she squatted down above him. She jeered at him as she hovered an inch from his face. “You’d like that; of course you would, my tentacles wrapped around your limbs, choking you as you struggle for air, your tongue deep inside me. Such a desperate little slut for me.” Her knees hit the plush purple carpet on either side of his face. “Get to work.” 

She mercilessly pressed herself against his face, refusing to care if he had air to breathe as she felt that impossibly long tongue escape to tease her folds and slip inside. She’s wet already, was drenched at the mere notion of him on his knees, and now that he was here between her thighs, she was soaked and wanting, but she knew this game they played, knew better than to let him know how badly she wanted this. She was in control, and she would ride this high of his submission to her for as long as she could manage it.

Grunting as his tongue found that spot inside her, she jerked into it and arched her back. She could feel him grinning up at her, teeth nipping, and she ground against it, enjoying how sharp they were against her sensitive flesh. He was slow and deliberate, and she snorted in response. “Surely you can do better than that.” She tugged on her collar again absentmindedly, and the back of her dress lowered to her hips. She dug the blade deeper into his neck, and another rivulet of blood dribbled in its wake. “Fuck me like you mean it, or I’ll have to punish you for your insolence.”

A choked moan escaped him and she saw his hands reach for her. With a snarl, she arched her back, and The Thousand Eyes emerged to pin each of his arms to the carpet beneath him. One of the tentacles wrapped around his throat and gave it a squeeze. “You were warned.” She punctuated this with a grind against his mouth and the appendage around his throat constricted as he groaned against her folds. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, spread out at my mercy and servicing me. He’s watching, you know, watching and getting off to it I’m sure. He loves it when you’re like this, desperate and at his feet. This is just as good if not better I’m sure, in your place and eager to serve, but he doesn’t have to deal with your constant bitching.”

He nipped at her folds cheekily, and she looked down at him with a harsh glare, letting the knife slice deeper into his flesh. “If you’re going to be a brat, at least bite me harder.” She snapped as he groaned at the blood that leaked from his neck. He complied, and she dug the blade deeper into his throat, the tentacles squeezing deliciously as she did so. 

His tongue swiped her clit and she purred. It egged him onwards, and she thrust into his mouth, grinding against his teeth as she grew closer to the edge. “That’s it, Tino,” she crooned as the blade nipped at his throat again, “make me cum like a good little pupil.” He doubled his efforts, and in only a breath or two, she was arching and keening into his face, her thighs clenching down on him as she came on his tongue, a low moan escaping her lips as she did so.

As she breathed through it, she rode his face, enjoying the high of him stretched out beneath her, plaint and willing to service her in any way she wished. When she’d come down from the high, she smirked down at him as she pulled back from his face. “Now beg, Tino.” She crooned as she slid the blade farther down his chest, cutting through his robe and piercing his skin. “Beg for me to fuck you, to let you sheathe your pathetic little polla inside my wet, hot pussy. Beg, and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“P-please, Maestra,” he began as she continued to trail the knife over his clothes, slicing them apart, “please, I need it.”

“I’ve seen your films, Tino. Surely you can put on a better performance than one of your new virgin whores.” She cackled at the oxymoron and tore open his pants. “I’m waiting.” She pressed the blade to his hip, digging it into his flesh, and he bucked into the pain, his limbs struggling against her tentacles that were still holding him firmly in place.

“Please, Maestra,” he began again, and she smirked, raising an eyebrow as she traced the blade across to his other hip, “please, I need to be inside you. I need to feel you cum around my polla. I’ve been so good for you, haven’t I? Let me prove just how bueno I can be~”

“You hardly deserve it, little pupil; you’ve been so naughty lately, ignoring Maestra’s lessons.” She hummed, considering his request. “Perhaps there’s a way that I can enjoy myself anyway.” She decided as she pulled him free of his confines and cackled at the sight of him. “I’ve seen so many cocks, Tino. You may think you’re mierda caliente because you’re bigger than Vox, but you should know full well you’ll never be impressive, and quite frankly, I’ll barely feel it inside me.” She pulled the knife from his skin as she straddled his hips, and he swelled as she did so. It teased the outside of her folds and he groaned. “I’m not doing this for you, and you’re going to do all the work. Do not cum until I say or there will be far worse consequences than you can fathom.” He let out a moan and she narrowed her gaze at him. “Am I understood?”

“Y-yes, Maestra! I won’t cum until you say! Please, por favor, just let me feel you on my cock, please!” He pleaded as he struggled against her tentacles, but the grip they held on his limbs was too much for him to fight against with any real purchase.

“So the pupil can learn. Good.” As she slid him inside of her, she fought the urge to let out a moan. For all that talk to degrade him, he was still quite large, and she had always loved the size of a massive cock splitting her open. When he was fully sheathed inside her, she fixed him with a glare. “Well then, get on with it.” The knife met his skin again, and he complied to her instructions, bucking into her hips as she stayed exactly as she was, sheathed and waiting. She sighed as he slipped into her deeper, filling her fuller, and she quirked an eyebrow again. “Faster.” She demanded, and when he didn’t comply, she slapped him across the face. “Faster, or I’ll cut it off when I’m done using you.” 

“Y-yes, M-Maestra!” He stuttered out and picked up the pace. It was hard for him at that angle, writhing against her tentacles and using his entire weight to thrust up into her faster and faster; she smirked harder as she grew closer, and a tentacle forced one of his hands to her clit to stroke her, making him touch her exactly as she wanted. 

As her second orgasm loomed closer, she arched into his touches, gliding easily over him as she took him deeper, crooning as she drug the blade up across his torso to his neck again, rivulets of red flowing in its wake as he let out a sob. She purred at him, “Make me cum, Tino. Get what you begged for: me cumming around your cock just like you begged so prettily.” He quickened his fingers against her clit, and she choked back a cry as she came with a smirk on her face.

“Take what Maestra gives you like a good little pupil.”  She rode him as she orgasmed, spasming around his cock, and as she felt him pulled achingly closer towards his peak, she sneered with delight. “Now beg me to let you cum, you pathetic little whore. Plead with those pretty words of yours while I keep riding your cock.”

“Please, Maestra!” He sobbed out and she smirked harder as he began, tears sliding down his face. “Please, I’m so close; please let me cum, please!” His glasses were askew, and his gaze was pleading and desperate, staring into hers with an intensity she craved. “I’ve-I’ve been so good for you!” He pleaded as she grabbed him by the base, preventing his orgasm from crashing over him even as she rode him harder. “Por favor, Maestra, please let me cum!”

She hummed as she felt another orgasm building at the idea of telling him no, making him beg, getting herself off again and then just leaving him to take care of himself, but as he pleaded and moaned, she considered another idea. “One one condition.” She said as she rode harder, her tentacles making him flick her clit just like she liked, pulling her closer to that peak a third time.

“Anything!” He pleaded as he writhed, and she saw how swollen he was, felt how close to the brink he was inside her. With just a word, he’d cum with a shout, and she nearly howled at the power it gave her to have him at her mercy. “Anything, Maestra, please!”

“Anything, hmm?” She breathed out as she grew impossibly closer to her own peak. “I don’t want anything, little pupil,” she moaned as she felt those fingers graze her clit again and he pistoned deeper inside her walls at just the right angle. “I want everything. You want to cum, Valentino? Give me your soul. Give me every soul in your keep. I want your power, and I want your body. You and everything you have will be mine, because you wanted this pussy. Tell me it’s worth it, that you’ll give me everything and I’ll let you cum, you stupid little whore.”

The lights flickered. Perhaps it was a warning, she supposed, as bulbs popped and wires hissed, electricity crackling but daring not to come near. She smirked into the nearest camera as Tino screamed.

“Yes!” He sobbed as he continued to pound inside her, pistoned hard and deep as he wailed desperately to cum, tears streaming across his face. “Everything, Maestra, todo, just let me cum, please!”

She bent down and purred into his ear, “Deal.” She licked his neck. “Say it back to me, and then cum, little pupil.”

“Deal!” He wailed, and she released the base of his cock. He came in an instant, spilling inside her, and he howled as she bit into his flesh, the knife still at his throat. As the golden deal appeared as a collar on his neck and underneath it lay her golden eye with a silver iris, she felt the chain in her hands and she came around him, cackling with bliss. She’d done it, and she felt a power surge through her. It blew out every camera in the room, and they were plunged into darkness. She rode through her high, milking him into her, and when she was done, she held him by the chain as she sat on his face.

“Eat every drop of your cum from inside me, little slave. You’re mine now, and you’ll do as you’re told.” He moaned into her pussy and lapped at her over-sensitive flesh. She felt another building inside her as she felt his cum slide into his waiting mouth, as he ran his tongue through her folds, collecting every last drop just as he’d been ordered.

“I’ll give the porn industry the boost it needs. The workers deserve so many good things, and I’ll be here to give it to them. You treat your contracts like filth, Tino, and now I’m going to put you in your place. You’ll be at my feet like the little slut you are, desperate and wanting my attention and my pussy like you have since you met me. I’m going to show you how this place should be run, and you’ll thank me every chance you get for making your afterlife so much easier. Isn’t that right, little Tino?”

He nodded his head vigorously as he murmured, “Gracias, Maestra.” It was muffled, of course, by the weight of her on his face, but she crooned at his words, and she came at the thought of him servicing her whenever she liked.

“Finally,” she scolded him, “finally you’re a good little pupil. Finally you learn the lesson I’ve been trying to teach you, hmm: that you’re mine, that you’re to obey, that you’ll do as you’re told. Such a good little slave for me.” She slid off him and sheathed the knife, licked his wounds to close them, and collapsed beside him. “We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, you and I. We have a porn industry to change from the bottom up, after all. Wrap your arms around me and sleep, pet. Maestra will take good care of you.”

She settled into his arms as she freed them from her tentacles, but let them blink down at him as she did so. They’d settle back inside her as she fell asleep, but in the meantime, they stroked his body to lull him into slumber. When she felt him relax, his body flush against hers, she closed her eyes and welcomed it too. She’d have so much fun tomorrow, but in the meantime, all she wanted was sleep.

A/N: This little fic does not fit with canon from any of the other timelines that Theia has. It is a oneshot that exists in its own, and I'm unlikely to return to this universe but I make no promises either way. Her main story is an Alastor x Reader, but she has been known to get around, especially with my friend's OCs. I'm really excited for All Seeing Circus, my wifey and my new fic about Peppermint Patches x Theia. Mint is my jester husband and I want him carnally. 100/10, no notes. I could be pursuaded by my lovely wifey who I wrote this for to write more if she so wishes ;) I hope you like my present @muppetdust; I wrote this just for you~

Theia's Masterlist

[roblingoblin285]

okay so. you said I could request something for my birthday and I'm somewhat in love with your ocs so

sage is sick and rob takes care of them?? I love sickfics :)

also THANK YOU <3

happy birthday stabby!! hopefully you enjoy this :)

Sage knows from the moment they wake up that today is going to be awful.

The gentle light filtering in through the window shudders bores into their eyes and makes their entire head throb. Their very first breath is searing and painful, scratching at their throat and nose with a burning intensity. Even their bad knee is hurting more than usual.

They could hear Rob moving around in the kitchen across the hall, and Sage knows they should get up and help make breakfast, but their sore limbs beg for them to roll over and go back to sleep.

Reluctantly, they do not.

“Mornin’” they mutter as they enter, trying to sound casual even with their rasping voice. “Need a sous chef?”

Rob turns to face them, all smile, which he drops immediately as he takes them in. “You look like shit.”

Sage snorts. “Thanks, kid. Appreciate it.”

“I’m serious, you idiot.” Rob presses the back of his hand to Sage’s forehead, frowning at the heat radiating off of them. “You’ve definitely got a fever. You’re flushed, sweating, and I’m assuming you have a pretty bad headache?”

They nodded, squinting a little as it made their head spin dizzingly. “Bingo.”

Rob grabbed Sage by the shoulders and turned them around, shooing them out of the kitchen. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there in ten minutes with everything you need.”

Sage knew they could argue, tell him they were fine, insist on getting the shop ready as usual. But they knew even better that it was completely futile and he would wrangle them back into bed eventually, he always did.

And, although they hated to admit this to themselves, they didn’t want to fight it. Sage wanted to be doted on, just for the day. Just when they were feeling this shitty.

True to his word, Rob arrived in the bedroom ten minutes later with a full tray. He set it on the bedside table, tucking the blanket in on the sides out of instinct. “There’s some warm soup---I know you like that sausage one I make, so I heated some up. A glass of water, some medication, and tissues. I’ll be back in to check your tempurature once you’re done eating, okay?”

Sage blinked, somehow surprised by and completely expecting Rob’s behavior. “Thank you,” they said quietly, watching steam curl up from the bowl of soup. “T-This means a lot. To me.”

Rob gave them a warm smile, squeezing Sage’s hand just briefly before turning to leave. “I’m going to put up the closed sign, yeah? Just give me one minute.”

“Oh, don’t close the store,” Sage insisted, picking at their fingers guiltily. “I can’t ask you to do that, I’m barely even sick.”

“It’s been slow the past few weeks anyway,” Rob assured them. “You’ll be glad for it later, trust me.”

“But-”

“Just eat your soup, old man. And take that medicine, it’ll help.”

Sage watched him go with a fond look on their face, picking up the soup bowl and taking a bite. It did taste amazing.

[jplupine]

Feral Possession: Chapter 11

Old Rival

Pairing: Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez x Wynter Hughes [Nonbinary OC] Word Count: ~4.6k WARNINGS: 18+ Minors/Ageless get blocked, Exophilia, Demon!Grimmjow, Feral Behavior, Grimmjow being a Terror, Threats of Bodily Harm

Summary: Hosting a BBQ is easier when there's not a demon and exorcist present at the same time.

You can also read it on AO3!

Masterlist | Chapter 11: 

  Sweat was dripping down my back as the summer sun beat down on me. I had already managed to mow the lawn, but the sun was continuing to be relentless as I did yard work. The damn demon wasn't even bothering to help and instead took to lounging in the pool while sipping on some juice.

  "You know, a lot of this shit is from you." I rose my voice while dragging a broken tree limb across the yard. "Wouldn't hurt to clean up after yourself."

  "I fought the demon, my job here is done." Grimmjow raised his glass at me while grinning. He was in his human form again, but I could assume that had more to do with everyone coming over later for a barbecue.

  "You could at least help me chop the wood."

  "Nah, you're doing fine over there, Little Rabbit. Keep up the good work." Huffing, I snapped the twigs and smaller branches from the main branch. Making a pile for kindling, I then went to the porch and grabbed the ax. Propping it on my shoulder, I placed my other hand on my hip while looking at the blue-haired man floating on a blow-up seat.

  "I thought you'd jump at the chance to break something."

  "Breaking bones, yes. Chopping wood, no." Grimmjow waved a finger at me. "Go on, Little Rabbit. Get the wood for tonight's dinner." He was both taunting and condescending, making me roll my eyes.

  "You're just the fuckin' rich lady, and I'm the pool boy." Shaking my head, I saw Grimmjow raise a brow at me. "It's a trope. Rich lady has the pool boy do laborious tasks so she can ogle him as he works. And you, in the pool, have been watching me this entire time, working."

  "Sounds more like a porn trope."

  "Well, it's that too."

  "Oh?"

  "No."

  "Then, go on, pool boy. Finish your tasks." Grimmjow smirked before taking a drink. Sighing through my nose, I went back to the branch and set to work. I had already been sweating, and swinging the ax down on the wood only made me sweat more. I'd already taken my shirt off earlier, so I was just going to have to deal with this for now.

  I was soon craving the shower that would follow this.

  "You missed a spot!" Grimmjow hollered.

  "I'm chopping wood, not cleaning, you ass!" I shouted back before pulling the ax from the branch to swing it again. "You're so much nicer when you're sleeping." I popped off.

  "I heard that!"

  "Good!"

  "Yui said she's bringing her cousin with her, so you better behave." I looked right at Grimmjow while drying my hair with a towel. He clicked his tongue at me, and I pointed. "I mean it. I will compel you to behave if I have to."

  "Bore me to death, why don't you?"

  "I just might." Pushing open the back door, I let Dagur run out and dropped my towel to my shoulders. "Hey, how are you with alcohol? Daniel's bringing booze to go with the barbecue."

  "Doesn't do shit. Who the fuck is Daniel?"

  "I do have more than just two friends, you know."

  "Shock."

  "Grimmjow, sit." I heard a thump followed by low growling. "We still have some time before I have to start cooking. Do you want me to make you do chores in that time?"

  "Fuck you."

  "I didn't think so." Checking the time, I slid the towel off of my shoulders. "I should go ahead and start the fire, though." I muttered before going to put away the towel.

  Going out to the firepit, I stacked the kindling in with leaves before pulling out the lighter. Holding the small flame close to the leaves, they caught fire. I gently blew on the little fire to feed it as it slowly spread to the sticks.

  I tended to the fire to make sure it wouldn't go out and steadily added more sticks to burn until there was a strong flame rising from the firepit.

  "You got a phone call." Grimmjow called out from the back door. "Your little girlfriend is on her way."

  "She's not my girlfriend."

  "Whatever." I rolled my eyes.

  "Why were you even answering my phone?"

  "'Cause there's caller ID, and I don't give a shit about pissing you off." Looking back over my shoulder, I saw the demon leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed. "You know what? Maybe I should send your nudes to your friends." His gaze dropped as one of his hands lifted to show he had my cell phone.

  "I don't have nudes, you jackass."

  "They don't know that." Grimmjow stood up, and I saw him fiddling with my phone while his other hand was on his hip.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Making nudes."

  "....What?"

  "Making nudes." He then pulled the waistband of his sweatpants outward and aimed the phone down. There was a flash of light, and my eyes widened.

  "Stop!" I scrambled to my feet, and the demon got a Chesire grin while taking another photo. "Grimmjow!" He then bolted from the door while maniacally laughing. He ran so quickly to the living room with me chasing after him, and then vaulted over the couch to avoid me. "I fucking swear!"

  "Who should I send 'em to first, huh?!" He called back to me as I chased him up the stairs.

  "Delete them!"

  "How about your little girlfriend? She'll be mighty impressed, Wynter!" He burst into another fit of laughter while waving the phone.

  "No!" I managed to corner him at the end of the hall, but with cat-like grace, he jumped right over my head and ran back down the hallway. "You fucker!"

  "Oooh, how about piss-boy?! Make him really jealous!"

  "I'm gonna kill you!"

  "You literally can't, Little Rabbit!" Grimmjow laughed while turning to face me as he waved the phone to taunt. "I'll just send 'em to all your contacts. How's that?"

  "Don't you dare." I pointed at him.

  "It's just the 'Send All' option, right?" He looked at the phone's screen with amusement on his features while I was panting from running back and forth through the house. Wait....why was I even chasing him?

  "Grimmjow, give me my phone." I commanded, and his grin fell as his hand shot out in my direction. His arm was shaking as he tried to fight the compulsion, and I snatched my phone from his hand. I saw my home screen and went to the photo album to delete his pictures. "Grimmjow, sit." I quickly said when he looked as if he was going to snatch the phone back.

  I then paused.

  I'd have to see the photos to delete them.

  "It just dawned on ya, didn't it?" Grimmjow gave a shit-eating grin. "Go on, Little Rabbit. Delete the photos."

  "You're so immature."

  "Try not to stare too much."

  "Please, it wouldn't be the first dick I've seen. I mean, I'm looking at one right now." I popped off while looking him dead in the eye, and his eyebrow twitched as he snarled. Tapping on the camera album, the photos loaded. I then rolled my eyes as my shoulders slumped. "You fucking asshole."

  Grimmjow cracked up, knowing the photos he took were just of his boxers and nothing more than that. I then paused and looked back at my phone screen.

  "Wait, are those-"

  "I don't have any human clothes, what did you expect?"

  "I'm gonna have to get you your own clothes, aren't I?" I sighed while pinching the bridge of my nose. "Whatever, I'll just deal with this later." Quickly deleting the two photos, I pocketed the device. There was a knock at the door then, and my gaze drifted to it. "Go put some more sticks in the fire. Only a handful." I pointed at Grimmjow while going to the door.

  The demon wandered to the backyard, and I opened the front door.

  "Yui, welcome!" I smiled, and she handed me a box of cookies.

  "Hey. Wynter, this is my cousin, Ichigo. Ichigo, this is Wynter."

  "Pleasure to meet you." The taller man with bright orange hair politely nodded to me with a smile.

  "You, too. Come on in." I stepped back while opening the door wider. However, as soon as the brown-eyed man passed me, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end until he got further away while following Yui. Furrowing my brows, I stared at the back of his head while shutting the door.

  "I hope the cookies are the right kind for the barbecue."

  "Any cookies are." I chuckled while bringing them to the kitchen island to set them down. "I was just about to take the meat out to the fire, too."

  "Sweet." Yui grinned. "Is the roomie showing up?"

  "Yeah, he's out back tending to the fire."

  "Should I warn Gary?"

  "He'll behave this time." Getting the tray of marinated meat, I maneuvered around the two guests and went for the back door. "So, Ichigo, any certain ways you like your food?"

  "Uh, no. I'm not a picky eater." He waved his hand.

  "All right, then. Wait, you're not vegetarian, are you? Because most of dinner is meat."

  "No, I eat meat."

  "Okay, good. Didn't want anyone left out." I chuckled, but again, as soon as I passed him specifically, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. So Yui's cousin had a lot of spiritual energy unlike her....

  "Are we the first ones here?" Yui asked as we stepped into the backyard.

  "Yup. The others should start showing up soon, though." I replied while seeing Grimmjow poke the fire with a stick. He then visibly tensed before his nose was in the air and twitching. 'Oh, please tell me a demon isn't about to crash my barbecue.' I mentally groaned.

  But then Grimmjow's feral, blue eyes shot in our direction and locked on Ichigo. His face twisted into a vicious snarl as he shot to his feet.

  "Kurosaki!" He roared with his hands balled into fists at his sides.

  "Oh, fuck!" I quickly shoved the tray into Yui's hands as she looked absolutely baffled.

  "Shit!" Ichigo hissed under his breath, and for a brief moment, it was as if time slowed as I got between the demon and Yui's cousin. I didn't know what exactly was going on, but I'd never seen Grimmjow this angry. The two also seemed to know each other and not in a good way.

  "Hey! Hey, calm done!" I yelled over the growling as I tried to push the demon back. He was barely even budging, and I could see his teeth sharpening. He was close to transforming, but Yui was right there as well as Ichigo. Grabbing the back of the demon's head, I yanked him down. "Grimmjow, stop!" I said to where only he could hear me, and he froze.

  The growling even stopped as relief flooded my veins.

  "Is....Is everything okay?" Yui asked with concern clear in her voice.

  "Fine. You want to tell me how you know him?" My attention turned to Ichigo as I still had a hold on the demon. The man looked rather shocked while his mouth was hanging open.

  "Uh.... I.... We met in high school. Didn't get along." He was clearly lying because no way in Hell was this demon ever in high school. He knew I knew he was lying too, given the nature of the blue-haired man.

  "Grimmjow, follow me." I commanded, then grabbed his wrist to drag him into the house. "We'll be right back." I smiled at Yui, who still looked baffled, and took the demon to where he couldn't even see into the backyard. "What the fuck is going on?!"

  "Nothing. Just got a score to settle." Grimmjow snarled and took a step forward.

  "Uh-uh." I put a hand on his chest to push him back. "You are not going back out there if you can't keep your shit under control. That's Yui's cousin."

  "He's a fucking exorcist." The demon growled.

  "Exorcist?!"

  "Yes."

  "How the Hell does he know you? I thought you just killed the exorcists you-" I cut myself off as he was looking down at me with such an angry expression. His heart was beating with fury beneath my palm, and my gaze dropped to his chest. "He's the one that gave you the scar."

  "Yes, he is. Now I'm gonna tear him to shreds-"

  "Grimmjow, stop." He froze again. "I want you to listen to me." Grabbing his face, I made him look at me. "You can't do that. You know you can't do that. You do anything to him, and you'll have the cops all over this place."

  "You think I care about some fucking-"

  "They'll try to take you away, dumbass. You're bound to this property, what happens when they force you off it? You fight back to stay here, and it'll only make it all worse. You hide from them, then I'll be the one taken. It's not just your ass on the line here, Grimmjow." I paused while looking at his face to see if what I was saying was getting through to him.

  He still looked furious, but he wasn't baring his fangs anymore.

  "Now, if you can't handle this, stay in the house." I dropped my hands from his face, and his expression changed.

  "Where the fuck are you going?"

  "Back outside. I can't just stay in here."

  "Like fuck you're going back out there without me."

  "I'm not a demon. He won't do anything to me."

  "But he is." Grimmjow grabbed my wrist while looking at me with a serious expression.

  "What?"

  "Kurosaki is half-demon. If that part of him gets the scent of your power, there's no guarantee it won't try to get you."

  "But you said he's an exorcist?"

  "And half-demon. How else do you think he possibly had the power to fuckin' scar me?" Grimmjow lowly growled. "You're not going anywhere near him without me."

  "Then control yourself."

  "Someone want to fill me in on what's going on?" Another voice spoke up, and I turned to see Ichigo in the hallway. Except, my eyes quickly landed on a glint of metal beside his leg.

  He had a katana.

  Where the Hell did he get it from? He clearly didn't have a sword when he had arrived.

  Grimmjow's growl was like a rumbling storm as he looked at the orange-haired man. Ichigo shifted on his feet while raising his katana to prepare for an attack, but that only made the demon growl more.

  "Quit it, you two!" I rose my voice. "Yui is right outside and this is my god damned house! You! Put that thing down." I pointed at Ichigo, and he actually looked shocked.

  "You've got to be kidding me! You know what he is!"

  "You are a guest in my house. I don't have to let you stay here."

  "That demon needs to be exorcised-"

  "I know. ....I'm working on it."

  "....What?"

  "It's a long story. Look, just lower the sword, you're only pissing him off more."

  "He's a demon! You can't seriously be protecting him."

  "From what he says, you're not entirely human either. And I'm not protecting him, I'm protecting you. I'm the only thing keeping him from ripping you apart, so put the fucking sword down." Ichigo's gaze hardened as his jaw clenched, but he let go of the sword, and it turned to smoke.

  "You know his real name, don't you? There's no other way he'd just back down."

  "I do."

  "What is it?"

  "None of your fucking business." Grimmjow snarled.

  "You said you were working on exorcising him, meaning you're an exorcist, right? Sharing a demon's true name keeps us all safer."

  "Pantera is mine to deal with. I've got this under control."

  "You can't possibly-"

  "Just fuck off." The demon stood closer behind me while glaring at Ichigo.

  "Will you shut up? I'm trying to deal with this."

  "There's no way you have him under control. Pantera will kill you the second he has the chance. He's too dangerous to-"

  "Oh! Oh, wait, I've got a solution to this." I waved my finger as my eyes widened. "Look, I honestly mean it when I say I have this under control. I know more about this asshole than what's documented."

  "What?"

  "Just watch this." Raising my hand, I reached up and began to scratch under Grimmjow's jaw. Like a flip of a switch, his growls turned into deep purrs as he leaned into it.

  Ichigo's face looked as if he was experiencing multiple emotions at once, the most prevalent one being bewilderment. To emphasize my statement even more, I lowered my hand a little bit, and the demon followed until he finally snapped out of it and smacked my hand away.

  "You little fucker!"

  "....You have got to be kidding me." Ichigo repeated.

  "No. Look, I've been with Pantera for months, and I'm still alive, that's got to tell you that I know what I'm doing. So, when I say I can deal with him, I mean it."

  "Months?!"

  "Long story."

  "This is fucking crazy." Ichigo ran a hand through his hair. "You know I'm going to have to report this."

  "What? To who?"

  "....The Soul Society?"

  "Soul Society?"

  "Think of it as the head office for exorcists." Grimmjow explained. "Wynter isn't an official exorcist."

  "You have to get officiated for that?" I questioned, and Ichigo ran a hand down his face.

  "Okay, you show to somehow have a level of control over Pantera, which is unprecedented, no one documented has even learned the name of any of the current Espada, but you're telling me you managed all of this without being a member of the Soul Society?"

  "....Pretty much." Glancing at Grimmjow, I then focused on Ichigo. "We should probably talk about this later. Yui is just out there by herself."

  "Actually, Gary's here now."

  "Fuckin' piss-boy." The demon grumbled, and I just knew he rolled his eyes.

  "....I'm sorry, 'piss-boy'?"

  "Pantera....peed on Gary."

  "You nearly kill me, but now you're just....peeing on people?" Ichigo furrowed his brows while waving his hand.

  "What, feeling left out? C'mere, and I'll piss on you too, fucker."

  "Will you stop?!" I swatted Grimmjow, and he recoiled. "Ichigo, if you want to talk more about this, it's going to have to wait. Okay?"

  "Yeah." He seemed to hesitate before taking a step back to leave. "Right."

  "I better get something real fucking nice for not tearing into that bastard."

  "Like what? Catnip?" I scoffed while crossing my arms.

  "I'm not a fucking housecat." He growled as he grabbed my hips and yanked me back. "And I do mean something real nice, you hear me?" Grimmjow licked up the back of my neck while purring.

  "Could you not right now?" I elbowed him back as he was chuckling.

  "Right now?"

  "You know what I mean. Just come on, jeez." I huffed and went to the backyard. Since I had rushed away with Grimmjow in tow, Yui had taken it upon herself to start grilling dinner so it wouldn't be late. "Sorry about all of that, I'll take over from here."

  "No problem. Everything good now?" Yui's gaze drifted to Grimmjow and Ichigo.

  "It's fine." The orange-haired man nodded.

  "He give you a tough time, too?" Gary chuckled before taking a drink from his beer that he'd gotten from Daniel since he was here now as well.

  "Oh, uh, no." Ichigo put on a smile while rubbing the back of his neck. "We actually used to go to school together and, uh, apparently not everything stayed in the past. Wynter's a good mediator, though, so it's all fine now."

  "Really? Small world. Who would have thought you went to school with a friend of Wynter's uncle." 'Please, Gary. Don't question it.' I thought while setting a log into the firepit. "You know, their uncle actually renovated most of this house. Did you help?" Gary turned to Grimmjow, and the blue-haired man had his arms crossed with a displeased look on his face.

  "Some of it."

  "Oh, what parts? Maybe you can get a job in construction if your handiwork is good enough."

  "I did some of the demolition. And what makes you think I need a job?" Grimmjow's eyes narrowed.

  "Sorry, I just figured with you needing to crash here it was because you were broke and between jobs." Gary awkwardly laughed. "So, uh, what do you do then?" The demon glanced around the yard before looking back at Gary.

  "Landscaping."

  "Oh, did you do the work on the yard? It looks great." Yui smiled.

  "No, Wynter did."

  "All by themself?" Gary made a face.

  "It gave me something to do." I stated while flipping the meat. "He was also at work."

  "So what put you here if you've got a job like that?" Daniel asked while opening a beer.

  "The apartment building wasn't up to code. All the tenants had to move." I explained while waving my hand since it looked like Grimmjow was blanking for a believable lie.

  "Oh, that sucks."

  "Hello?" I answered my phone after it rang.

  "I'm at the door."

  "It's unlocked. Go through the living room and past the kitchen. Follow the hall, and you'll find us."

  "Gotcha!"

  "Was that Veronica?" Gary asked.

  "Yup."

  "How many people are you having over?" Grimmjow looked at me.

  "Just a few. Veronica's got the rest of 'em."

  "You not like crowds, bud?" Daniel smiled before taking a drink. "It's just a little get-together." I saw the demon's eye twitch, but he kept a straight face.

  "I was just wondering."

  "We brought Rosé!" Veronica grinned while waving the two bottles of wine in her hands.

  "Oh, that smells so good!" Judy's eyes landed on the firepit where I was grilling dinner.

  "Your house is amazing, Wynter! Shit, can we move in?" Alex chuckled as she looked at the yard and pool.

  "Someone already beat you to it." Yui popped off while looking at Grimmjow.

  "Oh, damn! Wynter, when did you score this hunk?" Veronica was grinning, but Gary choked on his drink.

  "Housemate! He's a housemate!" I quickly said.

  "Bullshit, I know your type." Veronica pointed at me with one of the bottles of wine, and Grimmjow seemed to perk up while looking at me. "Every one of your partners has been a hardass that's actually a softie. Look at him- Broad, beautiful, muscular, and wearing make-up." She gestured to the markings under his eyes.

  "Veronica, chill. He's really just a housemate." Daniel laughed while taking one of the bottles from her to set it in the cooler.

  "Yeah, Veronica. And he's definitely not my type. Not even the same species." I grumbled.

  "Oh, Hun, that's harsh."

  "He's missing the 'softie' part." Gary stated. "Trust me."

  "I see how it is. Boo, are you an asshole?" Veronica had a playful tone while leaning on Grimmjow.

  "....Yeah."

  "Oh! And he's honest? Gotta admire that much." She laughed while handing Daniel the other bottle. "Don't worry about that too much, Boo. We got some spots to fill in this medley." Veronica pat his shoulder since she was trying to being friendly with the demon, but it looked like it was actually irritating him.

  "So how do you know Wynter?" Alex questioned.

  "I'm a friend of her late uncle's."

  "You knew Jordan? Good guy." Judy stated, and the 'good guy' comment made Grimmjow's eye twitch again. He was really holding himself back in this crowd....

  "Hey."

  "Hm?"

  "Thanks. For not totally fucking up today, I mean." I said while running my fingers through Grimmjow's long hair. After everyone had left with Ichigo and Alex being the designated drivers, the 'really nice thing' Grimmjow got was cuddling.

  I guess it wasn't too surprising the demon quite enjoyed the warmth of the contact.

  We were sprawled out on the couch with the TV on, and the demon was halfway laying on me while purring as I pet him. Grimmjow had his head resting on my chest so that he could also watch TV, and Dagur was curled up on the floor right in front of the couch.

  "Are you drunk?"

  "No. Ass. I'm trying to thank you." The demon then lifted his head and sniffed at my face. "The Hell are you doing?"

  "You're definitely buzzed. I can smell it on your breath."

  "Forget it." I rolled my eyes and looked back at the TV. "Next time, I just won't thank you for shit."

  "Like I care." Grimmjow scoffed before laying his head back down. "I don't, just to be clear."

  "Right." I rubbed behind his ear ad felt the vibration of his purr like a low motor. "So then....do you want to actually tell me about the scar now since I know where it came from?"

  "We fought, nearly killed each other, survived, that's it."

  "Okay, but it's fucking huge."

  "The bastard's demon half is Arrancar. Mix that with exorcist abilities and magick....he's on level with an Espada."

  "At least up to the sixth if you both lost like that."

  "Who said I fucking lost?"

  "He's still alive. You're still alive. Doesn't look like a victory on either end." I stated. "Can he shape-shift like you do?"

  "Yes. ....Why are you so damn curious about Kurosaki?"

  "I need to know what I'm dealing with if he gets in the way of my plans. I told you, I'm sending your ass to Hell or killing you. Mr. Savior Complex isn't gonna come swoop in and steal that."

  "Aw, Little Rabbit. Have you marked me as your prey?" Grimmjow chuckled before licking my cheek. "How sweet."

  "Why do you have to be gross?!" I snarled while grabbing him by the horns to push his face away from mine. He was laughing as those pearly fangs of his were flashing around. "What the Hell is so funny?"

  "You." He looked down at me and licked his lips. "So smart, but so stupid. I didn't think you had that kind of ego to not just let a more experienced exorcist try to get rid of me, Little Rabbit." Grimmjow then brought his face closer to mine. "Or is it because you actually want me here?"

  "You do have your uses, I'll admit, but no. I just want to do this myself. Call it a vendetta."

  "A vendetta? How sweet of you to hold a grudge against me."

  "You won't think it's sweet when I'm locking your ass in Hell."

  "Do you really think you'll ever be able to?" Grimmjow smirked with amusement in his eyes. "Not even Kurosaki could kill me, your uncle couldn't even fully seal me, and you? You're just a little rabbit that can barely swing a sword." He slowly wrapped his hand around my throat. "You go on and on about how you have the time to learn, but do you honestly believe that? Your pulse is already racing, and I haven't even done anything."

  I managed to swallow while those blue eyes were locked on me, and his grip slightly tightened.

  "You know I could end you so easily. You like to play with danger, don't you, Little Rabbit?"

  "I'm not 'playing' with anything."

  "Well....I certainly am." He then pat my cheek before laughing.

[j-ut-da-e]

Heart of Hearts

Chapter 3 (2/2) - Memories思い出

Summary - To cap off the worst year of her life, Kutsuki Hotaru is thrown into an unknown world where everyone in Tokyo has disappeared. She's forced to play games to survive and dark memories catch up to her. Can some coincidental encounters with someone from her real life help her escape from the Borderlands?

Pairing - Chishiya Shuntaro x FEM!OC

Word Count - 915

Warnings - minimal editing, slow burn, aib warnings (blood, murder, fear, etc), cursing, panic attack, lmk if I missed anything

A/N - beach beach beach beach beach

Masterlist

"I remember her, she could talk through an entire six-hour surgery."

Hotaru laughs genuinely for the first time in a long while, "That's her specialty. She wouldn't shut up about you for a while actually. It was pretty annoying."

"Most of what she talked about to me was you as well."

"At that point, I was avoiding you out of spite," she lets out a dry laugh, "Pretty ironic that this is where we'd finally meet. I was even going to medical school to work with her."

"You would've had to have covered your tattoos then."

"How do you think I even got into medical school?"

His eyes stay forward but she can see a smile creep onto his face. A silence settles over them, "Why are you alone?" He asks finally.

There's a pang of grief in her stomach as she looks away, "Imai, my friend, he died during the tag game."

"Ah, I see," there's another pause, "Did you know each other in the real world?"

"Why are you asking so many questions?"

His eyes lower to the floor, "No reason, I guess I'm just curious. Or bored," his expression is unreadable.

Her eyes follow as he stands, "You're bored. I'm not a very interesting person."

"We'll probably see each other again," he says, his back to her, "So, I'll see you then, Kutsuki."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" 

Without another word, Chishiya disappears into the alley. 

🃏

The building, as it turned out was a cafe in the real world. Now rotten food sat on the tables, but there was still bottled water and other drinks behind the counter. She also found some packaged food that was safe enough to eat. 

After eating, Hotaru’s body all but shuts down. Her limbs are heavy and her eyes keep shutting. She goes to the back of the cafe and clears out one of the cabinets in the kitchen, laying a tablecloth in it. Shutting the door behind her, she sleeps. 

Hotaru sleeps until the sun is setting the next day. Her body screams in protest as she climbs out of her hiding spot. She stretches and almost every one of her joints pop. Groaning, she fills up a tote bag with food and water. Those bastards from yesterday had taken her backpack and the pack on her belt didn’t hold much.

With her visa still at six days, she wants to take a break from playing games.  She wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she knew she wouldn’t make it if she didn't give her body a break. After a lot of thought, she decides to explore the city. She’d lived in Tokyo for most of her life, but when would she get the chance to explore it without thousands of people around?

First is her favorite spot in Tokyo, luckily it was nearby. Hotaru had always been a sort of strange child. There were many reasons, but her father always said that the weirdest thing about her was that her favorite place in Tokyo was the Hachiko statue at Shibuya station. 

Hotaru sits on the warm concrete in front of the bronze sculpture. She didn't remember why the statue was so special to her. Her mother said that when she first heard about Hachiko as a young child she became obsessed with him. Apparently, she would drag her family to Shibuya at least once a week, even when her mom lived outside of Tokyo.

As an adult, it was just comforting. It was such a big part of her childhood due to her hyper fixation. His cute face staring at her made her almost feel safe. 

She undoes the last of her braid, running her fingers through her now-wavy hair. A low rumble makes her head snap around. It continually grows louder, until she can see headlights coming toward her. She scrambles to collect her things and hides behind the statue. 

A car pulls into the crossing, and she can see at least five men inside. Two of them hung out the window and she couldn't help but notice the large guns they carried. She shrinks back and clutches her bag to her chest. Car doors slam and she can hear the men talking to each other excitedly.

She shuts her eyes and breathes deeply, "Now what are you doing here all alone?"

Hotaru freezes, ice shooting through her veins. She slowly opens her eyes and turns to the source of the voice. A man stood over her, an assault rifle over his shoulder. His shoulder-length black hair was half tied up and he had a nose and eyebrow piercing. 

He yanks her up by her arm and calls out to the other men, "Look what I found!" The two men outside of the car walk forward to meet them in the middle.

"She looks in good shape," one of them says, looking her up and down.

Her heart races but she keeps her body still, "Do you have any cards, honey?" The first man asks, throwing his arm over her shoulders.

She gives him a steely glare, "Cards?"

Another car door opens before a familiar voice calls out, "Kutsuki,"

She turns and the feeling of seeing a familiar face overwhelms her, "Hatter?" Before she knows it, she's wrapping her arms around the man. Something she never thought she would do.

He wraps one arm around her, "She's coming with us," he announces, "Welcome back to the beach, Kutsuki."

[tribblesoup]

"Star Trek: Discovery." I really have a love-hate relationship with this show.

I love the world-building, and most of the characters. The pacing and storylines are my main issue.

My personal grievances about "Discovery" boil down to one thing: the writers seem to be taking advice from fanfiction.

I love fanfiction, but the same thing that's fine for a fanfic doesn't automatically work for a real show.

Cases in point...

Michael is treated like a fanfic OC.

My character is the adopted sister of a famous canon character, and the whole story is told from her POV. But aside from her unique situation, she's yet another Human, with an American name.

It's the story everyone wants to write, but not everyone wants to read. I for one miss ensemble cast storytelling in "Star Trek."

Ash Tyler was just a walking angst fetish.

When we first met him, I thought, "Ooo, me like! 😍" That wore off very quickly when they dove right into having him angst and suffer for every scene, before we even got to know him. His entire arc felt like an AOOO story. Torture, PTSD, insanity, amnesia, turning evil, a surprise baby, Ash had it all. Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark had nothing on Ash Tyler.

Except being interesting characters.

See, the reason fanfics can dive into the angst right away is because we already know the character in question. If "Iron Man" had just opened with Tony getting waterboarded before we got to know him a little bit, I'd have just said "who is this fucker abd why should I care?"

Obviously if it was a real person I'd care. But since it's not, fiction needs to work to get readers or viewers invested in a character. Sorry not sorry.

They at least seemed to learn this lesson with Ash, and did things right with Book. We got to know and like Book for a bit, before his world got turned upside down. (Well, blown up.)

Most of the queer characters are regulated to domestic fluff

For the record no, I'm not a member of the LGBT community. But that doesn't change the fact that the gay and trans characters of "Discovery" are the best damn characters on the show, and they're being done dirty.

Paul and Hugh are both brilliant scientists in their time, now thrust into a century where all of their knowledge and experience is considered ancient. There's an interesting story to be told there.

Adira is the first Human successfully joined to a Trill symbiont; Tal's most recent host was the current host's dead boyfriend; said past host somehow persists as his own separate consciousnes. Said consciousness is uploaded into a synthetic body, and is now training to be a Trill telepathic Guardian. Kahless's balls, I have so many questions! And im intrigued as hell!

...But all of those storylines seem to take a back seat to domestic fluff. Most of the scenes between any of the four characters feel like a "Superfamily" ficlett. It seriously feels like the writers came here, to Tumblr, and looked up Safe-for-Work slash fanfics of the Avengers, to learn how to write LGBT characters.

I'm fine with these characters being a family, but can they be characters first? And I like emotion to compliment a storyline, but not the substitute for it.

Like I said, I'm not in the community myself. But I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that people who are would prefer inclusive representation, that treats these characters to the same quality of stories and development that the other characters get.

In any case, I'm frustrated as a viewer that the most interesting characters are being used in the most boring way.

Outlining? Editing? Bitch this is fanfiction serialized TV!

Ok, this one is probably just a result of modern streaming formats. But even so, its similarities to a fanfiction are noticeable.

The story's premise and main character both abruptly change drastically halfway through the saga. Story arcs are full of padding, because regular updates are demanded. The writers seem to have no more idea where this is going than the audience. Or at least not much more of an idea.

Yes, "the Orville" is an even more blatant "Star Trek" fanfiction.

And it suffers similar issues with pacing, as well as a lack of originality.

The show was marketed as a "parody," but really it was just Seth McFarland living out the typical Trekkie's fantasy. Not in a sleezy incel way, but in the sense that the show basically revolves around what we all used to talk about doing if we were onboard the Enterprise or Voyager.

"I'd play D&D on the holodeck!" "I'd show the aliens 'Seinfeld' and Kermit the frog, instead of just Shakespeare or jazz." "I just wish Picard or Janeway would drop an F-bomb, or have drunk karaoke or something." "I'd drink soda at the helm and use the viewscreen as a TV."

With few exceptions, most of the serious storylines and characters are carbon copies of ones from "Star Trek," with very little added other than the modern styled humor and dialogue.

And like "Discovery," "Orville" seems to lack a cutting floor. Seth McFarland is less interested in angst than "Discovery," but every bit as in love with indulging unnecessary mundane details. If there's a wedding, funeral, or friendly conversation, we see the whole thing.

An entire story outlining your OTP's wedding, from the clichéd ring proposal to trying on bridal dresses to the entire ceremony, is commonplace for a fanfic, but it doesn't make for great TV viewing.

I like both "the Orville" and "Discovery," but I have the same complaint for both: they're both too often written like fanfiction.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

so, How do you think the companions would react to finding out sole has advanced prosthetics from their time in the war? (i headcannon fem sole as some sort of SOF during the war, coz lawyer is just boring >.>)

Fallout 4 Companions react to Sole having advanced prosthetics from before the bombs fell. 

Hey anon, thanks so much for the ask! This was really interesting to think about, and yeah, I also headcannoned one of my OCs as a soldier before the bombs fell, cuz yeah... not sure how helpful being a lawyer would be in post-apocalyptic times 😅 I hope you enjoy!

Cait:

     Her eyes would fall to the line across Sole’s right elbow, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it before. She wouldn’t care too much, and wouldn’t treat them any differently, but she would be interested in how Sole had gotten their injury, and would certainly try and coax the whole story out of them (resorting to the use of alcohol if necessary to loosen their lips). She was so bold about her own traumatic past experiences, so Sole could surely tell her about this one thing, right? The brawler might also be interested in the physical abilities of their prosthetic arm and hand, wondering if it would give them an edge in the next bar fight they found themselves in.

Curie:

     She would be very interested in every detail Sole could provide regarding their prosthetic shoulder, left chest plate, and arm. The scientist wouldn’t be able to contain herself, asking question after question about its functionality, the nature of Sole’s injury before they received the prosthetic, their rehabilitation process, the way the prosthetic interacts with Sole’s body and how it's able to move. As Sole stood there, trying to figure out where to begin, Curie’s eyes would widen in surprise at her own rudeness, she would apologize and ask if Sole was comfortable discussing their injury with her. As she finds out more, Curie would begin to try and create her own prosthetics based off of Sole’s in order to help any handicapped patients she came across in the Commonwealth.

Danse:

     The paladin’s eyes would widen at Sole’s words. He never would have guessed that Sole’s entire left hip and leg was an advanced prosthetic, and the commanding officer would be curious as to why they hadn’t mentioned it to him earlier. He would feel guilty as he thought back on all of the times he pushed them harder, told them to gruffly to keep up or to continue moving after it seemed like they needed rest. He would apologize and ask how he could help to better accommodate Sole, offering to speak to Proctor Teagan and Proctor Ingram about Sole’s circumstances and possible improvements to their power armor or the prosthetic itself. Danse would be a little hesitant, but ultimately he would gain the courage to ask if they would be comfortable telling him about how they were injured, going so far as to share some of the stories surrounding his own battle scars with them in return.

Deacon:

     Deacon would have been curious as to why Sole always wore their sunglasses, he often thought perhaps they were simply mocking him. But one night, as they removed their shades and locked eyes with him, he would notice the difference in coloration and ask them about it. When they told him one of their eyes was a fully functioning prosthetic, he'd be a little shocked, not even aware that those existed, but interested nonetheless. Apart from the occasional joke about Sole getting an eye patch, being a pirate, or just sight-related puns in general, he would be pretty chill about the whole thing. If Sole wanted to tell him more about it, he was open to it, but he wouldn't mind if they wanted to keep it to themself. No matter how much he knows, Deacon would be protective of his partner, and would try his best to keep their prosthetic a secret from as many people as possible, since it is such a unique feature of theirs.

Hancock:

     He wouldn't even break eye contact with Sole when they told him about their prosthetic right arm and shoulder, he would just ever so slightly raise the ridge above his eyes in surprise at having never noticed before. It really wouldn't matter to him, and he would treat Sole the same way he always has, just maybe he would try and stick to the right of them more often since he knows that it's their weaker side. If they're ever in any pain, he'll of course have a plethora of chems on hand to help relieve them of it. He won't be one to openly ask about their past and their injury, but if they want to tell him, he's all ears and no judgment.

MacCready:

     He would try to act nonchalant when they told him about their prosthetic forearm, wrist, and hand, but his expression would clearly give away his shock. What do you mean it’s not real!? How does it work? What happened to your real arm? Can you still feel stuff with it? Does it make it harder to aim? How does it move? A hundred questions would tumble into his mind, but he would try his best to keep them all from spilling out of his mouth at once, putting on a cool front, he’d simply nod and tell them that he’s glad they felt they could tell him about it, and that would be the end of it for now. As they continue traveling together, he would periodically voice one of the questions he had thought of before, still trying to seem aloof about the whole thing. In reality, he thinks it’s really cool, and it reminds him of a few comic book characters he’s read about.

Nick:

     The detective was nothing short of astounded when he looked into Sole’s eyes for the first time after finding out they were fully functioning prosthetics. He couldn’t believe it, they looked so realistic, he never would have known if he hadn’t been told. Finding out about Sole’s eyes honestly made the synth feel more at home around them; not that they had ever made him feel alienated as a synth, but now he felt like they could empathize with him a bit more easily. Although, he must admit, he’s a little jealous of their normal-looking eyes in comparison to his own. The older synth has made his peace with who and what he is, having been this way his whole synthetic life, but he may just approach Sole and speak to them about where, hypothetically, he could find prosthetics like theirs, and would consider speaking to Dr. Amari about installing them. Sole, of course, would help him out, all while making sure Nick knew how much they liked his eyes the way that they are.

Piper:

     The reporter's eyes would slowly widen with each inch Sole's pant leg was rolled up to expose their prosthetic ankle, shin, and knee. She would then try to contain her shock, but would fail pretty miserably as her interviewing instinct kicked in and she began firing off every question that entered her mind. Most of them had to do with how Soles life changed after they had their injury, and then received their prosthetic limb, and Sole would answer a few to appease her before she realized how insensitive she was being. Piper would then instantly make up for it by apologizing to them, and offering to help them out with anything they may need. More often than not, while they were traveling, she would offer to carry more, would try and take more rest stops, and would offer even more snacks and beverages to Sole along the way. Sole would insist that they're okay, telling her about the fully functioning nature of their prosthetic, but she would still take efforts to help them out more often.

Preston:

     He would start by apologizing to Sole after he found out, but he wouldn’t be sure exactly why he felt the need to apologize. Perhaps because he felt sorry for them, and the injury and rehabilitation they had to live through? Or maybe it was because he felt like he had put too much pressure on them from the start? He had asked them to take down a dozen raiders and a deathclaw on the first day he’d met them, and then offered them the position of general, and all this time they had been helping those in need of their help with two prosthetic legs. They told him briefly that they had been injured before the bombs fell, but he hadn’t realized it had been this extensive. He would be sure to take it a little easier on them, and would be more conscious of their well-being, offering to rest more when they were traveling, and giving what missions he could to other minutemen. Preston wouldn’t pry, but would be ready to listen if Sole ever wanted to tell him more about their injury or their experience living with their prosthetics.

X6-88:

     X6's expression would remain ultimately unchanged as they told him about their two prosthetic hands, but he would marvel at their authenticity. How had he not known that they were prosthetics? The courser would ask if they were fully functional, if only to ensure that the prosthetics wouldn't be a danger to Sole in combat, but once assured that they were, he wouldn't treat Sole any differently. Inside, he would be curious about how Sole had sustained such an injury, but he would never voice it. If they did choose to tell him the whole story, he would simply listen and nod, a little confused as to why they felt the need to share this information with him. Though he didn't know why they told him, he would feel a strange lightness in his chest at the fact that they trusted him enough to share something this personal with him. 

[imaginationintowords]

Folklore [song series]

epiphany

Modern Day AU! Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff; Steve Rogers x OC!Reader

Plot: Inspired by Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore. The story follows the timeline of Bucky and Elizabeth’s life throughout the years

[warnings: death]

word count: 3168

Age: 21 Year: Sep. 2015 Location: Brooklyn, NY

"So I was thinking, godparents," Bucky spoke up. He and Natasha were currently finishing setting up the baby's nursery in their new apartment.

They had found a nice two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, much to Natasha's dismay. Bucky thought it was the perfect place to start their new little family. It was also about a 20 to 30 minutes drive to Bucky's work and University campus. His mom and stepdad had even offered to help them out financially for a bit, just as long as Bucky continued on his path to graduate with his Masters in Music Technology in the Spring.

Bucky had managed to finish his bachelor's and masters program in just the span of 4 years, a whole year earlier than originally planned. He was proud of himself, if there's one thing he hadn't screwed up yet, it was his education. He had fully devoted himself to his education the last four years and it clearly paid off. He had also managed to get a good paying job at a studio as an engineer. He had his whole future all planned out, the pregnancy might've been a curve ball at the beginning but with the help of his family and therapist, he was handling it all so well.

"Oh you don't need to worry about the godparents, I have it all figured out already," Natasha tells him as she folds baby clothes, "I picked Abigail and Dylan."

Natasha on the other hand had decided to put her education on hold. Deciding she wanted to be a stay at home mom, Bucky constantly made sure that that's what she wanted. And she insisted every time that she was "made to be a stay at home mom". So Bucky had to reluctantly allow her to make that decision. 

Which was one of the reasons why his parents had offered to help out for at least the first year or two, they had known their son was already stressing about finances, and trying to respect Natasha's decision. They figured two years would be a good enough time for the couple to build up their savings.

Bucky didn't like the fact that his parents were helping out with money, but he knew him and Nat wouldn't have been able to make it just on is current income alone. At least not until after he graduated, his boss had already promised a raise once he graduated, but that wasn't until May and the baby was due in the next two weeks.  He promised to pay his parents back every cent they gave him, but they told him to just focus on being a good father.

"Abigail and Dylan?" He questioned.

"Yeah," she shrugged her shoulders.

"The same Abigail and Dylan that showed up to the baby shower high, and proceed to get drunk, because and I quote 'babies are so boring'. That Abigail and Dylan?"

"Come on James, they were just joking, plus baby showers aren't necessarily the most fun thing in the world," she rolled her eyes.

"Can we at least each choose one godparent?" He suggested, "You can have Abigail as the Godmother and I can choose The Godfather."

"Like Sam?"

"No, not Sam. Steve," Bucky tells her.

"Oh, then no," she simply said, turning her back to him to continue putting clothes away.

"What's your problem?" Bucky asks annoyed, finally having enough of her attitude, "This entire pregnancy you've been against everything I've suggested."

"Hey, you got to choose Brooklyn," she turned around pointing her finger at him.

"Yeah because I couldn't fucking afford Manhattan Natasha," he stressed, trying not to raise his voice at her, "You didn't want to know the gender of the baby? Fine. You get to name the baby? Fine. You choose the color scheme of the nursery, fine. You choose the hospital. You choose the apartment. God damn Nat, I haven't done a single thing but pay for everything."

"And I thank-you for that," she rolled her eyes.

"But you don't," he shakes his head in disbelief over her reactions, "You haven't thanked me once. I get that you're carrying our child, and I'm appreciative of that. But god damn Natasha, show me some respect. Show my family some respect!

"You didn't thank my mom, Rebecca, or Keith for everything they've done for you. For us. And I can't keep making up excuses to defend you," he raises his voice a little bit.

"If this relationship is ever going to work, you need to be respectful. You need to stop being so selfish. I get this isn't easy for you, but trust me, this isn't easy for me either. But I agreed to do this. I am stepping up. I want to be a part of my child's life. And I want us to be together and be family," he calms down, "But if you continue to act this way. I won't stay in this relationship."

"You're just going to abandon us?" Natasha asks grabbing her belly, suddenly realizing the reality of the situation.

"No, I won't abandon you both. But we won't be together," he explains, "I will always be in my child's life. I will always be there for them. I'm not going to put my child through the same thing I went through growing up. I promised myself I would never do that."

"So if that means that you and I break up, then so be it Natasha, I'll do it," he tells her, "My child will not grow up in a toxic household."

"Okay," she agrees, tears in her eyes, "I promise I will be better."

"Don't promise me Nat, just show me."

Two and a half weeks later Bucky found himself rushing an in-labor Natasha to the hospital, it was a quick k10 minute drive from their apartment. He quickly called his mom as the nurses wheeled Natasha away, with Bucky following.

Bucky's mom arrives within the next 10 minutes, as the nurses begin to prep Natasha in her hospital room.

Bucky sent a quick text to Steve and Sam, letting them know it was showtime and that he'll call them once the baby is here.

"How's Mama doing?" The doctor asked while entering the room, quickly taking her spot at the foot of the bed to examine Natasha.

"It hurts," Nat cried, as Bucky tried to soothe her.

"I know, but unfortunately you were too far dilated when you arrived, that it's too late for the epidural," the doctor softly explains, "But the good news is I feel Baby's head, so it's time to go."

Natasha looked over at Bucky, completely scared.

"It's okay," he assured her, "I'm right here. Everything's going to be okay."

He leaned down an placed a soft kiss to her lips, helping her relax a bit.

"Ready?" The doctor looks up at Natasha.

"Yes," Natasha nodded, grabbing a hold of Bucky and his mom's hands on either side of her.

10 minutes later, a soft cry was heard in the room. Bucky quickly glanced over to where the doctor was had finished pulling the baby out.

"Congrats Mommy and Daddy, it's a girl," she announced.

"A girl?" Bucky whispered in awe, tears filling his eyes. He looked over at Natasha, who looked a lot paler in color.

"Nat?" He called out for her.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her limbs went limp, and all the monitors started to go crazy.

The doctor quickly cut the umbilical chord and handed the baby off to an awaiting nurse.

"What's going on?" Bucky panicky asked.

"Get them out," the doctor told a nurse, ignoring Bucky's question.

A nurse quickly escorted Bucky and his mom out of the room.

"She's going to be okay right?" He asked his mom, tears streaming down his face.

"I don't know honey," she honestly said, wrapping her arms around her son. She never thought the first hug they shared after him becoming a father would be like this.

She continued to hold him, soothing him as she made silent prayers pleading for Natasha's safety.

10 minutes later. The same 10 minutes it took for them to arrive to the hospital. The same 10 minutes it took Natasha to bring their daughter into the world, the door opened.

Bucky quickly pulled apart from his mom to see the doctor walking out of the room.

The doctor's face was filled with sorrow. Bucky's mom immediately put her head down, already knowing the outcome.

"How is she?" Bucky asked.

"Mr. Barnes, Natasha had a postpartum hemorrhage, due to issues with her placenta," the doctor carefully explains, "Unfortunately, there was too much blood loss. We weren't able to save her. She died."

Bucky immediately broke down, his mom quickly caught him. The doctor placed a reassuring hand on his back.

He quickly pulled away after a couple of minutes, "The baby. How's the baby?"

"She's good. They took her to get checked just as a safety procedure," the doctor tells him, "She's on the pediatric floor. Would you like to meet her?"

"Yeah," he says, then pauses, "What about Natasha?"

"We can come get you to say goodbye once we get her cleaned," the doctor tells him.

"Okay, thank you," he says.

The doctor takes him and his mom to the pediatric floor. The walk was silent. No one knowing what to say. Bucky was no longer crying, but he felt numb the entire short walk. The doctor knocked quietly on a door, before opening.

"Doctor Monroe, this is Mr. Barnes, the baby's father," the doctor said, before stepping aside to let Bucky in, "Mr. Barnes, I'll have someone come get you when it's time."

"Okay, thank-you," he nodded his head.

"Are you ready to meet your daughter?" Doctor Monroe asked, Bucky nodded his head.

"Meet your Daddy baby girl," the doctor said, gently handing the baby over to Bucky.

Bucky looked down at the small baby in his arms. He was instantly overcome with so many different emotions. The doctor walked out of the room, while Bucky's mom watched from outside threw the window.

"Hi baby girl," he whispered, sniffling back his tears, "You're so beautiful. I'm your dad. And boy am I lucky that you chose me to be your Dad. I always imagined this day would've turned out a lot differently. But life sure knows how to throw some real curveballs."

"Your mom would've loved you," he paused, letting it all sink in. His daughter will have to grow up without a mother. No little girl should have to be without a mom.

"I'm so sorry," he cried, as the baby was lulled to sleep, "I am so sorry your mom won't be able to physically be here. I am so sorry you'll have to grow up without her. No one should have to grow up without a parent. And trust me, I know what that's like. But lucky for us, I had the greatest pleasure of being raised by the most strongest and kindest mother. She taught me everything I know. Your grandma is the best lady you will ever meet. Lucky for us because god knows we're going to be needing her a lot.

"But you and I are incredibly fortunate that we won't ever be alone. We have so many people who care about us. You'll have all the female leadership you can ever need. We can do this," he strongly said to the sleeping baby, "You and I. We can do this. And I promise you this, that no matter what happens, you will always have me. You're stuck with me for the rest of your life. My love for you is greater than anything, anyone I've ever loved. My love for you will always be easy and unconditional. You'll never have to prove your worth to me. You're worth more to me than you can ever possibly imagine. I love you."

Bucky placed a soft kiss to his daughter's forehead. The first kiss he will ever give her, but definitely not the last.

There was a soft knock at the door, he gently called for the person to come in.

His mom quietly opened and closed the door behind her, stepping to her son's side.

"She's beautiful," she smiled down at the little baby.

"She really is," Bucky beamed. He looked over at his mom and noticed she was holding a clipboard, "What's that?"

"Birth certificate," she tells him, "One of the nurses gave it to me. They said there's no rush to fill it out. You have time."

"Here, I can do that," he said gently holding the baby out for her to take.

"Are you sure?" She asked, switching with him.

"Yeah, I have a name anyways."

"What is it?" She looked over at the name written down:

Poppy James Barnes.

[flashback]

After that talk Bucky had with Natasha, he noticed a serious change in her attitude. She was beginning to be more relaxed and more selfless. Bucky felt a tiny weight lifted off his shoulder. Hoping that these changes in her personality would stay.

"So what do you think about James for a boy?" Natasha asked one night, as she and Bucky made dinner together in their small kitchen.

"For a middle name?" He asked confused.

"No, his first name."

"Oh," he paused, "I actually have never liked the idea of giving a child their parents' name. I feel like it doesn't really give them a chance to be their own person. If their parent is successful then they feel the stress of always having to live up to that. And if their parent is crap then they're forever stuck with that reminder of that person."

"That makes sense," she agreed, understanding where he was coming from,

"Then how about James for the middle name. Whether it's a boy or girl."

"I would actually really like that," he smiled at her, "I would like that a lot."

They gathered up their own plates, and sat at their small round table.

"So what other names have you come up with?" Bucky asked her as he took a bite of his chicken.

"Truthfully, I haven't found any good names. All the girls keep making suggestions and they're way too out there," she tells him, "I don't want them to have a name that's too hard to pronounce or spell."

Natasha's phone started to ring, Bucky got up to grab it for her from the living room. By the time he handed it over to her it stopped ringing.

"What kind of flower is that?" He asked her, noticing her phone's Lock Screen background.

"The California Poppy," she tells him.

"Why do you have that as your background?"

"Well my mom was actually from California," she says, "She met my Dad when they both went to Harvard. They fell in love, so she decided to stay out here on the East Coast.

"The only clear memory I have from her was all the stories she used to tell me about poppy season. How the color just made everything so lively. Her parents would take her every season. I remember seeing all the photos of her as a child surrounded by all the flowers. We looked a like as children," she fondly smiled,

"She always talked about taking me to go see them, but she and Dad were always so busy. Then she got sick and there just wasn't a way for us to go. My grandparents tried to get some out here but it was too late. I never did get to see the poppies."

Natasha was silent for a moment, letting what she said sink in. She's never told anyone that story before, the memory would always make her sad. But now sitting here with Bucky, pregnant with their child, for the first time in her life her mother's death didn't bring her such sadness. She could smile at the memory and know she had the utmost best time with her mother, even if it was short lived, she knew her mother loved her. And she can't wait to shower that love onto the baby inside of her, once they were out.

"We should go," Bucky says, "Once the baby is here we should go when it's poppy season. Plus it'd be nice seeing Steve and Liz's life out west."

"Yeah, that sounds nice," her eyes teared up, seeing how generous this man was in front of her, "I'd really love that."

"Poppy, that's cute," Winifred smiled.

"Yeah, Nat would've loved it."

"They said if you were ready, you can say your goodbyes," she carefully said.

"Okay, you're good with her?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to go with you? The nurses can watch Poppy."

"No. I'd feel much better if she was with family," he tells her, "I'll be fine mom. I can do this."

He gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room.

"Take all the time you need," the nurse told Bucky, as she led him to the room Natasha's body was in.

"Thank you," he quietly said.

She opened the door for him, and he carefully stepped inside.

He walked closer to the body on the bed. He immediately started crying at the sight of her lifeless body.

"God Nat," he cried, "I am so sorry. We never even discussed the possibility of this ever happening. I never even thought of this happening. God I don't know how I am going to ever do this alone. I never imagined myself ever raising a child alone."

He takes a moment to catch his breath.

"She's beautiful Nat, so incredibly beautiful," he tells her, "I wish you would've been able to see her. Hold her. I'm going to make sure she knows everything about you. There's not going to be a day where she doesn't know about her mother."

"When poppy season arrives I'm going to make sure to take her. Every year," he wipes away a tear, "Oh, I also named her Poppy. For you. For your mom. I promise I won't let you down. She's going to have the best life ever. I'll make sure of that. Thank-you for everything you've given me. I truly did love you. Goodbye Natasha." _________________ Age: 22

Location: CA

Year: May 2016

The car comes to a stop, parking in a spot next to a bunch of other cars. Bucky, Liz, and Steve get out of the car. Steve and Liz grab a few things from the trunk, while Bucky gets the smiley baby out of the car seat. Bucky places the baby into the stroller, Steve had gotten out. The three of them began to walk towards the field of poppies.

"Wow, there's a lot this year," Liz says, "Do you want to take her out?"

"Yeah, I'll grab her," Bucky says grabbing Poppy.

He walked ahead of Liz and Steve, taking in the moment with his daughter.

"Look at all the poppies," he whispers to the almost eight month old. She had a huge smile on her face taking in the sight around her.

She was making some babbling sounds, as if to agree with her dad.

The weather was perfect. The sun shining down on them, it wasn't too hot or too cold. Bucky just stared at the flowers, with a peaceful feeling washing over him. The last few months haven't been the easiest, but he was making it. They both were making it. Being here, gave him the reassurance that he was doing good. He could feel Natasha's presence with him there. As if she was silently saying how proud she was of him.

"We're going to be fine," he said to Poppy, placing a kiss on her head.

[oohnoniall]

The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter One (Anastasia)

WARNINGS: cursing.

       The Grisha were puppets. She could tell that from the way her father had them paraded before him. No one should be treated the way they were and yet, it was the safest they had ever been. She had not grown up in a time before the Darkling. She had only ever known him to reside over the Little Palace. He kept the Grisha safe.

       That didn't stop them from having to perform great feats at the winter fete every year. She had been in attendance every year since she was six.

       She still remembered that first one clearly. It had been the first time she had been presented to the court. Her mother had actually come to her room, getting her ready to be shown off like a prized horse. It was the first time she had been allowed to wear a tiara.

       Nikolai had teased her for it the entire night. He still teased her for it.

       "Annie," a voice hissed to her right. Her eldest brother looked proud in his jacket, his medals pinned to his chest. They showed that he had claimed something in his year of service. Even if she was certain that it was not a brain. "Get your head out of the clouds."

       Vasily had never exactly been close to Anastasia. He had always been more focused on learning how to run Ravka, how to be the king that their country deserved. He had never paid much attention to her as Nikolai had. He hadn't paid Nikolai much attention either. Vasily was less their brother and more an acquaintance.

       Yet he was all that she had.

       Nikolai had left three years before to study and to serve in the military. Anastasia had written him daily letters for the first year, weekly the second. Now, she was lucky if she wrote him monthly. He didn't answer the letters. Too busy with his studies, with forgetting all about the life he had lived back home.

       Forgetting Anastasia.

       "My head is never in the clouds, Vasie," she huffed as she straightened her spine. She found it somewhat hard to breathe in her gown. Her corset was too tight, her mother had said her waist needed to be smaller and her maids had apparently agreed. Despite the lack of oxygen, there was no denying that the gown was beautiful. It was a shade of cream that matched Vasily's jacket perfectly with sky blue lace detailing on the bodice and matching blue flowers embroidered along the hemline.

       It was not the prettiest gown she owned, but it was one of her favorites. If only because she liked that she stood out just a bit from her family. Her mother's gown would be plain, letting everyone focus instead on the Lantsov emerald that would rest on her left hand. Her father and brother would both be sporting their military jackets, the pins and medals gleaming in the light. If Nikolai had been there, he would have at least been the one to escort Anastasia.

       Instead, her arm was linked with Vasily's. A bored smile crossed her features, taking away the seventeen-year-old's normal vibrancy. She despised the winter fete. The past three years had all been more disappointing than the last.

       It had nothing to do with the Grisha. But it had everything to do with the fact that she had no one to speak with. No one to confide in or giggle with when the night grew boring. Life without her brother had become stale, boring even.

       She sighed softly, trying to push out all those negative feelings as Vasily began to gently pull her out of the small antechamber. Her heart pounded in her chest. A four-eighths rhythm that seemed to skip the second beat. She wondered what it would sound like as an aria.

       "Presenting His Highness Crown Prince Vasily Lantsov and Her Highness Princess Anastasia Lantsov," a booming voice announced to the waiting crowd of nobles and rich merchants that surrounded Os Alta.

       A small smattering of applause greeted them, as it did every year. They were not the show though. They were merely just important guests, visitors to the show of something amazing. Something that none of them were entirely prepared for. At least, not yet.

       "Mingle," Vasily murmured in her ear, not bothering to bend. The two were only mere inches apart. A fact that Vasily hated and Nikolai had found humorous. "Just don't wander far from my sight."

       "And if I don't?" She did not move to raise a brow or do anything that might cause alarm. She barely moved her lips as she spoke. Speaking with Vasily just meant keeping it quiet and not allowing anyone to hear.

       "Then you'll never make a friend that isn't Nikolai." Despite their lack of a relationship, he did care for his younger sister. He cared for his brother as well. Although that relationship was far more strained. Not even Vasily could ignore the rumors surrounding his siblings. Anastasia, however, would never be a threat to him getting the throne upon their father's death.

       She gave a very slight nod of her head. If one happened to see it, they would merely assume she had just shifted her stance or something of that nature. They'd never realize that she had agreed to do something for him. Even if it was as simple as mingle with those who gathered with them in celebration of the second army.

       Her brother released her arm, allowing her to slip free from him and into the crowd. She would not leave the room. She knew better than to cause Vasily a heart attack. Had Nikolai been there, she wouldn't have had to worry about any of it. She would have been able to do as pleased. He'd just follow after her, his charisma hiding the fact that he was threatening people or watching over the sister he'd never asked for.

       Soft laughter, low tenors mixed with high sopranos, filled the air with a gentle melody. One that Anastasia could feel tingling in her bones and in her heart. The melodies of life in Ravka had always seemed to flow through the princess. She just hadn't said a word about it to anyone. Her mother had only ever been told she excelled in music lessons.

       She had strived to excel in everything though. Anything to avoid being sent off like her brother.

       "Princess," a tall young man stepped in front of her, blocking her from moving forward. He bowed at the waist to her, his left arm going behind his back in a sign of respect. His dark, blue-black hair fell into his face in the softest of waves. Briefly, she thought about reaching out to run her fingers through them. "I was certain we wouldn't be graced with your presence this evening."

       "And why exactly is that?" Her tone was soft, lilting and pretty. If she added a bit more breath it would sound more like a song.

       "There's a rumor that your parents sent you to Fjerda a week ago," he admitted as he straightened his spine. His eyes were bright, only a few shades darker than the Lantsov emerald. She wondered how many women he had enchanted with his eyes alone.

       Anastasia forced a gentle laugh to leave her lips as she looked at the man. "I'm afraid I will not see Fjerda for a few more years. Although, my departure date is not to be common knowledge." Her eyes glinted in the light, matching the sky blue detailing on her dress.

       "Of course, your highness," the man nodded his hand once. "Might I have this dance with you?"

       She considered it for a moment. A dance didn't mean they'd be courting. Nor did it mean she would be respected. Everything was so political nowadays. If she did not do the right thing, she would create a scandal. However, most of the time it felt as though if she breathed wrong she would cause a scandal or trouble of some sort. It was all quite exhausting if she were being honest.

       Slowly, Anastasia took the man's outstretched hand. "Of course."

       He led her towards the small dance floor. The winter fete was not a place for dancing. But her mother had thought that it would be nice to have a bit of a dance. She was certain that it had only been in case Nikolai or Vasily had caught sight of a woman that might one day become a queen. Or at the very least it made for a good chessboard.

       "What is your name?" She asked as he placed on hand on her waist. She could feel eyes on them. She was certain his family was watching closely, certain that her brother was preparing to protect her honor.

       "Dima Antonov," he said as the music began to swell. He led her through an intricate waltz. One that she had danced a million times. It was practically drilled into her feet.

       The music spoke to her in a way that nothing ever had before. She loved the way it made her feel as though she were floating on air. Every rest was like holding her breath, the crescendo was the beating of her heart as Dima twirled her across the floor. Her gown floating around them as though there was nothing holding her onto this plane of existence. She could fly away, farther than any bird.

       "You're an incredible dancer," his voice brought her back down to the earth. Gravity pulling against her limbs and her hopes.

       "Oh?" An amused smile crossed her features. "You're not so bad yourself."

       A glint of something was in his eyes. She could not tell if it was amusement or something darker. She prayed to the Saints that she would not have to deal with a pining lordling with dreams of becoming king. It wasn't as though the throne would ever fall to her. Yet, some of these lordlings seemed to believe that they would inherit the throne upon marrying her. Her betrothal didn't seem to matter to any of them either.

       Why would she marry a backward Fjerdan when she could have a good, honest Ravakan? Honestly, the whole thing was rather dull.

       There was nothing that could be done about her marriage. Contracts had been signed long ago. Although, the Fjerdans were not holding up their end of the bargain particularly well. It seemed as if they assumed they could do whatever they wanted to the Grisha and get away with it. It seemed as though all they cared about was getting another country to trade with them. Something that her parents also wanted.

       "Thank you, your highness," Dima broke her out of her thoughts as he dipped her in time with the music. Her long flowing hair nearly touched the floor as strands began to fall from the mess of braids that her maids had put it up in. Her heart skipped another beat as she stared up into his eyes.

       Love was such a trivial matter to her and yet, she found it hard to not be wooed by bright eyes and a dazzling smile. She was just a girl after all. A girl with hopes, dreams, ambitions.

       Dima's dazzling smile just happened to be distracting enough to keep her mind off of her ambitions.

       "I've heard that the Princess of Ravka was a sight to behold, but I didn't expect the rumors to be true." He admitted as he gently pulled her back up. She found that she was pressed rather closely to the young man.

       "I take it that this is your first winter fete?" One of her eyebrows rose just a fraction of a centimeter, barely enough for anyone but the man standing in front of her to notice.

       "I've been spending my time with the First Army. My father is a general," he admitted as he stepped back enough to make their dance proper once more. "I've finally been allowed leave and thought I would spend my time is Os Alta."

       "And this has nothing to do with our new Sun Summoner, does it?"

       "Nothing at all," Dima's lips quirked in a handsome smirk. One that sent heat racing to Anastasia's cheeks. She fought down her blush, not wanting a soul to know her feelings.

       Her mother had once told her that she was an open book. Her emotions were easy to read and easy to figure out. Her mother had made sure that she knew it was not a good thing. Beauty was what mattered. At least, until she had done what she needed to. Then she could worry about falling in love and being in love. Until then, she had to focus on the Fjerdan prince and providing an heir when the time came.

       Anastasia's life was nothing more than a game of chess. She just didn't know if she was the pawn or the queen.

       The music slowed to a stop, her heart still kept the steady beat of the waltz. If only to keep it inside of her for a few hours more. Dima stepped away from her, bowing his head politely.

       "Thank you for the dance, your highness," he took her hand in his and raised it to his knuckles. He brushed his lips against it once, before he slipped away, disappearing into the crowd and out of her life.

       She knew better than anyone that it was easier to dance with royalty than actually spend time with them. It was one of the reasons why Nikolai had been her only friend for so long.

       Anastasia did not allow for this to keep her sedated for long. Instead, she slipped away into the crowd. Her eyes searched out Vasily, who was drinking something that was not water while flirting with a lord's daughter. One that he had been speaking with for nearly a year now. She was expecting a courting announcement any day now.

       Vasily being preoccupied was a blessing to her. She could escape from his supposedly watchful gaze and find something to do that was not fawn over the Grisha and what they could do. It wasn't like she hated the Grisha. She just thought that they didn't need to be put on parade. There was no reason for them to be a sort of sideshow.

       Anastasia slipped out of the throne room of the little palace. The noise of the music and the endless chatter allowed for her to be silent, despite the harsh clicking noise of her heels on the tiled floors.

       She could not lose herself completely in the crowd. Others moved out of the way for her, occasional bows were thrown her way while others tried to speak with her about some piece of political jargon that she didn't particularly care about. She was certain that they were only speaking to her because they thought she had her father's ear. It would be quite a shock to them when they realized that she didn't. She had no say in anything political. She was not allowed in council meetings.

       All she was was the pretty princess. The one they could trade for marriage and gain political allies through. It was quite aggravating if anyone were to ask for her opinion. Which they more than likely wouldn't. No one ever did.

       She kept her head held high, her chin pointed just slightly to show she knew who she was and what power she held, as she walked down the hallways and through the crowds. She rounded a corner, her brow furrowing as she noticed something out of the ordinary.

       A man in a guard's uniform. A man that she did not recognize.

       Anastasia knew every guard in the palaces. She had trained with much of them under Nikolai's orders. They had treated her with respect and constantly allowed her to win while also ignoring her horrid aim. Seeing someone new at the winter fete? That was quite unlikely.

       "Excuse me," her voice was soft, barely carrying above the noise of the music and idle chatter. Yet, anyone who knew the royal family would have stopped at her voice. The man kept walking for two steps before realizing his mistake.

       Something was very wrong in the Little Palace. None of the guards should have continued walking. Not even the freshest of faces would have made that mistake.

       She could tell that the man was cursing his mistake as he turned on his heel. There was a look in his eye. A glint of rage, of anxiety even. She would never wish to be the one that rage was directed against. His blue eyes seemed to stare into her soul, drowning her as though it were the depths of the sea or the Fold. His cheekbones were high, sharp enough that they might cut her if she were to touch them.

       She ignored the thundering in her chest, her four-eighths time had become a sixteenth. Fast, quick, ready to jump into her throat.

       The fact that his rage soon melted into the look of one of a new recruit did not help. His features still made him deadly, despite the innocence that he had schooled into his features. Anastasia was someone who wore a mask every day of her life. She had gotten rather good at figuring out who was faking things. She had found different ways to discern who wore a mask and who wore their true face. It was normally in the eyes, in the quirk of their lips, the slightest motion of the eyebrows. There was always a tell.

       It didn't matter who wore the mask.

       "Your Highness," he bowed somewhat awkwardly. It was almost as though there was something wrong with him. Like he had been hurt before or like he found it difficult to bow before anyone. Perhaps he thought himself a king in his own right. "May I help you?"

       His Ravakan was somewhat harsh, the syllables not coming out as easily as they would for a native speaker. She didn't think that was a warning sign. If they had needed more guards, they would have looked to recent immigrants. They'd be too happy to work for the palace and send money back to their families. She just wondered where exactly he was from. The accent didn't seem to be anywhere she could place.

       It was too prim for Kerch and too gentle for Fjerda. Maybe he was from Novi Zem, but he didn't have the air. She figured she would find out later. Now was not the time to question anything as simple as where his accent stemmed from. That would be a conversation for later.

       "You're new," she said as she stepped forward. She did not step close enough to be within his personal bubble, just enough so that he could hear her without straining himself. "I haven't seen you on the grounds before." She had not sparred with him before. It was just improper for her to say so with the entirety of the court present.

       He cleared his throat once, as though he was unsure how to approach her. Or maybe just the topic at hand.

       ”They’ve had me preparing for tonight for the last few weeks,” he said it casually, as though it were nothing but the truth. It should have been. No one would have been fool enough to break into the palaces on the one night when everyone was on high alert.

       At least, that’s what they had all been led to believe.  There was no telling if this was the truth or not. No telling if they were actually safe or if they were all just pawns in someone’s chess game.

       Anastasia was prone to believing one over the other.

       ”I see,” her eyes blazed as she looked at him, not daring to back down from his soulful gaze. “Well, in any case, I like to be well acquainted with my guards, Mr?”

       ”Vanzin,” he said quickly. He no longer looked nervous, the name fell smoothly from his lips. “Nikolai Vanzin.”

       ”Nikolai?”

       ”My mother thought it would be lucky to name me after a prince,” his cheeks heated slightly, enough to make her believe the excuse.

       ”Very well then, Mr. Vanzin. I will see you later then.”

       “I’ll be here all night, Your Highness.”

       A small smile crossed Anastasia’s lips at that, a gleam in her eye that had nothing to do with mischief and everything to do with the new handsome guard. “I expect to see you on the training field tomorrow.” She did not wait for his answer as she turned away.

       Anastasia did not notice the scowl that crossed Vanzin’s face, nor did she notice as he slipped unnoticed into the crowd. Vanzin soon becoming nothing more than a ghost.

       A ghost who went by the name of Kaz Brekker.

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. vii

→ one | two | three | four | five | six

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part seven / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: swearing, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 4,732

☾vii. part vii: start of something new

Waking up in a warm, quiet room 199 floors from the ground at Heaven’s Arena, Sayomi sat up in her bed, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

She had slept more soundly than she had in a while, between Meteor City and the watching eyes of the Mafia. 

But maybe it was the faint, earthy scent that Kite had left behind, or perhaps it was the fact that Sayomi was now free to live on her own in one of the most populated cities in the world. She decided it was the latter this time around.

A good night’s sleep had proved to resolve the conflicting thoughts in her head, as Sayomi settled that Kite was a good friend, and would never be anything more.

In this way, she was able to accept the reality that there had never been anything more than friendly interactions between them, and it would stay that way.

In all honesty, she needed a teacher if she was going to make a life out of fighting at Heaven’s Arena. And judging by the immense aura Kite had surrounding him even while he was resting, she knew he outclassed her in nen abilities.

As of now her nen acted as her last line of defense, still being rather inconsistent and hard to control. Though she had improved a great deal with her independent training in Meteor City, she still had a lot to learn about the potentials of her abilities. 

Stretching out her limbs and rising from bed, Sayomi got ready for the day ahead of her.

☾vii.

Kite and his student were waiting for Sayomi on the 60th floor, as Stick Dinner had his 60s match later today.

The three would train in the gym on this floor as they waited for Stick’s match to come around. It was rather empty because the 60th floor was merely a transitioning floor where contestants would come and go.

Kite started his two students off with a basic nen introduction, explaining the four major principles: Ten, Zetsu, Ren, and Hatsu. 

Sayomi had already learned all about nen and its history back when she was around 4 years old alongside Illumi. Kite was aware of this as well but needed to explain the basics to Stick.

A long lecture and one Water Divination Test later, and Stick was now educated of his nen abilities and excited to learn more.

They had now moved onto attempting to recognize Stick’s hatsu, which would become his own personal nen ability. 

Sayomi’s own hatsu was already established, being her hypnotic spell and corpse control. And because she had only truly used it while fighting for her life in Meteor City, she still had significant difficulties with using her power.

Kite was also aware of Sayomi’s hatsu from the days he’d used to visit Kukuroo Mountain. He remembered Sayomi demonstrating her power on weak intruders and aggressive animals, their deceased corpses moving like puppets at her command.

Though he’d never say it out loud, it was quite terrifying.

For this exact reason, Kite had apologetically said Sayomi should wait until she was free to use nen in the 200s battles to train her hatsu. It was just too dangerous to practice for the purpose of training.

Therefore, instead of practicing her hatsu like Stick, Sayomi was put to work training her ren. She would have to maintain it for an hour today, and Kite mentioned she would eventually progress to longer durations of time.

Sayomi’s ren was intense, she had to stay 10 feet away from anyone else to make sure she didn’t affect them. Her body was surrounded in a malicious, deep purple shroud of energy, contrasting with Kite’s pure white aura.

☾vii.

Half an hour had passed with Kite’s training, said man working with Stick to strengthen his hatsu while Sayomi stood concentrated on maintaining her ren.

As of now, she was still fine, just rather bored with the method of training.

She opted to watch the on-going fights on the monitor above her instead of staring at the wall in front of her. However, this proved to be even worse, as the contestants she watched were all terribly amateur. 

Sighing when she saw a contestant trip over his own feet on the monitor, she had caught Kite’s attention. “Not tired yet?”

Sayomi looked to Kite with a guilt-ridden expression. “Ah, not yet, but that’s not why I… nevermind. Sorry!”

Kite let out a rather short laugh at her frantic apology, walking just outside her ren aura to stand in front of her.

“No need to apologize. This exercise is meant to be a drag, it trains not only strengthening your nen, but also patience and putting mind over body. Looks like…  you have about 20 minutes left, keep it up!”

Sayomi smiled weakly at Kite’s attempt at encouragement. He was a blunt person by nature so to anyone else his words probably came across as sarcastic, but Sayomi recognized his sincerity. 

She thanked him with a short smile.

Around the 50 minute mark, Sayomi was finally breaking out a sweat, her arms and legs had actually been burning for a while now, but she’d been holding in any signs of weakness.

She was getting a little dizzy now, putting more force into her legs in order to stay upright and not swaying along with the room in front of her.

“Annnd time. Sayomi your hour’s up.”

Sayomi’s ren faded as she fell back to lean against the wall for support. 

Damn, I must be out of shape or something. 

Kite stepped over to where Sayomi stood trying to catch her breath. “Not as easy as you thought?”

She looked up with a sneer. “I’m just getting started, gimme a week and I’ll pass you up.”

Kite’s eyes were now filled with amusement. Having sent Stick off to standby for his match, he took a seat in front of Sayomi, motioning for her to do the same.

Sayomi sat cross-legged with her head resting against the wall, her eyes closed as she attempted to regenerate her aura.

“What’s your record anyway?”

Kite looked across at the exhausted girl. “About a day.”

“A DAY?!” Sayomi’s eyes flew open at Kite’s response, clearly having underestimated her instructor.

He only nodded in return, wishing to change the subject off of himself. “If I may ask... what exactly is the eldest daughter of the Zoldyck family doing at a place like Heaven’s Arena?”

There was the question. She was surprised he hadn’t asked her earlier.

To lie or not to lie… 

“My parents sent me here as a test of strength. I’m not allowed back until I reach the very top.” Sayomi lied through her teeth, not wanting to tell Kite about her banishment.

That should convince him.

“The very top? Ah, so they wish for you to become a floor master. I see... well with the right training, you can surely get to that point perhaps within a few years?” Kite looked at Sayomi expectantly.

A few years? What the hell even is a ‘floor master’? 

With a measly lie, Sayomi had screwed herself over. She had originally intended in making a few million jenny by cruising through the 100s and getting her own room. But with this whole floor master thing, she could already sense that her future at Heaven’s Arena would become much more complex.

The title does sound pretty cool though… maybe I’ll just go along with the flow for now.

“Right! Haha… they want me to become a floor master. So you think you’ll be able to help me get there?”

Kite looked deep in thought. Did I say something wrong? 

Meeting Sayomi’s eyes once again, he spoke. “On second thought Sayomi… I’ve made a promise to train Stick Dinner, and with the danger of your nen abilities, I don’t think I can do you any good as an instructor.”

She was about to take back her words and say becoming a floor master was unnecessary, but he cut her off.

“However, I just realized something that I should’ve thought of before. I’m not sure how you’d get along, but there is someone with more experience than me at Heaven’s Arena.”

Sayomi looked up, interested in his proposal.

Noticing her apparent interest, Kite continued, “I happen to owe him a favor as well, because I’ve been staying in his room on the 200th floor with Stick. He’s… a rather interesting person, and he finds enjoyment in fighting powerful individuals. But nevermind his personality, I think you would benefit greatly from his experience both with nen and Heaven’s Arena, more than I could ever do for you.”

Kite examined Sayomi’s expression, it seemed to be a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity.

“I’m not proposing you make a decision right away, as he’ll actually be absent for some time… but I recommend you consider it as a possibility.”

In her mind, Sayomi was unsure of what to think about this mysterious acquaintance of Kite, but in her heart and soul, there was an undeniable hunger for more power and more recognition. If she were to become a floor master, her name would surely spread throughout Yorknew City and perhaps even reach her parents. 

“When will he return?”

Kite smiled at her sign of interest in his offer. He knew she would be able to handle his colleague’s eccentric personality, and from there she would only have room to grow even stronger.

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. He’s a very spontaneous man, and the last time I saw him he mentioned traveling around the world to find his next rival.”

Sayomi thought about her current options. 

“I understand… training my nen would most likely require the death of victims, which you would never allow, but without improving my nen I would seemingly get destroyed in the 200s matches. Right?”

Kite took a moment to consider her words. “Yes, more or less.”

Sayomi nodded in return. “So then supposedly… this acquaintance of yours would be willing to train my nen even if it would mean others will die?”

“Precisely.” Kite grimaced at her blunt deduction of his words.

Sayomi threw her arms back, resting her hands behind her head. “Well alright then! Until this friend of yours gets back I guess I’ll just see how far I can get without using my nen.”

“Acquaintance. But yes, I suppose fighting without your nen until he gets back would be a good use of time.” 

☾vii.

Sayomi and Kite headed to the stands of the arena after wrapping up their conversation. Kite’s student was up for the next match, leaving the two childhood friends to watch amongst the crowd.

Stick’s match went smoothly, he had outsmarted his opponent by anticipating each of his attacks, and in the end all he had left was to tire him out enough to land the finishing blow.

He was now qualified to continue on to the 70s, while Sayomi’s fight would be the next day.

☾vii.

Kite stood leaning against the back wall of the 60th floor arena, his eyes focused on the light-footed girl currently playing around with her opponent in the ring. 

He felt almost a sense of pride, watching the little Zoldyck girl who had used to be too shy as to even raise her voice, now dancing around in the illuminated arena full of confidence.

She was taking her time with the unworthy opponent who stood across from her. Under normal circumstances, Kite would have been infuriated with Sayomi’s disrespectful actions, but this time it was much different.

Her opponent had spent the final minutes before their match catcalling and spilling other obscene words towards Sayomi. Kite had moved to step in between the two contestants, ready to punch the man’s teeth in, but Sayomi had given him a look so full of malice he knew to hold back.

She was waiting to absolutely ruin her opponent in the ring.

So when he saw Sayomi taking her sweet time and making a fool out of the man who’d previously disrespected her, Kite only smirked in satisfaction from a distance.

Sayomi you’ve been through a lot, haven’t you… all this anger and hatred coursing through your aura. 

In the arena, Sayomi brought a swift heel down on her opponent's hand. An attack that was worth no points but only for the purpose of causing pain.

Pain… who hurt you Sayomi? What ever happened to the girl who’d cried when she accidentally swatted a butterfly?

Kite experienced a flurry of conflicting emotions as he watched Sayomi torture and eventually knock down her opponent. 

He was worried about her emotional health, knowing for sure now that she had experienced something so tragic and crucial it’d turned her pure aura a 180 degree turn into bloodlust and malice.

However, he was glad to know one thing was for sure. 

She would definitely survive and benefit from his unstable colleague’s training, for now he realized they were so similar it was almost as if they were the same person. 

Or perhaps two halves of a whole.

☾vii.

1 year later

It was the weekend and Sayomi was currently on an off day in between fights.

In the year that had passed with her progressing through Heaven’s Arena, Sayomi was now a single fight away from the 200s.

Admiring the view from Kite’s old room on the 199th floor, she smiled to herself. 200s at last.

The truth was that Sayomi had a room of her own now, being well into the 100s. However she’d already been so accustomed to using Kite’s room that she’d convinced him into switching rooms with her.

Now that all three of them had rooms of their own, the borrowed room on the 200th floor was empty once again, waiting for the return of its owner.

Sayomi had just finished combat training with Kite and Stick, still unable to use her nen because of the possible consequences. 

As she gazed longer out the window in front of her, she started to see her reflection cast in the clear glass, and soon it was all she saw.

Who am I?

Staring back at her, the reflection she saw in the window was much different than she’d expected. Her violet eyes were dull, emotionless, and the passion that had once lit up her soul was now gone, replaced with a worn out ghost of who she used to be.

This was all it took to make Sayomi forget about all she had done to make it to where she was now. This, being her reminiscent thoughts about the family that had ditched her.

She may have declared to herself millions of times that she was indeed her own person now, but the lingering desire to be loved once again forced her start over every single time.

She needed someone to rely on, though she’d never admit it. It was her constant overthinking that she would only become a burden to those who cared about her that stopped her from seeking support in others. Her family had left her insecure and broken, desperate for someone else’s attention.

Let’s see… If Illumi and I are turning 19 this year, that means… Killua will be 9. 

9 years old, huh… 

I wonder if he still looks like me? God, if I were with him I think I’d spend every last jenny just to see that smile one more time.

...I hope you’re hanging in there Killua. 

Just wait a little bit longer, and I promise I’ll come save you.

Forgive me I just need more time to be able to face everyone again.

☾vii.

Watching the sunset over Yorknew City from his new room on the 199th floor, Kite was currently typing back a response to a rather unclear message he’d received from his traveling colleague.

No matter how many times he’d read it, he just couldn’t decipher the exact reason or message behind the text he had received. 

Staring at it with a skeptical expression, he read it once more:

Isn’t it quite amusing how fate plays out sometimes? 

I’ve arrived in the city and can’t wait to meet this student of yours, as it seems I’ve already partially met her without even realizing it. 

I can’t wait to start training with her. ♥️

Kite let out an exasperated sigh.

What does he mean by ‘I’ve already partially met her’? I swear he’s always so ambiguous with his words. 

Damn, what an exhausting guy.

☾vii.

Today was the day of Sayomi’s fight that would determine whether she’d advance into the 200s. That meant it was also the last day Sayomi would fight without her nen and weapons.

However, her day was about to get much more eventful than a promotion into the 200s. 

Kite’s acquaintance had arrived in the city the other day, and after a short visit to a friend, he would make it back to Heaven’s Arena later today to meet his new student.

Kite had no knowledge about this part, as all he was told was that he had arrived in the city.

Back in the 199th floor arena, Sayomi had arrived early, taking her time to stretch and enjoy the time left before her final fistfight.

Kite stood alongside Sayomi in the mostly empty waiting room, it would be his last day with his childhood friend, at least without an excuse to spend time with her.

Once she was in the 200s, Kite wouldn’t be able to do much for her, as he had his own student to manage.

He stared sympathetically at the little Zoldyck girl from his childhood. She had grown into a relentless fighter, leaving no time to enjoy living her life during her prime years.

All he could now was hope that his assumptions about his colleague were right, in that he would not only provide Sayomi with the right training, but also fun and other things kids of her age should be doing.

Sayomi finished her preparations well before the scheduled time of the fight, leaving the two with time to talk and reminisce about the old days.  

They’d also talked briefly about Sayomi’s new instructor. Kite explained how he’d finally arrived in the city the other day, coming back from seeking out the most powerful assassins and hunters to challenge in fights to the death.

Sayomi was delighted at this, getting a feeling that this mysterious instructor would put up a solid fight against her while they trained. “You said he was on the 200th floor, right? Has he not been able to defeat a floormaster yet?”

Kite raised his eyebrows at her question. “Ah… no, not yet. But I believe that’s because he’s constantly sidetracked with trying to find his ‘perfect rival’.” 

Sayomi bit the inside of her cheek, confused. “Hmm but if he’s back now… does that mean he found someone worthy on his trip?”

Kite nodded at this. “Yes, I believe so. It’s either he’s satisfied with the amount of people he’s massacred, or he’s found a formidable opponent he knows he can come back and fight at a later time.”

“I see… he sounds… rather interesting.” Sayomi was actually a bit excited, it’d been a while since she was to face someone of such a high reputation.

Beside her, Kite had taken notice of the slight change in Sayomi’s aura. It seems I predicted correctly, she’ll get along just fine.

☾vii.

“Our next fight decides who moves on to the 200th floor. We have Ichihiro versus Sayomi! At this time, choose your side and place your bets!”

Under the spotlights, Sayomi stood with her hands resting behind her head. Her eyes remained closed, she seemed to be taking the last minutes to relax.

“The bets are in! Looks like today’s match is in favor of Sayomi Zoldyck!”

Ichihiro let out a scoff, mocking his opponent who, in his eyes, seemed overconfident to the point where she didn’t even need to look at him. “Are you nice and relaxed over there, girl? I’ll tell you now you’re gonna regret facing me.”

Sayomi disregarded her opponent's words. In reality, she was worried, and anyone who could see her aura could notice this as well. 

Kite turned his head at Sayomi’s restlessness. What is she so tense for?

Sayomi tightened her grip around her other hand. Inside her head, she tried to calm the exhilaration that stemmed as a result of her final match without weapons. She couldn’t wait to finally stand on the 200th floor.

In other words, Sayomi wasn’t afraid, or intimidated by her opponent. She was worried for him.

God damn… if I don’t calm down I might accidentally kill the guy. 

The adrenaline rushing through her was threatening to spike over, which would cause her to lose control and flip her assassin switch on.

Relax, Sayomi.

“Fighters ready? Following the 100s rules there will be no time limit and fighters will fight until a TKO by 10 points or a KO.”

Sayomi opened her eyes, moving to stand upright as she stared at her opponent.

“The winner will move onto the 200th floor. Fight!”

Ichihiro held back from making the first move. He had reviewed Sayomi’s last fight and seen her strategy of using her opponent’s force against them. 

Sayomi raised an eyebrow at his lack of movement.

Not gonna move, huh? So you think you’re smart.

She took off with steps faster than the average eye could see.

I guess I’ll just have to come to you then.

With a flexible left leg, Sayomi lifted her heel above her opponent's head, slamming it straight into the side of the unexpecting man’s face with a roundhouse kick.

Ichihiro stumbled to the side gasping, spitting out blood from his now split gums.

He raised his head ready to curse out the teen, but all he saw was white.

Sayomi had met the man’s face with a solid left foot, sending him backwards onto the ground with a cry of pain.

Ichihiro was clutching his bloody face now, unable to recover in time for yet another left swing kick, this time to the side.

From far back against the wall, Kite watched with a surprised expression on his face.

She’s holding back quite a bit. Only using her left leg…

A few more solid kicks to the ribs and Sayomi halted her movements as if on command. Turning to the baffled referee, she asked, “TKO by 10 points right?”

“Ah, r-right.” 

Shaking out of his apparent shock at the one-sidedness of the match, the referee raised a flag. “Winner by TKO. Sayomi Zoldyck!”

The crowd cheered as they could now collect their money from the bets they’d made.

With a small wave to Kite at the back of the stands, Sayomi exited the arena with light steps.

She was proud of herself for restraining her bloodlust.

☾vii.

That night Sayomi treated Stick and Kite to dinner on Heaven’s Arena’s 200th floor diner. 

It was a congratulatory dinner, as Sayomi would now be moving on to training her nen, but it was also one of sentimental feelings. The group of three had become close friends within the year they’d spent together training at Heaven’s Arena.

So although no one addressed the fact that the group of three was to become a group of two after today, everyone shared a bit of the sorrow in their hearts as the evening soon came to an end.

The three parted ways around 9, Kite wishing the best to Sayomi on the 200th floor. It wasn’t like they’d never see each other again, they were only a floor apart after all.

However, without the excuse of training or a coincidental passing by, the childhood friends knew that they most likely wouldn’t be seeing each other for a while. 

☾vii.

Sayomi let out a heavy sigh as she walked alone down the hallway of doors to her room.

Releasing her hair from its taught ponytail, Sayomi ran a lazy hand down her face. 

Can a day get any longer? All I wanna do now is take a nice, warm shower… and then sleep in till noon.

Arriving in front of her door at last, Sayomi reached into her pockets for her room key. Sliding the key into the lock, she frowned when she found the door to be unlocked.

Strange… I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten to lock the door before. Maybe because I was too excited?

Sayomi shrugged, speculating she’d probably forgotten to lock the door out of the rush to get ready in the morning.

Swinging the door open without another thought, Sayomi moved to take a step further into her room when a cold chill ran down her spine.

What… is… this devilish aura?

She was on full alert now, awakening her own aura to try and ward off her intruder.

In the darkness of her room, she could make out a faint silhouette surrounded by the deep purple, murderous aura she’d felt earlier.

“Who… are you? What are you doing in my room?” Though she’d sworn her voice was steady, there was a hint of uncertainty as the intruder’s aura became more intense.

The intruder turned to face Sayomi in the darkness. “Hm? Ah, you’ve finally returned… I’ve been most awaiting your presence, Sayomi Zoldyck.”

The man took exaggeratingly slow steps towards her, and Sayomi noticed he walked almost completely on his toes. Almost like he was walking across a tightrope.

She squinted through the darkness, perplexed at the stranger knowing her name. Her mind screamed at her to fight, run, do something, but her feet remained frozen in place as the man’s figure slowly illuminated with the dim lights of the hallway.

The man was considerably tall, though he was also wearing heels, an interesting feat. His brilliant red hair was styled as if he’d been caught in a windstorm, framing an all too pale face with distinct face paint decorating either cheek: a star on the left and a teardrop on the right.

In a way, he was handsome.

This crossed Sayomi’s mind as well, however she’d mentally slapped herself as she was brought back into the reality of the situation. 

“How do you know my name?” Sayomi was on guard, ready to either attack or run on a moment’s notice.

The man only laughed, his pale lips turning upwards in a wide smile as he looked Sayomi over from head to toe.

“Oh darling, you mean you haven’t caught on to the situation yet?”

A step closer and the man’s full frame was now in front of Sayomi to see in all his glory. Broad shoulders, chiseled, toned biceps, a tiny waist, and proportions to die for.

Get a grip, he just broke into your room.

In her flustered state, both from confusion and the rather attractive man towering over her, Sayomi suddenly felt as though she’d forgotten how to speak.

Her mouth opened and closed without sound, concentrated entirely on the man in front of her.

Sayomi’s frazzled state seemed to add on to man’s already overflowing confidence as he let out another brief laugh before crossing his arms. 

“It seems as though Kite has yet to tell you anything about my arrival.” He frowned before continuing, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out all about me in no time, I’m your new trainer after all.”

Sayomi eyes widened at his words. Of course, Kite said he was arriving soon, I totally forgot!

“Ah… well in that case… nice to meet you?”

Her new trainer smirked at her hesitation. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be so visually appealing, darling. It seems Kite decided to keep your beauty from me for as long as he could, that sly bastard.”

Sayomi felt her face heat up in a mad blush. No one had ever called her such things, as she was accustomed to words like vicious or murderous. 

Sayomi failed to get the words out of her mouth once again, effectively fazed by the man’s comments.

Said man ran a slender hand through his hair, laughing once again at his undeniable effect on the young assassin.

Reaching out ever so slowly, he grazed his knuckles over the left side of Sayomi’s face, who in turn became even further flustered at the sudden skinship. 

“You, my dear, are going to be quite the pleasure to work with.”

☾vii.

a/n: guess who? 

taglist open:))

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

Day One: Phantom Memories [Gerel x Mira]

I’m so far behind and late with my entries for @ockissweek but here’s my first fic. @a1thusa was so kind to let me borrow any one of her OCs and I decided to go with her Mira Surana. I paired her up with my newest DA character, Gerel Amell because I haven’t played her yet and wanted to expand more on her character and story. Thank you again, @a1thusa, for giving me the chance tp write about Mira. I hope I did her justice! :)

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Summary: Two Circle mages share memories of the life they once had before being locked away in a tower. Or at least, the ones they can remember. Day 1 of OC Kiss Week 2021. Prompt: Memory. [Gerel Amell x Mira Surana]

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“Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart.”

― Haruki Murakam

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For the fifth time since this morning, Gerel buried her face in her tome and let out an exasperated sigh. By the Maker, concentration was an elusive entity to her today! 

Maybe that’s because it’s such a gorgeous, sunny day out but you can’t enjoy the decent weather because Andraste forbid a mere Circle mage steps a foot outside and actually gets some fresh air. 

Gerel remembered the last time she basked in the sun’s rays, the warmth of the sun spreading across every inch of her cheek, nose, brow, and raven hair, travelling down her arms and hands. Such a small, trivial experience to think back on but she learned quickly how to appreciate the small moments in life as a Circle mage. The daily routine could be monotonous at best, if the Templars generally left the mages alone and didn’t decide it was time to throw their weight and authority around. 

“Can’t concentrate? Or are you bored already with studying?”

Gerel groaned into the worn pages of the book before lifting her head up to face her friend, Mira Surana. “Try both.”

Mira Surana had been in the Circle a few years longer than Gerel, even though they were of the same age. The young elf usually kept her umber tresses either in a loose ponytail or unstyled and flowing free when the deep night claimed the sky and slumber beckoned. Her brown eyes held a fire that matched Gerel’s spirit so it was no wonder the pair of them became fast friends when they both were thrust into the Circle at such a tender age. Such memories caused a wrinkled in her brow. 

Taking note, Mira shot her a concerned look. “Is something amiss? Or someone bothering you?” She lowered her voice before adding, “Is it one of the templars?” 

With a shake of her head, Gerel blew a single inky strand of hair out of her face and answered, “No, my ill mood has nothing to do with pigheaded templars. I’m merely cranky that I can't go outside and enjoy the beautiful day.”  

Taking the vacant chair next to her, Mira’s face morphed into one of sympathy albeit there was an amused twinkle in her eyes. “Well, given to your penchant for pranking half of the Circle, I can see why some of the senior mages and templars would be...hesitant to let you run wild outside. Knight-Commander Greagoir would never forget the time you try to ride one of the Chantry's horses by yourself!”

“I was ten years-old! Most children my age are always up to mischief!” Gerel protested in mock indignance, her mouth curving upwards into a devious grin at the memory of her almost equestrian escapade. An identical smile was on Mira’s features as well. 

“Maybe, but you also were brandishing a stick and screaming ‘Chaaaarrrrgggeee!’ at any templar who tried to pull you off the horse. Didn’t one of them almost get kicked in the chest?”

Gerel winced in recollection, relieved she had managed to maneuver the horse away from the templars and more to open fields. At least the two templars sent to retrieve her were wearing armor and more protected than she, a ten-year-old mage who missed roaming the countryside on horseback, like she did with her parents when she was younger and learning how to groom, feed, and ride horses on their estate. Those were happier memories Gerel had of her parents, before the templars arrived and took her away when she was six. Her father had held her tight beforehand, stroking her tresses and kissing her cheeks and the top of her head, unable to resist the templar who grabbed Gerel by her collar and yanked her out of her father’s arms. She barely had a chance to say goodbye, not when her mother was collapsed on the ground, hands covering her eyes as she wept uncontrollably while her father was trying to reason with the templars to let her stay with the rest of the Amell family. 

“Gerel? Gerel? Did you zone out again?”

Mira’s voice pulled the said mage out of her dejected reminisce and she closed her book, a thick, uncomfortable wedge lodged in her throat. “No, I wasn’t--sorry, I…” The lump in her throat shot straight to her stomach and her nostrils flared heavily. “I was suddenly thinking about my parents and the last time I saw them.”

She didn’t need to glance to her left to see Mira’s sympathy, not when it was interlaced with her friend’s tone or in her touch when the elf reached over to place her hand on Gerel’s arm. “I’m sorry, Gerel. Was it something I said?”

Shaking her head, Gerel turned around to face her longtime companion and level her dusky stare against Mira’s eyes, their walnut color drawing her in. The bright light from the open window outside cast a brilliant, almost buttery glow over Mira, ranging from the top of her head down to her cheeks, pointed ears, and shoulders--accompanied with tiny motes of dusts floating around her. Her fingers brushed against the knuckles and the back of Mira’s hands prior to covering over it with her own hand. 

“No, you’re not the reason I’m abruptly remembering the best and worst memories I have of my parents, the times I was free and not simply labelled as a possibly dangerous mage. I do miss them--and my siblings, wherever they are now.” Absentmindedly, she rubbed her thumb against Mira’s hand, drawing small circles in the soft panel of skin right in-between the joints of the pointer finger and thumb. Warmth already was flaring up between their fingertips but Gerel kept her focus on Mira and the carmine patches steadily rising on her smooth, flawless cheeks. 

“I wish I knew my parents,” Mira admitted softly, lowering gaze down to the two mages’ cupped hands. Her brain tried conjuring up images of her parents, or what she thought they looked like but every time the faces appeared nebulous and shapeless, without concrete details or hues. “But they’re like ghosts in my mind: faceless, distant, and invisible. And it’s so frustrating! I can remember parts of my home, like the halla and the way the canopy of trees cast spotty shadows across the emerald green grass when the sun was blazing high in the sky. Yet the visual identity of my parents are just one giant, empty slate.” She bit her bottom lip, the hand on Gerel’s arm unconsciously tightening its grip but Gerel suppressed any nose or look of discomfort.

Mira was already living in the Circle by the time she was brought to the mages, fatigue, hungry, and sore from both screaming and kicking at the templars to let her go back home. She moved from being the oldest sibling in her family to being thrust into a tower of strangers with sorcery jolting from her fingertips that she didn’t understand nor control. Gerel felt so lost and out of place, worsened by the fact she couldn’t even go outside to get some privacy. Mira was assigned as her roommate and helped her slowly get acquainted with life in the Circle of Magi, even though Mira herself also chafed under their restrictions and she was living there since she was four. Maybe that was why memories of their former life were both so painful and yet heartwarming to them. For remembering the good parts of their past was still ridiculously hard and overwhelmingly sometimes but at least, those recollections belonged to them and reminded them of a life outside and walls and strict rules, a life that could be theirs again--if the First Enchanter Irving (and the Knight-Commander, unfortunately) trusted their behavior. 

Leaning in, Gerel removed her hand so it could instead grasp Mira’s chin and tilted it upwards until their eyes met once more. “Mira, I promise you whenever we’re free to leave the Circle and can travel the world, I will help you find your home--and your parents, should you wish to look for them.” 

Mira nodded, the corners of her mouth tilted upwards into a small smile but her brown eyes remained solely on Gerel, her pupils seemingly larger the more she continued to stare at the comely elf. Gerel should have released her hand, should have leaned back to give her friend more space but their proximity was so enticing, so familiar, and comfortable that the idea of pulling away felt more unnatural and difficult to execute. She probably would have remained in that stance if Mira hadn’t closed the short distance between them and captured her lips with a slow, tentative kiss. 

Gerel remained rooted in her chair, one hand resting the armrest while the other gripped her chin, and yet every nerve in her entire body was alive and quivering with this unexpected spark zapping down her spine and each and every limb. Her senses were more focused, especially with touch and taste--like she could sample remnants of bread and mint lingered from breakfast earlier from Mira’s tongue as their mouths parted to deepen the kiss. The kiss was so warm, new, and inviting and when Gerel paused to capture Mira’s bottom lip with her teeth and give it a soft bite, the elf’s eyes fluttered briefly as a quiet but powerful, breathless sigh exhaled deep from her lungs.

Embolden, Gerel’s hand then snaked from her chin to Mira’s throat, cradling the back of her neck as she tangled some of her pale fingers into her friend’s loose ponytail, its smooth texture soothing her senses while their bodies bumped up against each other akin to two magnetic fields. Mira’s nose bumped against hers and she tilted her head slightly to continue the kiss more easily. She even teased Gerel a bit by first running her tongue along her top lip before allowing the kiss to resume and have their tongues momentarily entwine while Mira slid her hand from her arm to her side, high up and right below Gerel’s left breast. Now Gerel was torn between concentrating on the kiss alone or grabbing Mira’s hand to place it firmly on her chest and most definitely shatter the platonic aspect of their friendship. Because now her brain was full of unchaste and most assuredly heady thoughts, such as finding a new seat called Mira’s lap.

“Mira? Gerel? Are you two in here?”

 I hate you, Jowan. 

Jowan’s annoyingly cheerful but thankfully loud voice from the other side of the library startled the two women out of their entranced kiss, their forms immediately retracting from each other once they disentangled from each other's arms and tried to look as innocent as possible. Gerel already opened her book again to maintain the pretense she was studying but she kept making meaningful glances at Mira from her pages, regardless if Jowan found them in a few minutes. What a relief it was for them both to have Gerel’s usual studying spot to be so far back in the library and often ignored by other mages. In Gerel’s opinion, the kiss was well worth the risk.

“Do you want to talk later--tonight?” Mira whispered, playing with her ponytail as she tried but failed to stop brushing a finger or two against her mouth. 

Gerel nodded. “In our shared quarters, where it’s private.” A devious grin flickered across her porcelain-esque features as she added: “And we can be undisturbed.” 

Giggling, Mira nodded with approval, the flush on her cheeks refusing to fade. For some reason, Gerel felt absurdly pleased she made her feel that way, even if all they shared was a mere kiss--or two. Although, technically, there was a whole series of them, even though she lost track of exactly how many the second she started nibbling on her friend’s bottom lip and the warmth in her belly flared up with delight. Tonight they’ll have a proper chat about each other, not just swapping simple yet painful memories from the distant shadows of their past. This time, Gerel was rather hopeful about the future.   

[abyssmail]

Caerul Design Notes,

because I’ve actually put a lot of thought into creating Caerul’s aesthetic and I’m lowkey really proud of it.  I won’t get into her actual character concept/personality/backstory/etc. since this got super long, but this is how/why I made the choices I did with regards to her name and visual design!

▶ Caerul’s color scheme started off way bluer (hence the name “Caerul,” from caeruleus/a/um - “blue”/“cerulean”/“azure”/“of the sky/sea” in Latin) and less saturated, but when I gave her a (dead) twin with a red theme, I wanted them to look more alike and made both of their hair purple (although I haven’t actually done more than sketch Roseus before... he’s got purple hair and red eyes).  Purple’s my favorite color, and unnatural hair colors don’t seem to be uncommon in Orth, so why not, right?   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   The red elements in Caerul’s design are meant to represent her honoring Roseus!

All of the base colors I use when drawing Caerul! They all end up looking a bit darker once they’re shaded though.

▶ As well as shamelessly using one of my favorite Latin words (I’m a Classics major, okay ;;>~>), I also tried to pick a name that sounded similar to the ones that already exist in-universe.  This was actually fairly tricky, since as far as I can tell the names in Made in Abyss have a WIDE variety of influences.  Some of them seem passably Japanese-sounding (Riko, Jiruo, Kiyui, Nanachi) disclaimer I bring dishonor to my ancestors and know 0 Japanese so this is just about vibez, others seem Western-ish (Reg, Nat, Lyza, Prushka).  Some are fairly whimsical (Shiggy, Maruruk, Mitty) while others are more mysterious and fantastic (Any of the White Whistles besides maybe Lyza).  The only common thread I could really settle on was a general fantasy feeling to all of the names.  I tried to capture that nebulous vibe with Caerul’s name, although with something so vague and subjective it’s pretty much impossible to say if I was entirely successful.  I named her siblings afterward with other Latin color words and ended up with a RGB theme lol.

▸ By the way, “Caerul” is pronounced “KAI-rool.”  It rhymes with “Hyrule.”  The ae diphthong makes an “eye” sound in Latin #TheMoreYouKnow

▸ “Caducalae” is a portmanteau of “caducae alae,” literally “falling/doomed/futile wings” in Latin (again), playing off how pointless it is to be able to fly when the Curse of the Abyss is a thing.  Originally, they weren’t supposed to work at all outside of the Abyss, but I decided that was boring for crossovers/other verses so I scrapped it.  I’m not too happy with the name since it doesn’t fit the naming scheme of the canon relics (there is no precedent at all for gratuitous Latin in Made in Abyss, which is a good thing because it’s overused in fantasy, but Latin was the only thing I was good at in high school sooooo... ^^;), but I didn’t like any of my other ideas that much, either.  “Wings of Futility” feels more canon, but it’s also kinda depressing :/

▶ I’ve mentioned before that Caerul’s build is based off of mine for art reference purposes (it’s convenient to just look in the mirror while making the pose I want =w=)b), but another reason she’s so short is that I didn’t have to make the caducalae quite as big since she’s smaller, so she can actually go indoors if she’s careful.

▶ Long hair isn’t super practical with mechanical wings with lots of bits for it to get caught in, but Caerul idolizes Lyza, so I left her hair as long as I could reasonably get away with.

▶ I heavily referenced the canon Made in Abyss character designs for Caerul’s clothing so she would fit into the world, but made some alterations to make everything more personal to her and accommodate for her wings.  In general, I lightened everything up, since she takes a bunch of short, quick trips rather than lengthy expeditions.  Her gloves, for instance, are loosely inspired by the ones we see many delvers wearing in the manga/anime, but are less heavy-duty and are convertible mittens/fingerless gloves for better dexterity with handling letters and such.  

The best close up of the gloves I could find was actually a screenshot of the aftermath Reg & Riko’s orb piercer encounter, but I didn’t want to have to tag this for gore, so you get Lyza ^^; There’s a filter over Caerul here so you can see the glove better which is why she looks kinda washed out :/

▶ Her coat is heavily influenced by Jiruo’s, since he’s the only Moon Whistle we’ve seen in canon.  

yeah, uhhhh, sorry to yoink your style my dude ^^;

▸ Caerul’s has a different color palette, a simpler lapel border, an extra set of outer pockets, and three separate panels in the back that button around her wings so she can put it on! I haven’t drawn it, but her shirt works similarly.  

This is my favorite detail about her design tbh... it’s just really satisfying what a logical solution it is for some reason???  the original doodle is off rotting somewhere in my Modern European History notes, but I tried to recreate it just as sloppily here =w=)b

▶ Caerul’s corset isn’t just a painful fashion choice - it’s actually meant to be a(n admittedly heavily stylized) brace for her back against the weight of her wings.  

▶ Since Caerul can’t wear a backpack with the wings, I had to get creative with storage options for her.  In addition to an undetermined number of pockets on the inside of her coat, I gave her these two pouches on her thighs to carry more stuff.  

I wonder how buff your quads could get carrying a significant amount of weight there...

▸ Messenger bags don’t seem super practical for delving, so I didn’t design a specific one for her to carry all the time, but Caerul does use them on occasion.  Even with that, though, she still has far less carrying capacity than the average delver, which is a problem she has to deal with when carrying out her duties!

▶ The wings/caducalae were by far the most difficult part of designing Caerul, and it took several redesigns over 2+ years before I was finally happy with them.  Their first design was deliberately far simpler in the interest of having to draw them a zillion times, but they ended up clunky and unwieldy looking: 

chonky o~O

▸ The final design is MUCH more of a pain to draw (in fact, a lot of the time I cheat and just copy and paste them from drawings I’ve already done), but I think it looks much sleeker and more “functional”.  

I also got better at making my diagrams look slightly more authentic ;0

▸ I knew I wanted jetpack-style thrusters to be a component of the wings to somewhat justify the shit I wanted Caerul to be able to pull with them (especially to eliminate the need for accounting for the damage landing suddenly could do to her ankles), but incorporating them proved to be one of the biggest problems of the design.  At one point, they were going to have a whole separate attachment point on her back, but I finally just made them an offshoot of the first “joint,” as you can see in the final design.  

A really messy intermediate caducalae sketch.  The weird double pentagon shape was meant to be the part of the relic actually fused to Caerul’s back, but I scrapped that too when I scrapped the separate limbs for the thrusters.

▸ Speaking of the joints, they’re all balls so they can rotate all over and I don’t have to fuss too much about how they move.  Likewise, the frame is metal, but I treat it like it’s kind of flexible, so Caerul can “flex” the wings open and closed.  These wings are hard enough to draw period okay I’m giving myself every excuse to be inconsistent af on purpose.

▸ The caducalae have some “bonus” features that I’ve sketched out, but that Caerul hasn’t unlocked yet, and won’t for a while.  

owo what’s this?

▸ For the wings, I think my biggest inspirations were some of the mechier Cardfight!! Vanguard dragon units (although I don’t remember which cards specifically) and the energy wings on the ninth-generation knightmares in Code Geass R2.

I’ve made a lot of OCs, and since I don’t like to use faceclaims, I’ve done a fair amount of character designing.  I don’t think I’ve ever spent as much time or had as much fun with any of them as I have with Caerul, though!  OCs aren’t always super well accepted in fandom roleplay, but the Made in Abyss community has been super welcoming and I’ve had a blast.  Thanks for listening to me gush about Caerul if you got this far, and thank you to everyone who’s interacted with her!  

The original sketch of Caerul from back in 2017.  How far we’ve come :’D

[jealousmaude]

Stories with Strangers

Ezra (Prospect, 2018) x OC (sorta)

Prompt: Ezra makes up an heroic story about losing his arm in order to impress a pretty lady at the local watering hole

A/N: The above prompt was given to me by @ifalltheyearwereplayingholidays​ when I was bored and wanted to write something. It was meant to be a short drabble but my hand slipped and whoops it’s 3.9k words. Only my second Prospect fic and Ezra talks A LOT. I hope I did him justice. I’m always down to talk about Ezra more, feel free to drop me a line!

Warnings: None I think. A bit of vaguely described gore?

Tagged: @lalablue0​ Thanks for the gentle nudging and encouragement as always

When Ezra walked into the bar he knew he’d picked the right one. He was in a fringe city, on a fringe planet, looking for fringe work. It usually paid the best. But tonight he was just looking for a quiet drink in a dive bar where no one would look twice at him. And this was that bar. A dark and dirty bar with dark and dirty patrons. There were two men hunched over a table talking conspiratorially who looked up at him when he entered, but quickly went back to their hushed conversation when they deemed him no threat. There was a man lounging in a booth with two women he had no doubt paid to fawn over him. Another booth housed a couple of thugs surrounded by an excessive amount of empty bottles and glasses, having an animated and at times violent conversation. At the end of the bar was another working girl chatting up a depressed man who seemed far more interested in his drink than the girl, but she was determined. The shabbily dressed barman was leaning against the bench behind the bar, cleaning a beer glass with a filthy rag in the most stereotypical barman fashion ever, while ogling the young woman.

This was the right place indeed.

Ezra smiled to himself and approached the bar. The barman heaved himself upright, clunked the glass down, tossed the rag beside it and ambled over to Ezra as if it was most inconvenient of him to want service. 

“Amber. Top shelf. Neat." He knew in a place like this the alcohol wasn’t going to be of the highest quality so he figured he’d improve his chances of something drinkable if he aimed high. The barman grunted in acknowledgement and hauled himself around. He reached up to the highest shelf of bottles, revealing his unsightly underarm stains. He took a bottle of dark amber liquid, sloshed it into a smudged glass and plonked it unceremoniously in front of Ezra. 

“You’re a prince among men,” Ezra said with barely concealed sarcasm as he tossed some credits on the bar. The barman grunted again as he collected the payment and returned to wiping not very clean glasses with not very clean rags.

Drink in hand, he turned to survey the bar again. He enjoyed people watching. The longer you observed a person for the better you got at judging their behaviour. That came in handy in Ezra’s line of work. And if he couldn’t quietly watch them, then he would talk as much as he could to them. At them, it usually ended up being. He could tell a lot about people based on how they responded to his stories and that helped him down the line when he needed to know who he could trust if - or when - things went south.

Out of the corner of his eye something bright caught his attention. He turned to see a woman sitting at the end of the bar by herself. She had a shock of bright red curly hair covered by a hood, which would explain why Ezra had missed her on his way in, but that now stood out like a neon sign. She had a drink and a book open in front of her. He watched her reading for a moment and while she appeared to not want, or need, company, he couldn’t resist the opportunity to talk to someone who may have an interesting story to tell. He had lost count of the days since he had conversed meaningfully with another person.

He approached her and sat at the other angle of the bar next to her. Her eyes flicked up to him for a second, then back to her book. 

“Forgive the intrusion, but you have piqued my curiosity by reading a book at a bar when there are so many interesting beings here to observe. I must know what it is that is so engrossing.” Not his best opening line, but he’s used worse.

The woman slowly raised her head to meet Ezra’s eyes. She studied him for a moment, her eyes wandering down to his right shoulder, then back up to his face. Ezra was used to people being distracted by the missing limb. It usually got surreptitious, side-ways glances. More often than not, it was left unaddressed. Which suited him just fine. Recounting the story was not something he enjoyed doing. 

The woman continued to gaze at him, as if she was waiting for him to continue. He cleared his throat, “my name is Ezra,” he said and pressed his hand to his chest by way of introduction, hoping it would spur the woman on to talk. She didn’t, though she looked thoughtful, as if she was carefully considering her response. After a moment's further silence, Ezra decided she was a lost cause and moved to excuse himself. “I have clearly interrupted you, I’ll leave you to your book.” He went to stand when the woman spoke:

“I’ll tell you my name… if you tell me how you lost your arm.” she said plainly.

Ezra tried to hide how taken aback he was. But her candid approach was refreshing and he felt compelled to tell her… almost…

“Oooooh, this is a story of great heroics on my part,” he said gesturing to his missing arm. “Many people are alive today thanks to my heroic actions.”

A small smile played on her lips and she leaned forward with interest. “A story of heroics? I would never have guessed!” Ezra noted the sarcasm but continued nonetheless.

“Indeed. Though I try to stay humble, of course.” He might as well go all in and play up to the woman’s expectations. 

She huffed out a small laugh, humouring him. “Of course.”

“I was on Kapria-1, a dull little planet with no culture to speak of but spectacular deposits of an ore that is highly sought after in the outer systems. Terribly valuable stuff due in no small part to it being a tough bastard of a thing to extract. Time consuming, complicated and requiring specialty tools that are themselves, complicated to use. But the rewards far outweigh the tedious chore of obtaining it.” He paused for effect and to see if the woman would refute any of his story so far. She didn’t. He continued.

“The only other thing Kapria-1 is known for is the wildlife. Namely, a vicious creature called a Fanger.”

“A Fanger?” She replied, not bothering to hide her utter disbelief. 

“A Fanger,” Ezra confirmed in all seriousness. He wasn’t proud of the name he’d just made up, but he was thinking on the fly and went with the first name that came to him, regardless of how ridiculous it sounded. But he was committed to this story now so continued unabated. “Like I said, they are vicious. The locals call them hell-hounds. On all fours they stand as tall as a man’s shoulders. Eyes that burn bright red and a mouth full of the sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen. A beast not to be reckoned with. They will attack anything in their sights and tear a man limb from limb in seconds. However, they are nocturnal creatures, so provided you are sheltered safely and securely after dark they should be no cause for concern."

Despite herself, the woman seemed genuinely engrossed in the story now. As Ezra paused again she took a sip of her drink and said "I gather the next part involves you getting stranded out after dark." 

"You anticipate correctly!" 

"Go on then," she said encouragingly. 

"Well. I found myself working with a fairly green group of diggers. Had only done a few rotations on the planet previously, but they were an enthusiastic lot. Our time keeper misjudged how long we were in the tunnels for and when we emerged we were just in time to see the sun sinking below the horizon. We argued about whether it would be best to stay in the tunnels for the night, or risk the journey back to camp. Nights of Kapria are cold and we had no provisions. And despite the tunnels running deep, there was nothing to prevent a determined Fanger from sniffing us out. So it was decided we would make the journey back to safety. We had no weapons to speak of, but armed ourselves with the heaviest and sharpest tools we had at our disposal. I chose a small but hefty pickaxe. We took off with as much haste as we could muster, trying to keep quiet and not draw attention to ourselves. But the beasts have aural and olfactory capabilities that far eclipse our own, so it was only a matter of time. Just as our camp came into sight, we heard it. A distinctive snarl that stopped us in our tracks. Before we could even run we saw it looming. A giant figure stalked towards us, jaws slung with bloody slaver, eyes lit by the fires of Hades’ eternal damned Kingdom. It picked up pace and we knew we had no chance of outrunning it so I did the only thing I could do; I ran directly at it. If I could take its attention myself then maybe the rest of my crew could escape.” 

Ezra felt a twinge of guilt at this point. He’d never done anything so selfless in all his life! It hardly mattered at this point, as he neared the end of his outlandish story. The woman, for her part, appeared genuinely interested in the story now. Which was not entirely surprising, Ezra knew he had skill when telling a story, no matter how unbelievable. Still. Her hand still rested on her open book, marking her place as though she was not entirely committed to this conversation, and was ready to return to reading as soon as she tired of his outrageous claims. She raised an expectant eyebrow, “...And?”

“Well it worked. The beast lunged at me and sunk its fangs right into my arm as I tried to shield myself. It pinned me to the ground with one of it’s massive paws, claws digging into my flesh. In a vain effort to save myself I smashed the pickaxe into the side of it’s head as hard as I could. I kept hitting it, over and over, all the while I could feel it’s teeth shredding my flesh and bone. I must have made some impact because it decided I wasn’t worth the trouble of a head injury and bounded away into the night. The rest of my team dragged me the short distance back to camp, but my arm was too damaged to save. Luckily we had a few members with medic experience and, with our limited supplies, they managed to remove the damaged limb and patch me up. Not the prettiest job, but it did the trick, and I owe my life to them. I hitched a ride off the planet the next day and never looked back.” He downed what drink remained in his glass, punctuating the end of his story. He was quietly rather proud of spinning such fine fiction on the fly.

“Well. That is an impressive tale of bravery and loss.” The woman remarked.

“And I believe it has earned your name.”

A sly smile appeared on her lips. “Holly Golightly, pleased to meet you.”

Ezra tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. “Now I may be just a floater from the Fringes, but I have read a book or two in my time and I know when I’m given a name taken straight from the pages of classic literature.”

She smiled more broadly. “Fake stories get you fake names, Ezra. If you’d care to tell me the real story, you might earn yourself my real name.” As if to signify her seriousness, she closed her book and folded her hands on it, awaiting his response.

Ezra considered for a moment. He didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about the events that led to losing his arm, let alone telling the tale to a stranger in a bar. But the woman intrigued him with her flame red hair and her forthright questions and he was curious to get to know more about her. Starting with her name. He signalled the barman and jiggled his empty glass at him indicating a refill was desired. He’d need more alcohol for this. They both waited in patient silence while the barman sloshed more amber liquid into his glass. When Ezra had taken a large gulp, he was ready.

“I was on Bakhroma Green,” he started. The woman sucked a breath in through her teeth. If people knew of it, they knew it was a dangerous place. Not just because of the toxic spores, but because the people who typically made the journey there these days were desperate and toxic themselves. She clearly knew of the moon’s reputation so Ezra did not need to go into details. “While the rush was over long ago, I figured I’d try my luck, see what was still left down there. If you’re lucky, it’s worth the risk of a visit. Unfortunately, owing to a dispute with my crew, I was left crewless, shipless and stranded. My only hope of getting off that rock was to find passage with another crew. Unfortunately there aren’t a lot of other harvesters willing to make space. Lotta trust issues. A case of Aurelac can make a man do desperate things. I thought my luck had run out, but then I stumbled across a father and his teenage daughter. I’ve never seen a girl so young down there. When I couldn’t bargain my way on to their pod, we struck a deal. The man was on his way to meet some mercenaries who claimed they’d found the Queen’s Lair - a most sought after, yet hitherto undiscovered deposit of the gem. Regrettably, greed got the better of him before we reached our destination and he attempted to relieve me of my own hard-earned case. A firefight ensued, leaving him and my partner dead, and his daughter fleeing back to their pod. I figured the girl was still my best hope of getting off the planet so I set out to find her. I eventually caught up with her, only to find her pod incapacitated and smoking and when I attempted to breach the entrance, I took a thrower bolt to the shoulder. She was feisty, I’ll give her that…” 

Ezra smiled and the memory of his and Cee’s first meeting. While at the time he was in pain and exasperated with her, he admired her tenacity and cool-headed negotiation skills. He’d never seen a girl in the green at all, but he’d never met a girl like Cee, period. The woman’s expression had changed from one of mild amusement to genuine interest. She waited intently for Ezra to continue, her brow knitted slightly in concentration. 

“She gave me a field kit to patch up my shoulder and we got to finding a mutually beneficial agreement to get us both off the moon. She could have taken me out then and there as recompense for my hand in her father’s death, but fortunately for me, she concluded I was her best bet at getting off the planet alive. We reached an accord wherein she would lead me to the mercenaries, and I would act as harvester in order for us to bargain our way onto their ship. Seemed a straightforward enough plan. However after walking for some time, it became apparent the toxic dust had made its way into my shoulder wound causing it to suppurate. By chance, we stumbled across a lone Sater who led us to his camp. We didn’t have much to trade, and Sater are notoriously difficult to deal with, but I didn’t have much choice; I could feel infection taking hold. I offered what little we had in exchange for medical supplies to treat my wound, but they had other plans. Their leader offered medical supplies and a great deal of Aurelac… in exchange for the girl.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up, her eyes wide. She was genuinely invested in the story now. "So what did you do?" she asked in awe. 

"Well, I knew that no matter how much Aurelac I had, if I couldn't get off that planet, I'd have no chance to make use of its value. And since the girl was my only way to find the mercs and my last shot at getting on a ship, I couldn't make that deal. The idea of what those religious zealots would do to her made my stomach turn. As I was buying time to come up with a counter offer, my young friend made other plans. She took off running as quick as she could. She was fast enough that she was out of sight before they managed to catch her. I cannot fault her for her actions though. She had no reason to believe I wouldn't sell her out. To her I was just a thief and a murderer using her to get a ride home. In truth, I was growing quite fond of her and had no intentions of allowing harm to befall her. Without her though, I was useless to the Sater and they ejected me from their camp with nothing. I staggered through the thick forest of the planet, filter spent, arm septic and painful, until I came to an abandoned prospecting camp. With what little supplies that were left I attempted to excise the infected flesh, but I only made it worse. My options were two: die painfully and slowly as the infection spread, or amputate the affected limb before it got into my blood.” 

The woman now looked somewhat horrified. Her eyes moved down to his shoulder again, then back up to his eyes. Mixed in with the horror was something else: pity. Another reason Ezra didn’t like telling the story, or even talking about it, really. People ended up feeling sorry for him and he hated it. An heroic story of sacrificing his arm to a giant, fanged beast in order to save his crew garnered him much less pity, even if it was obviously a fabrication. But there it was in her eyes, unmistakable. “So… how did you do it?” she asked, with some trepidation.

“I knew I could not manage it on my own, so in desperation I put a call out on the radio hoping that someone in the vicinity would hear me. I cycled through all the channels just hoping I would reach anyone, as risky as it was to broadcast my location in a place where most people's intentions are justifiably self-preservatory. Just as I began to lose hope, I heard someone approach. Weak as I was, I waited by the door of the tent to surprise them should I judge them dangerous at first glance. The tent unzipped and a blaster poked through first, which I grabbed before tugging it’s owner into the tent and shoving them to the floor. You cannot imagine my surprise when I saw who it was: the young girl. Filter spent and near starving. I had no idea if she would help; she still had no reason to trust me, though when she asked if I would have left her to the Sater I told her truthfully I would not have. She must have believed me because she agreed to help. With nothing but a syrette of anaesthetic for me and a small e-scalpel for her, she got the job done. Didn’t wince, didn’t flinch. Cool, calm and collected, the whole time.” He shook his head and smiled, remembering just how levelheaded Cee had been. He’d been so impressed. “I, on the other hand, was a babbling mess.” He chuckled. 

The woman held up a hand to interject. “Do you mean to tell me that a teenage girl cut off your arm in a dirty tent with only a scalpel and a single injection of pain relief?”

“That is the truth, yes.”

“Well, first of all, this story is way more interesting than some tale of beasts and heroics!”

Ezra chuckled. He knew it was, but that didn’t ease his discomfort in telling it. The woman shook her head in astonishment. “So… what happened? Did you find the mercs? Did you find the Aurelac deposit??”

Ezra nodded. “We did. We finally located them and after some hard bargaining we secured passage on their ship in return for harvesting the Aurelac they’d found. It was indeed a bountiful site.” Ezra knew he was seriously skipping over some details of the final part of the story, but she had asked how he had lost his arm, not about the scar on his chest, that still, to this day, ached in the cold. He rubbed at the scar absently as he thought about the last, few, horrifying events on the moon before they finally escaped. This woman did not need to know that he couldn’t harvest one-handed. That they had had to resort to shooting their way out. That he had received a stab wound to the chest and then used a scalpel to the throat in bloody retaliation. That he had watched Cee run into the darkness after he insisted she get off the moon while she still could, only to have her return to him and save his life. Again. The sadness and relief he felt when he saw her and she sprayed his wound with the cream and helped him to the ship. No. She didn’t need to know these details. They were for Ezra alone.

As it was, the woman’s mouth hung open in awe. “And… what happened to the girl?”

Ezra downed the last of his drink and smiled sadly. He missed Cee. He had grown accustomed to her presence in his life and enjoyed being her guardian, as surprised as he was by this. The woman took this response to mean the worst.

“Kevva, I’m so sorry, I--”

Ezra shook his head adamantly and held up his hand, “no, no. She’s fine. She attends a boarding school back in Central. Brightest in her year. We exchange correspondence every week, her missives filled with stories and details of her life and school, far more interesting and colourful than the stories I’ve told tonight. I think she’ll publish a book before she’s even graduated.” He couldn’t hide how proud he was of her.

The woman smiled and it was the first genuine smile Ezra had seen from her all night. It lit up her face and made her eyes sparkle. Eyes that were now filled not with pity, or doubt as they had earlier, but with understanding and kindness. She held out her left hand to better shake his. “Ezra, I’m Ida.” 

Ezra took her hand. “Ida. It is a pleasure to meet you. Now, do you have any harrowing tales you would like to recount in return?”

She let out a loud laugh and tossed her head back, her flaming hair swishing under her hood. “Let’s have another drink and see where the night takes us.” She flagged down the barman.

Ezra figured that if he thought about it, there was a lesson to be learned here about the benefits that honesty and discomfort brings, but for now he was happy just to enjoy Ida’s company a while longer.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

It’s All About The Game- Part 2

Sophomore Year

Pairing: OC x Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)

Genre: High School AU, Enemies to Lovers, Sports Fiction (basketball, man!)

Warnings: None (at least for this part)

Word Count: Almost 11,000

Summary:  Despite her hesitance, OC allows Changbin to become a regular mainstay in her seemingly normal high school life. But who is she to turn down someone willing to become friends? However, perhaps OC completely misread the situation because it seems like Changbin wants more than just friendship. The problem is OC has no idea how to handle his advances.

Notes: Yes, I waited until the very last day in December. New Years Resolution: Post at more appropriate times.

August

Message from Han Jisung:

I’m coming home today

My fingers trembled with excitement as I typed out a short reply, eager for the opportunity to see Jisung again after an entire summer waiting for his return. My only saving grace came in the form of the well-intended letters he sent in the mail from his campsite up north, talking about all the activities his older, and overly enthusiastic, camp counselor was forcing him to join. The letters made me laugh as I held them tightly in my hands, seeking out his familiar words as I found myself inadvertently experiencing his adventures with him, vicariously living through Jisung’s expertly crafted stories. They stood in stark contradiction to his contributions: various postcards from the expensive European cities his summer league basketball team were visiting to participate in tournaments.

London

I won MVP in the tournament again.

Berlin

You’d be impressed with the game I had today.

Paris

I miss you, Reynolds.

I was beginning to think Changbin actually genuinely believed I wanted to hear about all the places he visited while I was stuck in our boring hometown. In actuality, I managed an impressively over dramatic eye roll each time I found another card in my mailbox. Unlike Jisung’s meaningful letters, Changbin decided to only think about himself, as per usual, and it was already difficult knowing that we now shared a tentative friendship.

As for myself, in addition to the thrill of Changbin and Jisung’s mailings, I tried my best to enjoy my summer vacation. For example, I often joined Felix, Minho, and Hyunjin at the park to play basketball, even if it was devastatingly sad to explain basic fundamentals every time we tried to play 2 on 2. I also took the initiative of studying relentlessly for my PSATs, knowing I would be grateful for the advantage later on when I was actually forced to take the dreaded examination just for a shot at a decent University. Finally, and perhaps most significantly, I started learning how to drive from my father. Unfortunately, I was proving to be a pretty lousy motorist, often forgetting to even put the car in drive before my eager foot pressed down on the gas pedal.

In conclusion, it was a lousy summer and I was more than ready for school to start back again, even if that meant dealing with Seo Changbin for another year.

“Jisung!” 

I watched with barely contained excitement as Jisung finally located me sitting at the bar of the restaurant he recommended. A wide smile broke out across his face, eyes lighting with mischief as he joined me on the narrow bar stool next to my own. “I didn’t know it would be this crowded,” Jisung said, studying the masses of students occupying the surrounding booths and tables.

“School starts back soon,” I said with a shrug. 

“I kind of like it,” Jisung said, leaning in closer. “How was your summer?”

“Boring,” I groaned, dragging my water closer. “I’m supposed to take Driver’s Ed soon and I’m already convinced of tragic failure.”

“Tragic?” Jisung chuckled, sandy-colored bangs falling into his eyes. “Have you been practicing?”

“Almost every day,” I lamented. 

“Maybe I could help you?” Jisung suggested. “I think it’s about time you chauffeur me around instead.”

I glared at him playfully. “Is that so?”

“Look, Kayda,” Jisung grinned, “it’s not so hard once you get the hang of it, and I happen to make an excellent teacher.”

“You don’t understand what you’re dealing with,” I groaned, wincing as I remembered my father’s furious expression after running into the trash bins situated at the edge of the street for pickup.

“We can start this weekend,” Jisung suggested. 

I studied him carefully, trying to figure out if he was being serious. “Are you sure?”

“Why not?” Jisung shrugged. “I had a pretty boring summer too.”

“Your letters didn’t mention that,” I joked, unconsciously moving in closer to him, our shoulders briefly brushing together.

“There wasn’t anyone to talk to,” he said. “I didn’t like the other kids in my cabin. They were obviously not interested in camp formalities.”

“Camp formalities?”

“And decorum!” Jisung shouted, ignoring the way some of our classmates glared at his outburst. “I’ve never seen such blatant disregard for the rules.”

“What? Did they stay up after curfew?”

“Well, I did that too,” Jisung said, earning him an eye roll in return. “I’m talking about the fucking.”

I nearly choked on my water, gaping at Jisung with wide eyes. “Are you serious?”

“It’s an old cliche,” Jisung went on as if he wasn’t openly discussing such a taboo activity in the middle of a public restaurant. “Camps always make teenagers extra horny.”

“And were you participating?” I dared to ask him, surprised by the little flare of jealousy that briefly ruined my previous smile.

“I made good use of my hand,” Jisung said, grinning brightly while I blushed in response, finding words incapable of describing the unusual embarrassment of hearing him talk that way. 

“What’s wrong?” Jisung continued because he definitely knew that his comment had left me flustered. “Are you alright?”

I waved him off, finishing off the entirety of my water as I tried to flush out the brilliant red undoubtedly coloring my cheeks. “It’s fine.”

“Ugh,” Jisung grimaced, attention refocusing on something behind me. “Your stupid boyfriend is here.”

“He’s not my-” I trailed off as soon as I realized that Jisung was talking about Changbin, having been relentlessly teasing me about his sudden interest since the basketball ordeal in the park. He was obviously looking for a rise which I refused to give him as I turned around to make eye contact with my life’s biggest nuisance. 

“Reynolds!” Changbin loudly announced, commanding the attention of the entire restaurant.

“He knows how to make an entrance,” Jisung grumbled, appearing unusually downtrodden as we both waited for Changbin to approach, Felix and Minho hanging behind. 

Changbin sat down next to me, immediately relaxing an arm casually against the back of my chair. I glared at the intruding limb, but Changbin didn’t take notice, far too busy signaling for our busy waitress as if his needs were more important than the rest of the restaurant’s patrons. “Did you order yet, Reynolds?” Changbin asked, eyes scanning the menu as he started listing off his demands to the poor waitress scrambling to write everything down. 

“I ate before I came here,” I said, meeting Jisung’s gaze entreatingly as if he could possibly do anything to stop Changbin.

“You like fries, right?” Changbin asked, looking up at the waitress. “Did you get that?”

The waitress patiently nodded her head, bowing slightly when Changbin dismissed her. “Did you get my postcards, Reynolds?” Changbin asked, waving off his friends after they extended an invitation to join them at an open table.

“I got them,” I offered shortly, sighing as I realized that Changbin’s return, more so than Jisung’s, certainly meant that our cherished summer vacation was truly over.

Changbin smirked. “Were you impressed, Reynolds? We went to 9 different cities in Europe.”

“Congratulations,” I muttered, frowning when Changbin ignored my sarcastic comment in exchange for the soda the waitress had brought for him. I quickly turned to Jisung. “You can get us out of here right?”

Jisung pursed his lips, bouncing his fingers against his chin in faux consideration. “I don’t know, Kayda, it’s kinda funny to see you like this.”

I glared at him, inwardly groaning when Changbin tapped on my arm, a silent demand for my attention. “I didn’t know you were here, Han,” Changbin said, scoffing slightly at the older boy.

“I’ve been here the whole time.”

Changbin narrowed his eyes. “I heard you were gone this summer too.”

“My dad forced me to go to a summer camp,” Jisung said, seemingly unbothered by Changbin’s obvious hostility.

Changbin moved in closer to me, nodding his head at our waitress when she dropped off an order of fries. “Here, Reynolds,” Changbin said, tone much lighter as he pushed them in my direction.

I rolled my eyes at him, but Changbin didn’t seem to notice. Jisung grinned, but the smile was far less authentic than usual. “When do you want to start your driving lessons, Kayda?”

“Driving?” Changbin turned to me instantly. “You asked Jisung to teach you?... I could’ve done it.”

It was almost laughable to see Changbin’s pouty expression, snatching a fry from my tray. “Jisung already has his license,” I pointed out.

“I get mine soon!” Changbin retorted.

“She’ll learn better from me,” Jisung said, already in the process of pulling out his wallet. “I have to help my mom this afternoon. I’ll see you at school, Kayda.”

I tried not to protest, offering Jisung a delicate wave as I watched him the entire time he left the dinner, pushing his way through the lingering crowd of students. “What’s his problem?” Changbin snorted, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive manner.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked Changbin, ignoring his question.

“I didn’t,” Changbin said, smile slowly returning. “But I’m glad I saw you, Reynolds.”

Despite his attitude and clear dismissal of Jisung, I couldn’t help the way my heart fluttered at his earnest declaration.

September

It was almost comical, slowly watching Jisung’s enthusiasm fade away the longer he attempted to coax me down the street in his beat-up Ford. Of course, Jisung had every right to be frustrated, especially considering how long his impromptu lesson had been progressing. At this point in time, I was deemed a lost cause and I was thoroughly embarrassed by my ineptitude.

“You don’t have to press the gas so hard,” Jisung gasped, clutching tightly to the safety bar above his head.

“Sorry,” I murmured quietly, ashamed that I couldn’t understand something so simple.

Jisung cleared his throat. “You did warn me.”

I sighed, bouncing my forehead against the steering wheel. “I don’t know why it’s hard for me.”

“Everyone learns at their own pace,” Jisung tried to reassure me, but his words had little effect on my failing confidence.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We can stop for the day.”

“Kayda,” Jisung tried again, reaching for me across the console, but I brushed his hand away, unfastening my seatbelt before grabbing the door handle. “You did fine!” Jisung insisted as he hurried to catch up to me. 

“I might as well ask my neighbor if she’ll keep driving us,” I said, pausing outside the door to my house. “I’m sorry about today. It wasn’t that fun.”

“I had a blast,” Jisung said, whining when I slapped his arm.

“You don’t need to lie.”

“Seriously, Kayda,” Jisung said, shuffling forward with slight trepidation. “I like hanging out with you.”

“Even if I tried to kill us?”

“We were never in danger,” Jisung scoffed, playfully moving in to ruffle my hair.

“Hey!” I protested.

“Keep practicing,” Jisung said. “Promise me you won’t give up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I huffed impatiently.

“Kayda...”

“Fine,” I relented. “But it’s your fault when I crash.”

The following day at school, I walked into my first-period class while mindlessly adjusting the buttons on my coat sleeve. My thoughts were occupied, which probably explained why I was so caught off-guard when I first heard his voice. I startled in the doorway, eyes growing wide when I realized Changbin was sitting at my usual table at the back of the room, a smirk pasted on his lips.

I clutched tightly to the shoulder straps of my bag, watching Changbin pull out the chair next to him, a clear invitation. I rolled my eyes but unwittingly started for the back of the room, ignoring the expressions of shock and confusion on my classmates’ faces. “You could make a bigger scene next time,” I grumbled, tossing my bag into the floor as I slouched down next to Changbin.

“You’re not more excited to see me, Reynolds?” Changbin smirked. “I transferred into this class just for you.”

“Great,” I droned sarcastically, impatiently urging the clock to move faster.

“Seems pretty boring,” Changbin remarked, fingering the edges of his brand new textbook, a stark contradiction to my well-used offering.

“I need it for my academic cluster,” I said, trying to ignore the way his arm fell across the back of my chair.

“Basketball workouts start soon,” Changbin reminded me as if I could have possibly forgotten.

“I know.”

“And as friends...” Changbin trailed off, raising one questioning brow, “some of my teammates and I spend time practicing at the park on the weekends.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“You should join us, Reynolds.”

I eyed Changbin cautiously. “Why?”

“Because,” he enunciated, gazing at me entreatingly, “we’re friends, right?”

“So you say,” I muttered, tersely bouncing my leg under the table, anxious for our teacher to arrive and end this mundane conversation.

“Saturday afternoon,” Changbin said, nodding in satisfaction. “I can pick you up around noon?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

“Well, consider it an open invitation.”

“That I decline.”

“Reynolds,” Changbin whined, “Felix will be there.”

“I didn’t know Felix was on the basketball team,” I said, growing more and more self-conscious of the way his fingers would occasionally graze against my spine.

“It’s more of friendly competition.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine, but peer pressure isn’t cool.”

“You’ll love it, Reynolds.”

I sighed because his reassurances weren’t inciting the excitement he was probably hoping for.

Message from Seo Changbin:

I’m outside, Reynolds.

“Mom, I’ll be back before dinner,” I called out into the kitchen on the way out the door.

As promised, Changbin was waiting in his car. “Reynolds,” he greeted me when I was situated inside. “You should start answering my messages.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, fastening my seatbelt. “Let me put that on the list.”

Changbin grinned, leaning back in his leather seat as he turned on the radio. Both windows were rolled down, allowing fresh air to circulate through the car. It was still hot, but the breeze helped counter the sweat starting to perspire on my skin, even if it was a bad combination with his expense seats.

“No AC?” I muttered.

“Nature isn’t enough for you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I grumbled, frowning at the way he laughed at the expense of my comfort. Thankfully, the drive wasn’t very long and we finally pulled into the parking lot a mere fifteen minutes later.

“You ready, Reynolds?” Changbin teased, choosing to ignore my glare as he started up the well-worn path to the courts where everyone else was already waiting. I hesitantly followed his footsteps, only allowing a reluctant smile when I saw Felix and Hyujin talking together with two unfamiliar faces. “This way,” Changbin suddenly directed, pulling me towards the group of boys with a surprisingly powerful grip. “This is Seungmin,” Changbin said, patting the boy in question roughly on the back. “And Jeongin.”

“Hi,” Jeongin offered, an adorable smile permanently in place as he politely welcomed me. 

“They’re both Freshmen,” Felix explained. “They’re trying out for the team this year.”

“Oh,” I nodded quickly. “Good luck, then.”

“They don’t need it,” Changbin scoffed, teasingly ruffling Jeongin’s hair to which the younger boy protested half-heartedly.

“Let’s pick teams,” Felix said, nodding at Changbin. “You can go first.”

Changbin took a step back, calling out for the other players. I lingered close to Felix, weary of the other boys joining our group, especially when it became clear that I was the only girl invited to play. Changbin rubbed his hands together, making a show of perusing his options. I rolled my eyes since it was obvious he would pick one of the older and more experienced boys. Yet, despite my absolute certainty, Changbin proved me wrong once again when his eyes landed on me. “Come on, Reynolds.”

I did my best to avoid looking completely stupefied while I ordered my feet to start working, falling behind Changbin while he and Felix continued rounding out their respective teams. “Again?” Hyunjin whined when he and Minho were the only two players left.

“I pick Minho,” Changbin said, smirking at the furious look Hyunjin wore as he stormed over to Felix’s side. “Let’s play!”

The sun was starting to set by the time everyone agreed to end the last game. I breathed out heavily, hands behind my hand as I tried to pull in more oxygen for my suffering lungs. It was difficult work keeping up with nine competitive teenage boys, but I was proud of my efforts, especially when it seemed like I was holding my own surprisingly well. “Not bad, Reynolds,” Changbin remarked after our team secured our first win courtesy of my well-timed jump shot.

“I’m surprised you passed it to me,” I admitted because, quite frankly, Changbin seemed to go out of his way to include me in every play. 

“You’re better than you give yourself credit for,” he said, winking at me playfully before lining up at the half-court line to start the next game. By the end of our session, my team had won 3 out of the 4 games we managed to play under the remaining sunlight. And I’m half-way convinced that Changbin missed the final three on purpose just to allow Felix’s team one victory, even if it meant listening to Hyunjin brag about their superior endurance. 

“How considerate,” I remarked to Changbin after the play.

He threw an arm around my shoulders to which I wrinkled my nose and complained about the proximity. “I’m a nice guy,” Changbin said and I despised the way I leaned in closer, an unconscious movement. “Ready to go home?” I managed a nod, ignoring the way he laughed at my speechlessness. 

I trailed behind Changbin as we walked to his car, pausing at the trunk to throw in our gym bags. And my eyes widened in surprise when Changbin reached down for the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head before tucking the drenched fabric into the waistband of his gym shorts. “What?” Changbin questioned, frowning at the obvious way my mouth gaped open.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, looking away despite how difficult it was proving to be with Changbin growing even closer.

“Good game, Reynolds,” Changbin said, and I did my best to avoid looking at his bare chest. 

“R-right,” I stuttered, blinking rapidly. “It was fun.”

Changbin’s resounding laughter was surprisingly endearing, eyes following me the entire time I entered his car.

October

Autumn was approaching which meant the days were growing shorter while a frigid cold was starting to settle, leaves falling in delicate shades of red and orange. The change in season was always expected, and I appreciated the break from the unforgiving summer months, the sun bearing down as I was often forced to retreat inside for fear of an unpleasant sunburn. But the weather wasn’t the only thing changing recently, and I knew something was wrong with Jisung, but he refused to tell me anything. “Everything’s fine,” he often reassured me, but the sentiment didn’t quite reach his eyes and his smile was forced as he talked to our other classmates.

I wanted him to trust me more, to willingly tell me whatever it was that was weighing heavily on his heart. And I did my best to find the answers, meeting him in the afternoons after school, hoping to show him that I was a reliable confidant. Yet, each subsequent day flew by with no promise of the conversation I desperately wanted.

And this afternoon, in particular, was proving to be no different.

“I’m a better choice than your neighbor, right?” Jisung asked as he drove us to my house.

I nodded as an acknowledgement, too tired to offer a coherent reply, a result of morning basketball workouts that drained my energy right along with regular classes. These days, Jisung had started taking me home from school as opposed to my neighbor. I was glad for the change, especially since it meant I could spend some time with Jisung. 

“Tired?” he asked and I offered a delicate yawn.

“Basketball is tiring,” I said, pulling myself away from the window to look at Jisung. “You seem tired too.”

“There’s a lot going on,” Jisung offered vaguely and I pursed my lips as I considered his vague response.

We were both quiet for the remainder of the drive, and Jisung pulled into my driveway with a loud sigh. “Let’s stay outside.”

“Okay,” I agreed, watching him carefully now because I could always tell when someone was feeling burdened by an unpleasant truth. Nonetheless, I took Jisung to the backyard where I stole some blankets from the basement and spread them out along the grass. Jisung sat down on top of the worn fabric, fingering the holes at the edges before reaching out to pluck a sunflower free from its stem. “You don’t seem as happy these days,” I remarked, studying the way Jisung’s fingers brushed across the delicate petals of the flower he held.

“What makes you say that?” he asked, face shadowed by the way the sun hits the side of his profile. 

“Nothing,” I said softly. “Do you want to do some work?”

“Will you help me with my essay?”

“Only if you promise me a massage because my shoulders are dying.”

“Deal,” Jisung agreed, managing a smile while he reached for his bag. Together, we worked diligently in the backyard as we attempted to conquer our matching piles of homework. Basketball was a recurring distraction, often forcing me to stay up late at night to complete assignments since I lost time during the day to work on essays about dead poets.

“You’re not as talkative,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“It’s my mom,” Jisung said and I was surprised by his willing openness.

“And?”

Jisung picked another sunflower, holding it up to his eyes as he twirled the delicate stem between his elegant fingers. “She’s dying.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that and a painful silence fell between us.

November

Basketball tryouts were proving to be a substantial blow to my meager social life. I could barely find time to talk to Jisung, and I never forced him to wait for me in the afternoons anymore because tryouts could continue for hours. In the meantime, Changbin was more than willing to drive me home, especially since he liked to flaunt his shiny new license around school for everyone to notice. 

But I missed my drives with Jisung, and I missed the way he always seemed to make the days a little less stressful. I wanted to talk to him, and I knew my best opportunity would be this coming Friday because tryouts would end early and I could ask him to wait for me in the parking lot without feeling guilty. Of course, telling Changbin about my change in transportation was a dramatic affair. “Why not, Reynolds?” Changbin pouted, blocking me at my locker after our shared morning class despite my attempts to evade him.

“I have something else to do,” I said, wishing he could be more amiable for once and just let it go.

Graciously, the bell for classes proved to be a wonderful distraction and Changbin reluctantly allowed me to flee quietly to my Chemistry class without any more protest. For the remainder of the day, I could only focus on the clock, urging the stubborn minute hand to move faster. All I had to do was finish out tryouts successfully and I could finally have some time with Jisung. 

The afternoon bell rang loudly in my ears as I hurried to the locker room, changing into my practice clothes quickly. Of course, such rapid preparation wasn’t entirely necessary since I still had to make it through the last day of tryouts, but my mind was somewhere else. Even so, my impending meeting with Jisung didn’t inhibit me from doing my absolute best, breathing out heavily as I scrimmaged with my teammates, ignoring the watchful eyes of my coach as she studied our plays. 

By the end of practice, I was more than ready for the stress of tryouts to be over with because I was exhausted both mentally and physically. Thoughts of Jisung didn’t help, which had returned full force now that my attention wasn’t occupied by basketball. Instead, I impatiently tapped my foot against the court as I waited for coach to announce final cuts.

“Okay,” coach said, carefully posting the team roster to the board outside her office. “For those of you who made it, I’ll see you Monday afternoon.”

Normally, I was never one to rush to the front to see my name, but Jisung was waiting which meant my sharp elbows were now a weapon to help me fight to the roster. I breathed a silent sigh of relief when I found my name near the top, quickly shoving my way back through the crowd of my potential teammates. 

I practically sprinted to the parking lot, ignoring the ache in my thighs courtesy of detestable shooting drills. But I smiled through the pain when I saw Jisung already inside his car, eyes watching me carefully as I ran the rest of the way to where he was parked. “I’m guessing you made the team,” Jisung teased after I was settled inside.

“Oh, yeah...” I trailed off, finding myself unable to tell Jisung the real reason behind my enthusiasm.

Jisung smirked, switching on the ignition before carefully navigating us onto the main road. “You said you wanted to talk?”

I nodded, taking a deep breath to settle my nerves. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For my reaction when you told me about your mom,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t really know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” Jisung said gently. “Most people don’t.”

“Is she okay right now?” I asked cautiously, keeping Jisung’s profile in my peripheral vision.

“You can come home with me,” Jisung suggested, eyes still trained forward. “To see my mom.”

I nodded without an ounce of hesitation. “Okay.”

I had never been to Jisung’s house before so my eyes were wide as I took in the simple one-story building, walking up the front porch steps to wait as Jisung wrestled his key in the lock. “She’s probably in her room,” Jisung told me, quietly leading me through the small living room and down a narrow hallway.

A door at the end was slightly ajar, and Jisung ushered me closer as he allowed me to walk inside first. “Hey, mom,” Jisung said, greeting the frail woman sitting up against a tall mountain of pillows. “Do you need anything?”

The woman shook her head, hollow eyes leaving Jisung to find me standing nervously in the doorway. “Who is this?”

Jisung smiled and encouraged me closer. “This is my friend.”

“What’s your name?” his mother asked, smile brighter than anything I had ever seen before. The only thing comparable would be Jisung himself who always proved to be an endless supply of the purest kind of light.

“Kayda,” I said, uncharacteristically shy.

“You’re beautiful,” she said, urging me closer while glancing over at Jisung who was now busy pouring water at the nightstand. “My son is very lucky.”

My cheeks heated as soon as I understood the implications of her observation. “Oh, I-”

“-Mom,” Jisung quietly interrupted, handing his mother one of the glasses. She accepted it gratefully, offering me a playful wink which only made my smile fall completely.

“I hate Mondays,” one of my new teammates muttered as she lounged on the bleachers with me after the conclusion of a brutal practice session.

“Tell me about,” I said, staring up at the ceiling. After meeting Jisung’s mom, I had returned home with a heavy heart, unable to find the courage to tell her that Jisung and I weren’t anything more than friends.

“Seo Changbin,” my teammate sighed and I instantly turned my head, watching the boy in question enter the gym with his friends. “Aren’t the two of you dating?”

“No,” I muttered out tersely, resuming my observation of the ceiling even though I could feel Changbin’s gaze from across the court.

And it was only a moment or two later when I heard his voice. “Reynolds,” he said, grinning down at me as he climbed the bleachers. My teammate let out a tired sigh, studying the two of us before allowing us the privacy that I didn’t really need. “Is this comfortable?” he asked, taking my teammate’s spot as he spread his 5’6’’ frame across the bleachers.

“It’s fine,” I said dismissively.

“I saw you guys practicing earlier,” Changbin said, never one to take a hint even if it was waiting right in front of him.

“Did you?”

“You looked good out there, Reynolds,” Changbin said, reaching up to tap his fingers on my thigh. “You’re faster than everyone else.”

“Gee, thanks,” I muttered, wondering if it would be too obvious if I sat up to leave...But that might be too abrupt.

“Are you sticking around for our practice?” he asked with a hopeful tone.

“I’m going home with my neighbor,” I said.

“You should stay one time,” Changbin continued. “I learned a lot about basketball just by watching games on TV with my dad.”

I frowned because I did the same thing. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your teammates?”

“Not yet,” Changbin said. “This is my special way of building anticipation.”

“Isn’t that too arrogant?”

“It’s called confidence,” Changbin said instead. “You’ll be leading your team too, especially if you keep improving.”

His comment was surprisingly touching.  “Is this what you tell all your friends?”

“Just the ones who deserve it,” Changbin said earnestly, allowing a relaxed sigh. “You know, Reynolds,” Changbin grinned. “I think you’re the best player on the Varsity team.”

His words were unexpected and I was caught off-guard by my own smile. “Why is that?”

“There doesn’t need to be a reason,” Changbin said. “I’ve watched you play before.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course,” Changbin said, turning his head slightly to meet my gaze. “But 

I think that some of your teammates are jealous.”

“I know they are.”

“If they give you any problems, you let me know,” he said, holding up his pinky for me which I allowed to wrap around my own, sealing his promise.

December

I found Jisung lingering outside my first-period classroom, arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the doorway. It was obvious that he was waiting for me, so I carefully made my way through the crowded hallways to anticipate his forthcoming dialogue. “Kayda,” he smirked, nodding his head in my direction. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“My neighbor was late this morning,” I said. “Something about an argument with her sister.”

“You won’t have to worry about that when you get your own license,” Jisung said, managing a ghost of his alluring smile. 

“I know,” I grumbled because my driving ineptitude was still a sore spot of conversation. “Did you need to talk?”

“I have something to ask you,” he agreed, demeanor shifting as he suddenly appeared a lot less eager than before. Uncertain. “It’s a lot to ask of you.”

I squinted my eyes, suddenly curious. “Well?”

“My mom has a lot of family in the mountains,” he said, eyes searching mine slowly. “But it’s been kinda hard this year to get together, especially since my mom’s diagnosis.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured softly, to which he attempted to shrug indifferently, even if the emotion was evident in his expression. “We usually visit around Christmas.”

“You can’t go this year?” I guessed, trying to empathize with Jisung’s circumstances.

“That’s not it,” Jisung said, gazing at me entreatingly. “I want you to come with us.”

I paused at the request, trying to understand the implications. “Why?”

“You make things easier,” Jisung said and I softened immediately at his words.

“I’ll ask my parents,” I told him, suddenly feeling an intense desire to satisfy his request. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

“Thank you, Kayda,” Jisung smiled and it was the type of all-encompassing sunshine that always managed to warm my heart.

Basketball practice was excruciatingly difficult that afternoon. Our coach was preparing for this weekend’s basketball tournament, an annual precursor to winter vacation that both students and players alike looked forward to with anticipation. Our school was always expected to perform at the highest level of athleticism, frequently moving through the tournament bracket to the final round of scheduled play. It was a cherished tradition that always managed to fuel my coach’s desire to include as many sprints in a single session as one could manage before players were forced to rush to the bathroom to lose whatever food was still in their stomachs.

“Nice job, ladies,” she nodded at the end of our time. “I want everyone at the gym early on Saturday.”

A dozen or so nods of agreement before we were officially dismissed. Which meant the boy’s team immediately started for their turn at the court, leaving a few of my fellow players flushed with nervous giggles. It also meant the arrival of Seo Changbin who never missed an opportunity to grace me with his presence. “Reynolds,” he said, panting a little from his brisk jog over. He had learned that I tried to leave practice early, stuffing my belongings into my gym bag in the hopes of escaping before he had a chance to utter a single consonant of my last name. “I’ve been trying to find you all day.”

“It can’t be that difficult,” I huffed. “You memorized my schedule.”

“But this is important,” he said while hurriedly shuffling through the small binder in his hands, finding the appropriate form. “I’m doing a co-ed basketball camp over break,” Changbin said, forcefully shoving the paper at me. “You could always come too, Reynolds.”

I smoothed out the crinkled sheet, reading across the invitation. “Where did you find this?”

“Coach showed it to me,” Changbin said. “But I thought of you.”

“How considerate,” I snickered before quickly remembering my promise to Jisung. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go.”

“Oh,” Changbin responded, face falling as he rocked back and forth in front of me. “That’s okay, Reynolds. I guess I’ll see you after break instead.”

I watched him carefully because I didn’t like the way my heart broke a little at his simple acquiescence.

Jisung came to pick me up early at my house on the morning of our scheduled trip to the mountains. My entire body was still sore, muscles screaming in agonizing protest as I forced myself to grab my bags and trudge down the hallway. My mom greeted me in the kitchen, handing me a couple of Ibuprofen which I gratefully accepted. 

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been in so much pain. And I didn’t know if it was entirely due to the demanding tournament in which my team had finished runner-up or the fact that Jisung was taking me to see his family like we were something more than friends. I mean, doesn’t it qualify as relationship-status when the attractive guy who frequently treated you to frozen milkshakes takes you home with him?

“You look nervous,” Jisung remarked, appearing entirely at ease behind the wheel of his car.

“Maybe a little,” I said in return, refusing to offer more details. 

“Why?” Jisung asked. “It’s just my family, Kayda. I promise we aren’t ruthless drug lords or something.”

“I’d hate to understand how your mind works,” I said, gazing out the window because the land had transformed around us, smooth plains turning into rising hills- a series of dips like a roller coaster. 

“You should know by now,” Jisung said, smirking. “I’m kinda weird.”

I scoffed at the comment. “I think your problem is the missing filter between your mouth and brain. Do you ever think about what you’re going to say?”

“No,” Jisung shrugged. “But sometimes you don’t either.”

“Really?” I immediately questioned. “This coming from the guy who swore that he saw a shark swim upstream in a freshwater river coming home from his last excursion to New York’s Comic-Con.”

“Point taken.” 

Message From Seo Changbin:

You know they make this thing called FaceTime, right? Anytime you want to see my pretty face, you know what to do.

Jisung’s family cabin was modest, but that didn’t take away from the beauty surrounding the two-story structure. The woods were gorgeous with the faint remnants of snow blanketing the ground, melting into cool rivulets that flowed steadily between makeshift canals. The sun filtered through the trees to throw an interesting contradiction of light and shadow over the empty foliage. 

“Well?” Jisung prodded, pulling me closer by my shoulder. His coat brushed against mine, rustling the fabric between us.

“It’s nice,” I said, studying the picturesque-sight while Jisung led me to the front porch, stomping his boots off on the crusty welcome mat faded and worn from years of use.

I swallowed hard when the door opened and an elderly woman stepped outside, letting out an impossible shriek as she went to collect Jisung’s puffy cheeks between wrinkled hands. “Jisungie! So handsome.”

“This is my aunt,” Jisung said, cautiously pulling back from the hands holding him hostage. “Merida, this is my friend, Kayda.”

“Hello,” I said, holding out a hand in greeting which apparently catalyzed an even stronger reaction from the woman whose arms constricted around my middle without so much as a warning.

Jisung was visibly embarrassed as he offered me an apologetic look. Meanwhile, I struggled to figure out what I needed to do with my hands as Merida commented on how long my hair was. “I used to have long hair,” she said, finally releasing me. “Yours is so beautiful!”

“Oh, thank you,” I managed, wincing when she let out another squeak, grabbing my hand because she desperately needed to introduce me. “Everyone! Come meet, Kayda!”

I struggled to locate Jisung while I was moved from person to person, matching names to the faces of various aunts and uncles, grandparents and grandchildren, and those rather annoying cousins who promised me that they were a lot better than Jisung. I frowned at their blatant rudeness but chose not to comment because I didn’t want to say more than necessary. Because this was Jisung’s family and, whatever our relationship now meant between us, I didn’t want to leave a poor impression.

Jisung’s mother found me last, situated in an upright position on a bed in one of the upstairs rooms. “Kayda,” she murmured softly, grabbing my hands between hers and ushering me onto the bed. “How was your trip? Do you like the cabin?”

“It’s lovely,” I told her, glancing up at the sound of a creaking board, relieved to see Jisung standing there watching the two of us. 

“We’re not old fashioned you know,” his mother continued, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “We can let you two share a room.”

“Mom,” Jisung whined, saving me from any further surprises by graciously excusing the two of us. “Sorry,” he whispered to me in the hallway. “They’re just really excited.”

“It’s okay,” I said, even though I did feel a little irritated that Jisung hadn’t bothered to prepare me more.

“We don’t have to share a bed or anything,” Jisung said. “I can sleep on the air mattress.”

“Thank you,” I said, glancing back at the closed door. “Do you want to see her alone?”

Jisung nodded. “You can stay in our room for now.”

I waited until Jisung had closed the door behind him before mustering up enough courage to ask one of his rude cousins to show me where I was staying.

Message to Han Jisung

Where are you?

Message from Han Jisung

Outside.

The leaves crunched loudly beneath my feet as I walked across the front lawn, searching for Jisung. His response to my message had been vague as if he really didn’t want to be found, but that only worried me for his well-being. The sun was setting low against the backdrop of the mountain peaks, breaking the rays of light in dramatic patterns. I inhaled the crisp, cold air with a satisfied sigh, stuffing my hands in my pockets to prevent my fingertips from growing numb. In actuality, I quite liked it up here, admiring the simplicity of the natural splendor. Maybe I could move to the mountains one day in the future, living in a cabin like Jisung’s because it was quite nice compared to the city.

I paused at the edge of a trail, squinting against the dying light. Even if my eyes were not made to accommodate easy viewing at night, I could still make out Jisung sitting at a wooden picnic table alone. I glanced back at the cabin, noting the light on over the porch before walking down the path, careful to mind the jutting rocks and arched roots rising from the ground.

“Jisung?” 

His voice was hoarse, tears still discernible even if everything else was losing focus. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have a reason to be.”

I climbed onto the bench next to him, leaving very little space between our bodies. Jisung sniffled as he leaned in closer to me, watching the sunset against the backdrop of the skeleton trees. 

“Is it your mom?”

“Yeah.”

I nodded because there wasn’t anything left to say.

Message from Seo Changbin:

We can still have conversations over break, you know?

Jisung and I eventually made our way back inside the cabin once the sun was completely gone, leaving the half-moon at its post. “You’re so cold,” Jisung said, curling his fingers through mine.

My limbs were stiff, joints aching as I followed Jisung back up the trail, drawn to the light of the cabin like a delicate moth. “Are you okay?” I asked, the question lingering between us while Jisung opened the door.

“I will be,” he whispered in return.

“I’m always here,” I told him, anxiously worried that Jisung might break down at any moment, and I didn’t think I could handle that. Because Jisung was sunshine, and I was the desperate tree growing at all sorts of angles just to feel his light.

Our room was relatively small and Jisung’s cousins had taken the air mattress earlier despite my condemnation. “We can share the bed,” I said, tone uncertain as I pulled back the sheets.

“Yeah?” Jisung said, watching me as I threw off my coat before making myself comfortable on the bed.

“Come on,” I ushered him, holding up the sheet and allowing Jisung to lie down next to me.

“Thank you, Kayda,” Jisung said, nose brushing mine from our close proximity. “You’ve done a lot for me.”

“Well, you had to suffer through my bad driving.”

Jisung chuckled and I savored the sound, the deep rumbling from his chest which was crowded against my hands. “You mean a lot to me.”

I froze next to him, eyes trying to make out his features in the dark room. But Jisung remained a mystery, an imperceivable canvas which was growing closer with every thunderous beat of my heart. His breath was warm, short pants from his mouth which cooled against mine. Jisung’s lips were incredibly soft, a stark contrast to the unwavering grip his fingers kept as they dug into my jaw to direct my movements. I trembled at the first touch, the smooth caress of his tongue against my bottom lip, a sensual question which I answered by parting my lips for him, allowing him access to the deepest parts of me that only his rays could touch. My eyes fluttered open, able to make out his own now that we were in such intimate proximity. Jisung’s gaze was filled with adoration and I could so easily lose myself in an earnest gaze, but that was impossible to do when all I could think about was Changbin.

January

Message from Seo Changbin:

You ignored me over break, Reynolds. Can you at least spare some time at school?

January was one of those impossible months to predict because it was either even colder than December or manageably warm which was still problematic since Climate Change was an ever-present threat. I woke up that morning and checked the temperate, deeming it to be somewhere in between those extremes. I had arrived home sometime over the weekend which meant my bags were still unpacked and I had no idea where my new gloves had disappeared.

I was running late for class when I finally arrived at school thanks to my mother who had the day off. I stopped by my locker to briefly exchange textbooks, erroneously almost leaving my homework stuffed into the bottom of my three-ring binder. “Reynolds.”

I groaned when I heard the familiar husk to his voice. “I’m late.”

“Is your phone not working?”

“It’s fine.”

“Well,” Changbin said, “if you had answered, then I wouldn’t need to here.” 

“You still don’t need to be here.”

“How was your break?” Changbin asked, refusing to acknowledge my comment while standing against the lockers next to mine.

“Cold,” I said, refusing to even acknowledge the issue of Han Jisung and the kiss we shared in his tiny cabin bedroom.

Changbin sighed wistfully. “I told you, Reynolds, you would have had a better time with me.”

I chose to scoff at his comment. “How would you know?”

“I’m insulted, Reynolds,” Changbin said, fanning his fingers out against his broad chest. “You would’ve loved the camp. The arena is really nice at Christmas.”

“Just as friends,” I said, watching Changbin from the corner of my eye. “You’re making this sound romantic, Changbin, considering the fact that we’re only friends.”

Changbin’s eyes dropped from mine. “I know that, Reynolds. You like to remind me every day.”

I slammed my locker closed, feeling something akin to guilt. “Sorry.”

“Did something happen, Reynolds?” he asked, peering up at me cautiously like he knew he was overstepping our boundaries.

“Nothing happened,” I said quickly, stepping around him because I suddenly really needed to go to class and Changbin was crowding me.

Avoiding Jisung was becoming something of a habit, peeking cautiously around corners, staggering into class at the last minute in case he might be waiting in the doorway. And I know it was terrible to ignore Jisung, but I still had no idea how I could possibly talk to him after the kiss. Coincidentally, it only drove me closer to Changbin who was perfectly willing to drive me home after school or invite me out on the weekends. I quickly came to the conclusion that I was using Changbin to fill the places in my life that Jisung had previously occupied, not that Changbin minded in the slightest.

“Your house?” I questioned into the phone, my hand pausing over the popcorn bowl waiting between my legs. Recently, I had started to accept his incoming phone calls and even dial his number a time or two because Changbin was actually quite useful when it came to Algebraic Equations.

“Why not?” Changbin returned. “I have a lot of cool games we could try.”

It sounded like it meant a lot more to him, but I didn’t bother looking past the surface. “Will there be food?”

“Is that a yes, Reynolds?”

“Changbin.”

“Whatever you want, Reynolds.”

“Are you picking me up?”

“Give me ten minutes.”

Changbin’s house was fresh out of the Notebook, an old-school antebellum mansion that probably cost more than the entire town. And because it was Changbin’s house, I got to hear a thorough backstory concerning its history, meaning Changbin’s great-great-grandfather or whatever had likely never anticipated someone like me stepping across the marble-tiled floors. “What do you think, Reynolds?” Changbin asked, looking at me like my answer might change his entire life which was ridiculous because Changbin had probably impressed plenty of people.

“I like it,” I said, perhaps making Changbin’s entire year if the impressive smile he wore was anything to go by.

“The game room is upstairs.”

And it took up an entire section of the house, resembling some kind of futuristic arcade where a quarter in the machine meant relaxing in fine luxury chairs while playing an unreleased version of Final Fantasy with an espresso in hand. “Want anything?” Changbin asked from the bar.

“Surprise me,” I said, running my fingers against the side of the air hockey table that was spotlessly clean. 

“What do you want to play?” Changbin asked, handing me a glass of water. A simple exchange that nonetheless meant a whole lot more to me than I thought. Suddenly, I was far too excited, surrounded by Changbin’s extravagant wealth. 

“Everything.”

February

When Jisung was absent from school for an entire week, I knew something was wrong. Yet, no matter how many messages I directed to his phone, a response notification never lit up my phone screen. Was it partially my fault? Since I had done a remarkable job of avoiding him for an entire month.

“Why do you look so down?” my teammate asked as we lounged together on the bleachers, a regular occurrence. 

“Jisung hasn’t been answering any of my messages.”

“I didn’t think you guys were friends anymore.”

“Oh,” I said, clearing my throat. “What made you think that?”

“Haven’t seen you together since Christmas break. Figured you probably came to your senses and started fucking Changbin.”

“I’m not dating Changbin,” I said, but there was a little less venom behind my usual conviction. “Jisung and I weren’t a couple anyway.”

“Well, maybe he has something else on his mind.”

“I guess.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, even if your little love triangle was super entertaining to watch.”

“There’s no love triangle.”

“Personally, I’m rooting for Changbin to win but a couple girls on the team are thinking that Jisung is the endgame for sure.”

Had my life really become so complicated?

February 14th was a rueful day and I despised the commercial aspect to a holiday that had no real purpose in existing. Nevertheless, I wasn’t entirely negative because starting tomorrow, Walmart’s candy would be on sale and I could buy enough to last me until Easter.

Of course, for a lot of other people, Valentine’s day meant a lot, especially those mushy couples who probably secretly loathed one another and the idea of parting with more than 20 bucks for flowers. Still, I guess there was some merit in showing affection for someone you cared about. Sadly, I didn’t really know what that meant since I never got the experience.

I arrived early to class, a change of pace which meant I was sitting alone at my usual table with Changbin. Perhaps he wouldn’t show up at all, deciding to stay at home simply because of a sudden whim’s notice. And that would be perfectly acceptable to me, but I could never get so lucky.

“Reynolds,” Changbin said, standing behind me at our table and I didn’t have the strength to push him away.

“What?”

“It’s Valentine’s day,” Changbin reminded me, gently depositing a single red rose in front of me.

The gesture was surprising and it elicited a strange reaction because I couldn’t stop myself from touching the smooth petals. “Really?”

“Let’s go for milkshakes after school.”

I smiled because I actually loved the idea and couldn’t believe Changbin wanted something so simplistic. I was half-expecting a giant display of balloons waiting for my outside or a banner draped across the front of the school with my name written in big bold letters. But I got nothing like that and it was incredibly touching. “Okay.”

Jisung came back the next week and I could no longer find it in me to avoid the inevitable. I cornered him after class one afternoon, clutching tightly to the straps of my book bag. “Jisung.”

He turned around with a start, eyes widening in obvious surprise to see me standing there. “Kayda?”

“You were gone last week,” I said, glancing up at him sheepishly. “Is your mom alright?”

Jisung sighed, shoulders falling as his entire body seemed to collapse under the weight of his burden. “We had a scare, but she’s back home now.”

“I’m glad,” I told him sincerely. “Neither of you deserve this.”

“It always happens to the best people,” Jisung said, somewhat bitterly as he closed his locker door.

“I’m sorry for avoiding you,” I said, flushing at the apology. “I didn’t know what to say after what happened before.”

“You mean the kiss?” Jisung guessed, eyeing me curiously. “Did I do something wrong?”

“It was unexpected,” I said. “Since we’re just friends.”

Jisung took a long time to respond and I grew more and more anxious as I waited for his response. “I understand.”

But his tone was cold.

March

Message from Seo Changbin:

Come over, Reynolds.

“You’re heavy,” I complained, pushing against his shoulder as he leaned more of his weight against mine.

Changbin laughed, seemingly amused at my struggles. “I like you though.”

I huffed loudly, allowing him to lay his head in my lap, gazing up at me with mischievous brown eyes. “Do you even want to watch the movie?”

“I’ve seen Fast and Furious,” Changbin said, eyeing the movie from the corner of his eye with disinterest. 

“Why did you recommend it, then?”

“Because you wanted to see it,” Changbin said. “But you can watch this in real life, anyway. I can take my car down to the track.”

“Good for you.”

Changbin smirked, tongue-in-cheek as he returned his attention to me. “Learned how to drive yet, Reynolds?”

I frowned. “No.”

“It’s not hard,” Changbin said. “Didn’t Han Jisung teach you?”

His tone was bitter. “He tried.”

“Probably not hard enough,” Changbin said, lifting himself up from my lap. “Do you want me to try?”

“I’m impossible.”

“Well,” Changbin grinned, “I kinda like a challenge.”

Changbin’s car was far too expensive for my inexperienced hands and I was shivering as I started the ignition. “Relax, Reynolds,” Changbin said from the passenger seat, appearing entirely at ease.

“What do I do?” I asked him in a panic, but Changbin merely reached down for the gear shift.

“Put it in drive.”

My fingers were shaking, tightening with a vice grip around the poor instrument. My foot was pressed down hard against the break, mind blanking the longer I questioned myself, especially with Changbin watching me. “I’m sorry,” I said, taking a deep breath as I pulled the gear shift back, letting off the brake to press down on the gas. 

The car immediately lurched backward and I panicked, applying even more pressure to the gas pedal before realizing I had put the car into reverse instead of drive. The resounding sound of the mailbox behind me snapping beneath the weight of Changbin’s fancy sports car was impossibly loud. I fought back tears as I apologized repeatedly, managing to put the car back into park as I studied the ruined mailbox in the side view mirror.

“So what, Reynolds?” Changbin shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the destruction.

I looked at him in disbelief. “You can’t seriously be okay with that?”

“It didn’t hurt anybody,” Changbin said. “If you start to worry about everything you do wrong, then it’s even harder.”

I held tightly to the steering wheel. “Should I try again?”

“Why not?” Changbin shrugged. “This is more fun than I was expecting.”

“Driving isn’t supposed to be fun,” I said. “It’s serious.”

“Kayda, you sound like one of those scary-ass educational videos they make us watch in Driver’s Ed.”

“And?”

“Try to enjoy it more,” Changbin said. “You don’t have to be so tense when  you’re driving.”

I let out a deep breath, my hand reaching back down for the gear shift. I relaxed a little when I felt Changbin’s hand on top of mine, guiding me through the movements as the car started to roll forward. “Is it too fast?” I asked, failing to keep the panic from my tone.

“You’re doing great, Reynolds,” Changbin said, leaning over to steady his other hand against my splayed out fingers on the wheel. “There’s nothing difficult about it.”

I was trembling now for a different reason, but Changbin didn’t need to know about that.

April

Jisung was ignoring me, which meant I had to ask Changbin to drive me to my scheduled test, anxiously fidgeting in his leather seat during the entire drive. I had no time to worry about Jisung, even though I was deeply hurt by his indifference. Instead, all I could think about was my driving test and how horrible it would be to fail the computer questions because they were probably the easiest part.

“You worry too much, Reynolds,” Changbin remarked, pulling into the parking lot of the DMV.

“I can’t help it,” I told him.

“If I can pass this, then you can,” Changbin said. “You’re way smarter than me.”

“I don’t think it has much to do with intelligence,” I said, rubbing my hands together as I carefully opened his car door. 

“Don’t think too hard then,” Changbin grinned, faintly protesting when I reached across the console to smack his arm.

“What’s wrong with you! I’m having a small panic attack.”

“Yeah? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“You’re just asking for it,” I snapped, huffing indignantly when he started laughing. A nasal affair that would normally make me cringe.

“Why?” Changbin asked. “You know what your problem is, Reynolds? You take everything too seriously. Just relax for once.”

“But what if I fail?” I whined miserably.

“Then you take it again,” Changbin said. “I promise I won’t hold it against you forever.”

“I really hate you right now.”

FLASH!

I blinked my eyes, trying to rid my vision of those annoying black spots courtesy of the camera flash. Meanwhile, the obviously indifferent clerk clicked away at his computer screen. “Congratulations,” he said, tone completely void of any life as he handed me a tiny square of plastic. 

I couldn’t find it in myself to be annoyed with the DMV employee. After all, I was 90% sure that such an attitude was written in their handbook. But it really didn’t matter because I was holding my permit and it wasn’t some sort of crazy dream I had last night.

“Thank you,” I told him sincerely, even if the sentiment obviously meant nothing to him as he called for the next person in line.

I mustered just enough patience to walk at a normal pace through the musty office building until I was outside, finding Changbin leaning against the side of his sports car, sunglasses covering his eyes. The sight of him, however, broke down every last bit of self-control I had previously tried to maintain. “I passed!” I squealed, holding up my limited learner's permit for his eyes to see, desperately wanting to show him.

Changbin smirked as he took the permit from me. “What did I tell you, Reynolds? It’s not that hard.”

“You helped me so much,” I said, overcome with emotion, looking at him and, for the first time in my life, seeing past the arrogance and wealth, sarcastic comments and designer clothes. “Thank you.”

Changbin nodded, rolling his shoulders back as he took another step closer. “I get an award, right?” 

I gave him a questioning look, rolling my eyes when his finger tapped against the side of his cheek. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not a big deal, Reynolds,” Changbin whined.

I could always blame it on my mood, optimism bright as I grabbed Changbin’s shoulders to hold myself steady as I pressed my lips to the spot he had indicated. “Happy?”

Changbin didn’t respond, considering me with an expression that held a thousand different possibilities. His fingers were cold as they curled around my neck, thumbs digging into the skin at the base of my jaw. But his lips were warm, tentatively testing mine as he kissed me for the second time, leaving me with nothing but thoughts of Seo Changbin as I tasted spearmint gum when his tongue muscled its way inside.

May

Summer vacation meant classes were more trivial than usual, suffering through mindless lectures that meant nothing now that exams are over. But the school board insisted we stay until June. “Jisung’s ignoring me,” I told Changbin at lunch, locating the boy in question eating alone across the cafeteria.

Perhaps in the past, I’d never openly tell Changbin about any of my worries, but I was comfortable with him now and we understood each other a lot more than we did in the past. And he knew how much Jisung meant to me, although in a much different way than what I shared with Changbin. “Give him time,” he said, one hand on the back of my neck, massaging circles into the skin.

I shifted closer to Changbin, unconsciously seeking his warmth. “He’s going through a hard time alone.”

“He’s got family,” Changbin reminded me, gently pushing my tray closer. “But you need to eat, Reynolds.”

“That’s disgusting,” Felix quipped, turning his nose up at the two of us like he was too cool for such displays.

“Don’t be jealous,” Jeongin said, giggling like he was enjoying teasing Felix.

“Is it official, then?” Minho asked, leaning across the table despite Hyunjin’s attempts to move him out of the way. 

“You don’t have to put titles to everything,” I told Minho.

“That’s just a bullshit excuse,” Minho argued, insistent as he eyed the two of us up and down. “Well?”

“We’re together,” Changbin said, hand settling over mine. “Will that satisfy you?”

“Very much,” Minho nodded, sitting back to whip out his phone. “The school’s gossip site needed some more drama.”

“There’s no drama,” I grumbled, glaring at Minho as he hurriedly typed away on his tiny phone keyboard.

“There always is,” Hyunjin said with a dramatic flourish of his hands. “Minho makes sure of it.”

“Stay out of my relationship,” Changbin warned Minho, even if the older boy appeared completely undeterred by Changbin’s threat.

Changbin was unusually quiet after school that day, clutching tightly to my hand as he walked us to his car. “You’re never like this,” I said, rolling my eyes playfully when he opened my door.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Changbin said. “This is how I always act.”

“Sure,” I said, waiting for him to start the car before continuing. “I think you have something to tell me.”

Changbin tensed at my words. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re too easy to read,” I teased him, laughing when he threw me an unimpressed look.

“Do you want some music as a distraction?” I said. “Fill up the awkward silence while you find the confidence to ask me what must be a very difficult question.”

“And you think I’m rude,” Changbin grunted, even as his hand quickly started to mess with the radio display.

I pulled my phone from my pocket, finding Jisung’s contact even if it was a futile affair to get any sort of response from him lately. His texts were few and far in between and he usually only answered if I asked about his mother. But I genuinely cared about his family because Jisung was important to me and I desperately wanted things to resume normally between us. I couldn’t help but think that my new relationship status with Changbin might have a lot to do with his silence.

“Should we just text each other?” I asked Changbin when we pulled up to my house.

He killed the engine without a word. “It’s nothing bad.”

“I figured that,” I said, turning around to face him. “You have my undivided attention.”

Another beat of silence passed between us and then...“I’ll be gone for the summer,” Changbin admitted, glancing up at me nervously. “And it might be too soon to ask this.”

“What do you mean?”

Changbin sighed, running his fingers through his black hair. “You could come with us, Reynolds. If you really wanted to.”

“On your vacation?”

“It’s more like a get-away,” Changbin grinned. “But you can think of it like that.”

I considered him carefully because I knew Changbin was always serious when it came to me. “You’re right, it might be too soon.”

Changbin sighed but didn’t appear too downtrodden. “It’s alright, Reynolds. We’ll go as slow as you want.”

“I’d like that,” I said, allowing him to lean across the middle to kiss me to his heart’s content.

June

Message to Han Jisung:

What happened?

[geraltschopshop]

Left To Ruins - a draft

Characters: OC, Geralt of Rivia Rating: M because people curse up a storm

This is just a draft of me spitballing what the hell I wanted to do with this fic. The actual first part can be found here

__________________________

Introductions

 Witchers had an odd place in the world. They were met with hostility everywhere they went, yet people still needed them. They were feared and hated, but needed and admired, to an extent. The most that stood out about witchers was their eyes, followed by their silver medallion that hung from their neck to indicate the school they were trained in; Geralt of Rivia, was a different story entirely. A tall man, often clad in black or grey, white hair and skin to match – he was an individual even a near-blind man could pick out in a crowd. The eyes of the townsfolk shopping in the market stalls watched him as he passed by, both with fear and fascination. He paid no mind to the stares; he was used to them.

He halted his horse by an inn, tying the reins to a post before walking in to enquire about a reward. The noise of the patrons on the inn died off very quickly when he walked in – nothing new. The looks he received were mixtures of fear and irrational hatred. “Is there a reward for a banshee?” The witcher asked the innkeeper, who simply ignored the question and continued to clean tankards as if he had heard nothing. “Excuse me, is there a reward for a banshee?” He asked again, raising his voice slightly. No response. “I stop your fucking children getting snatched in the night by a freakish monster, and this is what I get.” He muttered to himself, causing the innkeeper’s gaze to snap onto him. “We can handle ourselves.” The innkeeper replied. “Of course you can, that’s why you let this banshee kidnap your children.” Geralt had heard rumours of a banshee that had been terrorising the town for a number of years; he just so happened to get attacked by it himself. “Listen, witcher, we don’t need your help-“ “He just wants the money for the banshee, Merek. Stop being an arse.” A female voice broke in. A woman with jet black hair, with the exception two large streaks of white, and skin as pale as the witcher’s sat at a table behind them. “Sorry, ma’am.” The innkeeper, assumedly Merek, apologised to the woman with a bow of his head. She had a powerful aura about her that commanded the respect of those around her; there was something powerful even in how lazily she was sat on her chair. “It’s Doran, the alderman, you want. He’s just over there.” He said, pointing to the back at the very large man that was happily occupied by his ale. “Thank you.” The witcher said, looking directly at the mystery woman as he strolled to the back. He claimed his reward from the alderman and was finally able to be rid of banshee corpse he had strapped to his horse.

He went back into the inn and was able to get himself beer, food and lodging without the added hostility he was met with earlier – likely thanks to the mysterious woman. He sat in a corner, drinking his beer and enjoying the first decent meal he had, had in weeks when he heard an awfully familiar voice ring through the inn. “Oh Geralt, my dear friend!” Dandelion. A man renown for being a cad and a coward, with a part-time stint as a bard. He liked Jaskier, or Dandelion, very much, but his sarcastic comments and history for sleeping with married women had gotten him into trouble more times than he would care to count. “How long has it been since I last saw you?” The bard lilted as he sat opposite his witcher friend, who was smiling faintly. “About two months, Dandelion. It is good to see you.” “It is good to see you too, my friend. I must say, I like the creative value of this town, but none of the women here are beyond the realm of average.” And there he went, as always, on a tangent about the local women. He recounted specific women he had seen and his opinions on their appearances, his friend barely listening. Geralt looked past the bard at the bar and noticed the mystery woman was standing there. He observed her, completely ignoring his friend who was still babbling. She wore an off-white blouse, likely discoloured from prolonged use, a belt at the waist and a skirt that had torn in splits on both sides that stopped quite high up her thighs. Her boots appeared to be made of the skin and feathers of a cockatrice. A dire wolf hide shawl and an elk leather hooded cape draped the seat she was sat on. She had a shape that was somehow both delicate and strong. “Geralt, are you even listening to me?” His observations were interrupted by his mildly pouty friend, who had spent the last few minutes being ignored. “Sorry, Dandelion. I was just…distracted.” He replied, trying to avert his eyes back to the man sitting opposite him.

His friend turned around to look at what he had been staring at while he was talking before gasping and turning back around. “Geralt, do you know who that is?” Jaskier whispered, leaning closer. “No.” “That’s the Grey Witch.” He had heard the name of the Grey Witch and a few tales of her monster hunting adventures, but so many details of these stories varied from place to place, so much so that he began to think she was nothing more than a character in a children’s bedtime story. “I’ve heard of her. I didn’t think she was a real person.” “Of course she is! She’s renowned for being one of the best monster hunters outside of you witchers.” The bard glanced back at her again, his gaze fixed directly on her legs. “She’s also known for being quite sexy.” He had seen her face, she was above average to say the least, but her beauty would not make entire kingdoms fall. “I know that look in your eye and I can say with confidence that she’s more likely smack your arse with your lute than she is to hop into bed with you.” A scoff. “Songs and poetry woo all women, Geralt.” He stood up with his lute in hand and his voice raised itself back to the level it was when he arrived. “Even those that hunt monsters for a living.” He was taking steps backwards before he felt himself bump into somebody. He turned and found himself face-to-face with the Grey Witch herself. The troubadour gulped. “I warn you, bard, the last man that propositioned me found himself hanging from the rafters of a tavern by his belt.” Likely a true story. “I, um- “ “Please, forgive my friend,” Geralt cut Dandelion off; “he is a cad, but he means no harm.” She looked the now-frozen Jaskier up and down before turning to the witcher, observing him before responding. “Okay, witcher. I will forgive your friend for being the womaniser he is. Only because you finished a job I didn’t want to finish.” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” “There was a nest of banshees, at least six of them. You finished off the last one, the alpha. That fucker left a huge bite in my shoulder that won’t be going away any time soon.” A nest? A colony of banshees was extremely rare, almost entirely unheard of, but not impossible. Colonies of banshees were feared more than lone banshees; they were quick creatures with claws sharper than you could imagine, and a bite that could easily break a limb in two – put six creatures with those characteristics together, a whole town could be gone in days. “If I had known there had been a whole nest of them, I would have come here sooner.” The witcher smiled. The woman smiled in return. “I must be off. I have been in this town for too long and I am growing bored. I hope to see you again, witcher.” She bowed her head and turned to leave. “Do you not have a name?” He asked after her. She stopped in the doorway of the inn. “I do. I will tell you next time I see you. Until then, farewell, Geralt of Rivia.” It was no surprise that she knew his name, most towns and villages in the north did. He was the only person that could possibly match the description that comes with his name. Dandelion broke himself from his frozen position and returned to his original seat, looking slightly shocked at the event that just occurred. “She barely acknowledged me. She only spoke to you!” Jaskier cried. Geralt chuckled at his friend. “Like I said, you’re a cad.” He sipped his beer. “She had full intentions of pummelling you with your lute. I saved you a very sore arse, Dandelion. Please, be more grateful.” He said, smiling mischievously.

 II

 A few days had passed since the encounter with the banshee and the Grey Witch; Geralt had not thought much of the event since, but the woman did cross his mind a couple of times. He had only heard tales of her slaying chimeras, basilisks and other monsters that lurked, but the details of all those stories were never consistent between towns and villages, including details of how she looked. One village painted her to be a very tall, very muscular woman, another claimed she was small in height and frame, but was much stronger than she looked. The real woman, however, was neither tall, nor short, she was not dainty, but she was not quite on par with a young knight either. Some villagers regarded her as being breathtakingly beautiful, but the witcher saw her with his own two eyes and while quite pretty, she was not a beauty that men would start wars over. But that was just his opinion, formed from his unnecessary observance. He was trained to pick up on small details; he noticed that her right eye was slightly larger than the left, but nothing noticeable to the regular townsfolk, her nose bridge was slightly too high, her top lip was uneven and smaller than her bottom lip, and her body was riddled with battle scars and monster bites. A woman that men like the idea of, but not a woman they would want to share a bed with, in actuality.

“It’s the Grey Witch!” Geralt heard a tavern patron whisper to his friend. After slaying the banshee, he had moved on to Wykeham, a much larger town with slightly more welcoming innkeepers. He looked up from his drink to see the mystery woman again, draped in her shawl and cloak. He observed her; she had such an elaborate hairstyle for a woman who hunted monsters for a living. Curls laid out perfectly, hair half pinned up with two long, loose curls framing her face, and the back was adorned with small flowers. How could she have found the time? He watched her collect her beer and food and make her way over to where he was sat, as if she already knew where he was beforehand. “Greetings, witcher. Would you mind if I sat with you?” She asked politely. “I do not mind at all.” He replied, smiling. She took a seat opposite him and took a sip of her beer. “Sage.” She said suddenly, after a moment of silence. “What?” “Sage. Sage is my name. I told you I would tell you next time we met, though I did not think we would meet again this soon.” Sage. He smiled – he quite liked the name. “Sage, the Grey Witch.” He sat back in his seat and sipped on his beer. “I’m only known as the Grey Witch; it seems as though my actual name escaped everybody’s memories, as did the actual details of those monster killings.” She replied bitterly. “Normally people are not considered myths until they’re long dead and there’s nothing left them except ballads about their conquests, but these simpletons have turned me into a myth while my heart beats still.” She heaved a sigh of frustration before taking a large gulp of her beer. “Why do you think that happened?” He asked. “Well, mythical monsters come from humans trying to explain natural things they do not understand, like the first vampire stories, before any human had encountered a real vampire, they explained the bodies swelling and blood gushing out of the mouth and nose as vampirism when it was just a natural part of decomposition. Myths and legends around people come from details getting lost in translation, or from the only evidence left of their life being ballads and poetry that embellish a lot of details.” She took another sip of her beer. “I know why it happened, it is quite simple, but it does not make it any less irritating to be treated as though you are a mythical beast of fanciful thought.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I am the myth you will be in a few centuries passed, Geralt of Rivia.” “How so?” “Eventually, you will die, as will all the people that have solicited your services as a witcher, but your friend’s songs, with all the embellished details, will live on. As you witchers disappear, you will become nothing more than a fairy tale.” He shrugged. He could not deny that was the likelihood of what was going to happen, but fame and glory did not interest him. “Well,” he said, laying one arm over his stomach; “at least they won’t insult me and pretend I don’t exist while I’m still alive.” He smiled. A petty, playful jab. She eyed him for a brief moment before smiling.

“So witcher,” she sat back in her seat; “tell me about yourself. Any monsters you’ve fought recently, any other interests outside of killing monsters, maybe tell me how you ended up friends with that bard.” She said as she started picking at the bread she had bought. “I got rid of a basilisk for one town recently, I am not interested in killing monsters, it is just my trade, and I met that bard because he knocked up a girl and got into some trouble with her four brothers.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “Somehow, that does not surprise me.” He smiled and then silence fell for a brief moment. “The king has been found dead!” Shouted a panicked voice from the entrance of the inn. The witcher looked over at the doorway while Sage did not feign interest. The patrons left their food and drinks and rushed out of the tavern – Geralt and Sage remained in their seats. “Oh dear, I wonder who could have done that.” She said dryly, eating a piece of her bread and taking a sip of her beer. He scowled at her. Murder was not something that sat well with him. “Why?” “Because, witcher, I got tired of looking over my shoulder for another group of assassins. I have given that wretched man more than enough chances to stop making attempts on my life. I think decapitating him is more than justified.” He could side with neither party, nor did he want to; the petty squabbles of other people were none of his concern. “Were there any witnesses?” He asked, leaning forward to rest his crossed arms on the table. “The guards saw me enter the palace and they definitely know it was me, but the townsfolk knew this was going to happen.” He raised an eyebrow. “The townsfolk have been ill-treated by this man and knew of his attempts on my life. Quite honestly, I do not think they are going to fuss about the death of a man that did not care for their well-being.” He said nothing; he could not comment on the political affairs of a town he knew nothing about, nor was he one to involve himself with such matters.

Cheering could be heard from outside as they crowned a new king; the law of Wykeham dictated that if the king had no male heir, which this man had none, then the royal advisor would be crowned as king instead. There was no shortage of belief and trust in the magic of sorcerers in this town, so there was no issue with the sorcerer that advised this dictator being crowned the new king. “He’s a good man, the advisor.” Sage began, after some silence between the two. “He had tried so many times to make king Artaud listen, but the king had gone mad with power and refused to listen to anyone. But the mage is level-headed and does not seem like a man who would allow such power to get to him the way Artaud did. He is very humble for someone of his magical abilities.” Geralt nodded, remaining silent.

“Well, witcher, I am afraid I must leave.” She said, standing up and downing the remainder of her beer. “Times are hard as a monster hunter, as I’m sure you know, and there isn’t much time to sit and idle away anymore.” He smiled bitterly. “I bid you farewell. May our paths cross again.” She put up the hood on her cloak and left, leaving the witcher alone.

She was right; times were hard for those who hunt monsters for their living. Monsters were still in abundance, but humans and monsters were starting to live in some semblance of harmony together. He knew that if he wanted to keep him and his horse fed, he had to leave too, potentially towards the south. While the south was renowned for being – as Dandelion had once phrased it, a shithole, it was also rumoured to be riddled with monsters and plenty of need for witchers; no doubt that Sage was headed south, too. He stood up, leaving the empty tankard he had been mindlessly fiddling with on the table, and took his leave. If he wanted to make it to the next village before nightfall, he had to leave immediately.