#Like it's just so Nice and Light and Simple there that it hindered The Ring's power

[vancilocs]

ive been passing time in night shift by filling out an ask meme for fenrir n also merope. enjoy blah

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

Fenrir is tall and has big old wings growing off his temples, those are the major parts of his silhouette.

Merope stands out by being a cyclops, it's more common where she's from but in the court she's the odd one out. Also her long thin ears. She might clip the tips behind her head during formal outings with some of the pretty ear clips she has

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

He's got a pretty thin and worn face, sharp features. Crows feet, eyebags. For someone so physically imposing he's got a warm smile. His eyes are red (not like he's-been-crying-red, the irises) and tired.

She's got pretty soft features, round cheeks, full lips, laugh lines. She's got a very sweet but demure smile. Her eye colour is pretty striking what with it being this opalesque light blue.

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

He's tall, in his youth he was muscular and stocky (always the largest of the siblings), now he's got more of a dad bod but is still strong. His clothes are tailormade and pretty tight to cinch his waist, he favors comfort over style so it's just what fits. He gives his tailors a lot of free rein

She's on the shorter side, and she's always been curvy with bigger hips and bust, and a bit of a belly. With age and children she's gained more weight especially to the stomach and thighs. She wears well tailored clothes that fit nicely, she's not trying to accentuate anything, whatever looks good. Some clothes make Fenrir go monkey mode but those are reserved for their private quarters

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

He's well coordinated, used to his size and width and utilizes it. You can tell that he's very strong and that he hits hard from the way he moves. Aware of his surroundings.

She has an elegance to her, and is used to the long gowns so they don't hinder her at all. Has learned how to walk fast, what with her being so much shorter than her inner circle

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

Bounces knee, fiddles with cuticles and hair, sometimes with feathers. Has managed to kick a nail biting habit, and keep his trichotillomania under control

She tends to sit calmly and observe, hands on her lap, looking at whatever's interesting.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Some very old scars from when he was a mercenary and got into more fights, big rose tattoos around his body (though plenty faded now), and one on his face. Two X's under one eye. Ears pierced from multiple places, a healed lip piercing. At his coronation and wedding his attendants makeuped his face tattoos away but he doesn't let that happen anymore.

She has a lottt of stretch marks, mainly on her belly and thighs. She has piercings under her eye, cultural stuff, but the lip ring she had at her wedding was a faux one. Has a couple of ear piercings. Wears all her piercings proudly.

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Pants, maybe shirt. Often shirtless though

Long silky sleep gown with long sleeves.

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

High quality wools and linens, but simple, muted colours. It's what's comfortable and easy to put on.

Beautiful dresses, everyday looks are usually cotton. She trusts in pastels, especially blue.

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

He has so many formal looks. Wildly embroidered and embellished tunics and cloaks and furs and engraved leathers and jewelry and crowns he gets put in when there's an event. He's not a fan, but accepts it at this point (and he has a say in what he wears so if he wants to include chainmail in it, who's gonna tell him no?

Like Fenrir, people like to offer their services and give her gowns as gifts for events. She mostly enjoys it, the dresses are beautiful, but it gets tiring to be a mannequin for too long (especially when she was pregnant or was barely out of recovering from birth, please do you really need me out there in this 10 tier silk dream. No you can't cinch my stomach in. Baby in there)

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

Pants, a shirt. No socks or shoes

A long tunic (or Fenrir's shirt) with leggings or a loose comfy dress. Socks on.

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

Heavy fur cloaks and woolly jackets, he's used to cold and snow.

Cloaks (Fenrirs is always the coziest and comfiest). Fur-lined, pretty.

footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet?

Boots, usually. Very well made.

Comfortable shoes or boots.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

He wears his everyday gear, if he's on horseback then he has appropriate clothes but usually he's confined to a carriage when traveling

More or less wears her comfy, everyday wear. She gets travelsick easily and thus doesn't travel often, and when she does she prioritizes comfort.

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

Might have a leather reinforcing layer under his clothes, just in case. No bigger reason other than that he's king.

No armor.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

He always has a dagger or three hidden on his person, and carries a sword on his hip.

No weapons.

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

He's dressed very traditionally for the area he lives at. His inspiration is being comfy.

She's well intergated into Fenrir's court, but also pays homage to her homeland and culture in her clothes. It took her a while to find a good blend of the two.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Very malleable, only thing he doesn't like are lacings and things that take time and effort to put on/take off

She enjoys light and airy clothes, silky smooth textures. Anything that flows well.

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

Large ass wardrobe because tailors want clout from him wearing their stuff and offer him new things to wear all the time. He doesn't buy often, it's gifts. Good at mending things on his own though, his attendants aren't allowed to throw slightly worn clothes out

Giant, people keep gifting her dresses. She doesn't quite know what to do with them all, she doesn't even fit into like half of them anymore. Some she's given to Ylva, some will be worn by Nepheli, and probably will go on to any daughters Ylva and/or Alex might have.

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Earrings and rings these days, sometimes necklaces. They're for bling, though some are gifts from friends and loved ones he cherishes, like from Angharad (the dragon queen). Most important one is his wedding ring he never takes off, also he has the signet ring that a king wears. He threw an epic tantrum when it was given to him because he thought they had taken it off Gandr's corpse

Heirloom earrings and ring from her family, a memory of her homeland when she moved away. Wedding ring, very important. Alongside gifted gowns she has a lot of gifted jewelry, including from Konoe as a wedding gift and Angharad as a gift for some other occasion like birthday or baby being born. She has the queen's ring but doesn't wear it, would feel weird to have something that's from Fenrir's mom.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Mainly down, or half-up. He enjoys having long hair and he knows it's pretty. No other meaning.

Down, half-up, braided, braided half-up, bun, braided bun, so much real estate to do a lot. She's proud of her hair.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

Sometimes for events he might have a bit of blush put on, but that's by attendees. Used to wear messy eyeliner and eyeshadow for days at a time.

Just a little bit of eyeshadow and maybe blush on occasion. Some medieval mascara to make that eye pop.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

Wedding ring is numero uno. It's on his finger at all times

Wedding ring always, any jewelry gifted from Fenrir or her children

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

He got his tattoos when he ran away from home, a bit of an impulsive decision. Then when he was dragged back home his hair was forcibly cut short and wings clipped and he was given completely new clothes (old ones mostly thrown away). He felt very naked and afraid during those times but didn't have the energy or gall to fight back

Not really, her wardrobe changed when she moved to the castle but she kept her favorite colours and was able to adapt.

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

In the rockstar AU I think about at night Fenrir dresses up like a 50yo rocker dad (old jeans, old leather jacket, bracelets, rings etc) and Merope dresses like a suburban mom most of the time

[obsidiancreates]

As My Friend Has Stood By Me, So Shall I (Part 9)

"How close was it to the gate?"

"Too close. It almost scaled the wall."

A ragged sigh, a weary hand rubbed over an aching forehead. "Add as many extra guards as we can spare, and send all other to search for whatever it is these Orcs are looking for."

"How will we even know what they- and we're- looking for?"

"I don't know. But whatever it is, we can never let it fall into Orc hands. Not if they're this set on it."

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Thorin leaves the meeting worn and weary, even more so than after a battle. But this is a battle, in a way. A battle of wits, and watchful eyes. A battle of problems trying to stall progress, and progress trying to stall itself.

"Thorin!"

Ah, speaking of stalling. Thorin pauses, looking at Bilbo with vague amusement as the hobbit stalks towards him with the same righteous confidence he'd had while snapping at Smaug to leave Laketown alone.

Hmm. The memory almost makes Thorin nervous all of a sudden. What did he do to earn that same passionate energy?

"Banned?" Bilbo says upon reaching the king, crossing his arms. "You-you banned me from the treasury? Like I'm some- some wandering toddler?"

Ah. So that's his transgression. "I'm well-aware that you're full grown."

"So why am I being treated like a child? I haven't had a moment to myself since that- that incident with Bofur, as though that wasn't just an outlier in this whole-"

"All I said was to not allow you into the treasury alone. If you're being followed elsewhere, that's not by my orders."

"Oh, please, Thorin," Bilbo huffs. "Let's not pretend you have nothing to do with it. Of course if you're worried the rest of them will feel the same! You practically leak authority, if you commented on me sneezing they'd be bundling me up and setting me to bed rest!"

Thorin feels a smirk pull at his mouth. "You're giving me ideas, Master Baggins."

"And that's another thing, I thought we'd moved past the 'Master Baggins' title. Just say my name, Thorin, I leapt on an Orc for you! We can abandon the formalities!"

"Maybe I think the title suits you."

Bilbo suddenly blushes furiously, but his irritation doesn't fade. "You- I- You blasted- argh! You're impossible, you stubborn-"

Thorin watches Bilbo splutter and fumble, the smirk staying in place, but softening a bit. Sometime Bilbo's confidence could be... unnerving. That someone so... so used to simple, pleasant things, so used to a life free of hardship and need for standing against evil, could scold Kings and make demands of Dragons as though it was nothing. Thorin had even heard the stories of when the Company first arrived in Bag End.

Bilbo, before he'd even stepped out the door, shoving dwarves to make them put his grandfather's chair back in place and wrestling his prize-winning tomatoes out of the hands of battle-hardened warriors. Such a fierce determination, fearless protectiveness, seemingly borne from... nowhere.

So yes. Thorin derives pleasure from watching that confidence slip from time to time, as long as it's in a setting where the confidence isn't needed. Where Bilbo is safe to splutter and fumble, safe to make slip-ups and blush with embarrassment.

Maybe, in truth, Thorin derives the pleasure from seeing Bilbo in a setting outside of peril. Maybe he enjoys watching Bilbo fuss and stumble through his normal life with the ability to make mistakes without any great costs. Maybe he just likes seeing that there's still that same hobbit he met in The Shire, underneath the role of Hero that their journey had forced on him. The same one who, after wrangling with a band of thirteen war-ready dwarves, had passed out at the mere idea of dragon fire.

"-wipe that smug look off your face!" Thorin finally snaps out of his musings as Bilbo points at him accusingly, puffing with his jaw set.

"My apologies, Master Baggins." His tone is steady, but there's a teasing glint in his eye, he knows it. It serves to make Bilbo roll his eyes and huff.

"Just tell them to back off, will you?" Bilbo looks down the corridor. "I stayed because I don't want to be lonely, but being alone sometimes is not the same thing."

"I'll talk with the others as soon as I'm able. But can you not simply spend time in your room?"

Bilbo stiffens a bit more, looking away. "It has a drip."

"Above your bed?" A problem indeed. Dwarven beds were not easy to move.

But Bilbo shakes his head, gripping his own arms tightly. His reply is curt, tense. "Just- somewhere."

Something is... wrong, here. Something more than a drip. Thorin's smirk falls away, and he gently puts one hand over one of Bilbo's. "Why does it bother you?"

Bilbo still doesn't meet his eyes. "... I just don't like the sound."

There's something in his expression, something... haunted.

"... We could... switch rooms," Thorin offers. "I don't mind the sound of a drip."

Finally Bilbo looks at Thorin again, the tightness of his features smoothing a bit. "Really?"

"It's not like we'd have to move much."

Bilbo gives a small laugh. "It isn't, is it? I've still only got the clothes I'm wearing." He looks down at the blue coat he'd gotten in Laketown. "Suppose I should find something new soon."

"You can ask Dori to make you something. He's a tailor."

"He is?" Bilbo blinks, and then his eyes widen. "I- Thorin, I never asked! I assumed you were all miners or warriors or smiths, I- this won't do at all, I can't believe myself-"

Bilbo continued to curse his own thoughtlessness as he took off again, presumably to set the record straight about who did what as a job.

Thorin would have smiled at it, had the image of Bilbo so shaken by a drip not been so fresh in his mind.

Bilbo.

Bilbo who had scolded Kings, and made demands of Dragons. Who had come face-to-face with The Pale Orc for Thorin's sake, twice. Who had rescued them from giant spiders, and faced Thranduil directly after breaking The Company out of the Woodland Prison.

That Bilbo... was shaken to near speechlessness by a drip.

Thorin shook his head. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the journey. Perhaps it was some fear Bilbo had from before they ever arrived at his door. He had hoped to see the same hobbit who passed out reading a contract, had he not? Even if this felt... different. Less borne of inexperience. More of... well. Experience. But experience of what?

He didn't have the slightest clue.

He made haste in getting their room switched. He didn't want his hobbit to dwell somewhere that brought him such fear any longer.

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

Drip

Drip

Drip

The feeling of being watched.

Bilbo peered around the stone. The creature from before was... gone. Vanished from the outcrop it had dragged the goblin to.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Where was it? Bilbo could hardly see. The cave was so dark, dank, and as cold as- well, as the creature had sang about.

As death.

Drip

Drip...

Drip...

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"Can't believe we forgot to ask," Bilbo mutters to himself, wandering through the throngs of busy dwarves. His hand is firmly clenched in his pocket, as it always seem to be in crowds these days. "Over a year on the road and we never once thought it important! Of course they're not all miners, or warriors, we're not and we still fought fine so why wouldn't they-"

"Who're you talkin' to?"

Bilbo yelps, whirling around to find himself face-to-face with Fili.

He groans, putting a hand over his heart. His other hand leaves his pocket, The Ring slipping back to the bottom of his pocket. His now free hand is used to prop himself up as he folds over, resting it on his knee.

"Seems everyone can sneak up on you these days," Fili jokes. "Come on, up you get."

He pulls Bilbo back up to standing, and Bilbo huffs and dusts himself off. It does nothing, of course, but it looks like it does something. At least, it does for his dignity. "Seems you've all gotten sneakier," Bilbo snips back.

"Or the mountain is louder. But," Fili pats Bilbo on the shoulder, and suddenly Bilbo finds that they're walking side-by-side through the crowd. "Like I asked, who were you talking to?"

"Myself."

"Yourself."

"Yes, well, in case you didn't notice, before I came on this whole quest I lived alone. When you live alone you have no-one to talk to but yourself."

Fili shakes his head. "Wouldn't know. I've always had Kili to talk with. We're only ten or so years apart."

"And I'm guessing that's not very long for dwarves?"

"Not the longest."

They walk in silence for a bit, Bilbo's hand twitching back into his pocket when another dwarf brushes against him.

"You're a very twitchy fellow, you know."

Bilbo startles, having grown used to the relative quiet of the walk as they'd gotten to less dense parts of the crowd. "Am I?"

Fili nods. "Your nose, for one. And then your hand and that pocket."

Bilbo's fist tightens, The Ring pressing into his palm. What next? Will Fili ask why the pocket is so important? Why his hand is always guided there by some instinct Bilbo himself didn't fully understand? Why the small trinket within brought him as much comfort as it did confusion?

"Why're you so nervous all the time?"

Well, that wasn't what Bilbo was expecting. "Excuse me?"

"That's why you're twitchy, isn't it? I just thought it'd stop once the quest was over. But it hasn't."

"How-how much attention have you all been paying, exactly, to me and my nervous habits?"

"You don't exactly hide them." Fili pats his back. "You're a bit of an open book, if you don't mind me saying."

There's some curl of... satisfaction, almost, in Bilbo's chest, with The Ring nestled in his hand. 'Open book' indeed, hah. He forces a smile. "No, I don't mind. I quite like books, if you'll recall."

"You're like Ori. Nose in a book at home, weapon in hand out the door."

"I- wea- I'd never even held a sword before Gandalf gave-! No, hang on, the first time I held a sword was when you shoved all your weapons into my arms at the door!"

Fili grins at the memory. "Well, in that case I'm honored. Do you want to know how I keep so many on me?"

"No, thank you. I think Sting is quite enough for me."

Fili tilts his head to look at the blade. "How'd you come up with that name, anyway?"

"What, Sting? I came up with it in Mirkwood."

"How?"

Bilbo shrugs, sniffing a bit and- ah, his nose does twitch quite a bit, doesn't it? "Spiders said it stung."

"... The spiders said it stung?"

All at once the blood drained out of Bilbo's face. He felt it rush out so fast it left him light-headed, and he almost swayed. But he twitched his nose again, and cleared his throat. "Didn't you hear it?"

"All I heard was hissing sounds."

"Well, they certainly made plenty of those. But they spoke, too. I heard them, before anyone was captured." Bilbo shudders, remembering the whispers, just before Thorin had lead them away from the path. "I did ask if anyone else heard them, but no-one but Thorin replied."

"... I don't remember much about Mirkwood," Fili admits. "Not before fighting the spiders, anyway. The second time, after you rescued us. But Thorin did seem to hear something, I think, just before we got taken."

Bilbo's hammering heart finally remembers his head exists, slowly allowing blood to return to his face. "That must have been while I was above the canopy."

"So that's how you escaped those things." Fili gives him a long, searching look. "You must've had the clearest head of all of us, to think of that. You even knew we were going in circles, if I remember right."

"Well-"

"And tried to warn us to stay on the path."

"Is your point that I'm the only one with half a brain among us?"

It doesn't draw the laugh Bilbo had hoped for. Fili's gaze is still searching, squinted, and Bilbo tightens his grip on The Ring even more.

"Are hobbits magic?"

"What?" Bilbo's eyes must be bugging out of his head, if his face looks the way he feels it does. "Magic?! We- no, hobbits are not more magic than any other- hobbits magic, that's like asking if Men are magic, it-"

"You just seem awfully in tune with magic, is all."

"In tune-!"

"Didn't I hear you mention to Gandalf you could feel the magic in the air, before we entered Rivendell?"

"Well yes, but-"

"And before we entered Mirkwood, you said it felt sick."

"Anyone could feel that, it was in the air-"

"It was when we went inside. You felt it at the border, before we ever stepped foot on that foul earth."

"What are you trying to get at?! Why are you blasted dwarves so determined to find something different about me?! I'm a hobbit, I'm just a hobbit!"

Fili holds up his hands. "All I'm saying is that I never felt anything before we entered either place, and I don't think anyone else did either."

"Because what could possibly get through that famously thick Durin skull of your family's?" It comes out sharper than Bilbo had intended, but the conversation has his head spinning and his hand in his pocket is clenched so tight it's beginning to hurt but he can't seem to let go-

Fili steps back from Bilbo. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Worried I feel more curses?" Bilbo snaps, a dryness creeping into his throat.

"No, but you look pale-"

Pale, thin skin, stretched taut over sharp bones, shriveled lips peeled back over broken and pointed teeth and wide glinting eyes-

"I'm not some helpless thing for you all to fuss over! Of course I'm pale, I've been stuck in tents and a mountain for all of winter and most of spring! And the sun here in Erebor is abysmal, it's thin and weak and somehow colder than the Shire sun-"

Oh, the Shire sunlight. Bilbo's words die as his breath stutters on the memory.

Warm, bright days, not with small shafts of light peeking from breaks in the cloud but pure light completely washing over the hills, the whole of Hobbiton bathed in softly golden light on warm summer days...

Fresh breezes, the dappled rays of sunlight on his books as he read under a tree with a fresh apple in hand, the quiet peace of a small brook babbling nearby and the returning to a small, cozy bedroom at the end of the day...

Bilbo sighs, opening eyes that he hadn't even realized he'd closed. His grip on The Ring finally, finally loosened. "I'm sorry, Fili. I know you didn't mean..." He huffs tiredly at his own behavior. "I know you're all just being caring. I'm... not used to the attention, is all."

Fili nods slowly, his eyes not leaving Bilbo's face. "I know we can be a bit much. Family is everything to us. When you grow up in exile, you've got little else to hold onto."

"Of course. Of course, family is important, I... it's just been a while since I've had one."

Bilbo finds himself pulled into a hug then, strong and with a sense of pity to it. It gives the warmth of the gesture a sour twinge to it, but Bilbo ignores that and hugs the young prince back.

"I'm glad you all care," Bilbo says softly. "But I'll need some time to get used to how much."

Fili pulls away. "We haven't really shown you as much care as you have us, have we?"

"Of course you have."

But some little part of his mind, some deep, dark corner, whispers. No, they haven't show us the same care. Not one bit...

Bilbo shakes his head. "You have," he says firmly.

They do care. They do.

Care to watch. To spy.

No, no, they care.

...

Just... in their own way.

[koqabear]

hit me with your killshot, baby (C.YJ)

Summary:

It was a small, quiet town you had decided to move into. One that you could help with any healing or magical needs. What you didn’t expect, however, was to face a demon too powerful for your own good. The worst part? Seems like he’s gotten attached.

Yeonjun x reader/ demon!yeonjun x witch!reader

Genre: fantasy, enemies to ?? thriller(?), angst if you squint me thinks

Word count: 3.0K

Warnings: general physical fighting/violence, mentions of scars, burns, bones breaking, knives, blood, fire, descriptions of pain (let me know if I should add anything!)

a/n: This might get another part if it gets a good response <3 Writing fantasy is rlly fun for me as well, I’m so glad that this is the story that got me out of my writers block lmao

comments and reblogs are always welcome and much appreciated, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Disclaimer!! Absolutely nothing about this story is accurate or real, anything and everything that mc the witch does is made up!

It was about three in the morning when you got the call.

“Hello?” You said, eyes squinted as you had just been woken up from your sleep. The line remained silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder if this was a scam caller. You spoke again, only to hear hasty footsteps becoming louder, presumably running towards the phone.

“Hello?!” The voice called out, the loud exclamation causing you to jolt awake. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Their exasperated voice rang through your line, and you stood to get properly dressed, already anticipating their request.

“Where do you live?” You asked sharply, grabbing the keys to your car and waiting for their answer. They stuttered out their address, the sounds of the rain coming into your ear. They were now outside.

“Please come quick, this spirit has been bothering me for weeks now, I could have sworn they were harmless-“ they cried into the phone, only to get cut off by your stern command.

“Leave your home. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

They agreed, their voice quiet and shaky, and you hung up, beginning to drive to your new task.

It was no secret your town had a problem with the supernatural. That was the whole reason you lived here.

‘The town witch’ was what they called you. You remember moving to this small town the moment you turned eighteen, the rumors of the paranormal town beckoning you to help. With potions and incantations by your side, you were the best damn thing this place had ever gotten. But that was six years ago, and you were young and naive. The scars and burns that riddled your body only served to prove your progress, marking your place in this town permanently.

You sighed, your grip on your steering wheel weak. You were, after all, the only help these people had. Late night calls like this were beginning to become much too common recently, leading you to wonder if something, or someone, new was beginning to pester this poor town.

You arrived at the house, the thunderstorm only helping to provide a stereotypical atmosphere for you to work in. You got out your car, pulling your coat tightly against your body, the wind around you strong enough to hinder your footsteps.

The two story home before you rattled in protest, the front door swinging open the moment you got close enough. You felt your heart begin to race, beginning to question if this was truly worth it. It seems that whatever had been pestering the homeowner was no small ghost. Walking inside, you were met with the dark and empty home, the hardwood floor beneath you creaking in protest as you carefully walked around, the house seemingly calming the moment you entered.

You breathed in slowly, attempting to steady your mind as you surveyed the house, recalling what the homeowner told you before hanging up. This had been going on for a while, but it seems that it only recently became too much for them. Whatever was in this home really liked the attention.

Before you were able to take another step forward, you were thrown off your feet, slamming into the wall to your left, the many picture frames and decorations falling before you with a loud crash. The door slammed shut, and you covered your head, bracing yourself as you felt the glass shards begin to be directed towards you.

It’s here, and it’s angry.

Just as the chaos around you finally dulled down, you were met with the sight of the trophy shelf in front of you beginning to shake, your eyes widening as you began to run. You muttered a quick incantation to help shield you, the dull sounds of impact that began to pound against your shield only serving to make you run faster.

The hallway in front of you suddenly seemed never-ending, it’s violet wallpaper becoming harder to see the more you ran. Was the house layout always like this? The hallway suddenly ended, leading you to an open room, quickly recognizing it as the living room. The lights suddenly flickered on, disturbing your concentration as you noticed a shadow walk past one of the doorways.

Seemingly knowing you perfectly, the spirit took this small wavering to throw a book in your direction, narrowly missing your face as you ducked to the side, only to get knocked to your knees as you felt a kick to your back, your disturbed concentration causing your spell to be broken.

You turned around in a haste, summoning your shield once more as you unsheathed the knife you had in your coat pockets.

“Show yourself!” You barked out, standing up as you surveyed the room. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

The howling wind outside stopped, the flickering lights suddenly still at the sound of your voice. You gripped the handle of the knife harder, trying to not let the exhaustion seep into you. The lights began to slowly dim, a lit ember flickering in front of you, only to be followed by many more, swirling into a raging fire directly in front of you. You jumped back at the heat, the familiar sight making you frown in anticipation.

“You look tired,” the voice said, as smooth and elegant as you first remembered it, “Maybe I could fix that.”

Standing in front of you was no other than Yeonjun. Clad in black, his dark eyes stared into yours as he towered over you, his platform boots shining underneath the dull lights, his hair slicked back and pushed away from his face save for a few strands that hung to frame his face.

“Yeonjun.” You said, a feeling of anger stirring inside you the longer you stared at him

“It’s so nice to hear my name come from you again,” he sighed, taking a step toward you, only for you to step back in retaliation.

Yeonjun was none other than the first demon you tried to expel when you first came here. You had fought with every single potion and spell you spent years perfecting, only to leave hospitalized and unsure that he would return. However, as the years passed and no sign of him appeared, you had assumed that you had succeeded in your battle against him, any signs of hauntings or poltergeists disappearing after that day.

“You,” you snapped, everything finally piecing everything together. “You’re behind everything that’s been happening recently, aren’t you?” You took another step back as he began to laugh, throwing his head back as if you had just told him the funniest thing in the world. Slowly, he calmed himself down, his eyes playful as he took his sweet time responding to you.

“Maybe, why?” He said, beginning to walk towards you slowly. You held your ground, concentrating on keeping your shield steady, they grip on your knife tightening. He stopped centimeters away from it, the aura of the shield humming as his clothes grazed the perimeter, shocks emitting on impact.

“I missed you, you know,” He muttered, head leaning towards you teasingly as he stood just far enough to not be blasted away from your shield. “It wasn’t fun hopping from town to town, trying to mess with other witches that resided there. They were just too…”

“Weak.”

You were barely given a moment before the sight of Yeonjun’s bright eyes filled your vision, the feeling of a scorching heat overtaking your senses.

Yeonjun had trapped you in a ring of fire.

A pretty small one, too.

Slightly panicked, you looked around for any place you could escape, the memories of the last time you got so close to Yeonjun warning you to get as far from him as you could, only to find that it was just you and him, trapped in a space that wouldn’t even allow you to shift backwards.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice taunting as he waited for your next move, “Claustrophobic?”

The weapon in your hand began to heat up, your mind working its hardest to form a plan that would work and let you come out alive. You already knew what this fire around you would do; It wasn’t a simple flame, and the scar on your chest that throbbed painfully in this demonic presence was enough proof of that.

The moment you had healed from your first encounter with Yeonjun, you had put all of the knowledge you had acquired from experience and older, more experienced witches into putting a weapon that would help you with violent demonic problems like him. It had taken you weeks of pure isolation and meditation to engrave the correct energy into the weapon, afraid to make any mistake that could lead to something drastic. By the time you were finished putting the last few touches on the weapon, (a protective incation; the words engraving themselves in fine print letter by letter as you poured the last of your energy into it,) you could barely stand, landing yourself at the house of a medic that specialized with witches.

“You’re lucky that you managed to come out of this with just drained energy,” He had told you one day, standing next to your cot and handing you a homemade medicine; its taste was horrendous, but it did the job.

“I’ve dealt with witches, succeeding or not, that had come out in a much worse condition. You’re very powerful, that much I can tell.” He confessed, his face sobering as he remembered why it was that you were there, “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with, I wish you luck.”

And now here you stand, the results of all your hard work and patience vibrating the more you concentrate on defeating the demon in front of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and hurt me with that,” Yeonjun laughed, watching the way your grip tightened the moment he landed his eyes on it, your knuckles turning white with the force, “You know your little knife can’t hurt me, right?”

While it was true that regular knives were nothing more but toys to him, you knew that what you were holding was not a regular knife.

But he didn’t.

You remained silent as you stared at him, quirking a brow to silently challenge him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your demeanor.

“Giving me the silent treatment now?” He said, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, “Fine. You think you can hurt me with that little kitchen knife?” With a single movement of his hands, the fire dwindled, going down until it was no more,

“Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

You suppressed a smile.

Yeonjun was a lot of things. Strong, powerful, smart, hell, he was a bit attractive too.

But above all, he was cocky.

Slowly, and as subtly as you could, you adjusted your stance, your eyes never leaving his, ready to let your shield down to attack him.

“No games?”

His lips quirked up, his hands coming up to his sides to show you his full vulnerability.

“Fair and square. Here, I’ll even let you make the first move.” His pitch black eyes twinkled with his signature playfulness, his thoughts displaying to you loud and clear;

I thought you were smarter than this.

You fought the urge to scoff, and instead surveyed him for a moment, stepping back to give yourself a bit more room. He watched intently, his body language open and relaxed, clearly not threatened by you.

You lunged forward.

Before Yeonjun could move away, you swung your knife towards him, your stomach sinking as you missed your target, his neck, and sliced at his face instead. His head turned to the side, a hiss emitting from him as he turned back to you, the slash on his cheek burning into his skin, going deeper into his face as he began to bleed.

Except that wasn’t blood that came out of his face.

A thin liquid, pure black and mixed with the poison of your blade, trickled down his face. Slowly, he brought up a hand to his cheek, touching tentatively at his wound, observing the black substance that poured out of him, before turning back to you.

“Come on, you little vixen,” he groaned, the nickname that he called you from your first meeting rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Not the face!”

Cocky bastard.

But now that your first move was over, Yeonjun took a minute to crack his neck, the black liquid trailing down to his neck as he slowly rolled his head back, pausing for a second before straightening up, smiling at you sweetly.

“My turn.”

Right as you were going to activate your shield once more, Yeonjun ran to you, landing a solid punch to your stomach, sending you flying to the wall behind you, the wind being knocked out of you on impact as you crumbled to the floor. Looking up, you saw him lunge at you once more, mumbling your incantation for your shield, successfully knocking him back at the last second. Tumbling backward, Yeonjun layed on the floor as you slowly got back up, using the wall behind you as support, the wild and unhinged sound of Yeonjun’s laugh echoing off the walls.

“Oh, my little vixen,” he began, sitting up as he watched you regain your composure. “I missed this. I must admit, you have gotten stronger.” Standing back up slowly, you felt the room slowly heat up. You shifted, knowing what it was that he was about to do next.

“It’s exciting.”

Running towards him, you did your best to avoid the trail of fire that was now after you, ready to swing your knife at him as you got closer. Just as you were close enough to him, you swung towards his neck once more, the predictable movement allowing Yeonjun to step aside, only to get a kick to his chest, successfully knocking him down and allowing you to dive down, the fire that was about to pierce the center of your back flying instead to the wall in front of you, the loud boom barely covering Yeonjun’s scream as you dug your knife into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

You towered over him, straddling his waist and putting as much weight as you could to keep him down. His hands immediately reached up to clasp over yours, attempting to pull the weapon out, only to have you retaliate by digging it into his skin more, his cursing filling up your ears as he struggled against you.

Your jaw clenched and you felt yourself begin to sweat, the same ring of fire from before beginning to enclose around you slowly with no signs of stopping. Your hands began to burn underneath Yeonjun’s touch, obviously his doing as he seemed to concentrate on attempting to scare you off with the same fire that landed you on the brink of death from your first encounter.

But you refused.

You refused to allow the demon to live any longer, to continue to terrorize innocent and defenseless people in your town, or in this world at all. And now that you had him under your grip, your hands struggling to successfully behead him, you weren’t going to let a little bit of pain scare you away.

Your hands began to numb under the heat of his skin, popping noises emitting from under his iron grip. He was attempting to break your hands, to render them useless, but with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pushed on, biting back your own groans of pain and trying to concentrate on your current task, and nothing else.

“Come on my vixen, give it up,” he said, his voice laced with pain and false confidence that he attempted to use in order to make you believe that he remained unaffected. But as your knife inched towards his neck, piercing through his skin and emitting a loud sizzling sound, you knew that it was all a bluff by the way he winced, a low grunt of pain escaping him.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confessed, the ring of fire snapping angrily at your legs, the heat making you want to faint from overexertion. But you continued to push on, much to Yeonjun’s annoyance. “Fine, you asked for it.”

He screwed his eyes shut, the ring of fire slightly calming down, along with his iron grip on your hands. Just as you were about to take this chance and behead him, you felt something coming.

You turned around.

A ball of pitch black fire, resembling a pure void, flew towards you.

It all happened so fast. Throwing you off of him, Yeonjun staggered away from you, watching silently as the void of black washed over you, your screams of agony causing him to look away, the slightest bit of pity washing over him.

This was it, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t move as this void of fire washed over you, a feeling as though every bone in your body was being broken and you were being turned inside out coarsed through your system, your screams ripping through your throat, the wish for death appearing in your heart.

But right as you felt as though you were going to black out, it stopped.

And Yeonjun stood over you.

He watched as you lay there, completely paralyzed with pain. It took a bit before you began to breathe again, your chest barely rising, the air flowing into you causing you pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Yeonjun’s face inches from yours, the dark liquid from his wounds dripping onto you.

“I almost feel sorry,” he whispered, his lips grazing yours. You tried to hold on, to finish your job, but the very effort of having to breathe exhausted you beyond belief. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss more of a half hearted apology as he lingered there for a second, his lips still against yours. His mind reeled at the feeling, and he pulled away, a soft smile on his face as he slowly brought his hand down, hesitating before caressing your exhausted face slowly, spreading his own blood on your face.

He grinned.

“I look forward to our next battle.”

And he was gone.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you collapsed.

[besotted-eros]

a little green

Pairing: Eren x f!reader

Genre: Smut

Content: mentions of choking, breeding, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, jealousy, use of term "daddy".

Summary: Why would you ever mention another man to Eren? You knew what it would do to him.

You winced as the tin cup hit the floor, the clattering making your body cringe away. After all that effort to carefully extract yourself from Eren's tight grip, creep out of your bedroom, and begin the preparations for breakfast as silently as you could, it was a simple cup that destroyed it.

"Stupid fucking thing." You swore as you knelt to grab it. But before your fingers met the metal, another hand wrapped around the handle.

He was behind you suddenly, making you pitch forward with a start and grab the counter for support. The hairs on the back of your neck rose as you felt him. He was heat, commanding your attention and filling your brain even though he was behind you.

"Eren, dear God. It woke you up that fast?" You exclaimed as your boyfriend chuckled. He placed the cup on the counter in front of you, wrapping his free arm around your waist.

"Been awake for a bit now." His raspy voice purred against the back of your head. "You think I stay asleep when you're not beside me?" The expanse of his chest was against you, the jut of his hips. Every angular line of his body, from bare chest to thighs, finding its place against your own. His hand traced lazy circles on your waist as you busied yourself with readying a pan with eggs and sliced meat.

"You don't get leave often, I just wanted you to sleep in once. Your friends are coming for lunch, and then you'll be off again tonight. You deserve some rest." You responded, raising your cheek when his hand closed around your chin. He pressed his lips to your skin, holding you for a moment before letting his fingers trail down your neck.

"Don't you know waking up beside you is my greatest pleasure? Nice to see something pretty in the morning, besides Armin's snoring face." He murmured, tracing along your collar bone. He leaned into you heavily, sleep still thick in his voice. You had to admit the tenor of it made you warm.

"If you let me live in the city with you, we'd be able to do it more often." You said, flipping the eggs expertly. You grabbed for spices, your movement hindered by the lanky form clinging to you.

"Told you, want you outta harms way. Danger finds that city. You're safe here. I like the thought of you here." His lips found your neck as he spot, peppering kisses along the exposed skin. He kissed along the marks he left last night, the tokens of his love.You felt your knees weaken at it, but tried to keep your composure. "Scouts stationed nearby, lots of space. Kind village. You can grow here, y/n."

"Grow away from you?" You asked, your tone light and teasing. Eren stiffened against you, and the arm around your waist tightened. His lips were stilled, resting above where your heartbeat pressed against your skin. "Maybe I'll put down roots with some nice village boy. The miller's son always slides me more grain than I come to him with."

You had moved the pan off of the heat, and for a moment the only sounds were of the crackling fat. "Really?" Eren asked, his fingers digging into your hip as he came alive behind you. He moved you, grip firm as he pulled you from the stove, pivoting on his heel so he could press you over the counter top. Another line grew against you, from where the curve of your ass met his hips.

"Does he get like this when he sees you?" Eren asked as he pressed his quickly hardening shaft to you. His voice was darker now, his hand moving from your collar bone to cup your breast through the thin linen of your blouse.

"Do you think he wants to grab these? Touch them the way I do?" His fingers massaged the soft flesh, making you bite your lower lip as you struggled to contain a cry of surprise and pleasure. Your gentle teasing had awoken something, something you knew lied in wait. But you didn't realise it would come this fast. You reached behind you, stroking your fingers through his hair. He had put it up in a bun.

"No." He growled, snatching your hand and pinning it to the counter. He straightened up as he pushed your torso down, keeping his hips in contact with your ass. "Don't get to touch me when you're looking at other men. Don't get to touch me, gotta teach you a lesson." He snarled. You hated how undone you were by his words, the warmth in your stomach now a raging bonfire as he furiously rubbed against you, letting you feel his desire. His hand curled on the back of your head, keeping your face pressed into the cool wood.

"E-eren..." You hissed through gritted teeth, your back arching in desperation to attain more touch, more of him.

"Now you wanna say my name, huh?" You could head the grin in his voice, the triumph of making you his. He grabbed the fabric of your skirt, quickly pushing it above your thighs. "You wanna act like a good girl now because you know you're in trouble." His palm found your ass, groping it lewdly before pulling back to give your left cheek a resounding spank. You jerked forward, yelping out in surprise Erens teeth grazed over his lower lip, the sound of you making his cock jump with want. He slapped the other cheek, eyes dancing at the sight of how your flesh trembled and shook at his behest.

"God, you're not even wearing anything under your skirt. That fucking desperate huh?" He asked, returning his hips to rub his bulge against your exposed lips, now separated by only the thin layer of the cotton trousers he slept in. "Is this how you go to see him, huh? Tell me." He growled, forcing your legs further apart as you scrabbled against the counter for purchase.

"N-no! Only for you, I only do that for you." You gasped, and Eren grinned. He pushed down the waistband of his pants, letting his throbbing cock free before pressing it against your pussy. He avoided the aching hole, instead dragging himself back and forth between your wet lips. The head bumped against your clit as he thrust, making you flinch with pleasure. One hand rested on your waist, holding you in place while the other curled around your throat.

"Why? Why do you do that for me?" He was purring now, and you could feel locks of hair coming lose from his bun.

"Because... Because I'm yours." You murmured, and his grip on your throat tightened. He would never hurt you, he was always so careful. But he loved seeing your face turn red, loved knowing that you trusted him with your life.

"Say it again. Prove it." He demanded, moving to grab his shaft and line the head with your pussy.

"I'm yours! Fuck, Eren fuck me please, I'm just yours okay? I'm only yours, I'm forever yours! There's no other man, there's no other anything!" You were begging now, twisting to look back at him. The sight was something to behold.

His jaw was slack, emerald eyes thick with lust as he gazed back at you. It was like he was ready to consume you, to eat your being whole and lick his fingers after. His chest stuttered with breath, firm abs flexing as he curled his hips up.

"That's right. Yeah baby, that's right." He cooed, reaching up to stroke a finger across your cheek. You turned your head, pressing your lip to his wrist as he groaned.

"Only mine." He whispered, and you felt him against your entrance, spreading it with his thick head.

"Forever mine." Your face was against the counter again, gasps escaping as he pressed forward, inch by cloying inch. You fit him like a glove, and he groaned in appreciation at your hot, wet walls closing around him.

He gave you a moment to adjust to his immense length, his hand now soft in your hair. He stroked through it once, from your scalp to the tip. Fingers twisting around your locks, eyes gentle as he felt their silk.

And then, he was fucking you. Mercilessly, his hips snapping on the return to drive deeper and deeper. His cock pounded into you, hard enough to make you feel it in your stomach. When Eren let go, when you made Eren let go, there was no end. He would use you, please himself with your cunt until you were a sopping mess under him.

All you could do was urge him forward.

"Eren, it's so good, so fucking good yeah, yeah please... Please give me more, p-please..." You managed to whine out, and he responded with a groan, leaning over you as he pulled your hips back, making you bounce against him.

"Like that? Fucking like that?" He hissed through gritted teeth. You nodded, letting out a cry of exasperation as he moved back, pulling out of you and leaving you hollow.

You didn't have time to complain, as he deftly moved you onto your back.

"There. Wanna see your face, see your pretty face while I..." He held your thighs, spreading them wide as he pushed back inside you with a grunt. It was a smooth motion, one that sent your eyes rolling back into your head. You grabbed at him, at his broad muscular shoulders, at his firm chest and torso.

"No one... Makes you feel like this... No one in the world. No one but me." He whispered, his eyes locked onto your face, your expression of pure bliss sending waves of pleasure through out him. He loved the feeling of you clinging onto him, your once independent and powerful body reduced to a little toy for him. Let other men stare, let them ply you with gifts. He lifted you up, becoming your only anchor to the world as his fingers dug into your ass, making you bounce on his shaft in a way that made his knees weak. At the end of the day, you were his. His only. His cocksleeve. His lover. No matter how little nights he spent in your bed, no matter how far away he was from you.

But how to make others see that?

Your face was pressed against his taunt neck, your moans filling the small house.

"Shall I fuck a baby into you, y/n?" Eren asked, his voice clear and ringing in your ears like a bell. It cut through the haze of your pleasure as you processed it, and then it came back tenfold. Eren grinned as he felt your reaction, the way your pussy tightened on him. The way your moans increased.

"Oh, you like that huh? Like the thought of me breeding you?" He purred, fingers gripping onto you harder. You were coming close to the edge, on that rocky cliff before cloud nine. And he was getting you there faster than you ever had.

"Y-yes, I d-do..." You squeaked out as he bit into your shoulder, trying to quell his own rising heat. He stilled you for a moment, letting you catch your breath and kissing away the noises while you whined. He walked forward, balancing you precariously on the head of his hard dick as he reached the front door. Eren put you down, turning you to face the doorway as his hand snaked around, unlocking it and pulling open. You looked upon your front yard, at the flowers you grew, the field of wheat across the narrow lane. It was quiet, it was peaceful.

"Eren?" You questioned, turning to look at him. Wordlessly he pushed you towards it, making you grasp the door frame as he moved your skirt up. He pulled your hips towards him, and you were bent over, legs being forced open.

"Someone will see Eren, sometimes p-people take this road." You whimpered, and your only response was a dark chuckle.

"Give them something to look at then." He growled as he pushed his way inside of you, dragging against your puffy wet walls. You moan in unison with him and he held onto you tightly as his hips began to move.

"Gonna fucking breed you, gonna fucking breed you." He chanted, panting with each thrust. His hair was wild now, eyes shining in the early morning sun. The cool midday air attempted to calm your bodies, to dull the passion. But nothing could.

"Y-your friends! They're gonna be here so-soon... Eren oh my god!" You were blubbering now, feeling your wetness course down your legs as your man ruthlessly pounded you from behind. He reached around, and there was a sound of tearing that joined the squelching of your sex. The breeze run across your breasts as he exposed them, pawing at them wontonly as he bent over you.

"These are gonna get so full, Y/n. You ready for that? Ready to make me a daddy? Want the world to see. Want the world to know what you let me do to you."

Your vision was blurry, pleasure and tears making your head feel as though it was full of burning cotton. All that existed right now was Eren. The way you touched you, the way he undid you, the way he took you and made you nothing but his.

"Yes." You repeated, clutching at the frame when his fingers found your clit. His chest was against your back, bending you over further as he rut you like a bitch.

"Say it. Say you want my load. Say you want my babies." He commanded, the pads of his fingers glancing over your throbbing button over and over.

"I want your cum Eren, I want your cum, breed me, please breed my pussy I'll make you a daddy let me make you a daddy, let me-" your voice spilled into the open air, a loud moan cutting your begging short as your pussy tightened around Eren's cock, pulsating as you creamed for him. The sensation was too much for him, and he reciprocated eagerly, shooting stream after stream of hot cum into you.

With a groan Eren let himself fall from you, pulling you up to straighten and closing the door.

"I'm sorry about your blouse." He murmured as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He walked backwards toward the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist and guiding you down with him. "Got ahead of myself." He whispered. You kissed, the panting of your breaths mingling as his sweet lips moved against yours. This was always when he was most gentle, most soft.

"'s okay, you just owe me a new one." You lay against him, enjoying the way his body thrummed underneath you. You'd miss this tonight. This warmth, his hands smoothing your hair back.

"I'll have some things sent down with the next supply for the scouts. There will be grain for you too in there,already milled." You raised your head, your brow furrowed.

"And what does that mean?" You snapped, but your anger quelled when he smiled. Smiles from Eren were so rare. It caught you off guard, stopped the scolding in your throat.

"Just teasing." He replied, pulling you up for another kiss.

[morifinwes]

wangxian fic rec list!

aka in which i read fics, write some recs down for aamna and share them!! they're all wangxian fics and uhh @yibobibo i hope you'll like them!!

modern

wolf devours playboy bunny by @greenteafiend (5K, werewolf!lwj, getting together, idk if anyone needs to know that but there's nudity just not uhh explicit)

Lan Zhan has wanted Wei Ying as long as he has known him, and the worst part is that he thinks Wei Ying could want him back.

Too bad he could never in good conscience let himself go there—Wei Ying has a debilitating fear of all things canine, and once a month, Lan Zhan is the exact, precise thing that Wei Ying’s nightmares are made of.

Aka, Lan Zhan is a werewolf.

between the lines by @jywait (19K gaming au!!!, i'm always down for a good gaming au, lwj is the best aksks he's such a good boy)

☆yilingpatriarch☆: pls...give me some face, help me fight these monsters...I'm gonna die

Bluetooth: no.

"You have died." The screen said, and Wei Wuxian threw his hands up in frustration.

resonant frequencies by chinxe (15K, college au, fake dating au, tw mention of cheating but it's brief and no one was cheated on i promise)

In which Wei Wuxian decides that the best way to deal with being in love with Lan Wangji is to pretend to date him for three weeks.

It goes about as well as can be expected.

drift compatible by windoworwhatever (5K, poetry, fluff, drunkji, getting together, college au)

"It was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, university stipends for graduate students working in TA positions barely covered rent, bisexuals cuffed their jeans, Lan Wangji had a massive crush on Wei Wuxian, and spent his time pining and writing research papers about gay subtexts in ancient poetry."

OR

Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Wuxian, and everybody knows, except Wei Wuxian.

the bunny next door by detailsinthefabric (43K, this is mostly fluff and very light angst, and they were neighbors!!!, rabbits!!, aka wangxian's bunny children, this is... so cute i just have to rec it)

Lan Wangji did not know what he was doing. He did not know what he was going to say. He was frozen in place, puzzling over the situation. Maybe he had made the man uncomfortable, which is why he wanted to leave? But his tone had still been so friendly—maybe…

“Would…” he paused, swallowed, forced the last words to come out of his suddenly parched mouth, “would you let me pet him?”

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

Lan Wangji, who doesn't know how to socialize and whose icy demeanor scares everyone away, lets down all his defenses when he meets the bunny next door...oh, and also its owner, Wei Wuxian.

leading tone by silencemostofall (32K, everyone is a music student? or something like that akskk, curse fic, tw panic attacks, tw child abuse, small scene of drunkji, wwx has low self esteem, bro this was so painful to read)

The first time you touch someone you're fated to love, you leave a mark on their skin. If they will love you in return, they'll mark you where you touched them. The deeper the color, the deeper the connection.

Wei Ying has no marks at all.

public places, private thoughts by leahelisabeth (for the love of camelot) ( 8K, cherry magic au, getting together with like... immediate upgrade to fiance status, the author is wrong i crave good wangxian cherry magic aus even tho i haven't even watched cherry magic)

Wei Wuxian had heard the story of course. It had made its rounds through his high school and followed him into his college days. He didn’t think there was any possibility it was true. Virginity was a social construct, invented by creepy old men to exercise dominance over women. The idea that a simple lack of sexual activity before the age of thirty could give one magical powers was absolutely ludicrous.

Wei Wuxian believed this until the morning of his thirtieth birthday.

AKA the Wangxian Cherry Magic AU that absolutely nobody asked for.

i'd be all right (if i could see you) by @thirtysixsavefiles (16K, this was nice, i read this at 6am but it was cute, (while writing this post i must admit i don't remember anything but 6am-me said it's good))

The younger Lan brother is something of an enigma on campus; while Lan Xichen can sometimes be seen in the company of other graduate students or conducting a seminar, Lan Wangji appears to spend all his time in class or in the library. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t attend social events. He doesn’t do anything for fun, as far as Wei Wuxian can tell, and it’s driving Wei Wuxian just a little bit up the wall.

Or, Wei Wuxian convinces Lan Wangji to come to a house party, and then they're assigned to the same group project. Wei Wuxian tries his best, but he is not in possession of all the facts.

axe on leg by itszero (4K, i still don't get why wwx did that but it was nice seeing him jealous for once, jealous!wwx, lwj i love you....)

Wei Wuxian pressed his face into his pillow and screamed. He paused to take a few deep breaths, partially hindered by the pillow, and listened to the sounds of Nie Huaisang slurping his iced coffee, from his seat on Wei Wuxian's desk chair.

Having caught his breath, he resumed his screaming and did not stop at the sound of his dorm room door opening.

"What's wrong with him?" He heard his brother, Jiang Cheng, ask.

The slurping stopped. "He's an idiot."

"He's always been an idiot. Why is he bothered about it now?"

"He forced Lan Wangji to go on a date," Nie Huaisang replied, shaking the ice cubes in his drink.

"Okay and…?"

"With someone else." The slurping resumed.

Wei Wuxian, in all his glorious dumbassery, convinces his boyfriend to go on a date with someone else.

these two most powerful by @stiltonbasket (4K, amnesia, wangxian with children!!!, aksksk this was adorable, dadji!!)

When Lan Wangji went to bed last night, he was alone in a tiny guest room with nothing but the howling of the wind in the mountains and his own lonely thoughts for company.

 

But when he opened his eyes in the morning, Wei Ying was asleep beside him.

 

(In which Lan Wangji loses twenty years' worth of memories after a night-hunt gone wrong, and his life as a doting father and husband continues without a hitch somehow.)

good things come to those who wait [but i ain't in a patient phase] by @cerlunas (4K, getting together, pining lwj)

Lan Wangji can't take it anymore.

 

“I love you”, he says, and god, it feels terrifying. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian starts, but Lan Wangji doesn’t want to hear it.

He grabs his cup and drinks everything. He doesn’t know what face Wei Wuxian is making at him right now, and it’s okay. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian repeats louder, but it’s too late. He is already falling asleep.

Or, even after 13 years, Lan Wangji is still in love with his best friend. Maybe it's time to open up.

wei ying, will you marry m- oh my god he swallowed the ring! by selene210 (2K, marriage proposals, crack, marriage proposals but.. they go wrong)

“A ring?”

And indeed it was. The ring Lan Wangji was going to propose to Wei Ying with. That the man had now choked on.

“You swallowed it.”

“It was in my soufflé! Why did you put a ring in my soufflé Lan Zhan- oh. oh”

of glittery valentine's cards by @soft-fics (3K, valentine's day, this was adorable aksk, a-yuan best boy!!)

Lan Zhan didn't want to know what his best friend had planned for Valentine's Day; his heart would simply not be able to handle it. When his son tells him that he made Wei Ying a Valentine's Day card, though, Lan Zhan decided to bring it over anyway.

of coffee and white tea by @soft-fics (9K, fluff, lwj doesn't like coffee, wwx buys him coffee, then they switch drinks, again and again and again, the staff ships it lmao, tbh jc shouldn't have done that like wtf)

For the fourth time this week a stranger orders him a cup of coffee. Lan Wangji wonders how exactly to tell this man to stop ordering him coffee he doesn't even like. Turns out, buying the other white tea and switching drinks is not the best way to go about it

canon setting

on the importance of restraint (or lack thereof) by nixthothou (4K, in which sizhui snaps, i love that boy, no like seriously he's the best boy)

Lan Sizhui does not usually find himself in the company of Sect Leader Jiang.

Suffice to say, Lan Sizhui's feelings toward him are conflicted.

lan wangji is wei wuxian's baby by lilycs (3K, i was craving fluff while reading this, lwj my beloved, drunk!lwj)

Lan Wangji gets drunk from barely a cup of alcohol, becoming a whiny baby and asking his husband for cuddles.

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (8K, wei wuxian & lan sect, 5+1 things, in which they learn to love him, they're all part of the wwx protection squad lead by lwj, wangxian isn't the focus but !!! THIS)

Times change, but some people remain the same.

The Lans are nothing, if not aware of this.

For one of their own, they will stand against the world.

Or, 5 times the Lans defended Wei Wuxian, and the 1 time he was there to see it happen.

so why not crack your skull when the mind swells by @greenteafiend (13K, love curse, post cql canon, curses, getting together, fluff, so much fluff, lwj tries to talk about his emotions!, lwj pov)

Lan Wangji detects the curse trying to curl through his heart meridians like smoke. A love curse, then. It must have been cast remotely somehow to have found him in his bed in Cloud Recesses. No matter. Lan Wangji crushes it easily, enveloping it in his spiritual energy, and then squeezing. Curse averted, Lan Wangji closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. He thinks no more of it.

Two days later, Wei Wuxian arrives in Cloud Recesses.

Or, Wei Wuxian is cursed to feel terrible pain when he and Lan Wangji aren’t touching.

i started from the bottom / now i'm rich by x_los (57K, time travel, fix it, jealous lwj, crack treated serious, god this is so good tho, wwx/wrh & wwx/jgs but like as a joke and it doesn't really happen, but it has its purpose!!)

“First, you get the money. Then you get the power, respect - hos come last.”

 

Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

Lan Wangji is confused, hurt, and uncomfortably aroused by Wei Wuxian’s improbably elaborate series of Sect-themed bridal negligees.

lead me on through by mrsronweasley (55K, they're in love your honor, arranged marriage but they don't know to whom, basically wwx & lwj want to practice kissing which then goes beyond kissing but not the whole way y'know, lxc the best wingman tho)

"Who do you think your betrothed is?" Wei Wuxian asks, sprawling out in front of Lan Zhan and enjoying the prim thinning of his lips at the question. He shouldn't be sprawling—they're in the library, for one, and Lan Zhan is studying, for another—but he can't help himself. Wei Wuxian is a sprawler.

"I do not believe this to be of importance," Lan Zhan responds, without turning his gaze away from his book.

"What!" Wei Wuxian sits up. "How can you say that? Of course it's important! This is the person you'll be with for the rest of your life, Lan Zhan."

[t-o-m-hollands]

T H E

P A R I S

C H R O N I C L E S

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut in the other chapters. This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up).

Summary: Newly divorced you decide to travel to the Riviera and spend the summer in the house you and Timothée have inherited. After a very successful art exhibition he comes down to join you. Things should be easy, but they aren't.

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

R E A D

P A R T

O N E

A N D

T W O

H E R E

***

Menton - July, 1953

Menton, the most easterly town of the Côte d'Azur, belonging to the Arrondissement of Nice. It is located practically on the French-Italian border, the influences of both countries clear in multi-coloured houses, the decorated windows and in the sixteenth century bell tower.

The beaches are rocky but wide, and in the summer season packed with vacationists looking for an escape from the city; to lay their bodies down and soak up some sun, breath in some fresh air and occasionally to dip their bodies into the ocean in an attempt to escape the heat and cool down.

There’s a village square, in the middle of which a fountain; made in a century in which people still believed in dragons. From Bentwood chairs you can sit back and enjoy a meal, or a simple cappuccino, al fresco; as you watch the occasional hopeful tourist throw a coin into the fountain, making wishes with sanguine smiles. Or perhaps play a game of chess with a stranger.

On a cobbled-stone street nearby a market is set up each morning in a belle-epoque building, inside of which cheese, fish and meat are sold, and outside vendors are selling fruits and vegetables on wooden tables covered by green cloths.

Away from the pastell-coloured village and the expensive resorts and hotels by the beach there are steep hills, where most of the Menton locals reside. Some houses small and quaint; others almost obscene in their obvious wealth.

One of these houses is called Villa Marguerite

***

From the villa you can see the ocean spread out in front of you, almost recklessly big and bold and blue. Behind the house; acres upon acres of lemon trees, the bright yellow and green hues creating sharp contrasts to all the surrounding blue. There’s a garden too, emerald green grass and cedar trees that with rain will spread its heady scent all over the property; some mornings it is the first thing you smell.

The morning sun shines upon the terrace and you lean back in your wicker chair and sip on your morning coffee. Music is coming from the kitchen radio, only a few meters away.

The day lay planned and untraveled in front of you with all its horrifying possibilities. In a few hours Timothée’s train will arrive at the station and the upcoming reunion fills you with equal parts anticipation and terror. You had offered to meet him there, as his train arrives. You can picture it in front of you, standing on the dusty station under the scorching sun, eyes on the railroad track before you, awaiting the first sign of the train. You’d wear something nice for him, a white sundress perhaps; to show him that you are still the young sweet girl he fell for in Paris – that the colossal weight of a wedding ring on your left ring finger has not left you changed. You can picture what he’ll show up in, paint-stained jeans and white t-shirt. It will be awkward at first, it must be after all these months apart. But you’d conquer your fear and you’d hug him, pull him tight against you and breath him in; the familiar scent of him, the irresistible and unplaceable mixture of turpentine and smokey whiskey and of Paris.

There have been nights you’ve woken up gasping for air, where your hands have searched in vain around you in bed, panic-stricken, looking for the familiar frame of a lost lover. Every time, upon realizing that he’s not there, you would fall back against the mattress, and with deep breaths force your lungs to accept air. You’d close your eyes tightly shut and perhaps it was a trick your brain played on you, some devilish scheme – but in those moments, when you needed him the most you could almost concoct his scent out of thin air, could almost smell him, almost feel him lay beside you. There were times you would have sworn on anything holy you could feel the warmth of his body beside yours.

You had suggested to meet him at the station, but he had turned your offer down so firmly it had bordered on rudeness.

In the passing months since his department from London you had shared two brief, silence-filled phone calls.

One of them early one morning in May, just as the lilac bush burst out in bloom outside your window, the scent of them heady and intoxicating, and the missing weight of a diamond ring on your left hand still a strange sensation. Still you lift the phone; asking the operator for a number in France. You had called up his studio to inform him that you had moved out of your soon-to-be former husband’s house and were now taking house in Mayfair, in case he needed to reach you. Timothée´s voice had been tense and hoarse, as if he had just woken up and was not happy about it. In the background a woman had laughed.

The second time he had called you, in the late hours of the evening mid-June, just as the magnolias had set in bloom. You had informed him that you were planning to go down to Menton the following week, to start with the process of going through your aunt’s possessions. He in turn had informed you that his exhibition was to finish up on the 15th of July, after which he planned to travel to Nice by train and thus arrive the following morning. You had then offered to meet him at the station, to show him the way to the house at his arrival, which he had turned down. The tone of had been curt and the conversation short.

And that had been your only contact since that day in London. Before coming to Menton you had gone to Paris, to sign some papers and go through a few objects in your aunts’ apartment. You had not informed Timothée of this nor had you visited him.

Now here you are, weeks later, awaiting his arrival; foot tapping nervously against the floor, eyes fixed without seeing, mind recklessly wandering. Soon he’ll arrive at the station and you try not to connect that fact with the terrible sense of doom that’s been growing stronger in your stomach these last few days. But it seems undeniably connected.

Doom, like things have already been set in motion, the faiths decided; beyond your control or demand.

You feel ungrounded, restless and unbound; like the light morning breeze can sweep you away at sea. Trying to get a hold of yourself you focus your eyes only to see the endless blue sky above you or endless blue sea in front.

The sense of temporariness, of insignificance, of irrelevance in the grand scale of things washes over you and nausea settles in the pit of your stomach. Sitting up straight in your chair, force your foot to stop stomping the ground, you close your eyes and inhale slowly.

From the open window kitchen, you can still hear Louise, your aunt's maid, playing the radio. The French pop tune playing is unknown to you plays but she signs along over the sound of cluttering plates and running water. Upon your aunt’s death had ended up unemployed and in search of a job. She had written to you in London, asking for a position, and you had taken her on.

A sea gull screams somewhere above and from your neighbour’s house you hear children playing.

The sun is warm on your skin; the stone floor warm beneath your feet.

Feeling calmer, you open your eyes.

but still all you see is blue.

***

Timothée travels to Nice by train with a third-class ticket.

The compartment is unbearably hot. He tries to lay as still as possible on the hard bunk bed, afraid that any movement will make him warmer. Trying to ignore the sweat forming on his brow he focuses on the rhythmic pace of the train moving underneath him, wishing it would lull him to sleep but all it does is leave him with a vague feeling of nausea. His fellow passenger in the bunk bed below is in the bathroom next door, violently vomiting and the retching sound is coming through the thin walls . The light above his bed keeps flicking, every other second leaving the already dim room, with its dark oak panels, in complete darkness.

And dying for a cigarette.

He’s hot and sweaty and he thanks his lucky star he turned down your offer to meet him at the station. The thought of seeing you again after all these months, no doubt radiant in the sunlight, like an angel in waiting for him; and then him, wearing sweat-soaked rags that’ll no doubt smell of bile and dust and liquor.

He’s glad he turned your offer down; wants to make a good impression on you, to show you that he has changed, that he’s no longer the penniless painter; that he has made a success out of himself. The exhibition had been an incomparable success, Le Monde had put him on the front page and Le Journal du Dimanche had written an entire feature on his use of the colour blue – which they had been dubbed “as revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely”.

He wondered if you had seen it. He wants you to have seen it, to be proud of it; of him. To know, because you had to know, that it was all for you.

But lately fear had crept up on him. Like mold it had grown from a single thought; slowly and steadily until it covered everything, until it was a certainty he knew as well as his own name; a fact poisoning his every breath.

What if you didn’t love him anymore? What if, after all this time and suffering you found out that, actually, without all the hinders standing in your way you didn’t actually find him all that interesting.

He would be forced to go on his way, certain in the knowledge that you no longer loved him; instead of the current status quo of endless possibilities of the untraveled road, where anything can still happen. Where there is still hope. It had crossed his mind, the thought of just not going. To stay in Paris and paint and dream; safe in the knowledge that at one point the most beautiful woman in the world had loved him. Never having the possibility of that changing.

But it would be a cowardly thing to do, and whatever else he was he was no coward. But he also knew that there was no use pretending, he was not the same as he was when he met you. How could he be? He had been a planet, knocked out of its orbit, forced to find a gravity anew. And he had, it had taken time and pain and more self-discipline than he knew he had in him. He had dusted himself of and gone on with life. But when you left Paris the first time had felt safe in the knowledge that you loved him.

If you were to reject him now, it would only be because you found him lacking; disappointing.

The stranger retches in the bathroom again and behind closed eyelids Timothée can still see the flicking light. He pretends it’s a blinking star.

Lately he’s been reading less Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Dostoevsky; switched them for Nietzsche, Sartre and Aristotle. This new world of science and philosophy opening up a whole new world for him. It had set his mind to ponder about love and religion and of the whole galaxy too; about his place and role in all of these things.

Every day, several times over, he had wanted to call you. To tell you about his discoveries, read you abstracts from his books and ask your thoughts on it. He wanted to know what you made out of all these subjects, to hear where your opinions differed from his. He wanted to argue with you about them.

Yet every time he picked up the phone to call you, he had put it down again. He had felt silly, calling you about such mundane things. Didn’t want to bother you in your grief. He knew, had bought each new glossy copy of the Tatler with a shameful face, that you were going through a difficult divorce.

He didn’t want to complicate your life any further.

The stranger comes into the compartment again, groans loudly and shuts the door with a bang behind him before throwing himself down on the lower bunkbed.

“Fucking hate trains” he states.

“You don’t say” Timothée answers dryly. It’s stifling hot in the compartment and the other man has brought in the strong scent of bile back with him to mix with the stench of sweat.

The train takes a sudden turn and the man below groans loudly again. Timothée hears how he fiddles with something and then the click of a lighter. He asks the man for a cigarette and the he kind-heartedly hands him his entire package of Lucky Strikes. Perhaps as an apology for the smell.

The rest of journey is spent chain-smoking cigarettes until the late hour, the compartment a fog of smoke, until he finally falls into slumber somewhere after Lyon.

The next morning his travel companion, looking rather worse for wear but relieved that the train has stopped at last, helps him with his luggage as they depart the train.

A strange feeling of having been reborn settles over him as he blinks up at the sun, his eyes adjusted from the previous dark dimness of his coupé. The station is dusty and oven-hot but he strives forward through it, bag with his belongings slung over his shoulder. Just as he expected he’s arrived sweaty, with ruffled dirty clothes and a stench of bile and sweat lingers on him. It had most definitely been the right decision to turn down your offer to meet him at the station. And so, instead of looking for a taxi to take him to the great big house on the hills he makes his way down the cobbled streets in quite the other direction.

*

There’s nothing like the ocean to wash away the sense of filth. With a gasp he breaks through the water surface and forces large gulps of fresh air down his throat. The water is cyan in shade and the surface glitter under the sun. He wades his way through the water and back to the beach, sending a silent prayer that the posh hotel he’s snuck into won’t notice that he is in fact not a guest paying hundreds of Francs a night for the luxury of a private beach, complete with white sunbeds and linen-clad waiters ready to service your every whim, but in fact just a common free-loader.

The small rocks are scalding hot and under his bare feet but he makes his way through the white parasols and sunbeds, careful as to not disturb the suntanning guests, his shabby bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned!” An American voice roars out and Timothée stops dead in his tracks, heart beating painfully in his chest; as if he was an animal, knowing he was about to be caught in the hunt. “If it isn’t my favorite painter!”

Slowly he turns around.

Underneath a white parasol, sprawled out on a sunchair; broad-shouldered, blond and suntanned, lay William.

Fuck.

William stands up and moves closer to him. “It is you! Man, what a surprise!” he bursts out in his thick American accent and claps him on his shoulder. Timothée just stands there, still with the feeling of being caught; trapped. William just smiles at him. “I was just going to grab an early lunch, care to join me?”

The hotel restaurant is situated on a terrace, making the most of the ocean view, azure blue sea glittering under the sun. The beach is full to the brim with suntanned bodies, sipping drinks under big white parasols. They’ve both changed out of their swimming trunks, William into a nice white day suit, freshly pressed of course. Walking behind him onto the terrace Timothée feels especially shabby in his worn linen trousers, albeit he’s currently wearing his only items of clothing not covered in paint splatters.

They are seated by the railings, a small white clothed table. They order margarita pizzas and beers. They small talk, filling up the blanks since they last saw each other.

Timothée tells him of his work, the successful exhibition, his newfound love of Nietzsche. About his reason for coming to Nice. William in turn tells him of how he changed his mind about returning to America, how he’s fallen in love with the Mediterranean, how life here has inspired him so much he’s taken up writing. In fact, he has already written most of his first book, and it is set to publish at the end of summer. He is now looking for a house, some permanency for the first time in his life. He will settle down here, he tells Timothée in a solemn tone.

Timothée well recognizes the signs of a man trying to escape from himself. He doubts very much if William is the type to ever settle, has no doubts in fact that next time they’ll speak William will have taken up an instrument set to join a band, or learn a new language ready to move country yet again. Timothée knows a drifter when he sees one.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to warn the other man about the uselessness of attempting to outrun oneself, doesn’t advise him to instead make peace with the past and himself; knows that there is no use, that he'll find this out for himself soon enough. So instead he smiles, lights the last of his Lucky Strike´s and orders them some more beers.

They drink and talk, dream really, far into the afternoon as the sky changes from bright blue to nuances of powder pink and lavender. They dream up scenarios for William’s future; a summer spent in sunny Nice soaking up the sun, before setting to Capri in the autumn to work on a new book. They decide he should take a break in the winter to go skiing in Saint Moritz before returning to Nice in the spring, to finish up his book.

More beers are ordered, and subjects discussed, but when a longer silence takes place William leans back in his chair, a shy look on his face that makes him look more boy than man.

“So” he begins, and Timothée’s interests are piqued. The terrace is full of people by now, taking a late lunch or simply enjoying an afternoon drink, waiting for the sun to set and the real party to begin.

“So?” he offers, pressing the other man to continue.

William clears his throat, cheeks flushed, and not purely from the day spent in the sun. “So, you’re going to see her now?”

Timothée is not surprised by his question, had expected it since he told him why he was here, had expected the subject of you to arise. It felt inevitable. The subject of you too big to ignore.

“Yes” he says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. They’d bought new ones from the waiter many beers ago, the crystal cut ashtray between them filled to the brim with stumped out cigarettes.

“Yeah should get going soon really, she was expecting me this morning.”

Silence for a heartbeat, as the sky turns red, the sun almost setting.

“And it is true, what they’ve written in the society pages? She’s getting divorced?”

Timothée, not knowing what to do with his hands, lights yet another cigarette; even though his throat feels too dry; too tight. “Yeah” he manages to get out.

Silence again. William is keeping his eyes on the setting sun, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mind if I tag back with you to the house?” he says eventually. The words come out almost superiorly. Yet Timothée senses the fragile vulnerability under the arrogance. “I’d just like to say hi to her” he then adds in a softer tone. “Our last goodbye…” he trails off for a second and something like regret flashes in his clear blue eyes, “Look, I treated her abhorrently and I’d like to put things right, it’s the least I can do”.

And who is Timothée to deny either one of you that?

*

The ground is slightly unsteady under his feet as they stand outside the hotel, waiting for the taxi the porter had ordered. He had, perhaps, had one too many to drink. He sways from one foot to the other. It is just past midnight and he should have gone home hours ago.

And maybe he shouldn’t arrive at your first meeting in months, the first meeting post-divorce, absolutely wasted. A knot ties somewhere in his stomach.

And, he thinks as he slides into the backseat of the taxi, maybe he oughtn't to bring your ex-fiancé with him to said meeting. An ex-fiancé who had broken up your engagement days before the wedding, left you pretty much at the altar to marry someone else instead. Your first love.

The knot tightens harder.

He watches the city, now dark and full of people, pass by outside the window. As the taxi goes up the hills he tries to focus on the ocean outside; now the darkest shade of blue. The moon is yet to make an appearance to light up the evening. They drive up a final curve and finally Timothée can see it. The white house atop the hill is large and neo-classical in style, with painted mint-green shutters, currently open wide to let in some evening air, and up the white walls magenta colored bougainvillea climbs.

The lights are on and Timothée feels light-headed. He blames it on the drinks. He blames it on the day spent under the beaming sun. He blames it on the long journey there and the fact he slept so badly on the train.

He blames it on anything other than the fact that he’s starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have come here tonight. If perhaps he should have stayed at the hotel, sobered up and after a good night sleep come here; bunches of casa blanca lilies in hand and a forged reason for his lateness on his lips.

And he definitely shouldn’t bring William with him.

Something twists painfully inside him and he feels a bit sick. Because he knows William is your first love; but what if he’s your greatest one as well. What if the two of you after reuniting again, found that there were still love there. You both had divorces in your past now, you both had money, and freedom. What if William wasn’t just your first love, but your greatest one?

He definitely shouldn’t have brought him here.

He watches with regret settled deep in his bones as the taxi drives away, and William is walking up the pebbled path to the front door. So Timothée takes a deep breath, throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, and forces his feet forward.

They ring the door and surprise hits him for the second time that day, when the door opens and Aunt Marguerite’s maid Louise stands there, wearing the usual look of disapproval as she takes in the state of him.

She sniffs with disgust. “You are late” she tells him with a stern tone, before stepping aside to let him enter. “Madam is on the terrace”. He drops his bag on the floor as she leads the way through the house, William at his heel. His feet feel like cement, but he keeps forcing them forward.

The first thing he sees as he steps out onto the terrace is the moon, now high in the sky, casting its reflection on the water below. Then, on a sunbed with your face towards the ancient blue spreading out in front of you; not directed to him. He sees you in the moonlight, curled up underneath a blanket, a glass of red wine beside you. The only light on the terrace the moon and candles, lit up around you.

Without turning to look at him you say, in a voice painfully familiar, “was beginning to give up on you. Thought you’d missed the train”.

“Sorry” he says, and it surprises him how calm he sounds; because he’s pretty sure something is exploding inside his chest. “Got a bit distracted.”

You turn to him then, a half-smile on your face that freezes immediately upon seeing who is standing behind him. Painful silence falls between you, heavy like a wet blanket, while the ocean roars beneath, its waves crashing against the rocks.

“Wills?” Your voice sounds so vulnerable it makes him want to weep, to go hide; to ask something holy for forgiveness.

“Hi baby” William answers and Timothée nearly whimpers, wants to look away but can’t seem to turn his eyes from the scene in front of him.

Your eyes are big and glossy in the moonlight as William moves closer. Nausea rises in Timothée’s stomach as he watches William sit down on the sunbed beside you; hands clasped before him like a schoolboy in church.

“I’m sorry” he begins, “this must come as a surprise to you but…”

“Excuse me” you interrupt him, voice cold but your vulnerability clear as it. “I think I will retire to bed. You can stay over if you wish, Louise will prepare you a room. We’ll lunch tomorrow.”

And all either Timothée can do is watch as you stand up, spine all straight and head held high as you walk past him, not casting him a single look as he hangs his head in shame.

*

Timothée blinks slowly into the bright light; confused as to where he is for a moment. He blinks a few more times, his lasting impression; white. White sheets, white walls, white lilies on his bedside table, white wooden floors and white curtains moving in the breeze from the open balcony door; outside of which azure blue sky. Then,

Menton.

You.

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. The pain in your eyes as you walked past him the night before; eyes brimming with carefully held back tears. Why, why, why on earth had he brought William with him? Why hadn’t he just told him no? Surely it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to turn down his request to force his way back into his ex-fiancé’s life?

But he wanted you back. And Timothée had handed you to him.

“Fuck” he groans.

Despite his protesting, heavy limbs and sore head he stands up and moves through the room, to the gilded mirror by the antique dresser. Slowly he blinks back to his miserable reflection. A skinny man, with unruly, dark curls and anxious, wide eyes, dark circles like bruises underneath them. He thinks of William; tall and golden and broad shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world on them. And rich enough to own it.

He wants to hurl.

Instead, with the determination of the already damned, he moves through the room, knowing there is nothing left to do but face the day; and the consequences of last night. Finding a pair of clean linen trousers and white shirt he pulls them on with fumbling hands. Rooming through the pockets of the trousers he wore last night, carelessly thrown over a wicker chair, he finds the package of Gauloises he bought at the hotel the previous night. He puts them in his pocket, he is going to need them. Feeling like a man walking up to the gallows he steps out of his room.

Louise, who’s in the kitchen preparing breakfast, huffs in displeasure when she sees him.

“Yeah, yeah” he mutters, “I know”.

She pulls up her blonde hair and ties it in a knot in her back, seemingly doing her utmost to ignore him, but he’s pretty sure she’s just doing it for the opportunity to sneakily give him the finger.

Out on the terrace you sit by the table, reading. Wearing a white silky thing, your hair wet from a bath, pearls of water falling to the ground as you move to flip a page in your book. You are bathing in the morning light, covered by it; and maybe it’s just to Timothée’s eyes but everything else seems to fall into shadow.

Walking more assuredly than he feels, somewhat comforted in the fact that William is not yet up, he takes a seat beside you at the table. You flip a page in your book, and you don’t look at him. A seagull screeches in the sky, but otherwise the world remains quiet.

“What are you reading?” he asks, though feeling it is a trivial question in the midst of everything. He feels foolish, trying to ease into conversation with you, when all he really want to do is apologise; to take your hands and tell you that he’s sorry.

“The Odyssey”

“You like it?”

Your eyes don’t move over the page, but you don’t look at him either; instead fixated on the page in front of you.

“Yes” you say eventually. “But I find the prose hard to get used to”.

“Well” he says fishing in his pockets for his Gauloises, “personally I prefer The Iliad. There’s a feeling of doom in it that stays with you, like their fates are already set out for them and they can’t escape it. They’re left to just live their stories out”. He brings a cigarette to his lips but soon discovers he’s forgotten a lighter. He swears under his breath, the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Then something silver reflects in the sun, right before his eyes. You’re reaching out your hand to him, and in the palm of your hand lay a cigarette lighter. Gratefully he takes it and lights up.

“Thanks” he says, trying to hand it back to you, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s yours. Apparently, my aunt had it ordered for you before she passed. I was going to give it to you yesterday.”

Timothée feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. He lays down the cigarette and looks down at the silver lighter. It’s beautifully crafted, old fashioned in a good way and thoroughly stylish. Marguerite through and through. He turns it in his hand and sunlight reflects from its perfect surface. Only then does he notice the engraved text, in cursive writing; “Fuck Picasso”.

He breaks out in laughter but feels a simultaneous need to cry. To lay down on the floor and weep. He misses her, would do anything to hear her scold him for his behavior again. To have her tell him that he is being defeatist and to keep trying; keep fighting for what he wants.

He looks at you, and he can see the same conflicting feelings reflected in your glossy eyes.

“Le petit dejeuner, madam” Louise says, putting down the tray with coffee, bread, brie and fresh fruit on the table between you. She sends Timothée a scorching look as she does so.

Once you’re both sipping on cups of coffee you clear your throat. “She did leave you the Picasso painting as well, you know”.

Timothée nearly drops his cup of scorching hot coffee in his lap. “Sorry?”

Reluctantly the corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “You never read the full version of the will, did you? She gave the Picasso to you. Said you were the only one who could possibly appreciate it”.

He snorts with laughter again, and again it comes with a sting of grief.

“You sure you don’t want it?” he asks, because a Picasso is no ordinary gift and he feels as if he’s stealing it from you; you who actually were related to the woman.

But you just shake your head, a small but sincere smile on your lips. “I got the Monet”.

“Bloody landscape artist” Timothée teases and you laugh. This is an old joke, an inside joke, one that has made you laugh before. Your laughter feels familiar and warm and he wants to pull you closer to him, feel your skin; warm from the sun, against his.

“You are just jealous” you tease back, and your eyes; the same colour as your aunts, sparkle in the sunshine. “You have never been able to paint a landscape”.

“No” he says, reaching for a stem or green grapes, “I’ve never found a landscape more interesting than a face” he adds, pulling the sweet fruit from its stem and placing it between his teeth; slowly biting down, relishing the taste.

He wants to say, ‘there’s nothing I’d rather paint than your face’, but swallows the words along with the fruit. He watches your face as you look at the sea; hair still wet against your now slightly rosy cheeks.

“Good morning” says a cheerful, though somewhat raspy, American accent.

Timothée turns and sees William walking towards you. He’s all tousled blonde hair, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top; showing seamlessly endless amounts of suntanned golden skin. Styled with a Rolex watch and bare feet he’s all Hamptons; all American.

Timothée looks at him and thinks Paul Newman would be proud.

He picks up and finally lights his cigarette, using his new treasure.

William sits down by the table, leans back and sighs. “Gonna be a beautiful day” he announces to them, as if the weather was his to rule. Timothée watches him in the morning light, all golden and decisive. He thinks of Zeus, of power and of glory.

You gesture for Timothée’s cigarette package and he picks one out and hands it to you. Leaning closer, closer and closer still; your face so near that he can count each of your eyelashes if he so wishes, your arms nearly touching his. He lights you up. All the time he can feel William’s watchful eyes as he observes the two of you.

Louise comes out with another cup of coffee and places it in front of William before heading back to the kitchen. In the silence between them they can hear how she puts on the record player, the tunes of Chopin floating out on the terrace. Timothée meets your eyes and you both smile.

Flashes of memories from another life, you and him in Paris in his old studio. Dancing in the evening, hips pressed together as you’d swayed gently from side to side, your chest pressed to his, feeling so close it was as if you were sharing breaths. Or you posing on the carpet, naked in the afternoon light as he attempts the impossible; trying to recreate the loveliness and complexities of you. A Herculean task. All the while Chopin played in the background.

“So what are we all doing today?” inquires William and Timothée breaks eye contact with you. Maybe he is imagining it, but he thinks there’s a harshness behind Williams' forceful cheerfulness.

You enter into conversation with William, all small talk and politeness, as Timothée smokes his cigarette and looks the other way.

*

“Can I talk with you?” William asks, his hand around your wrist, holding you in place. “Alone, I mean.”

Your plates have been cleared, the coffee cups stand empty and William has reached over the table to take a hold of you. Timothée, who’d spent most of the breakfast in silence, his face towards the sea, playing with silver lighter in his lap, now stands up. “I’m off to explore the village” he says with a tone of indifference. But there is something strained about the way he’s holding himself, a tenseness in his shoulder, a frozen look on his face. It is in the way he refuses to look at either you or William as he walks away.

You watch him leave before gently pulling your hand away from William’s. “I must say, it is a surprise to see you here, Wills”.

William doesn’t hang his head in shame or embarrassment but keeps his clear blue eyes on yours.

“I didn’t know that you were here in Menton, that’s not why I came here. But I did go looking for you, in Paris”. His voice never shakes, neither does his hands. He is as steadfast as you remember him from school. Ha had been taller than everybody else, towering over them all. He could easily have been awkward, already standing out with his American accent. But he wasn’t. William had been born with a sense of self-assurance most could only dream of. Dubbed arrogant by some you had felt admiration.

Your school had been set up in two buildings, one for the boys and one for the girls, and separated by a field. Most classes were taken separately, the only times the genders had mixed was during meals and announcements, or on special sports days.

You can still remember it so clearly, when you fourteenth year old set your eyes on sixteen year old William for the first time. It had been on the football pitch during a friendly start of the term game. He was new to the school, a head taller than the other boys and no one seemed to be able to take their eyes off him. It was clear that he was unused to the game, having grown up mostly playing American football, but he soon got his head around the rules. You see it so clearly in front of you, how he had made his way through the defence, his long legs carrying him through in quick strides, before scoring his first goal; the whole crowd going wild. He was a natural talent, as soon you would learn, he was in most things. He took on the world with a natural ease, assured in his belief that everything would go his way.

At the end of the match he had stood there, arm slung around the shoulders of his fellow comrades, all grinning from ear to ear. They were the victors of the game; the heroes of the school. William in the middle, head slung back in laughter, almost radiant in the late September sun. He was and always had been golden, had always seemed more than human to you, almost godlike in being. The other boys had certainly found him so, the only exception being Freddie Fairfax and his friends, who never had a kind word to say about their fellow student. However the rest of the boys had soon made William their unelected leader. The king of god on mount Olympus. His eyes had met yours in the crowd of admirers and just like that - you were done for.

When he had asked you to the school dance, mouthed crooked in a smile and hands unstirred; so unlike the nervously trembling boys, you had said yes. The other girls had envied you and when you walked into the great hall with him he had taken your arm in his and kissed you on your forehead; told you he thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. You had felt chosen; blessed even.

And when he had asked you to marry him, down on one knee like a gentleman and with a hand that didn’t shake with nerves, you had said yes. Had thought that had settled everything. That you would marry the man you loved in front of all your friends and family, securing a financially stable future for your parents. You’d go on a honeymoon, a world tour perhaps, and later; children. After having found the perfect family home in Kensington, among all your friends.

Alas, that was not to be. No wedding, nor children or home had come along. Instead, heartbreak.

And you had fled, humiliated, to Paris.

“Yes” you say, feeling unable to look away from his blue gaze. “Yes, Timothée mentioned that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you, I had already left for London by then”.

“Yeah” he says, corners of his lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes filled with something more like pity. “To marry Freddie Farifax”. And then he’s on his feet, moving around the table and before you know it, in Timothée’s chair. He leans forward and grasps your hands in his. They feel warm and steady, whereas yours are cold and shaking.

“Babe” his voice is like a gentle breeze. “Babe, look at me”.

You look up from your clasped hands and back into his blue eyes, at the moment more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“I should never have left you” he continues, voice sweet and tender and barely louder than the breeze. “I was bewitched. I know, I know it sounds stupid but I just lost my head about Linda. I was a fool, a goddamn fool. I realized as soon as we left for New York that who I really wanted was you. It was like waking up from a dream. She was just such a lovely thing, so carefree and - no please, listen” You had tried to remove your hands from his but he kept a firm grip around them. Slowly he moves one of his hands from yours, up to your face to cup your cheek. It’s tender, and it feels like it had always felt when Wiliam touched you - the same feeling you got when you lay sunbathing; kissed by the sun. A mild breeze through the trees and the scent of him, citrus and cedar, hits you like an embrace from the past.

At fifteen, a few months after you first set eyes on him, he kissed you. Calmly, with a hand cupping your face; just like now, he had kissed you until you felt tender and starry eyed. It had been in the library, in the row furthest down, a copy of Anna Karenina sticking into your back as he pressed you against the bookcase.

He had smelled the same then, as you stood on your tip-toes to reach him his arms surrounded you.

He had smelled the same in baronessa Digby’s guestroom during her annual ball. After hours spent dancing, pressed up against one another he had snuck you both in there and on the bed showed all there was to know about love in its physical form. Flashes of memories come back to you of his body above yours, muscles defined and body almost golden in the candlelight, pressing you down onto crisp white sheets. The scent of lemon and cedar everywhere.

He had been gentle and patient, moving in and out of you with steady, slow thrusts at first, deliberate and calm in all his movements. His hands were steady the whole way through but you were shaking all over.

“I should never have left you” he repeats, and you can feel the shame coming off him in waves, see the regret in his eyes and in the furrow of his brow. “You never should have had to marry fucking Freddie, the piece of shit”. Something thunders in his blue eyes.

“I’m not angry with you William. I felt hurt and humiliated when you left but it’s all in the past now, so if it is my forgiveness you’ve come here for you can have it”.

“It’s not,” William says, almost before you’ve finished speaking. “I mean, I’ll gladly take it but what I want is you.” All you can do in response is stare at him and he laughs, almost bitterly, before continuing “to think, that had I not made such a massive ass of myself we would have been married now. We would be happy. I can still make you happy, baby”. He makes the last word sound like a prayer. He strokes your cheek.

“Make me carefree?” you ask, and you swear, you can feel the ocean move in protest in your lungs.

“Yes, just give me a chance and I’ll make you the happiest being on earth”.

You look into his pleading eyes. Part of you wants to say yes, because part of you still loves him. Part of you is still that fourteen year old girl, enamoured by the school hero. But you know now, have come to realize with time, that William never has, and never will understand you. Not you as you as you really are How could he understand someone so different from himself? A godlike creature whose hands never tremble, who has thunder in his eyes and whose love burns bright; but also quick. Would you choose a life with him there would be other Linda’s. Other infatuations, there was bound to be, even if he would always make his way back to you.

But though Wiliiam’s hands never tremble they know nothing of steady.

“William” you say, finally untangling your hands from his, “Will I’m sorry but it’s too late. I have already moved on”.

William leans back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. “Yes, yes I was afraid of that. The painter boy seems to have stolen your heart quite thoroughly, hasn’t he?” You don’t answer and William digs in his pockets for cigarettes.

“I see” he mouths out round a cigarette, brows furrowed in concentration. He brings his own silver lighter to his mouth to light up and it reflects in the sun, like bolts of lightning. “Still” he adds with a voice smooth as honey, leaned back in his chair; breathing out smoke between you, “well, he might get to keep the real you but I won the painting. Quite the consultation prize”.

***

When Timothée steps back into the house, several hours later the clouds are dark and heavy with unshed rain. The world feels charged with energy, as is the way right before thunder. Louise greets him with her usual disapproval at the door before simply nodding upward, uttering the single instruction, “upstairs”.

He makes his way through the house, dark and quiet in the late hour, up the stairs and drawing room. It is a large room, with wallpapers of navy dyed silk on which several paintings in the modern style are set up. Heavy oak furniture outlines the room, decanters of whiskey and cognac and any other liquor that could be wished for on one of the tables and in the middle of the room two elegant white sofas facing each other.

On one of them you sit, a martini at the table in front of you, next to an enormous vase of casa blanca lilies. The whole room smells of them.

Not knowing what to say, where to start he walks past you, across the room, to make himself a drink. Pouring himself a generous measure of Laphroaig, which he drowns immediately, before pouring himself a new one. Dutch courage.

“William gone then?” he asks, staring down at the amber liquid in his glas, hating how casual he sounds.

“Yes, he went back to his hotel”

So the supposed love of your life was only temporarily missing then. Timothée squeezes his eyes shut, clutching his hands around the table, as if to stop himself from whimpering. He feels pathetic and weak. Opening his eyes again, the room dark around him he walks to the sofa and sits down opposite of you.

Outside he hears the first few drops of rain.

“So you two patched things up then?” There’s a forged cheeriness to his voice and he hates how disingenuous he sounds.

For a few long seconds he is met by a silence so intense it makes the hair on his arms stand up. Then it really starts to fall outside, the sky opening up with rain, the clapping sound of it as it hits the roof like thunderous applause.

“I’ve decided to let the past be the past”. You’re so calm and collected; so cool and unfaced. Yet he can sense that you are holding onto yourself with an iron grip, not letting go an inch of your own feelings or reactions. It reminds him of the way children clutch their hands around objects they know they shouldn’t possess, determined not to show what they are hiding.

He takes a sip from the whiskey, the smokey smell of it mixing with the heady scent of lilies. So this was it then. He had ruined his own chance of happiness by bringing William back to you. Timothée had not been to compete with Freddie Fairfax and his money and title, but he had always known that you had not married that man out of love, and that had made the blow on his feelings less hard than if you had simply preferred Freddie; chosen him. But with William it was a different matter. You did not need to be with him out of any necessity. If you had chosen him; then it was because you loved him.

“Well, good on you” he says, drowning the rest of his glas. “Sweet of you to forgive him, you know, after basically leaving you at the altar and humiliating you infront of everyone you know. Really, it’s big of you”.

“Yes, me and William had a lovely chat this morning” your voice is cold as ice. You’re on the sofa, spine straight and shoulders tense, taking a large sip from your martini. “He told me about a poker game the two of you had in Paris. How you paid your debts with a nude portrait of me".

Lightning strikes outside and for a brief second the whole world goes white, like the flash of a camera, before once again leaving you both in shadow.

Timothée is dumbstruck; can’t get out a single word. He wants to protest, to deny it, but there’s no use. He’s never been a liar.

“How fucking could you?” The venom in your voice feels lethal, as if he’s injected it like poison and it’s making its way through his system.

And here comes the thunder.

“I trusted you with that painting and you let him fucking have it! My ex-fiance has a naked portrait of me because of you. I knew I couldn’t trust you, I knew it! It was all too good to be true. You just wanted me because you knew you couldn’t have me, because you knew it wouldn’t last. I was just a conquest you would get a few nice paintings out of!” You’re shouting now; unbound and full of rage. Unable to stand still you’ve gotten up, pacing the room.

“You knew it wouldn’t last?” he answers with a sarcastic laugh, anger shouting through him as well now. “You made sure it you mean? You used me as some sort of escape fantasy because you felt lost and trapped! The princess and the penniless painter. Those were just roles we played. You just wanted to feel desired again and no one has ever desired you as much as i have, but as soon as Freddie fucking Fairfax came along you dropped me, and guess what? I could have lived with that. I understood it even. But you made your way back into me, gave me hope, and now you’re fucking leaving again with fucking William!" He’s on his feet as well now, standing just feet from you. "So yeah, I’m sorry I gambled away the painting, that was wrong of me but don’t make out as if I’m the reason this can’t last when you have always been the first to leave. You have always been the first to leave!”

Lightning like a flash, capturing the hurt look on your face, burning it onto his retinas forever.

“You can say that all you want but you've had one foot out the door for a while, haven’t you? You never called or wrote after you left London. And when I called you early that morning there was some girl fucking giggling in the background! I had to go back to Paris this spring to sort out some of aunt's things and I didn’t go to visit you because I knew there was gonna be someone else there!”

And here comes the thunder again, louder than before.

“Oh that’s it sweetheart, jealous are we?” his tone is low and mocking and your eyes are burning into his. They seem to sparkle in the dark and though adrenaline is shooting through his body he can’t help but he can’t help thinking; that this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; unbound and unleashed. Despite his anger he’d like nothing more than to lean in and kiss you.

But he is angry, and so he continues in the same, low tone, “and you accuse me of having one foot out the door? Ye get jealous of some model coming in to have a painting done - who I’ve never even touched - but I have to watch your husband parade you on his arm at the opera? And be a spectator as you and fucking Wills reunite?”

“You’re the one who brought him here!”

“I know!” he shouts. Both your chests are heaving with anger, the air loaded with thunder. He takes a step back from you, runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sighs. “I know” he repeats, defeated now. Walking away from you he crosses the room and throws himself down on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Outside it keeps raining.

You sit down on your old spot on the sofa again, hands in your lap, cool and collected once more. “I have not gotten back together with William. I’m sorry I made you believe that. I’ve simply decided to forgive him and let the past be the past. That’s all”.

Timothée lifts his head up, something like hope blooming in his chest among all the despair. “Yeah? Well I’m sorry about the painting, I really am. In my defence, I didn’t know he was your William until after”.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I asked him to get rid of it”.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry” he looks you straight in the eye as he says this, wanting you to know the sincerity in his apology. “Do you want me to leave? I can go back to Paris tomorrow”.

Silence, then thunder once again, though this time further away.

“No” you say in the end, still in that cold voice, but you sound genuine when you continue, “no please stay. It is your house just as much as mine. Stay as long as you want”.

*

“Please, let me paint you again?”

Rain in July is a rare thing in Menton. Nevertheless, a storm had raged the night before. You had often heard the expression the calm before the storm, however you had always found the aftermath of storms all the more fascinating.

“No” you answer him, flipping the page in your book; Anna Karenina this morning.

Timothée is standing by the barristrade under the golden mimosa tree, trying to capture the landscape beneath him. He wears a frustrated, nearly pained look on his face as he stares at the canvas. You can hear his groans of ill contempt.

“Fucking hate landscapes”.

“That is your vanity speaking. You know you aren’t very good at it and so you hate it. Like all men you hate the things that make you look less than average". On the page in front of you Vronsky has decided to pursue Anna, despite knowing that she is a married woman.

“I’m not vain” Timothée mutters, like a petulant child. “I don’t like landscapes because they are ever-changing, just when you’ve managed to get the precise shade of the sky it has already changed into something else entirely.”

“But faces change all the time too. I’d say there’s as much variety in a face as it is in a landscape” you argue. Looking up from your book you observe Timothée. The mimosa branches hanging down, it’s golden flowers framing his head like a halo, the impression strengthened by the morning sun shining through.

The sweet, succulent scent from the tree, reinforced a thousand times with last night's heavy rain, hangs around them like an invisible cloud.

“You’re just defending landscapes because your precious Monet couldn’t have enough of them”.

“He painted people too”.

“Yeah, but he wasn't as good at is. Maybe he too was vain”.

”Monet never used black, did you know that?” You say, apropo of nothing. “And for a while Picasso only used blue. Do you think this is how they’ll define you one day? In a textbook, a picture of a portrait of me - and underneath it written in black on white: Portrait of a girl unknown. For this period in the artist's life he refused yellow. Is that how they will define you?”

“I don’t refuse yellow anymore.” He’s stopped painting now, but faces away from you, looking out at the ocean. You see his fingers twitch for a cigarette.

“Maybe not, but you don’t see blue in the same way. Neither does anyone else if Le Journal du Dimanche, I saw what they wrote about your exhibition, congratulations by the way.” His back is very still and you keep going. “What was it they wrote? ‘As revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely’?”

You can’t explain even to yourself why you are doing it, why you are antagonising him. It is petty and it should be beneath you but like a child you try to goad a reaction out of him.

“You made me look at all colours in a different light.” It is a quiet confession, sincere in its simplicity. His hands are clasped around the brim of his chair, like he’s trying to hold himself very still. “You made me listen differently as well, I could never hear the beauty of Chopin until you played it for me. And the scent of lilies will always remind me of you. You made me feel different too, different from anybody else. Like I had been reborn into a new body, with new feelings. A new purpose. Even the air in my lungs felt different; cleaner somehow.”

You don’t know how to respond to that; feeling as though all malice has been sucked out of you like poison from a snake. Perhaps there’s nothing to say.

“Let me paint you one more time”

“No. Why don’t you just hire a model instead?”

“I don’t want another model, I just want to paint you”

“Well William’s still at the hotel if you’re planning to gamble it away after”.

Maybe all bitterness hasn’t escaped her yet. Timothée takes up his brush and goes back to his canvas. For a few long moments everything is silent.

Then, in a quiet voice he speaks. “Why didn’t you go back to William? I saw how much you loved him, when you first came to Paris. I remember. But if you’ve decided to forgive him, and if there’s still feelings there, then why not?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to be happy”.

You throw the book on the table, close your eyes and lean back in your chair. “I’ve always figured that the world can be split into two; that people are either like birds, or like trees.”

You can hear Timothée dropping his paintbrush again and had you had your eyes open you would see his curious eyes as he watches you with open adoration.

“You see,” you continue “some people are drifters, and other settlers. Some people grow roots where they stand, trying to reach as far down into the earth as possible in order to feel secure. They are steady and they grow but they never change and they never change their outlook on things. And when they have to move, they have to be ripped out by the roots and it hurts. Others, well others are like birds. They fly from branch to branch and sure, sometimes they build nests but they never stay for long. They need air beneath their wings, they need freedom.”

“And William is a bird?”

“Yes, William is a bird. A drifter. He will always move from branch to branch. In his lifetime he will have a thousand infatuations and sure, if we were to marry I think he would always come back to me but I cannot live like that. I would be a tree, trying to force my roots through concrete”.

“And that is the reason you don’t choose him?” His voice breaks slightly at the end and you can’t help but love his fragility, his vulnerability in this moment.

“That yes” you say, opening your eyes and feeling blinded by the sun. “That and the fact that I’m not actually in love with him anymore”.

Silence again, because maybe there is nothing more to say now. Timothée picks up his brush and you take up your book and continue to read your book; ‘There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness.’

An hour or so later Timothée swears under his breath and abandons the landscape by walking out. Further away you hear the heavy front door close and you know he’s left for the village. You stand up and walk over to the painting, inspecting his work. He has painted the scenery in front of him, but despite the golden mimosa tree there is no yellow to be seen on the canvas; only various nuances of blue.

****

August, 1953

A routine settles at Villa Marguerite.

Each morning Timothée wakes before you and makes enough coffee for two. He takes his cup and his brushes out to the terrace and he tries to paint the ocean. Some time later the radio in the kitchen is turned on as Louise begins to prepare breakfast. Later still he hears your footsteps as you come out to join him on the terrace, wearing the same white dressing-gown each morning.

“There’s coffee if you want some”.

These words are his timid confession, his quiet ‘I think of you each morning as I wake’. A kind of ceasefire has settled between you. You don’t argue with each other but then again, you hardly speak.

When you come back out on the terrace, coffee cup in hand, you sit down under the golden mimosa tree and Timothée wants to sigh but he doesn’t. He wants to sigh, because you are beautiful. Because in the morning light, dressed in a white dressing-gown, you look more angel than person; the golden mimosa flowers like a halo atop your head.

Each morning he wants to capture the moment, just like you this, on his canvas. Not because of the etherealness of the setting; but the domesticity of it. You, morning hair and a cup of coffee that he has brewed for you; bare feet and nightgown.

You’re both silent as you drink. It is peaceful. In the village church bells ring. He feels no need for church. Heaven, he thinks, are mornings with you. Anything else can wait.

The rest of his days are spent painting, trying to catch the colours and moods of the ever-changing ocean and sky in front of him. By lunchtime he’s grown tired of trying, and so he walks down to the village where he strikes up a conversation with whomever is available. Nice is in high season and the streets are full of tourists. During midday however, when the sun is high in the sky, most people are hiding in whatever cool space they can find or lay their bodies on the beach. But Timothée finds he doesn’t mind the heat,

He’s made some friends during his time in Nice, foremost a fellow Parisian his age named Nathaniel, and an elderly French-speaking Italian named Marco. If Marco, who owns a bistro in the square, is available they play chess and argue about politics. Marco always wins. When Nathaniel, who works down by the docks, goes on his lunch break he comes to join them, and they eat together, whatever Marco’s bistro has to offer for the day. They share glasses of wine and discuss jazz, the two younger men unsuccessfully trying to convince Marco to arrange a jazz night at his bistro.

When the other men go back to their work Timothée strolls. Sometimes he walks down to the beach, where sometimes he runs into William. They chat, and it’s not exactly comfortable but neither is it awkward. They both get through it.

Some days he spends strolling the village, watching the pastel-coloured houses, dreaming about the inhabitants' lives. Other days he goes to the ancient little library in town, where he spends his afternoon strolling through the book shelves. He picks up books, reads a few chapters of them; though never starting at the beginning, before putting them down. Like this he goes from book to book, never being able to commit to a single story.

In the end he re-reads The Odyssey - the first page to the last. He doesn’t know what to think about it; except maybe that if The Iliad left him with a distinct feeling of doom, the feeling that sticks with him after The Odyssey is a distinct sense of homesickness. Of nostalgia.

He returns the book at the desk, asking the librarian for more books on Greek mythology. She hands him one and with the book safely pressed against his side he strolls down to the docks and there, on a bench overlooking the ocean, he reads. He reads until the heat fades and seagulls stop screeching and the sky turns pink and until all the fishing boats return to the docks.

He walks back to the village, pays for a box of pralines and a bottle of fine red wine to share with you on the terrace after dinner, and moves his feet towards home. All the time he thinks of Helen of Troy, of Persephone, of Aphrodite.

You eat dinner together and talk. You discuss The Odyssey at length. Debate about what is worse, to feel homesickness to a place you cannot return, or doom for the future. You tell him of a new play you’ve gotten your hands on, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. You talk about the play in a way that has him enamored. He asks to borrow it from you and you lend it to him.

You share the wine and the pralines as the sky grows darker and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks louder. You drink and eat and talk until your eyelids grow heavy and it’s time for bed and Timothée thinks to himself that even if you are not his to kiss good night he can still have this. He counts it as a blessing.

Your bedrooms are located right next to each other and as he lay in bed reading your copy of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in the dim night lamp light he can’t help but feel close to you, knowing that just on the other side of the room you lay sleeping. Like in all your books the pages are full of underlined lines scribbles, the corners of the pages dog eared and the spine cracked.

He turns the page and sees that you have underlined a sentence. ‘I’m not living with you, we occupy the same cage’.

He continues reading until the sun starts to rise outside, then he goes back in the story and underlines a sentence of his own. ‘One thing I don’t have is the charm of the defeated’.

*

Notes:

The last part will up up sunday/monday

also, please, if you've managed to get through this beast of a story please leave some feedback. I've been working on this for a very long time and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

So this was like… a year in the making? Honestly never thought it would be this difficult but here we are. Also, I don’t hate Picasso as much as it seems I do. Also, is the quote “There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness” in the book? Or is it just in the Joe Wright movie? My ex kept my copy of Anna Karenina and I can’t remember

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina (I will defend the Joe Wright adaptation until death even though I know it’s no good, alright?), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

[ggukkiedae]

❝𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤❞

𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜:

⇢ jeno explores the streets of la with hannah

⇢ set in january 2018

𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜:

⇢ conversations written in italics are spoken in english. requests and feedback are highly appreciated!

“This isn’t a good idea, Hannah.”

“Jeno, it’s only eight. Relax.”

Jeno looked around anxiously. He didn’t think that he’d be spending his last night in LA walking around some unknown streets with one of his best friends. Not that he didn’t like being with Hannah. On the contrary, he loved being with her. It’s just the concept of roaming around an unknown city at night that freaked him out.

“Hey, you cute little thing!”

A man whistled in Hannah’s direction. She just rolled her eyes at him. Jeno, on the other hand, turned towards the man and narrowed his eyes. He knew that people in America did things like this, but he didn’t think he’d have to watch someone do it to Hannah. He glared and draped an arm around Hannah, pulling her closer to him. Maybe he should have insisted on her wearing jeans instead of shorts. Well, he wouldn’t be able to stop her anyway.

“It isn’t safe for you,” he pulled her along faster.

“Okay, big boy, first of all,” she laughed and wrapped an arm around his waist, “I’m not alone. You’re here with me. Second, I’m from California. I know my stuff.”

“Yeah,” he gave her a pointed look, “San Francisco, not LA. And how long do you think it is till someone notices that I’m not some grown man and that I’m only seventeen in this country?”

She scoffed, “Seventeen-year-olds in this country have gone to prison.”

“Not helping!”

Jeno could only hang his head in exasperation as Hannah laughed at him. Here he was worrying about her safety (and his own!), and she was just laughing in his face. He halted and let go of her, taking a step back and watched her throw her head back in amusement. She seemed to act way more carefree now that they were in America.

He was surprised when she took his hand and pulled him forward. 

“Stop staring, Jen, and hurry up! I found this really good street with tons of food carts online.”

Jeno did not know what was happening.

Well, he had a good comprehension of English because of being with Hannah and Mark most of the time, but everything around him was zipping past his ears. All he could focus on was how Hannah was rushing around the streets more excited than she had been in a few years. For the first time in a while, she was genuinely glowing with youth. 

For some reason, it made his heart speed up.

And he was distracted enough to accidentally run into a small group of people. He jolted back to reality and muttered a quick sorry and stepped to the side. The group of girls giggled and moved to the side, whispering things to each other and looking at Jeno in a way that made him uncomfortable.

“Hannah?” He looked around for her, wondering where she went.

“Yes?”

“Yah!” Jeno jumped as she appeared right in front of him. “Don’t scare me like that. Those girls over there are scary enough.”

Her scan of him made him feel queasy. It was almost as if she could see right through him. For some reason, it made him a little nervous. Anyway, he watched the way her eyes trailed him from head to toe, then he followed as they glanced over to the group of girls he pointed to earlier. They were now grimacing as they looked at Hannah, but the smiles appeared on their faces once they caught him looking once again. That was weird.

“They like you,” she smirked.

Jeno’s jaw dropped. “What? No, they don’t.”

“Trust me, Jen, they do,” she crossed her arms, but not before she tugged a little bit at his jacket. “I dressed you well, and you’re not so bad on the eyes for a nineteen-year-old.”

“Seventeen in this country, and you just used the clothes from our filming,” he rolled his eyes before leaning down to align his face with hers and raising his eyebrows. “Are you calling me handsome?”

“Please,” she scoffed at him, “I’m speaking objectively. And you know you look good. Those girls staring at you? It’s on you, my friend.”

Jeno looked back at the group of girls in a mix of discomfort and disgust. He wanted them off his back as soon as possible. He looked back at Hannah with a silent plea for help. She just chuckled and pressed a kiss to Jeno’s cheek and, for the second time that night, took his hand.

“Now they think you’re off-limits,” she grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks.” They walked off towards a less crowded street that seemed to have a few more high-end shops compared to the food carts they had been going through. That’s when he realized. “Hey, what about you? Why aren’t guys staring at you?”

“Calling me pretty, now?” she asked him, making him shrug, face lightly heating up. “Well, I’m here with you, and all those guys who I saw notice me saw you.”

He smirked at her. “They think I’m your boyfriend, huh?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?” The way she looked at him, the playful glint in her eye made his breath hitch in his throat and heart skip a beat. She laughed. “Trying to be as flirty as Nana, Jeno? Yeah, nice try.” 

He watched as she walked down the street, pulling him along with her. Why did he get flustered? Why did the thought of people thinking he was her boyfriend satisfy him? Why did seeing their clasped hands make his insides melt? And why did seeing the way she laughed while showing him the streets of LA make his heart race?

Oh no.

He knew where this was going, and he didn’t think he liked it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked him, eyebrows knitting together in slight worry. “Why are you being so quiet?”

It took one look at her worried face that made all these thoughts flow into him at once. She made him feel comfortable. She didn’t make things easy, and she knew him. She knew when he was ecstatic, she knew when he was upset, and he could easily talk to her about everything. 

He liked her.

“Jen?”

Oh god, he liked her.

“Jeno?”

He liked his best friend and groupmate. He liked the girl standing in front of him. He liked Lee Hannah.

“Lee Jeno!”

“Let’s get rings!”

He nearly regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He watched as the worry disappeared from her face, replaced by a chuckle.

“Okay,” she shook her head in amusement, “a little fast there. You’ve gotta at least take me out to dinner before asking me to marry you.”

“No!” The sudden raise in his voice called a few bystanders’ attention. Jeno facepalmed. “I mean, not like that, Hannah. It’s just that you’re gonna be with 127 and with U now, and I don’t think I’ll be there for all your stages…”

That was a good save, he thought to himself.

“So to keep up our tradition?” she smiled. “Sounds like a good idea.”

He was grateful that that seemed to distract her from how weird he was acting. He looped her arm through his and pulled her over to one of the jewelry stores he could see on the street. “Come on, I’ll pay.”

“Are you sure? Because I can do half.”

“No,” he shushed her, “consider this my Christmas present. I told you I’d get you one in LA. You just need to do the talking.”

The huge smile on her face was worth it.

That’s how he found himself watching while Hannah looked around the cases in the jewelry shop, constantly asking Jeno for his opinion on which rings would look best on them without hindering their stage outfits. Well, not like Hannah would care. Knowing her, she’d wear it without hesitation whether or not the stylists let her. And if she would do that, then so would he.

“Oh, how about this?” she pointed to two simple silver bands. “It says here that we can engrave stuff on the inside. How about crowns?”

“Crowns?” He was amused by her excitement over everything. 

“Yeah,” she grinned. “Jaehyun oppa calls me princess, and it caught on with the other oppas. And the fans call you a prince. It seems fitting.”

“It seems so,” he nodded. “Don’t they look a little small, though?”

“True,” she pondered before calling over an employee. “Excuse me? Do these rings come in bigger sizes?”

“Choosing a promise ring for you and your boyfriend?” The clerk gave them a knowing look.

Well, Jeno knew what that meant. He shook his hands and laughed.

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Hannah clarified, “he’s my best friend. We kind of just want matching rings for this tradition that we have before we go on stage.”

“Sorry,” the clerk apologized, “I just assumed. Dancers, huh?”

“You can say that.”

“Well, this is a good choice,” the clerk took the rings out of the case and showed it to them. “This is stainless steel, and it doesn’t corrode or get scratches easily. Also, it’s meant for your pinkies, so it’s naturally small.”

Hannah quickly translated it for Jeno, and he picked one of the rings up to have a closer look. It was simple and understated, and they could easily add it to stage or photoshoot outfits without being scolded. 

“I like it.”

“Me, too. Can we possibly get a crown engraved on the inside of each of them?”

“You’d have to come back here in thirty minutes,” the clerk pondered, “and the store usually closes at that time, but I guess you can come back at 11:30, and I’ll have these ready for you. There’s a cafe down the street that’s open till three in the morning. You can wait there. How will you pay?”

“Thank you,” Hannah smiled, “by card, please. Yah, Jeno, it’s already eleven?”

“Huh?” Jeno checked his phone, and his eyes widened as he saw both the time and the amount of missed calls from Jaemin and Mark. He shook his head and pulled out his wallet while the clerk brought them over to the counter. “Hannah, check your phone.”

“Oh shit,” she mumbled once she saw her screen. “Mark is so gonna kill me. I told him we’d be back by nine.”

The two exchanged a look. The clerk handed Jeno his card and a claim stub back. He accepted it and turned back to Hannah.

“Should we buy them food to make up for it?”

“Probably.”

Thirty-five minutes later, Jeno and Hannah find themselves walking back to their hotel, new rings on their fingers. Jeno couldn’t help smiling when he saw the light reflect off of the band on Hannah’s pinkie while she talked to Mark. It was an English conversation, and he didn’t really try comprehending it.

He watched the way her eyes lit up as she looked at their surroundings, a stark difference from Korea and Ukraine, which she had just visited. She was radiating excitement despite probably being scolded by Mark over the phone. She glowed differently under the lights of LA’s nightlife, and it was something he was glad he could witness.

The glimmer of her new ring once again caught his attention. He lifted his own pinkie which held his ring and poked hers without a thought, making her glance at him in the middle of her explaining something to Mark. She laughed and hung up on the elder and looked at Jeno.

“We’re in trouble with Mark,” she began, “but the managers know nothing.”

“Good,” he draped an arm around her. “We’re in the clear, then.”

“We’ll see,” she snorted. “When Mark gets mad, he gets mad. But, hey. We’re in this together.”

Jeno raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re his roommate.”

“And you’re my best friend,” she laughed while holding up her pinkie to show her ring.

“Right. Best friend.”

[toysoldiers-rwby]

Deleted Scene. SYT Ch10.2

Show Your Teeth

Characters: Fiona, Winter, May, Robyn, Joanna Rating: Explicit (tagged as thoorist) Tags: slice of life, sexual tension Word Count: almost 6k

Second Draft of ch 10. I tossed out almost 20k words to find an ending that was the right amount of tension and bittersweet. I think this one was too angsty. honestly i don't remember

Read Show Your Teeth on on Ao3

Or Tumblr

Dr. Pietro was too valuable to be in the middle of Grimm infested fields, thousands of miles away from the Kingdom. He was constantly wrangling in both the Watts and a few other scientist for his current project. It would explain Author Watts’ sour mood, his eagerness to experiment on Glade.  

But Glade was Glade, May realized with a smile. The stray that manipulated the military, the stray that outsmarted two fucking kingdoms! Being able to improvise and make the best out of being an illegal experiment…  

Glade did a double take, those glowing white pupils dilating like a cat. Ears flicking in confused circles as plume of fire they were blowing onto the metal faded to the embers died on their lips. Fire Dust glowed across their skin, high-lighting the fullness of their cheeks and hard planes of muscles beautifully.  

May only understood a few signs but she knew the sign “What?”  

She continued staring and grinning. “Nothing.”  

Glade crosses their arms and leans against the workbench. They’re posturing. With the military feeding them, they didn’t even need to flex to show off their muscles. That calm and confident grin echoing Joanna and Robyn’s. There isn’t enough raw arrogance to compete with Winter, maybe in a few years after the tuffs of curls grow out. But right now they look too adorable.  

Silvio looks up from his Scroll. His face starts at confused, slides down to contempt then utter disgusted as he looks between Glade and May. He takes a deep breath and Glade is already rolling those glowing blue eyes, “Gaaay! Oh wait…” He stares at Glade. There’s an analytically rude way his silver eyes flick up and down their body.  

They’re not in uniform. Too much grease, too much molten metal, Dust, and various other things that would permanently damage the thick fabric. Instead it’s a simple broiler suit, arms tied at the waste because fuck safety and stand in the raw Solitas air in their binder.  

“Would that still be considered Gay? How would that work with… y’know?”  

“That’s a stupid question for a genius,” May scoffs with a small smirk.  

“If I wasn’t freezing my balls off I’d pelt you snow,” Silvio glowers. He pouts, turning his chair and continues playing with Marrow’s weapon schematics. May’s Scroll pings.  

G.O.A.T: Fi and Win stares a lot too G.O.A.T: yall can admit im hot  

If they weren’t working on Winter’s weapon she’d throw her Scroll at that smug face. “Literally hot. I think I can see you steaming,” May says with a small frown. It doesn’t stay though. She’s far too happy.  

Things were getting better.  

It took till fucking mid-terms but it was fucking getting better. Glade sticks out their tongue, the Dust infused tongue piercing glowing brightly. Then they blow a kiss with embers and a wink- and the warm stutters her heartbeat. Glade chuckles silently and goes back to work. She can’t help but continue watching.  

Blacksmiths had all but died in Atlas. They have machines and factories and there was something captivating about watching the kiln from the fire and Dust dance against their skin. Something about watching someone’s passion in action.  

And yes. May wouldn’t feed that ego but Glade was hot.  

And criminal or not, they were a genius. They pulled the saber out of the kiln, setting it against the anvil and hammering it into shape. Glade may have been a pacifist but they were a fighter. There was no one else more qualified to make weapons than Aurora Glade-  

“They’re a good kisser you know.”  

May screamed turned around. They saw white wiggling ears and looked down to see Fiona smiling. She’d be laughing if she wasn’t breathing so hard. Face flushed adorably, even tinting her ears lightly- Gloveless fingers engulfed her vision.  

“Cold!” Fi’s hands cups her cheeks. May sends them tumbling backwards trying to escape but Fiona laughs and follows. She tries to find footing but its all snow out in the tundra and they fall deep into it.  

“Gay!” Silvio’s yell is swallowed by the emptiness and snow.  

Fiona manages a laugh and needs to gasp for breath again. May hisses, body shivering as snow melts against her thick Atlesian clothes. Then she’s too hot, Fi’s breath warm against her lips. Still too far.  

“I wish I could kiss you…” Fiona whispers.  

May was about to pull her into one but Marrow and Harriet shouting stops them. Thousands of miles away from the Kingdom and it’s eyes and ears still follows. Fiona sighs, ears flicking in frustration. The Junior Ops were rather far for safety reasons, testing out upgrades and smoothing out kinks as the geniuses upgrade them. There were some pros to being in this ‘Accelerated Program.’  

But stealing small moments right in under Atlas of them gives a certain thrill. May’s hands manages to slide into Fiona’s and she brings it to their lips. Fi sputters, that blush running deeper, lower down that lovely neck.  

“Nice to see you two being productive.” The drawl is both familiar and unfamiliar. Fiona gasp out another bubble of giggles and May laughs. The Glyph is actually warmer than the snow as it pulses under them. It gently pulses and lifts May and Fiona off the ground.  

The pair is meet with more than Winter’s eyes. Robyn and Joanna are grinning down at them, far to amused to play stoic like the Specialist. All three of them are flushed and panting slightly. But… for some reason no matter how deep Winter’s breath were, it wasn’t fulfilling. She was fighting in a binder again-  

“May isn’t your partner anymore,” Fiona teases with a grin. May ignores the small sting in her chest. “Your not allowed to be jealous if I top her-”  

“I don’t need to hear this!” Silvio yells a little more aggressively. He stands up, hugging his thick coat tight to his body. The civilian snow gear almost makes him penguin walk to the Junior Ops. “Marrow! Give me your gun!”  

“I thought you said-”  

“Give it!” Marrow yips and immediately surrenders his weapons. Silvio then retreats deep into the airship. Leaving Marrow confused, unarmed and pouting.  

Glade gives RMJT (Ramjet) and their supervising officer a side-ways glance and a smirk but continues to work on Winter’s weapon. With some steam and wind Dust, they cool it down sharpen the blade in long arching fluid motion. The muscle on their arms on full display and almost as nice as Joanna’s. May would need to feel them to get a fair evaluation though-  

"Kitten."  

“Stop calling me that!” May swats Joanna’s handsome face on reflex. Joanna laughs and gently pushes her hands off.  

“But you even paw,” Joanna hums low and playfully. She worse than Fiona when she feels like it and judging from the light in her eyes, she felt like it. “We still have a bet. If I win you finally start using my crossbow staff.”  

“We never decided on what I’ll get if I win,” May argues. There were so many ideas she had. A date night with just Joanna was always fun and calm. She did promise to take her around to show off the glowing street art in Mantle.  

“Why bother? That’s never going to happen,” Joanna winks and is already walking a little ways from the airship. May finds herself following, staring at that broad back and the muscles testing the fabric of her coat. She huffs in frustration but reaches for her staff and extends it. A quick double to confirm that all the Dust chambers are full.  

May nods.  

Joanna doesn’t fire her crossbow bolts. She splits that staff into two axes and charges. May’s mind fire scenario after scenario, the smile still on her face. Joanna is stronger and has a longer reach. She doesn’t need a two handed weapon to over power her and her long arms is enough for the axes.  

May smirks. Two weapons makes it harder for May to block so she’ll just dodge- Joanna fires a bolt at her feet. It glows purple and the pull of gravity nearly drops May to her knees. Instead she tucks and rolls left, then scrambles back to avoid the an axe head. The other end is loaded and May barely hits it away to avoid it. Only this time the bolt explodes far to close behind her and topples the two.  

The Marigold scowls. She vaguely remembers that Joanna was a cop, one of the best in Mantle. She’s older, has more experience fighting people than Grimm. She also has stronger Aura and more reserves. That explosions does nothing to her while May’s ears are ringing and the snow crunches unevenly under her feet.  

Joanna lets her blink the world back to focus. She’s grinning, tapping an axe bladed crossbow on her shoulder. "Gonna call it kitten?" Her partner taunts playfully. If this was last semester May might have thrown her staff or go invisible. Then throw her staff.  

She only grins. “Not even in your dreams.” May does go invisible. Joanna immediately couches down, grabbing a handful of snow and flies it into the air. May grins. Smart, resourceful. Gullible. Chambering fire dust, she melts the snow. Solitas is cold enough that water instantly freezes again, leaving a mist that blankets the field. May throws the gravity bolt back with enough Aura to pull Joanna to the ground.  

She was going to follow up with lightning but May always underestimates how strong Joanna is. The gravity bolt doesn’t pin her, barely hinders her as she charges towards May again. For a moment they were in the Field.  

For a moment, Joanna doesn’t attack and just presses her lips to May’s. She surrenders into it almost instantly. Joanna’s kiss was always slow burning. There’s a lingering sense of power and control. Like a beast in hibernation. It’s one of those things that is given to you.  

That moment passes as Joanna continues to shove May out. Their lips part far to soon. It’s worth being pinned into the snow by her girlfriend though. Hidden in the snow, Joanna breaths hot against the back of her neck.  

“I win.”  

“I don’t exactly call this a lose…” May mumbled. Joanna easily lifts them both up and May’s blushing to hard and staring at the ground. Heart beating too fast for something so simple. Maybe she did like being handled… Her teammates laugh. The Ice Queen can’t. Winter does relax, the barest hint of a smile on her face.  

Then she’s looking at Glade. The saber is finished and sings as it cuts through the air. With a press of a button the secondary splits from the handle and drops into their free hand. They test the pair out, feeling the balance, checking the sharpness. After a little more teasing and a small impatient frown from Winter, the weaponsmith finally surrenders it.  

“An adequate display,” Winter hums, keeping her expression and voice void of the pride in the eyes. Glade was amazing and they knew it. They frowned deeply at the insult and May laughed with Fiona. They were adorable. Even with the eerie glowing eyes. “Would you like to prove me wrong? I believe Watts is still trying to get combative readings from your neural augments.”  

There was an interruption from the Junior Ops. Of course it was Harriet who scoffs, “Stop playing with your pet,” Harriet said. "We’re here on business, Specialist Schnee."  

… Pet. May grits her teeth. She takes a deep breath trying to let the comment wash off. Winter’s constant reminder floats through her head. The need to play nice and play up Robyn’s image.  

It was Robyn’s fame that saved Fiona’s scholarships when the public learned Winter was promoted. It was Winter’s image that lets her be around Glade so much that their sign language was second nature in just a few months.  

Atlesian 101. Public opinion is everything. At the end of the day, they were all social creatures. All victims to a mindless and easily fooled community.  

But Robyn was a Mantle Rat. She doesn’t see the manipulative threads. She heard a bitch insult a friend who’s been stripped of everything and leaps into action.  

“What did you call Glade?” Robyn hisses. Fiona is standing by their leaders side. It wasn’t that Fiona was sweet and kind and without spite. It was that she didn’t have the protection May had, couldn’t act on her anger without a family name and money.  

So Fiona practically snarl and bare her fangs stuns May for a moment. The pair make the face of RMJT. They’re charming and cute smiles were plastered all over the net and zines. If a photo of them got leaked right now, Fi would lose her scholarships. They both looked ready to throttle the hare.  

“Get over yourself, Hill,” Harriet sneered in that Atlesian tone. May scowls. She’s faster than Robyn so she’ll be second in line to beat the asshole up. "Maybe if you were a real Atlasian Huntress you’d realize Glade is just a toy." May’s heart is in her ears. Roaring. Angry. Two years till freedom. May desperately reminds herself. Two years till they can finally bring Atlas down-  

Fiona moves first so Robyn follows her partner. Joanna’s long arms catch Fiona in a bear hug while May struggles with Robyn.  

"You called them Winter’s pet!" Fiona angrily yelled, thrashing in Joanna’s arms. Somehow May managed to shove Robyn her way. Joanna’s strong arms easily pinned the two in a bear hug. Fiona looked at the only other Faunus. Marrow had wandered over, no doubt to stop all the yelling. “Marrow! You can’t be okay with that!”  

“I- I’m not!” the underclassmen stuttered, tail low between his legs.  

"Then fucking do something!"  

“Assault isn’t the answer, Ms. Thyme,” That cool commanding voice. May sighs. That mask slips on too easily sometimes. May can’t blame her… She’s a Schnee she was literally born into it. Everyone calms a little. Winter isn’t even looking at RMJT but the airship side door. //Focus in use  

The workbench and kiln are abandoned… Winter clears her throat. Glade pokes their head out.  

Brows knitted up in fear above those glowing blue eyes, their ears a timid low. They looked at Robyn and Harriet, both their shoulders tense and absolutely pissed. Then they looked back at Winter and vigorously shake their head no, trying to hide away again.  

From the corner of her eyes, May saw Marrow bit his lip, tail twitching as he tried not to giggle. May was eager to latch to the lighter mood. Her anger doesn’t melt so easily. But… but Glade was scared. So she takes a deep breath and smiles softly. Not enough to be friendly because Glade was a solo vigilante.  

If they had to keep their relationship a secret they definitely had to keep their history with Glade buried.  

Still Her chest was bubbling at how cute timid Glade was. Marrow cracked laughing softly and May couldn’t help but to snort. Winter gave a sigh, frustration genuine on her face. For a moment even May thought she was irritated at the ‘criminal’ but the twitch in her arms told a different story. Winter fought against her true nature, pushed aside all the comforting gestures she’d learned for Weiss and gave Glade a wary thin look.  

“I assure you, you’re safe… Unless you doubt my ability to beat everyone here?” Winter asked slowly, toeing the line of intimidating and teasing. Glade made more adorable Faunus noises.  

May couldn’t help but to smile. Everyone else, save for Harriet, thought it was adorable so she was allowed to too. Before Winter could try coax them in, someone kicked Glade out of the airship. Silvio scowls glaring hard at the students.  

“Aren’t you fucking assholes suppose to be smart?” He ask. “Do you know how much Grimm you just brought in?! Two hordes of Megoliaths!”  

Winter sighs. She’s had a lot of practice so it comes out natural. It almost convinces May. “Harriet, take the fighter and the others. I need a word with RMJT.” Winter said, glaring hard at Robyn.  

During the short time it takes to load up the workstations and for the Junior Ops to leave, May realizes that Winter might actually be made. As soon as they were gone, Winter tapped a few buttons on her Scroll. May could feel the guarded edge on the back of her mind and in her Aura fade off as the hidden cameras in the room shut down.  

//HH & Winter Rift. White knights flaw. PICKUP HERE Immediately the Schnee exploded, that cool demeanor all fire and frustration.  

“What the fuck were you two thinking?!” Winter yells at Robyn and Fi. Again. At least it was almost two weeks. Still May sighs and tries to find a way to de-escalade the situation. It’s hard when she sides with Fi and Robyn. Fiona’s hackles practically raise, fist balled up tight as she glared at her former leader. Robyn looked ready to throw another punch.  

Before either of them could get a word in, Joanna’s massive figure stepped between them. She only crossed her arms, staring down at all three women. The interruption was enough for them to catch their breath. Mostly Winter who leaned against the table, almost struggling to breath as she rubbing her temples.  

“Fi… you should know you need to pick your battles. There are still people trying to get you expelled and I’m not there to-”  

“We don’t need your protection,” Fiona hissed, ears twitching low. "Focus on Glade, Silvio, Weiss and Whitley." That hit May and cracked Winter. So many emotions she needed to keep under control flashed across her face. May pressed her side into their girlfriend’s, hoping to ground her. Eventually the pain and fear faded to… guilt.  

Then Winter shook it off.  

It was replaced by fustration. “Point is there is a lot of people that don’t want to see you four graduate,” Winter said. RMJT rolled their eyes. They were the under-dogs. An estrange elite, two nontraditional Mantle Rats who said fuck the law and a Faunus that was better than a Schnee in both academic and fighting- Winter was still talking. “They have a lot of power if you give them any kind of leverage you’ll never graduate.”  

“We’ll be fine.” Robyn huffed.  

“No you wont,” Winter hissed at Robyn. She stood up, back straight and shoulders tense. Brittle. May gently put her hand on Win’s shoulder, only to have… her former partner shake it off. Winter soldiers on, “You have no idea, what Atlesians are capable of. You need to do better!”  

“I know!” Robyn yelled back. They were within each other’s melee range now. “I have people swarming me every day reminding me I’m the Hero of Mantle. I know!”  

“You wanted follow my grandfather. Step up and lead by example, Hill.”  

The importance of image finally clicks for Robyn. Realization settles in as her shoulders relax for a moment. Robyn tries to smooth out those hard edges but pitty and fustratin shines through. “So do you,” Robyn nearly hisses. “You’re the only one keeping them prisoner.”  

That makes Winter pause. She looks at Robyn and something filters across her face.  

Pity or envy?  

Before RMJT can say anything the bay doors open and Glade was the first one to jump out. Winter actual held them back. May remembered something Winter said at the beginning of summer. That Glade’s Dust was potent enough to level an entire block. They saw that masterful application during their work and now…  

And now Glade is finally away from civilians.  

Even from the possible safety of the Bullhead, high in the air, May could feel the heat piercing the Solitas cold. A blaze of fire rolled through the snow and ice, leaving the dead rocky ground bare. The weaker Megoliaths burned in the fire.  

The Dust in their boildersuit fade from red to dark orange. The herd was culled again, this time impaled by earthen spikes. A quarter of the herd was cut down in seconds. The Alpha Megoliaths roared, legs shattering the earth spikes under its feet. They could see the ground shaking from the sky. If Glade’s Aura and Dust doesn’t attract the second horde, the small earthquakes would have.  

Glade was skilled enough to avoid capture by Vale’s Glynda Goodwitch. Skilled enough to wrangle Grimm, skilled enough to have the entire Kingdom of Mistral after her and elude them for a year. Skilled enough that violence was a choice for them. And even stripped of everything they bite back in a differnt way.  

Winter crosses her arms. The movement pulls May to the argument that the two leaders could never really settle. What to do with Glade? "Their semblance is similar to General Ironwood’s Mettle." Winter explains. May hates their semblance even more. “Glade can Focus on an aspect, personality, emotions, senses, a task, Dust, lying… acting.” Winter said. There was something at the end of it. It dipped and strained… like she was stabbing her own heart. “Atlesian 102.”  

And suddenly May’s freeze and burns.  

“Give them what they think they want.” May mumbles. Focus on a lie or an act, May grits her teeth. Pretend like nothing is wrong for the sake of your friends or play up the torutred experiment to gain sympathy.  

“Everyone loves to see their hero and knight save someone. And the Faunus experiment is the perfect damsal.” Winter practically growls under her breath. May watches her. Anger deep in her eyes. Winter didn’t ask for the image, for the fame. It followed her from her family now in the military it has grown like steel wires.  

She waits a few moments. When RMJT responds with silence she finally leaps from the aircraft. She landed gracefully next to Glade. She let some of her Ice Queen image chip and crack to give Glade a pat on their head. The Specialist didn’t draw her new saber, fresh from the kiln and anvil. Instead she stepped back and let Glade fight.  

Glade never needed their help.  

Not with the Geist.  

Not after their surrender.  

May and Robyn looked at each other, conflicted and a little confused. How much was an act from their semblance? Robyn groaned into her palm. The look of regreat solid on her face before she leaped out.  

“Sometimes I think she forgets she’s dating Winter,” Joanna whispered to May. It felt like that most days… May blames the distance. The physical one, between Atlas and Mantle. “Come on. Killing Grimm will calm us down and we can’t get showed up by a civilian.”  

"How does adrenaline and hot sweaty women equal calming?" Fiona muttered. It was a half hearted joke. A little real but overall a bad deflect. May takes a breath.  

Glade is okay. Just a manipulative bitch. Hopefully. And if they’ll still be there tomorrow. Things will get better. Hopefully.  

May follows the rest of RMJT out of the airship.  

Joanna was right. Fighting Grimm burnt the argument and fight out of them. Despite all the show, Glade gased out far to quickly to be effective Hunter. They did kill a lot of the first herd and the second was no match for eight nearly qualified Hunters.  

Snow was starting to return to the area where Glade orignally landed. There was a small tent picked up with a few chairs. Fiona waving at them while Joanna gave a broad grin and blowing a kiss. Robyn plays along, a hand over her heart and swooning into May’s arms. Until the estranged Marigold snorts and drops her.  

But just because Joanna was right doesn’t mean Fiona was wrong.  

May stands above Robyn for a second. Admiring the messy plantium locks and the flushed tanned face- Robyn winks. “Ugh-” Instead of sinking down into the snow and kissing her girlfriend she kicks the snow into her face. Joanna and Fiona laugh, loud and joyful. They were all too tired to be guarded. It feels less like a fight, less like a mission watching a ‘criminal.’ Their stupid smiles always made it feel like a date.  

As soon as May took a seat in on the chairs she didn’t want to move. She hiss curses under her breath feeling her body throb. A Sabyr kicked her jaw, a Sulfur Fish stung her calf… but the thob was in her gut and growing lower and lower as she watches her partner.  

Joanna pushed Elm out of the way earlier, taking a hit from a Megoliath. It must have fucked with her shoulder because she’s rolling it, stretching her coat tight against her back muscles. May feels that solid heat ghost under her fingers. She doesn’t have the same hair routine but giving Joanna massages was good in its own way.  

She wasn’t strong enough for a deep massage but that just means May kept on trying. Enjoying warm skin under her hands, the hard shift from muscle to muscle. Every twitch was like Joanna was flexing.  

May feels Marrow’s tail thawt against her leg in a lazy motion. It sped up a little as Joanna slips a sleeve off, brunching up her shirt to push a the knot directly and showing an unfair amount of muscles.  

She wants to kiss her. Fuck public image. Fuck all the pretending, the cold attitutdes. May was tired of all the Atlesian bullshit. She killed dozens of Grimm and at least deserves to kiss her fucking girlfriends. Joanna was barely out of breath and May wanted her gasping.  

“Hey, Robyn,” Marrow called out, breaking her out of her daydream. “You can’t arrest people, can you?”  

“I quit so I could attend Atlas Academy, wags.”  

“Huh… Well that,” He gestured to Joanna. Robyn walked over, quietly observing as Elm walked up and tried to massage the kink gone. Both their muscles flexing and tested Atlesian thick clothing. "That should be illegal."  

“You know what is illegal?” Robyn asked. May could hear that stupid smile in her voice and she was groaning loudly to drown out Robyn but it didn’t work, “Not kissing my girlfriend- Damn it! Look alive, May!"  

May snapped to attention just as a Megoliath roared into view. Everyone switches back into fighting mode. May ran after her leader, twisting the chamber in her staff. It clicks empty, empty, then she felt electricity hum as lightning Dust chambers in.  

“Joanna!”  

“For the record I hate it when any of you do this!” Joanna yells. She still held her out her hands for May to vault off of and May only grins. Blame it on all the times Winter carries her around or all the rush from the Glyphs, or maybe she just likes being handled by Joanna. Her partner only frowns as hearing her thoughts. She still throws May high into the air and barely has time to dodge the Grimm herself.  

Elm jumps in, holding onto the trunk with Roots further anchoring her to the ground. May yells a warning, plunging the staff deep into the Grimm’s eye. It doesn’t bleed, doesn’t smoke, it just… sinks in with a bone shuddering wet noise. The lightning Dust pours into the Megoliath. Joanna helps Elm clear the twitching tunk and stomping legs.  

An explosion throw’s May’s off.  

It wasn’t silent like the crossbow bolts so it had to be something Fiona stole. May’s limbs burns like she’s been fighting for an hour. She sinks deep into the snow and it doesn’t help. It does the opposite. All the blood is pooling between her legs, all the running and fighting had everything rubbing just right. May tries not to think about the last time she had sex. About how the snow feels like Winter’s cool hands crawling into her neck.  

With a shuttering breath she stares up at the bright sky. Focuses on how warm the rare Solitas sun is on her skin because they were in public. Fiona eclipses the sun for a moment. Then a moment longer as her body falls-  

“Fi!” May screams, trying to scrample away. The snow gives and gives under her hands and Fiona finally craches into her. Even the sharp headbutt does nothing for the low arosual in her gut. If anything it just gives her shaft a reason to thob harder. It has everything to do with Fi’s groan and not how her brain was mixing pleasure and pain. With Fiona’s hands firm on her chest. Sweet laughter against her neck.  

May drops her Aura for a few seconds. The idea was that the snow would chill her blood. But so many hours, wrapped around Winter’s fingers… May groaned slamming her Aura back on. She wanted those cool hands on her thighs. Clawing. She wanted Fiona seated higher on her chest.  

Who’s idea was it not fuck? Winter? It has to be Winter’s.  

Fiona’s laugh draws May out of her pout. “Woops,” Fiona mumbled unapologetically. There was something in her voice. The faux innocent tone and sinfully slow drawls. “It’s a good thing Joanna won, you really need something for distance.”  

“Shut up,” May growled. As revenge she hangs limp. Fiona is strong enough to carry her but she just… so tiny. And tired. The snow makes things harder than it should be and they fall back into it. Out of stupid habits May holds Fiona tight, as if they were falling out of another crashing airship. As if Fiona wasn’t already laughing on the way down.  

“This is your fault y’know,” Fiona said with a grin. Looming over her, elbows blocking May. It fucks with her breathing and then more. Fiona’s eyes flicker down. That heated gaze slowly growing intense, like the day in the changing room. She licks her lips, her ears straining forward for more soft noise. She knows Fi can feel her heart race. That innocent smiles grows sweet and beutiful and so far from innocent.  

Her knee slides up.  

Pausing between May’s. That low throb was firmly settled between May’s legs now. She glances away but that only opens her up. Fiona’s lips and nose press into her neck. Her pulse is far to alive against such a soft kiss. Too soft. May wants more. Her body already arching for it.  

“Fi…” May was starting to tremble.  

“We deserve a second,” Fiona says as if it was a warning. Then her teeth digs in hard. May presses her hand against her mouth, breath loud and sharsh as her back arch but Fiona’s hand quickly comes up to pin it down. Her ears flutter pointedly. May wanted hands and teeth, Fiona wanted it all including her moans. She sucks hard and gives May a teaser for what it could feel around her pulsing cock.  

She doesn’t stop until May tugs her hair. After May feels pre-cum sliding down her shaft. Fiona growls and huffs. Teeth teasing the bruise but it was already healing. It still hurts, so Fi tongue sooth the spot. Low and slow like it was May’s shaft- Their Scrolls ping and Fiona looks ready to break it in her hands.  

G.O.A.T: stop. i can SMELL you horny idiots from here happywool: that’s a bad thing?  

She steal a kiss from May. Even burried in the snow, fighting in the cold, the kiss is warm and sweet. Even if Fiona’s sharp teeth nip with fustration.  

Her knee shifts higher. A hand palms May’s chest.  

G.O.A.T: SERIOUSLY. I CAN’T EXACTLY GET LAID foxhot: sounds like a u problem G.O.A.T: just finish the grimm so we can get Win home  

That stops Fiona dead in her tracks.  

mt.spur: what happen angeldust: Nothing important. G.O.A.T: i disagree and stop being a dumb bitch G.O.A.T: she’s fighting with her binder on angeldust: So are you! G.O.A.T: i didnt feint bitch  

May and Fiona rolls their eyes and share another kiss before Fiona pulls her onto her feet. "The sooner we finish the sooner we can finsih," Fiona says with a wink and runs off. May watches her with a small smile and tries to shake the snow out of her hair and clothes.  

The rest of the evening slips into a mix of auto-pilot and a straight up blur. The simple social outing for the ‘criminal’ was an extra hour, almost two. The Grimm was easy but they kept coming. Like every other week. RMJT has been out on so many missions half their classes were online, in the damn airships. The ones that weren’t were Combative Training, Advance Stealth Operations or Body Conditioning.  

Her Scroll kept going off too much to call it a nap and she feels to restless when she finally realizes they’re back in Mantle.  

May sets her back down the table and stretches out the kinks in her back. She groans as a few joints pop back into place. A pair of hands slide onto her shoulders, pressing into areas she didn’t realize were tense.  

The hands were too big to be Fiona’s, too small to be Joanna’s, too warm to be Winter’s. She blinks in surprise. For such a flirt Robyn was actually rather reserved. Most of her advances only happened when Winter was around. And sure enough, somehow the they manage to drag the Specialist.  

Or with Joanna, carry.  

A feint blush is on Winter’s cheeks now and she lets out a sigh. May has gotten used to all the touches and her partner’s casual show of strength. But Winter probably regressed up in Atlas, with only Glade.  

“You can set me down now,” Winter mumbles.  

“Not even a please,” Joanna playfully huffs. Instead she sits down on the couch. Her hands interwined with Winter’s… pressing it against her thighs.  

Just like the changing room.  

The room suddenly feels hotter. May’s blood was already hot from all of Fiona’s teasing and now its rapidly pooling in her shaft- Where’s the lamb. May looks around to see the women walk out of their bedroom, a bag in one hand and twirling the knife in the other.  

Now in the privacy of their home, Fiona is a little calmer. Her grin is still dark, her ears still strained but she doesn’t look like shes ready to pounce.  

Her prey is already caught after all.  

Fiona looks at May and winks. With a touch the coffee table and everything on it gone and she replaces it with the bed in their room. May finds her self menuvered, seated on the edge with Robyn behind her.  

May can only stare dazed at Winter. The women was… she was the image of Atlas perfection. Control, yet she’s trembling with Joanna’s hot breath on her neck. Power, though when that knife slices into her uniform she’s praying Fiona’s name.  

“Fi… fuck,” Winter mutters. Her Aura flares where the knife licks her skin. May whimpers and shifts between Robyn’s legs. Her leader murmers something. Something about how good girls don’t interrupt a show. A hand strokes May thighs, promising a reward for good girls.  

Fiona briefly smiles over her shoulder. The knowledge that this show was also for them… May throbs against her clothes. Whimpers with as Joanna hums, staring at the tent her pants. Winter looks ready to feint. Breathing shallow and eyes clouded. Still Fiona goes slow. Those flexing abs revealed inch by near minute.  

“Hurry, please Fiona… I’m going to pass out-”  

“Oh!” Fiona’s blinks, that dominance replaced by surprised concern. She laughs nervously, knife swiftly gliding through the shirt, coat and binder. Winter’s Aura lights up her skin as the blade tilts her head back.  

Exposed. Volunrable. Submissive.

[notoriously-blonde]

Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice

This is my gift to @gryffindorcls for @mlsecretsanta! Took me a long time and a lot of brain smacking to get this to be good enough! Sorry it took so long and I hope you enjoy it! Read on AO3 here. Beta-d by @xthreeravensx

Summary:  After a talk with Ladybug, Chat's actions and the consequences are brought to light, Adrien vows to never be the type of person he was before. Hist first step: move on from Ladybug. In his journey to greatness, Marinette sneaks into his heart completely under the radar.

Sitting in class, Adrien has his head resting on his fist. It has been a few weeks since his talk with Ladybug. Since his actions were brought to light. Since how his actions were affecting Ladybug was brought to light. It was the day that Adrien decided to move on from Ladybug. He can’t be acting like that, especially with his partner, they are supposed to be in sync, and the way he was acting was hindering their synchronization.

And now...well, with Ladybug no longer controlling most of his thoughts, he’s found himself to be...bored. There just isn’t much to do anymore. Piano is plain and simple now, he doesn’t even have to think about how his fingers should move. Fencing is easy, too easy. Kagami isn’t even proving to be a challenge anymore.

The abilities his miraculous bestow upon him while transformed have been bleeding into his civilian life for a while now. He’s processing visual, auditory, smell, and physical stimulus much faster. His reaction time is faster. He’s stronger, not sure exactly how much stronger, but he knows he is. Plus, he already has so many trophies, a whole shelving unit of them.

So, with the reasoning that fencing is too easy and that he has proved himself many times over that he is more than proficient in that field, he decided to go to Father and tell him how he believes that studying another form of martial arts would be beneficial, more specifically, the bo staff. He spent a few hours analyzing how he fights as Chat Noir and came to conclude that he often times uses the baton like a sword/Sabre and not as a baton/bo staff. If he wants to maximize his fighting as Chat Noir, it might be beneficial to learn the bo staff.

It took a few days, but eventually he got Father to agree. Now he’s working with a trained professional to better use a bo staff. And, if Adrien’s being honest, it feels really, really good.

His training with the bo staff has proved useful in his superhero training and in fights. And he’s found it a bit easier to provide an easier defense using bo staff training rather than fencing. Maybe he should pick up karate, or judo? He’ll have to look into it.

And, with better training and a better defense, he’s found that he isn’t getting incapacitated in battles nearly as much. Not worrying about impressing Ladybug is a pretty big weight off his shoulders.

He remembers that fateful night vividly. Her words still ring through his head. Her tone. Her eyes, the hurt in them, the tears. He remembers the stabbing pain in his chest when she told him that she had almost been akumatized twice. Not particularly because of him, but his actions hadn’t helped much. From that moment, he vowed to stop at all costs. Vowed to help her in any way. And, with how his actions have been affecting her, the only solution he saw was to give up the ring. Let someone else, someone better, be the partner she needs. Someone who wouldn’t make it harder not to be akumatized.

He remembers the tears he tried to hide, trying to suppress Plagg’s faint voice in the back of his mind.

He remembers how her hands felt on his hand, cupping the ring.

He remembers how it felt when she used her hands to close his hand into a fist, moving her hands to cup his fist, enclose the ring in both their hands. ‘Chaton...’ her voice was wavering slightly, but there was pride in her tone. Determination burning in her eyes, from deep in her core. ‘I’ve already found the perfect match for Plagg. And that person is you.’ The way she had looked at him right then, the way she looked at the butterfly image of Hawkmoth that second day, the way she looks at him after she casts the restoring ladybugs, the love, admiration, gratitude; it baffled him.

He is unashamed to admit that he had broken down a second later, that they stayed in a tight embrace for quite a while longer; that all through this time, he was sniffling and sobbing.

Ladybug brought the errors of his ways to light, and then, when he was ready to give up being her partner because of how he had acted, she decided that he didn’t need to. That her perfect partner is just beneath the surface of a boy who needed help to understand.

And now...now he’s more of the partner she needs than ever before. In the few weeks since The Talk, Akuma battles have gone easier, they’ve been more in sync than ever. Ladybug discovered a way to cast the restoration swarm without using a Lucky Charm, which then reduced the need for Cataclysm and Lucky Charm. Which allowed them more time to comfort the victim, reassure the public that they are doing what they need to to take down Hawkmoth. It allows them more time to grow together, grow stronger. They haven’t called in any temporary heroes since The Talk, either.

Adrien turns the tablet to the side, and starts scribbling down ideas. Ladybug has... three powers, possibly four now? He understands why she needs them. The universe is on a constant fast track toward destruction and death, so it makes sense that Creation needs to be a little bit more powerful, no? It’s just...having a single power makes him feel more like a sidekick than her partner. Like...like he’s just a permanent type temp.

And, before The Talk, before his improvements, he was perfectly content to be that. But... now that he has become better, it feels...slightly out of balance. The Black Cat is one of the two most powerful miraculous to exist. It seems a bit weird to have Ladybug have three powers and he only has one? He’s still fine with it, mostly, he can just admit to himself now that maybe having another power wouldn’t be that bad, would it?

He starts drawing a black ball. A black hole. The product of such a destructive death that the gravity makes it impossible for even light to escape. Black holes are such beautiful things, forces of nature that instill fear among every living thing. Except Plagg. He says he accidentally created one with a yawn. Or maybe that black holes are extensions of his mouth and stomach. It might be the latter option. He’s a complete pig.

Black holes are often viewed as portals to a different dimension. So...what if there could be a way his powers could develop to create such portals? That would be awesome!

Suddenly, a yawn interrupts his thoughts. A yawn from directly behind him. A smile creeps onto his face.

Marinette. Such an amazing person, capable of amazing feats. Capable of so much kindness, selflessness, compassion, bravery, desire, determination. It’s amazing how such a tiny frame can hold such big attributes. But, it isn’t all that surprising. That’s just who Marinette is. An amazing, determined, kind, smart, and creative person.

Plus, her yawns are adorable!

For the past few weeks, Adrien has begun to notice how stressed she’s become. She has so much on her plate that he’s surprised she isn’t spontaneously combusting under pressure. Then again, diamonds are formed under intense heat and pressure, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng? She is one heck of a diamond.

He’s been trying to think of ways he can help her destress, somehow. But he hasn’t had much progress. Talking to her doesn’t seem to destress her, he’s tried many times, but the bruises she still has are a testament to how much he stresses her out. Those walls didn’t look comforting. Or the light poles. Or benches.

Maybe he should start walking with her to make sure she doesn’t concuss herself, if she isn’t already living in one continuous concussion. Maybe Ladybug can lend Marinette some luck, only the stars know how much she needs it.

Another yawn comes from behind, and the smile creeps onto Adrien’s face again. Looks like someone didn’t quite get enough sleep. Maybe the akuma attack early this morning was a bit too loud?

Suddenly, an idea strikes him, and he looks to his cup of untouched coffee. A shot of espresso in it. Father would get an aneurysm if he saw the espresso in the coffee. He’d probably get the aneurysm from the knowledge that he even drinks coffee.

His smile turns sly at that. Oh, how he wishes he could tell Father about the coffee, but he won’t because coffee just so happens to keep him alive some days.

He picks it up and swivels around to look at Marinette. Her eyes are droopy, and there are slight bags under her eyes. Not noticeable unless you were looking for them. He smiles a warm smile and sets the cup down in front of her, and his smile turns a little bit more genuine when Marinette squeaks a little bit, her cheeks dusting pink. She’s so adorable!

“For you. I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed tired. It’s untouched, but that also means that it’s colder than it should be. Hope it helps.” Then he turns back around, the elbow to Marinette from Alya as well as the suggestive look, and the look of confusion from Nino going unnoticed. Adrien did, however, notice the faint growl emanating from the back of the classroom.

Lila, he growls inwardly. Ever since he told her to get Marinette back in school, she’s had an eerily quiet growl in the back of her throat at all times. It’s like she can’t contain her rage in any capacity anymore.

He’s not sure why she’s so enraged at the prospect of him and Marinette being friends, or why she’s so set on lying, but Adrien knows this for sure: Lila will do whatever she can to stress Marinette out further.

So all Adrien needs to do to thank Marinette for everything she does for everyone is to help get her out of stressful situations.

He’ll do all that he can to do that.

So far, all Adrien’s been able to do without stressing her out much is to bring coffee every morning. Sometimes it doesn’t seem like she needs it, but there are a few days where it seems to help out a lot. This in turn has helped Marinette to loosen up around him a little bit. While she still squeaks and flails, she has stopped running into walls.

He still thinks she needs to go check for a concussion. If she doesn’t end up having one, well, it’ll be more surprising than Hawkmoth surrendering his miraculous.

And, if Marinette is starting to loosen up around him now... maybe he can deploy a few tricks to help.  

Hopefully she likes inspiration!

Judging by the slight wheezing he’s been hearing all day, Adrien’s assuming that she doesn’t quite like what he wrote on the cup. ‘Remember, the strongest, brightest gems are formed in intense heat and pressure. So far, you outshine the rest.’ Maybe he should tone down the Chat Noir?

Adrien slides into his seat, turns around and places his—Marinette’s—cup of coffee on her desk, right where she would see it and, hopefully, not knock it over, like the first time. With a smile, he turns back around and catches sight of Nino looking at him with that look again.

“What’s that for?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back against the front of the desk behind him. Closer to Marinette. Maybe.

“Dude, what’s up with you?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says, furrowing his brows a bit. He only brought a cup of coffee for Marinette.

Nino cocks an eyebrow. “You’ve been bringing Mari a cup of coffee every day for the past week. Why?”

Adrien furrows his eyebrows in further confusion. “Is...it not acceptable to bring friends coffee?”

Nino looks confused and frustrated, then his eyes widen in understanding and he rests a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Dude, my man, that’s, uh, yeah it’s acceptable—”

“Then what’s the problem?” Adrien cuts in. “Why is it such a big deal?”

“Adrien, sure it’s acceptable, but normally, people buy coffee for the people they like.”

“I do like Marinette!” She is such an amazing person, his second friend, (Plagg is his actual first friend, but Plagg is an immortal god that represents all of destruction in the universe, he does not count toward his human friend count), she does so much for everyone. She’s kind and brave, and clumsy, and adorable, of course he likes her, they’re friends!

He regrets saying that so loud, he can hear how Alya’s heart rate is through the roof, it happens whenever she spots something she can get the scoop on. It’s been happening a lot this past week when he’s dropped off the coffee for Marinette.

...He doesn’t know why. It confuses him greatly. And, honestly, why hasn’t anyone else been bringing her coffee, she’s clearly in dire need of it!

Plus, Nino’s eyes widen even further. “Oh, do you now?” For a brief second, Nino’s eyes dart to the right. Right to Alya. He’s been doing that a lot too. What is going on?!

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? She’s an amazing person. One of the best friends I could have! What’s so wrong about bringing my friend coffee?”

At this, Nino is confused again, then an exasperated look crosses his face and only gets more exasperated when he looks to Alya again. Seriously, why’s he doing that? Are they planning something for Marinette? Her birthday isn’t for another few months.

When Nino looks back, there is something in his gaze that Adrien can’t quite read. It’s... like he pities him? No, Nino isn’t like that. He’s... disappointed? It’s like when parents look at they’re naive children in those movies when they say something that is completely and utterly untrue. Like an all seeing eye, but he can’t say anything.

It confuses Adrien even more. What’s Nino looking at him like that for?

Then, Marinette comes running in, a minute before the bell, as usual, but she’s a bit early today. Maybe she got some good sleep! He jerks his head to her, jumping out of his conversation with Nino, and focusing solely on Marinette. He hopes she’s doing better.

But... no, one look at her eyes, her posture, it’s normal, maybe even worse? Her hair is not quite as shiny as usual, her skin is lacking a little bit of that natural shine, the joy, the happiness. The area under her eyes is slightly darker than it should be, she might have used concealer to cover up bags? One pant leg is rolled up a bit too high, and she’s wearing different length socks.

Her heartbeat is pretty high, and it isn’t going down. In fact, when he looks back to her eyes and they lock gazes for a moment, her heart skips a few beats, then kicks into overdrive and she hurriedly breaks eye contact and gets to her seat.

Hmm...she still isn’t comfortable around him. Maybe this will cheer her up a bit. ‘Marinate’, deserves it.

And, judging by how her heart rate slows down a bit, he thinks it’s working. And, as she inhales the coffee, her heart rate slows even more.

Maybe he might just get some progress with her?

At the end of the day, Nino hands him a note scrawled in neat, loopy, beautiful letters. He’ll recognize that writing anywhere, it’s on his signed Jagged Stone album. It’s Marinette’s.

‘Thank you for the coffee, but if you’re going to keep doing this, is it okay if you add in a bit more caffeine?

(And by that, I mean three more shots.)’

Adrien’s concern skyrockets, he already adds an absurd amount of espresso to the coffee, how bad it it really if she needs that?

Well, a friend’s gotta do what a friend’s gotta do.

The next morning, there is a warm cup of coffee with three shots of espresso in there, waiting for Marinette on her desk. ‘Hope this doesn’t kill you! You are crazy Manatee!’ written on the side.

The next morning, Marinette comes in, but as she passes Adrien and Nino’s desk, she slides him a slip of paper. ‘The coffee helps, but would it be okay if you just got 16fl oz of espresso? I get...really, really tired and anxious.)’

He can’t hide his surprise even if he wanted to, as he whips around to look at Marinette, already downing her coffee.

This girl, she’s going to transform her blood into pure caffeine if he keeps doing this. Maybe, once they’re closer, he can start to wean her off of it?

Another week later, and Marinette is at 16fl oz of caffeine with two shots of extra espresso. Everyone at the coffee shop is giving him extremely concerned looks.

But, it’s helping her, and so are his little messages.

Her heart rate hasn’t broken 180 in the classroom in a few days.

Two days later, the ‘Days without Marinette Stress’ counter is reset to zero.

They are in Mme. Bustier’s class, waiting for the term project.

Everyone was anticipating that it would be a solo project, so when M. Bustier announces that it will be a partner project, everyone’s excitement skyrockets. She’s even letting them choose their partners!

Nino goes to Alya, Ivan to Mylene, Rose to Juleka, Chloe goes to get to Adrien, but Sabrina gets to Chloé first, bullet dodged . Kim goes to Max, Alix goes to Nathaniel. This leaves Lila, Marinette and Adrien.

For some reason, a dark, deep hiss builds in his chest as the prospect of Marinette partnering with Lila. Might have something to do with the fact that Lila is actively trying to hurt Marinette in any way possible.

So, without thinking, he jumps in in an instant (he hadn’t planned on using his enhanced speed, but it was Lila ). He’d much rather be seen as weirdly agile than have Marinette withstand any more stress and threats from Lila.

Once the partners are chosen, Mme. Bustier excuses Lila from the project, since she already missed so much of the assignments that she has yet to get caught up on, she doesn’t want Lila’s grades to drop any further.

Once that’s taken care of, Mme. Bustier announces what they’re doing for the project. They are to write a short story about anything they want, it just has to include a bad relationship turned good.

And...after a few minutes of trying to brainstorm, Marinette starts to wheeze a bit and rushes off to the bathroom.

It doesn’t make Adrien feel very good. He thought they were making progress, but... well, jokes and silly things tend to help her anxiety, he should brainstorm a few silly ideas.

Like...a baby is born incredibly smart, and is competing with the father for the mother’s attention and keeps taunting the father.

An old man loses his friend due to an argument about gum, and the other guy has been holding this grudge for 25 years.

A cat is having some extreme trouble opening a jam jar, so he brings it around to his human slaves for assistance, the humans aren’t much help.

...this is why Ladybug is the brains of the operation. She’s much more creative.

Adrien glares down at the paper, his hands in fists.

Maybe...maybe if he glares hard enough an idea will pop into his head.

When Marinette comes back, he still hasn’t gotten any other ideas.

She slides into the seat next to him, a bit close, but far enough away to still allow him some personal space. She’s so considerate!

A small giggle breaks him from his angry glare and he looks to its source. Marinette has her hand over her mouth, clamped hard, her cheeks pink, looking at his list of ideas.

...is there a way for the ground to open up and swallow him whole (hole)? Plagg, he’d do that.

...maybe, depends on the amount of cheese he’d get. How much cheese does he have in storage? 5kg? 10? He has no clue, but maybe if he promises the little glutton all of it he’d do the deed.

“They’re not bad, a bit silly though.” Her words, soft but amused, break him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” he asks dumbly, shaking his head.

“I mean,” she says, darting her eyes to his, then back down at the paper, her checks tinting an adorable shade of pink, “I-I mean they aren’t bad ideas. They’re fun and silly! Definitely a good way to relieve some stress.” She looks up into his confused gaze. “N-not that I think you’re stressed! You could be stressed, but I have no way to know if you are or not, you’re so calm and kind and perfect—” She cuts herself off, her breath hitching, her eyes going wide and cheeks going even pinker.

She swallows. Opens her mouth, closes it again. Swallows one more time before squeaking out: “perfectly well mannered.” She hangs her head a bit, her eyes downcast.

Adrien tilts his head a bit. What was she going to say before? Was she going to reveal just how “perfect” she thinks he is? Does she still not trust him after the Gum Incident?

“Marinette…” He reaches out, longing to rest his hand on her shoulder, provide some level of comfort beyond words. But...if she’s uncomfortable around him, he’ll give her the space she needs. So, he drops his hand to the table. “Thank you, but I’m not all the well mannered all the time. Heh, you should see me at home when Father isn’t home.”

This makes Marinette look up at him with curiosity burning in her eyes. He leans in, expression guarded in mock reluctance and secrecy, but in reality, he’s hiding a huge grin. “When no one is home, I turn on Jagged Stone and belt out all the lyrics.” He looks to her face, and fights against that ever growing grin threatening to show. “Thing is, I cannot sing.”

This makes her smile a bit. Her eyes gaining a small glitter of amusement.

“ That , is you not having perfect manners?” Marinette scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “Bet you’ve never chugged an entire jug of milk.”

This shocks Adrien. Why would anyone drink milk straight from the jug?! Cups exist for a reason—

Oh, he gets it.

And, by the victorious look on her face, Marinette knows she’s got him on that.

He narrows his eyes.

“I sneak out of my room on a daily basis.”

“I do too, you aren’t special.”

Adrien huffs. “I escape the Gorilla as much as possible.”

“And how often is that?” Marinette asks, her eyebrows raised in challenge.

“Plenty of times!”

“Name one time that wasn’t that one time I was mistaken as your girlfriend.”

Yesterday, for the akuma , is his immediate thought, and he almost says it, but clamps his mouth shut and thinks about how often he escapes from his bodyguard.

“When I tried to go to school on the first day of school.”

“That eager, huh?”

“Well, when you’re homeschool you’re whole life, you tend to be excited for things that others aren’t as excited for.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun! You did name one other time, so I’ll let it slide.”

They fall into a companionable silence, both with smiles on their faces. One could argue that Adrien’s was bigger, Marinette showed him a side of herself that’s he’s been wanting to get to know, longing to get to know. The timid side was the only one she showed around him, yet she was like this, bantering, arguing, having fun with everyone else. It feels like he’s getting to know the full her.

And it couldn’t be better.

After a second, Marinette looks to him, opens her mouth, then closes it as her eyes widen. This concerns Adrien a bit, what did he do? They were having fun!

Then, a glint lights up her eyes, and it calms Adrien. He knows that look. He’s seen it in her eyes many times. It’s a sign that she has a plan.

If he’s being honest, it reminds him of Ladybug. Marinette and Ladybug both get a similar glint in their eyes when a plan forms.

But Marinette isn’t Ladybug, he knows that for a fact. Marinette—Multimouse—and Ladybug were in the same place at the same time. There’s no way she could be Ladybug.

Marinette turns to her paper and starts writing.

Adrien leans back, out of her space (when had he invaded her personal space? They were just talking!), he knows better than to get in the way of a girl with a plan.

But he wants to know what this plan is.

But he shouldn’t interrupt her.

But he wants to know.

But she is writing furiously.

But he wants to know .

In the end, his curiosity wins out. He blames Plagg and the bleeding skill sets and abilities for the insatiable curiosity.

“What are you writing?” he asks, leaning over a little bit.

Marinette startles, and whips around to look at him, her eyes wide in that deer-in-headlights way, a way he knows all too well. Back to square one.

“O-oh, I was just...” Marinette trails off a bit as she looks back at the paper, her cheeks pinking. Then she takes a deep breath and looks back into his eyes, the fear is still there, but determination is burning behind it. “I was just thinking, maybe it could be a story about how a kid misunderstands something and almost jeopardizes a friendship, but because of the other’s kindness and determination, they cleared things up?”

Adrien raises his eyebrows, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. “Like how we became friends!”

“Yeah.” Marinette replies timidly, tone soft and admiring, averting her gaze.

Friends really are the best, aren’t they?

Yes, yes they are.

“Let’s do it!”

Marinette looks up to his eyes again, and the fear has mostly gone away, a happy sparkle replacing it. “Okay, let's do it.”

“Marinette~!” An overly sweet voice rings out, and Adrien immediately perks to attention. Lila , he almost growls. He whips around, just in time to see Lila coming toward Marinette. Oh no, oh, no she does not . He can see it in her eyes, the malice, the hate, the anger. She’s a manipulative liar, and she’s good at it, but Adrien has been in the modeling industry for a very long time, he knows how to see people’s true intentions, he knows how to see through a mask.

And Lila does not want to play nice.

So, he shoots from his chair, and leans on Marinette’s, capturing her attention immediately. “Hey, do you want to go work on our project? I should have time to get it fleshed out a bit more.”

By the look in her eyes, the slump of her shoulders, he’s guessing that she very much appreciates the distraction. “Yeah, I should be able to.”

“Awesome!”

As Marinette starts packing her things, Adrien slides his gaze over to Lila, half way to Marinette, her eyes narrowed slightly. He narrows his right back at her, channeling as much of his father as he can.

Judging by the shock in Lila’s eyes, he’s assuming he did it just right. So he smirks, and turns back around to pick up his bag, then turns back to look at Lila, sending her another icy glare. She will not touch Marinette. Not when he’s here. She’s hurt the people he cares about too much already.

He and Marinette walk out, and as they walk through the door frame, Adrien sends another warning glare at Lila.

“Bro, what’s up with you?”

The voice startles Adrien out of his glare at the back of Lila’s head, across the school yard, making him jump a few centimeters, and whips around to find the his best friend, looking at him with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“What?” Adrien replies, calming a bit, and returning his gaze to the back of Lila’s head, surrounded by most of his classmates.

“Dude, you’ve been glaring at Lila all day.” Nino says.

“And?” Adrien prompts, not turning away from Lila.

“And you’ve been glaring at her for a week now.”

This makes Adrien furrows his brows, looking to Nino. A week? Surely it hasn’t been that long. “A week?”

“Yes, a week. It’s bugging the crap out of me.” Nino looks positively done with him.

“I... didn’t realize it was so long.” Adrien turns away from him, going right back to glaring at Lila.

“Dude, it’s freakin’ me out. It’s freakin’ everyone out. People are kinda scared of you.”

“Why are they scared of me?”

“You hissed at Lila two days ago.”

Adrien opens his mouth to reply, but no words are coming out. When he was with Marinette, working on the project, Lila had come by, and Marinette had tensed up considerably. So, he got Lila to leave and got back to the project. But Marinette was pale, her heart rate was moderately high, and she was starting to have some slight problems breathing.

So, he had set the project aside, and turned to her, tilting his head, and reached out to her.

She had flinched, and he hastily retracted his hand.

He learned many things that day. Like when she’s freaking out, people touching her doesn’t help out all that much, it actually makes it a bit worse. He also learned more about Lila.

“Okay, I admit, that was a bit freaky.” He’d hoped that the cat tendencies wouldn’t bleed through too, but he’s found that he hisses when mad, and purrs when content, happy, or in pain. When he hissed at Lila, he was incredibly freaked out, but he couldn’t let it show, not around Lila.

“’A bit freaky’? A bit freaky?! Dude, everyone is too scared to be around you when Lila’s in the same room!” Nino’s voice wavers a bit.

Adrien looks at Nino. He’s looking at Adrien with fear in his eyes, clutching his arms, and his legs are shaking ever so slightly.

Dang it Plagg, he scared his best friend due to the freaky cat tendencies bleeding through the miraculous!

Adrien breaths out a huff and stands up from his crouch, turning to fully face his friend. “Nino,” he starts, softening his tone. “I’m sorry. I learned something about Lila recently, and I just... I’m trying to look out for the people I care about. I’m sorry I scared you.”

The fear subsides a bit, but confusion takes its place. “What did you learn?”

Adrien sighs. “She’s a compulsive, manipulative liar.”

“Adrien...” Nino says, something in his tone that Adrien can’t discern. “She—”

“No, she is, I can’t tell you what she did to Marinette, but I know what she does.” Adrien cuts him off, ice creeping into his tone.

“How do you know?” Nino asks—no, challenges .

Adrien takes a deep breath. “When Lila first came to school, I found a book and was looking through it, it seemed like it had something to do with the miraculous. When Lila found me and saw the book, she immediately started telling me how she’s great friends with Ladybug and how she’s a miraculous wielder. When Ladybug called her out on it, Lila got pissed, and eventually got akumatized into Volpina.”

“She lied to Nathalie about my grades just so she could get into my house. She took the picture of her kissing my cheek against my will, then, without telling me, sent it to everyone but me.” Adrien looks into Nino’s eyes, his urge to protect Marinette manifesting into anger toward Lila, which was directed at his friend, making Nino duck his head to avoid the burning glare. “She lied about Marinette taking the test answers, then lied about Marinette stealing from her and planted the ‘stolen’ necklace in her locker, getting Marinette expelled . So forgive me, Nino, if I’m a bit pissed at Lila.”

Nino backs away from Adrien, his eyes wide, his arms half extended to Adrien, his body turned sideways. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to get words out, but his breath keeps getting hitched.

It hits Adrien right then that Nino is scared of him, borderline terrified, and Adrien forces calming breaths. Nino isn’t Lila. He didn’t know she was lying. Nino isn’t Lila, He repeats the mantra until his anger ebbs. “Sorry Nino, that was uncalled for, I’m sorry I scared you. It’s just that...I’ve sat back and done nothing about what Lila was doing, and she ended up hurting Marinette a great deal. I shouldn’t have taken my anger at her and myself out on you, or the other classmates.” He offers his best friend a reassuring smile, hoping that Nino trusts him still.

“Okay...” Nino takes a shaky breath. “Okay, t-thanks for letting me know about Lila. I-I’ll keep what you said about her in mind.” Nino turns to leave, but Adrien reaches out to brush his hand against his shoulder. He doesn’t want him to leave with the fear.

“Nino, I’m sorry. I’m mad at Lila and myself. And while, yes, everyone could have done something to realize sooner, I don’t blame anyone but...but Lila and myself. I didn’t mean to snap.” Nino looks into his eyes, and the fear fades away slightly, replaced by compassion.

“Bro, you shouldn’t blame yourself.” Nino places his hands on Adrien’s shoulders, squeezing. “Yeah, maybe you advised her to do something that didn’t work out in the end, but you gave her that advice because of who you are. You are trusting, maybe a bit too trusting, and you always look for the best in people you meet. For you to be this angry at Lila... dude, I can’t believe for a single second that you’re lying about any of this. I believe what you said Lila did. I’ll stay with you ‘til the end. I just... gotta go process things. And... maybe think about how I can help Alya believe you too.” Nino’s eyes still hold some fear in them, but there is nothing that indicates that he was lying.

“Thank you, Nino, so much.”

Nino takes back his hands, and point finger guns at Adrien. “You know it!”

The final bell rings, and kids all around scramble to pack up their things, or are running to or through the door, the instructor giving those students the stink eye. Adrien turns to Nino, but he’s already walking with Alya, deep in conversation. Dang it, when Nino’s with Alya, nothing can distract him from her. Guess that leaves just one other person to ask to hang out with. He turns to Marinette, but pauses.

Marinette is staring at him, her eyes slightly glazed, cheeks pinked, and mouth open ever so slightly, the sun rays from the window reflect off her hair making it shine a deep, raven blue. The same rays come into contact with her skin, making it glow. Her lips look plump and soft, and yet, he can see that they’ve seen war with her teeth, and many a healing balm.

Adrien swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “Hey, Marinette?”

The girl in question squeaks and startles, her arms flailing and face flushing before she locks onto his face. Almost immediately, her seemingly soft lips curl into a bright smile, her eyes conveying warmth and affection, the redness receding.  “Adrien! Did you ask for me?”

This makes him smile. “Yeah, I did.”

“...Well, what did you want?” She quirks an eyebrow at him, putting her chin in her hand, leaning against the table.

“Oh, I was just wondering if you’d like to hang out? My schedule is free, and Father approved already.”

Marinette’s eyes brighten, and her smile turns seductive. “Oh, I want to do more than ‘hang out’ with you Adrien.” She slides forward, her eyebrows raising.

His brain malfunctions. “H-Huh?”

Marinette huffs and leans back. “Fine, I’ll just show you~” Her smile turns into something more than seductive, and it does something to Adrien’s insides. She crosses her arms across her abdomen, hands resting on the hem of her shirt, her biceps framing her-

“Ewwwwwwwwww!” A voice suddenly cuts through and everything suddenly goes black.

“Ewwwwwwwwww! Cover up, man!” A tiny paw slaps his cheek. Five tiny pinpricks of pain accompany it, snapping Adrien from his dream.

“What the hel—” Adrien gets slapped again, by another tiny paw, in the same place—what are the odds of that happening?— sans the claws.

“I’m a benevolent, ancient, immortal representation of Destruction and Death, I do not want to see your teenage ‘urges’!”

With confusion written across his face, Adrien stares at Plagg. A second later, it clicks and Adrien groans, flopping back down onto his pillow. He takes some small measure of joy in Plagg’s indignant Squawk and “That makes it worse! ”

Adriens dealt with this plenty of times, but it’s always been Ladybug before.

...now that he thinks about it, Marinette has been replacing Ladybug in his dreams as of late. But it never got to this level.

...crap, he’s screwed.

“Plagg...” he whispers to the ceiling.

The only response is an annoyed huff.

“Plagg, I’m so screwed...” he admits.

Plagg snorts.

“You remember Marinette, right?”

Another snort. “What’s pigtails gotta do with your...oh.”

“Yeah.” Adrien sighs.

“ Oh . Oh! ”

Then Plagg burst out laughing.

Adrien groans.

Plagg only laughs harder.

Plagg cackles for hours, the only things disrupting the maniacal laughter is: “‘She’s just a friend!’” in a mocking, overly macho tone.

Adrien doesn’t get anymore sleep that night. Nor can he get that last image of Marinette out of his head.

A week after his revelation, Adrien finds himself staring at the board in complete incomprehension. “Free period?” What the living god of cats is that?!

Nino side eyes him, quirking an eyebrow. “Dude, you don’t know what free period is?”

Sheepish, Adrien rubs the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Not really...”

Nino rolls his eyes a bit, but it doesn’t convey anger, just exasperation. “Well, free period gives the class time to do whatever they like. Homework, projects, goof off, anything.”

“I doubt they’d let you do anything , but okay, I think I get it. I do need to catch up on what I missed yesterday.” Because of course Father scheduled a photo shoot during his history class, on the day they did a review. One he needed, because Mothman—awk Moth—doesn’t want him to sleep .

Nino raises his eyebrows in question. “You, Adrien Agreste, perfect boy of Gabriel Agreste, straight-A student, needs to catch up? Dude, I thought you were ahead of us!”

“I was, but Nathalie has me focus on things that the school curriculum didn’t think was important, so I ended up wasting three weeks memorizing Ancient Greece, only to find that we had the most basic of quizzes on Ancient Greece and moved right on to Ancient Rome. I’ve been scrambling.”

Nino purses his lips, and looks behind him, to Alya, and then briefly to Marinette before he looks to Adrien again; a smile forming. “I think I know just who can help you.”

Adrien furrows his brows in confusion for a second before things click and Adrien flushes, trying to stop Nino from standing, but he’s already up and slipping around the desk behind them and talking to Marinette, who’s face morphs into shock, amusement, concern, confusion, and embarrassment. She looks from Nino to Adrien, her eyes wide, cheeks tinting pink slightly. Adrien haunches his shoulders and gives a small wave. Marinette tilts her head, a small smile playing on her lips. She waves back.

Oh holy cheese lord, he’s going to die.

He can’t help but watch as she packs up her stuff, her limbs moving with purpose and grace, her lips, those gosh darn lips, moving in a hushed conversation with Alya and Nino, then she’s slipping around the desk and right next to him.

“Okay, so, I heard you needed help?” Marinette says, her eyebrows quirking in amusement. Lips curling into a hidden smile that just makes them look even more appealing and kiss-

“Y-yeah, spent a bit too much time on Ancient Cheese—Greece, Greece, I meant Greece, and need a bit of help getting caught up on Rome.” He stumbles out, cheeks and ears flushed red in embarrassment.

Marinette’s smile only grows, making her face, no, her being glow. “Okay, let's start by marking the important bits, I’ll show you where they are.”

She turns around to take out her things, and Adrien breathe’s a silent sigh of relief, turning to grab a highlighter. ‘Mark the important bits.’ For some reason, those words won’t leave his head.

When he turns back around, he has to grip his knee so hard he hears a “creak”, because Marinette is hunched over her paper, and a stand of hair has fallen from her braid, of which he is only now realizing she doesn’t have her hair in the usual pigtail ensamble. It hangs just by her temple, looking so soft and smooth and it looks like it would be annoying, hanging just out of eyesight, teasing your attention until you snap. Surely it isn’t good for studying.

Without giving it a second thought, he reaches out and stifles a gasp at how soft and smooth her hair is. If Adrien’s hair is soft, her hair is made of the freaking clouds . He slowly, gently, tucks the strand of hair behind her ear, his heart thumping against his ribs so hard he’s certain everyone can hear it, nervous system spiking at every brush of his fingers against her check, her temple, her ear.

His hand lingers longer than it should, and suddenly, reality snaps back into motion and he realizes that the classroom is silent. He snaps his hand back, ignoring Marinette’s red cheeks and wide eyes and frozen posture.

“S-Sorry,” he stammers our, resolutely looking at his own paper. “I-I just thought that it- the hair- w-would be distracting a-and—” his breath hitches as she rests a hand on his hands, his cheeks aflame.

“Thank you.” She says, her voice wavering slightly, but it’s genuine.

“Okay...the important bits, right?” Smooth Agreste, smooth. He doesn’t look at her.

“Yeah, the important bits. Let’s start at—” The rest of her words are drowned out by his mind latching onto ‘the important bits’.

He looks to his highlighter. ‘Let's start by marking the important bits.’

Yes, let's do that.

He picks up the highlighter, uncaps it and turns to Marinette. Whatever she was saying trails off as she looks into his eyes.

He raises the highlighter, and marks her nose. In doing so, her eyes go, much to his joy, adorably cross-eyed. Even after he’s recapped the highlighter, she’s still staring at her nose.

“What? You said to highlight the important things.”

[masterfuldoodler]

Tag Game

Rules: Name your top 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms and tag 10 people.

Was tagged by: @redfirefox-55 so guess here we go! this gonna be so hard to choose but I'll try. might just settle for not TOP top because too much brain power. :( Also tagged by @festivepeppermint so I really need to finish this lol

Sora from Kingdom Hearts. I really like Sora's story, his personality, the role he fills in the story, and how he grows through the story. He's our main character and hero, but not really for any of the classic reasons. He wasn't "the chosen one" (he did become it, but that's too much detail for this) he isn't a super smart guy, he's not all that tough, even in the world he's in and the strength that's most important he lacks in. His heart is weak, but it's not his strength that makes him great. It's his will, determination, and compassion. He can see where the Light is and the path you need to walk to get there. And he is gonna walk it, and he'll drag everyone he can with him. And if they can't jump the cliff well then he'll give you a boost, even if that means he'll fall. He's a hero and he never wavers.

Samwise Gamgee from The Lord of the Rings. Sam is just a simple gardener, he works for the family his family has always been employed to, a happy man with his flowers and trees. When he gets swept up on this adventure that he had no idea would be anything like it was. Through that whole life-threatening adventure he was by Frodo's side as much as he could. Through the whole year they traveled together he only wavered twice in leaving him, once because he thought he was dead. The part he plays is so simple, but so important. Without him, Frodo would not have succeeded, there would have been no happy ending. Sam had one simple role "Don't you ever loose him, Samwise Gamgee." It may seem small, but he was faithful and loyal to the end, he followed him to the crack of Mount Doom and back. He followed him to the end of all things.

Alistair from Tales of the Goldstone Wood: Dragonwitch & Shadowhand. I really like the story for him, how he grows and what he does. Not only is he just one of those lovely types of characters, but he's a kind I really like. In a fantasy setting where there's faerie and humans it's important to show us why the human character is "human" but just as able as our magical character, and he's one of those characters very well done. He's very human, and maybe the best example of one. He has almost all of the best qualities (he's not a genius or anything, but he has his brains where they're needed) and plenty of their faults as well. And what I like about him is how he starts his story as an "okay" human. He's fine, there's many men better than him. But through his story he's pushed to be better and grows. You can see at the beginning he had those marks in his character but they're not present and there. But by the end you can really see why a faerie would tell him he's the only human he likes. He's that type of "stupid" character that really isn't dump, he just doesn't think too much before moving. Meaning he stumbles a lot, through sentences and hallways. But it's a loveable clumsy, and you like him better for it. And at the end of the day even though he's not thinking too well he's better at acting in the moment and doing the right thing, because he doesn't get hung up on how "the right thing" hurts him, it's the right thing.

Picket Longtreader from The Green Ember. Picket, he is my bunny son. Kind of like a different branch of Alistair's character growth we watch him grow as well. But he starts off at square one. We're introduced to a fussy boy and later we get boy who's become a man (or buck, since he's a rabbit) Through his story he's had a lot of rough things happen, many tough choices, sometimes he chose the right then, and maybe not. And because of that he grew and learned. He started out wishing he could be this great hero and by the end we see that great hero he's become, not because he strove for glory but because of the selfless acts he did, the fights he fought, and the lives he saved. I'm just so proud of this boy ;-;

Huon from The Great and Terrible Quest. Now, how does one describe this man? I can't really do that without spoilers so this is hard. Through the whole book, the whole time you're read it you're always surprised by him. At every turn he shows a different dimension to himself, and just when you thought you knew everything he pulls something else out. And the end of the book you go online and look up to see if there's a sequel because, you want to read more about this man! Huon is a real gentleman, and how every knight should be. He's a happy man, amuses many and laughs loud. He brings joy to those around him. But he cries as well. He allows himself and those around him to feel the emotions presented to them. He mourns for the pains of others and seeks to help them. And if he had a mind to do it, he will. Nothing you throw at him will hinder this man. Even death.

Zuko from Avatar the Last Airbender. Do I even need to explain myself? Zuko, is a really good character. The story he has and the growth he goes through is very well executed. He was masterfully crafted, and you don't see many characters like him. What I love the most about him it that yeah he's a grouch, has a temper, and can just be unpleasant sometimes, but his good qualities and the side of him that we love wasn't something that he gained when he became good, he always had that. Zuko has always cared for other people, he's naturally kind. That trait just wasn't allowed to blossom and so it's a weaker trait. But the thing is it's always been there. And when he isn't spending all his energy and everything he has just to be loved he will do things for other people just, to be nice. This boy is determined and when he sets out to do something he gives it his all, risking his neck to accomplish his tasks. He's loyal and once he's decided he's for you he'll throw all that determination into helping you. All he needs is just some help setting him on the right path.

Patzu from Castle in the Sky. This lil son is just a big ball of fierce loyalty to the end. He'll do anything and risk everything for those he cares about. This young boy is trying to be a man and I think he's doing a fair job! He's just a loveable little passionate guy and deserves so much. He's kinda a simple character, but I love what they simply portray with him.

Howl from Howl's Moving Castle(movie). Howl is one of those loveable jerk characters. Yeah he's selfish, a coward and liar. But you just can't help but like him. He's a very dramatic and talented man, but under all his flamboyant clothes and mannerisms he's still a 11 yr old kid at heart. He never really grew up, and he gets just as excited as a kid would, and just as jerkish as a kid. He's just a little boy who needs a mom to love and take care of him.

Spike from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I stopped watching the show a few years ago, mostly because I didn't like the direction it was taking and I was busy. But! What Spike was like when I was watching it I really liked! He's a very underappreciated character, even in the show. And I feel like nobody really realizes just how much he helps and supports the other characters. He's very loyal and a great righthanded dragon. He just needs some more affirmation and love.

Artham from The Wingfeather Saga. I was really close to choosing Janner, but, I think I like Artham better. But once again I can't talk a lot about why I like him because spoilers. I love his attitude through the whole series, he's very protective and caring, and takes his duty very seriously. He's a terribly interesting character and you really want to learn more about him as we see him show up more. All around he's a great guy, and I really enjoyed his character. I wish I could say more but :/

You can probably tell now my favorite tropes in characters lol. All these stories are really good and I highly suggest you read/watch/play them! Except for My Little Pony, that wasn't that great.

Man I'm sorry that this took so long, I think I way over did it but, I felt I needed to explain why I chose them? Hopefully you'll at least enjoy reading my weird ramblings about why I like them, maybe make up for taking MONTHS.

Tagging: @echoheart0324 @honrupi @daylilydoodles @granny-griffin @squishidoodles @starsora @finchcritter @a-w-tuscany-archive @hero-of-dork @conquering-the-carnival @thetwilightroadtonightfall I'm not gonna force you to do this, it was hard enough for me, so only if you feel like it! And yeah, you don't have to do a blurb explaining why, you're good if all you wanna do is list em. I'm just stubborn and take every opportunity to ramble lol.

[drowning-in-dennor]

Every Time You Kissed Me

It’s been fifty years since Henrik lost the only one he’s ever loved. Since then, he has lived life quietly and grieving still, awaiting the day he can join his deceased darling. [Recommended listening: Every Time You Kissed Me by Yuki Kajiura, performed by Emily Bindiger.] [To fully encapsulate the emotions portrayed in this work, it is recommended to read this as the sun is setting or at night, preferably in a spot where the reader feels most at home.]

  The sky is the colour of blood.

  The setting sun stains the clouds around it with shades of russet and rose, bathing Stellan’s joyful countenance in a soft golden glow. Less beautifully, it clashes with the silver engagement ring on his fourth finger, but Henrik barely notices. “I love you,” he says for what feels like the millionth time.

  Next to him, Stellan rolls his eyes. “You said that five minutes ago.”

  “But I do!” He hinders their journey home even more by grabbing Stellan round the waist and brings his hand to his lips, kissing the engagement ring that promises a happy marriage. “I love you so much I could never stop saying it. I love you so much that just getting married ain’t enough to show it.”

  Smiling (neither of them can keep a straight face for long), Stellan presses their foreheads together, and Henrik feels the butterfly-like flutter of his eyelashes against his cheekbone, soft and fleeting. “I love you too, you sentimental idiot.”

  He smiles and swoops in to kiss his lover. “Oh, I still can’t believe it. Engaged at twenty, to the loveliest man I’ve ever known!” And it’s true — Henrik feels as though he’s about to burst with happiness.

  “You don’t care about the people who will tut at us?” Stellan asks, “the people who will say we’re too young to be married?”

  “Who cares about what other people say?” Henrik laughs, his face aching with the smiles that it’s been tasked to show. “The only words I want to hear are those from you.”

  Stellan laces their fingers together and drags him down the street, past flickering streetlamps and chipped picket fences, drags him on the familiar path home. “One day, my darling, all that sappiness you exude is going to kill me. I’m going to be overwhelmed by how sweet and charming you are, and I’m going to drop down dead.”

  Henrik nearly trips over a crack in the pavement as he struggles to keep up. “Those are mighty bold words for someone who just called me ‘darling’.”

  “Would you rather I call you something else?”

  “Please don’t,” Henrik says, “I’d listen to you call me your darling for the rest of time, if I could.”

  “Just walk, won’t you?” Stellan pushes him lightly. “The walk home was supposed to take fifteen minutes, and we’ve been ditherin’ for thirty. I just want to take a nice, hot bath and fall asleep in my lovely fiancé’s arms, if you please.”

  “Your lovely fiancé?” Henrik repeats, grinning goofily, “tell me about him. He’s way hotter than me, right?”

  “Well, if you insist,” he snorts, stepping on the last crossroad before they reach home, “my fiancé is - “

  It happens so quickly Henrik can’t even process it.

  Everything seems to pass by in a blur. Before he knows it, Henrik is in bed, the night freezing cold and the other half empty.

  He doesn’t remember much of what happened in the evening. But he remembers a truck, a murderer, screeching to a halt on the road; he remembers Stellan collapsing on the rough tar road, as light as a falling leaf; he remembers the life fading out of his lover’s beautiful blue eyes, the last breath escaping from lips that were about to laugh.

  He remembers falling to his knees, screaming and screaming and SCREAMING until he could scream no more, palms rubbed raw against the rough asphalt of the pavement as his eyes refused to tear away from the sight of Stellan, his Stellan, his beloved, lying dead on the road like a stricken animal, cruelly torn from him just a few steps away from home.

...

  The afternoon is alive.

  Outside Henrik’s kitchen window, the early summer breeze stirs chartreuse leaves in a psychedelic little dance, playing with golden sunlight and bending it into pretty patterns. At the corner of his kitchen counter, his radio plays some sort of happy-go-lucky song. Henrik resists the urge to throw his dish-towel at it.

   The last of his few plates are dried, and Henrik slides the stack into his cupboard. The radio crackles, blaring, “and now for the weather forecast, folks, this May seventeenth is a lovely summer’s day, sunny with not a chance of rain! You might want to stock up on the sunscreen, too.”

  This time Henrik does throw the dish-towel at his radio, sighing with all the exhaustion and world-weariness of your typical middle-aged man. He closes the curtains and blocks out the glaring sunlight, remembering that his car needs washing and groans to himself.

  Twenty years ago, Henrik would find these mundane chores enjoyable. But twenty years ago, Stellan was alive and would flick soap suds at him, spray at him with their garden hose and chase him through the house with his feather-duster. 

  Today being Stellan’s birthday only adds insult to injury.

  For the fifteen birthdays he got to celebrate with Stellan, Henrik would always bake him some sort of cake (or bought one), sloppily ice it, and bring it to school with him. The entire class would share the cake, Stellan would get the biggest slice and Henrik would always deliver his birthday present with a simple hug - or, when they started going steady, a kiss.

  No more cakes now, no more hugs or kisses, no more company. At Henrik’s job, the same old spot at a publishing agency he’s been working at since he was eighteen, a few of his old friends pat him on the shoulder when they see him. On such a Sunday afternoon, alone and wondering why he even bothers, he wants to see people, although they are not the one he wants to see.

  When night falls, and he cannot sleep, Henrik walks out to his little garden. It is still impeccable, of course, but soulless and dead. He uprooted his favourite hyacinth plants a week after Stellan died, his lover’s beloved twinflower patch a month after that. In its place are boring-looking flowers Henrik never bothered to learn the names of - their only purpose is to make the garden look normal.

  At the corner of his garden is a small lamp, and he switches it on, staring listlessly at the harsh glow that leaves spots dancing before his eyes. Not long after, a moth flutters to perch on top of the lamp, its eye-spotted wings quivering just slightly. Memories of Stellan rush back, of his lover, youthful and happy, holding a moth in his delicate, porcelain hand, quipping about how the moth’s thin little legs tickle, before shaking his hand and releasing it into the night.

  Henrik leans forward to turn off the lamp. Tears run down his cheeks, and he hurriedly reaches up to wipe them away. Unable to bear the memories the garden brings him, he hurries indoors and braces himself for another night of fitful sleep.

...

  In the middle of a spring-cleaning session one day, bones already creaking with the too-early signs of age, Henrik dodges a heavy, leather-bound book that falls from his shelf. Cursing the way his hips pop, he picks up the tome and realises that it is no book, but a photo album.

  And though his mind screams for him not to, Henrik surrenders to his nostalgic, over-emotional side and opens the album.

  Each photo inside is neatly labelled, even though there are not many of them. The first one, he recognises, was taken when he and Stellan were ten years old, grainy and monochrome. But he can see the grins on their faces, and their arms around each other, and their run-down schoolhouse beside them. He turns the page.

  The next photo, as the date tells him, was taken exactly forty years ago, and shows the two of them at the beach, in garish swimwear and faces caked with sand. Henrik chuckles at his twelve-year-old self, hair a wind-tossed mess and one hand pinching Stellan’s cheek. Oh, how happy they were.

  The third photo is of their last year in high school, a cut-out from their yearbook, of them holding each other and not looking at the camera. The little caption underneath reads, “Henrik Dansen and Stellan Dahl - Cutest Couple”.

  Henrik can barely keep a straight face as he flips through the rest of the album, filled with snapshots of when he was happy and content, when he had someone to hold and love. At the very last page, the thirteenth photo, is a small strip of film holding four photos. And he can tell, from their bright smiles and how they wave their hands to show the pretty little bands around their fourth fingers, the photos were taken the day he proposed to Stellan, after a dream-like date and inside a dingy little photo booth. 

  Silly young not-yet-adults, they were, blissfully unaware of their horrible fates.

  He slams the album shut, sniffles and shoves it at the very back of his shelf, behind old magazines from who-knows-when and old novels he’s given up on reading.

  And he continues to clean.

...

  It appears to be one of those mornings, those mornings where he feels too weary to get out of bed and is content with nestling in the comfort of his pillows and staring at nothing.

  The bedroom is stuffy and warm, the heated air of summer turning the room into what feels more like a sauna. But inside, Henrik feels cold, stretching out on his impossibly large bed. Even after fifty years, being the only occupant of his bed feels strange.

  He is aware of how his old bones creak more than usual, the way his vision is blurrier than usual, how his heart beats a little slower than it did yesterday. Henrik sighs, a rattling breath pushed out from failing lungs. And he wishes, probably for the millionth time, that he could trade places with Stellan, to be the one run over on the streets instead of the one slowly ageing.

  Outside the open window, Henrik can see, at the corner of his vision, the road where he lost Stellan, scrubbed clean of the terrible event that occurred there when he was young. But the sunlight is too bright; it hurts his eyes. He looks away.

  With one trembling, brittle-boned hand, Henrik runs his thin-skinned fingers over the cool, varnished wood of his bedside table. A layer of dust gathers at his fingertips. His hand bumps against a metal photo frame. Henrik picks it up, his hand straining.

  His old eyes struggle to figure out what’s in the photograph, before it hits him - it’s him and Stellan, as most of their photos are, pink-cheeked and young - they couldn’t have been older than sixteen - and smiling toothily. Henrik raises one hand to touch his wizened, wrinkled face. That all seemed like an eternity ago.

  Oh, how he misses Stellan! Henrik squeezes the frame with what’s left of his strength, feeling the sun-warmed metal bite into his skin. How he longs for his young darling of a lover, snatched away by the cruel claws of the monster that is fate.

  He wants to cry, but he cannot. Instead, Henrik simply lets the photo frame fall onto his lap, sinking into his blanket. His eyes flutter. He leans back into his pillow, feeling so small and tired.

  Henrik.

  The voice makes his eyes open. In a feeble voice, rough with disuse, Henrik rasps, “what?”

  It’s me, my darling. Don’t you remember?

  How could he forget? Wondering if he is hallucinating, Henrik rasps, again, “Stell?”

  A little snicker. He hasn’t heard it in half a century. Who else would it be, silly?

  His voice breaks. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Despair creeps into Stellan’s voice. So have I. But we won’t have to, not for long.

  “What do you mean?”

  My darling. The endearment, so sweet, so loving, brings tears springing up. I can finally see you again. I’ve waited fifty years to be able to do this.

  And Henrik understands. “Is it time to go?”

  You’re right. And Stellan appears, as young and beautiful as he was when he died, as though in a mirage. He kneels down in front of Henrik, caresses his face with smooth, gentle hands, and suddenly Henrik feels as though he is twenty years old again, a shallow young man deeply in love. 

  My dear. He smiles. My sweetheart. Stellan brushes his thumb over Henrik’s lips. My one and only. Henrik laughs, a fragile, hacking sound that sounds more like a cough. My love, my love, my love. Join me, please.

  “Of course I will.” Henrik can count his heartbeats, every weak thump of his chest. His breathing is beginning to slow. “I’ll join you.”

  I love you, Henrik. Stellan’s gentle smile, his lovely frame, along with the rest of Henrik’s bedroom, is rapidly fading. I’ll see you there.

  “I love you too, Stell.” Henrik smiles back, even though it hurts to do so.

  The last thing he feels before everything fades to black are Stellan’s lips, feather-light and gentle, brushing over his forehead in one last kiss.

[h-styles-babes]

THIRTEEN

“Thanks for givin’ us the Friday off, boss,” Sia snickered, resting her head back against her towel. They were out on the lawn, going through a more intense yoga routine than they had at the beginning of the week. Sia had requested a bit of a leisurely stretch before they got started, since it was such a nice day. She just wanted to enjoy the sun in peace for a few moments.

“Oh, shut up,” Harry laughed, shoving lightly at her shoulder, jostling her side to side gently.

Sia laughed. “Oh, don’t pretend like yeh don’t like the title. Besides, I do actually appreciate the extra day off. Feel like I’ve been working for three weeks straight.”

“Best three weeks of your life, though,” Mitch piped up from his place under the shade of the awning attached to the back of the house. He had his feet kicked up on the wicker coffee table, a crime novel in hand, glasses perched on his nose. They had tried to entice him into joining their yoga session, but he had vehemently disagreed and plopped down in the chair with his book.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Sia argued. Really, for her career, the three weeks had been amazing. It was nearly unheard of that a twenty-three year old had a producer credit on an album by such a big name artist, so she would be eternally grateful to Jeff for including her on this project. For her personal life, however, it had been a bit of a rollercoaster. Hopefully all the lows were behind her, though.

It had been a few days since her and Harry had had their little heart-to-heart on the beach, and it had been a pretty smooth, comfortable few days. It was sort of humourous how easily they had fallen back into being friends. Sia had thought, at best, it would have taken them another week or so to whisk away all the awkwardness that had plagued their relationship before. However, she was pleasantly surprised when she’d woken up the following morning, and Harry was greeting her in the kitchen with a friendly greeting, an already-prepared cuppa, and a bowl of his overnight oats that she’d always loved. They’d taken their breakfast out into the backyard and chatted in the pale morning light. It looked like it was going to rain that day, and they reminisced on the stormy mornings in that they had shared back in England.

Much of the rest of the week had gone the same way, with Harry and Sia in much better moods and actually joking around together. Jeff Azoff had shot them a slightly concerned yet amused look in the studio the next day when Sia had piped in over the speaker into the booth to tease Harry about the note he’d horribly missed, and they’d both cackled about it for a few moments before Harry did another take. Mitch did all he could to hide his pleased smiles whenever the two of them did something that made the other laugh. He was sure this is what their dynamic had been like before everything had fallen apart between them.

Harry and Sia did a bit more of a rigourous yoga session that morning, seeing as they had the whole day off and nothing else planned. Mitch watched on, with a little trepidation and worry, as they twisted their bodies into some shapes he was sure were not supposed to be possible. They even did a thing where Harry hoisted Sia into the air, balanced by her lower back on the flats of his feet and his hands cupping her shoulders and she stretched back, her hands planting on the floor besides Harry’s head. Mitch barely held back a grimace.

After they’d done a few cool down stretches, they each went and took a shower to get prepared for the day. They didn’t have any official plans, but they’d decided earlier that morning that it was a good day to get some sightseeing in while the weather was nice. There were some beaches that Mitch had wanted to visit, and Sia knew there had to be some cool little coves around the island where they could all get some privacy. Maybe even do some cliff jumping if the water permitted. It was going to be a weekend of relaxation, and everyone was really looking forward to it.

After her shower, Sia braided her hair and put on a simple white bathing costume under a pair of denim cutoff shorts and an old Van Halen t-shirt she’d had for way too long. It had been so whole riddled at one point that she had to cut at the hem and make it a crop top to make it functional again. That was one thing her and Harry had always had in common: they’d wear their favourite pieces of clothing until they were worn and falling apart just because they loved them so much. She’d actually been the reason for quite a few of the holes worn into Harry’s shirts over the years, and she wasn’t sorry. The clothes were well loved.

When she was ready, she met the boys in the kitchen. Mitch and Harry were laughing while chatting over a bowl of shared grapes at the kitchen counter. She was happy to see that the two were getting along so swimmingly. She could tell even early on that Harry had wanted to create a close bond with Mitch. Rowland was the exact type of person that Harry wanted and needed in his life because he was steady and grounded and a completely normal person that liked Harry for the person he was and not the opportunities he provided from his fame. And she had been really afraid that her quick friendship with Mitch amidst her unspoken feud with Harry would really hinder the development of any possible relationship between the two. She was glad to see everything was going great despite her interference.

“You lot ready?” she asked, adjusting her bag on her shoulder.

Both the boys’ heads popped up and they both grinned at her, Harry giving her that toothy one she couldn’t help but love, and Mitch flashing her a closed mouth smile. They were both sort of adorable for grown men, and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at herself.

~*~*~*~

About an hour after they’d left the house, the trio had found a little alcove on the island, about two miles down the beach, nestled in between big palm trees and other tropical plants. The water was crystal clear and the eyelet shape made it so the waves just barely lapped at the shore. It was calm and beautiful and Sia had wasted no time in laying out her towel and plopping herself down onto it.

In true Harry fashion, however, he’d demanded that everyone put suncream on before they got too comfortable and didn’t want to do it. Sia wanted to be annoyed, but she knew she’d end up getting sunburnt and she’d be really upset looking like a lobster for the next few days. So, she’d complied and happily took the bottle Harry passed her. She shed her outer layers to properly apply the lotion. She didn’t realise until she’d gotten to her stomach after moving on from her legs that Harry was sort of staring at her.

“What?” she questioned when he didn’t avert his gaze.

Harry furrowed his brows before answering her. “When’d yeh get that?”

Sia was confused about what he meant, looking down at where his eyes were apparently trained on her lower torso. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to her, as she gazed down at the ring threaded through her bellybutton and the line of Beatles lyrics that curved the underside of her right breast. However, when her eyes landed on the little sketched bird that just peeked over the edge of her swimsuit at her left hip. Harry hadn’t been there for that one, unlike the other ones littered in random places on her body. Her first had been the crescent moon on the inside of her left wrist when she was seventeen. The second had been the dainty sunflower on her right ankle when she was eighteen. Then there was The Beatles lyrics, aforementioned, and the music notes behind her right ear, her maternal grandmother’s name, Hazel, written in the crease of her right elbow. Her work wasn’t as extensive as Harry’s but he’d been there for every one of them. Except for the little bird.

“Uh…” Sia responded dimly. “January.”

Harry could tell that whatever the bird symbolised for Sia was touchy, so he wasn’t going to push.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her, deciding to leave it be. If she didn’t want him to know, he wouldn’t dig around for information.

Sia let her shoulders drop when she realised he let it go, letting herself relax. She’d tell him about it eventually, just like everything else that she had yet to relay to Harry, but she wasn’t ready just yet. She’d made a lot of progress in the past few weeks, but she wasn’t quite there yet. She still had to have a conversation with her therapist, and after that, maybe she’d be ready.

They all finished applying their suncream and settled onto the towels to let it sink into their skin. Sia hated just applying the lotion and then stepping into the water, just to see the oils seeping into the space around her. It made her feel like she was doing some not so great things to the water, as well as just washing off all the hard work she had just put in to protect her against the sun. She figured letting it sit for about twenty minutes or so was for the best.

As they were all lying there, sunglasses shielding their eyes from the bright rays, Harry began humming a tune that Sia didn’t recognise. It was rare that there was a song Sia hadn’t heard at least once or twice, so hearing the sultry tune vibrating in Harry’s chest made her guess it was a song he was in the process of writing.

“What’s that you’re hummin’?” she asked him, not opening her eyes.

Harry finished humming what was most likely the chorus before answering her. “A song Mitch and I have been workin’ on. From that bass beat Mitch was playin’ that first day we were in the studio. Comin’ along nicely. Might start recording tracks next week.”

“We’ve gotta finish this one first, H,” she reminded him. They’d been working on a more upbeat song that reminded her of something that would have been popular in the early 90s. It was catchy and something that would be easy for his fans to learn and sing along to at concerts. Not that Sia thought he’d really have any problem with people learning his lyrics. His fans were dedicated to a point of being obsessive. She’d seen it first hand on all those tours and just general outings. Not all of them were hardcore, but they were all dedicated, for sure.

“I know, but it should be done by Tuesday at the latest,” he reasoned. “After this, I wanna get started on this song.”

“Have yeh taken it up with Alex?”

While Jeff was still back in America, Alex was the lead on this project, making sure everything was going well and on a sort of schedule. He was also Sia’s mentor for the time being, and most big decisions she deferred to him when they came up. While he trusted her to make decisions, too, she felt more comfortable taking his lead for situations that could make or break the album-making process.

“Suggested it. Said as long as we can get ‘Anna’ done by Tuesday, it’s a go.”

“Sounds good,” Sia agreed. She peered over at Harry and lowered her sunnies to get a better look at him. The blue shade of the lenses sort of distorted everything. “Really liked what Mitch did with it before. Kinda excited to hear where it goes.”

“You’re gonna love it,” Mitch assured, reaching over to pat Sia twice on the ankle.

Sia watched as Harry flashed Mitch a look she’d seen herself and been on the receiving end of a million times before. It was a look she’d received when she’d giggled Harry’s embarrassing stories to his sister at Christmas, and when she’ gave Nick the idea to make Harry call his stylist and demand he wanted tights to wear under his jeans. It was his affronted look, and it was very clear that Mitch had said something that Harry didn’t want him to, probably especially to Sia.

She would find that Mitch would be getting a lot of those looks in the weeks to come.

[jimlingss]

Jungle Park [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 7.5 OR Chapter 8

➜ Words: 7.3k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

Marriage seems to be the ultimate goal for many. And she can’t blame those who want it. At least when she constantly faces the most beautiful side of love and matrimony, bouquets of red roses and yellow tulips, long trains of wedding dresses, the tulle of the veil, the glowing smile of both bride and groom radiating happiness.   Yes. Weddings were undoubtedly gorgeous.   “And here...a song dedicated to these love birds.” The band behind her is already beginning and all the guests clap. It’s a pretty easy gig when she can sprout all the cheesiest nonsense and bullshit she wants and they eat it from the palm of her hand. “May their love be everlasting as the stars.”   The woman with the sleek, long, black hair stands at the stage. She parts her lips and sings the first note, the melodic song filling the venue as the bride and groom begin their first dance. It’s another sickening love song of the most delusional lyrics, but she doesn’t care much. By the looks of people’s faces, they’re loving every second of it.   When the song ends and she belts the last note out, microphone pressed to her lips, the audience erupts into claps with melted expressions. “That was amazing. You have a really beautiful voice,” the best man says as he approaches and the band continues playing some background music, others joining the dance floor.   “Thanks.” She sets down the mic and climbs off the stage. “I’d like to say I try.”   He trails after her to the side. “And you’re friends with the bride…?”   “Oh no.” She uncaps a bottle of water and takes a sip, quenching her throat. “I’m just a hired wedding singer.”   “You’re a professional then?” He grins and it’s obvious he’s trying to flirt with her through praise. She’s flattered, but largely unaffected.   “One day, maybe I’ll be.” Her arm extends straight out and the best man shakes her hand with a firm grip. “My name is Jung Sowon.”   “Nice to meet you, Sowon. My name is Sejin.” He smiles and lets go, slipping his hands into his black, dress pants pockets. He kicks the grass once and glances up. “I don’t know if this is okay, but I was wondering if I could get your number. I’d love to hear your lovely voice again.”   “Well, I don’t know about my number, but I can give you a number.” She reaches inside her blazer pocket and pulls out a rectangular piece of white card stock and hands it to him.   Sejin takes the card and frowns, reading the top. “Jung and Park….?”   “That’s my brother’s law firm.” She beams brightly like a ball of sunshine. “He’s a divorce lawyer. Keep it. You might never know when it might come in handy.”   The man is mortified, jaw slack as the card is still held in his hands and he watches the woman saunter away. When the band is on break, she also hands out the business cards like they’re flyers. “Please check out this law firm. Jung Hoseok does matters of divorce. He’s a really good lawyer.”   She bows at the wedding guests and hand them the card as well. Their eyes are always wide, mouths dropping open. She even leaves them on people’s plates and on the tables like they’re wedding favours. “Hello, please take this. Jung Hoseok is a fantastic divorce lawyer.”   Hey...it’s free advertisement. Might as well.   As Sowon weaves between white round tables, a kid accidentally collides into her, face planting right into her legs. The little girl giggles and stares up, pretty hair decorated with a flower headband, pink dress wrinkled from running around — an angel on the outside and a parent’s nightmare on the inside. “Oops, sorry!”   The older woman squats down with a smile, meeting her eyes at the same level. “It’s okay. I actually have a present for you.”   She qurisk her head to the side, apples of her cheeks reddening from the cool breeze. “What is it?”   “This.” She hands her the rectangular card and the child’s brows knit together while her cute lips pout. “This is really important. Give it to your parents, okay? It might help them one day.”   “Okay!” She grins and goes running off.   The wedding singer eventually strolls over to the buffet line and grabs free plates of food without anyone really noticing. She sings a handful more songs afterwards, most being the same old cliché love songs. Things couldn’t get easier or better than this. And after the party’s over, she bids goodbye to the band and packs up her stuff.   At home, Sowon flops on the bed. Her body molds against the mattress, tired and aching bones she didn’t remember having ten years ago after running miles. She’s trying to muster energy to take a shower that’ll wash away the grime on her skin. But before she can launch herself on her feet again, her phone rings beside her head.   It rings and rings and her arm reaches over, grabbing the mobile device. She smiles while reading the caller ID and picks up without another second to spare. “Well, well, well, looks like my little brother finally decided to give his poor, older sister a call. How long has it been, brat?”   “Stop handing out my business card.”   “Oh.” Her tone raises up in pitch from excitement. “Did you get more clients already, Seok?”   “No!” Hoseok whines on the other line and she grins, practically able to hear his pout. “Angry calls are what I’m getting.”   “They’re angry now, but one day, they’ll call and ask for help. I guarantee it.”   “Stop.” He channels his firm voice despite knowing it’s futile. Much to Hoseok’s dismay, any time he’s shown his family his professional side, they cooed at him. Whenever he tried to command his sister, the next second he was being held in a choke hold, and threatening to sue did nothing but gain laughter from the maniac of a witch. Still, he likes to try. “I don’t like getting angry calls or voicemails or spam. Stop giving out my divorce business cards at weddings, you sick freak.”   “Can’t I just boast about you?” She rolls around in the covers of her bed. “I’m so proud of my hot shot baby brother who thinks he’s too good for everyone else.”   There’s a pause.   “I’m begging you.”   “We’ll see.”   //   At the rate he’s going, Hoseok wouldn’t be surprised if his head of hair will all turn gray by age thirty six. Maybe he’ll even start balding. It’s easy to misunderstand that he’s feeling this stressed since he’s constantly drowning in work. But that’s isn’t the case at all. Rather, Hoseok jumps into the ocean of work with open arms. He loves what he does and he thrives in the workplace. In his free time, he works and at work, he works twice as hard. He just loves the feeling of accomplishing his professional goals, of keeping busy, of being able to sleep at night knowing he didn't waste his time and that he did something useful for his future.   Rather, Hoseok’s losing all his hair because of the women in his life.   It would be nicer if they were romantical problems — if he had issues with his love life, significant others, potential lovers or partners. In that way, people would understand him and he’d be able to consult someone with more ease. But the women of his life include: his mother, his sister, the receptionists, Seulgi who’s a paralegal, Sunyi and Naul who are lawyers of his firm, and you.   And each and every one of these people are handfuls.   “In light of some recent issues in the office, I think it would be important to discuss sexual harassment in the workplace.”   You’re standing up stiffly in front of the conference room, conducting your first ever seminar. A slideshow runs behind you, remote in your right hand and thick binder held in your left arm. If it weren’t for the way Inyoung is smiling at you, appreciating your efforts to protect the people in the firm and going this far to address the issues, you would be slick with sweat right now.   Everyone is staring at you, their gazes pinpointed on your face. More importantly, Hoseok’s seat is the farthest, but his stare is the most intense. He looks at you as if you murdered his entire family and he’s seething and ready to enact revenge at your weakest moments. You know that it’s just his concentrated face, but it’s still intimidating and scary. But you never let him nor any of the uncertain thoughts in your head hinder your plans.   You clear your throat, deciding to start right away. For now, it seems like everyone’s relatively engaged. You don’t want to drone on and on and make them bored.   “What is sexual harassment?” You click the remote and the slideshow begins, going to the next slide where there’s some flashing text that draws people’s attention. “It’s any unwanted sexual advances or obscene remarks, including any comments or inappropriate touching, in the workplace.”   The slide changes. For the most part it seems pretty straightforward, but you’re perfectly aware that the boundaries can become murky and it can become hard to tell what is or isn’t sexual harassment. “Let’s go over some examples…”   “Derogatory language would be seen as sexual harassment. Even something as suggestive notes or emails. Invading personal space, any unnecessary physical contacts, demanding hugs are also all examples. Another—” A hand shoots up in the cluster of employees and your mouth shuts. “Alright, we have questions already. Yes?”   Namjoon lowers his hand. “What if it’s consensual?” It’s a genuine inquiry. He’s not trying to give you a hard time. The paralegal’s face remains impassive and his head slightly tilts in curiosity.   “It’s still inappropriate for the workplace. We wouldn’t condone it. Everyone should remain professional in this environment.” You nod and he does too, satisfied with your answer. “Speaking of which, inappropriate staring is also considered—….yes, Taehyung?”   The caramel-haired lawyer smiles and explains, “Sometimes my mind goes on a trip and it looks like I’m staring when I’m not.”   “Uh...well, as long as you don’t have the intention, it should be fine. But try your best to not let that happen, okay?” You continue after the man flashes a thumbs up, “No one should be sharing inappropriate pictures either. Please don’t share nudes in the office.”   Seulgi looks over at Seokjin with a raised eyebrow and you don’t even want to know at this point. You click the remote, changing the slide again.“Sexual jokes are also looked down upon—”   Yoongi raises his hand this time and then he crosses his arms. “Does that include ‘that’s what she said?”   Sunyi rolls her eyes to the back of her skull and you can practically hear the storm of complaints she’ll make to you and the documents you’ll have to fill out. “....yes. Moving on, bragging about sexual endeavours is also improper behaviour. Everyone is here to work, not talk about their personal lives or what they did on the weekend.”   Suddenly, Lisa coughs loudly like she’s choking a chicken bone. The noisy interruption gathers the attention of the room and she eyes Taehyung in particular who remains oblivious, perhaps on purpose.   You continue quickly without prying or publicly humiliating anyone, “Basically if you’re wondering if an action is sexual harassment or not, just ask yourself ‘would I do this in front of my grandma?”   It’s easy enough to understand and you even gain a few amused smiles around the room. “It’s a good rule of thumb for a lot of things. Would you talk badly about someone in front of your grandma? Would you talk about your sex life in front of your grandma? Would you send nudes in front of your grandma? Would you make sexual remarks in front of your grandma? The answer is no, right?”   Your confidence boosts at the bubble of laughter that echoes throughout the group. “Our firm has a strict policy on sexual harassment. We take it very seriously in order to protect everyone and create a safe environment. If you ever feel unsafe, threatened, or uncomfortable, come talk to me, Jimin or Hoseok at any time. There will be absolutely no tolerance for this sort of thing.”   The slide changes again. “And just putting it out there, if there are any office romances, then you need to file with HR. All you need to do is fill out a form and sign. It’s just for the firm to be aware. We are legally obligated to protect every employee here from sexual harassment and hostile work environments.”   After a few more minutes of going over more details and getting the group to watch an old video you found on the internet that explains and reenacts different scenarios, you flicker the conference room lights back on and stand in front, preparing to close the seminar up. “Does anyone have any questions?”   “How about after work?” Jungkook’s voice is soft and shy, and you’re happy that he’s actively participating. “Do these rules apply?”   “....No,” you answer after thinking carefully. Jimin seems to have no problem with your answer, but you can’t exactly tell with Hoseok when he’s still half-staring, half-glaring at you. “You’re free to do whatever you want after work, but please be five hundred meters away from this firm. Don’t do anything on company property.”   Seokjin raises his hand and speaks without being called upon, “So we can’t get it on in this office?”   There’s a few disgusted looks that pass around, mostly from Dahyun and Inyoung who look like they’ve bitten into a sour lemon. On the other hand, Seulgi and Namjoon don’t look too unfazed with his particular inquiry. You can only sigh. “Under no circumstance should you ever engage in any sexual acts inside this office.”   Taehyung’s palm lifts, surprisingly timid. “What happens if you’ve already broken that rule?”   ���Ew, gross!” Seulgi’s expression blanches and even Yoongi’s brow lifts, skeptical expression marring his blankness. Jimin scoffs with a laugh and Hoseok groans, rubbing his temples.   “You’re all a bunch of wild animals,” Naul waves him off and looks away.   “Look it wasn’t my fault!” Taehyung tries to defend, feeling like he was somehow put on trial and is at the stand in front of his accusatory colleagues. “I met her at a bar and we got wasted and I was being responsible by not driving! And the office was only a block away, so I decided why not!”   “Oh my god!” Sunyi is screeching and cups her hands over her ears like she can block out the monstrosities she’s hearing. “Oh my god, oh my god.”   “Why are you treating me all like this!” He laughs in disbelief. “I cleaned up the desk after and I personally bought that carpet cleaning solution and I scrubbed the carpets for like an hour—”   “Too much information, dude!” Namjoon interrupts with a loud voice. “We don’t want to know!”   “Oh my god!” Yoongi suddenly bolts up from his seat and turns to the fellow lawyer. His arm extends and his hand quivers as he points to Taehyung’s face, features marred with complete horror. “Is that why my office smelled like that for an entire week?!”   Sunyi bursts out in hysterical laughter. She has to physically grab her stomach as she leans over with giggles streaming infectiously out of her throat. The lawyer is no longer disturbed listening to Taehyung’s sexual endeavors in the office, instead savouring the look on Min Yoongi’s face. “Serves you right! Get a taste of that, Min.”   Suddenly, Taehyung turns to her.   He becomes serious, all traces of humour and mischief escaping from him. Then, her smile falls, and she slowly shakes her head. “No…” The disbelief quickly becomes fear. “No...no, you...didn’t….you...wouldn’t…”   “That stain on your couch—” His timbre is low and vibrates. “—it wasn’t ketchup.”   “Gross! Gross! I can’t believe you would do that in my office! That’s where I work and eat and—! Oh my god, I sleep on that couch sometimes, Taehyung! What’s wrong with you, freak?!”   “Serves you right,” Yoongi mocks her back in a whisper.   Taehyung leans back in his seat and scans the room with his sharp eyes. “You’re making such a big deal out of this like you haven’t done it yourselves when I know for a fact that you have!”   Dahyun looks away. Seulgi shifts uncomfortably. You don’t miss the way Sunyi glances at Yoongi for the shortest of seconds, the both of them gone quiet. But you get distracted when Lisa shouts, “We haven’t!”   “Liar.” He turns to the oldest lawyer on the team, the middle aged woman who is sipping on her beverage and watching the gong show go down. “Come on, Naul. I know you’ve brought your husband here more than twice.”   “I have a bedroom, thank you very much.”   “Jin?”   The man in question dodges. “My secrets will stay as secrets.”   “Okay, fine.” Taehyung holds his hands up like he’s defeated. “Deny all you want, but I bet the only people who haven’t actually done anything in this office is Y/N and like…”   Simultaneously, everyone turns around to the back of the room, looking at Hoseok.   The lawyer is unimpressed, one leg thrown over the other. He looks like a strict judge at a singing competition, hair swept over his brow in a comma motion and in a fitted suit like he’s ready to be broadcasted on national television, but also giving no fucks with what’s being presented before him. “This meeting is over. I hope you all paid attention and learned something, because I’m going to test you all on it.”   Jimin laughs when everyone becomes petrified and he steps in before mass hysteria can spread like wildfire. “He’s joking. There’s no test. But Hoseok’s right. This seminar has gotten a little off topic. It’s time to get back to work, but please take the topic of discussion seriously.”   He continues, doing a beautiful job of wrapping things up, “Any inappropriate behaviour in this firm will not be tolerated by Hoseok nor I. If you have any further questions or concerns, please come talk to Y/N, Hoseok, or me. It’s best to clarify any confusion, so that everyone is on the same page. With that being said, can we give a round of applause to Y/N for doing so well?”   People clap for you, the thundering applauses reverberating and you become sheepish under the attention. “It’s nothing, really. But thank you for listening to what I have to say.”   One by one, employees trickle out of the room. They’re chatting with each other, returning back to your desks and catching up on some work. On his way out, Taehyung grins at you. “That was fun, Y/N.”   You hold your sigh. “Well, I’m glad.”   “Thank you,” Inyoung murmurs as she walks past, modest smile still placed on her lips.   “No problem.”   Jungkook smiles and the rest of them also put in their few compliments and words of appreciation. Jimin is one of the last people and he actually stops. “Good job.”   “I was nervous,” you admit, remote off the laptop still in your sweaty hands.   “Couldn’t tell.” He grins, eyes crinkled into half moons. “It was your first time conducting a meeting, so don’t beat yourself over it. You’ll get better and better as time goes by. Plus, if it weren’t for you, I would have to conduct this seminar myself, so I’m once again thankful for your existence, Y/N.”   “It’s nothing.” Your eyes fall to your feet. “It’s my job.”   “And you’re good at it.”   But for some reason, you seek someone’s praise in particular. You’re thankful for everyone’s positive feedback and their encouraging remarks, but it never feels like quite enough. It’s like you thirst and ache to hear it from someone who is much tougher in nature, who is naturally a critic. Only when you hear from him will you truly be satisfied and you know you’re not being spoon-fed by stretched truths.   So, like the pathetic loser that you are, you hang around. You walk slowly to your laptop, closing the presentation, disconnecting the remote. And when you steal a peek at the corner of the room, Hoseok’s still seated, sending off a text message. It’s excruciating how desperate you are and the way you linger.   Jung Hoseok is the last to leave and when he notices you’re still here, his brow lifts, as if asking if you have something to say. “I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing that pops into your head and spills off your tongue without much warrant. “It got out of control towards the end there.”   “No, it happens. You don’t need to apologize.”   The both of you walk together, exiting and going down the hall. “You...got your car fixed?”   “I did,” the lawyer muses and glances at his watch like he’s late to something. “The battery got drained like I thought it did.”   “That’s good. It would suck if there was something wrong with the engine or the tires. Maintenance on cars can be really bothersome and expensive.”   Lame. It’s so lame how you’re ranting about car maintenance.   But you can’t help the disappointment that leaks into your voice and spills all over your face. You really liked having a friend to go home with. It made time go by faster. And you just hope that he can’t read the look on your face right now. You’re sure you’re not doing a very good job with hiding your emotions.   “Hey, Y/N.”   He looks away from his phone, from his watch, from the end of the hallway to your profile.   “Hmm?”   His voice is soft and gentle, a small smile that expands over his face. “You did well.”   One word from him is all it takes.   Like the idiot that you are, an even bigger smile overwhelms you. “Thanks.”   //   With the seminar complete and the staff handbook well on its way, you decide to take a longer lunch break, hanging out in the lobby of the building and chatting with the security guard. While you’re still working with developing friendships in the office, you’ve become good friends with the older guard. He reminds you of your late grandpa or when you were in elementary school and no one really wanted to hang out with you, so you became close to the class pet goldfish.   You’re standing near the front entrance, sipping on coffee as the guard drinks the cup you bought for him and he tells you about his weekend. He chats about how his son came over for barbecue and his wife made this pineapple pasta dish that was very delicious. And you’re about to respond when you hear a muffled—   “Y/N?”   There’s a woman on the other side of the glass windows, having stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk. She knocks once on the window to get your attention. Her hair is long and sleek, a midnight shade that matches the colour of her irises. Her eyes are wide like a deer in headlights, lashes standing straight up to the sky, sharp jaw dropped.   She stares at you. You stare at her.   And the girl bolts in her high heels towards the doors.   “Do you know her?” The guard asks just to be sure, hitching his thumb over his shoulder.   “Y-yeah….I do…” Your eyes are on the woman’s and you watch as she scrambles inside, taking wide strides towards you. You don’t even bid goodbye to the guard, taking steps to meet the female in the lobby. “Sowon?”   Without letting a squeak slip or another word spoken, her arms open all at once and she embraces your frame, squeezing you tight like a teddy bear. “Oh my god! I missed you so much. Huhuhghgh.” She makes weird sounds as she restrains you with her arms like she’s trying to pick you up, lug you around, giving you a good spin, but she’s not strong enough to.   You can’t help the laughter that bubbles up your throat. “I missed you too.”   The older girl parts away and scans you up and down several times. “How are you? You look great!”   “Thank you.” You’re a bit breathless, finding her presence and everything that’s happened in the span of two minutes overwhelming. “I’m good.”   “What…” She shakes her head like she can’t believe you’re actually here in front of her. “What are you doing here?”   “I work here now.”   “No. Really?”   “Really.”   //   The cafe is quaint in the middle of the afternoon on a workday. The sunlight washes through the glass into the room, painting the surroundings in warm hues. There’s not too many people around, few conversations from customers here and there, but the murmur of sounds are relaxing to your ears.   After already having two coffees for the day, you decide on a blueberry pastry and Sowon gets some kind of latte drink. She sits across from you, still looking at you in awe while you remain a bit uncomfortable under her constant gawking. “I never thought I would see you again.”   “That’s what I thought too.”   “I’m just surprised.” She gives you a soft smile. “And I’m glad that you’re here.”   There’s a slight pause and you fiddle with your fingers in your lap. “I heard Hoseok got into an accident.”   “Did he tell you about it?”   “Yeah.” You hesitate, aware that she’s watching you carefully and with mustered courage, you take a deep breath and sit straighter, looking her dead in the eyes. “I really, really like my job. I’m working as an HR manager in the firm. It’s really fun to help out and tend to all the issues inside the office. I’m enjoying it a lot…”   “And Hoseok’s okay with that?” She holds the cup in her hand, sipping while her eyes are still above the rim, eyeing you carefully.   “He’s the one who hired me,” you tell her. “We’re professional.”   Sowon hums with another smile and puts down her cup on the table. “Understood,” she sing-songs. “I’m just glad you’re doing well.”   “Thank you.” It’s a soft murmur, but with that out of the way, you adjust the attention onto the woman. “How are things going for you?”   “Pretty fantastic actually.”   “Are you still at that magazine writing job?”   “Oh, god no.” She takes a sigh of relief and you’re happy that she’s moved on since she dreaded the job back then. “I’m a wedding singer now.”   You’re pleasantly surprised. “Really?”   “Really. I love it.” There’s a bright grin that spreads into her cheeks, uncanny to her younger brother when he’s in a good mood. “I haven’t been better. Free and happy. And before you ask—” She leans over to whisper while the long strands of her hair cascade down and frame her face. “I dumped Yugyeom. Well, more like he dumped me because he was sleeping with my best friend and preferred her over me because I’m too...boring…” She shrugs. “But I was going to drop that hot potato anyway.”   “I….see...” Any sympathy isn’t necessary since Sowon seems nothing but sincerely happy about it, so you can only bob your head to show you’re listening.   “It’s so nice to see you again,” she muses and means it genuinely. “We should go out for dinner to catch up more. Better yet, you should come home. My parents miss you more than I do—”   “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You look away unintentionally, nervousness grabbing hold to dictate all your actions. “I mean, isn’t visiting my boss’ parents during my free time a little weird?”   Sowon scoffs, leaning back and crossing her arms. “No. You’re practically my sister, aren’t you? That trumps whatever Hoseok is to you.” You laugh and she eases, glancing at the labels of her paper cup. “But if you have free time...if you feel comfortable...you should visit them. They’re getting old.”   “I’ll try.” You steal a glimpse at the screen of your phone, having felt it vibrate in your pocket.   “I’m keeping you from something, aren’t I?’   “No, not really.” It’s not like you have much to do today. If anything, you were ahead of your own set schedule, but… “I’ve just been gone from the office for a while.”   “If my brother is ever imposing on you or using his title of ‘boss’—” her fingers make air quotations. “—to bother you in any way, then just tell me and I’ll beat some sense into him.”   “Okay.” Your cheeks ache from smiling so widely.   “The kid thinks he’s such a hot shot now that he goes around bullying others without realizing.” A hopeless sigh spills from her lips. “Well, don’t let me hold you up. We should both get going.”   “Oh, aren’t you coming with me?”   “Nah. I was coming over to bother Hoseok, but I found something even better.” She smiles, indicating you. “So, I’m satisfied. I’ll probably head home.”   “Are you sure?”   “Yeha. He wouldn’t want to see me anyways. I know that kid.” She gets up and you both take your belongings, slowly leaving the warm cafe to the colder streets. “Don’t bother telling him I swung by either. Save him that stress.”   “Okay.” Outside of the door, you hug her one last time and she holds onto you, patting your back in steady beats with the palm of her hand.   “Promise me you’ll be okay,” she murmurs gently and you smile against her shoulder   “I’ll be fine.”   “Then don’t be a stranger.” She parts and gazes at you. “Keep in contact with me, alright, brat?”   “Yes.” You giggle, bidding her a final goodbye. Her backside eventually fades off down the street and you’re sorely reminded of her brother whom she resembles so strongly that it shakes you inside.   //   Lost friends. Lost memories. It’s been so long that things begin to resurface despite years of pushing them away. You didn’t realize you missed her so much until you saw her and you begin to ponder about your other friends, the people that you used to be so close to until the life that you were so fond of was ripped away from your grasps. But you’re too afraid to reach out again.   It’s dangerous to play the game of what if. What if things had been different back then. You wonder how much your life could’ve changed. Maybe you would have someone to go home to, maybe you wouldn’t have been so lonely, maybe you would be happier, maybe not.   You really shouldn’t dwell on things that aren’t part of reality. But the encounter with Hoseok’s older sister leaves you reeling and you don’t even realize where you are.   “Y/N?”   “Yes?” Your daydream is broken and you force yourself to focus on the receptionist sitting across the desk from you. “Sorry, I was thinking about something else, but go ahead.”   Dahyun glances behind her to the closed door and then clears her throat. “Does Hoseok hate me?”   Your eyebrow lifts. “Why would you say that?”   “He keeps glaring at me.” She points to both her eyes with her index and middle finger, whispering like he’s a monster who can hear behind solid walls. “Whenever I walk past or he walks past or I knock on his office, he has this glare.”   “No, that’s not it,” you try to explain with a laugh. “That’s what he looks like when he’s concentrated or being serious. Trust me, he doesn’t hate you. Hoseok doesn’t hate anybody. It would take a lot to make him actually mad.”   “Oh, okay.” Dahyun takes a sigh of relief. “I was worried he was upset with me.”   Not long, you get another guest inside your office.   “So last week, there was a file I was working on.” Sunyi is ranting again. For once, it’s not about Yoongi’s loud chewing or how she swears she can hear him trimming his toenails in his office and it’s absolutely disgusting. “And I asked Hoseok if a draft was necessary for the case. It’s more complicated than that, but that’s the basic gist. Anyways, he told me ‘no’, and then today he asks me why the draft wasn't done and that we need it! How ridiculous is that?!”   “Maybe he’s just busy,” you attempt to appease her and expand her empathy. “Things can get pretty hectic. He probably just forgot and got confused.”   “But he always blames others instead of himself. It’s so frustrating!”   “Well, being the boss is tough. There’s a lot for him to juggle. I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.”   “It’s not. He just never admits when he’s wrong.”   “Did he apologize to you?”   There’s a moment of silence. “Well, yeah, after I explained what happened.”   You smile at the lawyer. “He’s a partner of this firm along with Jimin. The both of them have a lot riding on their shoulders and they have to uphold the name of this place. They’re the leaders of this firm. It’s probably difficult to admit their mistakes as the bosses since it would damage their own pride and shake the foundation of this place.”   Sunyi shrugs, mumbling a mere ‘I guess’. But you know she’s thinking about what you’ve said.   There seems plenty of concerns and worries today since you get yet another person sitting in your office, across from your desk. Kim Seokjin is undeniably handsome no matter what he does, though right now you can agree he’s seen better days.   “He keeps micromanaging me! Every time I’m doing something, I feel him hovering over my shoulder and watching the screen of my computer like he’s trying to catch me do something wrong.” He groans, ranting and nagging, shaking his head and pounding his first on your desk, startling you to death. “Do you know how uncomfortable I feel on a daily basis?!”   “He’s probably just doing his rounds. It’s part of the job as boss….”   Your voice goes quiet at the way he looks at you. Seokjin’s arm falls to his side and his frown deepens. He leans over closer until half his body is pressed on the surface of your smooth desk. He looks at you like you’ve gone crazy. “Why are you defending him?”   “What?” You blink. “I’m not.”   “You are.” He tilts his head. “We usually always talk shit on Hoseok. Every. Day.”   You’re beginning to sweat. “Well, it’s not good to talk badly about our bosses.”   “Did he find out?” Jin’s eyes become wide.   “No, no!” You quickly reassure the legal assistant. “What we talk in here is confidential.”   “Then did you get in trouble?”   “No, nothing like that. I’m just….trying to approach it from a different angle….less talking trash...you know?”   “It’s strange,” he says, pouting slightly at how you don’t want to talk smack about Hoseok anymore. “No offence.”   You hum before pulling out your emergency drawer. “Would you like a cookie?”   Kim Seokjin grins, attention like a fish’s and successfully diverted. “Yes, please.”   //   Sometimes it feels more like you’re the complaint department or a counselor than an HR manager. You don’t mind since mediating and conflict resolution has always been your strongest skill set. But it’s difficult when you’re dealing with other people’s problems and no one helps you with yours. You even forget about your own issues. And yet, despite it going against your own mottos and what you were taught, it feels better to just bury those problems and forget them.   There’s nothing like having a problem and pretending it’s not there right in your face.   Ignoring is also part of your skill set.   The knocks on your door break you out of your trance and you lift your head, finding an older woman standing at your doorway. “Do you have a moment, Y/N?” She smiles and you stand.   “Of course! Please take a seat.”   Kye Naul is one of the lawyers of the firm and you’ve haven’t been able to get many interactions with her when the others occupy your time a lot more. You know a few things about her, like how she’s one of the oldest people in the office, probably ten to twenty years older than you, and her sons have grown up and moved out of the house. She’s also the person who’s practiced law for the longest in the firm and both Jimin and Hoseok respect her greatly.   She takes a seat across from the desk and you feel calm, reminded of your own mother’s presence. “I’m sorry. You were about to leave, weren’t you? It’s pretty close to five o’clock right now. I would've stopped by earlier, but I just finished billing five minutes ago.”   “Oh no, it’s completely fine.” You smile. “Trust me, I don’t have anything to do after this, so feel free. I’ll just be at home watching television anyways. What’s the matter?”   It isn’t a lie. Today is your off-day with your part-time job of taxi driving.   “This might be inappropriate and unprofessional,” she prefaces. “It has nothing to do with the firm or the office. It’s about my marriage.”   “It’s okay. Trust me, I’ve heard enough about people’s antics around here and what their odd hobbies are to be surprised or for it to be inappropriate.”   She nods and inhales deeply. “My husband is having a midlife crisis.”   “To put it shortly, we’re going through a rough patch because of it.” There’s a long pause. “He wants to buy a boat, move houses, hell, buy a house boat. He wanted to adopt a kid, a cat, a dog. He even tried convincing me to volunteer in a different continent for six months building mud houses for the elderly.”   She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Have you ever had someone drive you absolutely insane?”   “Yes.” You hold back a laugh, amused at hearing about her husband’s crisis. “I think everyone has at some point.”   “How did you end up tolerating them?”   “I don’t know,” you muse and a slight shrug follows. Someone specific comes to mind as you keep talking. “I guess I just cared so much that it didn’t matter to me if they were insane or completely crazy. I guess that makes me crazy too.”   She exhales another breath and nods. “Love makes people do stupid things.”   “Well…” You’re not sure where it comes from, but it stumbles from your tongue the moment you hear the four-letter word ‘love’. Immediately, you shake your head. “I’m not sure I would call it love.”   “Oh?” Naul’s brow lifts in curiosity. “Then what is it?”   “I don’t know. Definitely not love though.” You nod, so sure of yourself. This certain someone that you have in mind — you don’t love him. “It’s...a blindness.”   “A disease?” The lawyer clarifies, eyes narrowing even more as she carefully watches you.   “Sort of.” You can’t see it any other way. To be completely crazy for someone where you overlook flaws and have to sacrifice yourself. It’s blinding. It’s horrible. It’s painful. “I don’t think love should make you do stupid things. I don’t think that’s love.”   Yet, the older woman only appears more and more amused. “Why do you say that?”   “I can’t see how it’s love if you keep crawling back to someone and they keep hurting you over and over again. It’s just...a bad addiction at that point.” Your original stance in remaining unbiased is hurled out the window as you spill your truest beliefs out loud. The beliefs that formed over many long years from being jagged by someone you held...   “It’s stupid to keep running back to them.” You repeat it in your head several times.   “You’re right,” Naul says simply. “It isn’t love. Or at least, it isn’t just love.”   Her wise eyes are glimmery like they know too much. The lawyer leans closer to you like she’s about to tell a secret. “It’s a selfless love. It’s an unconditional love. That’s why we tolerate them and keep coming back, even when they make us angry to the point we want to throw a lamp across the room. That’s why we don’t kick them out of the house at night and make them sleep on the couch instead. It’s unconditional love.”   The lawyer continues, “Doing crazy things, things you thought you’d never do for anyone, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and accepting them back after getting hurt, that’s okay. It’s powerful to be that selfless. It’s still love, Y/N. It’s okay to feel this way. There’s no need to blame yourself and think it’s a bad addiction. God knows in a relationship patience, tolerance, compromise is required.”   She smiles and when she speaks, it’s less for herself and more for you. “Now, if only unconditional love went both ways, then love wouldn’t have to turn toxic, now, would it? If selfless love was always reciprocated, no one would ever have to hurt.”   “It’s harmful when it doesn’t go both ways and that’s when it needs to be stopped. If it does go both ways and you know that person would tolerate us too and wouldn’t mind being hurt….” She sighs softly. “Well, we just have to ask ourselves if the other person has unconditional love for us as well. Only then will we know that doing all these crazy things is worth it.”   You’re speechless, not sure how to respond. Naul simply gets up from her chair, much calmer than she was when she first walked into the room. She must’ve decided that this was enough to help her, but before she can leave the room or bid a goodnight, you stop her.   “Stay with him,” you say quickly while standing on your feet.   The door is already parted and she turns to look at you. It’s as if your memories are flashing before your eyes and you are actually trying to talk to your past self. It’s as if you are attempting to alter history that cannot be changed. It isn’t Naul who stands in front of you anymore, but someone much different. “Or at least don’t decide anything on your own. Talk to him properly.”   And the lawyer scoffs with a grin. “Of course I’m staying with him. He’s one of those people in my life that I’ll never be able to let go.”   That same evening, Naul comes home to an apartment where her two brain-celled husband is flipping through grocery flyers on the kitchen floor. When he looks up at her, he smiles and tells her that they both ought to take up fishing since it’s apparently beneficial to their health and a very relaxing hobby. For now, he’s given up the idea of building mud houses near the jungle. But he also tells her that he’s already pre-purchased two very expensive fishing rods and by the way he slightly cringes, she knows he’s afraid she’ll become upset.   But the woman simply sighs and leans down, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him silly. When he smiles against her lips, she parts and nods, finding fishing a great idea.   In the meanwhile, you’re still left dwelling on the conversation.   As you return to your empty home with nothing to do, you wonder how stupid you really are, how you keep crawling back, how you keep running for him, hanging onto every single of his words, how you can keep following him like some kind of loyal dog, even after being abandoned and kicked helplessly. More importantly, you wonder how you can never let go.   It isn’t love. Selfless love. Unconditional love. Any of that. You refuse to believe such a thing. You refuse to believe you harbor such feelings.   But — “You did well.” — one word from him is all it takes for everything you’ve known to crumble.

[cheeseeatingtrashmonster]

Can This Time Be Any Different?

Written for​ @felixmonth day 11: First Kiss

Alternate title “Binaries”

-Not every force in the universe has a polar opposite. Most don't, in fact. But there are a few binaries that exist in balance with each other, weaving the fabric of the universe with their give and take.

Life and Death.

Black and White.

Order and Chaos.

Luck and Misfortune.

Creation and Destruction.

Long ago, a few powerful magicians learned how to unbalance a few of these pairs. They could shape the world around them.

But there were always consequences.

-

"Who are you?"

The voice made Nino jump. He turned around, but he didn't see anyone in the darkness of the Paris rooftops.

"I'm, uh-" Nino looked down at his superhero outfit. "Red Luck."

A shadow darted around and over the roofs until someone in dark black with large, glowing eyes was crouched on the chimney above him.

"You're my other half."

Nino took a step back to see the stranger better. All he could make out in the moonlight was his outline; hunched shoulders, thrashing tail, points of hair in the shape of cat ears.

"Who are you, then?"

He dropped in front of Nino, standing to his full height. "I'm Black... Tiger."

Nino tried to suppress a chuckle. "You sticking with that?"

He shrugged. "Let me know if you come up with something better." He kicked backwards at the chimney, but misremembered how far back it was, and fell on his butt when it didn't catch his weight.

"Catastrophe sounds like a good name for you," Nino said, biting his lip not to smile.

He glared at Nino for a second, then cocked his head to the side, considering. "I hate why you suggested it, but I actually love the name. My power is to destroy things. It seems appropriate. Plus, I like puns."

Nino smiled. "I'm glad you like it, Catastrophe. So, what's this 'other half' stuff about?"

"We're partners. We're here to balance each other, protect each other."

They would grow to learn that protection comes in many forms.

-

Ladybug and Chat Noir are two points on a spectrum. They represent the far ends of the extremes. But in reality, they're just two souls, saddled with burdens bigger than they can be expected to carry.

-

"You missed patrol last night," Red Luck said when Catastrophe bounced into his field of view.

"I'm sorry about that. I lost track of time. I was researching. Researching us, actually."

"Us?" The two started running their patrol route, checking dark alleys and other trouble spots in the city as they went.

"All the Ladybugs and Chat Noirs before us. Did you know, we're actually reincarnated? We were destined to have these miraculous. They were ours before, and will be ours again after we die."

"Reincarnated? Like, past lives, and getting a new body, but the same soul each time?"

"Basically. And it sounds like our personalities change a bit each time, but some core piece of us is tied to our miraculous."

"That's so cool!" Red Luck wrapped his arm around Catastrophe's waist to swing them across a gap between roofs too wide to jump comfortably. "What else did you find out?"

Catastrophe pulled away from his partner a little more quickly than normal when they landed. "Not... not a lot. Bits and pieces."

"Super cool, dude. Let me know if you find out anything else that's cool about past-us."

"Of course."

-

Every Ladybug and every Chat Noir have fallen in love with each other. Every pair has the same two souls, at the core, so it's only natural that they would find each other again, love each other again.

-

"Why did you do that?" Red Luck demanded, pressing his Lucky Charm, a towel, against the gaping wound in Catastrophe's upper leg.

"Because I love you, you idiot!" he hissed.

Now that they knew they had lived the lives of heroes before, sometimes Felix or Nino could feel a sense of deja vu in their interactions. Not deja vu, exactly. It felt more like a memory.

In this case, a battle had gone poorly. One had tried to sacrifice himself for the other. They had both barely escaped with their lives.

"Well, I love you, too, jerk!" Red Luck shouted back.

Like falling into a memory.

-

Felix had done thorough research on his many pasts and those of his partner's. The pattern, the painful truth, had made itself apparent after a while. Once he saw it, he couldn't un-see it. After that moment, his only goal was finding a way to exit this loop and save them both.

Or, if he couldn't do that, to save his partner.

-

"Are we really doing this?" Catastrophe whispered. His arms were wrapped around himself, and he was biting his lip.

"I'd really like to," Red Luck said. "I love you. I want to know all of you, and I want you to know all of me."

"And... then what?"

Red Luck blinked, eyebrows drawing together and bunching his mask. "And... and then we can be together. In or out of the mask."

"Then I have something to tell you, first. We can't-" He cut himself off, drawing in on himself tighter, smaller.

"What?" Red Luck held out his hands, and Catastrophe snatched them up, squeezing tight. "You can tell me anything, ask me for anything."

"I don't think you'll like this, though." He glanced up from their hands, meeting Red Luck's eyes. The look he received gave him the courage to speak. "I don't want to kiss. Not on the lips. Anything else, I'm okay with." He gave a tiny smile. "I'm looking forward to what 'anything else' turns out to be, actually." He squeezed Red Luck's hands again. "Say something. Is that too much? If you want to think it over, we don't have to reveal tonight. We can wait until-"

A flash of pink light cut him off.

"Hi," detransformed Red Luck said, taking Catastrophe's hands again. "I'm Nino Lahiffe. I love you. If not kissing is something you need, then we won't kiss."

Catastrophe took in his words for a minute. This was Nino. Nino loved him. This time, the echoes of their past selves served to amplify his feelings. He was loved. He was full of love to give to this man. And every past Ladybug and every past Chat Noir had loved each other. The weight of loving millennia worth of Ladybugs was overwhelming and beautiful.

He dropped his transformation.

“Hi. I’m Felix Agreste. I love you. And your love is more than I could ever deserve.”

Nino stepped forward and slowly lowered his face until their foreheads touched. Their eyes closed, their breathing intermingled, their noses brushed each other.

And it was as beautiful as every time before.

-

Somewhere along the line, something had happened to the two souls known as Ladybug and Chat Noir. This was because their souls were both committed to one side of a different polar pair: Good over Evil. And Evil had found a way to hinder the pair.

In simple terms, it was a curse.

-

“Do you know, last night I had another nosy book club lady ask why she’s never seen us kiss?”

Felix set his coffee and Nino’s tea on the nightstand of Nino's dorm and crawled into his bed, appreciating the warmth that always came with being in Nino’s arms. Nino's classes didn't start for another hour, and Felix's were almost done for the day.

“As if that’s even the oddest thing about us,” Nino muttered, burying his face in Felix’s sweater.

“Do you regret agreeing to it?”

Nino felt Felix tense. He pulled back, blinking sleepy eyes at him. “Agreeing not to kiss?” Felix nodded. “Nah. It took some getting used to, or whatever, but there are so many other ways we show we love each other. I would give up the world to make sure you feel safe and happy and comfortable with me, dude. I would just plain give up the world for you.”

Felix slid to sit up against the headboard and reached for his coffee. As he lifted the cup, the lid popped off and the cylinder of the cup squashed in on itself, forcing hot coffee up and out of the cup, onto Felix's hand.

Felix swore and scrambled out of bed, quickly running to the bathroom down the hall to soothe his hand with cold water. “If I can stay strong enough, you will never have to give up anything for me again," he whispered, knowing Nino wouldn't hear him.

-

From the moment the curse went into effect, one of the duo, in each incarnation, would be plagued with bad luck. The only thing that could break the curse was their first kiss. The longer the cursed partner went without that kiss, the worse their luck got.

But each first kiss only banished the curse until they were reborn.

-

Felix hadn't expected this. The pit in his stomach told him that he should have expected it. But he hadn't, for some reason.

"Dude. An answer would be nice."

Felix's eyes snapped back to Nino kneeling in front of him with a ring in a box in his hand. He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe.

Nino must have seen the panic in his eyes because he set the ring on the coffee table and sat next to him on the couch. "You can say that you're not ready yet. That's okay. I'm never going to have a problem going at your speed."

Felix covered his mouth with one hand and gripped Nino's shirt with the other, not caring that it would wrinkle. He turned into Nino and sobbed.

"I'm sorry," Nino whispered, his arms circling Felix. "I thought you wanted this, too."

He couldn't bring himself to tell Nino that it was all he wanted. He couldn't bring himself to say that the moment he had moved to kneel before him, he could see their life together and their future. He couldn't bring himself to say that if he had all that, if he let himself have what every other Char Noir had taken for granted, there was no way he wouldn't slip up and kiss him.

All Felix could manage was, "I'm sorry."

Their whispered "I'm sorry"s continued until late in the night.

-

Felix, like every Chat Noir, would do anything to protect his Ladybug. When he found out about the curse, he was given a new purpose in life.

The curse must die with me, he decided.

-

Seconds after Nino woke the next morning, he knew something was wrong.

It wasn't that Felix wasn't in bed. Felix was an early riser.

It wasn't that anything was missing or misplaced in the bedroom, from what he could see.

But something was wrong.

Nino pulled on a hoodie over his pajamas and went to the kitchen. The snow outside was bright and fluffy. The kitchen was semi-clean. The living room was cluttered (mostly with books).

The coffee maker wasn't on.

It hadn't been used at all since the day before, judging by the cool heating element and dry, clean pot.

Nino didn't try to lie to himself that Felix was probably out getting coffee from the place down the street. He started looking for the note. Because of course, Felix would leave a note before running.

He found it on the end table next to the couch, on a copy of Felix's favorite book, under the box holding the ring.

The note was brief. It explained exactly nothing. Felix was gone because he proposed, and Nino would bet almost anything that he wasn't coming back.

Nino sat on the couch and ran a finger around the edge of one of his earrings. What had gone wrong? Weren't they soulmates? Literal, reincarnated soulmates?

He didn't cry, because he knew the story wasn't over.

-

Bad luck has a purpose in life. But too much of it, like too much of anything else, leads to a miserable life.

-

Felix had taken very little with him when he left. By the time he had gotten out of the country, he had even less, having been mugged.

He was alone. All he wanted was Nino. And the only thing he couldn't have was Nino.

He set up a small shop in a small village and performed small acts of magic, making a trade as a run of the mill magician. He was known for his efficiency and tendency to accrue injuries while he worked.

He was known for being lonely.

-

Nino tried to move on. At first, it was to spite Felix. He boxed up all his things and donated or recycled them and looked at the empty spaces with a mixed feeling of pride and anger.

Then he tried to move on because he knew Felix was doing what he thought was best for his Ladybug, because he knew Felix would want him to try.

He never seemed to reach some magical point where it didn't hurt that his Catastrophe of a man was gone. Without his other half, he was still a person unto himself, full and complete. Light is still light in the absence of shadows. But that doesn't mean the light doesn't long for the dark.

He was lonely.

-

Felix's apartment building caught fire three times. He got every cold that went around the town, no matter the precautions he took. His identity was stolen. He broke bones from small falls, he was robbed, mugged, his store vandalized, he got parking tickets no matter how careful he was.

And every moment, he missed Nino, his Ladybug, his partner, Red Luck.

None of it was enough for him to return to Nino. None of it was enough to make him ask for the kiss that would save him.

But some days, it was enough to make him stare at his phone, the number in place and his thumb hovering above the “call” button.

-

Nino was picking his son up from the school bus when he got the call.

“Mr. Lahiffe?”

Like that morning when Felix was gone, he just knew.

“Yes. Who is this?”

The caller stated his name and the hospital at which he worked.

“You’re listed as the emergency contact for one of our patients.”

The backpack he had taken from Jean, his son, slid out of his hand and fell into a snowy puddle.

“Dad?”

Nino scrambled to grab the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He grabbed Jean’s hand and started walking faster, listening closely to everything the hospital worker said.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Nino hung up and immediately ran his hands over his face, shoving his glasses out of the way.

“Was that about the man with blond hair?” Jean asked. He was in the kitchen, drying his backpack with the good kitchen towels.

“How do you know about him?” Nino asked, taking the backpack and emptying its contents on the table so he could properly wash it. He thought he had gotten rid of every physical sign of his Chat Noir years ago.

“Aunt Alya has pictures of you with him. She hides them when you come inside.” Jean started setting up his homework. “Are you mad at him?”

Nino considered this.

“I don’t know.”

“Is he okay?”

“I hope he will be, soon.”

Nino didn’t tell “Aunt Alya” why she needed to take Jean for the night, possibly longer. She didn’t ask, either, which surprised him, until he saw himself in a mirror. He looked like a man who was haunted.

-

“You know you shouldn’t have come,” Felix said when the door to his hospital room creaked open. He didn’t open his eyes.

“You know,” Nino said, walking over to sit on the bed, facing but not touching Felix, “you never said why you wouldn’t let me kiss you.”

Felix’s eyes still didn’t open. “We’re cursed.”

“Yeah, see, I started doing some research of my own after you ran off like a scaredy cat.” Nino felt the smallest bubble of pride when Felix’s lips twitched into what was undoubtedly a smile.

“And what did your research tell you?”

“If you die without breaking the curse in this incarnation, you won’t come back next time.”

His silence was all the confirmation Nino needed. Felix had known this.

“You were going to leave me to be born again and again without my partner and pair.”

“I was going to let you live without this curse.”

“Look at me, Felix.”

His eyes opened. They were glassy with tears.

Two heartbreaking syllables.

“Nino.”

“I’ve been waiting for this call for years. Since I started researching what could have made you think you needed to leave.” He shook his head. “No. Since the minute I knew you were gone.” Nino held out his hand. “Will you come back and stay with me?”

“Nino.” The name was like water on his dry lips. “If I stay, you suffer.”

“I’ve suffered more these years without you than any lifetime I’ve been the one cursed.” He shifted closer. “Will you please come home, Felix?”

He closed his eyes and took Nino’s hand.

“Will you do something for me first?”

Nino couldn’t tell whose hand was shaking harder.

“What do you need?”

Felix opened his eyes and pushed himself up until he was sitting with his forehead against Nino’s, their noses brushing and breath intermingling like it had the night they revealed their identities.

“Kiss me, Nino.”

And the curse was broken.

Until next time.

-

Felix moved in with Nino and Jean as soon as he was released from the hospital. Nino was nervous about the two of them meeting, but Jean accepted another father into his life with joy. Within a week, one of his favorite activities was reading with Felix. Within a month, he turned to Felix in the middle of one of their reading times and made him an offer.

“When Dad adopted me, he said I could call him Nino forever if I wanted, or wait until I was ready to call him Dad. So if you’re ready, I’ll call you Papa, or if you aren’t, I’ll keep calling you Felix.”

Felix looked to Nino where he was practicing on the piano. He knew Nino could feel his eyes on him because he started smiling, but he never looked over at them.

“I’m ready for you to call me Papa,” Felix said, “if you’re ready for me to call you cuddle-bug.”

The sound of Jean giggling and demanding that Felix call him “stink bug” exclusively, combined with Nino repeatedly playing the wrong notes while laughing at them was more than enough to convince Felix he had made the right choice.

Being with them was the right choice.

-

"I knew you'd come back," Nino whispered a few hours later, pulling Felix's glasses from his face and tossing a blanket over him where he slept on the couch. "You always have."

-

This was why the curse was so effective.

It could not end.

Because they could not be apart.

[shimikonde]

Romeo and Juliet and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Return of the King pt. 2/5 (4th light novel, pg 86-95)

Sorry for the wait!! But I finally got this finished. :) Thank you to @imitationpersonne for doing the proof reading!! u guys would all be getting such drivel otherwise.

first part available right here

Holding her hands together as if praying, Shiozaki muttered to herself while standing in the wing, “I am the spirit of the ring… I am the spirit of the ring…” Shiozaki’s role was that of the spirit living inside the legendary ring. It would be some time before her debut, but she seemed to be getting into character.

Kaibara, who was standing next to her, attempted to ease her tension. “You’ll be fine, Shiozaki. You’ve already got the spirit look down.”

“Thank you. However, it’s not a question of how I look. What’s important is that I’m able to understand the spirit’s heart…  Would it possess a heart of compassion, like a divine messenger, or would it have the simple innocence of one loved by nature…?”

Behind Shiozaki, Pony and Shishida Juurouta, who where changing into their beast suits, spoke up.

“Shiozaki’s the type who gets toootally absorbed in her role. The three of us practiced a bunch!”

“In order to fully become a fairy, Ms. Shiozaki has been waking up early to pray to the spirits of the forest. Accordingly, so as to become hippogriffs, we envoys of the spirit have also been wildly patrolling the forests.”

“Ahh, so that’s how that rumor about the weird noises coming out of the woods early in the morning started.” Tsuburaba said, as if he’d just realized, to which Juurouta and Pony both voiced their apologies.

“Oh, was there such a rumor?”

“Sorryyy!”

Turning back toward them, Honenuki said, “It’s just about time we put you-know-what on standby in the back.”

“Oh, you mean that surprising one!”

“I feel somewhat reluctant to do this to our honored guests, who have come all the way here to watch us perform, however…”

“Surprises are just another part of showbiz. Now...”

Lacking the others’ enthusiasm, Shiozaki took Pony and Juurouta with her behind the set. Tokage, Kuroiro, Tsuburaba, and Rin Hiryuu all quietly slipped out along with them, full of excitement.

Honenuki called out to them. “Everyone, I’m counting on you.”

“Names and natures do often agree, as they say.” Rin grinned, before disappearing down the pathway.

“Good luck, everyone…” Tetsutetsu cheered, using all of his strength to whisper.

Honenuki watched them for a moment, and then looked at Kodai, who was getting a mike check from Komori in the back.

“Kodai, you’re almost up.”

“Mmhm.”

“She’s finished! The perfect heroine!”

“Oooh!” let out Tetsutetsu and Bondo Kojiro as they appreciated her handiwork.

“Ufufu.” Komori giggled, puffing out her chest in pride. She’d chosen a simple one-piece-style dress to highlight the natural purity of Kodai’s features. This was somewhat hindered by her expressionless face, but that also helped to add to her aura of mystery.

Even if she didn’t do or say a lot, Kodai was the type of person who drew the eyes. While poor at expressing herself, she exuded beauty just by existing, and it was for that reason she was chosen to be the heroine. She wasn’t much of a talker normally, so they’d also done their best to ensure she didn’t have many lines.

“Aah, why must the stomach hunger? Meat…. I want to eat meat…. I can’t go any further as long as I don’t eat meat…”

“But my prince, this forest is said to be inhabited by demons… There isn’t a single animal.”

“That’s right! Now that you mention it… There it is! When I left, I stored a bit of dried meat in the bottom of my bag to use as emergency rations!”

“Hand it over! Your prince orders you!”

“But… Even so, is that something a prince should say?!”

“Shut up! An empty stomach makes a fiend of everyone, even a prince!”

“Wha—to point your sword as us…!”

“Before, you said that an empty stomach could even turn a prince into a fiend… Very well. In that case, let us take up arms, one human to another. Come, my prince! It’s a battle, with the dried meat as the wager!”

“Argh!”

On the stage, a sword fight to the death between two men on the edge had begun. At first glance, it seemed only to be a terrible dispute caused by people nearing starvation, but it actually held much deeper meaning, challenging the notion of loyalty amongst men. The fierce clashing of their swords reverberating through the hall and the lighting brought the scene to its climax, leaving the audience breathless as they watched the fight unfold.

In the end, after the prince’s inevitable loss, the two split the dried meat equally between themselves, tearfully discovering true friendship for the first time.

“Who knew that dried meat could taste so delicious…” the prince said, still sobbing. “Not even Gondor’s specialties, Spring Breeze Grilled Robin or Hangnail Crocodile Steak, can even come close to comparing to this delicacy…! Aah, please forgive me! I’ve been so foolish up until now…!”

“I don’t think I shall.”

“Wha-”

“Unless you swear to become a splendid king, I shan’t forgive you.”

“Alright. I’ll swear it, here and now. I will definitely become a splendid king worthy of Gondor. And when I do, I swear that my people’s bellies will always be full—that I shall bring them happiness!”

In response to the young prince’s proclamation to set his eyes on the future, the venue, unbidden, erupted in applause. Seeing Monoma’s face had begun to dawn a nasty smirk in response to it, Nirengeki ad libbed, “Well, then, my prince! Let us continue on our journey!” as he forcibly pulled him away.

“I wonder what you’re doing, in the middle of my scene?”

Turning their backs to the audience as if continuing down the forest path, Monoma voiced his opposition in a low whisper.

Nirengeki replied, just as quietly, “We’ve finally captured the audience’s hearts, but I doubt they’re going to want to root for a prince that makes that sort of awful expression.”

“Nice ad lib, Nirengeki,” Awase said in whisper.

Monoma still didn’t look entirely satisfied, but he put on a smile as he looked back to the front of the stage.

“Now, it’s time for Juliet to make her appearance.”

Kodai-as-Juliet came onto stage, riding atop a giant rock wall set piece.

“Someone, help me…!”

Immediately following Kodai’s cry for help, an enormous dragon flew out from behind her.

“Ahhh!”

Under the spotlights, the dragon looked almost real as it soared all the way out over the audience, making them shout in surprise. As Kodai jumped down from the rock wall, Monoma caught her, saying, “Watch out!”

“It’s a dragon!”

“Run for it!”

As Nirengeki and Awase spoke, they helped Monoma and Kodai right themselves.

“Hurry, over here!”

“Yes.”

The lights dimmed around four of them as they ran away, and when they came back on the dragon had moved so that it was flying right beside the audience seating. Again, the lights dimmed and came back on, this time moving the dragon behind the audience, and then once more, the dragon lunging down at them from above. Shiozaki and company, controlling the dragon with their quirks, timed its movements carefully with the lighting. Further adding to the atmosphere, scales from Rin’s quirk, Scales, fluttered down from the dragon with every motion.

Voices of astonishment and excitement could be heard amongst the crowd’s continuous chatter. Honenuki nodded to himself as he heard their responses. “Okay.” He wanted to let himself bathe in the simple happiness of the audience enjoying themselves just as they’d planned, but it was the stage director’s job to ensure that the stage moved along without the slightest delay. With a moderate amount of joy, Honenuki sent the next cue over the radio.

“Lightning in six, five, four, three… now.”

In the next moment, lightning flashed across the stage, and the dragon’s roars faded into the distance. The auditorium finally quieted again as the soft sound of dripping water came from the stage. A dim light shined over the corner of it, where Monoma and Kodai sat. The scene had been written that the two of them had gotten separated from Frodo and Sam while running from the dragon.

“Thank you very much for saving me.”

“It was nothing… I’m Romeo. Why on earth were you being chased by a dragon?”

“…”

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine… But, if you could at least tell me one thing: what’s your name?”

“…Juliet.”

“…Only now I realize just what an ignorant life I’ve lived. To think that I didn’t even know the name of the most beautiful person in the world…”

Watching the two as they gazed into one another’s eyes from the wing, Tetsutetsu, mustering all of his strength to whisper, said, “Leave it to Monoma… I’m impressed he can say such an embarrassing line with a straight face…”

“Phew, it’s so romantic!” Komori sighed, standing beside him and watching on with rosy cheeks. Team Dragon Flight, having quietly returned, also gathered around.

On stage, Monoma gasped and made a face as if he’d just realized something.

“Juliet…? I could’ve sworn I’d heard that name before… If I remember correctly, that was the name of the Rohan’s princess, the kingdom that has been engaging in hostility against my Gondor for years… Juliet… It couldn’t be, you are… Rohan’s…?”

Kodai bobbed her head in a quick nod. Tragic music played as a spotlight trained on the shocked Monoma, who staggered to the center of the stage.

“…Juliet… Oh, Juliet, Juliet…! Wherefore art thou Juliet! What a cruel fate god has cast upon us…! That the person who would steal my first love would be the princess of an enemy country… God? Ha! You’re no god, but a demon that uses his name! What enjoyment do you get from eating away at my poor heart?! I curse you! I shall send all of the lovers in this world to hell…! May all the love in the world burn away to nothingness! Hahahaha! Ahahaha!”

The audience swallowed as they watched Monoma’s ghastly performance.

“I guess Monoma’s really best at acting out these kinds of hopeless characters, after all.”

As Togake voiced her observation, Rin retorted, “Can you really call that acting? More like he’s just showing his true nature. He’s totally into it.”

The maddened laughter filled the auditorium and made the entire room chill over. In the middle of this penetrating coldness, Kodai gently grabbed Monoma’s hand, staring straight at him.

“…You can’t burn it.”

Her words drifted through the silence left in the wake of Romeo’s madness, and in that moment everyone in the room fell for her.  

Monoma seemed to crumble down on himself, looking repentant. After a pause, he said, “I really was ignorant. There may be no god in this world, but beside me sits an angel…”

Then, as if spellbound, he muttered to her, “In this dark cave, your eyes are like ancient treasures that have been long since hidden away. Their dignified beauty makes my heart quiver, like glittering lapis lazuli…! Your hair, as soft as silk, makes me uneasy—for it seems as if it might melt away into the darkness. Your skin, smooth like ivory, is dangerous… If I were to reach out and touch it, I’m afraid that I would never be able to retrieve my hand.”

“…”

“Aah, I know. If I did that, the two of us would never be able to part again… But, even so, I want you to know how this chest of mine quivers! My heart is screaming that this is fate, and I would tear it from my chest if it would only prove to you my love! If I die, so be it! I don’t care if you’re the princess of an enemy country! To me, you are…”

As Monoma said this, a ring fell from his pocket, and he gasped.

“Ah…! But I have something that I must do… I must search for the king…! To choose between you and my duties is impossible!” He paused. “Wait. Who was the one who said I had to chose? It was me! It seems I’ve misunderstood. If I can’t chose one, then I should choose both! Juliet, right now I’m on a journey, but when I get back I intend on becoming a splendid king. I promise you that I’ll right the relationship between our countries. Let’s become a couple who can bring peace and prosperity to our people! Please, would you be my queen…?”

“…”

After taking a long while to think, Kodai gave a short nod of her head.

“My dear… I pledge my love to you now, with this ring…”

Monoma wrapped Kodai in a sudden, tight hug. In the audience, the girls let out dreamy sighs, while jealous mutterings could be heard coming from the guys. There was even a commotion in the wings, where Pony and Komori amongst others squealed softly at the scene. Beside them, Kaibara looked at Kodai’s expression and snickered wryly.

“Kodai could really stand to look a little bit happier.”

Tokage followed up, “This is already the best Yui can manage, though.”

Without looking from the stage, Honenuki said, “…No, on the contrary, her lack of expression makes the audience think that she’s a heroine with a secret. It’s just as Monoma said.”

The audience were all fixated on the expressionless Kodai. Monoma was a guy who, if it was for the class he loved, could put all priority on stage direction. His personality was a bit abnormal, but the fact that he’d gotten into UA at all was proof of his competency.

Nirengeki-as-Frodo and Awase-as-Sam joined the two of them on stage. However, upon seeing Romeo completely enraptured with Juliet, they couldn’t help but be suspicious of her.

“…It’s almost my turn…” Dressed up in a cape, Tetsutetsu came up beside Honenuki.

“Go destroy that sappy atmosphere!”

“Make them despise you!”

As Kaibara, Tsuburaba, and all the others cheered him on, Tetsutetsu burst onto stage at Honenuki’s cue. He swept Kodai-as-Juliet into his arms like the wind and took in a deep breath, opening his mouth.

“I’m taking back my property!!!”

part 3

[sugasmainn]

Finally Complete [One Shot]

Masterlist

Word Count: 3117

Summary: Being a wife and a mom, you sit down looking at your life around you, thinking and reliving your life over to see how you became this lucky in life.

           It’s a cold Sunday afternoon, and we’re just sitting around in our living room relaxing before the hectic week begins again. Looking around, I see my husband sleeping on the couch next to me with our 3-year-old next to him asleep in his lap. Just 10 year ago, I wouldn’t think this is what my life would be like, I didn’t think I could ever have a life like this. Nice house, amazing husband, wonderful child, and a well-paying job. Just looking at them sleeping so blissfully, I began to reminisce on how I exactly became this blessed.

11 years ago, 19 years old:

            It’s so cold out here, but it beats being in that dorm room. All I wanted to do was study for this midterm next week. If I even want a CHANCE at keeping this scholarship, I have to maintain my 3.5 average. Yet, my roommate thinks that Wednesday nights are an appropriate time to have a party with as many people as can fit in that room. The library is closed, where do you expect me to go? The bakery around the block from campus should still be open for another two hours.

           I walked and entered in with all my mess in my hands. Set my laptop down, opened my notebooks, and ordered myself a nice brownie to help me focus (and to help motivate me to treat myself in my studying). Almost a half hour into my studying and I’m completely focused on my laptop and the slideshows from the lecture, absorbing all the information I can. ‘The functionality of the cone receptors in our eyes is to help us translate colors for our brain to process…’ “Hey, is this seat taken by any chance?” I heard someone asking from in front of me.

           “Um, no. Go right ahead” I said without looking up from my laptop. I was trying to get back in my groove, thinking this man was going to take the chair and move it to another table to sit with his friends or something, but he just sat in front of me in silence. I tried to ignore it, but it was kind of odd. Kind of like when you’re on the bus, and there are all these open seats, but the person coming on decides to take one next to you instead of one by themselves.

           After some time passed, the man spoke again, saying, “You seem very focused on whatever is on that screen. I’m assuming it’s exam season?”

           “Yeah. Have one of my first midterms next week” I said, still not looking up from my laptop.

           “You also seem as though you’ve been overworking yourself.” He said, then sliding me a biscuit. What the hell? I looked up from my laptop to be met with the man who was studying his coffee cup with a poker face.

           “Why are you giving this to me?” I asked severely confused.

           “You haven’t looked away from that screen in the 15 minutes it took me to place my order and have them make it. I think you need this more than I do” He said still not looking at me.

           “You don’t even know me”

           “Stranger can’t be nice from time to time? Makes the world go round. Plus, consider it to be a good luck biscuit” He said chuckling a bit, now making eye contact with me. Wow, he was handsome. “But, so that way we aren’t strangers anymore, I’m Min Yoongi. What’s your name?”

           “L/N Y/N” I said shyly.

           “It’s nice to meet you. Now, what is it that you’re studying for?” He asked looking like he’s genuinely interested in my boring information on the biology of the eye.

8 years ago. 22 years old:

           Who would have thought I’d be graduating college today? And, valedictorian of my class! All those long nights, days of crying on Yoongi’s shoulder about how I wanted to quit, yelling at my roommate for hindering my studying and stressing me out more, I made it. I really do thank it all to Yoongi. He’s been my rock these last few years, telling me to never give up and that I was better than quitting. That I was going to make something of myself. Yoongi was standing next to me in the mirror, just looking at us together, saying, “I’m so proud of you. You believed you could, and you did it. I can’t believe I’m about to watch you, L/N Y/N, my girlfriend, graduate on stage and get that diploma.”

           “I’m so nervous about the speech” I said shaking slightly in my voice.

           “Why? You’ve prepared it three times over. Everything you say is like a work of art. You’re going to do amazing. Just remember I’ll be there. Focus on me. It’ll be fine, just breathe and relax, okay?” He said with reassuring eyes.

           I couldn’t help but smile at him, and say, “You’re the best. I love you so much.”

           He responded with, “I love you more.”

Throughout the ceremony, I could feel myself sweating through almost everything and everywhere. I tried to remember what Yoongi said. I tried breathing in and out. I looked around to see if I could find him sitting with my roommate, and once we made eye contact, all my worry washed away. He gave me his famous smile, and suddenly, I felt like I was at home. Turning back around, I was waiting for them to call my name to make my speech, “And now, we will have a speech, given to us by our valedictorian, L/N Y/N” The dean of the school called out my name, and I took deep breaths as I walked onto the stage.

Dear Class,

We made it. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. We can finally breathe, until we get a job and have that weighing on us. Life just doesn’t seem to light up does it?

My life has been anything but easy. My mom left us when I was 7, and my dad was left to provide for me all on his own. He tried endlessly to show me that we were okay, but I knew the truth. I could see far beyond what his words were telling me. So, at the age of 10, I got my first job as a paper girl for my town. Every morning before school, I’d go on my paper route and deliver nearly 200 newspapers. It was little money, but it helped when we saved it for emergencies.

By the time I was 16, I worked a part time job and was a full-time high school student. I was always determined to do well in school, to provide the life my father deserved, so he could finally rest from all that he did for me. I worked endlessly to make sure I was top of my AP classes, and got into the best colleges. All I thought about was school.

During my time here, I’ve learned that life is so much more than just book knowledge. My father sadly passed away my first year here. It hurts me so much, I almost dropped out of school because I felt there was no point anymore. As I was going through his stuff, I found a letter written to me during my time in high school, where my dad said that he was glad I was working so hard. That I was showing him that all the work he was doing was well worth it and more. He said his dream was to see me graduate from college and have a family of my own. It was then I knew, college was a must, no excuses. I had my purpose, and my father gave that purpose to me.

My boyfriend, Yoongi, also gave me my other purpose, a family. He’s been my number one supporter these last few years. He’s given me the motivation and encouragement I needed on days where I felt like I couldn’t do it anymore. He reminded me that he saw me for who I was, and so did my dad. I’m not a quitter. Yoongi, you are my family. You are my love and my life. You are my everything. I’m so thankful to have you, and I truly believe you were a gift sent to me from my father. I love you so much. And class, I’m proud of all of you, because I know the road was not easy ONE. BIT.

           When I turned the page, I saw my last paragraph was missing, and instead it was replaced. Though, I didn’t realize it in time, and read it out loud to the crowd,“Will you marry me Y/N? ~Yoongi” I stood there in shock, as did the rest of the crowd with a gasp coming from them. I looked up to where I previously saw Yoongi sitting with my roommate and saw him, now standing, showing me a ring in a box.

           Without a second’s hesitation, I said through the microphone, “YESSSSS!” receiving claps and sounds of praise from the audience, but all I could focus on was Yoongi. My love.

6 years ago. 24 years old:

           Today’s the day. The day I promise forever to my best friend. My bridesmaids were helping me, and themselves get ready. Making our way to the church, all my friends were telling me that I was so lucky to be marrying the love of my life, and yes, truly was, but I wasn’t feeling as hyped as I probably should. Yoongi and I had gotten into a fight a couple of nights agobecause I had felt he was spending too much time at his studio writing music. Neglecting me and our plans. There were nights we had to cancel our dates or outings because he was stuck working on a song proposal till late. I had finally had enough, and when I mentioned it to him, he became defensive and it turned into a fight.

           Though no one has formally tried to reconcile and move passed the issue, we weren’t going to move the wedding. We knew we wanted to spend our lives together, but we are just having a hiccup on the road. Nothing abnormal.

           As the music began to play, I saw Yoongi for the first time since our fight a couple of nights ago. He looked at me, emotionless. This is not how I imagine my husband to react when he saw me walking down the aisle. Just as I was half way down, I looked up, and through my veil, I saw Yoongi spilling out tears from his eyes that he tried to hold back. Once his best man, Namjoon, had put his hand on his back, it was all over from there. The water works started to stream out of control. Now this is how I imagined it.

           Once I had reached Yoongi at the front of the alter, he looked at me and whispered, “You look so beautiful. I’m so sorry for yelling at you and saying that you never support me. You always do. I love you so much, and I’m going to try harder to make it home with enough time to spend some time with you.”

           I just smiled in response, letting him know that it’s fine and I love him. The preacher continued on with the ceremony and came up to our vows. Mine was short, sweet, and simple. Went straight to the point: Ever since I met you, my life has just enhanced. I thank God, and my father, for sending you to me every day. You’re my now and my forever. I love you Min Yoongi. I do now, and forever.

           Once I was done, it was his turn to say his vows:From the day I met you at the bakery, I knew there was something about you that I had to know. Ever since then, my life has been nothing but an adventure. Once I knew you as a friend, my heart only continued to grow more interested and invested in you. I’ve never been good with my emotions, so I didn’t know what I was feeling exactly, but once I heard that sweet laugh of yours, I knew it was love. I’ve been in love with you ever since, and I’ll continue to be in love with you forever. I do completely.

           With that, the preacher finally declared that we were now, Mr. and Mrs. Min Yoongi.

4 years ago. 26 years old:

           Everything was hurting. My back, my legs, my arms from gripping on the rails so hard, I couldn’t even believe I managed to hang on this long. I was currently 7 hours into labor with our first child. Yoongi and I decided to wait until our baby was born before we found out the gender of the baby. I had taken an epidural, but it was beginning to give out. I had asked the nurses, “Can I please get a refill on the epidural medication?”

           “Mrs. Min Y/N, you’re 8cm. dilated. You are about to get ready to push your baby out. We can’t give you anymore. Just try to relax until your doctor comes here to help you push” The older nurse said sympathetically.

           Once she left the room, I looked over to Yoongi who was sitting next to me in a chair making sure I was being cared for. “This is all your fault” I said angrily though tears.

           “How is this my fault?” Yoongi asked confused.

           “YOU are the one who planted your seed into my uterus, and YOU are the one who said the romantic weekend getaway to Busan was a ‘great idea’. Now look at me! I’m having a human being tear up my vagina” I said through pain.

           “I’m going to let this one slide because you’re about to give birth to our child” He said now taking my hand to hold. “But, I do love you, even if you can be a pain in the ass sometimes.”

           “Now’s not the time you, asshole” I said through gritted teeth. My doctor came into the room greeting me and Yoongi, telling us that it was time for me to push because I had finally reached 10cm.

           “Are you sure? Because I still feel like the baby is going to tear me up badly.”

           “Tearing is normal in vaginal births. We are going to take good care of you, and your precious bundle in here. Just push when I say push, and your baby will be in your arms in no time. Plus, you have a wonderful husband here to help comfort and guide you” The doctor said, flashing a smile at Yoongi.

           Yoongi ate that compliment up and said, “See? You have a WONDERFUL husband Y/N.”

           “Yoongi, do me a favor and have a cup of shut up.”

           For the next 20 minutes, I was pushing, and pushing, with what felt like more strength than I had to give. After what felt like the millionth push, I finally heard the screams of a precious baby. My precious baby, and all the pain and agony I had just went through for the last 8 hours seemed to be worth it and more.

           “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Min, it’s a healthy baby girl!” The doctor said.

           “A girl?” Yoongi asked shocked. When they had finished cleaning up our little girl, they handed her over to Yoongi. The last time I saw Yoongi cry was at our wedding, but now, holding his little girl in his arms, he was starting to choke up with tears. Sitting next to me, he looked down at her and whispered, “I love you so much baby. Daddy is going to make sure you have everything you need and could want. No one is ever going to hurt you and get away with it, you hear me?”

           I looked over at him, as he handed me our baby girl, and I started to cry with joy overflowing. She reminded me so much of my father. I so wish he could have been here to see his granddaughter being born. He would have loved to be a grandfather, especially to a little girl. I looked over at Yoongi and asked him, “What should we name our angel?”

           He took a moment, and then said, “I know we aren’t religious people, but what about Esther? Wasn’t she a strong and empowered woman who stood up to a man of authority in the Bible?”

           “Yeah, I believe she was”

           “So, what do you think about Esther?” He asked waiting for my answer.

           “Min Esther…I like it!” I said happily looking down at our new precious bundle of joy.

           “Esther. Our little badass like the original badass” Yoongi said about our baby with pride. I could live in this moment forever. My little family and I surrounding each other with adoration and love.

Present Day. 29 years old:

           After a half hour had gone by, I had seen Yoongi wake up slightly, still having one hand on our sleeping daughter, and his eyes looking at me with a small smile forming on his lips. “What are you doing just sitting here in the quiet?” He asked. I think now would be the right time to tell him the big news.

           I’ve been trying to find time all week to tell him, but now feels more right then ever. “Oh nothing, just thinking about how blessed I am to have all three of you in my life to love.”

           Yoongi looked at me confused and said, “It’s only Esther and I, unless you’re referring to yourself” He said chuckling softly at the end.

           “No.” I said now getting up to put his hand on my stomach. “The three of you.”

           “…You’re…Pregnant?!” He said a bit too loud.

           “SH! Yes! I am! But, don’t wake up Esther. I want us to tell her in a fun way that she’s going to be a big sister” I said.

           He looked like he was over the moon, looked down to where I was kneeling in front of him on the couch, and said, “You are truly the love of my life and the best thing that’s happened to me. Thank you for giving me these, now two, little gifts. I love you more than you’ll ever know” He said kissing me after.

           “I love you, and Esther, more” I replied. My life was blessed beyond measure. Never did I think I was deserving of this kind of love, from a husband, and now two children we made. I’m more than happy and blessed, I’m finally complete.