#Secret Enigma Rambles

[secret-engima]

qwerty224561

Yo this is amazing! I have had thoughts on this for so freaking long but someone finally put it in words! The world building in Naruto is a mess and a half and i’m so happy to read more  callouts on it. btw btw How okay would you be with people using this in a fic with credit?

Me: hi! I’m glad you liked it. As a general rule, I am okay with ppl using my HCs in their fics as long as they credit me and the HCs are:

1. General worldbuilding HCs for that world/culture, such as the ninja economics rant

2. General HCs for canon characters that aren’t heavily AU specific (like my HCs about why Lee and Gai are Like That and my general Uchiha culture posts).

For specific/AU-centric HCs, OCs, or OG clans (like my Bestia clan in FFXV) pls feel free to ask on a case by case basis. :D. Just don’t be surprised or have hurt feelings if I say no (I’m very protective of my OC blorbos ^^;).

So yea feel free to use the ninja economics in a fic, and if the fic is posted on tumblr or Ao3, feel free to tag me so I can come admire it!

[fyodoro]

UNEXPECTED LOVERBOY

-> in which you overhear your calm and secretive boyfriend gushing over you like there’s no tomorrow (1.1k wc)

Cw) gn!reader, manga characters (no spoilers), sakura still malfunctions when it comes to romance topics

Calling Hayato Suo an enigma would be an understatement.

Not a soul knows what lies under that eye patch. He’s calm, collected, and composed at almost all times, but it was a task of its own to grasp why. It’s impossible to catch him eating anything other than teacakes, and he often replaces his meals with a hot cup of tea. He claims to be on a diet, but every diet needs some protein incorporated into it.

Everything there is to know about Suo can be followed up with the same question: “Why?” and “What?”

However, there was an exception to his mysterious nature: You.

Of course, you didn’t know that. Hell, even Suo failed to notice his quite obvious soft spot for you until now. But as Nirei’s eye glittered with joy as he scribbled new notes onto Suo’s page in his notebook, and Sakura’s pupils shrunk with his cheeks flaunting a new shade of red, everyone knew.

Hayato Suo’s in love.

“(Name’s) a beauty, really. They may be rough around the edges at times, but I’ve never met anyone with a soul like theirs,” he babbled uncharacteristically.

He brought his teacup to his lips with closed eyes, missing the baffled expressions on everyone’s faces. But the moment he opened them, he couldn’t help but quirk a brow. “What’s with the shocked faces?”

Umemiya coughed into his hand graciously. “We’re just a little surprised, that’s all,” he began, too immersed in the conversation to notice you entering Kotoha’s cafe. “It’s not often you ramble like this.”

“I didn’t know Suo could be so open about his feelings,” Nirei exclaimed with a smile. “You must reallyyyy like (Name), huh?” he questioned, holding his pen in one hand and notebook in another as if this were an interview.

Suo’s head tilted. “Of course I do, that’s why I’m dating them.”

“You’ve been rambling on and on about (Name) for almost 10 minutes, it’s gross,” Sakura grumbled with flushed cheeks.

“But we wanna hear more! Keep going,” Nirei added.

Everyone looked at Suo attentively, including you. Somehow, the group failed to hear the bell chime when you entered the cafe. You’re clueless as to what’s going on, but it didn’t take a genius to realize it had something to do with you considering the amount of times your name was thrown around.

“My, if you insist,” Suo chuckled. “But I fear I’ve already said it all, unless I forgot to mention how cute it is when their cheeks puff up when they’re annoyed?”

Sakura held his head in his hands in fear that it’d melt off with how hot his face felt. “No, you didn’t. But we get it! You love (Name)!” he shouted.

“They’re impossible not to love,” Suo commented with his usual calm smile.

“That’s just Sakura’s romance sensor going haywire,” Kiryu teased. “Don’t mind him.”

The split-haired boy sulked in his seat, trying to dismiss the heat he felt on his face. “You’re all so…”

His voice trailed off, catching a glimpse of your frame standing behind Suo.

“Su-“

“Trust me, if you were in my shoes you’d be doing the same thing. (Name’s) one of a kind, not to mention beautiful. I can’t imagine a life without them, honestly.” The brunette went on, unbeknownst of your looming presence behind him. “Anyone can fall in love if their heart is stolen.”

“Someone like Suo being so head over heels in love… it must feel like a fairytale for (Name),” Umemiya chimed.

“Oh trust me, it does.”

Everyone’s heads turned to face you, except Sakura, who had noticed you seconds prior.

“(Name)?!”

“I didn’t know I could be such a fun subject of conversation, Hayato.” you teased, hands resting on your boyfriend’s shoulders as you leaned down to his ear.

He gulped, hiding his flustered heart through his relaxed exterior.

“We were just talking about you!” Nirei said happily. “Is it true? That Suo never lets you hold doors open, and holds them open for you? Or that he gave you his umbrella when it was pouring rain because he’d rather get soaked than risk you getting sick?” Oh! What about-“

The boy in question sat in silence, allowing Nirei to ask his heart away to confirm that this wasn’t one of his absurd lies.

You nodded at the blonde. “Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Except he technically kept the umbrella- he just held it over me so my hands wouldn’t get cold,” you corrected, recalling the awful weather of that day.

“What a romantic~” Tsubaki swooned.

“I try my best,” Suo smiled shyly.

“Suo never talks about his life! This is the most he’s ever told us, (Name)! Does he talk to you about his personal life?” Nirei inquired politely, trying not to make you feel pressured into answering.

You thought for a moment. For one, you felt honored that Suo didn’t wanna keep your relationship a secret like the rest of his life. But the blonde’s question made you realize something yourself- you really didn’t know much about your boyfriend’s personal life.

“Well… what can I say? He’s a mystery to everyone, including me.” you replied unsurely, glancing at Suo from the corner of your eye.

“Interesting…”

Nirei wrote something down in his notebook, and you didn’t bother looking. Instead, you held eye contact with Suo. He didn’t have to speak for you to know what he was thinking.

He wasn’t hiding anything from you. He just didn’t like talking about his past, and you understood.

“My love, you know more about me than anyone else in this room,” he stood after finishing the contents of his teacup. “After all, you were the one who told me to take baby steps, correct?”

You vaguely recalled those words. It was weeks ago, but he felt guilty for not telling you or anyone else about his history. In response, you told him to take as long as he needed, and baby steps were always the first steps.

“I did,” you affirmed. Your voice was soft, but it didn’t hide your intentions of making his heart pound a little harder. “But I didn’t think I'd catch you gushing over me like you’ve lost your composure~”

Suo almost broke, and you laughed.

“Woah, is Suo blushing?”

“Who could blame the guy? It’s the most open he’s been with us,” Hiragi commented with truth.

Kotoha giggled from behind the counter. “Not to mention how close (Name) is to him right now, it might be too much for the poor boy to handle.”

The red in Suo’s cheeks slowly faded, and he let out a small sigh. “I’ll see you all later, we’re gonna get going now,” he waved.

The two of you walked out hand in hand, and everyone else was left either baffled, confused, or unphased. Unless it was Sakura, who was somehow all three.

Little did you know, Nirei left a small comment on the corner of Suo’s page in his notebook.

‘Quite the loverboy.’

© enassbraid 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.

[berryunho]

THE ANSWER: XXVIII

Kim Hongjoong doesn’t like the word ‘cult.’ He prefers ‘sect.’ pairing: ateez x fem reader genre: cult au, thriller, angst check warnings on AO3

← previous || next → || masterlist chapter word count: 14,305 chapter warnings: alcohol consumption

Your month drags on. Despite the heightened activity around the farm, nothing much changes in your day-to-day schedule. You wake up at the same time, listen to Hongjoong ramble for the same amount of time, eat the same meals with the same people, and eventually sleep at the same time. Even book club is monotonous, barely even happening— but that might have more to do with the fact that Seonghwa (who conducts most of your lessons) seems even less enthused about having to spend an hour talking to you than you are. 

Which is strange— ish. Not that you expected much different from him, but you had thought that… or, well, at least, you weren’t feeling such a burning hatred for him anymore, so, maybe… 

But that’s silly. Of course Seonghwa still doesn’t give a rat's ass about you, why would he? All you’ve ever done is be a pain in his side. Even when he’s… comforted you in the past… its been to relieve his own discomfort or guilty conscious, not to actually help you. Probably.

You truly have no idea. Seonghwa is an enigma. 

In a way, though, you’re glad that he’s at least mostly off your case. Maybe due to your slight mental breakdown after seeing the… thing… Seonghwa seems to be less eager to poke fun at you. Not nice by any standards, but he’s certainly less devious around you. 

Which also means that he hasn’t been prying into your personal life. Thankfully. With the secret of your escape looming over your every thought, it would be just like you to accidentally slip-up in front of Seonghwa and blow the whole thing. 

Instead, he keeps things very formal. He doesn’t put his hands on you, he doesn’t stare at your face with that scrunched-up look, he doesn’t ask questions about you or your day or San or anything else. He talks to you about The Answer and lets you leave after. 

Though the arrangement is a bit startling at first, you get used to it quickly. Hongjoong appears less and less at these meetings, not even making an appearance in the last two weeks of the month. You have no idea what he could possibly be so busy doing, but you’re not complaining. 

Over the course of the month, there were several more rituals, similar to the tune of the one that you had participated in. Luckily, you were not called to participate in any of them, and no more— and your hesitant to even give whatever happened a name, but— Guardians appear to confuse and scare the everliving fuck out of you. 

More and more, you find yourself absentmindedly reaching to touch the pins on the collar of your shirt, fiddling with them whenever your hands are free. You want to think that it has nothing to do with Hongjoong’s bullshit about the Sign protecting you… and it doesn’t! Not at all! That would be crazy! It’s just a habit. Like spinning a ring or twisting a necklace. 

… You’ll go with that, anyways. 

Occasionally, you still have nightmares about your encounter. What a horrible night that all was. Obviously, there still is nothing in you that can believe that Guardians are real. That would be silly. And insane. But it’s only natural that you’re still upset about the whole situation. Whatever had happened, it had scared the shit out of you. It affected you— it makes sense that your subconscious would be fixated on such a traumatic memory. 

Right…? Or maybe you’re still actively thinking about that night and what the fuck had happened. Could it have been what Hongjoong said? Could he be right? Or were you blitzed out on some mysterious drug and everyone else was just lying about what they saw? Could Hongjoong manage that?

He probably could. It couldn’t be that hard for him to convince the entire cult into gaslighting you into believing that they had all seen the thing, too. But San… He wouldn’t lie to you about it, right? You find that very hard to believe. 

Thinking on it, San had, of course, never outright said that he had seen the same thing as you— you had never spoken in detail with him about it… But he was disturbed enough to set your escape into motion, which must count for something. Maybe he had seen a Guardian and was terrified enough to run. 

These sorts of thoughts dominate your month. 

You had volunteered to help out with the harvest, almost pleading with San for something to do. You were sure that Wooyoung would take your help back in the kitchens, but Hongjoong denied you any opportunity that seemed to come your way. He wanted you with San, where he could see you. 

Which is stupid, in your opinion. Hongjoong has the Followers, all of whom are incredibly devoted to him; any of them would give you up in a heartbeat if they saw you trying anything that you shouldn’t. He could assign literally anyone to watch you while you did a task, and it would achieve the same thing as having San at your side. But no. You were forced to rot in your apartment, glancing over San’s shoulder to his laptop on occasion, hoping to see something that could brighten your mood (or give you more information). 

Most of the time, you watch out your window, hoping to snag another glance at Mingi. There are a few times when you can see him in the field, but the Followers make quick work of the harvest nearest the compound, and move farther and farther away as the month rolls onward. Sometimes, you swear you can see his hair in the distance, reflecting the sun so brightly. It gets harder and harder to remember why you fought. Why you were holding a grudge. Could you really blame him for having your best interests at heart?

Sure, he had been a little possessive and freaky, but, like, he was kind of telling the truth. And he was just trying to make sure that San wasn’t hurting you.

You’re probably just making excuses for him, now, as you miss his company. Here you were, a cult member, locked away in an apartment, all for him— and you don’t even have him. You can’t even speak with him freely. The irony isn’t lost on you. 

Anyways, it doesn’t come as much of a shock when Hongjoong announces that the harvest is complete. Though the month might have been one of the longest of your life, watching the field workers get farther and farther away everyday at least gave you a sense of time passing. When even their tractors were tiny specks that you could hardly see without squinting, it was clear that the work was almost finished. 

The announcement is met with much fanfare, though you’re not sure why. From what you make of it, Halloween is always the date on which the harvest celebration occurs. It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that the harvest is over, especially with the date looming so soon, but the Followers all seem overjoyed. Maybe they’re all just ready to relax after a long, toiling month. 

That said, the day itself comes much faster than you anticipated. Hongjoong made the announcement of the end of the Harvest on the 25th of the month, leaving six days between the sermon for celebration and the actual ceremony itself. 

Which left you with six days to finish your mental preparations for your escape. 

San had refined your plan over the month, including making a timeline of the night and the places you should find yourself. He took over the entire plan, which you really couldn’t be more thankful for. His knowledge of the farm and the workings of the cult provided a level of security that you would have never been able to achieve on your own. 

In essence, the plan remained the same. When the ceremonial party began at 6pm, you would have nothing to worry about… besides socializing for the next nine hours. Just follow the vibes, and you would be okay. San was sure that you would have free reign during the party, that you’d be allowed to be away from a higher-ups side once the alcohol was flowing. At three, you would meet with San near the front doors, trying to not be seen, and make your way into the woods beyond the compound, where San will have stashed your car in the days leading up to the ceremony (it was as he was telling you this that he admitted to having the keys to your car in his office this entire time). 

Despite the simplicity of the plan, you figured that it would probably work. As long as you didn’t raise any suspicions in the coming days, and as long as everything went smoothly on Halloween, there was no reason to dwell on the possibility of it failing. 

Another failed escape attempt was unlikely to be something that you would survive, you knew this. Even with Hongjoong’s delusional belief that you are someone important to him and his religion, you weren’t sure he could tolerate this level of disobedience— at the very least, it would be disastrous if you failed. At worst, you would be leading San and yourself to early graves. 

Maybe Hongjoong’s twisted dependence on you would mean that he couldn’t kill you… But you weren’t going to count on it. He had threatened your life in the past, and you were quite certain that he meant it. He would be able to reason out a way that killing you made sense, if you pissed him off enough.

So. You simply had to make sure that you did not fail. Because you didn’t want to find out what Hongjoong would do with you if you did. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

Much like the rest of the month, the few days leading up to Halloween also fly by before you can appreciate the gravity of your situation. 

Your stomach churns all morning. You chalk it up to nerves, the most obvious explanation for an upset stomach, but part of you wonders if there wasn’t something wrong with your dinner last night. 

Hongjoong announces the party to be held that evening during the morning service, like San had said that he would. You wring your hands together at San’s side, avoiding Hongjoong’s eyes. There’s a small part of you that is so sure that he would be able to figure you out entirely if he got a glimpse into your eyes. You just try to focus on the activity at hand, listening to Hongjoong with an impassive look on your face. 

You must do an alright job, as Hongjoong allows you to leave the chapel with San at the conclusion of the service. You’re even able to eat breakfast in peace, which actually does surprise you. Though Hongjoong had been exceedingly busy over the month, he still typically made time to freak you out most days. 

But San and you are able to sneak away after breakfast, back to your apartment, without a word from anyone. 

As soon as San shuts and locks the door behind him, he asks, “Are you still feeling alright? Up to this?” 

You blink across the room at him, hardly needing a moment to assure him that you very much still are ready to make your escape. You ask if he’s feeling the same way, to which he agrees. 

“Just a little nervous, I guess,” he explains, shrugging. “That’s normal, right?” 

“Of course it is.” You’re sure that San is no stranger to Hongjoong’s wrath; you don’t need to wonder why he’s nervous. Once again, you’re struck by emotion as you realize what San is doing for you, what he’s risking and what he’s giving up. 

He smiles. “What should we do, after we’re out of here?” 

You sit down on the couch, thinking through your answer, “I think we should just show up on one of my friend’s doorsteps and freak the shit out of them.” 

San laughs, rolling his eyes. “I meant more long-term, but we can do that, too.” 

Oh… Long-term. You still hadn’t broached the subject about… well, blowing the whistle on this place again, ever since San flipped out when you suggested it. You certainly still planned on doing exactly that, and you really don’t think that you need San’s approval to do so, either. Like, if you escape and just let this be, aren’t you basically an accomplice to all of the crime? 

The last thing you plan to do with your life is go to prison for Hongjoong, so you’re very much resolved in what you have to do… whether San agrees with you or not. 

“Well,” you start, “when’s the last time you saw your parents? Where did you live before you came here?” 

San sighs dramatically, making his way to sit next to you. “Sheesh, don’t remind me. They’re gonna kill me.” 

“They’ll be happy to see you, I’m sure.” You think of your own parents, who will probably also be a little upset… but hopefully mostly pleased that you’re still alive. 

San agrees with you easily enough about his parents, before adding, “Is this a bad time to mention that the Followers have been paying your rent since you went missing?” He asks, “So everything should still be there.” 

You gape at him. “Are you serious? How?” 

You know for a fact that your rent could only be paid through a pain in the ass portal with a very specific and strange ID and password. 

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “You had the info saved in your phone… so…” 

Puzzled. You are puzzled. Why would they go to such lengths to just keep your shit in your apartment? You had long since assumed that your landlord had probably broken down the door and left your stuff on the curb. 

Well, you remind yourself, it actually hasn’t been that long. Though it feels like you’ve been on this farm for the better part of your life, it has really only been… what, two and a half months? Maybe your landlord would give you some leeway, but… no need to worry about it, you guess. 

But why would they even do that? It’s not like your rent was cheap. What would they gain from keeping your apartment intact? The illusion of life? 

That’s probably it, you realize. Just a front to make it look like you, in fact, weren’t a missing person. Part of you wants to freak out at San, realizing that he must be the person that orchestrated all of this, but you’re too far past that. If you start being mad at him for doing his job, you’re going to have to be mad about a lot of things. Things that you can look past for the fact of what he’s helping you do tonight. 

“Speaking of my phone, can I get that back?” 

San, relieved that you don’t seem mad, smiles. “I’ll grab it tonight.” 

“Can’t I have it now?” 

He hesitates at that, inclining his head in question, “any particular reason?” 

You shouldn’t need to give him a reason, so you shake your head. 

“It’s probably best to keep it where it is, in case someone goes looking for it.” 

… Ominous. Who would be looking for your phone? 

But he’s probably right. And it’s not like there would be much to do on it, anyways. You’re not going to call the cops now, not when your escape is looming closer and closer with each minute that passes. You can’t jeopardize it now. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

You’re a little surprised that dinner carries on as normal, without any extra fanfare. Though no one had mentioned one, you had kind of expected there to be another ceremony of sorts. But, no, dinner is normal. You sit with San and Wooyoung, the rest of the table almost awkwardly empty as the three of you eat in relative silence.

How is Wooyoung going to react when he wakes up tomorrow and you’re both gone? He’s going to be pissed. But, maybe, he’ll realize that you wouldn’t leave him here. Surely, after what he told you, he knows that you wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t have it in your heart to let him rot here, knowing what Hongjoong did to bend him to his will… or, at least, having an inkling of an idea. 

Before you know it, Hongjoong is standing at the head of the room, commanding the attention of the cafeteria. The room falls into a hush, no one speaks as Hongjoong starts his speech. 

“Everyone,” he addresses the room, “Loyal Followers of the Answer, it is with great joy that I officially conclude our harvest season.”

The room bursts into a polite applause, smiles shared around the tables as the Followers celebrate their leader’s message. 

“Despite a rocky start, we were very fortunate to remain safe for the duration of the month.” Hongjoong, for the first time that day, finds your eyes. “I put my thanks in the faith of our Followers, those who kept our protections strong all month long. Though it may seem that there was no danger at all, this is only thanks to their courage.” 

San reaches across the table to squeeze your hand, giving you a small smile. 

“As always, we will celebrate our safety and our bountiful harvest— which Jongho assures me will last us through the winter and beyond— tonight. Everyone of age shall participate; I do not expect anyone to hold back on anyone’s account, especially not my own. This success is as much yours as it is mine.

“Please, imbibe freely, socialize freely, celebrate your victory over evil. We start now, and we will not stop until dawn.” Hongjoong grabs his glass from the table behind him, saluting the room with it before downing the amber liquid. 

Again, the room applauds, though more raucously. Wooyoung excuses himself from your table, headed back to the kitchens. Soon after, Followers emerge with trays and trays of various specialty glassware, each filled with their respective (you assume) alcohols. Not long after, Wooyoung exits the kitchen with a rolling cart filled with, perhaps, more bottles of alcohol than you have ever seen in one place at one time (which was saying a lot, considering the bars you had frequented with Mingi in college). 

Without anyone’s encouragement, Followers begin congregating at the front of the room, helping themselves to the multitude of drinks available. You’re even surprised to see that someone brought out a case of Coke, presumably for mixing. When was the last time you saw coke? They must’ve made a run into town recently, you realize, though it couldn’t have had the same importance as when San went. 

You shrug it off. Not like it matters much, anyhow. San stands, offering his hand to you. You take it, graciously, prepared to get this night started. 

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

There is an attempt to pace yourself, considering that you’re going to need to be at least a little coherent later tonight, but… well… it’s been a long time. And you are well aware of the fact that you have, like, basically 10 hours. That’s enough time to get drunk and then sober, if you play your cards right. 

So play them, you do. San sticks to your side like glue for the first couple hours, watching you carefully as you put away more than your fair share of drinks. He drinks, as well, but nowhere near at the speed or quantity you do. You’re vaguely aware that you probably should slow down, but why would you, when you’re surrounded by… like, tons of dudes that would protect you, and you include Hongjoong in that count. 

By nine, you are positively drunk, blissfully unaware of the worries from the morning. What is there to worry about? You’re having the time of your life, do you even want to leave? Why would you leave? The thought makes you laugh, not surprisingly. 

You flit around the cafeteria, having lost San a while ago. Or maybe it was only a few minutes ago… It doesn’t matter. You talk to a lot of people, introducing yourself and smiling when they tell you they know who you are. It almost makes you feel a little guilty, but it mostly makes you happy. So many lovely people know your name and your face and they know that Hongjoong thinks you're so important. How amazing! Tomorrow, you probably wouldn’t be able to repeat a single one of their names, but that doesn’t matter. 

The time flies as you keep talking to new people, your mind completely distracted from the plans you have for later. You do slow down your drinking, eventually, though that’s more so due to the fact that you’re too far away from the bar table to bother going back to it than anything else. 

More than a few times, you find yourself staring at Mingi, and, more often than not, he’s staring at you, as well. Maybe he’s worried about you…? The thought makes you blush. Mingi… Oh, Mingi. He looks so handsome tonight, too. His hair is still red, still bright, and his outfit is beautifully fitted to his bulky body. Phew. You almost need to fan yourself. 

Eventually, sometime, you’re not sure what time, you end up talking with Yunho. He is clearly not even a little bit drunk, you might even say he was stone-cold sober if not for the glass in his hands. Though you thought that he hated your guts, he still seemed a little amused by your presence, a small smile on his face as he has to catch your forearm a couple times. The drunk part of you wonders if you could get away with feeling his biceps, he’s just so tall and so handsome, but even you know it would probably be wrong to feel him up. 

You couldn’t repeat a word of your conversation to anyone, not even seconds after it happened; not that you think it particularly matters. After Yunho, you find Wooyoung and Yeosang, and you can distinctly remember thanking Wooyoung for the incredible selection, but… yeah, that’s about it. 

While you’re about to go talk to Jongho, who looks like he could use some company, a hand wraps around your elbow, tugging you backwards. Not one to argue, you spin around, ready to follow whoever it is. Seonghwa stares down at you, an incredulous expression on his face. 

“Hi, Hwa,” you smile up at him, grabbing his free hand with yours. 

His expression morphs from confusion to disgust. “Do not call me that. How much have you had to drink?” 

You shrug, swinging your conjoined hands back and forth. “Enough to have a good time. What about you?” 

“Certainly less than that,” he tugs you back toward the cafeteria tables that had, apparently, been mostly moved out of the way at one point. “Trust me, you don’t want to bother Jongho tonight.” 

You hadn’t planned on bothering him, just keeping him company, but you figured that Seonghwa wouldn’t see it the same way. 

“What time is it?” You ask him, only remembering that you’re wearing a watch after the words leave your mouth. 

“10:44. Got somewhere to be?” 

“Nope,” you pop the p sound, following his lead as he ushers for you to sit down at the table. 

Time continues to fly by, though Seonghwa isn’t as good of a conversation partner as the other people you’ve been spending your time with. He also doesn’t let you drink anymore, instead insisting that you drink water, refilling your glass every time you empty it. Lame. 

As the minutes pass, though, you can feel yourself coming back to reality. You definitely aren’t sober, very far from sober, but the lights stop being bright and you stop being amused by everything that Seonghwa says and does pretty quickly. You also excuse yourself to the restroom more than a few times, though you dutifully return to the same table each time. 

The night progresses, and you find yourself making eye contact with Mingi more and more. Like, seriously, basically everytime that you happen to look at him, he’s already looking at you. Besides the one time you look over and see him engaged in conversation with Hongjoong, you appear to have his rapt attention. 

You try to look around the room for San, but there are so many Followers and it’s kind of dark and you’re still not in your right mind, so you give up pretty quickly. You have no idea what it is that he could be doing, besides preparing for your escape, so you just let it be. Better to not ask after him and then have the others asking the same questions. 

Though he had stopped you from drinking, Seonghwa had not stopped himself. He paces himself much better than you had, but he keeps drinking as the night wears on, eventually starting to open up a bit more with you. He also lets you get another drink, which you happily allow yourself, as you start to feel much too aware of your situation once more. 

“You know,” Seonghwa mutters, leaning closer to you, “this is, essentially, Hongjoong’s birthday party.”

You pull away from him, confusion evident on your face. “It’s his birthday?” 

“In a week.” He sips his drink, grimacing at the taste. “But he doesn’t make a big deal of it on the actual day, so here we are.” 

You’re actually rather surprised to hear this, and from Seonghwa no less. It’s strange that Hongjoong doesn’t want his birthday to be a huge thing considering his, you know, enormous ego and narcissism issue. Maybe he doesn’t like everyone knowing how old he is. Kind of takes away the appeal, knowing that he’s… how old is he? He can’t be much older than you, just given what you know about him and Seonghwa (who you know to be the same age). You’d ask Seonghwa, but it kind of seems like he wants you to ask, so you’re not going to. 

Instead, you sip your own drink, trying to look like you’re thoughtfully processing and tucking this information away for later. Why would you ever need to remember Hongjoong’s birthday, especially after tonight? Your stomach rolls over as you have this thought, the reminder of your plan being truly nauseating. 

“When's your birthday?” You ask instead, propping your elbow onto the table. 

Seonghwa looks momentarily taken aback, but responds easily enough, “April third.” 

“Far away, then,” you frown. Another realization hits you. “You’re older than Hongjoong.” 

He shrugs, “Believe it or not.” 

For whatever reason, this is, in fact, slightly disconcerting. 

But you ignore that feeling, opting to look around the crowded room. Hongjoong himself is mingling with Yeosang and Wooyoung, both of whom look incredibly pleased to have their leader's attention. Wooyoung is not shy with his hands, clutching the Hongjoong’s arm close to his chest as they speak. Vaguely, you wonder if he’s feeling okay. You’re still not sure how he can be so loyal to someone that apparently had him… what? Tortured? Who even knows. Stockholm syndrome is a real thing, you guess. For once, Hongjoong doesn't sense your gaze, staying completely unaware until your eyes shift away. 

Immediately, perhaps unsurprisingly, at this point, you make eye contact with Mingi. You hold it this time, tilting your head in question as if asking him if he needs something. He’s certainly acting like it, with all this staring, but he looks away from you, resuming his conversation with a Follower you haven't met before. Like everyone else, he still sports a drink in his hand, dutifully sipping it every lull. 

“Princess, can I ask you a question?” Seonghwa speaks across from you, calling your attention back to him. You incline your head in the affirmative, and he asks, “Why did it take you so long to come after him?” 

The question takes you off guard, probably for the fact that you wonder it yourself. You take another drink, looking down at the wood grain on the table. 

“Too personal? I figured.” Seonghwa takes your silence as an unwillingness to respond.

“No,” you're quick to deny him, “it's not that. I just don't know the answer.” 

As horrible as it sounds, the real answer to the question is simply… you were busy. Life happened. You didn’t have any reason to suspect that he disappeared due to malicious circumstances. Finishing university was your top priority— plenty of your friendships fell to the wayside as you wrapped up your degree. And, by the time you graduated, it didn’t seem pertinent. You always figured that, if you reached out, he would answer. Hell, his mom told you where he was, if she knew about this place, at least to some extent, you couldn’t blame yourself for not knowing what it would end up being. 

If you had known the truth, you think, you would’ve come sooner. Of course you would have. There is no universe where you let Mingi go through this terror alone… though that’s essentially what’s happened since your argument and the rift in your relationship. 

Whatever the case, it seems silly to worry about now. You're here. There were a few months where Mingi was here alone, and the idea of those few months horrifies you. Knowing that Mingi went through a Choosing ceremony without any kind of internal support system makes you feel sick… but, you have to admit, he did pretty alright. Sure, he's traumatized and changed and brainwashed, but at least he has friends and a purpose and, well, he seems happy… ish. There's nothing you could've done if you had been here earlier, so it's no use dreading on it. You still would've been kept apart, and there still would've been the same circumstances. 

You take a look at your watch, sighing as it informs you that the time is 11:52 p.m., not nearly as late as you were hoping that it would be. 

Seonghwa huffs at your non-answer, tucking his hair away from his face to stare at you harder. “Sometimes I feel like I can hear your thoughts just from watching your expression change. Mingi wasn’t better off before you got here, if that is what you were thinking.” 

It wasn’t, but, like, that’s kind of close. 

You shake your head, sliding your drink across the table between your hands. “It’s not that I think he was better off… Just that he did alright for himself in the meantime.” 

His face twists, though you’re not sure what emotion he’s trying to convey. “Do you even remember what happened when you tried to leave?” 

Your eyes meet his. 

“He had you back for, what, two days, and then completely broke down.” Seonghwa glances back over at Mingi. “I don’t think he’s been the same since you did that.” 

“You can’t guilt trip me into forgetting my need for self-preservation,” you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray any sense of, well, guilt. 

He rolls his eyes, looking back at you. “In case you haven’t noticed, Princess, you are very much still alive.” He mutters something else under his breath as he picks up his drink, taking quite a few consecutive swallows. 

You mirror his actions. Hopefully, you can keep it that way.

.・。.・゜✭ ⧖ ・.・ ⧖ ✫・゜・。. 

In a stroke of luck, Seonghwa let you keep drinking until you found yourself teetering between tipsy and drunk, again. He kept drinking, but he didn’t really keep entertaining you, instead wandering off to do his own socializing. You do try to keep yourself under control, though considering that it’s almost time. 

You take a look at your watch, surprised to see that it’s already 2:15. Blinking through the haze of your tipsiness, it sure seems like 2:15 is an okay time to get a move on, right? Like, surely no one will notice if you slip out now instead of in, like, twenty minutes or whenever you and San had agreed he would grab you. 

Plus, if anyone did notice, you could just say that you needed some air. It wouldn’t be hard to believe, looking at the state of you. You would quite enjoy a nice breath of fresh air. You could always come back inside if it felt like it was too early, or if you got a bad feeling. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to sneak off for just a moment. 

In a brief look around the room, you don’t find anyone paying any particular attention to yourself. In fact, you can see Hongjoong and Seonghwa engrossed in conversation, about as far away as could be. Seonghwa’s hand rests on Hongjoong’s shoulder, a demure smile on his face as he listens to Hongjoong speak. Most of the other Followers in the room all seem significantly more drunk than yourself, with hardly a person meeting your eyes for any longer than a second. 

No one will notice, you’re positive. 

As you begin your attempt to shuffle your way through the crowd toward the hall, a hand grasps your elbow, stopping you in place, for the second time that night. 

Despite the looks that he had been giving you all night, you’re still a bit surprised to see Mingi looking down at you when you spin around to see who the hand belongs to. Your plans to go get a breath of fresh air fall out the window at the sight of him. Why would you need fresh air when Mingi is standing in front of you? He has just about the same effect on you. 

At first, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say, but, if you know anything about Mingi, it’s that he yaps when he’s drunk. And he clearly is, judging from the rosy tinge of his face and the awkward smile he wears as he looks at you, a smile that sends you straight back to college. It’s as if he’s completely forgotten everything that’s happened in the past couple months, forgotten the arguments and the anger and the time that has passed. 

“Hey,” he greets you, having to raise his voice over the din of the party. 

“Hey,” you greet him in turn, politely waiting for him to continue. 

“Can I—” he stops, opting to lean his head closer to yours so that he can talk into your ear. His hand stays on your elbow, locking you in place (not that you would’ve moved away from him, anyways, being tipsy and all). “Can we talk in private?” He asks, his voice deep in a way that you had almost forgotten. 

Nodding, you allow him to retract himself and lead you away, toward the hall that you had originally been aiming for. When the door shuts behind the two of you, the party sounds fade; the two of you isolated from the rest of the world. 

Well, the two of you and a few other Followers that linger in the hall, but close enough. Mingi doesn’t seem bothered by their presence, and you really aren’t either. You’re sure that you haven’t had a truly private conversation with Mingi since before he went missing, given that he apparently seeks Hongjoong’s advice for everything. Anyways, the presence of a few stragglers doesn’t worry you. 

Mingi drops your arm, awkwardly smoothing his dress shirt. “You look nice. Pretty.” 

“Thanks,” you smile, leaning your back against the wall— partly in an effort to keep your balance.  “What did you wanna talk about?” 

He shrugs, observing the hallway like he had never seen it before. “Just wanted to talk. We haven’t talked in a looooooonnngggggggggg time.” 

Part of you wants to ask him who’s fault that is, but that would be cruel, so you don’t. “It has been a while now.” You agree instead, glancing at your watch. 2:22… which is basically 2:25, which is basically 2:30… already. Nerves wash over you again as you clench your hands in front of you. 

“If I’m being honest— and I always want to be honest with you, you know— Hongjoong said that I should talk to you because he thought it would be good for you to hear my thoughts about the situation and also because he said that he thought that you seemed bummed out that we haven’t been talking and that made me sad so I’m taking his advice and talking to you.” Mingi says after taking one deep breath, not stopping for a moment. “Also Yunho said that you still seemed kind of mad and I can’t take the thought of you being mad at me anymore so basically what I wanted to say was that I’m sorry.” 

Blinking, a pout forms on your face at his explanation. He had been worrying about you and your relationship. You could’ve reached out to him at any point in the last month, but hadn’t out of fear that he was still upset with you. And here he was, apologizing. 

“Mingi,” you wring your hands harder together, “it really isn’t important anymore. I stopped being angry a long time ago.” 

He shakes his head, closing his eyes. “It is important, (Y/n), I don’t want this to go unsaid. I’m sorry for confronting you and acting like a douchebag, I’m sorry for scaring you, I’m sorry for questioning you about San, which was absolutely none of my business, I’m sorry for yelling and fighting him and ignoring you for weeks and sending San dirty looks whenever I saw him.” He pauses. “You probably didn’t know about that last one, but, still, I’m sorry.” 

Your frown only grows deeper with each apology, your eyes starting to sting. You don’t want to cry, not when you’re sure that this night will steal plenty of tears already, but Mingi is making it hard. If you had known that he was beating himself up equally as hard as you had been, you would’ve apologized a long, long time ago. If you had known… isn’t that just the statement of your life? 

“When you were attacked at the start of the month, I was terrified.” He swallows. “I wanted to be at your side, but Hongjoong wouldn’t allow it, and I was sure that you would be pissed if you woke up and I was there, so I left. But that solitude left me a lot of time to think, to think about who you are and what you mean to me.

“You might not think of me as your best friend anymore, but I value our friendship more than anything else in my life, (Y/n). More than Hongjoong, more than The Answer, more than all of this; you are what I thank God for everyday. If something happened to you, I don’t think I would survive it.” Mingi swallows again, harder, tearing up himself. “I’m so glad that you’re here. I know you still are on the fence about Hongjoong, but I need you to trust me when I say that he loves us and he lives to make us better people.” 

Finally, you allow a few stray tears to spill onto your cheeks. Mingi’s confession is touching, truly, making your stomach do all sorts of gymnastics, but Hongjoong. How does he weasel his way into absolutely everything? Again, you’re struck by the thought that Mingi will be plagued by Hongjoong for the rest of his life. This… grip he has on Mingi won’t disappear overnight. 

Thankful for the wall behind you, considering your dizziness, you lift a hand to wipe at your cheeks before responding. “Mingi, no matter what happens or how much we fight or if I’m here or not, you’ll always be my best friend.” You smile weakly, hoping that he doesn’t read too deeply into your words. “Nothing can come between us for long.” 

Mingi wipes at his own tears, sniffling. “Can I hug you?” 

Before you can fully nod your head yes, Mingi is pulling you away from the wall and into his arms, crushing you to his chest. You’re quick to reciprocate, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist, savoring the feeling. You hadn’t been able to hug him in ages, but his arms feel just like you remember them— if not a little bit more muscled. Inhaling deeply, you rub your face against his shirt, probably ruining the crisp-ness that he had been trying to preserve. His tears wet your scalp, but you don’t mind as you only squeeze him tighter. 

The moment could not be more perfect; reconciling with Mingi fills your heart with such a certainty that you’re doing the right thing. Knowing that he isn’t upset with you, isn’t harboring any ill-will any longer reassures you that it will all be okay. He knows that you wouldn’t just leave him behind— he’ll know that you’re coming back for him (if he ever even finds out that you’ve left). 

That is, of course, ignoring the bit of his speech where he encouraged you to stay and adapt to Hongjoong, but, like, whatever. It’ll be irrelevant in a few hours, now. He’ll be thankful, eventually. 

But no moment can be perfect and last forever. 

A throat clearing from behind Mingi calls your attention back to the world. The two of you separate, though Mingi puts a hand on your cheek as you pull away, wiping away your tears with a tight smile. 

San looks behind Mingi’s shoulder, his face hard as he watches the two of you. You could almost chuckle at his jealousy, but the seriousness of the situation suddenly rises into your awareness once again. 

“I'm sorry, Mingi, you'll have to excuse us,” San says, despite the fact that Mingi hasn't acknowledged his presence. 

Mingi leans close to press a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he says, quietly enough so that you're the only one who hears. 

Nodding, you untangle yourself from his arms, taking a few steps towards San before offering your hand to him. 

He takes it, offering no final remarks to Mingi as he pulls you further away from the cafeteria. Further away from Hongjoong and Seonghwa and Mingi and the rest of them. Closer to the forest and your car and freedom. 

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest again. Had you lost track of time talking with Mingi? Were you running behind? Why does it seem like San is in such a rush to get you away? It’s almost hard to keep up with his stride, your boots feeling heavier with each step that you take. 

Vaguely, you find yourself worrying over if Mingi will get in trouble for being the last one to speak to you. Surely not… How would he know what you were planning? There wouldn’t be a way for him to… unless they suspected that you had confided your plans to him. 

Which you hadn’t done, but if they were desperate enough to need a scapegoat… No. Hongjoong wouldn’t go that far. He may never even find out that you had the conversation in the first place. Mingi might mention it, but he probably wouldn’t have the opportunity to in the chaos that is sure to ensue when your absence was realized. 

They were bound to figure out what had happened easily enough; they wouldn’t have to interrogate your friends to come to the most obvious conclusion: that you and San had run away in the night, without outside help. 

Before you know it, San is opening the front door, ushering you into the night. 

As you had suspected, the cool air does feel amazing on your skin. Lacking a coat, you know that you’ll grow colder the longer that you’re outside. It’s almost November, now, the air is almost strikingly cold after the stuffiness of the cafeteria. Even the hallway had hardly felt relieving compared to this. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you allow San to continue wordlessly leading you forward. If you weren’t still rather tipsy, maybe you would question his silence. But it doesn’t bother you very much, if you’re being honest. He probably just doesn’t want to risk drawing any unnecessary attention…

He had assured you that there would be absolutely no one outside of the compound at this point in the night, though… 

But, still, he has his reasons, you’re sure. Instead of continuing to walk in front of the building, he veers dramatically to the right, walking the distance until you both turn the corner to round to the side and eventually the back.

Though you had never seen the woods at the back of the compound directly, you had known it was there. The ancient, old-growth trees loomed from behind the building, their leaves able to be seen from a far distance, even from the road. To actually be in front of them was a new sensation, a new emotion. The sight of their trunks startled you into realization.

This is real. You’re doing this. You’re running. You’re getting out of here. 

San stops at the edge of the trees, finally turning to address you in a low voice, “You still want to do this?” 

Nodding, you squeeze his hand in yours, bringing your free hand to grip your joined hands as well. 

He looks at the dirt, kicking a loose pebble at his feet. “Don’t look too hard at anything you might see in these trees, (Y/n).” 

However foreboding that is, you agree with his request, “I won’t take my eyes off of you.” 

San allows himself a small smile, squeezing your hands back. 

Whatever it is that San doesn’t want you seeing, you don’t think you ever had any hope of being able to see in the trees, anyways. It’s pitch black outside, the moon doing little to help you as you walk deeper and deeper. 

You’re almost kind of amazed that he’s able to lead you so confidently. He must not have consumed anywhere near the same quantity of alcohol as everyone else. Which actually makes quite a bit of sense, considering you hadn’t seen him very much at all following dinner. What had he been up to? Was Hongjoong not suspicious of his absence? He must’ve made something up… explained it away… 

More than a few times, you stumble over a tree root or loose brush, twigs snapping underfoot with each step that you take. San holds you steady, slowing his pace when you need it. 

After what feels like forever, but is probably more like a couple minutes, you reach a clearing. At first, you think that you spot your car right away… but then you realize that you can’t be sure. In the clearing, there’s no fewer than twenty vehicles, of all makes and models and sizes. Some look like they haven’t run in years, a thick, dusty coat over their windshields that you can even see in the dark. 

San doesn’t pause to let you take in the clearing for very long, however. He quickly pulls you along with him, between a row of cars, before you’re able to find your own. It looks just as you remember it, albeit a bit dirty. Your heart leaps as you realize what this means.

You’re at your car. Your car. It’s right here, right in front of you. You’re going to fucking get out of here. Holy shit. 

San lets go of your hand, fishing into his pocket before pulling out the keys and handing them to you. “We don’t lock the cars, but…” 

Clutching the keys in your hands, you can’t help but smile. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

He awkwardly mirrors your smile, glancing behind you before pointing it out. You turn to look, not all that surprised to see that the clearing opens to a dirt road, leading back off into the trees. “We’ll go that way. It meets up with the main road after a couple miles.” 

Nodding, you turn back to your car, almost giddy as you approach the passenger’s side door. Gently, you pull on the handle, hoping the door doesn’t creak too loud as you do so. Thankfully, it’s no louder than normal, and you eagerly sit yourself down in the seat. San stands in the door, his hands resting on either side of the opening. “Ready, then?” He chuckles as you settle yourself into the seat, adjusting the recline to lay back. 

“Let’s go.” 

He gives you a thumbs up, pushing himself off of the car before patting at his pockets. 

His smile falls, his face paling. 

Your heart drops into your stomach, “What is it?” You ask, sitting back up. “Is something wrong?” 

San blinks, twisting to look back the way that you came. “I have to go back.” 

“What?” You almost shout, “Are you crazy? You can’t go back!” 

He shakes his head, leaning down toward you. He grips both of your shoulders tight in his hands, looking in your eyes, “It’ll be fine. I will be right back, I promise.” 

“San, no,” you gape at him, “what could possibly be so important?” 

San closes his eyes, shaking his head at your question. “It’s hard to explain, I— Just, I,” his eyes open as he squeezes you one last time before dropping your shoulders. “I’ll be back, I swear.” 

“Let me come with you,” you plead, attempting to grab one of his hands as he pulls away. “Don’t leave me here, alone, please, San.” 

Shushing you, he shakes his head again. “You’ll slow me down. I swear, (Y/n), it will be fine. I’ll see you in a minute.” 

He takes a step back, shutting the door before you can come up with a response. You’re too dumbfounded to even attempt to open the door again, too confused to try and follow. What could possibly be so important to him? What if someone finds you here? How are you going to explain that, huh? 

But the possibility of that is so remote. No one knows that you’re out here, how could they? Even if someone notices your absence at the party, they’ll just assume that you’ve retired to your room, right? And even if they feel inclined to check, that’ll take a few minutes, in which time San should return to you and get a move on. 

Still, you find it very hard to swallow your panic. 

What if this is it? What if you die because San had to go back for something that he wouldn’t even tell you about? Your breathing grows shallow with each new terrible thought that invades your mind. You can see it now, Hongjoong walking into the clearing, rage in his eyes, knife in his hands. Making you grovel and beg and plead with him only to end it right then and there, anyways. San would come back and find your still-warm body, soon to join you in death. 

You try to blink away the images that flit across your mind, realizing that your eyes burn as if you’d been crying. Your hand flies to your cheek, unsurprised to find it wet. Taking a deep breath, you do anything you can think of to distract yourself. 

The air in your car is so stale, your months old air-freshener doing little to help the dry, bitter smell. You fumble with the glove box, pulling it open while praying that there is anything in it that can distract you from the horror of the moment. 

Papers spill out as you indiscriminately pull everything out, ushering it onto your lap. You throw aside the car manuals and your outdated insurance, searching for just one thing, anything that could remind you of what you were enduring these terrors for. 

A brochure for The Bean slides out, your own face smiling from behind the coffee bar. Adam can be seen in the background. It almost makes you sick, that horrible reminder of the life that you had been forced to give up. You keep sliding the papers around, cutting your finger in your desperation. 

Sucking your paper cut into your mouth, you realize that you're not going to find anything in the glove box. You make a half hearted attempt to shove everything back inside before deciding that it's not worth it. 

Tears still pouring down your face, you reach for the driver's side sun visor, flicking it down to reveal the photos you kept in the sunglass clip. 

On top is a picture of Jungeun and yourself, embracing with your faces pressed together. You quickly slide it back, knowing for certain that you have a picture of Mingi in the stack. 

Seeing the picture will wake you up, you're certain. It will give you the courage to keep going. 

Finally, a polaroid emerges. It's the first picture you had clipped to the visor, a testament to how much time had passed before you started looking for Mingi. How had you waited so long? You pry the polaroid free, it having stuck to the metal after so long. 

Though your hands shake, you don't really need to see the photo in detail to appreciate it. Mingi stands in the center, a peace sign next to his eyes. He's not smiling, rather giving you a sour look. He wasn't pleased to be the first test subject of his gift to you. The second photo was of yourself, taken by him, you remember. The third was a selfie of the both of you. 

You don't have either of the other photos, but you have this one. Something compels you to protect the picture, to keep it on you, so you slide it into your waistline and pray that your pants don't distort it too much. 

A knock on the window almost kills you on the spot, with the way your heart leaps into your throat.

The shock of who you see through the window makes you gag. 

No sooner after seeing his face does he open the door, falling onto his knees next to the car to be eye level with you. 

Seonghwa is drunk, much more drunk than he had been when you were with him earlier, you realize this very quickly with the way his voice wavers as he asks, “What are you doing?”

You have no response. You open and close your mouth a few times, but only choked sounds of fear come out. 

He grabs your hands, holding them in your lap. “Why are you crying? Are you leaving?” 

He sounds so sad that your heart nearly shatters. Your heart should shatter, now, knowing that escape is impossible. But you can only focus on Seonghwa, on his knees, in front of you. 

His bangs brush his eyelids. “You're leaving?” He asks again, “without me?” 

Seonghwa hiccups, frowning. The question is so absurd you can't pay any mind to it. Why would you bring Seonghwa with you? His forehead comes to rest on your thigh. 

“Seonghwa, go back to the party,” you manage to get out, clearing your throat after. 

“I can't,” he pouts, “Hongjoong is mad at me. I can't tell why.” 

You think Hongjoong always seems a little mad at Seonghwa, but you're not going to say that to him now.

“Please, Seonghwa, go.” 

He shifts his face and blinks up at you, his eyes reflecting the moonlight so prettily it almost hurts. “Come with me, then.” 

Seonghwa gets to his feet, but he doesn't release your hands. They dangle between the two of you, the height different causing yours to float up. “We can fix this. Just come with me,” he says. 

You're shaking your head before you realize it. “I can't go back. I can't do this anymore.” 

Seonghwa bites his lip, looking around. “This isn't going to end well; please,” he looks back at you, “just come back with me. I won't say anything, Hongjoong will never know, we'll both be fine. We'll be fine. Nothing has to change.” 

“I can't go back.” Your heart beats wildly in your chest, you can feel its thrum. When San returns, what will he do about Seonghwa? How will he possibly get past him? Seonghwa won't let you leave, but you have to. To what length would San go to get you free? 

You don't want Seonghwa hurt. You realize now, staring up at him, that you care about him. More than you would've ever thought you would. Who is Seonghwa if not the ultimate victim? Is he not just a reflection of yourself?

“Get in the car, Seonghwa.”

He frowns again, pouting his lower lip. “I can't leave Hongjoong.” 

“Yes, you can. Get in the car.”

You don't give a second thought to your proposition, nodding your head toward the back seat.

“I won't leave Hongjoong.” Seonghwa clarifies, dropping your hands. They smack down onto your thighs, stinging. 

You'd question him, start yelling at him if you could. But you can hardly form a coherent thought and every word feels like risking the contents of your stomach coming up. Instead, you frown, looking down at your lap rather than at his confused face. 

“You can't leave Hongjoong, either,” he says. “Even if you run, he'll find you, always. You'd come back on your own, you won't know how to live without him anymore.” He tells you this eerily flat. “Just come back with me, he doesn't have to know about this.” 

Seonghwa is speaking nonsense. Even your flurried mind understands this.

“Please.” He begs. “(Y/n), please.” 

You shake your head. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head as singular tears run down his cheeks. “I'm sorry. I tried to help you, I did.” 

Seonghwa turns away from the car as the sinking feeling in your stomach solidifies into a rock of dread. 

Of course, you knew what it meant to see Seonghwa out here. There was never any chance, not after he had found you. If he knew where you were, Hongjoong did, too. Surely, he wouldn’t risk you getting away. He would drag the moment on, though. Making Seonghwa come here, making him plead with you, what sort of torture was that? What was the point? Isn’t he just going to kill you, now? 

Why is it that, when Hongjoong enters the clearing, you aren’t scared? You hardly feel anything. You knew this was coming. You knew that this would happen, didn’t you? There wasn’t any other possible ending to this night. You wanted to believe that it was possible, that you could escape, but it was futile. It was never a possibility. Even with San’s help. You knew it, deep down. 

Like Seongwha said, there is no getting away from Hongjoong. You were foolish to think that you could, and you know it, now. 

Instead of watching Hongjoong approach, you watch Seonghwa slink away. He doesn’t go far, stopping to rest his head against the roof of a car a few down from your own. You can imagine how good the cool metal must feel. 

You snivel, wiping at your eyes as Hongjoong stops in front of you, standing where San had stood, where Seonghwa kneeled. He’s silent. You don’t look up at him, instead focusing on his hands as they hang at his sides. They’re empty, though clenched into tight fists. 

“You have ignored every. Single. Opportunity. I have given you.” He emphasizes each word. “Chances I gave you to make the right decision.” 

It’s not even worth your energy to respond, is it? Obviously, you should’ve known that the various conversations you had over the night were warnings. How else would everyone manage to bring up something that would make you want to stay? And Seonghwa… 

How humiliating. 

“I’m disappointed in you.” Hongjoong says, and it’s so much worse than if he had been screaming and violent. “I thought you were starting to fit in.” 

You glance at Seonghwa, who still has his back turned to you. He seems to be shaking, but you find it hard to believe that, even in this scenario, he would cry for you. This has to be part of it, right? Part of making you feel guilty? 

Looking at him is a mistake, though. Hongjoong harshly grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Look at me when I'm speaking to you.”

You still have no idea what to say to him. It all seems so stupid, in retrospect. 

It's only as you look up at Hongjoong that you start to wonder where San is. If you asked, you'd surely get your ass handed to you. But the terrible feeling in your stomach only gets worse. What if he comes back to this scene? How will he react? Poor San, he was so desperate for you. How will he feel, with the plan destroyed? Does Hongjoong know the depth of his involvement? 

So, you break your silence. It couldn’t get much worse, could it? “Where is San?” You ask. 

Hongjoong lets go of your face, but only to bury a hand in your hair, yanking you into standing. Instinctively you bring your hands to his, crying out in pain. He only smirks, releasing his grasp on you. 

You collapse onto your knees, catching yourself with your hands at his feet. Your nice pants, they're dirty, now, you catch yourself thinking. Like that's the biggest issue right now. 

“Where is San?” He repeats your question, spitting the words out like they leave a vile taste in his mouth. 

Reduced to a heap at his feet, you can't bring yourself to look up at him. This night has turned up just as your last failure had. You're not all that surprised when Hongjoong's boot comes down on your hand, though not hard enough to hurt. “Look at me.” 

You do. From even further beneath him, he looks more Biblical than ever. 

“Who do you think told me where you were?” 

Ah. 

Of course. 

That makes sense. 

Your face contorts, though with what emotion, you’re not sure. 

You want to think that there might be an explanation, one that doesn’t involve San betraying you to a homicidal maniac, but you know that there isn’t. Instantly, you know. 

He never meant to help you. He never cared about you. He had laid a pretty trap for you, at Hongjoong’s request, and had sprung it just as planned.

And he couldn’t even be here to see the fruits of his labor. Pathetic. Your mind swims with everything you had told him, everything you confessed to him, the times you had been warned about him. You fought with Mingi over him, you defended him to Mingi. 

“Yes,” Hongjoong smiles down at you. “All of this has been planned since the day I made you live with him.” 

You nod up at him, realizing that he must want something else from you. 

“You must understand, (Y/n), that I control everything. You can’t trust in anything besides this fact.” Hongjoong kneels to meet your eye line, inadvertently crushing your hand under his foot as his weight shifts. 

Gritting your teeth, you suck in any sound of pain that threatens to escape. The last thing you plan on doing tonight is letting Hongjoong realize the depths of your pain. 

He tilts his head in question. “Do you have anything you want to say to me?” 

Even in your haze of emotions, you can hardly resist spitting a few choice curses at him. “Fuck you.” 

He grimaces, though he’s clearly not actually affected. “Not what I was thinking, Princess, but I’ll give you a pass.”

His hands are suddenly gripping into your shirt at the shoulders, yanking you onto your feet. He hardly allows you to catch yourself before he begins dragging you across the clearing, away from your car, into the trees, away from your last shred of dignity. 

There isn’t a single thing on your mind as he pulls you through the trees and eventually back around to the front of the compound. He’s groveling under his breath, probably cursing you out in any and every way that he knows how. And you deserve it. You deserve every stumble of your feet, every tear burning your cheeks, every horrible thing that Hongjoong can fling at you. 

You failed. Not only yourself, but everyone stuck here in this cult. You’ve utterly failed. No one is going to be rescued, no one is going to be saved. You cling onto Hongjoong’s blazer as he guides you to the barns, having no idea what could be waiting for you there.

Maybe this is it, huh? Maybe he has finally realized that you’re more trouble than you’re worth. For a second there, it had looked like he was going to keep you alive, but maybe not. That was probably just wishful thinking. He’s probably delivering you to Jongho, too disgusted to even deal with you himself. 

Hongjoong releases you to throw open the barn doors. You have to catch yourself on the siding to remain standing, but Hongjoong quickly returns his grip on you, hauling you further inside the barn. 

It’s the animal barn. He walks you into the center aisle, dropping you unceremoniously. You fall into a heap at his feet. Again.

You can hardly hear Hongjoong over the general animal sounds, but especially over the oinking of the pigs. “I’m going to leave you here,” he starts, glaring down at you. “When I come back, you’re going to still be in this building.”

Sniffling, you nod in agreement. 

He scoffs. “You’re lucky, (Y/n), very lucky. If you had made it even an inch down that road, what do you think would’ve happened to you? To Mingi? Haseul?”

There isn’t anything for you to say. The pigs fill the silence. 

“Selfish. Utterly, disgustingly, selfish.” Hongjoong spits. “Stay here— before you try and lure anyone else to their certain deaths.” 

With that, he turns on his heel and exits the barn, shutting the door behind him. The overhead lights remained on, but you barely even found yourself capable of caring. The dark wouldn’t make any difference. You failed.

And Hongjoong was right. You are selfish. Even though you knew the truth about San’s intentions now, you hadn’t known before. You had thought he was risking his life to help you, and you had been fine with it. What was wrong with you? Why is this just occurring to you now? Had you really been so desperate as to involve another person? What’s the matter with you? Have you no shame? No consideration? Were you such a narcissist that you would put your freedom above someone’s life?

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you wipe your cheeks with your hands. The sensation is calming, allowing you to take a few deep breaths as you collect your bearings. As hard as it is, you should try to keep your head on straight… there’s still no telling how the night will end, and something tells you that it’s far from over. 

One thing you know for certain, though, is that you cannot do this again. You can’t. No matter what. Something else will have to give. There is no more escape. There is no more saving yourself. How the fuck could you, after this? 

Standing, you brush your hands off on your pants. Hongjoong hadn’t said anything about not moving from the spot. Might as well look at the animals. Animals can be calming, right? Therapeutic? Maybe?

Wishful thinking. 

Your tears keep flowing, but you find your breathing to be coming back to your control. You stumble with your first step, but quickly regain your balance, tottering over to the nearest animal pen— which happens to be the pigs.

This is where you had confronted Jongho about Haneul. How long ago was that, now? That horrible confrontation lingers as you grip the metal fencing keeping the pigs in place. The bar is cooling, demanding your attention. You realize now that the air itself, though warmed by the animals' presence, is getting rather chilly, as well. 

Tugging your sleeves lower over your hands, you peer down at the animals. Some of them are sleeping, but most of them aren’t. Each sow is separated from the next, in neat, orderly rows. Last time you had seen them, there weren’t individual pens. Jongho had been feeding them in one huge, disorderly mess. It had been rather disgusting. 

You had also fought with Mingi, that day. About so many things that just seem stupid, now. What was there to even be mad about? Mingi is just Mingi. You can’t fault him for being a victim.

And the fact that he was just looking out for you, and, in fact, turned out to be absolutely correct. 

As you turn to walk to a different pen, the feeling of the polaroid at your waist recaptures your attention. Stopping in place, you fish it out of your waistline, cupping it in your hands. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be damaged. You stare down at it once more. It couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes since you had put it in your pants, and, yet, here you are. Completely changed. 

Mingi’s face frowns up at you, but your eyes catch on something outside of the photo. Your own expression melts into a frown as you lower your hands, shoving the picture back into your pants. 

Wiping your tears again, you kneel down to the ground next to the pen. 

What had caught your attention was a scrap of white, so starkly bright against the packed dirt floor of the barn. 

You reach out to grab it, suddenly overcome with an even worse feeling of dread. Your scalp goes cold, a shiver spreading across your body as you touch the… fabric. 

Fabric. 

Blinking your tears away as fast as you can manage, you pull, feeling your stomach drop as the piece grows into a cuff. Buttons and all. A white cuff. 

There’s nothing that you can do to stop yourself from thinking the thoughts that come— attacking you at nearly instantaneous moments. 

It’s Haseul’s. This is from Haseul’s shirt. What did Hongjoong say would happen? About the pigs? The pigs? Haseul? This is Haseul’s shirt? It can’t be. She’s in her room. She’s been in her room this whole time. This could belong to anyone. This could’ve been cut off of anyone’s shirt. It doesn’t have to be hers. It could be anyone’s. Why would it be hers? It isn’t possible. San said she was fine. He failed, but she was fine. Hongjoong said she was fine. Mingi said— what did he say? Did he say something? Anything? It doesn’t matter. San said—

“You shouldn’t be in here,” a familiar voice calls from behind you. 

You fall onto your butt, forgoing your pants. They were ruined, anyway. Clutching the cuff in your hand, you don’t even reply to Jongho’s warning. Your breathing is out of control, again. Each breath you take is tighter, harder, less satisfying, more panic inducing. The fabric in your hand burns with the tightness of your grip. 

Jongho grabs your shoulder. “Can you even hear me?” 

A fully-fledged sob leaves you as you look up at him. 

His eyebrows furrow in some emotion— probably disgust— as he frowns at you. “Get out of here.”

Shaking your head, you try to say even a single word about Hongjoong telling you to stay here, but you can’t get anything out. If anything, you cry harder, shaking your head back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, shutting your eyes as tightly as you can. 

This cannot be real. This can’t be happening. It can’t be Haseul’s shirt. Even if it is, it doesn’t mean that she’s—

No, you won’t even think it. You just keep shaking your head. It can’t be. It cannot be. 

Jongho’s hand leaves your shoulder.

“This is your punishment, (Y/n).” Hongjoong’s voice booms from behind you. It’s so shocking that you open your eyes, spinning around in the dirt to face him. He’s not alone. Seonghwa and San are with him, both of them looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

Seeing San doesn’t relieve you at all. Seonghwa’s face is puffy, his clothing disheveled and dirty. Neither of them look at you, instead looking at the ground in front of them. Jongho remains at your side, seemingly caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

You don’t know what Hongjoong means, though. Or, rather, your mind completely refuses to see what is in front of it until it is irrefutable. There is still hope, now. There is hope. The cuff doesn’t mean anything until Hongjoong says that it does. There is nothing in you that can accept this until… 

“Haseul is dead.” Hongjoong says. “And San killed her.” 

The wind is completely knocked out of your lungs as you fall onto your hands, heaving. 

Though you can’t see San, you can hear him. His protests are immediate, “What? Hongjoong, why would you say that? I didn’t do that. I didn’t even touch her. I swear, (Y/n), why would I lie—”

“Not to mention that he orchestrated your entire escape attempt at my request,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through San’s pleas to be heard. 

The reminder calls you back into your body. Hongjoong had to say it in front of San, you realize, he had to make sure San knew that you knew of his betrayal. You look up at the three men in front of you as you gasp for air. The cuff lays in the dirt before you, momentarily forgotten. 

San is gaping at Hongjoong, his hands outstretched as if he was in the middle of trying to reach for you. “Are you fucking crazy?” San barely squeezes out in his apparent anger. 

“I am, in fact.” Hongjoong replies, though he doesn’t bother to address San. He smiles down at you instead, watching your facial expression change from one of despair to one of hatred. 

Your eye twitches as you stare at San, who starts to plead for you to hear him out once more. 

“I swear, (Y/n), it wasn’t like that! You heard him! He’s crazy! He only has something to gain if you don’t trust me, right? Why would I ever do that? I love you, you kno—” 

San had been crouching down to your level as he made this speech, which was probably a horrible idea. Using your hands as your leverage, you launch yourself at him, toppling him over into the dirt. 

Pinning him to the ground with your weight, you stare down at his (very surprised) face. 

It takes you all of five seconds to realize what you couldn’t in the past month. 

Hongjoong is right. Again. 

Your tears drip down onto his own face. San tries to speak, but evidently can’t think of anything to say to you. 

Hongjoong laughs at your side. 

You pull your hand back, bringing it back down and slapping San as hard as you can muster across his face. The smack rings through the barn, your hand stinging all the way up your forearm. 

San tries to clutch his cheek, but your knees keep his arms at his sides, and he instead looks up at you, stunned. 

“Say something.” You demand, finding your voice. 

He opens and closes his mouth, grasping for anything to say. “He’s lying to you— I swear it, I had nothing to do with Haseul, and I would never set you up, I would never, you can’t trust him, can’t trust anything that he says, (Y/n), really—” 

You hit him again. This time, he exclaims in pain as you feel your hand go numb. Seonghwa flinches in your peripheral vision and Hongjoong laughs once more.

“Fuck you.” You blink, more tears falling. “Fuck you.” You lean back, freeing his arms, which immediately come up to rest on your waist. “Hit me.” 

San’s face contorts, confused, “why would I hit you?” 

Absurdly, you smile. You smile wide. “Hit me. Do it.” You hit him in the chest, though lighter than you had his face. “What? Are you a coward? You can kill my best friend, but you can’t hit me?” Your voice raises, reaching a shrilling quality. “Come on! Hit me! Do anything!” 

San’s hands remain holding your waist, not moving. 

“Hit me so that I don’t fucking kill you! Hit me to show you at least think your miserable life is worth living! Hit me! Hit me! Hit me! Hi—”

“That’s really enough, (Y/n),” Seonghwa’s voice cuts in as he grabs your arm, keeping you from landing another blow to San’s chest. “You’re being childish.” 

You scoff, but it devolves into a laugh. “Childish? I’m being CHILDISH?” You wrench your hand out of Seonghwa’s grip. “Tell me, Seonghwa, please, how is someone supposed to react in this situation? What is the normal reaction? Enlighten me, please!” 

When Seonghwa doesn’t respond, you stand, turning your full attention to him. San’s hands easily slide off of you, though you remain hovering over him. He finally starts cradling his red cheeks. 

Seonghwa looms over you, his back to Hongjoong as he stares over his shoulder at you. You feel guilty for lashing out at Seonghwa, somehow, but it doesn’t stop you from fanning the flames. There’s nothing that could stop you, not in this moment, from bringing anyone else to your level. 

You make eye contact with Hongjoong, who has his arms crossed nonchalantly, an enormous smile on his face. You imagine that this night is just going peachy for him. Just how he wanted it to. Maybe, just maybe, you can ruin his fun. 

At Seonghwa’s expense. You hardly feel bad about it, though, as your eyes snap back to Seonghwa’s. 

“Without turning around, take a guess. Is Hongjoong watching you, his perfect little whore, or me, the spoiled brat who doesn’t behave?” 

Seonghwa sneers, a small laugh escaping him. Of course, he plays right into your hands. He exhales one shaky breath before grabbing your shoulders, using the grip to shove you as hard as he can, sending you falling back to the floor. You practically land on top of San, your legs resting over his waist, but you can only laugh. 

Seonghwa falls onto his knees in front of you, crawling until he can reach your legs. He grabs you by your calves, pulling you off of San until you’re practically underneath himself. You’re sure that he’s planning on strangling you, there’s a sweet little look in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know.

And you’re excited, you want him to kill you, you realize. Your laughing becomes intermixed with your sobbing as Seonghwa puts his weight on your stomach, the fury in his eyes blazing harder with each sound you make. 

Before you can truly get your way, though, San is grabbing Seonghwa by the back of his shirt, using all of his strength to pull him off of you. You hear the fabric rip as Seonghwa sprawls onto his back in front of you, and San takes the same position that Seonghwa had just had on you. 

You can’t find it in yourself to sit up, so you opt to just turn your head until you can see San. Vaguely, you can hear the sound of him hitting Seonghwa as you had just pleaded with him to do to you, and this only makes you cry harder. 

You turn your head in the opposite direction, and you’re greeted with the image of Hongjoong, still sitting contentedly. He glances down at you, but he doesn’t betray anything.

“Can’t you just kill me?” You whisper to him, hoping the others can’t hear it, “won’t you please just kill me?” 

Hongjoong frowns, then, slowly rising to his feet to come to your side. He holds his hand out, waiting for you to take it. 

You don’t at first, opting to continue looking pathetically up at him. From this angle, with the blurriness of your tears and the extreme perspective, Hongjoong really does look… ethereal. Angelic. Godly. Whatever the word is. You take his hand, allowing him to heave you into a sitting position just in time to see San land the punch that you’re sure breaks Seonghwa’s nose. 

It’s only in this moment that you realize San is screaming at Seonghwa, mostly incomprehensible phrases of anger. Seonghwa is trying to fight back, his hands clenching onto San’s shirt, slapping at his shoulders and face, thrashing underneath him, but San is too pissed to let any of it stop him. 

Hongjoong squats at your side, resting one of his knees on the floor. He doesn’t drop your hand, instead using it to pull you closer to him. He puts his face next to yours, making sure you’re watching the scene unfolding in front of you. 

“Doesn't this make you feel good? Seeing what San would do for you? Even after it’s all over?” He whispers so close that his breath tickles your ear. “It could always be like this. Everyone could love you like this.” 

Love? This is love? Your ploy to upset Hongjoong by including Seonghwa failed. If there isn’t love lost between the two of them, then what on earth about this is love?

Still, your heart skips a beat. 

You had completely forgotten (or, maybe, ignored) Jongho’s presence until Hongjoong turns to give him some sort of look that must tell him to stop whatever is going on. In the next moment, Jongho is resting a hand on San’s shoulder, barely having to pull at him to get him to cease his movements. 

Seonghwa turns his face toward you and Hongjoong, blood pouring from his nose and split lips. 

A sob escapes him, this time, before he turns to face the other direction. 

You really hadn’t meant for Seonghwa to get hurt from this. You just wanted to goad someone into giving you what you wanted, and he was easiest. You avert your eyes from him, wanting to give him the privacy he clearly desires. 

Hongjoong doesn’t care. He drops your hand, standing to go to Seonghwa. 

You look at San and Jongho. San is also sobbing, his knuckles torn to shreds in his lap. 

You don’t feel bad for him. You don’t feel anything for him. You’re sure the upset will come in the next few days. The bomb will drop, the emotions will explode, but now, in this moment, you couldn’t care less if he lived or died. 

Frankly, you couldn’t even care less about your own life. Haseul is dead. She’s dead. And she’s never coming back. You’ll never see her smile again, never text her that you’re bored at work, never hear her complain about her parents arguing again. Her parents. Her own parents. They’ll never see her again, and it’s your fault. Entirely. 

You look back at Seonghwa and Hongjoong just in time to see Seonghwa slap Hongjoong’s hand away from him, groaning as he turns his body to fully face away from his God. 

That can’t be a good sign. 

Hongjoong sighs, crossing his arms over his chest before turning on his heel to come back to you. 

Great. Just what you wanted. 

“Is she really dead?” You can’t help the question, squeezing your eyes shut as they fill with more tears. 

Hongjoong sits beside you, taking both of your hands in his this time. “She is.” 

“For how long?” You don’t open your eyes.

He takes a few seconds to answer, as if contemplating whether you should hear the truth or not. “She died the day she arrived.” 

You’re not sure if this is the best or the worst news that he could’ve given you. You’d believed lies for weeks, but at least she hadn’t been suffering the entire time, like you pictured. 

“Was it really San?” You still had a hard time believing it. Could San kill? Had you really shared a bed with him for over a month, not knowing that he had killed Haseul himself, believing that he hadn’t?

“No,” He admits, letting go of one of your hands, using his newly freed hand to rest on your cheek. You open your eyes, feeling your lips quivering with… every emotion on this goddamn planet. Anger. Fear. Sadness. Whatever. “Jongho killed her, and humanely at that. But San helped with the mess. I didn’t want it to be like this, (Y/n), I warned you.” 

And what could you say. He warned you. Very plainly. And you had disobeyed him. And look at what it cost. 

Hongjoong moves his hand away from your face, using it to wrap around you and pull you back into a hug. 

There's nothing to do anymore. Nothing to say. You cry into his shoulder, finally wrapping your own arms around him in acceptance. 

He rocks you, there, on the ground. “It might be hard to understand now, (Y/n), but everything I do, I do for you.” 

You nod. “Please don't make me see him again.” 

Hongjoong knows who. He strokes your head, smoothing your hair, “Of course, love. Of course.” 

Though you know that this is all because of Hongjoong, you still find his words comforting, his embrace grounding. You squeeze him tighter to you, appreciating the feeling of having at least one person on your side. He’s right, he’s so right, you can’t trust anyone else, not when this is how it turns out. 

← previous || next → || masterlist

[zombieunicorngamerzu]

(GIP Misty Quigley x fem reader)

(Pre-crash Misty’s secret infatuation with you while being her only friend)

[Warnings - Pervy Misty, Masturbation, Stalking, Solmnophilia, slight dubcon, anal, creampie, love confession, jealous Misty, possessive Misty]

When Misty first met you, you were new to the Yellowjackets team. A more quiet loner type of girl, which Misty found extremely attractive. The first practice she watched you, all sweaty and exhausted as you pushed yourself to perform past your limits, she had gotten so lost in her thoughts of what you’d look like if you were panting and exhausted under her that she didn’t notice how she’d bit into her lip till it bled or the growing hard-on in her jeans that she had to quickly dismiss herself to fix in the lockeroom.

Quickly rushing into the girls lockeroom to close herself in a stall before pulling down her jeans and sitting down on the lid of the toilet, her hand immediately sliding down to grip the base of her cock while biting her lip to hold back a moan, starting at a quick pace so she doesn’t loose the visual of you in her mind, gasping and shaking as she jerked herself off until she was panting herself, moaning louder as she finally came, her cock spurting cum into her hand as she shivered.

She jumped when she heard the door open to the changing rooms, scrambling to get her pants back up, she was flustered and now she felt embarrassed and ashamed, coming out of the stall causally only to see you, sitting on a bench tying your shoes. You looked up when you saw her, giving her a small smile that made Misty’s heart flutter. “Hi, your Misty right?” You asked her with a soft tone. Misty was shocked, standing there frozen for a second, (you knew her name?) shaking her head with a smile as she stepped forward to hold out her hand before remembering what she’d just done and pulling her hand back to cross her arms behind her back and give you a polite nod, “Hi! Yeah- I’m Misty, obviously…” she giggled nervously before going quiet.

You just smiled at her behavior, you thought she was pretty cute, “Well then, Misty, it’s nice to meet you.” She looked so bright when you said those words, blurting back, “It’s like wonderful to meet you, um- do you wanna be friends?” She cut herself off before you could answer, “But- of coarse it’s okay if you don’t want to, I don’t wanna be pushy- sorry it’s probably weird to just ask you that-“

“Misty.” You cut her off mid ramble, making her freeze and look at you with a nervous expression, expecting rejection or worse, so she was surprised when you said, “Yes, I would love to be your friend.” And after that Misty attached to your side like a puppy, you became close friends very very quickly simply because you didn’t like to make many friends, you were never really the type to talk or approach people, you let them approach you, and we’ll Misty, Misty was perfect because she never expected you to be anything other than yourself.

She would follow you around and talk about whatever, asking you questions to which you would answer simply and she loved everything you had to say, it was comfortable, you were just quiet, you let her follow you around and talk your ear off all while being glad because she never forced you to talk back to her, it was easy to be quiet when she would do all the talking and Misty was just so infatuated with everything you had to say, she cherished every word and felt so special that you let her be your friend. Not many had that opportunity.

Overtime though, it was getting really hard for Misty to hide her true feelings from you, she loved you and she knew it. Everyday her feelings only got stronger and stronger, but it was so hard for her to tell what you thought or felt, you were an enigma to her and others. But Misty was tired about fantasizing what being with you would be like, she wanted you, like really wanted you, and she was so terrified because, what if she told you and you would hate her or not wanna be her friend anymore. She didn’t wanna risk that.

“Hey, Y/N?” Misty called over to you one day after practice, you stayed to help her pick up the cones like you usually do. You looked up with raised brows, “Yeah?” She just stood up a little straighter, looking shy as she spoke, “D-Do you wanna have a sleepover?” You just blinked at her request, (why did she act like a sleepover was asking for something impossible?) You just chuckled with a soft smile, standing up straighter as you watched Misty look like she was ready for rejection, “Yeah, sure, tonight?” Misty looked shellshocked that you actually agreed she squealed and rushed to hug you, making you laugh and tense at the hug as she shook you, she’d never had a sleepover before,

“Oh my god, thank you, thank you, I promise you won’t regret it, it’ll the best sleepover you’ve ever had!” You just chuckled with a soft smile, nodding before you and Misty headed back to the lockeroom to gather your things before heading back to Mistys house. When you arrived you were a little disappointed at learning that Misty was left alone at home a lot, her parents were doctors so they were always working. Making your way up to her bedroom as she gave you a tour of her house with cheerful enthusiasm you spoke out, “It’s lovely, Misty, thanks for inviting me.” She just shook her head quickly with a smile, “No, thank you for coming! I’ve always wanted a friend to have a sleepover with.”

“I don’t know why.” You spoke with a soft tone, you couldn’t understand why people didn’t like Misty- yeah she was a little awkward, but she was so kind and helpful all the time to you. She did get jealous and possessive at times, but you thought that was just her being a good friend. You sat on her bed with a shrug, your face just relaxed as you watched Misty sit down at her vanity, looking at you with wide eyes and a smile, “I mean, I think your a really good friend.” You spoke with honesty, making Misty smile so bright, fixing her glasses as she responded, “Well I think your like- my best friend- like the bestest friend ever!”

You just chuckled before Misty went on another ramble, you spent the night watching some of her favorite movies and eating whatever she force fed you, she had chosen to bake a shit ton of cookies for you, feeding you was one of Mistys love languages, you stayed up late until your eyes were drooping which Misty quickly noticed, her voice soft as she nudged you, “Hey, Y/N… let’s go to bed.” She spoke gently before helping you up, you just groaned sleepily and leant into her which she found utterly adorable, sleepy you was so compliant and relaxed.

After a long trudge of you stumbling and Misty helping you to bed, she finally got you to lay down, you fell on your stomach facedown in her bed with a sleepy whine, Misty blushed, she couldn’t help but have her eyes trail down to your ass, in those short shorts she just bite her lip, blushing when she felt her cock get semi-hard. (Not now…” she thought with a sigh, but you just looked so fucking perfect bent over her bed, she was already creeping closer, she tried to hold herself back but fuck it, her hands went straight to your ass before biting her lip when you jolted, she pinned you down with a grunt.

“M-Misty- what the?” You stuttered out, Misty just shook her head and shushed you with a ramble, pinning your hands behind your back, “Okay- I have to tell you, like I’m so sorry- but I like you, I love you and I’ve been trying to hold it back for so long but every time I’m around you all I can think about is how you’d feel and sound, and I NEED to fuck you Y/N! Please can you let me fuck you?!” Misty begged desperately against your back as you grew silent, feeling her bulge grinding right against your ass.

Misty grew so scared at your silence so she did the only thing she thought. She spanked you. You yelped so loud with a gasp at the impact, your ass pressing back harder on her cock which made both you and her whine as she spat out, “Answer me, Y/N!” You just stuttered out with a flustered tone, “I-Um… okay?” That’s all she needed to hear before she was pulling down your shorts faster than you could comprehend, you were confused when you heard a cap pop before gasping as cold lube hit your ass, eyes widening,

“N-No, wait Misty, I didn’t know you- fuck!!!” You screamed out a whine as Misty pressed the head of her cock roughly into your ass, the tip stretching you as you caught quick breaths and yelps, crying into the bed when her cock pushed in with struggle. It burned and you felt like your body was on fire, your legs kicking as Misty moaned so loud, biting her lip as she pinned your shoulders down roughly, pushing her hips harder to push her cock inside you with a groan, “Ohhhh fuck, aaghhh, Y/N, your so tight, fuck!” Misty was already panting and moaning so passionately, her hips already bucking wildly as she felt herself cumming fast from how tight you were squeezing her cock.

She shoved your face down against her sheets as you moaned and cried with your whimpers that sent Misty into a orgasm, her body shuttering as she screamed and bucked her hips with a loud smack against your ass, cumming so much and so hard, grunting as you trembled and tensed, crying as you came too, it felt like too much to cum with Misty buried in your ass, everything felt like too much, you were aching and full, “Good fucking girl!” She just grunted out, panting in your ear, sighing out, “Ugh, your so perfect…”

You just grunted with a pained whine, Misty had fucked you so hard and you were aching, whimpering with a sob as she carefully pulled out, her eyes locked on your tiny hole gaped from her work, watching your cum spill out with a possessive look, smiling before she gently turned you over with a coo, brushing your hair out of your face, “Ohhh poor baby, it’s okay Y/N, I’ll take care of you, your mine now, okay?” She smiled down at you sweetly which made you just nod shakily with a whimper, trembling still, “Y-Yeah, Misty… yours.”

[junosmindpalace]

dangerously yours

ft. osamu dazai

☾ the rain provokes a thought that had been lingering in dazai’s mind. 670

☾ inspired by the dialogue from the “dangerously yours” radio show.

“once i told you i’d kissed a thousand women: it was a lie.”

gentle rain drizzled over yokohama, creating a washed up backdrop of the cityscape from the window in the detective agency’s lounging area. the soft patter of droplets against the glass washed away the tension in your mind along with the grime on the window. 

it was a slow, grey day, the occasional sound of a vehicle passing by being the only indicator of life outside. you sat beside dazai on one of the couches he always lounged in, the two of you reclining back simply watching the droplets race down the window. it was hard to tell what goes on in his mind, so secretive he was in almost every sense that even trying to read him as he stared out the window proved challenging. what provoked him to suddenly confess to a blatant lie he told months ago was beyond you. 

you looked up at him somewhat incredulously with raised brows and your arms crossed over your chest. he had told you so solemnly and seriously that you couldn’t suppress the smirk that played on your lips.

“i know.”

“i’ve only kissed two or three hundred!”

he continued on in a distressed tone, lifting his chin from his palm and adjusted his body to face you. you chuckled, never breaking eye contact from him. dazai dropped his head and mimicked your playful smile. he gazed up at you. 

“now, how many men have you kissed?”

it was part of your job as an intelligence officer to be familiar with reading others, their body language, their facial expressions. it was especially important for the mission you were currently on. yet six months have passed since you officially joined the armed detective agency, and you were still dumbfounded by the enigma that was osamu dazai. just as you think you’re getting his character figured out, he goes and pulls a whole 180 on you, and you’re back to trying to decipher him as if he were a complex riddle. 

“very few.”

his playful smile widened at your answer, big brown irises squinting up at you.

‘but you offered me a kiss. why?”

you were far from ignorant over what people called him. monster. demon prodigy. on more than one occasion would dazai be the subject of your superiors drunken rambles, being the most well versed in who he was as his former partner. his impact is still felt by each and every member of the port mafia, including yourself, despite joining the mafia a year after his departure. everyone who knew the name osamu dazai knew him to be capable of horrors unspeakable. cold and calculative and sinister.

each account of osamu dazai followed an almost verbatim script, a mostly common theme of him being a cruel monster. as part of your job, you took each and every one of them to heart.

you looked up toward the ceiling, staring at it in thought. the rain continued to patter, and dazai’s eyes never left your reflective face. 

he’s referring to the question you had asked him after he told his obvious lie. he told you he’d kissed a thousand women in an effort to charm you, and you simply asked him if he wanted to kiss one more. dazai’s smile had faded in surprise, and before he could respond, he was interrupted by atsushi calling the members into a meeting. 

it was simply a part of the character you played, nothing more. and yet as the months go by, you find yourself slowly getting lost in this character. the words you meant and the ones you were saying for show started to mix and blur.

was such a question an indicator that he was onto you?

“such a foolish reason i’m afraid.”

dazai’s smile dropped and he straightened, staring at you in wonder. you tilted your head to look at him again, and he blinked, and then you revealed nonchalantly:

“i just...wanted to kiss you.”

[natureismynature]

I'm finally home and ready to talk about The Book!!

So, this book I've been talking about was found by Roier yesterday when he was looking for Cellbit in the castle. I don't think anyone thought much of it since Grandma's room is kind of a hotspot for almost all of Foolish's pranks. But I'm telling you, this one is NOT a prank. Especially not when said book was found accompanied by a VERY illegal gun.

Now. Here's the contents of the book.

i hope this finds the right person... hide it for now, be careful who you tell.

7 space 27

no one suspects a thing

that was a giant middle finger... asshole

no meaning. just for fun :D

3000 cielo 0

could someone find this first (alternatively: someone could find this first)

Ok, now that we've laid that all down, I'm gonna start rambling and theorizing under the cut

If you guys remember, Forever tried to barter Foolish's gun for his silence/lesser aggression. But Foolish told him he already had other plans for the gun... and I guess this was it.

I suspect he did this during that time Aypierre was doing a 24-hour stream and he randomly logged on. He usually logs on offline nowadays if he was hiding something from chat and other people... anyway, that's not the point! The point is the binary code on the first page and whatever the hell that was on the last.

The binary code translated to "7 space 27" which means. Literally nothing. Or DOES it?

Because I refuse to believe Foolish just randomly typed out binary code on a secret book handing over his gun to whoever finds it (most likely assumed to be Cellbit) which ACTUALLY translates to something. So I dug around and bullshitted my way to find a SOMEWHAT acceptable conclusion because I am not delusional and will never be as smart as Cellbit.

Keep in mind I have no fucking clue how enigmas work and used a chart for this bullshit. Specifically this one:

According to this chart, if we take the translated code and refer to them as our decimals, we've got 7 and 27 to look at. Now, if we look at our decimals' rows, we will get BEL and ESC as our ASCII symbols.

I searched up what they meant and they are literally:

BEL - bell, alert

ESC - escape

Now if we take those and complete the "sentence" that was there originally it would become "Alert space Escape" which is... something... but don't quote me on this, I could be 100% wrong.

But enough of that because my brain is already mush. Let's check the next one!

Next one being "3000 cielo 0"

I looked up what cielo meant, and it had various different meanings, but the common denominator was that it was high up. (i.e. sky, heaven, roof) But it could also be used as a term of endearment like mi cielo (my heaven) or something along those lines. And 3000 is some kind of angel number or something that means love and stuff.

My immediate thought upon searching up these two is the phrase "I love you 3000" but I might be grasping straws here. This might just be cords to a place somewhere up high with 3000 and 0 as the x and y axis. But you know, I like to make things harder for me.

Honestly, if you're still here and reading this paragraph, then I applaud you for being smart enough to understand whatever the hell I just wrote down.

There are two wolves inside me. One that thinks Foolish didn't really mean anything by these codes and the other that KNOWS he's smart enough to do this (AND would absolutely get help from the admins if he didn't)

[cain-e-brookman]

Belong, Seek, and Avoid Tag

Rules: A person's identity can also be shaped by their social connections. Identify three things about your character: What groups do they belong to, and what groups do they believe they do not? What kind of people do they tend to seek, and what kind of people would they rather avoid?

Thank you for the tag @spideronthesun!

Gonna mix things up and do this one for Crucius

Belong

Crucius had a very solitary childhood. Due to family secrets and a few disabilities, he spent most of his time in his studies, yet still doesn't see himself being or belonging to the scholars. He shuns most academic groups and organizations with a distaste for both unearned superiority and what he sees as meaningless echo chambers. For the most part, he sees himself as separate from most, but not in a belief he is unique, but as a difficulty in finding like-spirited people who can tolerate his detached and cold facade.

Seek

He purposely surrounds himself with talkers. He seeks out people with lots of opinions and the voice to tell you about them. Of the few friends he can claim and the family he has, the only common trait is being loud, verbose, or otherwise vocally meandering. He especially like to find people who's areas of interest are far removed from his, as his love of learning can attach itself to anything if heard of with enough passion.

Avoid

He hates people who are boastful or overly-proud and people who are insensitive or cruel needlessly. Contrary-wise, he avoids overly idealistic people as he finds them to be just as delusional as the opposite side. Outside of his father's partner and Uthyr, he stays away from most who claim strong religious ideals.

realizing how little i can answer these things without major spoilers lmao. crucius is certainly an enigma

i tag @xenascribbles @illarian-rambling @emrowene! do if you'd like!

[messycunt]

":D! Thanks! I would love to see how the dorm heads interact with the vices! Or just more of how the whole savannaclaw octovilline (sorry if I spelt them wrong :<) ppl work out, cuz they can’t be milked? (Right? I mean other animals have milk ig but,,,,,) jamil and kalim s little dance routine together sounds so cute! And Ruggie is the secret third thing? :o (I don’t know what that is sorry if I’m being stupid lol!) and lilia and mal! Cute! Is it too much to ask if you could give a little description of what they would look like, like fur colors and stuff, also are they like, centaur like? Or like satyrs? Or like just have the animal parts? :)"

the ruggie thing wasn't anything deeper dw about it

cw: just a short ramble and some hcs so nothing rlly, I typed these on my phone so srry if they came out funny, not proof read

so first off for the nondairy farms(enclosures?) they work as follows:

Members of them still perform at shows and are rented out for parties and private occasions the same and their added exotic factor from not being as common as the more domestic hybrids makes them more lucrative to do so with.

but as far as looks I've stated before that I imagine them being a little taller and more built, around 5 or 6 inches specifically, and they just have tails, ears, horns and a patch of fur on their back!

ok here r some character by character hcs for their looks as well as some other miscellaneous stuff

Riddle:

Soft white and red pelt, small horns.

Small and delicate looking he's actually rather hot headed and hard to work with, wish good luck to his handler they need it.

Doesn't do shows often but when he does he shows up and shows out.

Trey:

Thick dark green pelt, large horns

Not one to enjoy the spotlight and therefore doesn't participate in shows

Would rather spend his time in the kitchen and the fields or showing kids around when they have scheduled field trips coming up.

Like I said he enjoys working with kids when he has the chance and his brotherly personality makes him perfect for it.

Cater:

Shaggy ginger and white pelt, his horns are smaller than treys but still big.

Get's rented out often and looooves having his picture taken, he's very photogenic you know

Amazing temperament, maybe too lenient at times, you could tug his tail and not get much of a negative reaction.

Ace:

Short full ginger pelt, medium sized horns.

A bit of a trouble maker and hasn't had the chance to feature in any shows yet

Deuce:

Short white and deep blue-black pelt, medium horns.

Likes helping out the best he can but between me and you.. he's not that good at it.

Trey has him help collect eggs from the chicken coop from time to time.

He just wants to make everyone around him proud!

Kalim:

Stark white pelt, stubby horns.

Popular as far as rentals for parties go

He prioritizes fun over everything else which usually gets him caught up especially when it comes to real work.

Jamil:

Corse black pelt, medium large horns the tips of which are black too.

Him and Kalim come as a packaged deal so you can't have one without the other as far as shows and the like goes.

Vil:

long blonde pelt the tips of which are purple, elegantly curved horns.

To put it nicely; he's a cunt.

Does shows often and barely anything else unless it's extremely high profile.

His time and effort are expensive you know.

Rook:

blonde pelt that is meticulously trimmer(under Vils request), large horns.

He is an enigma in every sense of the word, hard to read but overly friendly

Strongly attached to his handler regardless of if they feel the same.

Epel:

Shaggy but short pale lavender pelt, very small horns(HE'S STILL GROWIN' OK)

The prissy image vil forces him uphold makes him sick but playing quiet and polite when he isn't breathing down his neck isn't too hard.

Idia:

Yes his pelt is made up of unnaturally blue flames too, larger horns but they just make him clumsy.

Sorry I love him but no idea why they keep him around he truly is good for nothing.

Ortho:

you remember those zoomer robot cats and dogs from a few years back? he's like one of those but bigger! and also a cow.

he's all shiny black blue and white plastic baby

good temperament I'd say, Just don't talk shit about his brother.

Malleus:

Deep green tinted black pelt, HUGE fully black curled horns.

Very busy with shows and events.

He's elusive and seen as scary and untouchable to most but really a big sweetie for the most part.

Lilia:

Sporadically trimmed black pelt that has pink streaks like his hair, cute small horns that he probably paints pink to match(I imagine their being like horn polish of some kind yk).

In a word; Silly.

He's great with kids and treats Malleus like a big toddler sometimes.

Sebek:

Uneven pale green pelt, medium large horns.

Never gets booked for shows or contests, not that he's undesirable or anything he just refuses to put himself in a position where he will be Malleus' competition.

SIlver:

Mid length silver-white pelt, small horns.

Has been in a show or two and found they're not for him.

Prefers helping out around the farms when he can.

12.5.22 - more

[theblackbookofarkera]

Protomarus

The legend of Protomarus is a tale that has perplexed scholars and naturalists alike, a cosmic enigma that dates back to the earliest epochs of Arkera's history. Protomarus, often referred to as the Midnight Sun, was once revered as the original sun of Arkera, a celestial body of immense power and brilliance. It was said to illuminate the world with a light that was both nurturing and awe-inspiring, until a cataclysmic event led to its expulsion from the heavens.

As the myth goes, following the banishment of Protomarus, Aealio ascended to take its place, becoming the new sun that now bathes Arkera in its radiant glow. Sorcerers and mystics, who delve into the arcane and the hidden, have long spoken of Protomarus with a mix of reverence and fear. They have scoured ancient texts and unearthed references to this lost sun under various guises, suggesting that its influence spanned across many cultures and mythologies.

The disappearance of Protomarus is said to have occurred a few centuries after the Judgement, a pivotal moment in Arkera's history that reshaped the world and its inhabitants. The records from this tumultuous period are fragmented and shrouded in mystery, leading some to dismiss them as the misguided ramblings of a civilization struggling to make sense of the chaos that had befallen them.

Yet, there are those who believe that within these ancient accounts lies a kernel of truth, that the legend of Protomarus holds secrets yet to be uncovered. Could it be that the so-called savages of the post-cataclysmic era were not as ignorant as modern arrogance would have us believe? Perhaps their tales of the Midnight Sun are not mere myths but fragments of a forgotten reality, waiting to be pieced together by those daring enough to look beyond the veil of history.

[hopepetal]

hehe fun TCD!Scar and Mumbo moment <3

@stiffyck The Boi(tm)

Based off of this post!

Scar had always been a bit of an enigma, in Mumbo’s mind. Cheerful, yes, but hiding something. That was nothing new on Hermitcraft though- everyone had a secret, even him. What made each person different was how they coped with their secret, whether it be a dark past, a hidden half of a hybrid, or some sort of scar from an Incident. Whatever it was, everyone on Hermitcraft was generally very accepting of each other and always understood if there were parts of themselves that people didn’t want to talk about.

It had been a pretty normal night so far. Mumbo had been planning on going mining for quite some time now, so he had stopped by Scar’s base after noticing the man was home. After all, spending time in the mines was a lot more fun if you had a friend with you. Scar had agreed, and they had both gone down into the caves together.

It was a fun trip! Mumbo got diamonds, Scar got killed… twice… but hey, he also got diamonds! All in all, they both got what they went down for and a few laughs besides. Trekking back toward the surface, holding a torch in one hand and a sword in the other, Mumbo made idle conversation with the other hermit. 

“I hope it won’t be night when we get back up. It’s so annoying,” Scar complained, his pickaxe swinging idly by his side, “having to deal with all the mobs and the darkness and it’s impossible to see, really. And the boatem hole! It’s so dark, someone could fall in!”

Mumbo chuckled, hopping up onto a ledge. “By someone, do you mean you?” His laughter only grew at Scar’s indignant protests. “You gotta admit, you are the most likely person to fall into the boatem hole. How many times has it happened so far, again?”

Scar spluttered, pretending to be offended. “Hey now! I’ll have you know, most of those deaths are on purpose! Yeah! So… take that!”

Sheathing his sword, Mumbo turned and offered his hand to help Scar up the next ledge. “Uh huh. Sure, mate.” His words were dripping with sarcasm, but his tone was light and his eyes shone. There was no true heat behind his words, said only in light hearted jest.

Scar continued to protest this as they walked through the cave, only pausing in his ramblings to groan in dismay upon seeing the dark night sky outside of the cave entrance. “Of course it’s like this! The world hates me, Mumbo, it truly does!”

Mumbo rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You can handle going outside at night.” Sure, it was a little inconvenient, and they had to watch out for mobs, but Mumbo was more than confident in their ability to handle whatever came across their path looking for trouble.

They began the journey back to boatem, continuing to chat but making sure to stay a little more alert now. Getting jumped by mobs was honestly a pain, and it made for an embarrassing respawn if and when it happened. Still, no one is perfect, and even the most experienced of travelers have their attention slip from time to time. 

Scar and Mumbo had just entered a forest, wandering down the path made by many people traversing the woods. The trees loomed overhead, like arms of the earth reaching toward the sky. Every now and again there would be the faint, distant sounds of bones rattling, or an enderman vwooping, but the pair paid no attention to it.

That was until Scar heard the soft groans from behind them, and turned to see the horde. Mumbo turned as well, but he was slower than Scar and only turned in time to see the man practically snarling, the rage in his eyes burning brighter than the torch Mumbo carried. Lunging forward, Scar yanked his pickaxe from his belt and swung at the zombies, bashing their skulls in with a disgusting cracking noise.

It was… frankly, it was horrifying. Scar moved as though every swing of his weapon, every step he took was fueled by an unending hatred. Even after the zombies fell, he continued to bring his pickaxe down on the undead corpses, blood splattering onto his clothes and across his face. Mumbo was frozen in place as he heard Scar- kind, cheerful Scar, who always had a smile on his face- start laughing, the kind of laugh that rose from fear and anger and adrenaline mixing together into a dangerous cocktail of emotions.

It was only when all the zombies were well and truly crushed that Scar looked up at Mumbo, his white-knuckled grip on the pickaxe not loosening. His eyes were glowing faintly, a crazed shine in them that caught the faint light from Mumbo’s torch. His shoulders were shaking, though Mumbo wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from the manic laughter that had his lips curled up into a smile.

Mumbo took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Scar?” he began, his voice sounding far away to his ears, “Scar, mate, are you… alright?” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke. He had never seen that kind of ferocity from the hermit- never expected it, either. It was a bit of a shock, but Mumbo was sure Scar was feeling about ten times worse given the look on his face.

Scar’s smile grew, his laughter shaking and nervous. He stepped toward Mumbo, away from the corpses. “Yeah! I’m doing great! Just dandy! Why wouldn’t I be?” His steps were uncertain, his knees shaky as though he were a newborn doe just taking its first steps. 

Mumbo frowned, starting to reach out before thinking better of it and letting his arm drop back to his side. “You’re a little shaky there, Scar. Think you can make it back to boatem?” He tried to keep his face neutral so as to not show just how concerned he was. This was… a new development, at least for him. “If not, I’m sure we can-”

Scar interrupted him quickly. “I can make it back. Come on, let’s go.” He pushed past Mumbo and continued down the dark forest path, his grip on his weapon still as tight as could be.

Mumbo sighed, glancing one last time at the corpses, before turning around and following Scar. This would be something to address at a different time, sooner or later.

[skylarmoon71]

Leonardo (TMNT2014/2016): Short Story- Chapter 2

"Meet me at the bridge, 9pm. You know the spot. Don’t be late.”

Leo slid the t-phone into his pocket, waiting patiently in the shadows of the bank, tucked slightly under the bridge. He understood why you picked this place. You had a clear advantage in the water.

But so did he.

He shifted on his feet, ready for anything.

Raph had thought he was delirious when he said he saw a mermaid. He honestly barely believed it himself. It seemed ridiculous. But he didn’t imagine that tale, or your impressive control of the water.

“So you are real.”

Leo flinched, and he didn’t even have a chance to react. Four rings of water appeared right before him. Two locked at his ankles and two more at his wrist. He grunted when his arms locked together at the front like a pair of handcuffs, and his legs felt like they were being held down by weights.

“I lowered my guard.”

He thought the fear you showed that night would make you at least a little cautious, but it seems we were more prepared than he was. Raph would probably laugh if he ever told him of this. You walked right up to him, and he just watched as the water from your clothing seemed to slowly slide off your body. In a matter of seconds you were as dry as him. When you are standing right in front of him, you study him.

“You’re a turtle..”

He didn’t even try to struggle. If he was going to convince you that he was not an enemy, he needed to cooperate. Because he knew for a fact that you were more of an ally. He’d seen you jump in after that woman. No hesitation.

“I am. I told you, I’m a mutant."

He wasn’t sure why, but your expression softened. As if you were now truly seeing him. All your hostility appeared to have vanished and he jolted when his bounds disappeared almost instantly. He pulled his hand apart from its forced position, glancing at you in question. He flexed his limbs as if checking and you just watched with a new kind of adoration in your eyes. Leo was completely confused by the complete u-turn.

“You’re so beautiful...”

You were so taken, and Leo was a bit unsure of how to proceed. His intention was to come and form an alliance. Now it might be easier than he thought because you’re looking at him the way Donnie watched cat videos.

“Wait a minute…”

It dawned on him that it might have something to do with the whole mermaid situation.

“I’m so sorry about what happened before. I had no idea. Usually I can differentiate sea creatures much easier, but you’re not like any of the others.”

You were now circling him as you rambled on.

“I guess that’s what you meant when you said it was a long story. This is incredible..”

Leo was having a hard time addressing the reason he’d asked to meet with you

“You’ve evolved. I’m sure that human intervention played a part. But you’re the same, yet more advanced.”

He finally took you by the shoulders to halt you, and you blinked, watching him attentively.

“I..we..we need to talk.”

You nod, waiting for him to speak. Leo pulled his hands away.

“This doesn’t scare you?”

He had to ask.

“I was a bit scared before, but you’re harmless.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an insult. From the smile on your face, he decided it was the former.

“So it wasn’t an illusion, you really are a mermaid.”

You grin excitedly.

“That’s right. My name is (Y/N) (L/N). Future NYPD Detective, current full time student. I’m studying criminology. My goal in life is to help people. I want to make a difference. “

He wasn’t sure what to make of any of this. You had gone from an enigma to an open book.

“Why are you suddenly so chipper, just a second ago you seemed ready to execute me if I made a wrong move.”

“That’s before I knew you were a turtle. I love turtles! You’re so cute!!”

You were gushing. Every word that came out of your mouth was throwing him off.

Since the odds now were in his favor, he figured it was best to make the most of this alliance.

“I think the fact that we both have secrets that we rather not have exposed, we should form a truce.”

Leo held out his hand, and you took it without a second thought.

“Sounds good to me!”

Maybe he didn’t have anything to worry about after all.

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicmas23 Day 7: Hybrid Jasper

Good evening! Tonight, we have something experimental. I was trying to put together a one-shot that focused on Jasper as a hybrid because I'm equal-opportunity with my nonsense.

It's still in parts, and I'm not sure that I've captured the vibes that I'm aiming for, but we persevere. I kind of love the idea of Jasper being the vulnerable one and Alice being the protective one and wanted to riff on that concept. Some of the 'rules' and world-building are a little iffy at the moment, but first drafts always need a little work.

Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, tagged, and messaged me. Those tags and messages absolutely make my day and I love every single one of them.

I'm off to sleep off this cold, in the hopes that I can recover fast enough to finish off a couple of planned entires <3

on the edge of dawn.

His past is knotted up in secrets and lies. 

And blood, he can’t forget that. 

(It starts and ends in rivers of blood, in so many lives worth of blood, that it would be disingenuous not to acknowledge it.) 

When he meets the eyes of the recruitment officer and tells him that he’s of-age, he’s not lying. He’s been a grown-ass man for a decade now; just because he’s sixteen in human terms is meaningless. He is more than capable of fighting a war. 

(He fights to protect the people that raised him, the cousins who were really his little sisters. He goes to war to make sure that he can send money home, enough to keep them fed and warm and safe. He doesn’t need much, and it’s nothing compared to what they gave him.) 

When he runs afoul of Maria, he expects it to be his death. One that is surprisingly appropriate considering his own origins. Instead, it is a fever that cooks him from the inside out, one that he stays lucid throughout, begging for answers, to explain what is happening for water, to know what has become of his poor horse. He sees a lot of people, strange people, that feel like they are all wrong but he doesn’t know why. 

He thinks of his little sisters, and hopes that they’ll be okay. He saved a lot of his pay, sent it home, so maybe they will. Maybe they won’t go hungry or get sick.

Maria is exceptionally intrigued by him. This man who doesn’t die, who rambles at her, begs her. And even when the fever ebbs, his eyes are still a piercing hazel. He still bleeds and sleeps and breathes. But he feeds on blood, he can move at least as fast as the slowest newborn, and has a gift that he almost effortlessly weaponising. 

He is a marvel, a miracle, a prize. 

So she keeps him, and Jasper is mostly reminded of stories about hell from the Bible. 

(He can never go home again.) 

—

Her visions have shown him since she awoke, but he’s always been very strange in them - like he’s made of smoke and memory, faded and halfway gone. She doesn’t understand it, and it scares her - that very first vision, where he tucks a flower behind her ear and says her name - is her north star, and her touchstone. She doesn’t know who she is without him, and the idea that he could disappear terrifies her to the bone. No one else does that in her visions, and she can’t work it out. 

Then she realises his eyes are hazel. Somehow she missed that little detail as she watched him fight and feed and rule Mexico in Maria’s name. They are such a beautiful shade, impossible for a vampire. 

And then she sees him sleeping, and it terrifies her that he is so vulnerable and unguarded in such a terrible place. She feels sick at it. 

He’s still an enigma, she still has questions, but it’s a clue. It’s something. It helps her shape and frame their future in her mind, knowing that he is not entirely the same as her. 

It makes her feel useful, and that’s a nice feeling. 

—

He remembers his mother a little too well. She had sharp hazel eyes and hair so light it was almost white. She’s already dead by then, washed out and still, and it’s a single frame in his memory. Something he should never be able to remember. But he does. 

(Jasper remembers her best when faced with the bodies. The ones who were taken as a meal, and the ones that don’t survive the change. Bloodless and broken in every way that counts. Her face is always clearest in his mind as he gathers up those dead people, and maybe he remembers his upbringing and says a quick prayer for them. But it doesn’t take long for those prayers to be meaningless mutterings under his breath, part of the routine without any of the meaning.) 

Sometimes he wonders what would have become of him in another life, with his mother perfectly dead. His grandmother had no love for him, not in those earliest days; a pious woman, she would have cast him out young if it hadn’t been for his mother’s brother. 

For a long time, he’s raised by his Uncle Jed. Jed looks at him and seems to see past all the things that shouldn’t be and the things that make him strange, right down to the lost boy he is. 

Jed gives him the family name - Whitlock - and puts him to work on the ranch. It’s a good life, and he likes working with animals, likes that the things that make him different make him useful on the ranch. He likes that he never has to see the old bitch of a grandmother that never let Jasper forget that he was the reason his momma was dead. 

(His momma named him. She picked the name out herself and started embroidering it on a blanket because she became too ill. That’s something he tucks in the back of his mind, that possibility that maybe she didn’t hate him, maybe she even loved him.)

Then Jed meets Gracie Wainwright and Jasper is terrified that he’ll have to leave; that being reclusive and unseen is the only way he can stay there, outside San Antonio. Jed doesn’t even let him go to church except at Christmas; for Jasper to grown up, he must be invisible and it’s the one family law they all obey. 

Except… Aunt Grace is his greatest champion, the mother he never had before. She is quick to teach him, bringing him books and teaching him his sums, how to sew on a button and darn a sock, and cook a hot meal - “Everyone needs to know these things Jasper, no matter where you go in life.”

And then there are the girls, he beloved cousin-sisters who climb over him and cling to him and are nothing but laughter and soft, kind things. Jed and Grace produce five of them, one after the other, all golden-eyed and blue-eyed and his favourite people in the world. Girls he would die for. 

So he does. He goes and signs up for the army because he’s been grown for years, because he’s faster and stronger and doesn’t need food or water. Disease never seems to touch him, and there’s little-to-no chance that they won’t have to leave the ranch. They’ll need to eat and travel, and his stipend will help with that. It’s the least he can do. 

(In her letters, Aunt Grace worries about him incessantly, tells him that Little Emma wanders around calling for him, not understanding that he’s not coming home any time soon; that his stipend has been useful in keeping them fed and well. Jed writes him and scolds him for running off and for sending them his money, but always ends his letters speaking of his pride in Jasper, and wishes to come home safely. Jasper’s always felt guilty he never made it back.)

Maria is oddly fascinated by the concept of his family, by how dearly he holds them, and how he still remembers them, still adores them. Vampire memories are supposed to decay; it’s considered a rebirth for a reason. He doesn’t know why his memories stay so vivid, but he treasures them. In the end, it’s easier and safer to stop mentioning them, to pretend the memories are starting to decay, so that Maria stops interrogating him, so that she thinks he’s finally behaving how he should. 

//

The first time Alice sees Jasper bleed, she nearly screams. It trickles into his eyes and he swears, and she’s frozen in a vision that she cannot escape from. He swipes it off his forehead and sucks on his fingers a moment to swipe over the shallow wound. 

And it’s sealed. Does he have a healing gift?

She doesn’t know. 

But the visions start showing her the things that are to come. The Cullens are still a possibility, but Jasper will be more skittish about joining them, about letting others know about what he is. About having to live with more vampires after South. He’s terrified of Carlisle on so many levels, and the idea of school goes against everything his uncle taught him. 

But she’s gratified that he seems happy when they’re together. That he sees something in her, the lost girl, that maybe he recognises. 

I love you Jasper, and I know that we’re going to be so happy together.

And she does. She loves that he can walk in the sunlight without notice, but he still hates doing it. She loves that he has no special talent for languages, but has still managed to learn Spanish and French fluently. That he’s never learnt to dance, but he’ll dance with her. That at some point she’s going to try to cook for him, and it’ll be a messy disaster and he’ll just laugh until there are tears in his eyes and tell her that he loves her for trying. 

Sometimes she wishes that she could share visions, pass them from her head to another’s because she wants to be able to save all of this for him, to show him that everything is going to be okay. Better than okay; perfect. 

//

Peter is a blessing in disguise. At first, he’s only there to make trouble, only there to test the boundaries and question authority. He hears Jasper’s sluggish heart, sees the way Maria watches over him, and decides that Jasper is the weak link, and he just needs to exert the right amount of pressure to break him. 

It goes about as well as expected, and something about the fact that Jasper is the one that returns Peter’s arm instead of throwing it on the pyre cements something between them. Loyalty, understanding, and a sense of fairness. 

Friendship and brotherhood comes in time. But that evening, as Jasper realigns the joint and explains to Peter that Maria has tried to rip off Jasper’s arm before but the joints are weird because he was already venomous before being bitten, that it didn’t work. Did fuck up his shoulder for a while though. 

Peter is fascinated. That he can be cut and bruised and broken, but they can’t do something as simple as tear him into pieces. That Jasper takes days to heal, and on the long sunny days they stay inside for, Jasper sleeps.

//

She finds him in Philadelphia and, oh, her heart breaks. In her well-loved dress and too-big shoes with the creases deep across the toes, she looks like a real lady compared to him. 

He’s outside in the alley, trying to convince himself to go inside. She’s seen it happen both ways, and that’s why she was late. To make sure that either way, he’s going to find her. She refuses to risk it any other way.

In the flesh, he’s a lot further gone than she expected. Enough that she discards her coat and her shoes as she enters the alley, moving quietly towards him. He’s so thin, and his hair is a tangled mess around his face, and he bares more than one bruise. His clothes are woeful, filthy and too thin for the cool weather. He’s not going to survive another winter like this. 

“Hello,” she says, and when he looks at her, his eyes almost pass as hazel, with the ring of fading red around the pupil. But he also looks hunted and haunted, like an animal backed into a corner. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She smiles at him, and he stares back for a moment before he relaxes a little. “I didn’t realise I had an appointment,” he manages, his voice cracking with disuse. He lets her get a little closer, looking at her bare feet, her green dress that has seen better days, the less-than-clean gloves, and the ribbon in her hair. Oh, and her purse. 

“That’s okay, because I’m here now,” she decides to brazen it out, and goes closer to sit beside him except he stops her.

“You’ll spoil your clothing,” he says, getting to his feet and he’s so very tall. He has to look down at her, and she feels very delicate and precious as he does so. 

“I have a lot of clothing to spoil,” she says honestly, and he still looks uncomfortable. “I’m Alice.”

“Hello Miss Alice.” He sounds uncertain but for her, it’s the most beautiful sound because it’s the very first time that she’s ever heard him speak her name out loud. 

—

[muselexum]

@akagamiko sent:

that was the last time i used our real last name. // for Akane :)

The Vegapunk transmission had rocked the global landscape just several hours earlier, and Akane was still trying to process all the secrets that had been brought to the surface. Though she knew the government had a dark underbelly, she didn't realize just how deep and interconnected it went. Advanced ancient technology, world-destroying weapons, old kingdoms, the poneglyphs and D., and of course-- Joyboy at the center of it all.

Akane knew Shanks must have had his reasons for choosing to operate the way had been, but now-- finally, a lot more things were clicking. She wondered when he would have told her if it weren't for Vegapunk exposing it all including that Roger's former crewmates knew it already. Shanks had known all of this since his time with Roger? If he had known for two decades and had the power and knowledge to move, then it bears the question... why hadn't he? Akane had been travelling with her father for about a year know, and it was only with the reveal of Luffy's new bounty poster that there had been a shift in Shanks, like what he had been waiting on had finally been put into motion.

Shanks had begun downing alcohol during Vegapunk's transmission and it was honestly hard to read the root cause. Excitement? Stress? Whatever it was, she gathered the restraint needed not to instigate a fight with him about keeping her clueless. Teach was a D. too, how does that play into all of this? Akane had given him space that evening. Sooner or later he would have to tell her everything now, whether he liked it or not, so she waited until he came to her.

They sat in the hammocks under the Force's palm trees, Akane keeping her focus on stargazing as Shanks kept revealing more and more and more. There was far too much to unpack and she finally had some sympathy for why he had refrained from telling her anything at all. With everything so interwoven, it was almost impossible to reveal one thing without needing to reveal another and another. Her head thrummed.

This wasn't real.

Beyond extrapolating on the historical information Vegapunk shared, Shanks had finally traversed into sharing more of his personal history. Beyond some memories he had mentioned about his time with her mother or the Roger pirates, her father was an enigma of a person.

And now a cold sweat rushed over her at the reveal.

Shanks was... And she was... She felt dizzy.

"Well..." How do you even respond to this kind of thing. All she knew was that she was sorry for ever thinking his inaction around Teach meant he wasn't doing or planning anything. There was more on his plate than she could have ever comprehended. A knot began to form in her throat, lips pursing as tears stung her waterline. What this meant for him... And what this meant for her... There was a tremble in her voice as she quietly humoured, "I think just Shanks sounds better anyway. That family name is pretty lame-- Doesn't really inspire the image of a cool pirate at all." What the hell was she rambling about?

She took a grounding breath in through her nose, wiping away at her waterline before continuing, "I don't know about 'our'. My real last name has and always will be Filare. You're welcome to use it if you're short a few names." She finally looked over at him, a soft smile pulling up at the corners of her mouth.

Though she had already come to accept him as her father and family, it was now that she fully understand and accepted who he was as just another human.

[rosietrace]

The High Priestess

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

“By all means, take a bite, and become part of a paradise one can never imagine.”

— The High Priestess

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

General Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Full Name — Eden Lilith Miran

↳ Eden: A name of Hebrew origin, meaning ‘paradise’ or ‘place of pleasure’. In the Bible, the Garden of Eden is the first home of Adam and Eve.

↳ Lilith: A name coming from the Akkadian word Lilîtu, meaning "belonging to the night," the feminine form of a word meaning "demon" or "spirit." In Mesopotamian mythology, Lilith was the first wife of Adam who was ultimately banished from the Garden of Eden for her disobedience.

↳ Miran(美夢): A name of Japanese origin. ‘美’ means ‘reality, truth’. And 夢, meaning ‘dream, vision, illusion’.

Japanese Ver. — エデン リリス 美夢

Romaji Ver. — Eden Ririsu Miran

Tarot Card: The High Priestess

Age: 22 (Biologically)

V/A(日本語): Shiraishi Haruka(白石晴香)

↳ Voices Aponia from Honkai Impact the 3rd

V/A(英語/EN): Deneen Melody

↳ Voices Sandrone, the Marionette from Genshin Impact

Species: ‘Human’, Seraphim

Height: 178 cm

Hair color: Green

Eye Color: Magenta

Tarot Rank: Third

Gender/Pronouns: Female, She/Her

Dominant Hand: Right

Sexuality: Demiromantic, asexual

꒷꒦꒷꒦•°•════ஓ๑†๑ஓ════•°•꒷꒦꒷꒦

╔═��ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Extra Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Homeland: Unspecified

Dormitory: Etteilla(Former)

Class: [ Redacted ]

School Year: [ Redacted ]

『 Family: …. 』

Best class(es): Dance, prophecy, practical magic

Worst class(es): Ancient languages, ancient artifacts, religious practices

Club: None

Likes: Calin, dancing, playing with fire, spending time with Enya and Albert, mocking the Gods, burning down temples, flower crowns, violence, long conversations, being allowed to ramble

Dislikes: The Gods, her eyes, Vasilios, her Seraphim form in general, the War, being restricted to do what she pleases, wilted flowers, her feather-like ‘ears’, falling from grace

Hobbies: Dancing, playing with fire(figuratively and literally), long walks/conversations, practical magic, prophecy, making flower crowns

Talent(s): Practical magic, advanced perception of sight, manipulation/sweet-talking, gaining trust/support

Flaw(s): Harsh, unusually violent, obsessive, compulsive, manipulative, insecure over her appearance, absentminded, aggressive at certain points, blunt

꒷꒦꒷꒦•°•════ஓ๑†๑ஓ════•°•꒷꒦꒷꒦

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Personality

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Eden is a puzzling individual. She often confuses those around her in a variety of ways. From the way she acts, to how she speaks, even from the way she looks at someone.

Eden is — by the accounts of others — an enigma. A seemingly untouchable, sweet-hearted, but conundrum-inducing enigma.

It is obvious from first interacting with Eden that she's…. Nice. A bit too nice.

There's nothing necessarily wrong with her kindness, but she's often a bit too trustworthy. Too easy to befriend, too easy to trust, and too easy to tell one's secrets to.

And that, in itself, is a problem — especially when putting Eden's manipulative nature into consideration. She could just as easily ruin your life and leave it, just as easily as she entered your life by bringing endearingly heartfelt words at you.

That isn't to say Eden is an entirely bad person. There are times when her kindness comes from a genuine interest in the person she's interacting with, and she's rather keen on following her philosophy of; ‘Treat people the way they treat you’.

……. Or, at least tries to.

Sometimes, people just frustrate Eden in ways she'll never be able to put into words. And when that happens, aggression — one born from burning passion — is set forth.

She is as obsessive as she is blunt and compulsive. If she wants something, she's going to do everything in her power to ensure she gets it.

Eden isn't below playing with fire. It's her favorite thing to do.

꒷꒦꒷꒦•°•════ஓ๑†๑ஓ════•°•꒷꒦꒷꒦

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Abilities

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

Throne of God (神の玉座)

✑ Allows the user to manipulate a large crowd of people into doing their bidding for a certain amount of time. Said user can also use this ability to ensure that said people will swear loyalty to them for as long as they wish.

The burning ones (燃えるもの)

✑ Allows the user to create up to six rings of fire of varying sizes and to do with them as they, please. Users are unable to use this ability indefinitely if they are fatally injured, as the flames of the rings severely affect their hearts — regardless if the user is immortal or not.

Oculi Seraphim(オキュリ・セラフィム)

✑ Eden can transform into a Seraphim if she's amassed a great amount of energy.

✑ Wings are spread out from her back, six of them in total. A loose cloth is used to cover her body, and the one hundred and one eyes on her body will soon become animate and are capable of blinking and looking around. Eyes will also form on certain parts of Eden's wings, allowing her to see greater distances from different perspectives.

✑ While using this form, Eden is unable to use her three main eyes. By opening them, she unleashes a divine light that destroys anything in its path — which also greatly reduces Eden's energy in the process.

✑ Those with divine power, and those blessed by those of divine power are able to withstand the treacherous destruction of the light.

꒷꒦꒷꒦•°•════ஓ๑†๑ஓ════•°•꒷꒦꒷꒦

「 ♛ 」 The Mistress' Thoughts on Them

“Eden is peculiar, yet kind-hearted. Her hatred of divine beings perplexes me, though I know better than to question why that is the case. If you ask me, it is best not to get in her way, lest you wish to fall from grace the way she once did.”

— Mistress Alliette, about Eden Miran

「 【♢】 Their thoughts on Mistress Alliette and fellow Arcana 」

“The gall of her family to have not seen such potential, hah…. Our mistress Alliette is most wonderful, isn't she? Isn't she? She's shown great kindness to me and the rest of Etteilla at large, and I cannot be any more grateful than I already am for her hospitality.”

— Mistress Alliette, The Queen

“The Fool prefers to be called [ REDACTED ] in the modern age, now. It makes me wonder quite a number of things if you ask me. Why change one's name? Why take the form of someone from a world so similar, yet different from our own? Quite an enigma, they are.”

— the Fool

“I cannot help but feel grateful for Professor Oberon's hospitality towards me. On that day, the day I fell…. He saved me when I needed saving most.”

— Oberon Alaric, the Magician

“Aisha is someone I've known for quite some time. We met during our days in Scepter Hall, and oh was she quite stubborn back then. Still is, that woman. Heh… How I wish Callisto would just propose to her, already.”

— Aisha Dione, the Empress

“..... I shan't say a word. B-But…. I suppose he is rather…..”

— Calin, Strength

“Oh, those who speak ill of Enya shouldn't nary a peep! She's quite fun to talk to, actually! We both share an interest of…. Certain topics, and she even allows me to take full reign of the conversation from time to time! I find no problem with her casual vocabulary. In fact, it's a breath of fresh air when compared to my fellow Arcana.”

— Enya Bellona, the Chariot

꒷꒦꒷꒦•°•════ஓ๑†๑ஓ════•°•꒷꒦꒷꒦

╔══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╗

Additional Information

╚══ஓ๑†๑ஓ══╝

✑ Main Theme: 4:00 AM by Taeko Ohnuki

✑ Backstory: 『 Oculi Seraphim 』

✑ OC Playlist: 『 The High Priestess 』

༝ㅤ↷･ㅤ˚ㅤ。ㅤ↷.ㅤ⋆ㅤ✦

『 Strange, there's nothing to be found... 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

Appearance

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

Eden's Tags

#eden miran • #🕊️ — the high priestess • #『 eden 🕊️ 』

†•°•══════ஓ๑✬๑ஓ══════•°•†

[setagaya-division]

Once the assumed birthday of the self-proclaimed ‘Big Sister’ of ENIGMA has finally come to the city of Setagaya, one cherry blossom petal was falling through the window’s gap and laying itself not far away from the birthday girl —which could be called rather strange considering the season was gradually turning into summer and normally cherry blossoms didn’t last until this late in May.

Yet strangely enough, this year seemed to be something else since she swore she could still see some trees blooming around her school as if it was celebrating for something…

No one no how this was happening but she then recalled Elliot has ever rambled about something like ‘Climate Change’ or other sorts related to this once ...Maybe there were too many surprising things beyond our realm of understanding in this vast world after all…

Yeah, something just like herself —Something that ought not to have an answer.

However, Mina’s trains of thought suddenly stopped when she heard Elliot telling her that there was a parcel for her delivering at their doorstep.

As curious as she didn’t get many deliveries directly addressing the receiver to be her, Mina rushed in to take some look before finding out that it was indeed her own birthday present from a certain division in Kansai;

Firstly, she was greeted by a pink tube of sakura sunscreen from the babyface wagashi maker in Nara!

“Happy Birthday Nakayama-san☆ Apparently, it kinda sucks to hear that you are suffering from many food allergies and your weakness to sunlight of sorts. Therefore, go-go fighting! I hope you enjoy the last of this spring and get over your disease soon~ (・ω<)

—SWEET-T”

And the next was coming with a letter… Wait, were there two gifts and also both of them seemed to be crafted by hands!?

“Hello and sorry to disturb you on your peaceful weekend, President Nakayama-san!

First of all, I’d like to say that I and my friends are very grateful for your approval on the proposal we submitted to the student council not long ago (Great thing that the approval was launching out just before the summer break!). Even if this new found committee of ours is just for temporary, we the ██████████ Committee promise you to carry out this event the best as we can!

By the way, the sakura badge sent to you is a sample of souvenirs we specially prepared for distributing in this event —What do you think about it?

And lastly, could we ask you to please keep this a secret from other students, especially from my classmates? Thanks you a lot!

P.S. The flowery papercut in the frame is a gift made by other committee members since they would like to express their gratitude as well

—Happy Birthday Nakayama-san!

ARROW Yuuya Kanata

(Representative chairman of ██████████ Committee)”

——————————

Mod: Miraitabi’s Spring Mixtape coming soon!

"Ugh, that baby-faced wagashi-maker sent this, didn't he?" Yorii asked, frowning at the tube of sunscreen lotion. "I can literally smell the pastry coming from that bottle."

"I really don't see what your issue with Asahi-san is, Yorii." Elliot stated, looking for a good place to hang the Sakura maker that Yuuya-kun had gifted his older sister. "I mean, didn't you two do a duet for last year's Collab Project?"

"Ignore him, Elliot," Mina stated, rolling her eyes at her youngest brother's complaint as she sat on her bed in her room, the sunscreen lotion still in her hands. "He's just envious of Asahi-san, is all. Its no secret that Yorii dislikes anyone that he deems "cuter than him"."

"What?!" Yorii shouted. "Don't make me laugh! What could I possibly be jealous about from that loser anyway?"

"Well, it just seems that whenever he or someone else that girls think is cute is suddenly brought up in a conversation, you suddenly become all defensive." Mina answered, a bored look on her face.

"What?! I do not!"

"Really?" Mina asked, before holding up her fingers. "Asahi from Nara, Shuu from Suginami, that American ambassador guy from Okinawa, Ren and Kaiji both from Kobe, that crazy daredevil kid that lives in Roppongi, that foreign police guy from Kanazawa, that detective guy from Niigata... do you need me to go on?"

"I do not get jealo..."

"And plus, aren't all those guys that you may or may not have issues or problems with, for some reason?" Elliot asked, chiming in.

"I, that's not, I don't..." Yorii stammered.

"Yes?" Mina asked, still a bored look on her face.

"Gah, you both suck!!"

With that, Yorii quickly exited, leaving his older siblings behind who stared at the doorway.

"What's with him?"

"He couldn't handle the truth, is all."

[abyssal-ali]

held together, our hands became a map

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown

Rating: M | WC: 12.1k + notes | Masterlist | Ao3 | CW: sexual harrassment, light violence, kind-of forced marriage (both want to marry the other but they don't think the other wants to), sexual content

A/N: Finally watched Bridgerton and was immediately inspired. Of course. You’re welcome. Thanks to Bold for letting me rant in her DMs and listening to me ramble about this fic<3 I wrote this in about three days and I’m really proud of myself so I hope y’all like it as much as I do :D Thanks to Boldly and HouseOfKings for betaing<3

Greetings, fair reader. I am the foremost reporter of Gotham society’s deepest and darkest secrets, the enigma that provides the ton with all the scandal they need to continue their gossipy lives. Let me tell you about two subjects of mine that I am finding most difficult to uncover a smear on their names. Miss Stephanie Brown is being sponsored by Duchess Grayson for a season in Gotham's finest society. She's looking for a man who is decent and decently wealthy (she has parents to take care of, after all; she's not choosing to trade love for money just because she's poor). The Duke of Altheban is new to town and most certainly isn't looking for a bride, but something is drawing him to one young lady against his will. Everyone has dark truths, and none more so than those who live in the glitz of high society. I will reveal their most hidden mysteries by the end of the season, or my name is not, Lady Gotham

-The title is a line from Love Maze by BTS. It’s kind of the theme song for this fic and is really catchy, if you want a new bop to listen to. English lyrics here. -There’s probably going to be some historical inaccuracies in here. Sorry not sorry. -I definitely played around with canon a lot, but canon can’t keep their story straight so at least I’m doing better than them, even if by doing so I mess up their canon :p -This is set in 1810. -It’s not a no-capes AU but it’s also not a Gotham by Gaslight AU (besides being set 80 years earlier). There’s some Bat-shenaniganery going on that’s not recorded in the fic but they haven’t revealed themselves to me yet. Just assume watered-down GbG AU, I suppose. Primitive crime-fighting stuff, some smarts being involved, and the basic tragic Bat-story & subsequent adoptions etc. -Jason died. I don’t know how. Or when. Or why. It just happened. Maybe I’ll figure it out in another work ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ -There was/is no TimSteph. They’re friends at best. -I meant for Cass and Duke to be in here (which sparked a whole breakdown trying to figure out what to call someone literally named Duke) but somehow they never popped in, besides one line where ‘Thomas’ [surname] is mentioned. The rest of the Bats aren’t really there, either, minus the minor Dick/Babs appearances. This is not a Batfam fic, this is a JaySteph fic. -I really like Babs’s character, and I dislike the ping-ponging in canon between making her disabled or not, so I kept her as her current(?) self, Oracle. No I don’t know how it happened or how she survived with the medicine of the day. This is fiction, shhh. Side note: Wheelchairs from the 1800’s looked more comfortable than I was expecting. -Don’t bother figuring out ages. Jason and Steph are in their early/mid-twenties and the rest of it is *waves hand* -I looked up Regency wedding traditions and wrote as accurately as I could. -More notes about the fic & my research at the end. (Side note: This was 12,000 words exactly in my docs, where did the extra 46 come from?! I was proud of that round wc ;-;)

Dearest Reader, 

As you may know, the belle of the season is Miss Adelia Elliot, who broke onto the scene with a high compliment from the queen of Gotham herself, Selina Wayne. But let us not be so hasty to secure Miss Elliot as the season’s incomparable, for there has emerged another young lady from the ranks of the season’s debutantes.

Miss Stephanie Brown, a previously unheard-of young lady, has caught the eye of the most eligible Lord Duma. Will this debutante with unforeseen connections consider Lord Duma her match, or will she set her sights higher, with the backing of the inestimable judge of character, Duchess Grayson of Bludhaven? 

Only time will tell. Let us speculate on the matches that may be made, for there appears to be blossoming a most fruitful season. However, let us not be swept away by the opening chords. There is still room for even the most nimble of societal maestros to slip.

We hope to be spared any slips by the illustrious Lord Damian Wayne at tonight’s soiree at Wayne Manor, the event that I am sure we all can acknowledge will kick off the season with refined festivity.

The youngest son of our very own darling Prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Lord Wayne has been studying music at the Geneva Academy of Music for the past several months. 

I look forward to seeing you all at his event, utilizing your finest feathers and weaponized words to glamour yourselves in an attempt to snag one of the elusive, prized sons of the finest founding family of this city.

Your closest friend,

Lady Gotham

Stephanie tossed the pamphlet onto the desk in annoyance. 

“Is that the newest Lady Gotham newsletter?” asked Babs from the corner, where she was reorganizing her bookshelves after acquiring several more volumes.

“Yes.” She flopped onto the sofa, swinging her legs over the armrest. “Speculating on Adelia Elliot and my presentations and guessing who is going to marry who–the usual gossip,” she waved a hand in Babs’s direction. “She did end on a rather tongue-in-cheek note, though. Perhaps the lady is not as satisfied with society as I first thought.”

“Time will tell,” said Babs, unknowingly echoing the words of whom she was speaking. 

Reversing the direction of her wheelchair, she steered over to the desk Steph had left the paper on. She looked over the pamphlet briefly before returning her attention to her friend.

“This reminds me, which dress are you planning on wearing to Damian’s recital tonight?”

“The green one, I was thinking.”

Babs sighed as she caught sight of Lady Gotham’s penultimate line. “Imagine you marrying one of Bruce’s sons.”

Steph snorted indelicately. “Damian is too young, even if he does have something of an eye for me, you’ve married Grayson, and Drake and I would never work out.” She shivered at the thought. 

“I suppose I’d get along decently with Thomas, but he’s also rather young. I really don’t know what the writer was implying with her thinly veiled speculations. And she says we use our weaponized words!”

“Just ignore the gossips like you always do, Steph,” advised Babs. “And sit properly, please.”

“Because it’s that easy,” she rolled her eyes, moving to a more acceptable pose. “I admit I find myself quite intrigued as to this evening’s happenings. If Lady Gotham is among us, will she attempt to stir up the theatrics among the ton?”

~~~

A grunt escaped Jason as he turned, letting the punch roll off him. It still hurt, despite knowing how to take hits. His opponent danced back, bringing his fists back up into a guard position. 

Jason moved back, luring his opponent over, before releasing a series of quick jabs and punches that forced his opponent to concede defeat. 

“Alright, I get it, you’re stressed about your debut. What’s the matter, worried that you might not have any ladies dropping their handkerchiefs around you?”

Jason snorted, climbing out of the ring to get his towel. “You know I’m not looking for a lady yet.”

Waylon raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “You’re going to need a lady sooner or later.”

“Well, I choose later.” Jason yanked his cravat into a passable knot. “I’m worried that the family that’s practically Gotham’s royalty is going to dig into this mysterious new Duke of Altheban and destroy my plans before I’ve even had a chance to start.” He straightened his jacket and tapped his pockets to make sure everything was still there.

“I’ll see you later, Jones.”

“Enjoy the party, Todd–I mean Head.”

Jason waved his hand, not looking, as he headed out of the boxing centre.

~~~

In the velvet darkness of Gotham past 7 p.m, Wayne Manor presented a glittering vision as its lights reflected off the multitudinous baubles out on display for the soiree. Gilded and not-so-gilded carriages flowed from the portico to the stables in orderly succession.

Nimble fingers tripped lightheartedly over pianoforte keys as the star of the night, the newly-returned Damian Wayne, displayed his polished skills in a rousing performance.

“Ah, Head, there you are, my fine fellow!” 

Jason nodded politely as an enthusiastic Roy Harper dragged him over to the group of young men congregated close to the doors of the formal parlor. “Gentlemen, this is my good friend Head, the Duke of Altheban. Head, these are my friends. This rogue is Aleksander, Lord Duma, and here is…”

Jason tipped his head shortly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.”

Babs stopped her wheelchair abruptly, causing Steph to bang her knee on the back. “Ow, Babs-”

“Look, Steph, I am perfectly capable of getting myself to the parlour without your assistance. I will be fine for the entire evening, in fact! You should not worry about me and instead fill your dance card–with names that are not a part of the hosting family’s roster.”

Steph sniffed. “Fine, I will dance with one person who is not a Wayne or Wayne-adjacent. One .”

Babs sighed. “Thank you. If you see Dick before I do, could you direct him my way? Thank you.”

“Alright. Have fun, Babs.”

“I will,” Babs smirked, wheeling herself into the festivities and parking her chair in the best spot to get all the gossip.

Steph looked longingly at the refreshments table, then headed resolutely in the other direction, promptly bumping into a masculine chest. Her handkerchief fluttered to her feet, jarred loose from where it had been tucked into her glove by the impact. 

“Oh, my apologies, I did not see you there, My Lord.”

He nodded stiffly, bending to collect her handkerchief. He rose and handed it to her, making sure their fingers did not brush. “It’s quite alright, it’s getting rather crowded in here. My fault, I’m sure.”

“No, no, that was my fault. I was caught in the sorrow of leaving those delicious-looking tarts behind me and did not see you for the tears in my eyes. Hence, the handkerchief,” she dabbed at her eyes dramatically.

The man’s stiff posture relaxed a little at her good-natured theatrics, his lips quirking up in what some may describe as a small smile. (Steph personally described it as the look of a hunted man relieved to find she was not his hunter–or huntress, as the case may be.) “May I escort you to those delicious-looking tarts, then? I hate to see a lady cry, especially when it can be easily remedied.”

“Thank you, that would be delightful. It’s not rude to eat a dozen of the things if a gentleman brought me one a dozen times, correct, My Lord?”

“Indeed, it would be far more rude to refuse his devoted attentions.”

“Lovely,” chirped Steph, taking his arm. “I do think it would be awful if Lady Gotham reported me rude in her next issue. I must take care to avoid all pretenses of the word.”

The man–whose name Steph still didn’t know, and also had never seen before, and did not know who could properly introduce them–poured two crystal cups of punch. “Would you care for some, my lady?”

“Thank you. The tarts are delicious but they do leave one thirsty.”

“Ah, Miss Brown.”

Steph turned to see Lord Duma approaching her, a polite but fixed smile on his face. 

“Lord Duma,” she half-curtsied. “How are you this evening?”

“I am doing well, Miss Brown. I see you have met the ton’s latest import. Duke Altheban,” he nodded his head.

Steph cursed inwardly at her earlier social faux pas. To be fair, the only other dukes at this event she was already acquainted with, and she certainly didn’t expect this man to have a title that required a different address than ‘my lord’.

The man nodded back. “Lord Duma.”

“Ah, His Grace was just procuring me some punch, like a gentleman, before I fainted of thirst. We haven’t even been formally introduced.” 

Hopefully the Duke would forgive her slip and have mercy on her unnoble self, now that he knew she was unaware of his status. To be fair, he had not seemed the type to be overly cognizant of his title–much like the Waynes, she supposed. A refreshing attitude, indeed.

Lord Duma took her hint. 

“Oh, I must introduce you, then. Miss Brown, this is Jason Head, the Duke of Altheban; Your Grace, Miss Stephanie Brown.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Brown.” Duke Altheban bowed over her hand. “So, Lord Duma, are you tired of Harper’s stories so soon?”

He laughed. “Once you’ve been here a season or two, you’ll have heard all of Harper's stories. Besides, I heard that the young Wayne is finishing his performance soon and that the musicians would soon start the dancing. I had to make sure I reserved a spot on Miss Brown’s dance card.”

Steph smiled politely back at him. “Thank you, Lord Duma. Your forethought has indeed awarded you a chance to put your name on my dance card.”

“I would like to also reserve a spot, if I may, Miss Brown.”

Steph turned to the Duke, somewhat surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for lords to take interest in courting untitled young ladies, but dukes were considerably higher ranked than lords and rarely courted or married outside of their titles. 

How interesting. She’d enjoy getting to know more about him as long as he let her.

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

~~~

Lord Duma was a fine dancer, and Steph enjoyed their turn around the room, but dancing with Duke Head was something else entirely. They fit together perfectly, in such synchronization that they seemed to be floating over the dancefloor.

“You are a wonderful dancer, Your Grace.”

“A dancer is only as good as their partner, I’ve been told.”

Steph smiled, mentally recording the feel of his large hands over hers, the faint smoky scent of his cologne, the soft swish of air as it flowed over her exposed skin. Dancing had always been a passion of hers, but it was difficult to find partners with whom she connected so well.

“What you were saying earlier, about a Lady Gotham,” said the Duke. “I did not know there was such a title here.”

Steph answered his unasked question. “Lady Gotham is a pseudonym for some author who has recently begun to write about society’s banalities and scandals. The ton is quite invested in both the papers she prints and the mask she wears. No one knows who it is, and so far it is one of the season’s biggest topics of conversation.”

“Ah. Thank you for explaining, Miss Brown.”

“It is quite alright with me if you address me as Miss Stephanie or Miss Steph, Your Grace.”

“As you wish, Miss Stephanie. You seem rather…how shall I put this…distant from society. Aside from Lord Duma and myself, you have not danced or talked with any acquaintances.”

Steph laughed. “I am not well acquainted with most of the ton, Your Grace. I am a miss, not a lady, and I am not in the habit of associating with double-faced, backstabbing socialites. I prefer intelligent conversation, even if I am here to find a husband, but it truly seems like the two are mutually exclusive.”

He barked a short laugh, pulling her infinitesimally closer. “It does seem that you are either doomed to marry or become a book-loving spinster, does it not? As if you cannot marry and love books, or be unmarried and detest the things.”

“Indeed. My sponsor for the season is happily married, and she has one of the largest libraries I have seen.” 

She twirled, coming back to the duke’s arms. 

“I suppose I am simply setting my sights too high. She had a better beginning than I, and she already was acquainted with her husband; their families have always been friendly. And that is not in the cards for me. If I must marry for my family’s sake, then I will have to set aside dreams of love and books and loving books. Such is the way of life,” she mused sadly.

Duke Altheban twirled her again. “Surely someone here also loves books, at least? They are lords and barons, they have to have studied. Speaking purely hypothetically, what about the Duke of Bristol?”

“Tim?” Steph laughed. “No, it would never work between us, for many reasons.”

“Oh, you’ve met?”

“A time or two,” she grinned. The last strains of the music faded away, and the sudden rush of chatter from the dancers surrounding them made talking difficult.

“Time for another tart, perhaps, Miss Stephanie?” asked the duke, leading her over to the quieter refreshment table. 

“If you offer it to me, I’d hate to refuse, Your Grace-ooh, waffles!”

“I take it you like the pastries?”

“Very much. The chef here always makes the best cream to eat with them.” Steph groaned as the treat hit her taste buds.

The duke followed her lead of spooning the cream onto the waffle bite and eating it. “That is quite good. Oh, hello, Harper.”

“Stephanie,” nodded Roy, turning back to the duke. “You really must come with me now, Jason. You’re finally here and we can fulfill all those adventures we spoke about on our European trip!”

“Very well. Miss Stephanie.” He kissed her fingers in farewell.

Her fingers tingled from the press of his lips the rest of the night. 

~~~

“That was fast,” laughed Waylon the next week after Jason ended their spar.

Jason glared at him from under the fringe of his hair. “You can shove whatever else you want to say right up your-”

“Did you see what Lady Gotham wrote about you?” interrupted his friend/investee.

“No, what?” he grumbled, curiosity piqued.

Waylon pulled out the paper and balanced his spectacles on his nose. 

Clearing his throat, he read eloquently, “‘ There is nothing the ton likes more than talking about themselves, unless it is talking about others. 

‘The most common question heard at the Waynes’ soiree was ‘Who is the Duke of Altheban’? He was certainly well-acquainted with several of the lords of this fair city, but no one–except myself–knows more than these three facts: firstly, the duke has spent the last several years traveling the continent and making connections for his merchant business. 

‘Secondly, he originally hails from the land of Nanda Parbat, where his dukedom is located. 

‘Thirdly, he is a most desirable catch, being young, rich, and single, of which only one of these attributes society truly considers necessary. He is also reportedly an excellent dancer, although sparing with his partners.

‘But, fourthly, the duke is looking for something in particular from this season and this society. Could it be a wife? A new business partner? Whatever it is, this author is sure that we all are eager to learn more’ .”

Jason dropped his head into his hands in frustration. He’d forgotten just how vicious society’s gossip was. Whichever event he next attended, he was surely going to be flocked even more than he’d been at the soiree.

And he was back to his problem. Miss Stephanie Brown. A poor young socialite who was looking for a husband, all details which should have made him flee instead of being drawn to her. Yet she had been a breath of fresh air. Even after she learned of his status, she did not change her behaviour, and had given him the most pleasant conversation with a woman who was not married or related to him he’d had in…ever. She’d openly admitted she was looking for a moneyed husband, which he could not blame her for, and clearly cared for her family, considering what she was willing to give up for them.

She clearly had more dimensions to her than most of the other young ladies had dresses, and he desperately wanted to explore more of them. 

“-son!”

“Hm?”

“Wow, you have it bad.” Waylon shook his head in mock sympathy. “What’s the lady’s name?”

“Ste-what young lady?”

Waylon looked at him, unimpressed. “The one you’re thinking about and can’t stop thinking about. I’d like to meet this woman who’s managed to make you reconsider your stance on marriage this fast.”

“I’m not reconsi-” Jason paused, realisation washing over him, and swore violently.

Waylon patted him on the shoulder and laughed, the traitor.

“I’m not marrying her!” he yelled after the boxer.

He laughed louder.

~~~

Steph knew that she was being impractical, but didn’t particularly care. She’d have to live with her practicability soon enough, she was going to take this moment while she could to daydream.

The babblings of a baby roused her from her thoughts of dancing with Duke Altheban, and she peeked into Emma’s carriage.

“Hello, darling. Have you woken up from your nap, sweetie? I knew the fresh air would be good for you, and look at that! You’ve finally slept longer than an hour!” She cooed to the baby, turning the carriage to head home. “Yes, I imagine you’ll be hungry rather soon, I’ll get you back, never fear.”

The afternoon stroll in the sunlight had done both Emma and Steph good, the fresh air giving them both an appetite. Once Steph had gotten Emma fed and back in her crib, she started making the evening meal, feeling the beginning pangs of hunger in her stomach as well.

The door opened just as she’d finished setting the table and she greeted the arrival with a small smile. “Good evening. Emma’s been walked and fed and is now asleep, and supper is ready. Wash up and I’ll have it on the table.”

“Thanks, Steph.”

~~~

Jason looked around the Crowns’ ballroom for a familiar head of blonde curls but found nothing. So far his sudden appearance on the ton’s scene hadn’t caused any major questions of his identity; even the Waynes were quiet, though he knew better than to dismiss them simply because he didn’t see evidence of their activities. 

Dick walked in, Babs wheeling herself beside him, nodding politely to acquaintances as they passed. And there, just behind the couple, was Stephanie Brown.

That would explain Stephanie’s familiarity with the Waynes, if Babs was her sponsor, as Jason gathered from what she had shared. He laughed inwardly at the thought of Tim’s immersive nerdiness and Stephanie’s bubbly interests meshing. No wonder she’d laughed when he’d half-jokingly suggested Tim as a solution to her marriage problem.

Jason tapped the side of his glass thoughtfully as he subconsciously tracked her circle around the room.

She needed a husband, and he was going to find her one. He didn’t want to marry, but he could find her someone. She was only somewhat younger than him, which in society’s eyes was fairly old for a debutante–though not for a man, who was always eligible and never shelved with a derogatory title, Lady Gotham had noted a day or two earlier.

She needed a man older than her, which removed several of the more juvenile options, and one who was respectful of women, which sadly removed even more. 

He thought back to what else she had said. Stephanie was looking for money, someone to support her family. He supposed he should figure out just how large her family was first and how much her future husband should expect to pay up, first. 

The best way to find out such information was by asking the woman in question, of course. Jason approached the woman in the lavender gown, holding out his hand in silent question. She turned, sensing him, and accepted with a wide smile.

They moved swiftly onto the floor in time with the quartet, settling into a comfortable rhythm. 

“How have you been, Your Grace?”

“Well, thank you. How have you been, Miss Stephanie?”

“Oh, rather well. I visited a friend yesterday and had a lovely walk in the sun. It seems rather rare for this city, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it’s rather a gloomy place. Do you enjoy nature?” 

She moved to another man, then back to him in turn.

“Oh, definitely. Although I must admit, I quite enjoy the comforts of home, meagre as they may be, when there is a blizzard raging outside. My fondness for it does not extend quite so far.”

Jason chuckled. “I can’t blame you for that; I rather agree with you there. Is that your mother?” he nodded towards an older lady with blonde hair curled similar to Stephanie’s.

She smiled slightly. “No, that is Lady Aurora. My mother would never be invited to such an event–I’m only here because the Duchess of Bludhaven is sponsoring me. My mother is a nurse in the Bowery.”

The Bowery. The polite name for the red light district, known for its crime and pleasure houses. A place Jason was intimately familiar with, much against his desire.

“A nurse, how noble of her. It’s hard work, I imagine.” He gently spun her into a twirl.

Stephanie seemed grateful, knowing he knew exactly where the Bowery was but hadn’t let on that he did. “Yes, it is, but she is good at it. I’m proud of her.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Nothing like asking point-blank–in Jason’s experience, pointed questions yielded the clearest results, since there was nothing to be confused or semantical about.

“No, I’m an only child. My father is… was an entertainer, but he got injured some time ago and is now recovering at home.”

Ah, that was why she needed the marriage. He could read between the lines easily enough. Well, only having parents-in-law to support would be easy enough to sell to a prospective suitor, he supposed. It certainly beat having a dozen siblings to also support.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Stephanie. My father was also injured before he died, and my mother had consumption. It was heartbreaking to see. I wish your father the best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Grace. I shall pass on your wishes to my father. Thank you.” She curtsied and stepped away, clearly ending the conversation.

Jason wished to speak with her more, but he had the information he had wanted.

Surely there wouldn’t be more than one Brown family in the Bowery comprised of a nurse and entertainer.

~~~

Steph cuddled Emma in her arms, cooing at the baby’s chubby cheeks. “You’re adorable, yes you are. The sweetest baby I ever saw.”

Dancing around the room with the baby, making her giggle with high-pitched laughter, lightened the weight on her mind. Nothing else mattered when she was with Emma. 

A man passing by the window had a build and hair similar to Duke Altheban, reminding her of the times they had danced together at the past several events.

“I wish he was courting me, but I know he’s not looking for a bride. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be someone like me,” she told the child pulling at her dress’s neckline. “I mean, look at me,” she laughed.

“But he’s such a gentleman, Emmy. He’s considerate and funny and smart and well-read and respectful and attentive and handsome and such a good dancer–not like Lord Mayburn–and he’s traveled and he speaks seven languages, he told me. Seven, Emma!” She exclaimed to the non-responsive child. “I only know English and passable French, and a few words in Latin and Spanish. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a duke and a successful merchant. He’s the perfect man, Emma…but not for me. But, if I can even keep him as a friend, that would be worth it.

“Do you think it would be strange if I asked him for his opinion on some of the men I’m thinking of flirting with to get them to court me? I wouldn’t want to make him think I’m hinting at him courting me–I’m sure he’s tired of women throwing themselves at him…literally, like Eugenia Sorren,” she shuddered at the memory. 

“But men talk differently around women they’re courting than other men, and maybe the duke would know something that I don’t that could help me with my decision. If I’m going to marry for money and not love, I should at least make sure it’s to a decent man I can be friends with, right? Friendship is the foundation for love, or so Babs says. Yes, I should ask him, but clarify it first so that he knows I’m not suggesting anything,” she decided, nodding her head. “Good chat, Emma. Thank you for your insightful contribution.”

The baby spat up on her dress in response.

~~~

Jason pulled at the button on his glove’s wrist as he stood outside the weathered door opening onto the dirt street. He hoped Stephanie wouldn’t be too piqued with him if she discovered he’d done this.

A woman who looked much like an older Stephanie, only with brown hair and green eyes instead of Stephanie’s blonde and blue, answered the door. Her eyes trailed from his freshly-shined boots up to the crisp knot of his cravat, and slowly widened as she took him in.

“May I help you, My Lord?”

“Are you Mrs. Brown, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am.” She eyed him warily now. Rich folks looking for you was never a good sign, he was well aware.

“Is your husband in?”

“Yes.”

“Is now a good time to speak with you, then? I can return later if it’s more convenient, but I’d like to speak with you and your husband.”

“Now is as good a time as any, My Lord,” she replied, ushering him into the house and taking his hat. “May I take your coat and gloves?”

“Thank you.”

She showed him to the dated front room, where a man sat in a cushioned chair, reading the paper. 

“Arthur, we have a visitor. I’ll go put on the tea while you talk to…” she looked to him for help.

“Jason Head. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Brown, Mrs Brown.”

Mrs Brown nodded at his polite introduction and headed to what he assumed was the kitchen, leaving him alone with her husband.

“So, what brings you to my humble home this afternoon, Mr Head?” asked the man gruffly, setting the paper aside.

“I understand you have a daughter?”

“Yes, Stephanie.”

“I’ve made her acquaintance recently, and her telling me about her family prodded me to pay you a visit.”

“Whatever for?” asked the man, finally gesturing for him to sit down.

Jason hemmed and hawed for a minute, trying to figure out the most tactful way to phrase it. Talia was always telling him to polish his blunt, sometimes borderline impolite, honesty.

“I wanted to meet the folks that would make a lady like that…” he trailed off, suddenly rethinking his whole endeavour. What was he doing? Meeting the parents of the woman he was trying to find a bridegroom for so he wouldn’t be forced to confront his own feelings for her?

Mrs Brown came bustling into the room a moment later, a steaming pot of tea on the tray in her hands, alongside a plate of baked goods.

He jumped up, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table before heading to the hallway to retrieve his things. “I apologize for disrupting your afternoon. I’m sorry, I’ve just started to feel unwell,  I must leave. Good day Mr Brown, Mrs Brown.”

Tipping his hat at the confused couple, he practically ran to his horse, swinging onto Jericho’s saddle carelessly.

Kicking Jericho into a trot, he made his escape. From behind him, he thought he heard a confused “Your Grace?” being called after him.

He nudged Jericho even faster, heading to the fields in an attempt to outrun his feelings.

~~~

Stephanie ran up the steps to her house, surprised to see her mother in the doorway already. 

“Was that the Duke of Altheban I saw riding by just now?” she demanded incredulously.

“Who?”

“Oh, nevermind. Thought I saw someone I knew. How was your day, Mama?”

“It was good,” Crystal Brown said, closing the door after her daughter. “I was just saying goodbye to this visitor who dropped by unannounced.”

“Hello, Papa.  What’s this I hear about a visitor?” Steph took in the tea tray on the table, pouring three cups. “You even brought out the china,” she noted with surprise.

“He looked important, that Mr Head,” explained her mother.

Steph choked on her tea. “Your visitor said he was Jason Head?!”

“That’s right. How do you know his first name?” asked Arthur suspiciously.

“What was he here for?!”

“I couldn’t really say. He only stayed a couple minutes. Didn’t even have a cup of tea! Said he was feeling ill suddenly–I didn’t even get the chance to say I’m a nurse.”

“He said he wanted to meet the folks of a lady he’d met–you,” said Arthur. “Would you like to explain why we got this surprise visitor?”

“I’d love to explain that but I don’t have a clue, myself,” sputtered Steph. “I never even gave him your address or names.”

“Is he courting you, Steph?” asked her mother.

“No. We’re…friends, I guess. We dance at parties and talk over punch but that’s it. He’s not looking for a wife, and even if he was, he wouldn’t look at me. Foreign dukes don’t marry untitled old maids from the red light district with-”

“Steph, don’t say that about yourself, honey.” Crystal pulled her into her arms. “You’re a catch for any-did you say he’s a duke?”

Steph nodded. “Lady Gotham says he’s close with the royal family of Nanda Parbat, that’s how he became duke there.”

“A duke in my home! I never thought I’d see the day!”

~~~

Jason cut the connection to Talia’s two-way magical communication stone and sighed. She’d helped him through facing his feelings for Steph (she was much better at that than Waylon), and now he had a directive.

Back to the Browns’ it was.

She was at a friend’s house for the afternoon, but she had accepted an invitation to the Dumas’ ball that evening.

Jason thanked Crystal for her help and headed back to Jericho. The day was sunny but not too warm, so he decided to enjoy the fresh air a little longer and plot out what he would say when he saw her.

For a moment, he thought he was so invested that he was imagining seeing her, but no, there she was in all her glory, walking down the street…pushing a baby pram.

“Miss Stephanie!”

She glanced around, then up, surprise covering her face. “Your Grace?”

“May I join you?”

Her eyes flicked from the pram to Jericho to him, then she nodded slowly.

He slid out of the saddle and strolled beside her, leading Jericho along the edge of the street, such as it was.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…was just out for a ride after I visited your parents. I wished to speak with you, but you were out. This was pure coincidence.”

“It’s a lovely day for a ride,” she agreed, subdued.

“Are you alright? Not overcome with heat?” Jason bit back any more comments, recalling that women did not take the concern as such.

“I am fine, thank you.” She glanced in the pram, then back to him. “Not going to ask?”

“I didn’t think it was my business to ask.”

“This is my best friend’s baby, Emma. Sarah died in childbirth.” She turned to him. “Not a happy or comfortable story, I’m sure. Her father is working, so I often take care of her.”

“Who cares for her when you are busy?”

“One of the neighbours usually looks in on her. She’s a very easy baby,” Steph smiled, cooing at the child.

“How old is she?”

“About eight months.”

“You like children, then?” he asked, very much hoping she did.

“I do. What about you?”

“I love them, and they tend to like me, I find.”

Steph turned to a small house and opened the door. “I’ve just got to feed Emma and put her down for her nap. Would you like to wait in the parlour?”

“If it’s not an imposition. I can-”

“No, no trouble at all. Her father should be home soon and we can talk while you escort me home, if you don’t mind?”

“That sounds delightful, Miss Stephanie.” He tossed Jericho’s reins to a boy standing around. “Want a job?”

“Yes, mister,” he nodded, gap-toothed grin wide.

“If you make sure my horse here doesn’t run away in the next while, I’ll give you two more of these, what d’ya say?” He placed a shiny coin in the boy’s hand, smiling at his awed grin and ruffling his hair. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Jason made himself comfortable on the sofa in the parlour, watching Steph move around the kitchen heating up milk for Emma with smooth, oft-practiced movements. The house was small, with one hallway connecting the foyer, kitchen/dining room, parlour, and bedroom. With all the inside doors open, Jason perused the house at his leisure, often pausing to watch Steph instead.

She fed the baby, burped her, and put her to rest in the bedroom. 

The faint sound of a lullaby drifted to Jason’s ears, and he closed his eyes to focus better on her song. She had a lovely voice.

Once Emma was asleep, Steph closed the door and joined him in the parlour. “I often leave supper for Emma’s father. Would you mind joining me in the kitchen while I prepare it?”

“Certainly not. Would you like my help with anything? Fetching wood for the fire, perhaps?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

Steph deftly spun a cast-iron skillet on her palm and Jason noted to be very careful around her, especially when she had a possible weapon in her hands.

“So, how did you find my parents, Your Grace?” she asked, slicing potatoes. 

“I asked around. I have some contacts in every part of the city, I imagine, and I knew yours were in the Bowery.”

“Then, why did you find my parents?”

“I wanted to meet the people you loved enough to give up your own love for.”

Steph’s knife paused, then resumed its slicing, slower than before. “And that’s all?”

“That’s the meat of it.”

She turned to the stove, her back to him,  tossing the potatoes in with a healthy chunk of lard.

Jason had just begun to worry she’d decided never to speak to him again when she turned, shaking the potatoes onto a plate before immediately turning back around to cut something up..

“I suppose it’s none of my business. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He resumed his seat on the sofa, glancing out the window at the sun setting on the horizon. Someone walking up the path caught his eye.

“There’s a man approaching,” he called to Steph.

“That’ll be Dean; I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

Jason heard the door open, the sounds of someone coming in and making themself at home quiet. The man walked straight into the kitchen.

Steph greeted him cheerfully. “Good evening, Dean. Supper is warm in the oven, and Emma’s sleeping. I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”

“Thanks, Steph, it smells good. But what if you don’t get out of my hair?”

Jason stiffened at the tone. He didn’t like how familiar this Dean was being to Steph, but he chalked it up to mere jealousy. The sight of Dean grasping Steph’s wrist, however, was something more than jealousy.

Steph saw him stand and silently asked him to stay back. He nodded, acquiescing for the moment, but stayed standing.

“What do you mean, Dean? It wouldn’t be prope-”

“Oh, come on, Steph, who cares what’s proper? Proper is for the snobs. You and I both know that no matter how much you end up in those society papers, you’ll never be a real lady. You’re from here, Stephie, you know no one gives a damn about us. No one would care about us and our ‘property’.”

Propriety , Steph mouthed to herself. “Dean, let go of me. You’re not doing yourself any favours by disparaging my ladylike reputation.”

“Oh look at you, Miss Brown,” Dean mocked, “all snooty with your fancy words. You think you’re better than me, huh? Just ‘cause your Duchess got your back? You think you’re better than Sarah was?”

“No, I do not. Sarah was better than me and she was certainly better than you. Social status has no bearing on a true gentleman, Dean. For the final time, I will not sleep with you, nor will I marry you so you can sleep with me.” Steph pulled her knife from behind her back and held it to Dean’s chin, leaning into his personal space. “Let. Me. Go. Now.”

Shakily, the man released his grip, practically flinging her away from him. “You crazy whore!”

“And never call me that again.” Steph tossed the knife at his chair, the point embedding itself in the wood between Dean’s legs. 

She brushed her loosened locks out of her face, straightened her dress, and approached Jason with a smile. “I’m ready to go.”

He grabbed her hat and cloak and escorted her as quickly as he could out of the residence.

“Are you okay, Miss Stephanie?”

The cool twilight air was refreshing, cooling his overheated blood from watching the altercation. He walked calmly beside Jericho, collected from the kid and given double the pay since the time had extended. 

She nodded and gave him a small, fake smile. “I will be. His words don’t hold much weight, but even a single sheet of paper can cause you to bleed.”

“You handled yourself remarkably back there. If I may ask, how did you learn to throw a knife that accurately?”

“My father worked as an entertainer at the circus for several years,” she explained. “I became friends with many of the performers there and during the quiet times, many of them taught me their specialties. I had an affinity for the knife tricks and acrobatics, among others.”

“A woman of many talents, indeed,” he complimented with a surprised grin. “Is it safe to leave Emma there?”

“She will be fine for the short term. I’ll go get her and her things in a day or two once he’s calmed down and bring her home.”

“Would you like an escort?” He saw her look and hastily added, “In case there is more luggage than you can carry when you’ve also got the baby?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, that would be very helpful. Thank you.”

“I live to serve, my lady.”

~~~

The next week, Jason barely saw Stephanie at all, as she was occupied with caring for Emma and getting her settled into her new home. She had turned down several invitations, and Jason began to wonder if he should even bother attending the last few events of the season at all.

Then Steph showed up at the Waynes’ Summer Celebration Ball, the event that heralded the beginning of the season’s end.

She looked beautiful in her new lilac dress, the blooms entwined in her updo. Jason bet Babs had a hand in that.

She was popular tonight, and Jason didn’t get a chance to dance with her or even talk before her card filled up and she was handed around.

Doing his best not to lose his temper at something so beyond their control, he headed out the open patio doors to the garden, enjoying the quiet from the boisterous event and the beauty of nature. He still preferred it on Stephanie.

He didn’t know how long he’d been brooding in the gardens (far too long and far too much like his previous father figure for his liking) when he noticed a flash of lilac in the maze.

“Miss Stephanie?” He followed her, only catching glimpses of the silk as he headed deeper and deeper into the maze.

As he walked, the layout came back to him. He could see the path Steph had been taking, and he knew a shortcut. Granted, he’d grown both in height and width, but he’d been very careful not to lose his flexibility along with his scrawniness. If he just cut through…

His arms came out, supporting Steph as she ran into him with a muffled shriek.

“I apologise for scaring you, Miss Stephanie. Are you quite alright?”

“No,” she panted. “Dean…after me…”

“What?” His head jerked up, looking around for the odious man.

“He was following me, I tried to lose him, thought you were him,” she breathed, not moving away from his hold.

“I’ll have Wayne’s men spread out and look for the man, okay?” he said, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.

She nodded, smiling up at him gratefully, before suddenly realising their position and jumping away. “Oh, my.”

“My apologies, Miss Stephanie. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom and then find Wayne.”

He tucked her arm into his and headed down the quickest way out of the maze.

“You seem to know this maze quite well, Your Grace.”

He shrugged. “I’m good with directions.”

~~~

Jason did not call Wayne’s men. Jason headed out to the grounds alone..

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, letting the velvety scent of Alfred’s roses, the mingled perfumes of the party, and the rich scent of damp earth fill his nose.

The hoot of an owl sounded deep in the woods behind the Manor, blending with the chittering of bats flying about eating bugs and the muted strains of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony from the ballroom. 

Light tremors under his feet told him that someone was approaching him. He inwardly snickered. Trying to be stealthy, the fool. He was trained by the League of Assassins, who lived–nay, thrived–in the shadows.

He turned, unable to see his companion’s face as they were backlit by the Manor. “Is that you, Harper?” he drawled, striking a match and lighting a cigar.

He didn’t care for the things after…well, after , but sometimes a man needed a cigar to light to see his companion’s face.

“You’re not Harper,” he said brilliantly, lifting the cigar to his lips.

“You bet your lily-white ass I ain’t,” snarled Dean Smith, the glow of Jason’s cigar reflecting on the silver blade of his knife. 

“No, you’re Dean Smith, widower of Sarah Smith and father to Emma Smith, employee at the My Alibi saloon, where you apparently take supporting your job a little too seriously. You’re also someone who insulted the woman I intend to marry, and I don’t take that lightly. She’s too good for you to even look at her, nevermind propose you touch her.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, my lord?” Dean bowed mockingly. “I saw you at my house with her. So she’s too good for me, but not too good to take your lordly c-”

Jason punched his lights out in one blow. Apparently Waylon might have some truth to his words of having a thicker skull than average.

He put out his cigar and pocketed the knife Dean had dropped. Sauntering up the hill to the ballroom, he caught one of Bruce’s footmen’s attention. 

“There’s an uninvited guest having a little snooze out in the garden. Bring him to the Commisioner, please, and tell him to hold him overnight for disturbing the peace. Thanks.”

Humming the final bars to the Symphony along with the musicians, he opened the patio doors and entered the ballroom.

The chatter died instantly as everyone turned to look at him. He looked back in confusion. He was sure no one had seen him punch Dean, and anyways, he was a duke and Dean a commoner. No one here would care, he sneered inwardly.

Steph’s watery blue eyes met his from her place in Babs’s arms and she shook her head minutely. He frowned a little, confused. He knew she hadn’t seen him punch Dean out, and he was fairly sure she’d praise him for it, anyways.

He missed the punch thrown his way by a blur of black and blue.

~~~

Steph rubbed her thumb nervously over Jason’s, his hand between hers. His eyelids fluttered and his gorgeous teal eyes stared into hers. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She smiled back. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?” He sat up, running his free hand along his facial features. “ Ow .”

She winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that.”

“You did this?” He turned to her in disbelief. “Did I do something?”

“Did you do something?” came an echoing growl of disbelief from the doorway.

Steph winced again. “Dick, stop .”

“No, I will not.”

“ Dick . Let me explain. In peace ,” she gritted out. “It’s the least you could do after punching His Grace out and making a big deal out of nothing !”

Dick huffed and opened his mouth to retort, but subsided at her fierce glare. 

She turned back to Jason.

“I am so sorry for him. What happened was that Lady Adelia Elliot was getting proposed to by Lord Duma in the garden and saw me, alone with you, in the garden, and then loudly announced that the garden was the most lovely, romantic spot to get engaged in, and she hoped we had found it to be like that as well, which, of course, meant that society is convinced that I am compromised and a whore and we should get married to get back in their good graces. But not too fast, because that would mean I’m with child. Which is ridiculous, I mean, in the garden ? All wet and pokey? No, thank you.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Thank you for that explanation. So I assume that blur that was the last thing I saw was Duke Bludhaven over there protecting your honour?”

“More or less,” she admitted. “I am so sorry for this mess.”

“Nonsense, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have followed you knowing what society would think of it. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation. As a man, my reputation is much less delicate than yours, and I sincerely apologize.”

Dick snorted from his doorway, the heavily implied ‘you should be’ hanging in the air.

“Steph, can you give me a minute with His Grace?”

She sighed but nodded, removing her hand from Jason's. “You get one free punch,” she stage-whispered as she left, leaving him with a smile on his face.

It was the least she could do after being part of the cause of this fiasco.

~~~

“What happened out in the garden?” Dick demanded immediately, taking Steph’s chair as soon as she was gone.

Jason straightened his position on his chair in response. How do you like being the little brother now, huh?

“I was outside, enjoying the fresh air in the gardens, when I noticed Miss Brown entering the maze. I followed her, as I had been intending to speak with her this evening. When I found her, she told me a man she knows had been following her. I escorted her back to the courtyard. I stayed out longer for a cigar and saw a commoner with a knife. He threatened me and insulted her, so I punched him and had one of Wayne’s men take him to your father-in-law.”

Dick stared at him, measuring his words.

“Are you interested in courting Stephanie?”

“I was attempting to get her attention tonight to talk to her about that. I would like nothing more than to court Stephanie Brown with the intention of marriage.”

Dick nodded once. “Good. Your timeline is moved up; you will marry her once the banns are read.”

“If she says no?” Jason asked curiously.

Dick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “She won’t.”

Jason raised his eyebrow but dropped the subject. Nodding curtly to Dick, he exited the small study he’d been sat in while he was unconscious.

Alone, he ran his hand over his nose and jaw once more. Thank goodness for Lazarus-enhanced healing; he could feel the bruises already beginning to fade. With a sigh he dropped his head to inspect his boots.

How was he going to break the news to his lovely bride-to-be?

~~~

Dearest gentle Reader, 

Nothing is more sought-after by society than a scandal, which is the lemon to our tea, the butter to our bread, and the very reason I picked up my quill.

I have picked it up once more to inform you all of the latest scandal, which has set the whole ton abuzz.

The Waynes’ annual Summer Celebration Ball last night was a veritable goldmine of news. Lady Adelia Elliot is engaged to be married to Lord Aleksander Duma, a fine match indeed. 

But the true scandal comes from the revelation Lady Adelia shared with the ton as she announced her engagement, namely, that Miss Stephanie Brown and the Duke of Altheban were seen in the garden together, unchaperoned.

Rumours have been shared with many that the protegee of the Duchess of Bludhaven has borne a child out of wedlock, with sources saying they have seen her with an infant many times.

Thus, it is to my surprise that I share with you the news of the Duke’s engagement to Miss Brown. Perhaps he has not been so recently appeared in our midst as he would have us believe?

Steph threw the paper across the room. A hand caught it in its fluttering descent. She turned in surprise. “Your Grace?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Brown,” he bowed over her hand politely, then turned back to peruse the paper.

“Please, don’t-”

“I already know what they are saying, Miss Stephanie. It appears even being a man and a duke does only so much for my reputation.”

She winced.

“I wonder if I accidentally slighted this Lady Gotham somehow? She certainly does not pull her punches,” he shook his head.

“I am sorry that you are put in this mess because of me–and because of Dick. I can try and reason with him, to let you out of whatever ridiculous plan he’s cooked up to attempt to salvage my–our–reputations. It’s been sensationalized for the papers, of course–they’re even saying we’re engaged, for goodness’ sake!”

Jason coughed. “Yes, about that…I came here to ask you to come somewhere with me.”

She paused, then shrugged and drew closer to him. “Where?”

“Do you know how to ride?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely! There’s a beautiful spot I’ve found that I’d like to show you.”

“It’s not like our reputations can get worse,” she decided. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

The ride was peaceful, with only Jason and the sounds of nature to torment her. The green grass, the texture of the trees, the birds wheeling through the air, the smell of fresh sea breeze all painted a lovely picture.

Jason nudged her horse to the left, towards a short copse of trees. They arrived at a large flat stone, spread with a blanket and cushions, a basket sitting in the midst.

Jason slid off Jericho and offered her his hand to dismount her horse, Spoiler.

“I thought you might like a picnic.”

“This is lovely.” She took in the preparations and the view, realising that this was the type of thing a man did for the lady he was courting.

“Your Grace…are you courting me?” she asked slowly, unsure which answer she wanted to hear.

He looked up from the wine he was pouring into two glasses, the white streak in his hair failing into his eyes. He looked so casual and comfortable there, and her heart did a funny beat.

“What if I am? Would you accept it?”

She settled onto one of the fluffy cushions, picking at a bunch of grapes. “If this is about the scandal…”

“It is not.”

She decided to take his word for it and popped the grape in her mouth. The lunch went smoothly, the two of them easily settling into their usual conversation comfortably.

Then Jason pulled out something from the basket. She was sure they’d exhausted its contents and opened her mouth to politely refuse.

Then he revealed his hand and looked up at her earnestly. “Stephanie Brown, will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?”

Her mouth snapped shut, unsure what to say. His steady smile made her want to melt and agree to anything, but she didn’t want to jump into what would be the rest of her life.

“Are you sure? This isn’t something Dick is making you do? I assure you, I will not be hurt if you retract your proposal.”

“My proposal has nothing to do with Duke Grayson and what is currently in the papers,” he assured her. 

“Then, yes, I would be honoured to marry you, Your Grace.”

He slid the gold ring onto her finger, the light catching and playing on the amethyst set in it. “Now that we are engaged, you must stop calling me ‘Your Grace’ and instead call me Jason.”

“I will, but only if you drop the ‘Miss’,” she replied.

“Deal, Stephanie.”

“Deal, Jason.”

They shook on their first decision as a couple.

~~~

The next couple weeks, Steph barely saw her new fiance, occupied as she was with wedding planning and looking after Emma. That was another thing she needed to talk to him about.

Babs hadn’t been married that long ago, and she still knew all the best places to get the best deals for all the preparations, which was a huge help to Steph, who did not frequent the places that duchesses did.

Oh, she was going to be a duchess. She couldn’t stop the nauseated anxiety she felt, wondering if she had completely ruined her life beyond repair.

She really needed to talk to Jason.

“Steph, the duke is in Dick’s study, asking for you.” Babs told her, breaking her attention from the fabric swatches for her wedding breakfast’s napkins.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Babs. Everything on the right here I’ve already dismissed.”

“I’ll have it removed, then, and replaced with some tea. Or would you like me to send it to the study so you can have it with His Grace?”

“I’ll ask him if he’s got enough time for tea,” Steph replied. “Just have it brought here and I’ll come get it if he does.”

Babs nodded in response and Steph headed out of the drawing room to the study down the hall.

She paused outside the door, hearing her name.

“-marry you. You were quicker than I expected, Head,” Dick sounded almost pleased.

“It’s not what I wanted, but I’m an opportunist; I couldn’t let the situation go to waste,” Jason replied. 

“I’m pleased you did the right thing. Steph deserves what you can offer her.”

There was some sound from Jason but Steph didn’t listen, opening the door with a firm click. 

~~~

“Babs said Jason was here,” Steph said neutrally, but Jason couldn’t tell if she’d overheard what he and Dick had been talking about or not. “Is there something we needed to discuss, Your Grace?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not right now,” he replied slowly. 

“Then it’s good to see you. I hope everything is going smoothly on your end, and I’ll see you in the church on Tuesday.” 

He bowed his head as she left, turning back to Dick with a bewildered expression.

“Babs was very short with me when we got married, too. They’re busy planning the wedding breakfast, after all.”

He nodded, but thought it was a little more than that. He needed to speak with her privately, but they hadn’t had a moment alone, never mind a moment, since they were engaged.

~~~

Steph opened her window, frowning. Jason stood below, waving at her with a smile, dropping a handful of pebbles behind his back into the garden.

“It is nearly midnight, what do you want?” she called in a loud whisper, too tired and put out to care about niceties.

“I’m sorry it’s so late, but will you come down for a minute so we can talk, please?”

She huffed and closed the window. They were getting married in ten hours, what couldn’t wait until then to say? Unless…they weren’t getting married?

She threw her robe on, yanked the tie shut, and speedily tiptoed down the steps, avoiding the creaky ones, to the side door, where Jason was waiting.

“Thank you,” he said when he saw her. “I needed to ask you what you heard when I was talking to Grayson in the study.”

“Why?” she looked at him sternly. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t misunderstand a fragment of conversation you didn’t have context to.”

“Tell me, then, what were you talking about before I came in?”

“Grayson was thanking me for proposing to you so quickly, and I was refusing his thanks because I did not do it for him.”

That sounded rather rehearsed . “Well, then, sounds like everything’s clear,” she crossed her arms. “Anything else to say, Your Grace?”

“We’re alone, can’t you call me Jason?”

“I am capable of that, yes.”

“You seem angry at me, but I don’t know why. If I did or said something, could you at least tell me so I can apologise or attempt to fix it?”

She huffed at his rational words. “I’m being unfair. Just let me hold this grudge for ten more hours, okay?”

He gave her a perplexed look but agreed.

“Oh, I also wanted to speak to you…would you mind terribly if I brought Emma with me?”

“Of course not. I assumed you were part of the same parcel, I have a room already prepared for her.”

“You do?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’d show it to you, but I’m afraid that would be even more scandalous than what we’re doing right now,” he grinned. 

She punched his arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m sorry, did it actually hurt?” she gasped, running her hand gently over the spot she’d hit.

“No, it’s just a little sensitive from my boxing earlier.”

“You box?” She tilted her head. “I could see that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t mean anything by it, I just- your figure-”

There was no way to save herself, and she gave up with a blush as he grinned at her, pleased.

~~~

Babs was Steph’s witness, and Roy stood with Jason, the rest of their handful of family and friends filling the two front rows of pews in the church. The ceremony was short and simple, and the congregation headed to the fancier wedding breakfast held in the Graysons’ manor, in lieu of the bride’s house.

The couple were bounced from person to person, receiving well-wishes and advice, most of which they ignored. 

Finally Babs gave Steph the signal to leave, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the escape. 

Jason handed her into his carriage, then sprang in after her, still holding her hand.

They waved the remaining well-wishers off and headed to Jason’s home.

His home turned out to be a small (compared to ones like the Waynes’ or Kanes’) manor on the edge of the city, about halfway between the Waynes’ and Graysons’ and the Browns’. He had bought it before he even met her, but Steph still found it a happy convenience. Maybe it was a sign they were meant to be together.

“I apologize, there are very few servants around, since it was just me here and I don’t need much help,” explained Jason. “Feel free to hire whomever you think we need.”

“I grew up being the servant, Jason,” she reminded him. “I think I’ll manage with who you have now. Babs did recommend I get a maid now that…now that I’m a duchess; it’ll make things easier.”

Jason made an agreeing noise. “I had your things delivered already, so they should be in your rooms already.”

She glanced at him but he didn’t appear to notice, continuing the tour. 

“I don’t use this wing much, but it’s in good shape if you want to have it turned into a music room or something.”

The tour continued, Jason pointing out his most-used rooms so she could find him easily. She enjoyed this peek into his life, measuring all the things he’d furnished his home with. It wasn’t nearly as fancy and pretentious as some of the other nobles’ houses, but seemed more lived-in and arranged for comfort and ease. If this was the bachelor touch she’d heard about, she couldn’t fathom why society hated it so.

Various items from his travels were scattered about, interspersed with weapons from different cultures and paintings and artwork from a range of eras. “You have lovely taste,” she complimented.

“Thank you. My mother would be proud to hear that–she taught me most of what I know.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“Oh, yes, she’s quite well back in Nanda Parbat. I was meaning to ask you, what do you think about travelling to Altheban soon?”

Steph blinked. “I think that sounds lovely. How soon is ‘soon’?”

Jason hesitated. “Within three weeks?”

“That’s doable, then,” she agreed. “I won’t bother unpacking much of Emma’s or my things, then.”

“Where is Emma?” asked Jason.

“My mother said she’d keep her for the week until we got settled in, so she wouldn’t be in the midst of all the mess.”

“Oh. Thoughtful of her.”

~~~

Steph paced in her room, the continual breeze of her stride making the candles flicker every time she passed. She should’ve taken Babs up on her offer of a temporary maid until she found one herself. Now she was stuck in her dress, trying to figure out a way to get out without asking her brand-new husband for help.

Stupid fancy dresses.

Expelling her pride with a long sigh, she headed to the door separating her from Jason. It opened to reveal him shirtless, his back to her as he appeared to be fiddling with his pants.

She stepped back into her room, an apology on her lips, when he turned. “Did you need something?”

Her hand dropped from her face. “What happened?” she gasped, taking in the marks covering his body. She’d helped her mother often enough to know those were scars, and they weren’t easy to get.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, reaching for his discarded shirt.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted. “Who hurt you?”

He took her hands in his, lowering them from tracing over the marks and facing her with a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Steph. I’ve been in some…situations…of my own volition, and this was the price I paid. They’ve been healed and treated by a professional. I appreciate your worry, but I’m fine. I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s my fault, I should have knocked. I apologise.”

“What did you want?”

She tore her gaze away from his well-defined chest muscles to meet his concerned teal gaze.

“I…my dress is too difficult to get in and out of,” she muttered. “Could you…?”

She turned her back to him, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

He took a breath and stepped closer. His fingers brushed against her neck as he brushed some stray strands out of the way.

She could feel his body heat behind her, warming her through and igniting a fire in her belly. Each accidental touch as he undid the buttons, each gust of air over her shoulder, every cell he touched as he undid the laces only stoked it higher.

The dress and corset loosened as the bands of anticipation tightened around her chest.

Her dress pooled around her ankles as it finally slipped free.

Jason released a long breath behind her. She barely felt the graze of his lips on her bare shoulder before they were gone.

His warmth moved away. He cleared his throat. “All done.”

She turned to face him, holding her breath. “Will you kiss me?”

He nodded once, shuffling forward so their toes touched and wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to him. The other trailed up her arm lightly, raising the small hairs and making her shiver in anticipation.

Her eyes slid closed as his face drew nearer, and then his lips met hers. Softly at first, tentatively, feeling her out. She pushed back, determined not to let this be the only kiss they shared. The fire in her spread through her veins, making her wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into her. 

The arm around her waist tightened, and he deepened the kiss, his fingers curling around her neck and kissing her back with just as much passion.

They finally separated, gasping for air, eyes dark and mouths panting. 

“Do you really wanna do this?”

She nodded vigorously. “Do you?”

He snorted a half-laugh. “Look at you, of course I do.”

Then he pulled her closer and proceeded to kiss any further remarks out of her head.

Steph ended up naked as the day she was born on the bed, underclothes spread over the room, watching in fascination at just how fast a man could undress when he was truly motivated.

He looked up and returned her grin with a hungry one of his own. “Ready?”

“For whaaa-Jason!” she exclaimed as he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down the bed.

He grinned up at her surprise, head bracketed by her knees. “Hold on to the duvet.”

“For whaaa-Jason!”

He knelt between her thighs, licking at her core like a man starved. She grasped a handful of bedsheets, throwing her head back in pleasure as his nose bumped against her clit with every movement of his head, his steady ministrations quickly building her pleasure up to unbearable heights. She fell with a loud gasp of his name, hand flying to his head to grip his hair instead of the sheets.

He pulled away, licking his lips in a manner far too indecent, and gave her a pleased look. She scooted up the bed to lie against the pillows, and he joined her on the other side.

“Come straddle me,” he said, pulling her hand toward him to kiss her fingers.

Affection shone from his eyes, and she felt herself melting even further.

Settling over his hips, she leaned forward to kiss him softly, her fingers tracing the raised skin on his chest and arms. “Is it very dangerous in Nanda Parbat?”

“It’s probably the safest place you’ll be in the world,” he told her between kisses. “I think you’ll like it. You’ll fit right in, with your knife throwing.”

Steph thought that raised a few more questions, but then Jason was nibbling on her neck and she decided they could wait for later. The fire inside her had been temporarily held under control when he gave her that orgasm, but it was steadily burning hotter again.

She shivered as Jason’s warm hand brushed lightly over her belly, the sensitive skin there not used to touch. He moved to her legs, running his fingertips teasingly up her calves to her knees, then her thighs.

His head dipped even lower as his mouth found her breasts, heightening the flames within her. He still seemed so composed, even with her kissing up his neck and teasing his nipples.

She wanted to make him burn just as much as her.

His fingers trailed up to the apex of her thighs, finding her still thoroughly wet. One slid in, making her gasp in pleasure. Yes, that was what she needed. She felt so empty.

“More,” she told him breathily, nipping his earlobe. He added a second, finding her sweet spot and rubbing in just the right way. She shifted so the angle was better, feeling her orgasm coiling in her lower belly. 

Her hand trailed down his chest, uncaring, until she reached his rather erect cock. His fingers paused as he let out a pained sound. 

She wrapped her fingers around him slowly, stroking him at the same pace he was using on her. He added a third finger, stretching her nicely. 

Abruptly he pulled his fingers out of her, leaning back to see her. “Please stop, or I’m not gonna last,” he asked, his other hand stilling her wrist. “Can I-”

“Please,” she begged, missing his fingers already. She could only imagine what his cock would feel like inside her.

Settling herself over it, she slowly slid down, relishing the look on Jason’s face. There, now he was showing how unravelled he was feeling. She took him until their pelvises met, swaying her hips teasingly.

Jason groaned. “Steph, please, don’t tease.”

Feeling too wound up and close to orgasm to be bratty, she began setting a steady pace. His fingers gripped her hips as an anchor as he began to thrust up to meet her. Her temporarily delayed orgasm came building up with a vengeance. 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she came with a cry of his name; he followed after her.

They lay in each other’s arms, content to be skin-to-skin as they caught their breath.

Steph hummed contentedly as Jason ran his fingers up and down her spine. 

“Was that good for you?”

“Of course it was–I orgasmed twice. What about you?”

“Better than good,” he kissed her quickly, then lay silent for a while. Finally he took a deep breath. “I know you married me because of the situation, but…do you think you could love me one day?”

Steph blinked rapidly at him, surprised at the sudden deep talk and the implications of the question.

“I didn’t marry you because of the situation,” she finally said. “Although that was certainly a part of it. I am already halfway in love with you, Jason. I know I’ll love you.”

“Really?”

She nodded definitively. “Really. Could you love me ?”

Jason kissed her softly, full of feeling. “I do love you. It’s hard not to, believe me, I tried.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but decided to drop it, snuggling further into his chest. “Would you have married me if we hadn’t been forced to?”

“When I was looking for you in the garden that night, it was to ask you if we could talk. I wanted to propose to you before…that, although it didn’t happen in the way I’d hoped,” he sighed.

“It’s not what I wanted, but I’m an opportunist; I couldn’t let the situation go to waste.”

Steph recalled his words from the study, context helping it make more sense. She kissed him thoroughly. “You make me happy, Jason Head.”

“You make me happy, Stephanie Head.”

Dearest Reader, 

As the season comes to a close, so too does the Duke of Altheban’s stay with us. We wish the duke and duchess and their newly adopted daughter safe travels as they take their leave, heading to the Duke’s native lands in Nanda Parbat, where they are sure to have many more adventures. We hope to see the Head family back in our midst one day.

With the season over, so I too shall disappear from your lives, gone but I hope certainly not forgotten. Until next season,

Adieu.

Lady Gotham

A/N 3:

-Thank you for reading and to @jaysteph-events for hosting this <3 -Join the JaySteph Discord (18+)! -The Duma and Elliot families are from DC canon as Gothamite socialite families. Duma is Polish, so I used the Polish spelling of Alexander for Lord Duma’s name. I couldn’t think why that had a nice ring to it until I remembered Alexandre Dumas, the author. He’s a few decades later, though, so there’s no overlap between him and my character. -Nursing wasn’t exactly the respected career it is now, since it was pre-Florence Nightingale. Jason, having trained somewhat [my hc] with (Middle) Eastern healers, who were more advanced and hygienic, would have more respect for nurses. -Jason’s horse is named Jericho, not after Deathstroke's kid, but after the make of Jason’s primary guns. I’m pretty sure Jericho 941s didn’t exist in 1810, so I used the name for his horse instead. -I was listening to Beethoven’s 5th as I wrote the scene where it’s playing in the background. Classical music is surprisingly fun background music for a scene where a character gets punched in the face :) And to those of you curious about if the 5th symphony existed in 1810, yes, it did–I looked it up: Beethoven wrote it in 1808. -I purposefully left this somewhat open ended so I can come back and write more in this AU when I want, such as Steph meeting Talia and the Bats finding out Jason is their Jason. -If there’s something I left unclear or you’d like to know more about some scene or read a specific future scenario, please leave a comment!