#a somewhat old drawing from the beginning of spring when i cut my hair

[letmesleepy]

Picture day

[boymeetsweevil]

Call me maybe

Grouping: Reader x Namjoon

Word Count: ~6.59k

Warnings/Themes: Club meet-cute AU, 1% angst +99% suggestive fluff, (legal!) alcohol consumption, language, flirting anxiety(?)

Summary: It all started with a stupid drinking game...

A/N: this is the One Direction wattpad-style fanfic that's been haunting me for so long. beware of that and the fact that this is unedited hahaha...

“You know the rules, girls. Whoever wins this round of rock-paper-scissors is It.”

You and your three friends, warm and bubbly from 2 rounds of shots at this point in the evening, assume your battle stances and stick your hands into the center of your table. Four hands make a square over the scattered layer of empty decorative shot glasses from the bar in the club.

There’s an air of electric excitement that comes with this game, lovingly nicknamed Hunter-Gathering. Whoever is It gets a target and has to pursue that target in hopes of bringing ‘home’ free drinks for everyone the rest of the night. But no matter how attractive the target is, you can't ever bring them home.

“Wait, wait!” Lia chimes in. “I can’t be It this time. I did it twice already and my ass still hurts from the last time.”

Dani nods seriously. “Fair enough. That means the odds are upped for the rest of you.”

“So, we’re just gonna ignore that ass thing,” another friend, Alexa, looks around the table with confused eyes.

“Do you actually want me to give you the details?” Lia smiles slowly at her from across the table.

Alexa’s face brightens with her own smile, worry evaporated. “You know what? I don’t! Never mind.”

The game begins and somehow you find yourself the lone rock amongst two pairs of scissors. Alexa and Dani laugh with relief because they don’t have to put in any work tonight. You roll your eyes to the heavens and silently question your karma.

“Are you ready to pick your target?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Dani grins.

She steps forward and grabs a clean face mask out of her clutch bag and wraps it around your eyes, careful not to muss your makeup or hair. Three pairs of hands rest on your shoulders and you let them spin you lightly around a few times. Not enough to get you dizzy but just enough to make sure you don’t know what direction you’re facing anymore.

“Alright,” Dani’s voice sounds out over the music of the club. “Take your pick!”

You stick your hand out blindly and someone unties the makeshift blindfold. Everyone follows the line your hand makes all the way to a tall figure standing by the side of the bar.

He’s probably the most handsome man any of you have seen in a while. There's an intimidating aura emanating from him. You figure it's the understated all-black outfit complete with the heinously expensive watch he's wearing and the sheer height of him as he towers over people near him at the bar.

“Oh my god,” Dani whispers as you all take in the stranger’s face.

“We can finally get top shelf vodka,” Alexa pretends to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

“Not bad,” Lia hums in appreciation.

“Okay, why is everyone acting like I bagged him already?” Your voice grows high with nerves. “I'm pretty sure I have, like, a 2% chance of interesting him."

“What are you so worried about?” Dani crosses her arms at you. “Just do whatever you did to get those history nerds to help you out that one time."

"This is not the same thing. Those guys parted their hair 90/10 unironically and thought Diva Cups are for when you don't want to hold your pee when you stand in line for roller coasters."

"You're kidding," Lia gasps. You wish you were.

"Well, just pretend he's one of them anyway." Dani suggests, "Every guy is the same."

You can't argue with that logic.

“I mean, I can try flirting with him, but he’s probably so used to people throwing themselves at him. I don’t think anything I do would, like, make a dent, you know?”

“Babe, no. No—listen to me, okay?” Alexa takes you by the shoulders and forces you around so you can see how serious she is.

“Tonight is the last free night of vacation. After tonight, we have less than a day to get over our hangovers, pack up the Airbnb, and then catch our 6am flight back home to start the spring term. Our last night of freedom lies in your hands.”

“But, what if—”

“No ‘but’s. Do you see yourself? Do you see your skin in this fresh white two piece? Have you seen how your tits look in this off the shoulder top? That poor man doesn’t stand a chance!”

Lia murmurs her agreement in the background and Dani mentions something about fearing for the guy's soul. You think about the freakishly good pictures you all took in the stylish club bathroom when you first arrived.

“I see your point.”

You turn back toward the bar to review your target. He sips from a dark green bottle as he looks around at the people on the dance floor between your table and the bar. As he continues to scan the room, he locks eyes with you. You hold his gaze even though your instincts are screaming at you to duck for cover. Surprisingly, he gives a small smile and raises his bottle in salute.

"See, you got the hardest part down already. Just fake the rest until you make it."

You chance a look back in his direction only to catch him staring in the direction of the table. When he catches your gaze again, he whips his head away, cheeks tinging pink under the soft yellow lighting at the bar.

Alexa cackles and starts detailing all the drinks she wants made with the top shelf vodka. Lia and Dani discuss leaving early to go back and clean up the apartment so it’s clean in case you break the rules and bring this guy back for the night.

“Uh, aren’t you guys moving a little fast?”

“Aren’t you moving a little slow,” Alexa counters.

“Hold on, Lex.” Dani turns to you. “You know you don’t actually have to do this if you don’t want to, right? Hunter-Gathering is just a game, there's no pressure.”

For all their poking and teasing, you're reminded right then and there that your friends would never put you in a situation where they thought you were actually at any risk. The weight you felt on your shoulders lightens somewhat.

“No, no, I definitely still want to play, I just don’t want you guys to get your hopes up.”

“I believe in you.”

Lia bumps shoulders with you quietly. She’s not the most affectionate, so you know she really means it.

“I’ll do my best.”

You let them tweak you a little bit, fixing stray hairs and wiping away smeared lip gloss and hiking up your skirt, giving you their drink orders, before you grab your purse and phone and push in your stool.

When you finally make it to the bar, he’s in the same spot as you first found him in. He spots you once you get close enough and naturally makes room for you. You set your bag on the bar countertop before hopping up on the empty stool immediately in front of him. The movement causes your skirt to ride up even more and you’re glad you only let Lia hike it up one inch instead of three.

Dani's advice about treating this guy like any other scrub from school reverbs in the back of your head right as the nerves start to set in. With the guys in your art history class, your grade was on the line. There was no room for hesitation when you could barely draw a stick figure, much less write an essay analyzing what an old painting style could tell you about the dairy economy in a certain town like some of your classmates were doing. It was because you were desperate that you were suddenly able to transform into a femme fatale. It also helped that these guys quivered at any interaction with an adult woman.

Tonight's drinks are on the line, you tell yourself. As best you can, you try to trick yourself into entering the same mindset you were in when you would lay on the charm extra thick for the art history guys.

You let the corner of your mouth lift up in a coy smile while you survey the bar. The bartender is moving back and forth quickly to handle the high demand. A second later the girl next to you leaves her spot with a tray of 8 bright pink drinks, practically glowing in the dark. You wonder briefly if you should try to get a round of those for the table.

“—one of those before?”

His voice is deep and pleasant. When you give him a look over your shoulder, you have to suppress a gasp. Up close he's even more handsome. You really have your work cut out for you.

“What?"

"That neon pink drink," he nods back in the direction of the girl who'd taken the cotton candy pink drinks with her. "I was wondering if you'd tried them before."

“No, I haven’t,” you smile, letting your lips part slowly. His eyes dart from your painted eyes to the colored stretch of your mouth and then quickly back up. “Have you?”

“No. But I like to try new things.”

You purse your lips as if in thought, something you've seen other girls do while flirting with guys at school. “You must be pretty unpredictable, then.”

“Huh? Well, I wouldn’t say that.” He stammers a bit and nearly drops his beer bottle trying and failing to put it down. All the intimidation you felt coming from him earlier seems to have disappeared.

“I was just kidding.”

Like it has a mind of its own, your hand reaches out to rest on his arm reassuringly while you continue to laugh at him. His features clear up then and a relieved smile blooms on his face, bringing out an adorable dimple with it.

“You’re teasing me,” he realizes with a good natured huff and steps into your touch.

“You seem kinda fun to tease.” You let your hand linger a little longer before finally pulling it back.

“It’s kinda fun. You're pretty good at it.”

Oddly enough, this isn't as difficult for you as you thought it was going to be. In fact, you find yourself naturally tilting your head and fixing him with an intrigued look from under your lashes. He takes the opportunity to look you over as well, a small smile on his lips.

The personal attention does make you a little nervous despite the fact that it’s positive. So you dig in your purse to avoid looking directly at him for too long and to give your hands something to do. You brush up against a tube of lip gloss, pull it out, and reapply some to your lips.

You look back at him when you realize he’s grown quiet, only to find him following the movements of the gloss brush tracing the curve of your lips, cheeks dusted pink and eyes half-closed like he's in some sort of trance.

Experimentally you press your lips together and then purse them to make sure the gloss is distributed evenly. The man doesn't blink once. Suddenly, all his expensive apparel and large stature aren’t so intimidating.

"Is there something on my face," you smirk.

He slow blinks down at your mouth twice before realizing you're speaking again. His eyes grow wide and he raises a ringed hand to rub at the back of his neck. The movement rustles the hair covering his ears, revealing their pink tips. Cute.

"Just looking."

You laugh a little at him again. He marvels at the way the club lighting dances around in your glossy smile.

"So, how come I've never seen you here before?"

"Well...it's the first time me and my friends have come here."

"I see." He pivots to face you and leans his closest elbow on the counter of the bar. "Are you guys new to the area?"

"You could say that, yeah."

He raises an eyebrow when you don’t elaborate. Without looking away, he raises his hand to signal to the bartender that he wants another drink. When the bartender runs right over, you realize this guy actually might be a big deal. Silently you pull your card out of your wallet as the bartender makes their way over. You figure you’ll have to spend some money before you can really ask someone like him to buy drinks for your table.

"What'll it be,” the bartender asks.

"Two of those pink drinks please," he says and before you can place any order the bartender zooms away.

While the bartender starts preparing the drinks, you turn toward him.

"Who said I wanted the pink drink?"

He grins down at you, a dimple now popping up in each cheek. "Who said it's for you?"

"I'm pretty sure it's for me."

"And what makes you so sure?" He takes a step closer to you.

"Just a hunch," you hum before crossing your legs.

The white fabric of your skirt hikes up your thighs again with the movement. You smooth your palms over the soft material.

"Nice skirt."

"Yeah? You like it?"

"I like it," he admits quietly.

"And the top?" You gesture toward the pair of straps on the matching tube top, manicured nails gliding over your décolletage. He wets his lips.

"The top too."

He reaches out one large hand to one of the straps that have fallen over your shoulder. The drag of his fingers against your bare arm as he fixes it makes you shiver. You lament the loss of contact when pulls his hand back.

The bartender arrives with your drinks then, startling the both of you out of the little staring competition that had spontaneously started. The pink drink seems to glow from within, topped with whipped cream and full of little round ice cubes made from some sort of darker rose syrup floating in the liquid like lava in a lava lamp. The color barely prepares you for the thick sweetness that floods your mouth on the first sip.

"Oh, that's kinda..."

He huffs a laugh around his own first swallow and nods in agreement.

"Not what you wanted?"

"It's just really sweet. You like it?”

He shrugs. “It’s alright. But—"

The way he cuts himself off has you confused for a moment before he's reaching towards you cautiously. You're not too sure what's going on until you feel the pad of his thumb swipe over the corner of your lips carrying away some of the whipped topping from the drink. Your eyes widen when instead of wiping the cream on one of the cocktail napkins available on the counter he brings his thumb to his own lips. In a fraction of a second the cream is gone, but you're left feeling a rush of fluttering warmth on the side of your mouth and in the center of your chest.

"You think your friends would like these?” He slides his drink to the side so he can lean on his elbow and turn to you again. Now's your chance.

“Um, I don’t think this is really their style.”

“What is their style?”

You rattle off their drinks of choice, making sure to mention their favorite brands with a sigh. Of course, whenever you play this game, the brands can change depending on the budget of whoever’s buying. This time, you make sure to name drop as much as possible, per Alexa's request.

“Sounds like your friends really know what they like.”

“Yeah, they have really…unique tastes.” You falter a little under his amused stare. “But we don’t always drink that way. I mean, not every bar even carries all those to begin with.”

“That’s true.” He nods. “This bar has every single of them, though. Pretty lucky, huh?”

“Yep,” you chirp. You’re not sure if you’re in trouble or not because he’s still smiling. He seems to be onto the game, but doesn’t seem bothered by it.

“Well, it would be a shame not to welcome you all to the city. Get whatever you want. My treat.”

“Are you sure?”

You place your hand on his arm again and squeeze for good measure. You don’t miss the way his large bicep flexes under your touch. After a beat, he brings his hand up to grasp yours and holds it while signaling to the bartender again. You give him a blindingly bright smile and he strokes his thumb over your knuckles.

He asks the bartender to ‘take care’ of your table tonight on him, and you realize then that you’ve won the game. The victory isn't nearly as sweet as the pink drinks from earlier. The rules prohibit you from bringing him home or going over to his place. And even if it wasn't prohibited, your vacation is basically over.

“Where are you and your friends from?

You take his hand between yours and play with some of the rings on his fingers. They’re beautiful together in an eclectic way and you wonder if someone chose them for him.

“It’s a kind of small city, not like this one. It’s really just our university and then a few surrounding towns.”

“What made you guys move here then?"

"Oh, Right." You feel guilty. "Me and my friends are just here for vacation."

He blinks at you but takes the news in stride. "Well, if you want—I know the city pretty well since I have a place here—maybe I can give you a tour of the town later this week."

"I'd love that, I really would. But we're actually leaving tomorrow."

"For real?” His eyes grow wide and he looks down at your linked hands before looking over your face. You're shocked to see his features fall.

"Yeah, it sucks."

“Damn,” he smiles bittersweet at the floor. “I wish we’d bumped into each other sooner.”

“I absolutely agree," the sound of Alexa's voice rings loud in your ear.

“Uh, hello. Did you need me for something?" Your voice is high and tight as you fix her with an accusatory stare. You're not 100% positive, but it seemed like you and he were having a moment.

"No, babe, I just wanted to come over and show you my beautiful drink. I wanted to come show my gratitude to you both for making sure we have a good last night. The girls will appreciate that. Thank you, kind sir."

“Name’s Namjoon. And no need to thank me,” he smiles at the exchange between you two and sticks out his hand. Alexa daintily lays her hand in his and he lets out an incredulous laugh before playing along and raising it to his lips.

"What a gentleman," she coos before pinching lightly at the skin of your exposed back. It's a clear message just for you, telling you that there's about to be a change in plans. "What were you guys discussing?"

"I was actually about to offer up our booth. There's more than enough room for your table if you wanted to move. Me and my team—friends definitely wouldn't mind the company."

“You don’t have to do that!” You pipe up, suddenly shy. But it's quickly dashed away as Alexa pulls out her phone and opens up the groupchat.

"Let me just ask our friends if they’d like that."

You already know the answer, so you sigh quietly and gather up your card, phone, and purse. You can’t say you won’t miss the privacy from when it was just you and Namjoon, but you’re glad to be with your friends again as well.

The move from your little table to the VIP booth is lightning fast. By the time you get your own drink, Lia and Dani are already clutching their things and vibrating with excitement near the ropes leading to the VIP booth. A few of Namjoon’s friends are chatting with them from the other side of the ropes.

Once your group trickles in, you don't miss how they all arrange themselves in the booth so you're forced to sit on the end next to Namjoon with barely any space. The only options are to let one of your legs hang off the edge of the booth the whole time or sit practically half in his lap. Alexa winks at you over the first sip of her next very expensive drink.

Namjoon's friends are occupied by your friends re-telling some of the more exciting parts of the beginning of your vacation. Some story about how 'someone' lost their top while trying to jet ski. You send a weak glare to Lia as she tries to get them to guess just whose top it was. That's what you get for experimenting with spaghetti strings, you suppose.

"Do you guys like to dance," one of his friends says after a while of vibing to the music once the chatter cools down. Hoseok, you think his name was.

"Yes, definitely." Dani remarks while re-applying lip gloss. "You know who's a great dancer?"

"Who?" Hoseok looks around excitedly.

"She's gonna say me," you groan. "Which is not even true but let’s just all move down there already, no more 20 questions."

"Just one more," she pouts. "Namjoon, do you like to dance?"

He looks down at you once he's also out the booth, that little amused smile back on his lips.

"Well, it's not really part of my day job, but I don't mind it too much."

"What's your day job," you blurt out.

"I'm a...musician."

"A musician!" Alexa rushes over to you to link arms. "Did you hear that? Namjoon’s a musician."

"I don't recognize you," Lia says and Hoseok and another one of his friends burst into quiet laughter behind her.

"You definitely won't find Joon’s pics anywhere, that's for sure," one of his friends says. The rest of them dissolve into another fit of giggles.

The club lights hide the muted pink tinge his cheeks take on, and Namjoon leads the way to the dance-floor with a chagrined roll of his eyes.

"You think he's really a musician?” You whisper to Alexa and Lia. Dani is somewhere up ahead, already dancing.

"Maybe technically. Going off the way his friends keep laughing, he's probably, like, a failed SoundCloud rapper or something."

"No failed SoundCloud rapper wears Gucci like that," Lia motions with her chin to some piece of Namjoon’s outfit.

"That's true," you hum.

"Rich parents," Alexa says simply.

You and Lia consider it and then nod.

As you settle on the dance floor, you feel the rest of your nerves drift away. Lia comes over to take a selfie with you, and the two of you flirt with the camera until she's satisfied with the photos you've taken. She grabs your hand and makes a show of spinning you around and you figure that this is how the night will go before you stumble out around 2 or 3am and drunk pack for the flight home the next morning. You let her lead you back, further into the crowd before you bump into someone.

Namjoon's large hand comes to stabilize you at your waist and Lia acts like nothing happened before dancing away, phone light illuminating her sneaky smile.

"You good?" Namjoon's voice is soft in your ear.

"Y-yeah."

"You wanna dance, or should I let you go?"

Your friends shamelessly all look at the way he curves himself around you, all with their thumbs up in encouragement. You're reminded of the way you did the same a few nights prior when Dani was getting hit on by some cute guy at a different club.

At that time it felt fun hyping her up and watching her make a move, seeing how enamored this random guy was with your friend. Of course he is, you thought at the time, she's amazing. And you remember that this is probably what's driving them tonight as well with you and Namjoon.

You chance a look at him and realize that he's come to rest his cheek lightly near your temple, a soft look in his gaze as he awaits your answer.

"Sure, let's dance."

Namjoon was telling the truth when he said he wasn't all that into dancing. But he put in enough work to be able to follow you and meet you halfway while you were grinding on him to the music.

Even when you shyly stepped away after the first few dances to return to your squealing friends, you loosened up over time with more music and drinks and found yourself naturally ending up on him again. The first few songs turned into more and more and soon you were face-to-face, with his thigh wedged between yours and a heavy palm on your lower back guiding you to the beat.

You're not sure when you decided to abandon your friends and his, but at some point you did return to the booth under the guise of checking your phones. And you did check your phone first. But soon he was crowding you toward the wall by the booth and leaving you with no air of your own.

"You're really leaving tomorrow," he sighed into a bruise he was trying to leave near the hollow of your throat. "Or did you just say that because I was some creep at a bar."

"I never thought you were a creep."

He looks down at you with disbelief before getting distracted by your kiss-swollen lips.

"I mean it. I'm just a little shy sometimes."

"What do you have to be shy about when you look like this, huh?"

"Stop," you laugh lightly and look away from him.

He'd made a comment earlier about how much he liked the pristine white two piece you wore, but you'd been inching his hand up your skirt then. Now, one of his thumbs rubs an idle pattern just below the curve of your breast.

"No, but seriously. Are you actually leaving tomorrow?"

"Yeah. The new term starts for us all in a few days."

"So, leave in a few days," Namjoon whines.

"That's not enough time to get ready for the term."

"But I'll be so alone without you."

He gives you an exaggerated pout that splits into a real smile when you snort at his stupid expression. He pulls you to him just a smidgen tighter then.

"Does this usually work with other girls?"

"I don't know. Never tried it with other girls," he frowns a little at you.

"Sure."

"You know me and the team almost went to Club BigHit last Saturday?"

"Oh, really? That's kinda funny." You try to imagine what might have happened if he'd come to the same club you went to earlier.

"Yeah," Namjoon's voice grows quiet. "If I hadn't gotten sick then we would have met last week."

"Yeah, maybe."

"You sure you can't miss a few days of the term?"

"Yes, I'm sure." You let out an exasperated laugh. "You can't really be this upset that an actual stranger is just passing through your life."

"No, I know. I just—," he lets his head fall forward until he's touching his forehead to yours. "It was like something clicked when I saw you. I feel like I need more time with you."

"Oh," your voice comes out a little breathier than you expected.

The same look that had flashed across his face when you first came up to him finally gets to rest on his features. You want to let him down gently because you really can't play catch up during the first week of school.

"Tell you what. I can't miss the beginning of the term but if you make a song with my name in it and it gets...say, 50,000 listens, I'll buy a ticket that same day and come meet you. Wherever you are."

He pins you with a look then, inquisitive and dark. His eyes scan your open expression for something, before whatever he finds passes the test. He stands up tall.

"And it just needs to have 50,000 listens?"

In your mind you were thinking it would be too lofty for a failed SoundCloud rapper, but something in his tone sounds like he's rising to the challenge and it makes you nervous. You spent a lot on this vacation, you can't afford to actually fly out so soon if he somehow managed to get the listens and call your bluff. Besides, targets are off limits.

"Um, actually make that 150,000. And it has to have my area code in it too." You rattle off the three digits to him and he quickly types your conditions into the notes app on his phone.

"Is that it?"

"That's it, I guess."

"Deal."

Namjoon pockets his phone and leans back into your space. Any worries you had clawing to the forefront of your mind vanish when he presses soft lips to yours once more.

A month passes.

You don't end up having a one-night-stand with Namjoon because it wouldn't be fair to your friends when they'd clicked with a target but didn't take them home. That and because Dani got sick on the dance floor from mixing strawberry daiquiri with one too many pink drinks. But you do pass on your full number after he very nearly begs you to give it to him while packing into a cab.

And then he never used it.

It's not that you were expecting much, but when a month passes with not so much as word from him, you figure he forgot about you and your little bet.

Then 2 months pass.

Even though you know that you only spent a fraction of a day with him, you can't help thinking about Namjoon. Namjoon and his pretty eyes and pretty words that made you think there was some sort of connection there. You realize after the first two weeks back that you don't have his number but by the time 2 months pass, you realize that was definitely on purpose.

4 months pass.

You're over it, swamped with end of term work like finals and grading and putting in hours at work. But every time your friends suggest a little fun and hooking you up with someone, every time someone asked for your number at a coffee shop, you said no. Because you're over it and you're busy and not at all disappointed for how hard you fell for the lies some failed SoundCloud rapper fed you on a vacation one time.

19 weeks pass.

You're all in Lia's apartment, basking in the first few days of the end of classes even if it means finals are a few days later. Alexa is playing her favorite playlist on the speakers and you're taking a break to get some coffee going in the small kitchenette.

While the coffee machine starts up you wander back to the main room. Alexa is leaning over to turn the music up, one of her favorite songs just now coming up.

"Who's this again," Dani pipes up from her spot on the couch. "It's that one guy's collab with the Bulletproof Girlscouts, right?"

"Yep," Alexa checks the song title before sighing. "This song is so old now."

"True, but it's my favorite one on the whole album."

"I guess it really has been two years since his last album, huh." Dani muses and then goes back to her practice problem set.

You try not to laugh at how cute Alexa looks sulking because her favorite artist hasn't put out any music in so long.

"Why don't you just play his new stuff," Lia says.

"He's on indefinite hiatus. This is as new as it gets."

Lia picks up her own phone, showing it to the group.

"He released a new single this morning."

"What!"

Alexa scrambles from her seat to grab her headphones and jam them into her phone. You all know how she gets about her music and let her have a moment to soak up the new song while you get up to check on the coffee.

It takes a few minutes to get cups out and put everything together since everyone has different tastes, so you're in the middle of pouring creamer when you hear a chorus of screams.

"Why are we screaming?"

You rush into the main room again only to be bombarded with music from the speaker, this time turned up as high as it can go. What must be the new song comes through the speaker, the bass vibrating on the ground as the speaker pumps.

"Okay, yes, new song. It's good but I don't get—"

"Just listen to the fucking bridge," Dani's voice comes out incredibly shrill as she cuts you off.

The beat surges for the bridge and suddenly the lyrics turn into the artist growling about some girl he met at the club with the prettiest little white outfit he'd ever seen. Saying something that sounds oddly like your name, although you figure that can't be right. But then the next verse has your name in it too, and the next one, and the next one.

Your feet take you to where Alexa's phone is plugged in and you pick up the phone to look at the song. It's indeed a song by her favorite artist, a prolific and mysterious rapper who's never shown his face and who'd been on hiatus from making music. The song title is simple, a small string of numbers that look suspiciously like your area code.

When you let out a tiny gasp, your friends let out more excited shrieks. You ignore them in favor of thumbing through the music app to the artist's page where the new single lies at the top of his discography. To the right of all his songs are the stream counts. Most of his older songs have a few dozen million or so. This brand new one sits at a modest 4 million, but the numbers trickle up as the app updates them in real time.

"What the hell?"

"I know!" Alexa cries, tears shining in her eyes. "I can't believe we sat in a VIP booth with him and I didn't even recognize his stupid voice!"

"What are you gonna do," Dani smiles widely at your stunned face. "Are you gonna call him?"

"I don't have his number," you say simply. Your voice comes out monotone with shock.

"You didn't get his number?" Alexa starts crying for real.

"People are blowing my phone up about this," Lia says once the song ends and begins again on a loop. "You might want to turn off your phone. It's just a matter of time until people start snooping around."

"Right."

You grab your phone from your pocket. On instinct you scan through your socials one last time before turning it off. There's a startling number of texts, calls, emails, and notifications on your social media apps. Curiosity gets the best of you and you open up one of them only to find your name trending as the top hashtag. Clicking on it brings up a bunch of tweets both from fans raving about the new song and wondering who the muse is, to random accounts with identical names in the handle all claiming to be said muse.

"Oh my god, he tweeted!" Dani shoves her phone into your hands.

As of right now [2:38pm] we're at 5.76 million streams. That's more than 150,000...

"What does that mean," she asks you.

"It means...he wants me to fly out to see him. Today."

"Oh my god."

Alexa screams again and at this point you've lost count of how many that is. Lia gets out of her chair and tucks her chin over your shoulder to read the post herself.

"You need to go," Alexa shouts. "I'll help you pack, let's go."

"What about finals?"

"Are you—are you actually thinking of not going because of finals?"

"I mean—"

"If you want me die, just say that," she does something with her mouth that looks like a manic smile.

"What Lex means to say is that this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I'm sure even the profs would understand."

You're not sure what to say. First of all, you still don't have his number. Second of all, you're not sure how to fight through all the other accounts claiming to be you to let him know you saw the song. Third, you don't even know where to fly to. Fourth—

A Twitter notification chimes from your phone and a deadly hush falls over everyone. You go to your DM inbox with shaking fingers only to find a message request from an unknown sender. When you open the request, it's from Namjoon's agency.

Good afternoon,

You are being contacted today because one of our artists wishes to meet you. If you consent to the meeting, please review the flight information and tentative itinerary below and respond with your address and contact information. Please also note that the travel plans are for today [MM/DD/YYYY], so your response at your earliest convenience would be much appreciated. If you would like to go but cannot make it today—

"Do you think they'll send a car or should I book her a ride to the airport now?" Dani turns to Alexa.

"They'll probably send one to make sure the schedule is followed."

"That's true but what about—"

Lia taps you on the shoulder, startling you out of your stupor.

"There's a convenience store two doors down. Whatever you buy we can put in one of my suitcases and you can just take that. There's probably not enough time to go all the way back to your place."

"I—yeah, okay."

7 hours later finds Alexa, Dani and Lia finished with studying for the night. The entertainment channel is playing on the TV and the three of them have their heads bent over their phones and laptops, refreshing all the major gossip sites for updates.

"Maybe she's not even there yet," Dani sighs when the page she just refreshed shows no new posts.

"Yeah, I mean we still don't even know where she is," Lia says while putting her laptop to sleep. "What if they made her sign an NDA?"

"Even if they did, she'd probably still tell us once she got there. She's probably just busy killing time on the plane."

"She's sleeping!" Alexa screams a second later.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

"Check his instagram," is all she says before frantically typing a message to you about souvenirs.

Lia looks over at Dani's phone as she pulls up Namjoon's page. The rest of the layout is bare given his up until recent hiatus and the fact that he never posted any type of selfie. The video uploaded a mere 20 seconds ago undoes all the previous minimalism of the entire account.

The post isn't even of Namjoon. It's a black and white 5 second video of the top half of your naked back and shoulders, the rest of your body covered by the sheets. One of your arms is raised to cover your head with a pillow. The only sign of Namjoon is the arm that reaches out from the bottom of the frame, making it clear that he took the video himself. His hand reaches out to trace a heart over the skin of your shoulder blade. The caption reads:

Thanks for keeping your promise

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎! 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, justifying, encouraging nor trying to romanticize yandere behavior. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, toxic relationship, violent behavior, murder, sexual scenes, paranoia leading to mental blackouts, miscarriage, suicide attempt, mental disorders and death are contained within this post. Read at your own discretion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟿

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟾𝟻 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟼'𝟶 𝙵𝚃.

𝙰𝚐𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■□90%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■□90%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

•𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝

•𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝

•𝚃𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗

•𝙸𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛

•𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Mingi was someone who always kept to himself, never wanting to draw any kind of attention.

Unfortunately for him, he got a lot of attention while he was studying in university, and not the good kind.

He accidentally bumped into one of the jocks at school, and from that moment on, his life was hell.

He was constantly belittled, shoved to the floor, his locker filled with vicious and cruel messages ranging from "freak" to "kill yourself."

Mingi often just sighed and continued his day, as if this was totally normal.

It's not that he didn't understand what was going on or didn't care.

He was just too awkward and scared to stand up to himself.

So he often just came home, feeling hopeless and in despair.

Many times he hardly ate and would end up crawling inside his blankets and cry himself to sleep.

Even the few people he talked to stopped associating themselves with him out of fear of becoming the bullies' next target.

So Mingi resigned himself to being alone and to think no one would ever care about him....

Until you came along.

You had recently transferred to his school and one of the first things you saw was the poor sandy hair colored giant get punched in the stomach by his locker.

You were so disgusted and sickened by their behavior that you did not hesitate to go over and make sure he was all right.

"Hey, do you need help?" You asked as you helped him get up.

"I I'm fine...t-thanks.." Without another word, he left you standing there, running off to his next class.

He thought that'd be the last time he saw you but during lunch break, you made it a point to look for him and talk to him.

"Are you feeling better?"

Mingi looked up at you with wide eyes, wondering if it really was him you were talking to.

"Y-yeah...I'm fine. T-thanks"

Smiling at him, you sat next to him, taking out your lunch while trying to make conversation with him.

All throughout it, Mingi seemed agitated, scared almost.

You felt really bad and asked him if something was bothering him.

Sighing he told you:

"Look, I appreciate your concern, but I think it's best if you stay away from me.... I don't want them to hurt you because of me..."

You saw the sadness in his eyes, the loneliness behind them and that made you want to stay with him even more.

"What's your name?" You asked what you had really wanted to know since the beginning.

"Song Mingi." He answered you.

Grinning at him, you held out your hand.

"Well Song Mingi, I'm L/N Y/N. Your soon to be new best friend."

Mingi's mouth dropped at your words, he couldn't possibly believe you were serious.

But you were and not only did you become his closest friend, you also became his protector.

Unlike him, you were fearless, vivacious, outgoing and spontaneous.

And Mingi began to admire you a lot for it....

More than admired, he began to worship you, falling deeply in love with you.

For once in his life, he was happy, truly happy and filled with joy.

Instead of crying himself to sleep, he went to bed all excited to spend the next day with you.

And of course you two spent a lot of time together, since he became your math tutor cause you were the absolute worst with numbers.

You were thankful that Mingi was so patient and caring towards you.

He never showed any signs of frustration or annoyance even after explaining the equation to you about 20 times.

"Y/N. Pay attention or you won't ace the test." He often told you, adding a little pinch to your nose or cheek to get you to focus.

He also loved just talking to you during these sessions.

Obviously being your best friend, he also ended up picking up on what sort of things you liked in a guy.

He would often observe you at school or while you two were out.

One time he even read through a few of your messages with one of your other friends from your old school.

It was exactly what Mingi needed to know, he now had a glimpse of the type of boyfriend you wanted.

And for you.....he'd end up becoming that boyfriend.

So while you were in spring break, he prepared everything.

He got rid of his cardigans and vests, trading them for leather and jean jackets.

He ended up cutting his hair differently and started wearing tighter fitting pants that accentuated his thick thighs.

So when you saw him again, it was a complete 180° from the shy, nerdy boy you knew.

"Whoah! Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

You weren't going to lie, Mingi did look very attractive.

You were glad though that he was still the cute, adorable and somewhat clumsy boy he was when you first met him.

Because that's the Mingi you knew and loved.

And you wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.

It was after finals that Mingi decided to ask you out.

You were both out celebrating the fact you both passed when he popped the question:

"Y/N will you go out with me?" He suddenly blurted out.

You were taken aback, but said yes nonetheless.

Mingi was so happy.

He was extremely devoted to you as a boyfriend, always saying yes to you and going along with whatever it was you wanted.

Anything you said, he would do it.

"Anywhere you want to go is fine with me."

"Anything you want is fine with me."

You thought it was really sweet at first, he really wanted to make you happy.

But after almost a year of dating, it kinda started to get annoying.

It bothered you that he never seemed to have an opinion of his own.

You actually snapped at him one day while planning a date out.

"Can't you freaking decide for yourself once?"

Mingi just whipped his head at you, unable to comprehend why you were yelling at him.

"Do you not even care about me or this relationship? Cause honestly it seems like you're not actually putting effort into it and if it's like that, why am I even wasting my time on you?"

Mingi got really scared when you began walking out the door, he pleaded with you to stay, to talk through it.

"I'll do anything! Y/N please just don't leave me! What do you want me to do?!" He begged as he got on his knees.

"I want you to leave me alone!"

Alone......that word struck a chord in Mingi's head.....alone.

No....he couldn't go back to being alone...go back to the cold world that he was used to.

He began hyperventilating, his head was spinning and it was pounding like there was no tomorrow.

He doesn't remember much after that. All he remembers was the annoying knocking at the door.

He remembers opening it and seeing a random salesperson there....

But after that, it's all a big black faze, and when he finally came to his senses....

He was covered in blood, and a bludgeoned corpse was sprawled across the kitchen floor.

Although he was panicking, Mingi knew that you could not find out about this.

So he quickly got to work and cleaned up all traces of blood and managed to get rid of the body with no one seeing him.

He was so confused about what happened and panicking about if you found out, that he didn't hear you come in the house until you literally stood in front of him.

He instantly got on his knees and hugged your waist.

"Baby I was so scared that you left me forever! Please I'm sorry I made you feel like I don't care about you, I do! I fucking love you so much, and I promise I'll try harder....

Just for you..."

You felt so bad seeing him, and truly you loved him and felt like it was a petty thing to get mad about.

You pulled him up and reassured him that you weren't mad anymore and that you were too much in love with him to leave.

Mingi felt so relieved. He couldn't even begin to fathom what would happen if he did lose you.

He'd probably go insane.

True to his word, Mingi did try harder to get rid of that habit of just following what you said like a little puppy, and would now start expressing himself more.

Now the problem was he went the complete opposite direction: now he seemed to question your every decision and it would lead to small tiny banters between you two.

One time you got tired of him making a fuss over the fact you were spending so much time with a classmate that it turned really ugly.

"We're working on a project Mingi! Nothing else!" You shouted at him.

"What do you need to be going to his house though and staying til late hours of the night? Why can't you two do it here?!"

"Because you end up distracting us both and throwing passive aggressive words to him." You were exhausted from all the screaming by now you were losing your patience.

"Are you sure it's not because you're just whoring yourself out with them?" He didn't mean for those words to come out...but they did.

And you didn't mean to get so angry to the point of slapping him, but you did and that's when it hit you that you went too far.

You both stood there stunned at what happened, Mingi more hurt than anything by your actions, while you felt ashamed of yourself.

You lifted your hand against the very person you were protecting at first.....and now you hated yourself for hurting him like his past bullies.

Ashamed and full of guilt, you turned away and began walking out.

"Wait no! Y/N please! It's ok! It was my fault! I shouldn't have said that! Please let's just work it out!"

"No Mingi! I can't! I..... I need a break."

Mingi's world came crumbling down when you said that. He went into a slight catatonic state as he watched you walk away.

Once he regained his senses, he ran after you, desperate to bring you back, running around aimlessly through the dark streets and alleys, calling out for you but you were nowhere to be seen.

"Get lost you dirty bastard." A passerby rudely shoved him out of the way.

In a matter of seconds, Mingi's eyes darkened, his fist clenched at his side as rage now coursed through his body.

He turned his head to look back at the stranger who was now walking away.

Smirking, Mingi pulled out the switchblade he was carrying in his pocket before creeping quietly to the man.

Someone had to pay the price and feel the wrath and despair he felt at losing his goddess......and he found them.

It had been roughly a month since you last saw Mingi and although you hated to admit it, you missed him. But you knew you had to stay away for his sake.

But things don't go as planned and you soon found out you were going to have to see him sooner than you thought...

Because you were now pregnant with his child and you had to let him know.

You were so nervous about telling him, your hand trembled as you opened the door to the apartment you used to share with Mingi.

You quietly stepped inside, too afraid to call out for him just yet.

But then you heard some weird noises coming from the bedroom, your heart somewhat dropping when you distinguished what sounded like moans and panting.

You could also make out Mingi's deep voice calling out your name.

Opening the door open, your hand flew to your mouth, semi-muffling your sharp gasp as you took in the scene of Mingi fucking some random girl with her face covered on the bed you two shared not too long ago.

"What the fuck Mingi?!" You exclaimed in utter disgust and betrayal.

"Y/N! I can explain!" All color drained from Mingi's face as he pulled himself out of the girl and quickly dressed himself.

You couldn't bear to stay there another moment, you just ran out of there once again.

But you didn't get far because Mingi swiftly caught up to you and enraptured you in his arms.

"Don't touch me! You're disgusting! You liar! You cheater!" You tossed and writhed around as you tried to escape his grasp, while Mingi tried to hold you still and trying to talk to you.

You felt an immense pain run through your stomach at that moment, your body becoming paralyzed as some weird and excruciating torment bursted in you.

Mingi noticed as well how you clutched your stomach and had difficulty breathing so he wasted no time in taking you to the hospital.

You woke up hours later, late at night, a nurse by your side and Mingi on the other, his hand holding onto yours as tears poured from his eyes.

"What happened?" You immediately asked, your hand instinctively going to your belly.

The nurse explained with sorrow how you had lost the baby, apologizing profusely to you, knowing you were probably in pain.

You went berserk when she told you that, first you denied it, then you began screaming while trying to pull off the IVs attached to you.

Mingi tried to calm you down, but instead he made things worse with his presence.

"This is all your fault! If it wasn't because of you, my baby would be alive!"

Those words cut Mingi deep inside, you killed him immediately with them.

Other nurses rushed in to calm you down as one of them pulled Mingi away for his protection and for yours.

You were numb for the next few days, refusing to see anyone and especially not Mingi, you gave strict orders not to let him in.

You were planning on never seeing him again.

The very day you were released from the hospital though, he was the first person you encountered while you were on your way home.

"Y/N?" He asked, startling you when he came out from the corner.

Your feet shifted slowly, almost losing balance on the small step on your front door.

"What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you." Not wanting to waste another minute, you quickly punched in your passcode.

"Y/N baby you don't mean that! I love you! And you love me!"

You let out a dry and haughty laugh at that.

"You? Love me? Is that why you were fucking some whore behind my back?"

"I swear she didn't mean anything! And I made her cover her face because I was thinking of you the entire time..."

You rolled your eyes at that, feeling absolutely disgusted.

"But then I realized she was to blame for everything and so I got rid of her so I can make you happy, forgive me and we could start again."

You halted your actions when he said that.

"Mingi...what do you mean you got rid of her?"

If his last words disturbed you, now you were absolutely horrified as he calmly told you how he mutilated her body and discarded her remains in a lake outside of the city.

You actually felt sick and nearly threw up right then and there.

"Mingi.....what..... you're insane! How could you-?"

Mingi couldn't understand why you were upset.

"Don't you see? I did it for you Y/N. Everything I've ever done is for you."

Now it dawned on you, the person you've ever loved was sick, extremely sick and needed help.

"Mingi.....don't come near me again....stay away....seriously..."

And once again another struggle between you two ensued, you wanting to run away while he held onto you for dear life.

"Stop Mingi! Let me go! I don't love you anymore!"

The spinning in his head started once again, his vision becoming hazy, he could hear his own heartbeat resonating in his ears, his hand shook violently as it reached for an all too familiar object he kept hidden in his pocket....

Everything turned dark and blinding....

But when he came back, there he was, staring in shock at your lifeless body, a fresh, clean cut running all across your neck, blood still spurting out and staining his hands.

"Oh my God! What have I done?!" Mingi cried out, wailing and screaming erratically at the thought that he had just murdered his soulmate with his own hands.

He couldn't bear the thought of living without you, he just couldn't....

And so he picked up the very tool he used to kill you and held up to his own neck....

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[paperpocalypse]

duty.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 13. Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Aristocrat!Reader

Word Count: 2,407 words

Warning: Wonky and inaccurate aristocrat/rich people politics and marrying young because of it, please bear with me

[A/N: No powers!Historical!AU]

The elegance of the Hargreeves estate is of the dark, academic sort – polished, reserved, all sharp lines and dim lighting and old books – and you’d feel quite intimidated by it if you were any less acquainted with its occupants. You and your sister always look out of place when you visit, bright splotches of summer color roaming the narrow, perpetually autumnal hallways; and when congregating with the siblings in the library or outside, any visitor could glance at your merry group and immediately tell apart the hosts and the guests. 

It’s all a reflection of your respective parents, really – if you had any say in how you presented yourself, it certainly wouldn’t be in the vivid, youthful hues of your mother’s choosing, and you’re sure that some of the others have similar sentiments. 

Because while your family and Five’s family are certainly different in some ways, their respective heads are both pretty damn suffocating.

“Looks like it’s a draw.”

You grunt, displeased, and collapse back in your chair, bundling up in your blanket. “Can’t take a loss, can you, Five?”

“Not if I can help it,” he answers. His frown and crossed arms speak to his dissatisfaction with the result; losing is never an option, but clear-cut victories are always better than a draw. “Want to play again?”

The suggestion is tempting. Very tempting. You reach out and pick up your king, feeling the cold, smooth marble against the pads of your fingertips, and purse your lips in thought. Your eyes flick up briefly to meet Five’s.

Oh.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you finally say, putting the piece down. “I’m getting a bit tired.”

Five studies you for a moment, head tilting in that particular, scrutinizing way of his. Then his expression smooths out and he nods.

After putting the pieces back into place, the two of you exit the warmth of the library and head towards the guest wing. The walk is silent; you keep your borrowed blanket wrapped snugly around your shoulders, the bottom dragging across the perfect, wooden floor as you look at the paintings hung along the wall. They’re landscapes, mostly – of dark green forests; cold, still oceans; blue-grey mountains shrouded in mist. Impersonal and very fitting for the tastes of Five’s father, that’s for sure.

When you reach your room, you smile at your companion, and it feels unnaturally polite. “Well, goodnight, Five.”

“Goodnight.”

The boy turns and strolls back down the hallway, and you wait until he disappears around the corner, chewing on your bottom lip, before pushing the door open to enter your room.

“You two are duller than an ashtray. 'Goodnight’?”

“Sh –” you bite back an expletive, whipping around to glare at the intruder on your bed. “Lila, go back to your own room!”

Your sister just stares at you from her upside-down position, arms and legs splayed out as she smiles. “You still haven’t talked about it, have you?”

“We don’t need to,” you snap back quietly, closing the door as quickly as you can without slamming it. “He understands it as well as you and I do.”

“You realize Mum never said you’ll have to marry the guy.”

“Of course not; she just strongly suggested it.”

“Still not an order.”

Her flippancy causes you to glare. “Lord Harold is rich and he’s willing –"

“He’s a massive creep,” she interrupts, giving you an incredulous look. “And you just came of age, [Y/n]. You’ll be miserable.”

“I can get it annulled after five years, remember?”

“You’re really going to last for five years?”

She’s trying to pull something out of you, you know it. You try to maintain your composure.

“A massive debt isn’t going to just disappear,” you repeat. “It was either him or Lady Helen, and Helen got betrothed last month. Harold’s the quickest way to fix it, in case you forgot.”

“And in case you forgot, it’s literally not your problem. Stop making a martyr of yourself when you don’t have to.” Lila sits up and swivels around to face you, crossing her legs. Her expression is expectant. “I’ll figure something out, so don’t throw a fit, alright? The debt’s going to be mine along with the estate. You can afford to disappoint Mum for once in your life.”

Your brow furrows. “Lila  –”

“If you keep arguing, I’m going to smother you with a pillow,” she says. “Either you agree with me, or you tell your future love affair that you’re marrying a human toad in the spring.”

“Future lo – it’s not like that! We’re friends!”

Lila holds your indignant gaze. Then, with practiced, unladylike ease, she hops off your bed, puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows at you.

“You have the worst case of denial I’ve ever seen in my entire life,” she says.

“I’m being completely honest,” you retort hotly. And you are. You and Five are friends, and although the nature of your relationship is admittedly more comfortable than any other friendship you’ve had over the years, nothing between you and Five had ever been non-platonic.

(Not that you would mind something non-platonic – but as you’ve reiterated to Lila many, many times, you’re just as content being friends. Having a genuine, close companion in your world is rare, and you’re tired of everyone deciding what you and Five should be when the two of you are more than capable of figuring it out for yourselves.)

“Why do you care, anyway? Everything will be easier for you if I marry Harold.”

“And more miserable for you.” She lets her arms fall to her sides. “Look, I’m the oldest, so I’m supposed to be the miserable one, not you. It’s not the end of the world if you don’t marry Harold. Give yourself more time to grow up.”

You don’t know what to say.

Seemingly finished with her piece, Lila smiles before brushing past you, nudging your blanket to the side on her way to the door. You glance away when she looks over her shoulder at you.

“Sleep on it.”

… You do, though it’s a lot less sleep than you’d hoped.

—

The next morning is slow and lazy. It’s a good thing in your opinion, because as mentioned before, you had spent a great deal of the night thinking about what your sister had said, and your head feels quite foggy as a result. A cup of tea and a horse ride with everyone outside in the snow both help somewhat over the course of the day. However, by the time the sky begins to darken, you’re back in your room to take a nap before supper, and quickly return thereafter.

When you hear three quick raps on your door, you groan and drag yourself out of bed.

“Lila,” you grumble as you turn the knob and pull, “can’t you go bother Diego instead –”

You swallow your words when you see your actual visitor. Five gives you a brief, tight-lipped smile.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Uh,” you respond intelligently, then shake your head and step to the side, remembering your manners. “Of course.”

Five walks in and heads towards the window. You go to the couch nearby and sit down, slightly perplexed as he finds an interest in the candle burning on the sill – he’s welcome to hang around in here, certainly, but the two of you usually convene in his room or the library. The guest room doesn’t have much to offer in terms of entertainment.

In due time, the boy turns away from the frost-covered window and joins you on the couch.

“Your sister said you weren’t feeling well,” is all he says.

So that’s why he’s here. Shrugging, you put your hands in your lap, fiddling with the family ring on your middle finger. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

Your lackluster explanation isn’t enough, if his short, replying hum is anything to go by. Five leans forward, folding his hands and resting his chin on them. And what else? he seems to say.

“It’s … It’s just been a busy year, with Lila and me coming of age and all. More responsibilities and expectations, and all that,” you eventually continue, staring down at the thick, luxurious carpet at your feet. “Though I don’t have much of a right to complain. Lila’s bearing most of the pressure, since she’s the heir apparent …”

“She doesn’t seem too bothered,” Five points out, tone bland.

You allow yourself to grin. “Because we’re on vacation. Five, if you saw Lila this summer, you would’ve seen how hard she’s been working.” Not to mention all of the proposals that she had so graciously shot down, on account of her veto power and general distaste for marriage. “Honestly, the two of you have a lot in common and I don’t know why you butt heads so often.”

“I have my reasons.”

At that cryptic snark, you reach out and gain purchase on his hair, ruffling it in righteous revenge. Five grunts half-heartedly, elbowing you away. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth and you almost feel like this conversation is going to be normal – that is, as normal as it gets with a Hargreeves.

(His hair is very soft. You feel bad for messing it up, so you attempt to smooth it back into its original state; about a minute into that attempt you realize what you’re actually doing and withdraw. You shouldn’t be so improper.)

Do you have to do this?

You decide to pay the piper before you can talk yourself out of it. “You know,” you say when the joviality fades, “she’s the one who suggested that I talk to you. About my possible betrothal.”

Five’s expression flattens. He looks straight ahead again, resting his elbows on his knees. “What is there to talk about?”

“Well, you’re my closest friend and one of the smartest people I know, so I ought to ask for your opinion on the possibility of …” You reconsider for one final moment, then inhale deeply and let it out. “Of me refusing Lord Harold’s offer.”

To your slight surprise, Five nods.

“Did you talk to your mother about it?” he questions.

“Not yet,” you murmur. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it for months, but I only started seriously considering it last night. And now I really don’t want to marry Lord Harold. He unsettles me and I’m not ready.”

He frowns. “Neither of them is going to accept that as a reason.”

“I know.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “They’ll kick up a fuss over finances and it’ll be a bit of a scandal. That’s why I’m asking for your advice.”

Being the pragmatist that he is, you had thought that Five would be more averse to your plan. He himself had done things that he did not want to do in order to help his siblings, so you had assumed that despite his immediate dislike of Lord Harold since the night of your coming-of-age celebration, Five would tell you to endure a few years with the noble before disposing of him and collecting your dues. It’s the easiest way to get what you and your family needed, after all.

The fact that he’s so accepting of your decision makes you curious …

“First of all, even if he recognizes your refusal – and you’ll probably have a hard time with that, which will be an issue all on its own – your mother will try to find someone else to ship you off to,” he states, eyebrows pinched. “Preferably within the next year or so, right?”

“Yes.”

“How likely is she to push back your marriage by a few years?”

“… Not very likely,” you admit.

The boy pauses, thinking, then sits back.

“I could propose to you,” he offers, “if you’d like.”

You accidentally laugh out loud, you’re so taken aback. Five? Proposing? “Come again?”

“You heard me the first time.”

“We’re practically penniless. Would your father even give his blessing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Penniless or not, you’re an aristocrat with a title. If nothing else, Dad will accept that.”

“Neither of us want to get married.”

“And yet it’s your most realistic option thus far.” Five pins you with a serious gaze, and it finally hits you that he’s genuinely, actually asking. “Are you okay with it or not?”

“I …” You fumble over your words, staring at Five with wide eyes. “I mean, yes, I’d be okay with that, but … are you sure? You’d marry me just to get me out of another marriage?”

(Your question is not born of a doubt that he’ll go through with it. Five is a person of his word. But this is a big deal, and you’re both young, and most importantly of all, you don’t want this to be a mistake.)

“Let’s just say that I’d rather it be you than anyone else,” he mutters, shrugging softly. “This is your back-up plan, anyway. And if the marriage goes sideways, we can have it annulled after a few years and you’ll get a settlement too.”

He says it as if he’s discussing the weather. You chuckle, inexplicably reassured and amused by his bluntness. “Not even ten minutes into your proposal and you’re already thinking about an annulment? I fear for our future, Five.”

“There are worse things to be afraid of,” he replies sardonically. “Bring it up with your mom when you go back. If you can’t get out of a marriage, write me and I’ll talk to my dad.”

“Alright. You should bring Allison with you, though.”

“I suggest the same with Lila. Make it convincing.”

That won’t be too difficult. You nod, and with that, the deal seems to be sealed.  Although you’re still processing what just happened, and Five is likely realizing just what he and you are potentially getting yourselves into, the two of you share a small smile nonetheless. It is hard not to.

“Thank you,” you murmur after a while. 

Five glances over at your hands, then down at his. “Don't thank me yet."

"Alright, then. If you insist."

As your friend twists the steel ring on his index finger, you think to yourself, yes, you do want more time to grow up. But if the world won’t give that to you, you figure that a life with Five would be the next best thing. 

[narrators-journal]

Life after the fact

CW: mentions of some nasty stuff related to kids.

First part: Here

For the next few days you were a mess. Between the morning sickness and the guilt of having murdered someone, you were throwing up every bit of food or water you tried to digest, every shadow and small noise in your crappy, dirt cheap apartment at night sent you into a break down, sickened more with fear and the force of your sobs when you got overwhelmed. You never felt like you could relax, everything was nerve-wracking, and especially when you went outside. However, as the weeks passed, you got a handle on your fears. You weren't exactly okay, but you forced yourself to adjust and move on as best you could. As if the paranoia wasn't enough, you also had to deal with being pregnant on your own now. Oh god, I should've just stayed with Illumi! What the hell am I supposed to do about this whole thing?! You thought one night as you sat in your windowless bathroom, curled around the toilet, vomitting from the nerves, nausea, and violent sobbing, I wish I could just go back...apologize and just go back to the way things were. you lamented as you sucked in shakey, cold breaths that burnt your throat. It wasn't like you'd planned this far ahead, your escape attempt was a heat of the moment thing, fuelled by the fear of what might happen after you gave birth and the gut feeling that your partner would doom your child to a life akin to his own, which was definitely not a normal, healthy, or happy one. So, now you were left to suffer the last, stubborn thrashes of winter alone, in a crappy little apartment with walls so thin you could feel the last icy wind of winter when it blew, struggling with pregnancy symptoms and relentless paranoia of what will happen if or when Illumi finds you. After that night, you decided it was best to do what you could to lessen your stress, but that was easier said then done. For one, no matter the steps you took to ensure your safety, taking jobs great distances from where you live, whipping up a fake identity to use for work, limiting how often you went out, you could never fully convince yourself that you were safe from the Zoldyck family. Another thing that stopped you was your financial situation. You managed to nab a bit of cash from the car you'd stolen from the butler, using most of it on a cheap car, but, while a reasonable amount still, you still ended up taking up a job as a maid-for-hire of sorts, and usually your employers would tip you terrifically when they figured out you were pregnant, but with the gas bill, food, and the sketchy amount of rent you had to pay, you had little to nothing left to save for a better place or the baby. Finally, you realized after looking into it at one of your employer's homes during your break, that you were too far along in your pregnancy for termination, since at that point you were somewhere in your fourth month, so that left you with almost no other option than to find a way to give birth. After that, you just settled for having the child at home to avoid the paper trail a doctor's office would need and than leaving the baby at a church. They'll take the kid in and put it into foster care, which is a safer gamble than the Zoldycks. You thought, wiping the beginnings of tears from your eyes as you drove to the day's job. For the remainder of the day, you focused on your work, cleaning up toys, doing and folding laundry, making beds, the usual duties for this particular household, and did your best to not think about your past. That is, until you heard someone knock on the door while you were upstairs mopping the bathroom. The sound instantly sent ice down your spine. It felt as if the world skipped a beat in time with your heart, but at another knock, you took a deep breath and inched towards the distant door. Your heart thundered in your chest so hard that it hurt, but you picked your way down, staying away from the windows and doing your best to move stealthily with the slowly growing bump of your stomach until you could look out of the front door's peep hole. Thank the heavens it was simply your employer, a neatly dressed, glasses clad woman who you'd heard was a lawyer or CEO of some sort, not an assassin. So, just as she gave a third, more impatient knock, you opened the door,             "I'm so sorry ma'am! I couldn't move too quickly to get to the door sooner," you said, not meaning to sound near hysterics, but at least that made you sound super apologetic as the woman huffed in annoyance,             "It's fine, I just had my entire day upheaved." she said, walking in and you swiftly shut the door, not thinking much of the figure you saw standing at the roadside from the corner of your eye, she commonly had other helpers here when you were, it was likely just a gardener or someone to bring in her bags. "First, I burn myself with coffee at 6 am this morning, than I have to drive three damned hours to the airport just to find out my business trip was cancelled because the client decided to cut ties with my work! Ugh, don't get me started on tr-" The woman paused her ranting and hair adjustments suddenly, looking at you with concern and confusion on her dark-skinned face, "Are you alright, dear? Why are you crying?" Her voice was gentle, all annoyance gone when she'd realized you were upset, but it still made you jump and feel a small spark of guilt at the show of vulnerability, something you'd been fighting to repress. But your emotions had been so unpredictable recently, it only made sense that you failed.            "I-I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me," you sniffed, scrubbing at your tears as she put a reassuring hand on your back and led you to a chair, letting you sit down,            "Don't worry about it, I just thought I was the one to upset you. Are you sure you're alright?" You nodded as she looked you over, looking so parental and compassionate, it made your heart hurt. And just like that, even more tears were falling onto your clothes as a sharp knife of loneliness cut through you. You did your best to at least slow the streams of tears, but seeing this woman you hardly knew be so motherly and understanding reminded you of your own mother, or maybe those times Kikyo had helped you through the beginnings of morning sickness or nausea. Either way, your boss' actions hit a chord and now you were trying not to bawl while she offered you tissues and talked you down from the hormonal extreme.          "I see now, must be the pregnancy talking." she laughed a little, "when I was expecting my eldest, the mood swings never really left, and just about anything would set me off. I remember one time, my husband had made me breakfast and I ended up sobbing over it for a good five minutes while he was just mortified." she said, giving you a comforting smile when you weakly laughed. Finally, when you were past the violent sobs, your boss helped you up and led you to the kitchen so you could splash some water on your face and she could get you some tea to help you relax. Once you were settled down at the table, warm cup of tea between your hands, your boss sat at the table with you and let you take a few sips before asking,           "So, do you have any plans set for the baby?" she asked, and you felt her warm eyes drawing out all of your issues. You started out pretty vague, admitting you weren't really sure of what to do, but that soon led to you going into detail about how you didn't think you'd be keeping the child and probably putting them up for adoption since you couldn't afford them. You told her that you felt so bad for the decision, but you didn't want to raise your child in poverty or worsen their quality of life in general, which your boss understood, laying her dark hand on yours soothingly as you spoke. For the next hour or so, you sat with the woman and she helped you through all of your options. You told her that the father of the child wasn't the best, so she explained good ways to limit contact and how to keep track of every instance of neglect, abuse, or anything of the sort just in case things required lawyers and courts. By the time you'd left her home for the day, you were feeling much better about your situation, and while your plans to put the baby up for adoption hadn't changed, you were much more confident in the steps to go about it. You kept that job for two or three more trips, telling your boss of your plans to stop after that. She understood perfectly and made sure your pay was doubled,           "Pretty soon you'll come up on being six months, you won't be able to do a lot in your third trimester." she pointed out after you refused to accept her money, but that wasn't the only kind thing she did for you. No, on your second to last job with her family she had basically spun you around at the door and herded you out to her car. "I understand you're trying to keep as low a profile as possible, but I can't in good conscious not have that child checked on." she told you as she drove you to a check up, patting your hand and just letting you bawl, but she refused to let you apologize for her helping. In fact, when you thought back on the drive after the appointment, she seemed somewhat sad, but you couldn't exactly place why and on the drive back you didn't want to ask and open an old wound. So, you simply didn't say anything about it and went home that night with knowledge that so far your baby seemed fine, and a tip from your boss to find some time to relax more, "Make sure to destress as best you can, it's good for your mental health and the baby." she advised, as motherly as ever. So, you decided on your drive home to give that advice a shot. At least once. So, after your last job with that family, while spring time was beginning to really settle in outside, leaving a crisp but fresh feeling night in the wake of a lukewarm day, you had borrowed a book from a neighbor and ran yourself a warm bath to hopefully relax in, even if you likely wouldn't be able to get out of it super easily when bedtime rolled around. Despite that fact, sinking into the warm water felt like heaven to your aching back, breasts, and hips. So, you relaxed in the water for a long while, two hours or so, just reading the book and occasionally putting your hand on your belly to feel the baby kick. The only thing that could've made the night better was if you had some scented candles and maybe a shoulder rub, but you were content with settling for this. All around, the night was near perfect, and that was somewhat because you refused to let your anxiety at the little creaks of your floor or the sounds of your neighbors opening their own doors in the ratty old hall destroy your good time. Eventually, you did get out of the cooled water with some work and got dressed in your comfiest clothes before going to bed, feeling rather happy and relaxed, and thus falling asleep rather quickly. That night, you had quite the weird dream. You weren't a stranger to nightmares about Illumi or the Zoldycks, but this dream was much more melancholy. At the start, it was pretty normal, a nonsensical flurry of dream-logic-fuelled, stream of consciousness, but than things got a bit easier to follow, and the dream took a turn from non-sense, to a bittersweet dream of laying in bed with Illumi again, letting him feel your belly and generally being happy with an undertone of 'something's off' to it. When you woke up the next day you were hit with a tsunami of yearning for that scenario, or any scenario that meant you got cuddled and comforted, and didn't feel so crushingly alone. For the twentieth time since the beginning of the month, you thought of returning to the Zoldyck estate, or at least making it easier for your fiance to find you, but than your common sense kicked in to stomp out that fantasy. No! If I go back my life will be more than just miserable boredom and restrictions. It'll become worse than hell! Illumi will be pissed beyond belief and will probably do something extreme to me! Your fearful inner voice had a point, Illumi had already threatened you when you'd asked to go out without him that day, he'd undoubtedly do worse to you for not only trying to run, but staying gone for so long and putting your baby under so much stress. Oh god, what would he do if I miscarry? The mere thought of his reaction was enough to settle the debate. You'd stay gone. You'd put up with the apartment that smelled of wet dogs and smoke, the paper thin walls, the exorbitant rent, you'd leave your baby at a church once they were born, and you'd go off the grid. If you could help it, you'd never go back to face Illumi and his family.

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 5.2 - Stand By Me

2. ESCAPE

Random girls: oh no the girls are fighting

Translation Notes

1. Koutairen is the abbreviation for the All Japan High School Athletic Federation.

2. Kuroba calls his relatives おんちゃん and aunt is おばちゃん, so yeah

3. Economy class syndrome is “deep-vein thrombosis said to be caused by periods of prolonged immobility on long-haul flights.”

4. Murderer was in English in the original text

Previous || Index || Next

The bridge in the middle of Monshiro Town and Suzumu City was the goal of Haijima’s daily jogs. At the end of his jog, he dashed across the concrete bridge that was shining silver in the scorching August sun, then made a U-turn at that same speed and ran down to the riverbank. “Uwah!” His soles slipped on the overgrown summer grass. He ended up sliding down to a flat area of the riverbank on the enamel bag he carried on his back.

Hah, hah…He lay there for a while, breathing heavily. In the shadow of the bridge, the temperature felt a little cooler than on the bridge. He could feel the dampness of the summer grass soaking into his hair.

He got up unsteadily, put down his bag and took out his ball. He imagined that he was tired at the final stage of the game and purposely began to do one-person passes before he could catch his breath. With an overhand motion, he threw the ball directly above him. He continued to set the ball rhythmically no higher than a centimeter. The sound of the ball being softly flicked echoed in the quiet riverbank for a while.

The concrete piers rising from the riverbank had several colored chalk marks on them, though they were already fading. The marks were used as the attackers’ positions, and he set the ball to them. He spun around and hit the bouncing ball with a jump back set at the exact same height. He turned forward again and set the bouncing ball again. This time he intentionally changed the spot he hit it to. The ball deviated somewhat and bounced up. He then ran to chase it and crouched down and set the ball while he was underneath it. Gradually, he purposefully shifted to spots where he hit the ball to harder and harder places.

Haijima’s sets were characterized by their “speed,” but they were sets that crushed the attacker’s will, or sets that didn’t “allow for themselves to be hit,” so to speak. As the ball moved in a parabolic position, it had time to drift near the top before it began its free fall. If he set a ball that overlapped the top of the parabola with the attacker’s highest jumping point, the attacker could use that time, even if it was only a few tenths of a second, to draw out his power and hit the ball as hard as he could. In order to always have that kind of set, he had been refining his technique by focusing on unparalleled accuracy in ball handling.

Immediately after hitting the pier with a back set, the ball bounced back with a bang and he flipped it up with his elbow, still facing backwards. He jumped up to the high ball and hit the mark accurately with one hand. Technically, he could keep on doing this for an hour or two without dropping the ball. However, his legs couldn’t keep up, his toes got caught in the summer grass and he pitched forward. As he slid forward, he stretched out his body hard and thrust the back of his hand into the gap between the ball and the ground.

Although he connected with it through willpower, that was as far as he could go. The ball was flicked low in front of him and crashed into the grass.

He sprawled out on top of the grass, his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. The blue summer sky spread out above the slope pierced his eyes, and he raised his arm to cover his face.

“Shit…”

He let out a curse under his arm.

“Why do I have to do this…”

In addition to withdrawing from the semifinals of the Fall Tournament, the school gave them the severe punishment of refraining from club activities for the time being. It wasn’t that it was settled that they were guilty, but rather that the current situation was completely grey. Okuma said it was in fact because it was grey. If the fact that the scandal was real were to leak through some other channel and the school had received the report but not taken any action, the school would be on the hook. There were several such incidents a year, regardless of the type of sport. Okuma was a little more familiar with that sort of situation—it was the school’s way of protecting itself by taking strict measures, he said.

Since they weren’t banned from practicing on their own during the summer break, Haijima continued to practice on his own, just as he had done when he wasn’t a part of the team. Since he didn’t know when the next competition was going to be, he hadn’t made any adjustments for a tournament, just blindly practicing everyday to beyond the limit of his stamina, much less stopping at the limit. However, even if he practiced until he couldn’t move, he couldn’t see the effect by himself. There was only a growing sense of futility, no sense of accomplishment at all.

What am I doing here all by myself? What’s the point of practicing by myself? There’s no point in this unless I’m in a place with a net and there’s someone to set the ball to——.

Fading chalk marks on the bridge piers. The reason they were fading was because he didn’t have to practice alone anymore before, and because he didn’t draw over them these days, even when they were getting fainter.

---

It had been a month since club activities were suspended. September 2nd, the second day of the new semester—they only went to school for the morning yesterday, so today was the real first day of the new term.

When he pedalled his bike to the station, he saw the train arriving at the station building. He pedalled faster and charged in front of the station, then immediately got off his bike and jumped over the ticket gate. Monshiro Station was a desolate little hut, so the platform was right in front of the ticket gate. He ran and made it just in time through the gap in the doors as they were about to close.

A dark green afterimage intruded his vision and he momentarily felt dizzy. He took off his glasses, wiped the sweat off his face with his shirt, and exhaled. The fan spinning on the ceiling blew a strong and lukewarm wind that ruffled his hair.

I pedalled my bike as hard as I could for just a little bit, but I’m tired…

As he leaned against the railing by the doors and put his glasses back on, he noticed a tall person wearing the same uniform as him standing in front of the priority seats.  

“Granny, if you don’t tie it up properly, they’ll all fall out.”

While giving something that sounded like honest advice to the old lady sitting in the priority seats, the person was tying the mouth of a supermarket bag that was filled with some kind of fruit and then putting it on the overhead rack.

“Thank you, young master. I wish my son was as big as you.”

“Your house would get more cramped with people like me in it. My mom keeps saying I’m getting in the way.”

“Well, isn’t your house big enough?”

“Our house is wide horizontally, but it’s stuck verti…”

Kuroba also noticed him and cut himself off.

“Oh…hey, you’re kinda sunburnt.”

I was wondering what he was going to say first, but it was that? He sure has it easy.

Kuroba was dressed in his uniform, a white shirt and pants. There was a rule about ties, but few male students wore them in the summer. A colored T-shirt was showing through under his shirt, and Haijima couldn’t judge if that was cool or tacky because he didn’t have the evaluation standard for that. Haijima was just wearing the white shirt.

The only bags he had was the flimsy school bag designated by the school (it wasn’t designated to be flimsy, Kuroba just flattened it himself), and he wasn’t carrying the enamel bag for club activities. When he clicked his tongue with the implication of Look at you, just enjoying your vacation like it’s natural, Kuroba flinched a little and pouted.

They averted their gazes and leaned against the railings on either side of the door. There was no conversation that would stimulate them, so there was silence. Haijima planned on going home after doing some more self-practice today, so he had his usual enamel bag slung over his shoulder, but he couldn’t bear the weight on his shoulder and put it down on the floor. The single ball, his own that was used for outdoor practice felt terribly heavy.

He might be right when he called me sunburnt… When he turned the direction of his face, he could faintly see the frames of his glasses faintly reflected in the door glass. He had been practicing outside for overwhelmingly longer than usual, so he felt unusually burnt. I spent a lot of time outside yesterday too…so much that I don’t even remember how long I practiced. He wondered if that showed how tired he was.

Even though it was September, it was still blazing outside. However, the scenery of the paddy fields flowing outside the train window had become quite autumnal before they knew it. The growing rice plants were beginning to hang down their ears as though bowing. He squinted his eyes at the dazzling golden glow of the paddy fields reflecting the sun that had been shining brightly since morning. It seemed to overlap with his current situation, where he could only look on at a brightly sparkling world from a dim place, which made him feel even more frustrated.

Their participation in the Spring Volleyball Tournament’s preliminaries was hopeless at this stage. The semifinals would be held at the end of this month, and the two schools that would advance to the finals for both the boys’ and girls’ teams would be decided. Two months later in November, the finals will be held for the right to represent the prefecture at the National Tournament, where there was only one spot for both boys and girls. The Spring Tournament Final Selection, where representatives from all over Japan would gather, would be held in January of next year.

They had completed the application, so it seemed that they still weren’t officially non-participating yet, which was rather like a state of limbo. Even if they were allowed to resume their activities in the second semester, it would be difficult to rebuild a team that had fallen apart during the summer break in less than a month. It would be fine if their goal was to participate—but what Seiin, Haijima, Oda wanted was a ticket to Nationals. They needed the ability to beat all the teams in the prefecture and rise to the top.

What about Oda…he wondered if he had already given up on the Spring Tournament. As the days went by, he had a feeling that he was the only one feeling irritated like this every day, but when he saw Kuroba’s reaction, like he had forgotten something completely important, that worry turned into certainty.

Every time the train stopped at a station, the number of passengers and density within the train increased. Right before Nanafu Station, it became congested like it was rush hour, and the two stood side by side with their backs against the door. The two tall boys blocked the door glass, turning the inside of the car dark and causing the passengers near them to somewhat keep a distance from them.

There was a group of girls in Seiin uniforms chatting animatedly. He could tell from a glance that they belonged to a sports team, and from the logo printed on their bags, he could tell that they belonged to the girls’ softball team.

“Oh, you’re the first-years from boys’ volleyball.”

They seemed to know their faces and called out to them.

“We heard about it. Your club activities got suspended.”

They said in a teasing tone. “Yeah, well,” Kuroba said with a stiffened face and took a step over to him. While pulling his bag to between his legs with his foot, Haijima gave a side-eyed glare at Kuroba. …Don’t chicken out. What’s with that “Yeah well” and that half-smile. Aren’t you the reason why.

“…You, get a clue. It’s thanks to you that the Spring Tournament has become a total waste. We missed out on Inter-High and the National Meet, so this was our last chance to go to Nationals…”

He spat out in a biting voice, with the back of his head against the door glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kuroba’s shoulders jump.

“I, I know that much. It’s Oda-senpai and Aoki-senpai’s last year, and I feel awful about that. But if that’s the case, then you should trust me even more.”

He was just as persistent as he had been a month ago. Haijima had no idea what he was being so stubborn about. Was there anything in this world that required him to stubbornly prioritize it over the Spring Tournament? If it were him, he would say no.

“It’s not just the third-years. Why don’t you think about yourself too? We’ve only got three chances.”

He emphasized “three chances.” If he could, he would do it dozens of times, but he could only go there three times in his life.

The Spring High School Volleyball Tournament had been held in the first gym of the Yoyogi National Gymnasium in Tokyo for a long time as a March tradition, although there had been some changes to the outline of the tournament since it was moved to January. Since elementary school, Haijima had watched those recordings to the point where the tapes were literally worn out (some games were only recorded in analog form, so he went out of his way to have them shown to him on a VCR). He had imagined dozens of times, hundreds of times, that he would be fighting on that orange court—not the multi-sided court they had been playing on until the quarterfinals, but the center court right in the middle of the gym. Ever since elementary school, he had only been imagining that both when he was asleep and awake, only to suddenly realize one day that he had only three chances to actually try to go there, and that truth felt absurd to him.

When he decided to leave Meisei Middle School and go back to Fukui, he thought that with this, he had nothing to aim for anymore. But Oda’s words shone a light on what he had once stored away in a dim place.

“I honestly believe that this year’s Seiin will definitely be a team that goes to the finals.”

“Lend me all your strength.”

Can I really trust him…? If that’s the case, as long as I give it my all, I’ll get us there. After the summer training camp, he was at the point where he was becoming more and more convinced that he could make that a reality with this team, and he couldn’t step on the brakes twice.

“I can’t wait until next year. If this year’s ruined, then we lose one chance. Three chances will become two. And even if we could go there three times, it still won’t be enough.”

Why doesn’t he understand…really, how many years does this guy plan on being in high school?

“Were we told that… You seemed to be attached to the Spring Tournament, but that’s because you’re from Tokyo, right? What’s the difference between this and Inter-High or the National Meet?”

Kuroba’s tone of voice also became a little stronger. What had been sulkiness gradually became something like resentment and lashing out.

“If you wanna be in the Spring Tournament so badly, I’ve got an idea for you. You should go back to your old school in Tokyo and compete with them. You don’t care what team you’re on, as long as you can be in the game, but not Seiin. You’re only thinking about yourself anyways, aren’t you?”

“…? Why do I have to be told that? No matter how you look at it, you’re the one who’s not thinking about the team.”

Their voices, getting louder and louder, attracted attention from around them. The girls’ softball team was exchanging whispers that sounded like “Boys’ volleyball is splitting up.”

“You don’t know the rules of Koutairen (1) in the first place, do you? There’s one where it’s a general rule that if you transferred schools, you’re disqualified from participating in games unless six months has passed. If I transferred to Meisei right now, even if I get accepted, there’s no way I’d be able to compete in the Spring Tournament preliminaries anyways.”

He was starting to feel very annoyed, wondering why he had to explain all that in a place like this. As expected, Kuroba looked as though he didn’t know about such a rule, but he still snapped back, saying, “W-Well, if that’s the case…”

“You want to go back if you can be accepted, right? I knew it.”

“I didn’t talk about that at all. Let me say this clearly, even if I’m accepted, who’s gonna want me as their teammate again? I…”

His voice caught. The words that had congested in his throat were spat out in small chunks.

“I’m…the setter who caused his teammate to attempt suicide…after all…”

Kuroba widened his eyes and became speechless.

That face suddenly disappeared from his vision with a surprised “Oh?”

The train had just appeared at the station and the doors had opened. Having suddenly lost the support of his back, Haijima almost fell onto the platform.

Passengers, including many in the Seiin uniform, surged towards the doors. The current of people pushed him and he jumped onto the platform on one foot, but his bag he had put down on the floor was left behind and he hurriedly pushed his way through the crowd to go back. A large rectangular bag was slumped between people’s feet. While almost getting kneed several times, he reached for the strap and retrieved the bag.

The departure bell began to ring, so he quickly retrieved it and was about to jump off the train, but just as he put his foot down the edge of the train car, he suddenly felt hesitant.

…What’s the point of this whole day? I’m just going to school and killing time between classes, not even doing any club activities, and yet I’m just going to go home tired.

He saw Kuroba’s head in the stream of people heading for the ticket gate. It was like a rock sticking out of the shallows, his height one head above the others. While walking with the current pushing him, Kuroba turned around and shouted something at Haijima, but Haijima turned back and went back inside the car.

He sat down on a vacant seat and threw his bag out onto the aisle. Of course, the Seiin students had all got off at Nanafu, so there was no one else left who was wearing the same uniform as him.

That’s what he thought, but then he saw Kuroba’s trouser-clad legs step over the bag in front of him and stop.

Blinking, Haijima looked up.

“What the hell are you thinking…”

Kuroba, looking a little flustered, was panting heavily.

“Why are you coming back here too?”

“You’re skipping school? What are you gonna do?”

“What, you say…”

He was about to answer “Nothing really,” but then fell silent.

It wasn’t as though he had any destination or goal if he kept riding. But…

He just thought of one.

“…Kuroba. Come with me.”

“Huh? Where?”

Kuroba darted his eyes about.

“Tokyo.”

“Huh? What are you doing there?” He looked like he still didn’t understand yet.

“I’m going back. ——To Meisei.”

***

“…Huh, Yori-chan came back? …No, it’s fine, yeah…I owe you, Uncle. I’m begging you, please don’t tell anyone until tonight. It’s not like I’m running away home, I’m with a guy who knows Tokyo, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Kuroba, who had been talking in front of the station attendant’s office, came running back and said, “I kept you waiting. Here.” He pushed half of the bundle of tickets into his hand.

Fukui Station was in the center of the northern part of Fukui Prefecture and a terminal station where limited express trains stopped. The express train from here to Maibara in Shiga Prefecture and the bullet train from Maibara to Tokyo cost about 13,000 yen for a one-way trip—not an amount that a high school student could afford after making up his mind on the spot, so they had Kuroba’s relative who worked at the station to arrange the tickets for him. He didn’t know if tabs were a thing at train stations, but it felt like it was Kuroba’s tab.

With a humble look on his face, Haijima received the ticket.

“You asked me to come with you, but you used me as your wallet.”

“It’s not like that. I’ll repay you. My dad will be there when we get there.”

“Well, I don’t really mind. Oh, that relative of mine just now is my aunt’s…Yori-chan’s mom’s younger brother.”

“I don’t get it.” The relatives and aunts got mixed up in his mind. (2) Were there really hundreds of relatives related to the Kuroba family around here?

“Yori-chan went out of the prefecture to play again during vacation, but he arrived on a night bus a little while ago and came back to town the same time as us.”

Since the departure time of the special express train was approaching, they talked as they ran up the stairs to the platform and jumped in through the nearest door.

It was a weekday, but the unreserved seats were quite packed. Most of the passengers were in two categories: groups of young people on summer vacation since universities were still on break, and businessmen on business trips. They looked terribly out of place in their high school uniforms, but thanks to Haijima’s enamel bag, which was easily recognized as something for club activities from an outsider’s perspective, they should look like they were going to an away game or something.

Kuroba found two empty seats and took the window seat first. Haijima shoved his bulky bag into the overhead rack and sat down in the aisle seat. The two of them were taller than most people, so it was quite a bit of trouble for them to tuck their legs in.

“The seats are so cramped in limited express. Won’t we get that economy class syndrome thing?” (3)

“It’s only a little over an hour to Maibara. Bear with it.”

“Accused of misconduct, then skipping school in the new semester and escaping outside the prefecture, can my situation get even worse…umm, how do you put the seat down, oh, here?”

As he continued to complain, Kuroba pushed down the back of his seat one notch, and when he thought he was going to rest his back on it, he pressed his face against the window and said excitedly, “Oh, it looks like we’re setting out already!” Even though he had been complaining about his situation, he was completely acting like he was on a school trip, saying, “Let’s buy a station lunch if they’re selling food in the train. I’m starving.” This guy fundamentally has weak self-awareness.

It shouldn’t have been reassuring at all to bring along a country bumpkin who got excited just by riding the express and having to take care of him, only adding to his burdens—but he convulsively invited Kuroba. Even if he hadn’t depended on his wallet, he didn’t think he would have even thought of going if he was alone.

Kuroba made an “Mmm?” sound and stirred, rising from his seat. Haijima was fed up, wondering why he couldn’t stay calm like that, but it seemed that he got a call as he took out his vibrating cell phone from his back pocket. As soon as he checked the caller, he got a startled look on his face. “Itoko…ah, not Yori-chan, but my cousin, Itoko.” “Your relatives sure are complicated.”

He thought he was going to answer, but he only indecisively stared at the message, not even attempting to respond.

“What if it’s an emergency?”

“No…we had a little fight, and she was staying angry at me, so what’s with the sudden…”

Kuroba clamped the phone between his hands and the vibration eventually stopped.

“Ah, she stopped.”

His voice when he said that sounded a little disappointed as he breathed a sigh of relief.

The gravity from the front lightly pressed him against his seat. Haijima imitated Kuroba and lowered the back of his seat down a notch, resting the back of his head against it and relaxing. He slowly closed his eyes and turned his attention towards the vibrations beginning to come from underneath his buttocks and the muffled sound of the train as it gradually picked up speed. He didn’t mind the feeling of being wrapped in a thin barrier, something characteristic to long-distance trains.

It’s been a while since I felt this feeling. In the winter of my second grade of middle school, I rode the express train in the opposite direction…

“Haijima.”

It came from next to him. It was no longer high-spirited, but calm.

“You’re not seriously going to transfer schools, right…?”

“You’re still saying that?”

Haijima answered curtly and opened his eyes.

“If you’re not, then what…”

“Who knows.”

“What do you mean, who knows?”

Kuroba’s voice became a bit wild, as though he was impatient, but even if he said that, it wasn’t as though Haijima had any specific predictions about what would happen.

After that “test of courage” incident at the summer training camp, he began to have nightmares from time to time. He didn’t really hold a grudge against Okuma and the others for their prank. It was just that those people didn’t know his circumstances, and it made him realize that he was still dragging along what happened at Meisei.

It might be that something would be put behind him for the better, it might be that something worse would happen. It might look foolish to be desperate and going out of his way to have his wounds gouged out, but in any case, if he stayed here, then this summer would end fruitlessly in a state of limbo. For Haijima, this current situation where he couldn’t go forward or back was unbearable, to the point where he thought that it would be better to just destroy everything once and for all.

“I thought if I met Souta, it would play out one way or another.”

“Souuuta.”

Kuroba repeated the name in a strange monotone, then cleared his throat like there was phlegm stuck in it.

“Hey, if you don’t mind me asking…what happened at your Tokyo school…?”

“I might as well. I’m the one who made you come with me, so it makes sense for me to tell you. We have time while riding anyways.”

“I-It’s not like I’m curious or anything, okay? You don’t have to talk about what you don’t want to talk about.”

“Don’t get so weirdly worked up over it.”

Although he said that, this guy was someone who paid attention to the needs of others by nature. Unlike him, he could be considerate in order to not hurt others. …Oh, was he coughing because he found it hard to ask? It was then that he realized that the excessively high-spirited chattering might because he was finding the right moment to broach what he wanted to ask.

“He’s the guy who…attempted suicide, right? What kind of person is this Souta…?”

“Yoshino Souta. My volleyball buddy since fourth grade.”

Haijima began to play volleyball when he was in fourth grade. The Haijima family was a father-son household, but his father came home late and he had to stay home alone for a long time, so he was enrolled into a local elementary schooler volleyball club as a substitute for after-school childcare. The club itself wasn’t a full-fledged one, as its main objective was to improve the physical fitness of children, but Haijima became more and more absorbed in it, to the point where volleyball became everything to him before he knew it. Volleyball might have become something like a parent to him.

It was at this club that he met Yoshino Souta and Komukai Tetsuto, and they would later play together at Meisei Middle School. Although they went to different elementary schools, they invited each other to continue playing volleyball at the same middle school, and they all took the entrance exams for Meisei Private Academy Middle School.

“Our coach was named Minami-sensei, who took care of us older kids under the head coach, and the one who told us about Meisei. Sensei told us that it was a powerhouse school in Tokyo, with great facilities, and that they worked closely with their high school to nurture their players over the long term. So we all promised Sensei that we’ll definitely go to the Spring Tournament from Meisei High.”

“Heh…With such a good team and environment…” How did something like that happen? He seemed to want to say.

Why did it become like that, really. When he was in elementary school, everyone got along well. They all looked forward to the days they had club, and there was never a conflict of opinions that created a bad atmosphere.

However, that was probably because their positions were fluid and they were playing volleyball half in fun. As they started to play a serious and strict team, the disparity in ability and physique became more and more apparent, and their old relationships changed before they knew it. Haijima himself probably realized it quite late, but it seemed that everyone distanced themselves from him from the very beginning.

“Can’t you get it up there? If you don’t do that, I can’t do anything either.”

There was a time when Haijima lost his temper because the attackers’ serve return rate was terrible.

“You don’t do receives, so don’t talk to us about anything. If you’re gonna tell people to do something, do it yourself first.”

“If I do the first touch, then I can’t be the setter. If I’m not in the middle, there’s no offense. The left’s job is to receive first and foremost. It’s the job of all of you to connect to me. I’m not gonna let someone who’s not gonna do that to spike.”

Haijima thought he had said something obvious. Even thinking about it now, he was sure he wasn’t wrong in theory. No matter what formation it was, the setter didn’t take part in the reception. However, his statement made the atmosphere rough.

Apparently, this kind of thing would happen so often that his teammates would go online to enthusiastically badmouth Haijima to each other in order to vent their frustrations. Someone’s mother must have happened to see their screen, and shocked by the situation, the mothers overreacted and it reached the coach in the form of harsh advice from the parent’s association.

“Haijima, why did you have to say things that way…? I’m not a teacher at this school, so I won’t delve into it that much, but could you please think over your words a little bit more? That’s why, even though it’d be fatal for us if we don’t have you, you’re benched for the next game.”

The mothers’ cooperation was important not only in terms of funding, but also for training camps and away games, so the coach was probably reluctant to speak out. He decided to temporarily drop Haijima from the starting lineup for the tournament in the fall with the sense of “appeasing them.”

It was on the very day of the tournament.

Yoshino Souta attempted suicide by slitting his wrists.

The direct trigger for this was the fight with Haijima during practice two days ago, apparently.

“MURDERER…do you know what that means?” (4)

“…? Um…what was it again?”

He was suddenly asked a question and gave a quizzical response. He didn’t want to give him a quiz, so he immediately said the answer.

“A killer.”

Kuroba’s seat suddenly creaked as he sat up and looked at him. Haijima only gave him a side glance and purposely continued to speak detachedly.

“I also didn’t know until I looked it up in the dictionary, so I guess they weren’t really good at bullying. Even if they drew graffiti with a word I couldn’t read, it didn’t really affect me. …Until I went home and looked it up.”

The Yoshino incident spread outside the club, probably embellished, and he ended up being harassed in school. When he came to school in the morning, there were words carved on his desk, or his textbooks and school shoes went missing. It was of course unpleasant and disgusting to see his shoes lined up in front of the fence on the roof (which was of course off limits as a general rule). Going to school because he had club activities remained the same in middle school and now. Haijima didn’t have any reason where he had to cling to his classes to the point of struggling to find what he had lost and being treated as entertainment as he did that. Staying home from school was an easy decision.

“So with the end of the second semester, I stopped going to school for a month, and I transferred here for the third semester…and you know what happened after that. …That’s pretty much it.”

The blood drained from Kuroba’s face. It rubbed him the wrong way a little, wondering why he was making that face even though he wasn’t the one who had those things done to him. He understood, though. He’s got that kind of personality, so he sympathizes with me and feels sorry for me. But it actually hurt him to recognize anew that he had been through something that made him be pitied.

“…Haijima. After hearing your story, I have a feeling that you really shouldn’t go there… I think going back to a place like that would make you feel painful feelings again, and nothing good will come of it…”

“You’re the one who started it. You told me to go back to Tokyo right now.”

“Oh, that, well, that was more like tit for tat…”

“Take responsibility. I don’t need you to get cold feet. Because…I might be the one who’s getting cold feet.”

“…”

Kuroba kept stiflingly silent. The passengers sitting in the seats in front of them reclined their seats like they had arranged it beforehand, making it too cramped for them. Still silent, the two obediently bent their knees. The four knees in black pants tightly lined up before them.

A small vibration began sounding at the window. Kuroba’s phone, placed on the window frame, received another message. Kuroba took his phone and muttered, “Ah…it’s Itoko again.”

“Why don’t you just answer her?”

Haijima moved his legs aside to make room for him to leave, but Kuroba shook his head with an “Oh, no…” and pressed the power button on his phone. “It’s fine.”

Previous || Index || Next

[ri-ahhh]

cake for dessert

Grayson wants a slice of MJ for dessert on a rainy day

4.8k

warnings: badly written smut

A/N: one of the MJ things I promised to upload. It’s storming like crazy here and this is all I want in life rn so I figured this was the one to post.

***

A chilly spring rain has descended over LA out of nowhere, as MJ discovers with surprise when she and her best friend Lainey step out of their final store at The Grove. That Saturday had started off warm and sunny, a perfect weekend day to spend out and about, but the storm rolling in is suddenly derailing her and Lainey’s plans for a chill afternoon at the beach.

“Well, shit,” Lainey remarks, glancing up at the dark clouds looming in the not-so-distant skyline.

“Right?” MJ concurs. She scrunches her nose and watches Lainey pout as they consider what else they might do with their Saturday. With MJ still busy working hard at her new job and, admittedly, being wrapped up in the fading newness of Grayson, she and Lainey haven't had much time to spend together. Especially considering her friend’s own relationship and hectic schedule.

A fat raindrop surprises her by landing on her nose, and both of them giggle as the sudden light sprinkle becomes more steady. They hurry down the walkway to the parking garage until they find MJ’s car, hurrying inside and slamming the doors just in time for the rain to start really coming down.

“Looks like we’re going home, unless you want to fight the LA drivers who have no idea what they're doing in the rain to go to a movie or something,” MJ jokes, selecting her favorite rainy day playlist full of Tame Impala, Bon Iver, Rex Orange County, and the like to serenade them on the way back to her apartment.

Lainey laughs. She’s also from out of state and shares MJ’s anecdotal opinion of the LA natives. “Yeah, as much as I want to stay and cuddle and feed each other takeout, I think for that reason I’m gonna have to head out when we get to your place. It’ll take me an extra hour to get home because of this.”

Now it’s MJ’s turn to playfully but also somewhat seriously jut out her lower lip in an impression of Lainey’s earlier pout. “Who’s gonna dangle pad Thai noodles into my mouth, then?”

“I don’t know, babe. Don’t you have a boyfriend or something now?” Lainey smirks, snatching MJ’s phone from her lap and waving it in her face so her lock screen illuminates, an accidental candid she had captured of said boyfriend with that beautiful smile shining right at her.

“It’s not the same,” whines MJ, entering the rapidly congesting highway. “First of all, he’s busy most of the day. Second, he makes it sexy, whereas you’re just plain cute. I don’t think I’m in the mood to be sexy today.”

That was true, for sure. Her outfit consisted of a pair of black leggings, one of Gray’s t-shirts that hung off her body shapelessly, and a baseball cap to hide the fact that she wore no makeup. Between her stuffy nose from the cold she’s fighting and the lack of sleep from the night before, she couldn’t be bothered that morning to try any harder.

Lainey, who had been listening while checking the visor mirror to see if her mascara had survived the rain, feigns offense. “Wow, bitch, are you saying I’m not sexy?”

“Boo, you’re sooo sexy. Grayson should probably thank you for half of my skills based on your tips over the years, now that I think about it,” MJ grins, causing Lainey to cackle.

Their girl talk continues the rest of the surprisingly short car ride back to MJ’s apartment building. MJ pulls up behind Lainey’s car and hugs her bestie over the console.

“Love you. Text me when you’re home so I know you survived the drive.”

“Will do. Love you, babe.”

MJ makes sure Lainey is in her car before driving into her covered spot. The tiredness had been real before, but the pure exhaustion hit her out of nowhere as her mind processes that she’s now home. She’s suddenly looking forward to nothing more than ordering said takeout, soaking in a too-hot bath, and watching The Hobbit series all afternoon.

She shuts the door to her apartment behind her with a sigh and trudges into her room, tossing her bags on her bed. Desperate to start the second half of her day of relaxation, it takes her all of 30 seconds to strip down and make her way into the bathroom. As the soaking tub fills, she selects a Lush bath bomb and bubble bar from the basket on the counter.

With a last-minute face mask applied, hair piled on top of her head to keep it dry, and New Girl ready to play on her phone, she’s just settling into the water with a light moan when the phone begins buzzing on the ledge of her soaking tub. She dries her hands and smiles when she sees Grayson’s name on the FaceTime call.

“Hi, baby,” she answers once his handsome face fills the screen, scooping some of the foamy bubbles closer to her chest so they fluff out cloud-like from her skin.

Grayson grins and takes a second to admire at her. “Hi, sweetheart. You look so fucking cute.”

MJ rolls her eyes but flushes and smiles appreciatively. “If you say so. How’s filming going?”

He puffs his cheeks and blows out the air slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Good, but it’s been a long day. E and I both decided to call it quits early; we’re both way too strung out on no sleep and anxiety to get much else done, especially now that the weather’s gone to shit.”

“I’m sorry, Bear, I know you both wanted to get everything wrapped tonight,” she laments with him, wishing she could comfort him with a kiss to his plump pink lips. “I’m kind of in the same boat. Lainey and I couldn't go to the beach, and between this cold I have and the fact it’s getting harder and harder to sleep without you, I’m so tired.”

Grayson smiles at her in that way he reserves only for her — soft, crooked, his hazel eyes sparkling in the center and crinkling just the tiniest bit at the corners — especially at the sound of her little pet name for him.

“Can I come over? I’ve been thinking about you all day, but I didn't want to cut into your time with Lainey. I just need to be with you.”

“Yes please,” MJ agrees with a sniffle. “As long as you’re the big spoon while we have a couch day. That’s about all I’m gonna be good for today, I think.”

“Of course,” he grins, getting into his car. “Are you gonna be my little cuddle bug all afternoon, Peach?”

She hears an exasperated ‘oh my God’ in the background and can practically see Ethan’s eye-roll out of frame.

“Yeah,” she coos back to her boyfriend, then, “hi, E.”

“Hi, MJ,” he grunts. As she’s naked underneath the clouds of bubbles, Grayson doesn’t angle the phone towards his brother, but she can still hear his voice. “You know, he’s already a cornball most of the time, but you really bring it out of him in droves, dude.”

Grayson doesn’t even react to Ethan, his gaze fixated instead on MJ through the phone. “Good. I sleep better with you in my arms, too.”

“Ugh,” Ethan complains. “Where are my fucking AirPods?”

She does, indeed, hear rustling, presumably from the older twin, but she chooses to ignore him as well. “Can you pick up Thai or Veggie Grill or something on your way over?”

“Oooh, yeah, either of those sound awesome. I’m starving,” Grayson agrees. “I’ll have to drop E off at home first and hopefully traffic wont be too bad both ways. Be there in an hour?”

“Sounds good. Thank you, baby,” she says quietly with a sweet, content smile.

He winks at her, and his voice drops a couple of notches. “No problem, Peach. As long as you’re my dessert.”

Her body rushes with heat, and not from the temperature of the water she’s soaking in. Before she can answer, Ethan groans louder than ever.

“Oh my God, dude, I fucking heard that! Can you keep your cheesy sex talk at zero while we’re literally right next to each other?” His voice suddenly picks up even louder so she can hear him. “MJ, I can’t believe you still let him fuck you when he says shit like that.”

“He makes up for it with the other things his mouth can do,” she retorts, winking at Grayson. Her giggles join Grayson’s howls of laughter and taunts at his brother, who apparently is very much done with the conversation. “Alright, I love you both. Drive safe, please.”

True to his word, Grayson shows up a little over an hour later with a bag of Veggie Grill in one hand and a Starbucks medicine ball in the other. MJ absolutely despises hot tea, and he knows it, but he also knows she won’t be able to resist the soothing warmth of it — especially considering he took the time and effort to get it for her.

He smiles at the sight of her cocooned in the plush, cozy fabric of her favorite blanket and leans down to give her a quick kiss. He hands her the drink, which she does indeed accept with warm eyes and a soft heart. She takes a sip and lets the hot liquid coat her scratchy throat as he plops down next to her with a sigh and sets the food on her coffee table. Grayson cups her cheeks to draw her in for another kiss — lingering, closed-mouthed pecks this time.

“Hi,” he says, smiling and dropping one to her red-tipped nose for good measure.

“Hi,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from mouth-breathing more and more throughout the afternoon. “Sorry I look so gross. This cold is kicking my ass the later it gets. You’re probably going to catch it.”

“First of all: worth it. Second: are you kidding? This is my favorite MJ,” he assures, peppering little kisses all across her forehead as he draws her in to his chest. Her hair is in the same messy bun from her bath, her glasses are on, and she’s dressed in her old college crewneck sweatshirt, boy-short Calvins, and fuzzy socks… “No one gets to see you like this except me. All fresh-faced and beautiful and undone. All mine.”

“Mmm,” MJ hums, snuggling into him and sniffling. “We’ll see how you feel when I’m snoring like a 300 pound grandpa in a little bit because I can’t breathe out of my nose.”

“Okay, but I don’t see how that’ll be different from any other night.” She draws back and smacks him on the arm playfully, scoffing incredulously. He just barks out a laugh and kisses the frown off her lips before distributing their late lunch between them.

They make comfortable small talk while The Office plays quietly in the background, mixing with the patter of rain on the large windows. A fuzzy warm ball settles in the pit of her stomach that has her feeling almost heady at the simple intimacy of the moment.

MJ finishes first. She takes off her glasses and places them on the coffee table next to her tea so she can curl into a ball and nuzzle into Gray’s shoulder. He kisses the top of her head affectionately and finishes his meal in silence while they watch the antics of Michael Scott and gang for the millionth time. Eventually his empty plate joins hers and he opens his burly arms to gather her in his embrace, lying down and bringing her with him.

Grayson chuckles when she fully climbs on top of him so she’s straddling his hips and hugging him with all of her limbs like a koala would a tree, her nose buried into the five o’clock shadow on his neck. He makes sweeping passes up and down her back. “Needy today, sweetheart?”

“A little,” MJ mumbles, eyelids already feeling heavy, even more so when he fixes the oversized blanket around the both of them. He smells so good, feels so solid and warm, his breath tickling her ear soothingly. They FaceTime every day, but their crazy lives have made it where this is the first time in days that they’ve seen each other in person. “Missed you. We both work too much.”

He lets out a little hum of agreement, sighing when he feels her lips pucker to dot baby kisses on his bronze skin. His hands stroke up and down her back comfortingly. “I missed you, too. E and I should have just one more day of shooting before we’ll be home more to work on editing and stuff with the team.”

“I’ll be in Seattle most of next week for a new client recruit,” she reminds, recognizing the inexplicit invitation. “Otherwise I’d come over and work remote with you.”

“Ugh, that’s right,” Gray laments, sighing. “Kiss me. Please?”

MJ gives him a lazy smile when she feels his fingers tilt her chin up. Their makeout is slow and simple and just what the both need, reconnecting after days and lives apart.

A few minutes go by until MJ groans a little and sits up in his lap with a sigh, a string of saliva connecting their lips before breaking with a snap.

“I can’t breathe laying down like that. Or just out of my nose,” she pouts. One of her hands plays with his hair while the other smooths down his t-shirt over his chest where she had rumpled it by laying on him.

Grayson grips her hips and follows her up, hugging her tightly around the middle with those huge, burly arms. “Since you can’t sleep anyways…” he looks at her, and she cocks an eyebrow, her lips quirking questioningly. “Can I have my dessert now? You can sit up on the couch. And no mouth-to-mouth required.”

MJ chuckles and wraps her arms around his broad shoulders, biting her lip as she considers his request. As much as she wants Grayson in any capacity most of the time, today is one of those days where sex just isn't on the table for her.

That being said, can she really resist that tongue? Those lips?

Before she can answer, he continues. “I know you don’t feel good, so I’ll understand if you just aren't up for anything today. But I’m not expecting you to reciprocate at all. I’ve just been wanting… like, basically needing to eat your pussy all week. It’s all I’ve been able to think about for so days.” He traces her jawline with his nose until his lips reach that little spot right behind the hinge and just below her ear, where he licks and nibbles until her hips start shifting in his lap of their own accord. “Please?”

Well, how the fuck is she going to say no to that?

She can’t, and knows he can sense her giving in when he starts to turn them around so she’s reclined against the back of the couch. Grayson grins while he arranges the blankets and pillows around her to get her as comfy as possible.

She watches him fuss over her with loving eyes, but wants to make sure he really is okay with the arrangement, too. “Are you sure? I don’t want to blue ball you. And I can speak from experience that that rug isn't a fun place to be on your knees for an extended period of time.”

Gray smirks at her and plants one more kiss to her lips before sinking down her body, snatching a couple of stray pillows to cushion his knees. “One problem solved. And don't worry about any chance of blue balls; it’s been way too fucking long since I’ve done this, and I’ll be lucky if I don't cum in my pants before I even get you to your first one.”

“Oh, so I’m in for more than one orgasm today?” MJ smiles back down at him and lifts her hips so he can drag her panties down her toned legs, placing her feet on the edge of the couch so she’s nice and open for him once he had the fabric tossed behind him somewhere. “I’d say that was big talk if I didn't know you could back it up.”

She knows he likes a challenge, and combined with his love for being praised and her bare pussy exposed to him at long last, she feels like she’s got a little bit of an upper hand here.

“Always,” he murmurs.

His lips start at the inside of her knee, working their way up to her inner thigh, across her mound to nuzzle in the little patch of hair she hadn't bothered to trim down between waxes, before trekking down the opposite leg. MJ knows his goal is to build up the anticipation for them both, and he’s succeeding; she can hear his breathing intensify as he tries to take in her scent, and she can feel the wetness beginning to leak out of her without so much as a lick from him.

Finally, he brings his hand up to trace her smooth lower lips, glancing up at her with warm yet lustful eyes as he takes in how his teasing is affecting her. MJ gives it right back, sneaking a hand under her oversized sweatshirt to play with her breast. It drives him absolutely crazy seeing her touch herself, but also not being able to see. If she didn't know any better, she would say sometimes he was more obsessed with her boobs than her actual vagina when they get down.

When his eyes turn dark, she grins and uses her free hand to rake through his hair and pull him towards her pussy while simultaneously pinching her nipple just the way she likes. Grayson growls and turns his attention back where she’s directing him, finally parting her with his middle and index fingers to expose her clit. He places a quick kiss directly to it, causing MJ to gasp and grip his dark locks tighter.

He gives it a more sensual smooch and pulls back to watch more of her juices trickle out of her until he can’t resist really getting to work anymore. His moan vibrates against her when his tongue swipes through the sweet wetness, trailing it to her clit with his mouth and giving the nub a gentle suckle before slipping his tongue back to her entrance. MJ lets out little whimpers of bliss as he makes out with her pussy, his tongue reaching as far inside her as it can, wiggling around and slurping down everything that comes out of her.

She lets him eat her out with no real purpose, thoroughly enjoying the constant stimulus of his lips and teeth and tongue without a driving need to make her cum behind it. Her hands flit between stroking his hair comfortingly, to playing with her breasts, to digging her nails across his clothed shoulders.

“Feels so good,” MJ whispers while she watches him work. Her fingers are combing gently through his hair once again to push the dark strands off of his forehead just in time to see his eyes flit open to meet her own.

“Tastes so good,” Grayson growls back, taking a moment to sit on his haunches and get a thorough look at her spread out for him. Her pussy is swollen and wet, the insides of her thighs bare the faint markings of his teeth, and her face is pure bliss even as she sniffs and coughs a bit. “You okay?”

MJ nods. It’s sweet of him to check, but all she wants now is his face back in her pussy. She bites her lip and one of her heels, still clad in a fuzzy sock, digs into the middle of his broad back to push him in. Grayson smirks darkly and follows her lead, his lips immediately suctioning around her plump little clit.

“Fuck…” MJ moans. Her voice is raspier than usual and, like everything else about her today, goes straight to his dick, which throbs untouched in his grey sweats.

He starts working her over with purpose now, determined to get her to cum in the next 30 seconds. He knows he can do it even if she hadn't started chanting, “like that, like that, don’t fucking stop…”

Her moans reach peak levels, as loud as she can be with her sore throat, and her clit throbs on his tongue. Her back arches off the couch and her hands dive fully in his thick hair now to hold him to her, her heel still pressing against his spine doing the same.

Grayson groans and has to remove one of his hands from her hips to reach into his boxers and squeeze his dick hard enough to stave off his own orgasm. He slips two fingers of his other hand in her dripping pussy to give her something to clench around, which doesn’t help his attempt at not cumming literally in his pants when he feels her walls gripping his digits like a vice.

“Baby…” she whines as he brings her down with little kitten licks on her pulsing clit, her thighs quivering around his head. Grayson hums and nuzzles into that delicate skin until the muscles beneath stop trembling, and the flutters around his middle and ring fingers have ceased. He never takes his eyes off her face — eyes closed, mouth agape, cheeks flushed. Beautiful and dismantled because of him.

Once he feels she (and, frankly, he himself) have calmed just enough to be able to take more, he starts to press and curl the fingers inside her. MJ whines softly as the build picks up again, which turns into shrieking when he wraps his swollen lips around her clit again and sucks the nub sharply into his mouth. Between the sloppy wetness of his mouth and the way he applies pressure just right on her g-spot, it takes all of a minute for her to fall apart again. She marvels, not for the first time, at how fucking good he is at this, how well he knows her body.

‘Always’ is right.

Grayson sits back, removes his hand and mouth from her and growls at the sight before him while he pushes against the backs of her thighs. So much for sitting up, as she’s now practically on her back, but neither of them are complaining or stopping to readjust. She’s perfectly exposed for him, her juices and his saliva coating her skin and dripping down her ass, she’s that wet.

“MJ…”

Her name escaping his lips in that husky voice finally gets her to lazily blink her eyes open until her gaze focuses on him as clearly as she can. He looks sexy as fuck on his knees for her, pupils dilated and the stubbled skin of his chin and jaw covered in shiny wetness.

Grayson’s big hands knead the insides of her thighs until he’s confident he has her full attention. He smoothes his palms to the crooks of her knees, moving her gently until she’s practically folded in half, and without breaking eye contact shifts his head that much further down so he can go to town on her even lower.

MJ gasps and shoots one of her hands to his hair, her first instinct being to push him away, until half a second passes and she’s doing the exact opposite. No one has ever done this for her before, and now she’s wondering how she had gone so long without the sensation of his tongue swiping up her cum from that virtually untouched hole.

If she was in any right state, she would have seen Grayson’s smug, quite literally ass eating smirk at her reaction to his ministrations. He isn’t sure why in their nearly eight months together he had never eaten her ass before; it isn’t the first time he’s done it to a girl. Maybe because he treasures sex with MJ more than anyone in his life before, maybe knowing in his heart that they have a long future of making love ahead of them had caused him to wait. What he does know, is that he’ll never be able to resist doing it again when the desire to rises, especially given her voracious response to it.

“Fuck!” MJ wails when he spreads her even more open with his hand so he can have better access, his tongue rimming and prodding her asshole to perfection while the thumb of his free hand presses upward on the hood of her clit. He knows her so well, can sense she’s too sensitive for direct stimulation there, but the pressure right above the bundle of nerves is exactly what she’s craving without her even realizing it.

But he does, and it feels so good — too good; Grayson’s eyes drop closed as he lets her taste and sounds overcome his senses, and it’s like her pleasure is his as his hand finally begins to jerk himself off. He builds up the speed of his strokes with her increased pace of breath, until she cums for a third time, and his tongue is quickly swiping all the way up her crease, from asshole to clit as he stands to his feet. He leans over her with one hand on the back of the couch and licks the last of her off his lips as he takes in her body to fuel him even more, even as clothed as she still is.

MJ starts to come-to enough to realize what he needs, and lifts her shirt to expose more skin to him. She drinks in the sight of her gorgeous boyfriend towering over her with his sweats and boxer briefs pushed down just enough for his equally beautiful dick to be out while he strokes the head aggressively. He’s about to explode and she knows it, just as attuned to his body’s tells as he is with hers.

His face is hovering just above hers, and she watches his mouth drop and his eyes train on her exposed skin. MJ bites her lip and whines, pulling roughly on her nipples while her eyes flit between his face and his cock. “Cum on my pussy, baby, I want it — want your cum all over me, make it your pussy…”

She’s rambling, but it’s all he needed as a deep, relieved groan escapes him, followed by soft grunts as he shoots all over her, exactly where she told him to and then some. MJ moans quietly and knocks his hand out of the way to finish him off herself, squeezing the last drops of the pearly white from him. The fingers of her other hand collect what she can from her skin to keep it from dripping on the couch, spreading it instead over her swollen lower lips.

His chest still heaves when she looks up at him with a tired smile, which he matches with a laugh when her final stroke makes him flinch. He pushes her hand off his cock and tells her, “Don’t move.”

She obeys, and watches him lean over to grab his phone off the side table, unlocking it and swiping up. “Is this okay?” he asks, motioning with his head. “This is too fucking sexy. Need a memento while you’re out of town.”

MJ giggles and nods, spreading her legs a little more as he goes to town. She does her best to coat her pussy in his cum, her long, glittering manicured nails adding a certain aesthetic to the shots. She even scoops some up and let him capture her sucking it off her middle finger.

Grayson smiles tiredly and kisses her sweetly, the gentleness and simplicity of it a little stark after the pure filth of the last twenty minutes. He tucks himself back in his pants and goes into her bathroom to get a wet rag to clean her up with, chucking it in the washer when he’s done. On his way back over to her, he picks up her long-forgotten panties off the middle of the living room floor with a smirk and hands them to her, plopping next to her and dragging her into his lap once they’re back on her body.

“I’m gonna have to insist on you having dessert every day,” she yawns into his chest with a sniffle. “I didn't know you liked cake so much.”

Grayson laughs and squeezes her tight to him, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead as he confirms to Netflix that, yes, they are indeed still watching. “And Ethan says I’m the cornball.”

“If he only knew.”

[clownattack]

Castor - character bio

I’ve been struggling with getting a bio out for Cas for waaaaay too long now, but i feel pretty ok with how it looks currently - i'm going to repost it on my art blog with some drawings of Cas and Hjalle in the future (hopefully). If you want to skip most of the nonsense and just get a feel for her personality, the section under the bio paragraphs is FULL OF POINTS.

links to drawn refs here and here

Longpost under the cut

✦ Early life in Hjalle:

Being born into the noble family Aran, Castor’s early life consisted mostly of being pampered by the attendants and strict education. Cas was a rowdy kid, and with time, lack of affection and validation from her family served to amplify the trait - she went from occasionally disobedient to full-on antagonistic towards her parents, and the nobility as a whole. She began to sneak out; spending her time outside of the Fort, spying on the guards and trying to bribe knights into taking her on as a page.

When Cas turned nine a sibling came into the picture, and she made it her duty to assure Aster’s upbringing would be better than hers. She poured everything she had into Aster, but soon developed a brash and overbearing streak, unyielding in her focus to teach the meek little sister to stand her ground. Aster became torn between Cas and the parents, who in all fairness, treated her much better than their firstborn. This would remain the case until Castor’s dragon-induced injuries.

In her late teens, Cas was seldom seen in the fort - to everyone's great relief. Her mood was always sour, she gave up on her studies and only seemed to care about Aster and joining the hunting parties. Her parents reached their limit when Castor announced she would not become one of the renowned judges of House Aran - this led to an explosive argument, which concluded with Castor storming out. For the following two years, she lived and worked with rangers tasked with protecting and providing for the town.

It was in those years that Cas acquired her battle prowess and scars, the most prominent being a gift from an especially large and angry dragon. A single swipe of its tail tore Castor’s chest and forearm open, forcing the hunting party to rush her to the fort in (what the hunters expected to be) a futile attempt to get her family to provide medical help for their dying kin. The reception was cold indeed, and if it weren’t for Aster’s hysterics and outrage over her family’s indifference, Cas would have not survived the grievous wounds. The upside to this event was a new high tale to impress people with, and strengthening the bond between two sisters. The downside - Castor was now under her parent’s thumb. They made her accept the position of inquisitor; to make up for the hassle she caused them. Taking up the mantle turned Castor’s world upside down - not only would she have to work in close proximity to her father, but her dreams of being knighted were shattered, as inquisitorial duties stand in stark opposition to virtues of knighthood. As Inquisitor she was tasked with investigating and interrogating for the court - the latter, as Aran tradition had it, was extraordinarily bloody.

 ✦ Vesuvia:

Almost as soon as she arrived, the city sparked something in Cas. This was unexpected to say the least; she was certain the years of gruesome work as inquisitor numbed her to simple joys of life. The sights and sounds of Vesuvia however, made her eager to explore and see how everything ticked - and the more she saw the more she wished to remain in the city. After attending the Masquerade and becoming acquainted with Asra, Cas was prepared to do anything to stay - even if it meant sucking up to the Buffoon count and begging for a job. Lucio proved to be anything but opposed - he’d heard of the “bloody good shows” (pun intended) Castor was infamous for, and was eager to take her off her parents hands. This led to working parallel to the count and his court, but also enabled Cas to dabble in magic under Asra’s tutelage.

This slight betterment of Cas’ situation would not last long however, as The Red Plague took complete hold of the city mere months after she took up her residence in Vesuvia. After perishing, and being brought back by Asra, she very slowly regains certain memories and traits - her sister, love of astronomy, sword skills. She sneaks out, snoops, and is a handful overall; but Asra is happy to see Castor’s “new” self free of bitterness and pain.

After this point, the “game events” take place. I like to imagine Castor braving an amalgam of Nadia and Portia routes, with a fistful (or multiple) of courtier drama. Castor is tasked with an investigation, slowly  but surely unravelling how deep the corruption runs in Vesuvia, and how much of it can be attributed to the courtiers. The conclusion of her story focuses on first facing off against the court, then the Justice Arcana.

  ✦ Physical appearance

Light olive skin, she picks up a slight tan in Vesuvia.

Dark gray eyes, striking marbling on the iris.

Long girl - 176 cm tall, loves being the “tall friend” (and manhandling people close to her). Being taller than her is taken as an indirect challenge.

She has a rectangular body type, could be described as a “runner’s body”.

Prominent scarring across right forearm and torso, missing right breast.

Tastefully disheveled. Her hair has a constantly windswept quality, and the gray streaks seem to be especially unruly.

Inherited the “Aran silver” (early graying), she tries to ignore it. “The more you hide it, the more it shows”.

Secretly really bothered by the many similarities to her father. Avoids looking at herself too much, and whenever she does it feels like he’s looking back at her, judging.

Only ever smoothes herself over before important court meetings and social events. She doesn't know how makeup works, so before any party she asks Asra to sort her out. Cas looking prim is both a treat and a source of friendly jabs.

✦ Character traits

Power walking by default. This can be somewhat intimidating, and she won’t stop if someone is in her way - just put them to the side and continue.

Puts up a really convincing pretence of formality and refinement.

In actuality she finds this facade tiresome, and just wants to talk fast about battle/hunting feats or astronomy. Maybe show off her pyromancy.

Loves socializing, it recharges her batteries.

Dilligent worker.

Tends to overwork herself and neglect her relationships.

Often scatter minded and wanting to do too many things at one time.

Doesn’t appreciate people instigating physical contact or getting up in her face. She needs to prepare herself for it, or be the initiator.

Stubborn as a mule. Never knows when to stop pressing people.

Extremely callous at times.

Annoyingly overbearing

Most of this springs from a place of fear - things had a habit of getting worse whenever her family imposed decisions onto her. In her mind, if she’s the one holding the reins, everything will be better. And if something does fail - she will be the only one to blame.

Starting arguments comes much too easily to her, but she’s just as quick to introspect, and seek out the person she argued with to apologize and approach the issue in an appropriate manner.

Forgives easily

Eternally scoffing at astrology. She knows shes being bigoted, but at this point its almost like an inside joke between her and Asra. “Astrology? It's baby stuff. PSEUDOSCIENCE!” (she cries as she worries over her afternoon tarot reading and preparing pretty horoscopes for the Shop...)

A huge hypocrite at times. “Do as I say, not as I do” could easily be her motto.

Both the upright and reversed Knight of Swords card sums her character up perfectly.

✦ Occupation & Residency

Vesuvia:

Beginning of her story follows the game canon almost to a T - Cas lives with Asra in the Shop, and works there. It bores her to death, and she plays tricks on every customer just to entertain herself.

After being officially hired by Nadia as the Palace Magician, Castor moves out of the shop and purchases a modest house in Goldgrave, much below the value of what Nadia offered her, and what she could afford. It’s convenient and that’s what matters to Cas. She continues supplying the shop diligently, and takes over whenever Asra runs off.

Nadia insisted on Castor having an office in the palace. It grew on her with time, and after The Devil is dealt with it becomes her little “hub”.

Hjalle:

Cas lived with her family in the castle site until 17 years old.

After denying her parents their plans for her future as a judge, she hunkered down in a hunting lodge outside of the town, and spent almost two years living that way - she still thinks of these two years as the most joyous time in her life.

The only thing she ever used her family’s wealth for was commissioning the construction of an extravagant observatory. Reminiscent of a gothic fortress, the stark exterior is contrasted with insides filled with artwork and art-nouveau ornaments. The central chamber is a vast library with a powerful telescope in its apse - it is a sight that could take the breath of the most haughty of nobles.

There’s a tiny living space below the main chamber, furnished sparingly, but with a lovely fireplace (in Hjalle, its a necessity). It’s where Cas stays after becoming the inquisitor/whenever she visits after the in-game events.

✦ Trivia

Cas is 23 years old when she first arrives to Vesuvia - 28 at the time of The Devil’s downfall.

She freed Merlin from a merchant’s cage in the Red Market, during one of her outings in the three year interlude after her death - Asra fumes after they find out she snuck out to the market - yet is amazed that Cas found a familiar.

Cas regained her first memories via touching objects linked to her past life - a letter from Aster, articles of clothing, a sword...

This self re-discovering takes a turn for the worse when Cas finally finds a large, ornate knife - the one she inherited after becoming inquisitor. The memories it resurfaces are a staggering blow to Castor, completely derailing the beliefs she had about her own person. She thought of herself as a paragon, and remembering the torture she inflicted upon others, the lives taken in the name of “justice” made her relapse into bitterness and disenchantment. She deals with those feelings as her investigation into the courtiers progresses.

Predominantly uses pyromancy, other types of magic are strictly used for her work at the palace, and rather sparingly.

Could be best described as a battlemage - enjoys being in melee range and assaulting her quarry with both sword and fire; the latter being used more as a way to distract or stagger the enemy than actually harm. There's no fun in just burning them up!

Doesn’t cook for herself, although she has a natural knack for it - will only cook for guests and short people.

Her dislike of Lucio clashes with gratitude for employing her when she first arrived to Vesuvia - he was the knife which cut Cas off from her parents, and it’s something she could never forget.

Demiromatic/sexual.

She was offered to be knighted by Nadia after defeating The Devil. Cas declined - It’s much more than a title to her, and accepting seemed like mockery (considering her past as inquisitor).

Short fuse, she learns to better control herself while working in the palace. But if someone really pushes her the nearby candles miiiight get a bit out of control. Or she’ll just throttle them.

Hates her full name - Castor is such a mouthful. Sounds stuck up too...

[deltas-writing-corner]

Warmth: Act 1 - 10

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Disclaimer: This is only the first 1000 words of the chapter. If you would like to read the rest, click here!

Warnings: (not present in preview, but is in the full version)  blood | bodily injuries | mentions of fasting (in religious context) | Mentions of nudity but nothing explicit/detailed.

Masterlist: (coming soon)

The gradual halt of the horse pulled you out of your peaceful session of sunbathing. When you open your eyes you find yourself in the middle of an open field, a glistening lake and tall tree included with the vast scenery. Nobunaga dismounts and turns back to help you, but you have already jumped down and spread yourself out over the warmed grass.

"Oh sweet nature, how I've missed you so!" you sigh in content. 

Your reveling amuses Nobunaga, who kneels and looks down at your spread out body with a matching smirk. "Enjoying the sun, aren't you?"

You look over to him and give a toothy smile. "I don't know why, but when I bask in the sun's rays it's like being embraced by an old friend." You take a deep breath in through your nose, filling your lungs with fresh, undefiled air. A tickling sensation around your waist takes your eyes off of the cyan sky and down to your body. Kuro's head pops out from under your sash and he gives a big yawn before plopping down his head on your stomach. "Good afternoon, old friend!" you greet.

"Good afternoon,"   his echoey voice rings inside your head. "Are we at the hot springs yet?"

You lift yourself up off the ground, leaning back against your elbows to look over at Nobunaga. "When will we be arriving?'

"We'll arrive by sundown," he answers.

"Why did we stop?"

A high pitched screech rings out. Upon hearing it, he rights himself up and takes a few steps away from you. "To relax, of course. I also wish to do some hunting before we continue on our journey."

Right after he says the word "hunting", a shadow quickly passes over your head. You look up and see the familiar outline of a bird circling overhead the three of you. Nobunaga lets out a sharp whistle and it rapidly descends down to him. It eases up at the last second and gracefully lands on his forearm, talons sinking into the protective leather to stabilize on its perch. The avian is no mere bird, but a yellow eyed hawk patiently awaiting the orders of its master.

Kuro's grip around your torso tightens exponentially and he hides himself under your obi. You look down to see what could be bothering him. Seeing and eventually feeling his long body shake tells you he's more than just bothered. He's scared.

You slightly turn your body away from Nobunaga to hide him. "Could you take a few steps back?" 

He complies despite his confusion, furthering the distance between you and him. You use your sleeve to create a barrier to prevent the hawk's line of sight locking onto your companion. After a bit of reassuring and patience, he eventually sticks his head out from his silken safe haven. He still isn't completely calmed, eyes darting back and forth out of habit in the presence of one of his natural predators. The only reason he felt somewhat secure is because you're here, ready to protect him should the need arise.

"What's wrong?" Nobunaga asks, worry just barely evident in his voice.

"He's a bit shaken up, but I think we're fine."

When you turn around to fully face him, he sees your snake wearily poking his head out from under your sash. Haguro notices the serpent and fans his wings out, giving them a few testing flaps as he focuses on his perceived prey. A few snaps from Nobunaga draws the bird's attention away from Kuro and onto him. "He won't attack him. Not unless I give him the signal to," he explains.

A wave of relief washes over the two of you. You slowly walk over and stand before the hawk. It's feathers are a brown color, but the shades are so dark that one could easily mistake it for black. Its focus is on you now, head turning side to side, taking in your unfamiliar figure from all angles. You mimic its head movements, trying to maintain even eye contact with it. Soon enough, it starts mimicking your movements instead of you mimicking it. Feeling emboldened, you reach a hand out and give it a few scratches on the underside of its neck. Its must like your affections, as its head retracts back into down into itself, eyes closing in what can only be described as delight at your touch.

Nobunaga watches his falcon's reactions with surprise. "How strange," he says. "Usually, he would bite at whoever tries to touch him, myself included."

"Is that so?" you look at him, hands still rubbing between his soft feathers. "Well, maybe you weren't doing it right?"

A genuine smile etches over his lips at your cheeky comment. Nobunaga finally steps away from you (much to your dismay) and looks over the expanse of the open area. A spot of white sprints between the tuffs of grass. Nobunaga easily sees it and jerks his arm up, giving Haguro some aid in his take off. High up in the air in seconds, the hawk soars over its unknowing prey before diving down. It's sharp beak is pointed at the ground, wide open in preparation to snatch up whatever poor animal it chased.

"A rabbit! Get it!" A young voice shouts.

You both turn towards the new voice. A trio of children come out from behind a tree and begin to pelt rocks at the rabbit. The rabbit runs towards them instead of away, using them as cover from Haguro. It easily sprints between their legs, tripping them over into each other before they can grab it and disappears into the nearby woodland.

"Aww, it got away!" one of them whines. All three fall back into the grass, deflating at their unsuccessful hunt.

"This is all your fault!" another boy fumes, smacking one of them in the shoulder. "Your aim sucks! I promised my mom I would catch something for dinner!"

"What are you talking about?! That rabbit was mine!"

"No," Nobunaga's commanding voice cuts in. "It was mine."

The children stare up at Nobunaga's towering figure, mouths agape and arguments completely quieted at his sudden appearance. Haguro screeches out before swooping down onto his master's shoulder, further adding onto the intimidating aura he was exuding.

"You disturbed my hunt. Brave, but foolish," he sternly tells them. His mean-sounding voice forces them to scramble away and press into each other in an attempt to stand their ground.

"W-Who are you?" the boy at the front, arms stretched out to protect his friends, shakily asks.

"I am Nobunaga Oda," he simply responds. "Lord of Azuchi Castle."

Their scared expressions turn into looks of complete and utter horror. They must know who he is, given that he is a political figure. It's easy for you to forget that the very person who's housing you is one of the most influential people during this period, with allies just as high ranking as well.

"Name yourselves," he orders.

"M-My name is Taiichi," the first child, protecting his friends behind him stutters out.

"Kisuke," another mutters.

The third child opens his mouth to tell his name, but it quickly shuts as Nobunaga turns his full attention down to him. He whimpers at the overwhelming fear within him and hides himself behind Kisuke. You notice their similar features. They must be relatives.

"You there," Nobunaga calls out to him. "Do not cower. State your name."

You see the sway of his hair, an indication that he shook his head in refusal. As amused as you are watching the ever dominating Nobunaga interact with helpless children, you decide to step in to try to ease their nerves. You were pretty good when it came to understanding children. Now that you think about it, you haven't interacted with one in a few decades. Hopefully, you haven't lost your spark.

You approach Kisuke, kneeling down to his level and keeping yourself at an arm's length from him to not intrude in his personal space. You see his tense shoulders ease up at the sight of a woman and take that as your cue to talk.

"Hello, Kisuke. I'm sorry about my friend here," you gesture behind you at Nobunaga. "He's a little clueless when it comes to speaking to people outside the castle."

"I speak just fine," he barks at you.

"See? He can't even speak to a girl properly!"

They laugh over your insult at him, taking an involuntary step closer to you as they quickly become more comfortable with you. The boy behind Kisuke finally steps out from behind him and approaches you on his own volition.

"H-Hello," he stutters, bowing to you. "I'm Kotaro."

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[drowningbydegrees]

Once Written in the Stars Pt. 1

I think this might be the first fandom I’ve been in that really reads fic here, so I’m trying to be better about posting it. It’s also on AO3 It’s only when Geralt sheaths his sword that he realizes his medallion is still humming, perhaps even more than it was before. He squints through the trees, and sees nothing beyond the blanket of buttercups carpeting the forest floor. There’s a lark somewhere in the distance, but nothing near him moves.  Buttercups. He circles back to that, to the bright spring flowers that stretch out into the forest as far as he can see. It’s the end of summer though, where the world goes brown and dry as it waits for relief from the heat to tumble into fall. There’s not something in the woods making the medallion vibrate against his skin Geralt realizes too late. It’s the woods themselves, and perhaps the keepers of it.  “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, hoping he hasn’t gone so far astray that there isn’t a way back. 

So, Geralt walks back in the direction he’s certain he came from, searching for where the flowers fade back into the dirt and twigs he should be finding under his feet. The medallion only thrums more urgently, for so long that it’s eventually just a background sensation as Geralt tries to find his way.

He passes an old, moss covered tree for what he’s certain is the fourth time and makes himself stop, as if pausing will help him regain his bearings. It doesn’t of course, but somewhere nearby, someone is singing.

Somewhere in between the moss and the stone

The wind and the wood became my home

I layed myself down upon the green

when the ivy overgrew I could never leave

Something in the darkness pulled me deeper

Something in the madness eased my mind

Was I awake or was I dreaming

Cut the strings that bind me to mankind

Geralt bristles, starting to reach for his sword, but it’s a stuttered, aborted motion as the melody sinks in. The song is beautiful, he realizes, subtly easing the wariness with which he regards the woods. Perhaps he’ll just listen for a moment, because it’s ever so soothing. When his feet begin to carry him closer, Geralt doesn’t notice. Nothing good lives in a fae forest, something far away in him whispers. He grasps for the truth of that, because it might be important, but it’s so very far away from him now. The sentiment slips uselessly through his fingers like the pleasant spring breeze that ruffles his hair as it blows through the trees. Caution flits somewhere at the periphery, but he can’t pin it down and it’s… unnecessary. There’s no need for caution here, not when the calm sinks right down to his bones. It lulls him until the witcher wants nothing more than to wrap himself up in the music, the world beyond the woods be damned.

The trees pass by as Geralt ventures deeper into the woods, never catching sight of the mist that swathes him. If anything, it is a caress, an embrace, something that softens the sharp edges of him and blots out the things that keep him up at night. There is a peace here he never knew he wanted, but he yearns for it, to be allowed to keep this thing as he steps into a glade where the sunlight comes through in soft, slanted bars.

It is there that he sees it, though the creature is tangled up in the shadows where the trees begin again. The claws are the first thing to catch Geralt’s eye, razor sharp and curved like scythes. They’re lost as they fade into sinewy arms, rough and ashen like tree bark on something long since dead. Its limbs come together like twisted vines and branches, framing around its dessicated belly where the thin flesh that stretches across is sunken in.

This is the thing singing him lullabies, he realizes. The sense of danger claws its way closer to the forefront of his mind, but every inch is a struggle as he tries to remember why this should frighten anyone. Shaking something loose, he slowly cobbles together the sense to draw his sword.

“Silver? You can’t hurt me with that.” The music has stopped, but the voice is lyrical all the same, pulling Geralt’s gaze upward where the creature looms a bit over him. He hadn’t seen its face before, but it’s no more pleasant than the rest of it. Teeth like long daggers fill up its mouth, pulling it into a sort of rictus grin. Geralt can see patches of ashen skin underneath, crowded in by branches that fan out at grotesque angles, a mockery of antlers. A short ways beneath them, a pair of blue, blue eyes zero in on Geralt, unnaturally luminous. He’s never seen a damned thing like it.

“I don’t think it’ll tickle,” he grouses, adjusting his stance. It spoke to him though, clearly more than the beast it appears to be, so he doesn’t attack right away.

“You were lost.” It’s not a question, and Geralt isn’t sure if it’s that or the creature’s utter lack of concern about his weapon that puts him on edge.

“I wasn’t until you lured me here,” Geralt growls, because if this is going to end up in a fight, he’d just as soon get on with it.

The creature regards him with a wider smile, probably meant to convey mirth, but mostly only pulling it’s mouth into something more grotesque. It shakes its head, horns catching in the leaves overhead. Worse, the creature laughs. “I watched you all afternoon.”

Had it been so long? There is rumor that time moves differently in places like this, but surely it can’t have been hours he’s been here. For the first time, Geralt notices the sunlight has taken on the drippy gold sheen it wears just before dusk begins to settle in, and he curses under his breath.

“What do you want?” Geralt braces himself, sure he’s not going to like the answer.

At first, the creature is quiet, it’s expression so twisted that it’s impossible to glean any sense of intention. “No one is meant to survive this place, but....”

The response covers the obvious, Geralt thinks but does not say. “If you’re waiting for me to beg for my life, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

“What? No, no, of course not. I want to help you.” Geralt had expected some sort of formality in conversation with the kinds of things that live in a forest like this, not unlike the way conversations go with nobles. The cadence this one keeps to is like an old friend though, casual, friendly even, and it’s all Geralt can do not to be swayed again despite what’s looking at him. Almost too late, Geralt realizes it’s making eye contact, but he cannot look away.

“Don’t do that,” he grits out, and perhaps he’s caught the creature in a good mood because the tug at his emotions and sense of reason dissipates until it has faded to nothing. All at once, Geralt is entirely his own again.

“Of course,” it agrees, stepping through the glade, strangely graceful. Where Geralt expects a lumbering gait, the creature moves like a dancer, eerie in the way it glides to where the witcher stands and then right on past him. “Come along then.”

“Just like that?” Geralt arches an eyebrow, recognizing following the creature through the woods for the terrible idea it is now that his mind is no longer clouded. Granted, there aren’t a great many options. Besides, it could have forced him or killed him or just left him in the woods, and it had done none of those things. Heaving a sigh and cursing under his breath, Geralt follows.

The creature leads the way, absently dragging its fingers along bark and branches. Geralt isn’t sure if it’s his imagination, but he swears everywhere it touches brightens, as if this monstrous thing is luring the foliage to flourish the way it lured Geralt to stand before it. It must be a fairy, he realizes, its distorted visage the truth that lurks beneath the pretty picture fae paint for men.

“Do you always hunt monsters? Is it exciting? Do you travel?” the questions come rapidfire, and for something dredged up from someone’s nightmare, it’s shockingly amiable. Chatty too, much to Geralt’s chagrin. The fairy doesn’t actually wait for an answer to any of the things it asks though, before sort of interrupting itself. “I’m being rude. I didn’t even ask. What’s your name?”

Fairies aren’t really monsters, and they mostly keep to themselves, so Geralt isn’t as well versed in their ways as might be useful, but this part he knows. There’s power in a name, and it’s not something he’s keen on handing over to any sort of fae, no matter how friendly it seems. There’s… something about being very careful not to be rude though, he thinks, so Geralt gives it something, a useless moniker as a standup. “You can call me witcher.”

“You really are a monster hunter, then.” If the fairy is put off by Geralt’s answer, it doesn’t show. Quite the contrary. Its mouth pulls wide into the unnatural, sharp edged smile that Geralt is starting to realize is just the fairy’s face and not some kind of threat. And then, perhaps because the name thing doesn’t work in reverse, or because Geralt has misremembered the lore entirely, it replies, “Well, hello then, witcher. I’m Dandelion.”

“Dandelion.” Geralt dubiously repeats, drawing the word out as his gaze sweeps over the fairy from head to toe. If said fairy recognizes that Dandelion is terribly incongruous with his nightmarish countenance, he gives no indication, instead chattering on about something else entirely. He pays little mind when Geralt mostly doesn’t answer, as if the witcher were just an accessory to the fairy’s one sided conversation.

Geralt feels the change before he sees it, when the muggy summer air begins crowding into the woods’ perpetual spring. By the time the treeline comes into view, the sun has nearly sunk below the horizon, the first stars peeking out where the sky has already gone dark. A tension Geralt hadn’t realized he’d been holding finally eases, as he reaches safety once more.

“Thank-” Geralt begins, but the look on Dandelion’s face stops him. His face is always somewhat twisted, but even still, there’s no mistaking the anger in the way the fairy’s eyes narrow at him.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” It comes out far more forcefully than Geralt can imagine there being any call for, and Dandelion punctuates each word with a sharp poke of one clawed finger against the armor in the center of his chest. “Have you no manners at all?”

Belatedly, Geralt thinks he might remember some such thing about thanking fae being rude. Maybe? He can’t really recall because it had never been important, but he holds up his hands placatingly. “I only wanted to convey that I appreciate your help.”

Dandelion lets out an affronted little hmph, but the fairy’s eyes soften around the edges. Geralt can’t help but think he’s narrowly sidestepped something awful. He’s never met another fairy, but he’s heard stories, and never got the impression they were easy to mollify.

“Why wouldn’t I help? Okay, maybe the others wouldn’t have, but that’s hardly the point. It’s not like you deserved to be stuck there,” Dandelion mutters, clawed hand falling loosely back to his side, leaving Geralt to wonder what metric the fairy was judging that by.

Eager to put some distance between himself and those cursed woods, Geralt chooses not to give the fairy an opportunity to drag him into further conversation. He offers up a hasty goodbye and turns on his heel to leave. He doesn’t wait for a response, and Dandelion moves so quietly, it’s only the continued thrum of his medallion that gives the fairy away. Bracing himself for what he assumes are going to be far too many words, he looks at Dandelion, “You’re following me. Why?”

“Oh! I can’t go back,” Dandelion says a little too brightly, waving a spindly arm at the meadow stretched out in front of them. “Seems like as good a direction as any.”

“Why can’t you go back?” Geralt hears himself ask, even though he really doesn’t want to know, even though he’s very aware that he’s going to feel obligated to do something once he does know.

Dandelion’s shoulders lift and fall in what Geralt can only assume is an approximation of a shrug. “You break the rules. You leave. Or you die. Really, it happens so rarely I don’t think anyone remembers one way or another, so probably best to decide for them and be on my way.”

Geralt stops then, because Dandelion appears pretty determined to follow and given how difficult a time he has with humans already, the fairy’s appearance would only make it worse. Dandelion's earlier assertion that no one was meant to survive the woods takes on an entirely different connotation now. It had never been the threat he’d assumed it to be at all. “Why did you help me, then?”

“You were lost.” Under other circumstances, the naive simplicity of that might be endearing. No qualifiers. No caveats. Either Dandelion is terribly manipulative or terribly kind-hearted, and Geralt has an incredibly irritating suspicion that it’s the latter.

“I’d have found my way.”

Dandelion’s features don’t change much, but the glow of his eyes shifts, taking on a softer cast. “You really wouldn’t have. No one does. That’s the point.”

Geralt wants to argue, but they probably both know better when it comes down to it. Resigning himself to having company at least for the trip into town, Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever even been out here?”

“Nope.” Dandelion’s tone is far too untroubled for someone who’s just tossed aside their entire life, but the fairy glances away, and for just a moment, Geralt spots the sorrow underneath, no more than one last longing look at the trees behind them.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters to himself, already knowing he’s not going to abandon Dandelion out here. Resigned, Geralt gestures at Dandelion’s looming form. “Well, you can’t walk into town like that.”

“Like what?” Dandelion’s head cocks to the side like a curious puppy. A very large, very nightmarish puppy.

“I’m not sure if you’ve if you’ve seen yourself, but-” That’s as far as Geralt gets before it becomes clear that Dandelion has grasped the issue. Geralt had been looking up at the fairy’s face, so the abrupt disappearance as Dandelion shifts into some hopefully less imposing form throws him off.

Geralt’s gaze drags downward until he catches the top of a mop of brown hair framing the high cheekbones and soft curves of a startlingly human face. Only Dandelion’s eyes give him away, and even then, only because Geralt knows the blue of them is a touch too vibrant to be normal. Dandelion’s newly human looking mouth turns up pleasantly, a far cry from the jagged teeth from before. Even his clothes are convincing in that they’re bright and eye catching and recognizably human. “Better?”

“...Better,” Geralt is forced to concede. Pretty, even, if he’s being honest. At least Dandelion hadn’t decided to model this new form after him. Where any of this came from is a revelation Geralt is very, very sure he doesn’t want to partake in.

“Wonderful!” Dandelion claps his very human looking hands together once and sets off in the direction Geralt had been walking.

And it’s fine, really. He’ll get Dandelion to civilization, where he’s sure the curious fairy will find something other than Geralt to occupy his time. That’ll be the end of it, Geralt decides. It has to be because there’s no place for a fairy at the side of a witcher.

While he might prod Dandelion for his thoughts on the matter, the fairy is already incessantly chattering about practically everything else. The stars are so bright without the trees in the way. The grass is scratchier out here. Do you ever wear anything other than black? It’s so warm. How does anyone stand it? What’s that, anyway?

The last in the barrage of commentary and questions is punctuated by slender fingers reaching out to brush over the medallion around Geralt’s neck. Instinctively, his hand shoots up to curl around Dandelion’s wrist and pull it away. “Do not.”

“Touchy,” Dandelion complains, rubbing at his wrist when Geralt releases it. The witcher might feel bad if he wasn’t quite certain that the only thing he could possibly have injured is Dandelion’s pride.

There are a few moments of blessed silence where Dandelion is either sufficiently chastised or maybe just grumpy enough not to keep talking. They’re almost to the road when Geralt realizes another issue and very, very reluctantly speaks up. “What are you going to call yourself?”

“I have a name.” Apparently all is forgiven, because Dandelion’s frown dissipates in favor of open curiosity.

“You can not go around calling yourself Dandelion if you’re trying to pass yourself off as human.” Before Dandelion can argue, Geralt adds, “And you are passing yourself off as human.”

“Fine.” A frown creases Dandelion’s lips again as he shuffles along beside Geralt. The fairy is blessedly quiet as they reach the road. The village is too far away to see in dark, even for Geralt, but it’s close enough to promise an end to all this nonsense. Geralt doesn’t see the way Dandelion abruptly brightens up, but he hears it. “Buttercup?”

Why did he think this was going to be anything other than thoroughly exasperating? Geralt glances over at Dandelion who, oddly enough, seems very invested in his approval. “That’s not better.”

“Daffodil? Oh, I don’t like that one. Maybe Peony?” And Dandelion is off again, prattling on about crocuses and tulips and bluebells and…

“Not a flower.” Geralt finally cuts in when he can’t tune Dandelion out any longer.

That quiets Dandelion for the space of a single breath before he’s pressing, “Why not?”

“Because humans would never name someone after most of those,” Geralt forces himself to explain very slowly and very calmly and very much not beginning to lose his temper. It’s only as he realizes Dandelion probably doesn’t have enough context that something like sympathy creeps in around the edges of his irritable mood. “Just pick something else.”

The fairy protests that if he’s giving up the last thing tying him to his old life, he should at least replace it with something good, and Geralt supposes there’s not much to argue with on that front. They go back and forth a great deal before Dandelion finally suggests something that isn’t a flower. “Jaskier?”

“Fine.” Geralt agrees with an exasperated sigh. He’s so grateful that the fairy has finally suggested something that isn’t completely ridiculous that he almost misses the toothy little smile Dandelion… Jaskier gives him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier sing songs, looking very much like he’s won some game Geralt didn’t even know they were playing. “Nothing at all.”

****

The further they get from the forest, the more aware Dandelion (Jaskier, he reminds himself) is of how horribly uncomfortable it is. The air is too warm and too thick, like tree sap where it sticks to his skin. How does anyone live out here?

He supposes he’s going to find out if he’s meant to make a life beyond the woods, which is fine, really. It’s… fine. It has to be. The only home he’s ever known is no great loss, with the promise of endless adventure stretched out in front of him. It’s what Jaskier tells himself, at least, and he refuses to look back lest the fragile belief crumble.

After all, if he’s going to follow the witcher, there’s a whole world out there to explore. The man doesn’t appear all that interested in having Jaskier’s company, but that’s not exactly a new experience for the fairy, odd by even fae standards. That will all change, he thinks, when the witcher sees how useful it is to have someone around with magic at their fingertips. Surely, there must be something the witcher wants, if Jaskier can just learn what it is.

So, he follows at the witcher’s heels, unsure he particularly likes the wide dirt path humans have cut through the wilderness around them. Grass and flowers sprawl as far as the eye can see to either side, but the ground underneath them is hard, even through the soles of his boots. There’s a reason for it, probably, but the sentiment remains all the same.

Losing interest in the road, Jaskier watches the witcher, silently walking just a bit ahead. He isn’t much of a conversationalist, Jaskier quickly discovers. The fairy tries valiantly, but it’s not until he asks about why the man carries two swords that Jaskier gets more than a vague grunt in response.

“Silver for monsters. Steel for men.” It’s abrupt and to the point, and then the witcher is silent.

That seems… extreme. Jaskier has never actually met a human, mind you, but he’s seen a couple from afar. They looked quite fragile in the grand scheme of things, but if someone like the witcher has a weapon dedicated to them, perhaps he’s miscalculated. “Are humans really so dangerous?”

“You can decide that for yourself.” The witcher gestures ahead as they top a hill. Beyond the crest of it lays what must be a human community of some sort. It’s a collection of buildings silhouetted in the dark, yellow light glowing from within some of them.

Jaskier had somehow expected something more grand. He thinks to ask if all the places humans live are like this, but there’s the slightest dip to the way the witcher carries himself. From everything else he’s seen, it strikes Jaskier that even this very slight show of vulnerability is more than the witcher has allowed, as if there’s just too much exhaustion at this point to hold it all in. So, Jaskier tries to keep his questions to a minimum after that, humming softly as they make their way towards the buildings.

It’s louder here, though not by much. Somewhere off to Jaskier’s right, there’s the din of a number of conversations happening at the same time, but the witcher keeps walking and so the fairy does too. The road is mostly empty, but there are a couple of people out and about. Jaskier does his best not to stare too openly, but he sees enough to decide none of them are individually that interesting. They’re quiet and plain. Even their clothes are muted.

By the time Jaskier stops trying to make sense of their surroundings and thinks to break his attempt at silence to ask where they’re going, the witcher has stopped in front of a door. It’s the grandest building Jaskier has seen yet, which really isn’t saying much. All that sets it apart from the rest is some pretty filigree carved around the doors and windows.

“Don’t say a word,” the witcher insists as he raps his knuckles against the door. Of course, that just brings more questions. Don’t talk to the witcher or to whoever is on the other side of that door? Is this knocking thing some tradition before you walk into a building? Before he can ask anything, the door swings open.

The man that greets them is nothing at all like the witcher. He’s unpleasant to look at with his beady eyes and beaked nose, and even before he speaks, Jaskier knows his voice will be equally unpleasant. It’s the way he looks at the witcher though, that gets the fairy’s hackles up. He doesn’t know humans, not really, but he knows disdain when he sees it, and that won’t do at all.

“Witcher,” the man greets, and the tone of it has sealed his fate as far as Jaskier is concerned. Oh sure, the witcher is gruff and not very friendly, but he’s good. Jaskier knows that much, even if it’s hard to explain why in words. He’s done nothing to deserve this man speaking to him like they’re less than equals, and yet the witcher wordlessly bears it.

Is it always like this? Jaskier wonders only briefly before deciding that if it is, it won’t be anymore. Maybe that is the thing he can do to sway the witcher into allowing him to keep following.

The door opens more widely, and the man hardly spares Jaskier a glance, clearly taking him at face value. That, or he’s too busy watching the witcher’s every move. As if he hasn’t even noticed, the witcher steps past the threshold into the building, Jaskier close behind him.

[bluenet13]

Picture Perfect

Densi Holiday fic for @densi-mber Day 2 writing prompt: Decorating for Christmas. *Set in Season 3*

-x-x-x-

Deeks grunted as soon as he heard a loud thud followed by Monty’s bark. Closing his eyes, he released a calming breath, trying to tamper down his building panic. Lifting himself from his prone position, he took a look down, his worst fears quickly being confirmed as soon as he saw the ladder he had used to climb to his roof laying flat on the ground. Christmas decorations half hanging from below the gutters, now discarded by the man that had just a few seconds ago been securing them to the roof.

Why did I decide to move to a house? Deeks wondered, not for the first time. This kind of thing never used to happen at his old apartment, of course, he had been spied on and subsequently shot while living there and that was undoubtedly worse, but that unfortunate incident had nothing to do with his current predicament so he quickly discarded the thought. After he had gone back home after his ordeal in the hospital, he had terminated his lease early, deciding to rent a small house instead. It was located in a nice neighborhood near the beach, a place that he usually wouldn’t be able to afford, but it had been in great need of renovation so he had managed to get a good deal for a half-year lease while the owners contracted the repairs for the following spring. Now, as he found himself stranded on his roof, the idea seemed terrible.

If Deeks had still been working for the LAPD he would have just jumped off the roof and blame whatever injuries he got on his undercover work, he doubted Bates would even care. That thought, however, was stopped as soon as he remembered that he worked for NCIS now, and Hetty would sure find out the truth about his injuries, and berate him for his foolishness, even if the house was a one-floor ranch.

Groaning audibly, Deeks took out his phone and began to dial, even as he continued bargaining within himself, considering the tradeoff between the humiliation that was sure to follow if he proceeded with the call against the physical pain that the fall could cause. Bruises and cuts heal over time and wouldn't compare to a lifetime of embarrassment, he tried to convince himself, but it was all futile, as his call was suddenly picked up.

“Hello.” The confused voice of his partner answered on the other end. “Deeks? Are you okay?” Kensi asked in confusion, not used to her still somewhat new partner calling during the weekends, but now on high alert after the shooting last spring.

“Hi, Kens, yes.” Deeks breathed out nervously, drawing a hand down his hair as he tried to calm himself. “Could you come over?”

“Why?” Kensi asked, in a tone that made Deeks easily picture the raise eyebrows that must have accompanied the question.

“I just need some help, that’s it.” Deeks said simply, not wanting to give her any details so she wouldn’t get the idea to show up with Callen and Sam too.

“Is everything okay?” Kensi just wanted to make sure.

“Yes, yes.” Deeks continued, still hating that he had even needed to call. 

“Then it can wait til Monday.” Kensi said sure of herself, after all, tomorrow morning they would all see each other in the office.

Again a silent discussion followed, as Deeks considered the implications of spending the night on his roof. Maybe a neighbor would show up at some point and realize that he needed help, but on the other hand, he was new to the community and no one knew him yet, so they could consider him a home invader and shoot him on sight or call the LAPD, which would be a 100 times worse than Kensi coming to his rescue. He was already the butt of enough jokes at his old place of employment.

“This is time sensitive, Kens. I…” He trailed off.

“I will be there in 30 minutes.” Kensi said more out of curiosity than anything else, wanting to know what had prompted her so sure of himself partner to call asking for her help.

Deeks cursed to himself as the called was cut, telling himself that next year he would put two ladders and keep Monty inside. Hell, next year he would hang no lights at all. He then lowered himself back to the ground and continued with the lights, might as well, he thought drily. 

-x-x-x-

As promised a half hour later the hysterical laugh of his partner brought his attention away from the lights and back to the ground below. Kensi having just exited her SUV, instantly chuckling as she noticed her partner on the roof and the ladder on the ground, quickly understanding the time sensitivity of the matter.

“How are you doing up there, partner?” She asked cheerfully while she petted an excited Monty. “Need some help?"

Deeks groaned again and just nodded, too proud to speak the actual word. 

“I can’t hear ya, Deeks.” Kensi said, clearly enjoying herself.

“Yes, Kensi. Can you please get up the ladder so I can get down.” Deeks finally admitted in a frustrated tone. 

“And what’s in it for me?” Kensi smirked. “I was doing something very important and you interrupted me.”

“I wouldn’t consider a Top Model marathon very important.” Deeks said cheekily. 

“I know you liked the show, so no reason to hide it, partner. And who says I wasn’t on a date?” She continued trying to rattle him.

Deeks just huffed out a laugh, but stayed quiet. “Can we move this conversation to the ground?” He asked eventually, after Kensi stayed equally silent.

“I don’t know. You could just wait for the mailman to come tomorrow morning and ask him to call the fire department, or maybe you could call Callen or Sam.” Kensi laughed again just imagining the teasing that would follow.

“You wouldn’t do that, Fern.” Deeks gasped in mock horror. But in reality, he wasn’t so sure, so he didn't say anything else, not wanting to give Kensi any ideas. “Please.” He added for good measure. 

“Is that a challenge, Shaggy?” She threatened, as she began to walk back towards her car.

“No, wait! What do you want?” He finally relented.

“Complete my after-action reports, and bring me donuts every morning… for a month.” Kensi replied, proud of herself.

“For a month? What, are you trying to get 10 pounds?” Deeks said as he blanched, not particularly caring about the sweet treats, but thinking of how much time he would need to spend doing paperwork.

“You’re just begging to sleep on the roof, Marty.” Kensi said in a sing-song voice. 

“Ok, ok. Deal.” Deeks raised his hands in a placating gesture, knowing that he wasn’t winning this one, and it was better to surrender if he had any hope of getting off the roof today.

Kensi beamed as she raised the ladder back towards the roof, holding it in place while Deeks climbed down. 

“Thank you.” He pouted when he was finally standing on the ground.

“You’re very welcome.” Kensi continued to smile, enjoying her partner’s annoyance. Then frowned as Deeks picked up a box of holiday decorations and began moving it back to the garage. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like.” Deeks muttered. “I’m putting everything away.”

“But you haven’t finished decorating.” Kensi said softly. Noticing the garlands, the wreath, stockings, additional lights, and little Santa and Rudolf toys, that were still on the container. 

“I’m not in a mood to decorate.” Deeks answered over his shoulder, moving a second box inside. 

“Come on, Deeks. You can let a single incident ruin Christmas.” Kensi wasn’t one for decorations, but in her short time knowing Deeks, she was certain he was. “I will help you.” She added, surprising even herself. 

“Really?” Deeks’ cheered up at that. His hopeful face peering out from behind a box. 

Kensi just nodded and grabbed a box, moving it back to the lawn. “Of course, that’s what partner’s are for.” Kensi said sincerely, bumping Deeks’ shoulder as she walked past him.

Deeks nodded, the first honest smile of the last two hours spreading over his face, then he picked up a garland and began to intertwine it around the handrail of his small porch.

That Christmas, a new holiday tradition began. The following weekend the partners moved to decorate Kensi's apartment, and the upcoming years they followed suit. Until they went all in and moved together, having only one home to decorate, but still continuing to do it as partners.

And as that particular Sunday came to an end, Deeks found himself laughing and smiling more than any holiday to date, and he secretly thought that getting stuck on the roof was beginning to look more and more like the best thing that could have happened to him.

Deeks' feeling of content remained for the next few weeks, until he discovered that unbeknownst to him, Kensi had managed to take a quick picture of him stranded on the roof, which she had then sent as her holiday card to their whole team...

[princess-of-luxure]

Masquerade [1]

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You moved to the capital city, Altadellys, in search of job opportunities. You had anticipated several significant changes in your life, but nothing could have prepared you for almost getting robbed in an alley, only to be saved by a mysterious masked vigilante. Their mysterious appearance throws your life into chaos, and you soon find yourself swept up in the high-stakes underground operations of a group of... supervillains?!

You didn't ask for any of this, but there's just as much excitement amongst the potentially lethal drama. As secrets hundreds of years olds begin to unfold before you, can you be the missing link in solving a dangerous mystery, or will you bring everything to ruin?

Fandom: Reigning Passions (Visual Novel) Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Gen (so far) Characters: Lyris (Reigning Passions), Main Character (Reigning Passions), Amara (Reigning Passions), Piama (Reigning Passions), Hazel (Reigning Passions) Content Warnings: Attempted Robbery, Knives

Welcome to Masquerade! This is a reader-interactive story putting the characters of Reigning Passions into the setting of Villainous Nights. There will be choices for you guys, as the audience, to vote on, which can influence the direction of the story's plot (including the potential deaths of characters!) and also can influence who gets together with who. It's assumed that everyone is poly so don't worry if MC doesn't get together with your favourite LI - you've still got a shot! Plus, any characters with compatible sexualities can get together if you nudge them in that direction, so if you're a fan of, say, Amara and Xenia? Depending on the choices made, they can totally get together.

This is cross-posted on my AO3, which you can find here! You can cast your vote in the comment section there, or send me an ask/DM me here on tumblr! You can also vote in the replies of the appropriate tumblr post for each chapter.

Chapter below the read more.

Altadellys, you were finding, was bigger than you had ever imagined. Prior to moving to the capital city of Lysende, you had lived in a small town so remote it didn’t even have a name. Everybody knew everybody in your little community, but looking around the big city, you only saw the faces of strangers, not a single one sparing you a glance as they rushed to where they were going.

It was also far warmer in Altadellys than in your hometown, you noted as you shucked off your coat and tied it around your waist. The climate where you’d come from was so frigid that it was practically winter year-round, and you were eager to learn what a true spring or fall felt like, let alone a true summer.

“Alright, all you’ve gotta do is make it to Hazel’s place, and then she’ll walk you to your apartment,” you muttered to yourself, fishing around blindly in your bag. “She said it’s near Central Park, which shouldn’t be too hard to find, just follow the map.” Your fingers closed around the object you were looking for, and you pulled out your phone, attitude bright and chipper. “You’ve got this!”

These turned out to be famous last words, as you went to turn on your phone and found that the battery had died on the car ride here. “Shit,” you muttered, because, well, it was an appropriate word for the situation. Chewing your lip, you tossed your phone back into your bag and glanced around. To a local, you were sure finding Central Park would be no problem, but you weren’t a local.

Wait, a local! That’s it! Approaching a man in his late twenties walking a dog, you gave your friendliest smile. “Excuse me, could you—”

“Get lost, lady,” the man growled, and you flinched, drawing back. No one in your hometown behaved so aggressively, their voices dripping with venom as they bared their teeth in a snarl.

Swallowing your fear, you clutched onto the strap of your bag, trying to appear more confident than you felt. Maybe you had just gotten off on the wrong foot. “Sorry to disturb you, I just wanted to ask—”

“Didn’t you hear me?” The man jabbed a finger at you, and you stumbled back a few paces, squeaking. “I said, get. Lost.”

You hid your burning cheeks and frightened expression in the curtain of your hair, mumbling out apology after apology. After several minutes of this, you realized the man had left and was nowhere to be seen, so you lifted your head and took another look around. Every intersection was plastered with signs, but none of them seemed to point towards Central Park, and given your last interaction, the idea of asking a local suddenly seemed a lot less viable.

You fiddled with your hair as you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. Rather than being a beautiful new wonder, Altadellys now just seemed like a living nightmare. “It’s okay, you’ve got this,” you mumbled, your half-assed attempt at a pep talk doing little to restore your confidence. “It’s a big park in the middle of the city. If you just keep walking, you’re sure to find it eventually.”

After what felt like an hour of walking with no change in scenery, your faith in that assumption was beginning to waver. You wrestled with your steadily increasing anxiety as you stopped at the corner of an intersection. Warmth and mouth-watering scents seeped out from underneath the door of the cafe you were stood by, and your stomach rumbled as you found yourself wishing you were inside. God, what I wouldn’t give to be sharing a cup of coffee with Hazel right now.

“Hey there little girl, are you lost?” You nearly jumped out of your skin as you whirled to face the person who had spoken. Most of their face was obscured by their black hoodie, but you could still make out the leer that painted itself across their features.

You swallowed, taking a step back. The stranger took a step forward, and as you continued to try and put space between the two of you, you became hyper aware that they were backing you into a dark alley, out of sight from the rest of the world. “U-Um, no, not lost at all! Just… enjoying the scenery!” Why did my phone have to die now?!

“The scenery, huh?” You were pressed up against a wall now, the stranger’s hand pinning you up against the stone. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, your breathing verging on hyperventilation as you stared up at your assailant with wide eyes. “It would be a shame if that was cut short.”

Those last words were a whisper, as cold and smooth as the metal blade now pressed against your throat. You couldn’t even squeak, fear stealing the sound from your lungs. You began praying to every deity you could think of, even ones you weren’t even sure were actually from real pantheons, anything to get out of this mess.

“Robbing pretty girls in dark alleys?” A new voice made your heart jump—whether it was in relief or further fear, you didn’t know. It evidently startled your attacker just as much, the surprised flinch of their hand just barely nicking your skin. A single bead of blood welled to the surface, but you didn’t have time to process it before your assailant was being pulled away from you. You remained frozen in place, too shaken to fully comprehend what was unfolding before you.

When you finally came out of your shock, the first thing that occurred to you was holy hell was your savior attractive. His face was partially obscured by a blue-green mask, trimmed with gold and decorated with what were, as far as you could tell, real peacock feathers, but you could still see the steely glint in his mismatched eyes. One was purple, the other gold, and you would’ve probably wondered how in the world he got lucky enough to end up with that genetic combination if you weren’t so busy taking in the rest of him. He was certainly a striking figure, with long golden-brown and green hair, a simple but somehow still shockingly elegant suit to match his mask, and fingerless gloves revealing blue and pink nails (toxic masculinity who?).

All of this paled in comparison to the wings that emerged from the slit on the back of his suit. The shining green plumage made him look like some kind of majestic angel, or bird. Actually, considering the look of his mask, you were pretty sure he was going for the latter.

Your savior said something to the would-be robber that you didn’t quite catch, still feeling in a somewhat faraway daze. Whatever it was, it sent them running, the masked vigilante folding his arms and watching them go with a look of utmost contempt. When they disappeared from sight, he turned to you, approaching with slow, gentle footsteps, the concerned look in his eyes at odds with the easy smile that curled his lips.

“That was a pretty nasty experience. I wouldn’t want to be in your position,” he commented, his tone casual as though he was discussing the weather, and not the fact he’d probably just saved your life. His expression shifted as he came to pause in front of you, gaze flickering to your neck. “Are you okay?”

Numbly, you placed two fingers to where you’d been cut. They came away wet with blood, but even so, you could tell that the injury was shallow—you’d gotten incredibly lucky. “I’ll—I’ll be fine. It’s not serious.” Your voice quavered, barely able to force the words out.

Your savior didn’t seem entirely convinced. “May I see anyway?” he requested, and moving on autopilot, you tilted your head to show him the cut. He stepped closer, fingers brushing against your throat as he inspected your injury, and you tried to ignore how the simple contact sent shivers down your spine. After a moment that lasted both eternity and no time at all, he drew back, humming in satisfaction. “You’re right. It’s not that bad, you’ll survive.” Apparently content with your health, you saw a teasing gleam enter his gaze. “I’d do more, but my power isn’t exactly to do with healing.” He fluttered his wings once to prove his point, and that’s when the reality of the situation came crashing down onto you.

“Your power. You have powers.” The words came out in a breathless rush, and you were completely helpless to stop them. You clapped your hands to your mouth, but too late; you felt the heat rising to your cheeks already. Leave it to you to make an absolute fool of yourself in front of an attractive guy.

He didn’t seem to mind though, evidently amused as he folded his arms, shifting his weight to one leg. “Well, I sure hope so. If I didn’t, my entire life would be a lie.” With the danger gone, he bantered with you in the way one might banter with a best friend, nevermind that you’d never seen him before.

You had enough grace to not try to continue that thread of conversation. “What’s your name?” you blurted out, and as your question processed, you felt your blush darken. You know what? No more talking without permission from my brain, mouth.

Your savior chuckled, pulling you out of your flustered thoughts. “My name is a secret I’m going to take to my grave,” he replied, and yeah, fair. What else were you expecting? “However…” He leaned forward to whisper in your ear, close enough that you could feel his breath tickle your neck. “You may call me Peacock.”

In a single breath, he had drawn back, leaving you struggling to collect your scattered thoughts and calm your racing heartbeat. First things first. His alias was Peacock—unsurprisingly so, given his general aesthetic and the prideful smirk that curled his lips. He was evidently playing things up for the drama, and you couldn’t honestly say you minded.

“I’m…” You took a deep breath to try and scrape together at least some of your composure. Once you felt like you weren’t about to faint from the situation, you finally offered Peacock your name.

He repeated your name back to you, humming in curiosity as you nodded. “A lovely name indeed,” he complimented, and you felt your cheeks burn. So much for composure, but then again, he probably said that to all the girls he rescued. Seeing the intensity of his gaze, though, you weren’t so sure.

You almost missed when he started speaking again, too wrapped up in your flustered thoughts. “...you going, little lady?”

You were going to have to ask the pretty peacock vigilante to repeat himself. God, today just wasn’t your day, wasn’t it? “Sorry, could you repeat that?” you mumbled, burying your face in your hair and doing anything not to look Peacock in the eye. Even if he had very beautiful eyes. Goddammit, you were too bi for this.

Peacock laughed, the sound just as charming as everything else about him. Fuck. “I know I’m handsome, but you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted,” he reprimanded lightly, a teasing smile quirking his lips, and yup, you were going to die. You may as well just go dig a hole and lay down in it. “I asked where you were going.”

Okay, focus. If you manage to screw this up you may as well move back to your town because your pride will be completely gone. “Central Park,” you replied, finally lifting your face from your curtain of hair and clutching the strap of your bag. “I’m supposed to meet my friend at her place, but my phone died, but her house is near there so I thought if I just found my way there…”

You trailed off as you saw Peacock already shaking his head. “Altadellys is a big city,” he explained. “Bigger than you think. I could direct you to Central Park, but you’d still get lost trying to find your way to your friend’s place, and I can’t always be around to save you.” He paused, but before you had time to begin to panic, he was already asking another question. “Do you know where you’re staying?”

“Yes!” You turned your eyes to the sky, eyebrows creasing as you tried to remember the name of the building. “Spring Apartments.”

You’re sure you didn’t imagine the shock that briefly flickered across what you can see of Peacock’s expression, the way he was caught off guard if only for a moment. “Spring Apartments? You’re sure?”

You cocked your head to the side, uncertain as to what about your place of residence would elicit this kind of reaction. “Yes? Is there a problem with that?”

If Peacock’s gaze on you had been intense before, it didn’t come close to comparing to now. You had to fight the urge to hide yourself away from his scrutiny, unable to help but feel like he was committing every detail of your visage to memory. “Not at all.” His easy smile was back as quickly as it had vanished, leaving you feeling out of the loop. “I can take you there.”

“That would be nice, thank you—” You paused, blinking owlishly as his words fully processed. “Wait. Take me there?”

“Let’s just say that helping you will help me as well,” Peacock replied cryptically, as if that clarified things at all. Still, it was hard to be frustrated at his vagueness as long as that unbearably attractive smile remained. “Of course, that’s only if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m okay with it, but how—ah!” Your words dissolved into a yelp as you found yourself unexpectedly scooped into Peacock’s arms. His almost ethereal nature belied how strong he truly was, you realized as he held you securely against his chest, hoping desperately that he couldn’t hear the thudding of your heart. That really would be the icing on your embarrassed cake; the final nail in your flustered coffin.

“Sorry,” Peacock apologized, and this close to him, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest, his warm breath tickling your neck with each exhale. “I’ve never been one to walk in the front door.”

You didn’t have time to even begin to process that before Peacock took to the air. You let out a decidedly undignified shriek, burying your face against his suit and clinging to him like your life depended on it (which it technically did, but you were trying not to think about that).

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Peacock murmured, and between his soft voice and assured grip, you realized he wasn’t saying that just to comfort you. You really were safe in his arms, even as buildings and people blurred past beneath you. It was a surreal feeling, to be truthful, but one that once you got used to it, you couldn’t honestly say you minded.

It was over all too quickly, Peacock placing you down on the roof of the apartment building within minutes. “This is where I leave you,” he explained, flashing you another one of those damned smiles. “I trust you can handle things from here?”

“Well, unless the apartment building is as difficult to navigate as the rest of Altadellys, I should be fine,” you replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Pride swelled within your chest as Peacock laughed at your joke.

“You’re quite the witty one, aren’t you? I like that,” he complimented, winking, and by some miracle you didn’t fall over then and there. “Keep me in mind? Who knows, maybe we’ll meet again.” He leaned forward slightly, and you stared up at him. Wow, his eyes are even more enchanting up close…

Your name fell from his lips, and this time you nearly did fall over. For a second, you wondered if he was going to kiss you, but instead he took a step back, leaving your heart thudding and your chest filled with a strange sense of disappointment.

There was silence for a brief second, before you took a deep breath. “Thank you for saving me,” you murmured, figuring you at least owed him that.

Peacock paused, tilting his head as he regarded you, a smile curling across his lips. It was different to the others, somehow—more real. “The pleasure was all mine, my lady,” he replied, giving a mock bow before walking to the edge of the roof. Before you could get another word in, he spread his wings and jumped, disappearing before you had a chance to call after him.

It took a minute to recover from the excitement you had just experienced, but you made your way inside from the roof stairwell, finding your apartment with blessed ease. I deserve this much mercy after the day I’ve had, you mused as you knocked on the door.

The door opened quickly, revealing a small and delicate-looking woman. Her most striking feature was the floral tattoos that swirled across her whole body, though the gorgeous flowers pinned in her white, yellow-tipped hair came a close second. Her white and pale yellow dress was deceptively simple, the flowers stitched into the opaque overskirt being the most complicated detail of the design.

“Hey.” You introduced yourself, putting on your friendliest smile. “Is this your apartment? If so, I’m your new roommate.”

“That’s today?” The woman huffed slightly, glancing around. “Damn it, Lyris…” She muttered a bit more to herself, leaving you feeling more and more confused, before she finally addressed you. “Oh, but where are my manners? I’m Piama.”

She extended a hand for you to shake, and you reached down to take it. “Nice to meet you, Piama,” you offered, uncertain what to make of your new roommate.

Piama cast an appraising eye over you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

You blushed, not exactly embarrassed but still shy about being so easily placed by a beautiful woman. “Yeah. My hometown’s pretty far away.”

“That much speaks for itself.” Piama pressed her lips together, resting her chin on her hand as she considered you. “Your clothes are so last season, we’re going to have to do something about that.”

You had no idea how to respond to that. Initially, her words came off as rude, but the context implied she was only trying to help. “Um.”

Before you had a chance to come up with a more intelligent response, there was a melodic chime from Piama’s pocket. Pulling out a phone that looked more expensive that all your past phones put together, Piama scanned what was presumably a text before letting out a huff. “About time!” she complained as her fingers flashed across the screen. “I was supposed to go out with Lyris an hour ago! I called him four times and texted him like, fifty, and he just got back to me!” Putting her phone back away, she rolled her eyes. “This has been happening more and more lately. I’m starting to think he’s gotten a partner and hasn’t told me about it.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help a small laugh. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I can settle in by myself.”

Piama let out a relieved sigh. “Thank God. Lyris and I have been planning this for weeks, and I would die if I waited a second longer.” She paused, looking like a realization had just struck her. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you, of course. You seem like a lovely girl, it just seems impossible to spend any quality time with him lately.”

You waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, no offense taken.”

Piama flashed you a small smile, wishing you a quick goodbye before sweeping past you. You wasted no time entering the apartment, quickly finding an outlet to plug your phone into. With that done, you fixed yourself a cup of coffee before flopping on the couch, sighing deeply as you finally began to process the day’s events.

You’d arrived in Altadellys, only to find your phone was dead. Asking a local for directions had proven useless, and soon after that, you had gotten yourself hopelessly lost. You’d nearly been robbed in an alley, only to be saved by an attractive masked vigilante calling himself Peacock. He’d taken you to your new residence and then disappeared. You’d found your apartment and met your roommate, an extremely pretty woman named Piama, and had a brief conversation with her before she’d had to leave. Now, you were here, relaxing in your new home while waiting for your phone to charge.

A distinctive chime alerted you to the fact your phone was now alive again. Carefully grabbing it, you switched it on, seeing that you had five unread texts from Hazel. You wasted no time in unlocking your phone and swiping over to your messenger, finding that the first of the texts was from around two hours ago.

Hazel: Hey did you make it to the city safely?

The next message was about half an hour later, around about when your phone had died.

Hazel: Freckles?

Hazel: You’re starting to worry me

The next two messages were from around half an hour ago, and you can tell Hazel’s increasing worry from the fact they were typed with perfect grammar.

Hazel: Okay, this is totally weird for you.

Hazel: If you don’t message me within the next hour, I’m calling the police.

Guilt and affection mingled in your gut. Guilt that you’d made her worry so much, and affection over the fact that she cared that much for you. Placing your mug down, you quickly typed out a reply.

You: I’m fine Hazey dw

You: My phone died on the way here

Hazel’s response was immediate, and you wondered if she’d been waiting for your message for the past half hour or so.

Hazel: Holy hell don’t scare me like that Freckles

Hazel: Ppl are saying crime rates in Altadellys are higher than they’ve ever been

Hazel: I was worried you’d gotten murdered or smthin

You couldn’t fight back a chuckle, smiling as you responded.

You: Not dead yet, amazingly

You: I’m at my apartment now but getting here was a nightmare

You hesitated as you went to type your next message. You definitely wanted to tell Hazel about your encounter with the mysterious Peacock, but would she believe you? ...of course she would, she was your best friend! She’d definitely heard far weirder stories from you.

You: Hey I’ve got a kinda crazy story to tell you

Hazel: [eyes emoji] [eyes emoji] [eyes emoji] 

Hazel: You know crazy’s my middle name hmu

You: It might be too much to put in a text

Hazel: Np we can meet up in person

Hazel: I’ve been dying to see u again anyway it’s been way too long

You: Agreed

You: Text me your address and I’ll be there ASAP

Plugging the address Hazel sent you into your GPS app, you discovered that her place was only a ten-minute walk away. That was a small miracle; you didn’t feel like tangling with a taxi right now. Draining the rest of your coffee, you got up to place your cup into the sink and write a note for Piama explaining where you were going. Once your phone had charged enough to the point where it wouldn’t die again while you were out, you grabbed your bag and made your way out of the building.

Finding Hazel’s house proved to be blessedly simple now that you had directions, and soon you found yourself standing in front of it. It was modest only in comparison to the other houses along the street, one story with a moderate backyard rather than two stories at least with sprawling acres of land.

“Looks like just the kind of place Hazel would love,” you mused to yourself as you moved to ring the doorbell. As you waited, you noticed that the door also had a knocker in the shape of a lioness’ maw. Interesting—had it been there before Hazel moved in? You couldn’t imagine why she’d have both a doorbell and a knocker.

The door opened shortly, a wide grin breaking across Hazel’s face. “Freckles! It’s so good to see you again!” She wasted no time pulling you into a giant bear hug that nearly crushed your bones.

“Good to see you too, Hazey,” you gasped, hugging her back as best you could. “Uh, you’re kinda crushing me.”

“Whoops.” Hazel quickly let go of you, though she didn’t move back far. “Sorry. Kinda forget my own strength sometimes.”

You smiled, but before you could respond, a new figure appearing over Hazel’s shoulder stole your attention. Blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, her golden eyes shining with a gentle warmth. She wore a simple red and white tunic that looked like it could have dated back to medieval times (and here you thought your fashion was out of date). “Hazel, who’s this?”

“Oh, this is my best friend from my hometown!” Hazel quickly introduced you to the unknown woman and—holy mother of God she was ripped. Lean muscles rippled beneath her clothes, and you were so distracted staring you nearly didn’t catch Hazel adding, “And this is Amara; she recently moved in with me.”

Callout to myself: too bi to function. You tried to push down the thoughts of how attractive Amara was to extend a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Amara.”

Amara accepted your proffered handshake, her grip deceptively light. “You as well. Hazel has spoken highly of you.”

You felt your cheeks turn red as Hazel laughed. “‘Course I have! Gotta make sure everyone knows how amazing my best friend is.”

“Hazel!” you exclaimed, trying desperately to cover your darkening blush. First Peacock, then Piama, and now Amara. Were you the protagonist of a romance visual novel or something? If you met one more attractive person you were going to die—which was a problem because Altadellys seemed to be full of them.

“Hey, you never know, Amara might find you just as amazing.” Hazel winked conspiratorially and yup, this was how you died. There was no way Amara wouldn’t notice the obvious wingwomaning—

“Well, I wouldn’t know, but any friend of Hazel’s is a friend of mine.” —or not. Was Amara seriously oblivious to your evident fluster and Hazel’s teasing? Whatever, you would take what you could get. Your poor bi heart still hadn’t recovered from your earlier encounter with Peacock, anyway.

You took a deep breath, praying your voice wouldn’t wobble. “Likewise,” you agreed, shifting your weight awkwardly and flicking your gaze to Hazel. “Also uh, Hazey? Can I come inside or am I going to be standing on your front porch for this entire conversation?”

“Is something wrong with my porch?” Hazel teased. Amara’s brow creased with concern and she quickly added, “I’m joking, Amara, don’t worry. We’ve teased each like this since we were kids.” She stepped back from the door and disappeared into the corridor, calling behind her, “I’m gonna make drinks. You two get to know each other!”

Amara offered you a polite smile. “I apologize for this. Hazel is a dear friend of mine, but I remain bemused by her antics.”

She really was oblivious to Hazel’s wingwomaning. You weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth though, chuckling nervously. “Yeah, she’s always been something of an enigma, but you know how best friends are.”

Amara didn’t respond, and you began to worry you’d said something wrong by the completely blank look on her face. “Amara?”

Amara shook herself, her expression taking on the polite, friendly smile again. It didn’t reach her eyes, and you couldn’t help but feel you’d touched on a sensitive subject, though you had no idea what it was. “My apologies, I was lost in thought. Allow me to show you to the living room.”

As you followed Amara, you couldn’t help but note she carried herself with the posture of a soldier, complete with the famous Murder Walk™ that tumblr loved to talk about. That sent alarm bells ringing in your head and your heart panging with concern—what had happened to her to cause her to always be on her guard?

You knew better than to ask, settling into the cushions of one of the simple white couches in the living room. Amara sat across from you, studying you with a curious expression. “You are not from Altadellys?”

Somehow, the question made you feel less self-conscious than when Piama had commented on it earlier. “Yeah, I’m from Hazel’s hometown. What about you?”

“I’m not from Altadellys either,” Amara replied, confirming a growing suspicion. “I moved here many years ago.”

“Didn’t exactly embrace the lifestyle?” you guessed, gesturing to her clothes and praying your inquiry wouldn’t be considered rude.

To your relief, a genuine smile lit up Amara’s features, a soft glimmer in her eyes. “Not exactly,” she agreed. “I have never been able to immerse myself in the glitz and glam of the city, though I have nothing against those who do.”

“My roommate’s the complete opposite of you,” you mused, trying to latch onto this thread of conversation. “She’s stunningly beautiful, but in a way I feel like I’ll never compare to, you know?”

Amara considered you thoughtfully. “Sometimes simpler is better,” she remarked. “If it is of any comfort to you, I think you look wonderful just the way you are.”

You were saved from spontaneous combustion by Hazel reappearing, carefully holding three mugs full of hot, steaming liquid. If it were anyone else, you might’ve been worried about her spilling or dropping them, but you had complete faith in Hazel. “Coffee for me and Freckles, and tea for Amara!” she hummed, placing down two of the mugs before flopping onto the couch next to you.

“Thank you, Hazel,” Amara responded politely, carefully picking up her drink, blowing on it gently before taking a sip. You echoed the sentiment, retrieving your coffee and nursing it as your thoughts wandered in the direction of gay again.

“So Freckles,” Hazel interrupted, and you nearly spilled your drink as you were jolted out of your thoughts. “You said you had a crazy story to tell?”

“Oh! Yeah, I did, but…” Your gaze flickered hesitantly to Amara.

She caught the look and smiled, gesturing for you to continue. “I assure you, I have heard many extraordinary stories in my time. I promise I will not judge.”

Amara was so open and kind that you found yourself believing her without a second thought. You nodded and took a deep breath. “So like I said in my texts, my phone died getting here. I thought I’d just go to Central Park and find this place from here, but I uh…” You rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly, averting your eyes. “I kinda got lost.”

“Understandably so,” Amara said, and you glanced over at her, surprised at her input. “Altadellys is a city of enormous proportions. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, things could’ve gone seriously wrong,” Hazel agreed, concern painted across her features. “Seems like you hear about more and more robberies and people going missing everyday.”

You figured that was as good of a leadup to the ‘crazy’ part of your story as you were going to get. “I’m alright, but it was a close call. Someone tried to rob me in an alley.” You tilted your head to expose the faint scar on your neck.

“What?!” Hazel gasped. “Did you see what they looked like, Freckles? I’ll give them a piece of my mind for daring to lay a hand on you—”

“You should calm down, Hazel,” Amara interrupted gently, but you could see the concern and fury shining behind her golden eyes. “How did you get away?”

“I was saved by a masked guy with wings. He called himself Peacock,” you explained, scanning the pair’s faces for reactions. Hazel’s eyes were wide, her surprise evident, whereas Amara remained more composed, shock passing over her expression for only a moment before she closed her eyes, presumably lost in thought.

“Peacock, you’re sure?” Hazel checked, before shaking her head. “Who am I kidding, you said he had wings, that can’t be anyone else.”

“Yes?” You couldn’t help but feel surprise of your own at Hazel’s reaction. If she recognized his name—and knew about his powers—then just who was Peacock? “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation,” Hazel replied. The look of awe on her face almost felt surreal. “After Fox disappeared, he took over as Altadellys’s protector of the night!” She struck a pose, then paused. “Okay, so I’m pretty sure he’s more active during the day, but details.” She chuckled to herself. “Seriously though, you’re super lucky, Freckles. Getting saved by Peacock is almost every girl’s dream at the moment.”

You picked up on the phrasing, unable to help quirking your lips at the subtle quip. “But not you?”

“Nah, I’m too much of a lesbian for that.” Hazel grinned, obviously amused by her own joke, before leaning in. “But what about you? Is he as dreamy as they say?” She waggled her eyebrows.

You knew she was only teasing you, but you couldn’t stop the heat that flooded your cheeks as you thought back to your interaction with the masked vigilante. Visions of those beautiful eyes and that breathtaking smile filled your mind. “Um…”

You were hardly subtle. Hazel caught on immediately, and she burst out laughing. “Oh my God! Freckles, you have a crush!”

“I do not!” you immediately defended yourself, already knowing it fell on deaf ears. “He’s as attractive as they say, okay? But that doesn’t mean I like him!”

Hazel wiped a couple tears from her eyes. “Sure, sure, you keep telling yourself that, Freckles. But man, you had one hell of a first day in Altadellys, didn’t ya?”

You really couldn’t disagree with that, though you were just glad Hazel seemed to have dropped the teasing about your non-existent crush on Peacock. Absently, your gaze slid over to Amara, who had yet to rejoin the conversation. You found her staring off at a black-and-white photo hanging on the wall—looking closely, you were pretty sure it was of her, along with a man you’d never seen before. A family member or best friend? I’d consider that it could be her boyfriend, but I get the idea she’s not into guys. But why is it in black and white?

“Freckles? Were you listening?” You jumped, embarrassed at having been caught zoning out. 

I’m really off my game today. “Uh, not really,” you admitted sheepishly. “Mind repeating that?”

Hazel rolled her eyes affectionately. “I asked how the job search was going.” Her tone was filled with the fond exasperation only a best friend could capture.

“Oh, that.” You sighed, wishing you had better news on that front. “Not well, honestly. None of the places I’ve applied to have even called me in for an interview.”

Hazel winced sympathetically. “Yikes, that sucks. I’d offer to help ya, Freckles, but I don’t think my line of work is exactly for you.” She gave a meaningful look at your less-than-impressive physique and you laughed.

“Probably not, but thanks anyway.” You ran your fingers through your hair, thinking. “It’s a problem, though. Rent isn’t cheap here—I’ll get kicked out pretty fast if I don’t find a job soon.”

Hazel gave a thoughtful hum. “Well, why don’t you apply for an internship at Optimus? Seems like your kind of place.”

“Optimus? Are you sure?” Amara’s sudden interruption startled you, and you glanced over at her. Her expression was completely closed off, betraying nothing about how she felt. You had to fight the urge to swallow, somehow feeling like you’d just stepped into a social minefield.

“I don’t really know anything about Optimus,” you confessed hesitantly. “Should I?”

“They’re the world’s foremost authority on powers,” Amara explained, still completely neutral. “They help connect people with places that need their powers the most.”

“They donate to a bunch of charities too, and help with a bunch of other stuff,” Hazel added. “It’s like, the dream job for everyone living in Altadellys, and the pay’s incredible.”

You exhaled softly, considering your options. Hazel was right—it did sound like a dream job. You’d been interested in powers since you were little, always wishing you’d been one of the lucky ones, but nobody with powers had been born in your hometown for generations. “That does sound amazing Hazey, but there’s no way I’m qualified for that sort of thing.”

“If it’s just an internship, I have a friend who may be able to help.” You gave Amara a curious look. “I can let him know. He’s a private man, but he’s reliable.”

You were burning with questions you wanted to ask about Amara’s friend, but given that she still had that blank look on her face, completely devoid of any emotion at all, you didn’t want to push your luck and risk her rescinding the offer. “I guess it’s worth a shot. Thanks, Amara.”

She nodded in acknowledgment, but gave no other response. Suddenly, Hazel gasped, bolting to her feet. “Oh shoot, I totally forgot! I was supposed to meet with a client like, ten minutes ago!” She turned to you apologetically. “Sorry Freckles, I gotta run. If you want, though, we can meet up in like an hour or so? There’s a cafe right around the block, Sweet Enchantments, it’s the best cafe this side of Altadellys.”

You chuckled, unable to pass up the prospect of hanging out with Hazel again after all these years. “Sure thing Hazey, sounds great.”

“Awesome, catch you later!” Hazel darted from the room. Amara stood as well, brushing off her clothes.

“I’m afraid I have places to be as well,” she apologized, and even though it didn’t compare to earlier, you were relieved to see a hint of genuine regret in her eyes. “Before I leave, however, perhaps we should exchange phone numbers.”

“Oh!” You were going to get a pretty woman’s phone number. Yeah, this was a first. “That’s probably a good idea, yeah.”

Amara didn’t stick around long after giving you her number, and you headed back to your apartment, feeling awkward hanging around Hazel’s house while neither of its occupants were home. To your surprise, you found Piama perched on the couch, deeply engrossed in some kind of nature documentary and sipping at a cup of tea.

“Hi Piama,” you greeted, gaining her attention. “Weren’t you hanging out with Lyris?”

Piama waved a dismissive hand. “We just went out to a nearby cafe,” she explained, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was the same one Hazel had mentioned. “Besides, he needs to get his stuff out of your room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Piama sighed, as though the reason Lyris’s stuff was apparently in your room was of great disdain to her. “He’s been half-living here for years,” she replied, turning her attention back to the TV. “He would have moved in, but he has a cat, and if his fur ball wasn’t the most annoying creature on that planet, I might’ve considered putting up with my allergies for him, but as it is, ‘Madame Whiskers’ has it out for me. Of course, I’m not going to ask my best friend to give up his cat for me, so now he lives on the floor above me while dumping half his stuff here.”

“Piama, who are you talking to? Is your roommate home?” a very familiar voice called from the hallway. You couldn’t quite place it until he stepped into the living room, and your jaw dropped as realization dawned on you. You wasted no time in appraising his physical appearance; his hair, his build, his general aesthetic, even his nails—everything matched up to Peacock. Even so, you might’ve chalked it up to a coincidence if not for his eyes. His damned eyes. His damned, beautiful eyes. Deep purple and breathtaking gold; even if your mind didn’t recognize them, your heart would’ve.

Peacock—Lyris?—was staring at you just as openly, and you could see the recognition and shock blooming across his expression as well. If Piama replied, you didn’t hear it, too swept up in the feeling of holy shit I’m meeting Peacock as a civilian and he’s my roommate’s best friend.

Your phone chimed, shattering the moment. You coughed to cover the awkwardness, quickly pulling it out and glancing down at the texts you’d just received.

Hazel: Client cancelled [rolling eyes emoji]

Hazel: U still wanna hang out at the cafe tho?

Oh, was all you could think as your fingers hovered over the keyboard, having literally no idea how to reply. Glancing up didn’t help, as you saw Lyris staring at you with the same shocked expression he’d had moments ago, Piama looking between the two of you in confusion.

Oh shit.

CHAPTER CHOICE

You're in a bit of a tricky spot here. You did say you were going to hang out with Hazel, but if you do that, the situation with Lyris is going to get... awkward. To say the least. Do you: A) Commit to going to the cafe with Hazel B) Stay to try and diffuse the situation with Lyris and Piama, and hopefully get some answers

[matteredloyaltyaa]

really LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES.

repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck !

TAGGED. I stole it. TAGGING. Go for it. lol

FULL NAME : Arthur M/organ NICKNAME : A handful. English, Cowboy/Cowpoke, Black Lung, etc. Common aliases are Tacitus Kilgore and Arthur Callahan. AGE : 36. BIRTHDAY : January 25th, 1836. ETHNIC GROUP : Caucasian. NATIONALITY : American. LANGUAGE / S : English, primarily. Knew a handful of Welsh thanks to his father, but it’s faded with disuse.  SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual, somewhat closeted.  ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic, somewhat closeted. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Verse dependent, single-ship with @notanoutlaw in most. CLASS : Lower/working HOME TOWN / AREA : Arthur just mentions he was born “up north”, I headcanon around the Oregon area, possibly California due to his mother’s favorite flower, but it’s uncertain. Though, the place he laments the most about is New Austin, or “out west”.   CURRENT HOME : Transitory, he moves with the gang.  PROFESSION : Outlaw, occasional bounty hunter.

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Light brown, dark blonde in some lights. EYES : Unique eye colour, blue-grey-sorta hazel.  NOSE : Average, dimpled. Scarred from fighting and getting it broken a couple times.  FACE : Somewhat sharp features in the brow and cheekbones, square jaw.  LIPS : Full, can be dry/chapped.  COMPLEXION : Somewhat clear? Hard to tell. Dry, dirt spattered sometimes.  BLEMISHES : Uncertain. SCARS : A handful. Most notable are the one he has on his chin that is most visible with shorter facial hair, one across his nose, and the one left on his shoulder by the O’Driscolls in chapter 3.  TATTOOS : N/A HEIGHT : 6′0, possibly 6′1 WEIGHT : Uncertain, fluctuates.  BUILD : Stocky, broad shouldered and he can be fairly intimidating, especially when his weight is about average or above.  FEATURES : Look above? ALLERGIES : N/A USUAL HAIR STYLE : Right parted, about 3-5 in length. Though, for people who don’t know the system--fairly short, tufts out around his ears and may reach the back of his neck before he cuts it again. USUAL FACE LOOK : Expression wise, his kind of got a resting irritated face, sometimes bored. Rarely clean shaven unless he has to be, usually keeps a fair amount of stubble.  USUAL CLOTHING : I change him too much to say. Tends to keep his heavy navy blue winter jacket, jeans/ranch pants, some sort of button up shirt, and sometimes his tan leather jacket. Tends to keep his hat, however, unless he needs to go without. 

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Arthur has a mild one of change. He’s adaptable but he’s very sentimental and nostalgic, he will miss “old ways” and previous places. There’s also losing his usefulness, disappointing those who depend on him (much as he will get defensive when it happens). Post-Guarma, he does develop a fear of drowning. It won’t keep him from swimming, but getting swept or held underwater may cause some panic. Post-game au, he does fear about getting sick again and actively avoids doctors.  ASPIRATION / S : Uncertain, just wants to get out of the mess he’s in and eventually just wants a calm existence somewhere. However, once he’s diagnosed with TB, his main goal is getting those who want/will listen to him out of the gang as it starts to fall down. POSITIVE TRAITS : Caring, compassionate (to people he knows, might not be clear on first impression), intelligent (much as he may say the opposite and isn’t exactly book smart), observational, brave, humorous (in certain situations and may be a cover sometimes), friendly (somewhat, changes as he ages), artistic, creative, loyal, etc. NEGATIVE TRAITS : Violent, murderer (doesn’t do it without reason but he knows he’s killed more than he certainly should), defensive, (passive) aggressive, sarcastic, depressive, self-deprecating, selfish, rude (sometimes intentional, sometimes not), conflicted, stubborn, reckless (sometimes, has mellowed out with age but it’s still there), self destructive (sometimes), money-driven (not always a flaw but he’s easily swayed by money). MBTI : ISFJ-T - Turbulent Defender  ZODIAC : Aquarius  TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic-Melancholic ANIMALS : I’m not going to take the quiz because the game is very heavy handed with the whitetail buck motif for high honor Arthur. lol VICE HABIT / S : Smoking, drinking, etc. FAITH : Non-religious. GHOSTS ? : Generally, the existence of ghosts isn’t something he completely writes off after he’s witnessed the few in the game, but he’s also hard pressed to admit to believing in them outright. AFTERLIFE ? : Not in any sort of defined sense. He’ll often say he doesn’t believe in one or it won’t be a nice one for him if there is, but he finds himself nervous about the subject once he gets sick.  REINCARNATION ? : He doesn’t know enough about it. ALIENS ? : Not really? Doesn’t really know he’s looking at a UFO when he sees it. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Don’t start. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Uncertain. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Uncertain. EDUCATION LEVEL : Does not have a formal education on even the basic levels (primary, high school, etc), however Hosea and Dutch have taught him to read and write and he’s learned a handful of things when it comes to survival and his lifestyle. However, he’s not exactly book smart or the “book learnin’ type”. 

FAMILY. FATHER : Lyle M/organ, deceased. MOTHER : Beatrice M/organ, deceased. SIBLINGS : No blood related, but considers John as one along with a couple other members of camp. EXTENDED FAMILY : He has a few uncles, aunts, and cousins, but he’s not in touch. Issac, his son, and his mother, Eliza, who are both deceased. Mary L/inton/Gillis, ex-fiance. (Cain Kennedy, lover - @notanoutlaw) NAME MEANING / S : Arthur - English, “noble, courageous”, Morgan - (and I’m going against what’s been said in fandom) - Celtic/Welsh surname, comes from Old Welsh name Morcant - “mor” as “sea” and “cant” as “circle”.    HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Uncertain in the game, but it’s been pointed out about King Arthur and also Morgan le Fay, which highlights his struggle with good vs evil themes in his character. 

FAVOURITES. BOOK : Uncertain, mostly non-fiction. MOVIE : -- 5 SONGS : -- DEITY : Doesn’t know enough to give a favorite. HOLIDAY : Christmas, in a way. Not quite for the religious context, but he enjoys the hunting and cooking the gang does to celebrate, singing and talking over fires. He remembers it vividly when he was younger, so it’s stuck with him. MONTH : April-May. SEASON : late spring, early summer. PLACE : He likes most places in wilderness, give him something with a view and he’s good. WEATHER : Sunny, average weather. Not too hot, not too cold. SOUND : Rain, birds, etc. SCENT / S : Again, rain, campfires, etc. TASTE / S : Prefers savory over sweet.   FEEL / S : Weightlessness in his limbs once he’s able to sit/lay down after a long day, fingers in his hair, etc. ANIMAL / S : Horses, dogs, cats, animals. NUMBER : He hasn’t given it much thought. COLOUR : Blues, greens, deeper colours.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Sharpshooting, Arthur’s got impeccable aim and speed when using guns, there’s also his drawing, he’s getting fairly good at tracking, etc. BAD AT : Admitting to mistakes, expressing himself emotionally, adhering to rules, anything overly scientific, etc. TURN ONS : Sense of humor, confidence or self-assurance, kindness and/or compassion, dark hair, etc. TURN OFFS : Hypocrisy (much as he suffers from that himself), cockiness (has a limit before confidence becomes a turn off), excessive or needless cruelty, etc. HOBBIES : Drawing, writing in his journal, hunting, wandering around/sight seeing, etc. TROPES : Anti-Hero/Anti-Villain,The Atoner, The Big Guy, Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Obfuscating Stupidity, etc. AESTHETIC TAGS : Horses, old west, deserts, nature, gun slinging, writing, drawing, photography, etc. 

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : R/oger Clark, mainly in game icons so I haven’t found a need for one. ALT FC / S : -- OLDER FC / S : -- YOUNGER FC / S : -- VOICE CLAIM / S : R/oger Clark GENDERBENT FC / S :

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : I actually REALLY enjoy the game’s story line, much as I feel the redemption through death is overplayed and not as deep as people make it out to be. I’d find a way to subvert that or some alternative, but idk. I like the game’s story. lol

Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : Western-y. IDK? The game’s soundtrack is actually really good too so.  Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I love his development and progression as a character, and even with the trailers where he seemed no more than an angry outlaw there was a part of me that was still “hmm” about writing him. Ultimately, he’s grown to mean a lot to me and I really enjoy writing for him on this blog.  Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A4: As mentioned above, Arthur probably has one of the best character progressions I’ve seen in a while imo. Even in the beginning, I went in under the impression that I’d be playing as this outlaw so the violence and gruffness wasn’t too much of a surprise, much as I wasn’t too attached until later chapters in the game because of this. However, as I spent more time playing as him and reading his journal, seeing how he interacts with strangers and people he loves, he has some depth to him and some deep rooted flaws and insecurities that are played very well in the game. He’s probably one of the few character deaths I’ve cried over. lol Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I have to be truthful, Arthur’s an asshole. lol I didn’t like and still don’t like him from Colter into Horseshoe in behavior and personality, much as it’s lessened from my first play of the game because I know what happens to him and how he grows. However, while he’s not blind to himself and how he acts, he doesn’t think for himself really. Even if he hates debt collecting, he does it for the gang and even tells Strauss he does it for pleasure at a point (sarcastic or not, considering they are talking about Thomas, a man trying to raise money for charity while suffering poverty himself on top of having TB), he does whatever Dutch tells him, among many other things. It’s not until later in the game that the theme of grasping redemption comes into play, and he starts to act and think for himself a little more once things start to spiral. As much as I love him with all my heart, Arthur’s got some deep flaws that are hard to ignore.   Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : HHHhh. I’d say we suffer from similar self-esteem issues, not just in body image but morality of character (much as his are way more complicated than mine jaksfha), we also have a similar sense of humor...Yeah, idk. I’m attached to him as a character and I can relate to him in certain ways, but it’s hard to pinpoint.  Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Idk, he’s pixels? Though, for the sake of a fun answer, I genuinely don’t know? We can be fairly similar in mannerisms and thought process (at points), but I have no idea if we’d actually get along if by some universe rip we were able to meet.  Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8: I don’t want to get specific, I interact with a lot of interesting characters. Anybody who’s put me out of a comfort zone or forced me to look at Arthur in the different way has definitely stood out. Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : The game itself is a good source, I enjoy putting up lets plays of it in the background sometimes if I’m struggling or just need something that isn’t music. I get more muse putting together blog playlists than playing them, but there’s that, too. Also generally plotting or talking about him can pull some to the forefront. Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : An hour or so, I think?

[meztliel]

Pokeshipping Week 2018

Day 6: Returning to the River Where They Met (from the optional batch of themes)

Takes place between episode #42 and #43 of SM. A kind of "what if" scenario.

I may also do a fic for "Role Reversal" but if I do it's probably going to be a day or two late :v

***

Ash breathes in contently as he gazes at the long stretch of stars nestled in dark blue. They're a bit brighter here, unpolluted by the artificial glow that drowns them out in larger cities. The air at home is crisper, too, not at all like the humidity that wraps his skin like a damp cloth back in Alola.

Right now, Ash feels very much awake, and it's not simply due to jet lag, though that is a huge part of it.

As he sits outside on his mother's porch, the day's events play out in his mind over and over again, already being filed under his ever-growing pile of treasured memories.

Kiawe on Charizard racing a Rapidash. His mother's unrivaled cooking and the Oak cousins' groan-worthy puns. Lana fangirling over Misty. Even Team Rocket's unwarranted interruption brings a smile to his face. Just like old times. Ash wouldn't change anything about today.

There's just something that's been bothering him. He can't quite name it, he only knows it happens whenever Misty is near him. Like an itch inside his chest that's impossible to scratch.

His heart jumps when he hears the back door creak open, expecting his mother to scold him any second for being up so late.

"Can't sleep either, huh?"

Not his mom. Misty.

His heart jumps regardless.

Her hair is down and she's in pajamas and Ash hates that the first thought that springs to mind is "cute."

She makes him scoot over to make room for her on the porch steps, and he scoots a little bit further when her sleeve brushes against his.

"So, ready to lose against me tomorrow?"

Ash snorts. "You wish. I'm a lot stronger than I was before we parted ways, you know. Like, really strong. And smarter."

He realizes too late that saying he's smarter makes him sound anything but.

Misty makes a noise through her nose. "Well, at least you haven't gotten dumber. You're still scrawny, though."

"Hey!"

Misty laughs, and despite that it's at his expense, Ash really likes hearing it.

A short period of silence passes between them, and though he wouldn't call it entirely awkward, Ash feels like there's something suspended between them that one of them needs to reach out for and tether to the ground.

"So, how come you're up this late?"

Misty's profile looks contemplative as she gazes at the sky. "Lately I haven't been sleeping much. I think it's the pressure of running a gym practically all by myself. You'd think that wear me out but it's been keeping me up. I slept better on the dirt when we were traveling together than I do in my own bed."

Ash remembers those days. He no longer has to sleep in a sleeping bag either, and he definitely doesn't miss the feel of the ground pressing roughly against his back nor the bug bites that made welts on his skin. But he does miss the sight of the open skies. He misses the whispers of air through the trees and the late-night conversations with his friends, most of those conversations between him and Misty.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, it would feel similar to how it feels now, the space between them filled with unvoiced, confused thoughts and feelings that remain unidentified.

"To help me sleep, know what I do?" Misty asks, cutting through his thoughts.

"What?"

"Go for a swim."

***

His feet are balanced on either side of Misty's bike as she pedals them miles away from his house to a place he hasn't seen in what feels like forever ago.

The sound of water falling and crashing on to heavy rocks fills his ears and soon enough he sees the river where they first met.

More accurately, it's the river he nearly drowned in and where Misty quite literally fished him out of, and despite that morbid backstory Ash still feels a sort of weird, nostalgic fondness as he nears the current.

Had he not jumped into this river he and Pikachu might have died, anyway. Torn to shreds by angry Spearow.

Sometimes he wonders if he didn't actually die that day and his corpse is currently entombed in those waters, if everything he's experienced since then have been dreams or the afterlife or his spirit carrying on the adventures he was meant to have in life.

He has had a pretty intense and somewhat surreal life, and it's sometimes hard to believe that some of the crazy things he's been through actually happened.

Whether he's dead or alive doesn't matter right now because the red-hot alarm surging through his body as he catches Misty unbuttoning the top part of her pajamas feels very, very real.

"Wait a minute! Hold on." He already has his eyes covered with his hand as he spins around to avoid seeing the rest.

"You're- you're being ridiculous," Misty yells, but doesn't protest his modesty any further as she presumably finishes stripping down to her bathing suit.

He knows that she has a tendency to fly out of her regular clothes and dive into the nearest body of water in her bikini whenever the mood strikes her. In fact, he knows she did so earlier with Lana because they told him about their swimming adventure right after they met up again.

But this... This is different. They're alone, in the middle of nowhere, during the dead at night, and nobody knows they're here.

It's a situation that his mother would call inappropriate, and it's got his nerves alert and on edge.

He hears a wet splash and a satisfied exhale, and then he hears her say, "Okay. You can look now."

From the shoulders down Misty is submerged in dark, silver liquid, looking up at him expectantly from below her dripping bangs.

Ash swallows. "Ummm..."

"Oh. Right." She gives him the courtesy of covering her eyes as he strips down to his boxers. The air has more of a bite to it out here, but before Ash can have any more second thoughts, he lets out a battle cry and cannonballs into the water.

His early anxiety seems to wash away with the steady current, and soon his muscles ease and relax into the cool water.

"So. You really caught the Gyrados that was in here?"

The same Gyrados that he saw when he dove to escape a flock of riled Spearow.

"Yep. I've caught a good number of high-level Pokémon here."

"Impressive," he admits. Before he allows his compliment to settle into her brain and further inflate her ego, he splashes her with water and yells, "Race you over to that rock!"

Even though he cheats with a head start and has improved as a swimmer, Misty still beats him to it.

She's already waiting for him on the large rock jutting out from the surface of the water, a triumphant smirk on her lips.

"Just the first taste of the defeat you'll feel tomorrow."

He means to retort with something as equally snarky, but he's short on breath and his pulse is beating rapidly, not showing any signs of slowing as he looks up at Misty.

The moonlight frames her with a soft, white glow and the beads of water on her skin seem to shimmer where the light hits them. His eyes chase a rivulet down its trajectory from her cheek to her chin before it falls and coalesces with the river.

He's captivated, and doesn't realize it until it's too late. She's noticed.

"Um, we should get back," he says, trying to keep his voice from croaking.

"Right," she agrees, coming down from the rock to follow him back to land.

As they swim wordlessly back towards where they've left their pajamas like candy discarded wrappers, Ash remembers something important he's been meaning to say to her since they returned to this river.

"Hey, Mist," he begins, pausing from emerging from the water to look her in the eyes. "I never actually said thank you for saving mine and Pikachu's lives. So, uh, thank you. A lot." Smooth.

Her smile is soft, with a hint of amusement in it that makes Ash's pulse stutter once again.

"You're welcome. But you know," she continues, her lips pulling wider from a smile to a grin. He inhales sharply as Misty draws closer, so close he can see a tinge of red drowning out the light freckles across her nose. "A more proper way to thank me is with a kiss."

Ash might as well be drowning right because he's completely robbed of air and in borderline panic as Misty parts her lips and inches ever closer to him.

He shuts his eyes, expecting to feel a press against his lips any moment now. Instead, he feels a light tap on his forehead.

"Just kidding," she says, sending his soul careening back into his body.

Misty may have saved his skin back then but just now she nearly claimed his life.

[tae-kemyhand]

Tony. (SF9 - Rowoon)

The incident of Eva Martin and Tony, the cat.

Summary: In which the mysterious garden cat is more than just that.

Characters: Rowoon of SF9 as Tony & Eva Martin (OC)

Word count: roughly 1700

Warnings: none.

Genre: comedy, romance

There is a cat who often intrudes into my garden. Nightly black with endearing white socks and striking blue eyes. He enjoys lounging on the steady branches of my apple tree, his long body resting on the rough brown bark and his legs hanging in mid-air. We do not interact. I merely observe him as he swats away at the flies and butterflies who dare to disturb his slumber. On hot summer evenings, I leave out some spring water and his crystal eyes, although expressionless most of the time, showing slight gratitude as he sips out of the white plastic bowl. I do not know the name of this cat, but I have decided to name him Tony, after a childhood pet. He is not my cat, and I am not his owner. He bears no collar and no home address. He is merely a regular visitor who often intrudes into my garden.

"Eva, thank you for lunch! See you at the office tomorrow." The echoing voice of my co-worker bounced off the walls of my empty cottage, a house which belonged to my grandparents and had been passed down to their only grandchild. It was resident of a pleasant little village located outside of the hustle and bustle of the capital but close enough to a train station that it was easy to get to work. It had two, good-sized rooms and a traditional, white tiled bathroom with a bathtub and shower. The centre of this old house, however, was the adjoined kitchen and living room whose floors were covered by large, square terracotta tiles and off-white walls, furnished with two, two-seater sofas and a mahogany coffee table all over a thick, cream woollen rug. The garden at the back of the rustic country kitchen wasn't extravagant, probably about forty square meters and accommodated a century-old apple tree that had been planted when my great-grandfather had been born. Red rose bushes grew by the western fence and dusty pink peonies at the eastern. A small patio stretched from one end to the other, and lush green grass covered the rest.

I, as the only resident of the little cottage, was entrusted with the duty of taking care of grandma's precious flowers for she- may she rest in peace- was no longer able to and my mother who lived five hours north was in no position to, either. It was a somewhat relaxing task that was taken up at the end of a long week of filing and stamping paperwork, and after tending to the buds that came at the beginning of spring, a cup of warm peppermint tea was to be had from the sprouts that grew in the herb patch. Tony would often perch on the roof of the navy and scarlet cat house I had bought impulsively while browsing the aisles of Lidl. He sat as if it were his throne and the garden was his kingdom, and I, who found his regality quite amusing, was a mere servant who cleaned his lavish palace. That was a quality I particularly admired about this mysterious cat. His manner of being still and watching life go about its business and small events unravel was a virtue that I -from what I had lived and experienced in my 27 years of life- could never conquer.

It is as I was trimming the stray and dry branches of my darling apple tree that I heard a sharp cry resounding from the rose bushes and a quick black flash dart toward the foot of my ladder. As I climbed down the worn wooden pegs, Tony cowered at the foot of the tree hissing quietly and recoiling as my hands stretched to him. His front right leg was elevated, and spots of blood stained his white sock- he had gotten a thorn stuck in his paw. I stepped back inside the house rummaging through the kitchen draws to find the first aid kit that always disappeared when I most needed it. The poor cat was still unable to move when I returned. He allowed himself to be gently picked up and placed on my lap as I sterilised the wound and prepared the tweezers to take out a rather thick thorn that had embedded itself in between the pads of his toes.

"Okay, here we go." I stroked his head lightly and held onto his paw. When the tweezers touched the thorn, there was no reaction. When it was pulled out, however, the free mitt that rested on my arm sunk its claws deep into my skin, and I jumped in pain, throwing Tony against the thick, solid trunk of the tree and with a sickening thud he flopped to the ground, as still as a mouse.

"Oh, Tony! Did I kill him? Why isn't he moving?" I clutched at the wound on my arm and watched quietly, anticipating at least the twitch of an ear to confirm that I had not murdered the only welcome visitor to my garden.

Some things in life take a turn for the unexpected, and it was on that day that I began to doubt everything I thought to be true. Right before my eyes, the glossy black fur that covered Tony's slim body became shorter and shorter by the second and his body became bigger and bigger. That which lied in front of me at that time was the naked body of a man I did not recognise; jet-black hair fell over a face with gentle features whose skin was nearly as pale as snow. And as the incomprehensible shock of this moment sunk into my mind, I became dizzy and nauseous, vision losing clarity as I fell to the grass in a faint.

▪ ▪ ▪

Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

The incessant ticking of the alarm clock reverberated through my bedroom as I came to my senses. It appeared to be early evening: the shadows of the setting sun and the occasional car headlights dancing and mingling on the off-white walls through the cracks of the blinds that had been nearly closed. I was still dressed in my gardening attire, but my shoes had been carelessly left outside in the dim corridor, and the doors of my wardrobe were wide open with a few t-shirts hanging from the drawers. Someone had gone rummaging in my clothes. The house was as silent as usual and peering in each room proved that there was nobody here other than myself.

"Ah, the garden!" Slipping on a pair of shoes, I opened the French doors that led to the back. Under the apple tree sat a slouching figure, soft breathing accompanied by the hidden crickets. I cautiously approached the sleeping form and crouched before him. It was the man I had seen after Tony was thrown against the tree, dressed in my clothes. Although I was slightly disturbed that this person was still on my property, I took the time to examine his face.

"Stop staring." a low voice purred, and I fell back on my bottom in surprise. Long lashes fluttered open and blue eyes peered at me hidden under the black strands of hair that rested on his forehead.

"Tony?" the stranger chuckled and waved his hand before me, a cut 2 centimeters long in between his thumb and index finger.

"Got a plaster?" I sat in disbelief, was I going crazy? There's no way Tony, the cat, somehow turned into a human. It's just impossible, this is like a dream- that's it!

"This is just a dream!" A short laugh erupted from my throat. The idea of this situation being real was too ridiculous. Cats don't turn into huma- "Ouch!" I drew my leg back as the stranger pinched my exposed ankle.

He sighed, an amused expression playing on his face, "You sure are stupid." Standing, he dusted his palms and walked past me. He took the first aid kit and picked up its contents which had been strewn on the grass from my sudden jump earlier and strolled into the house.

"Hey!" My shock had come to an end as soon as he stepped into my home. "Stop right there!" The man ignored my protests and proceeded to open the tap in the kitchen to wash his wound. "What do you think you're doing?"

He did not spare me a glance as he turned and tore away a paper towel to dry his hand, "What does it look like I'm doing?" He took some gauze from the kit and wrapped it around his hand once, then twice.

"It looks like you're trespassing on private property." I huffed. But then he turned to focus his piercing gaze on me. I shuddered involuntarily when the corner of his lips twitched into a devious smirk. He took two long steps in my direction, back hitting the counter behind me.

"I trespass all the time. You've never complained before." My nervous stare darted around his face until it fell on his brilliant, deep blue eyes. I could recognise them anywhere. His eyes flickered to a look of mischief, and a sudden revelation dawned on me. He's right; he does trespass all the time. Because he's Tony.

"You- how- what?" My baffled expression must've been hilarious because his chest vibrated in a chuckle as he took a step back. The creature I had thought of as a cat was standing before me on two legs, with two arms and two hands. A human face and a low, melodious laugh escaped his pink lips. It was then that I realised how young he looked, couldn't possibly be a day over 25, and yet there was a type of maturity to the way he stood. This being, whatever he was, was twisting my mind like a maze.

"You're not the brightest, are you?" His statement caught me by surprise, a boyish grin provoking me to retaliate. He slid his hands into the pockets of my joggers and turned on his heels toward the front door, leaving me stunned by the kitchen counter.

"Wait!" I shook myself out of the trance. My reaction wasn't fast enough, and by the time I reached the porch, the door was wide open, the fresh spring breeze invading the corridor. My eyes searched the driveway for that strange figure, but there was no Tony in sight. And as I woke up the next morning, all of the evidence of his mysterious appearance was gone, and I was left thinking that I had dreamt the entire ordeal.

[loruleanheart]

The Legend of Hilda, Chapter 30

Rated M

Paring: Yugilda

The Captain looked over his knights in the training yard as they sparred amongst themselves. Morale was higher than the captain had ever envisioned for his men. They all seemed to be preparing for a great battle - and he knew why. From where he stood he could see Ravio and the Princess in the courtyard. Neither of them was smiling, but seemed to be conversing earnestly as Ravio tossed grains to Yuga's prized peacocks; that had gone neglected since his disappearance. The Captain gave a bittersweet smile.

oOo

"I'm glad to see that more and more knights are returning every day. I believe we'll be well prepared should Yuga show himself… Which I fear may come to pass very soon…"

Ravio turned to her, looking apprehensive. "What makes you say that?" Ravio shifted his gaze back to Sheerow who had joined the peacocks, fighting for bits of grain among the larger birds.

Hilda grimaced. "I feel as though I sleep fitfully with harrowing visions I can not recall when I awake." She felt like she was losing her mind. She dared not tell him how she'd found herself in Yuga's chambers among his bedding smelling of incense and her perfume. She'd torn at the sheets and sobbed before swearing to seal his chambers or better yet have everything inside destroyed, although she hadn't quite got around to it yet.

One of the peacocks caught her eye. It moved towards the fountain to dip it's beak in for a drink. Something in Hilda shifted, a memory threatening to resurface. Her expression relaxed, becoming dreamy.

"Were they about Yuga?" Ravio asked, drawing her attention back to him.

For a moment she felt light. Hilda looked at Ravio with nervous intrigue, almost smiling.

"Your Highness… Please don't think me strange for asking, but… what made you go to Yuga's chambers last night to sleep?"

Hilda became visibly flustered, grasping to respond, and then her expression transformed into a look of hate. "I can feel him drawing me in," she said tightly. It was the only conclusion she could reach. Of course, this must be Yuga using some sort of enchantment to sway her trust back to his favor, or perhaps, just to torment her.

Her eyes focused on the bulky gold bracelet on his wrist, which didn't go unnoticed by the young man. He slipped it off over his hand and handed it to her.

"Here, perhaps you'd like to hold onto this," he offered, with a smile.

Hilda hesitated. "But what about you? You are the hero destined to fight the demon king incarnate."

"I'm not afraid…. Not anymore. But I pray it will help assuage any doubts you may be feeling right now and help you regain your hope."

Hilda gave him a confused look, but relented, finally accepting the bracelet. "Thank you, Hero of Lorule." She placed it on her own wrist in an almost self-conscious manner. "You know… It is said he created this bracelet in his first mortal life. I don't exactly feel right wearing it, but knowing it's a gift from you gives me some peace."

Ravio smiled at her warmly. "I can't think of a better reason."

"And know this Ravio... When Yuga shows his painted face in my presence I won't just stand by idly as you meet him in battle. I will do my part as well."

oOo

Yuga moved the ore through murky waters; no easy task on account of the thick, gnarled trees that grew from deep under the water's surface. There wasn't much sunlight able to penetrate their canopy. One could scarcely tell it was nearly noon and not daybreak or dusk. He looked to Fayre who appeared contemplative.

He could no longer hold back questions that had been nagging at him since they'd set off. "Why did you tell me to take this route? Why won't you use your magic to return me to the castle as you brought me to Misery Mire? The matriarchs will surely target Her Grace. They could be at Lorule castle as we speak!"

Fayre's shoulders slumped and she dropped her gaze." I know, Yuga… I'm sorry. I do not have the strength…."

Yuga held back a heavy sigh. Koume's attack must have broken Fayre's spirit and sapped her power. Although she'd been in high spirits when they left, it appeared now as though it was finally sinking in what had transpired.

"So…. What are you going to do? About the princess. You know you won't be able to reverse what has been done." Fayre said, repeating what she'd revealed earlier. Yuga feared that this would soon become the sad refrain of everything Fayre would say from then on.

"Well first, I pray to the goddesses that bunny brat bastard didn't rent out Her Grace in my absence."

Fayre silently regarded him for a long moment, clearly taken aback, but not knowing how to respond. "So... You mean to say you don't have a plan?"

"Precisely…. For once…" Yuga went silent. He looked out over the swamp. "Although I do have a theory… I believe it was their brainwashing which led to Hilda's Triforce of Hope vanishing. That makes her useless to them. I can't imagine how enraged the twins must be…This doesn't bode well. I admit I am… concerned about what the twins will do now." Yuga clenched his jaw, turning his face from Fayre.

I couldn't even mislead two crazy old hags to believe I was committed to their cause. I have unwittingly doomed Hilda.

If only Fayre had been forthright from the beginning, perhaps he could have been better prepared.

"What about the boy? He's a knight and the hero. Surely he will defend the princess if the twins come for her." Fayre offered, hopeful.

Yuga clenched his fist. He was formulating a withering insult against the young merchant when something jostled the canoe violently. Something big.

Fayre gasped and grabbed on the edges of the canoe on either side of her. "The twins! Their servants come in many forms! They infest every corner of Lorule. Always watching. They are the matriarch's hands."

Yuga quickly materialized his staff and stood up, preparing to fight whatever it was, a wild octorok perhaps.

He peered over the edge to see a faint shadow passing under the canoe. He opened his mouth to direct Fayre to take the ores, but before he could, the unknown creature slammed into the canoe once more, this time with a force that was tenfold. They were thrown into the air and the last thing Yuga saw was the water's murky surface rushing toward him.

oOo

The sensation of moss under his fingers and the sound of birds chirping roused him. Yuga lifted his head to see an imposing statue of the goddess, Lorelle. Not a very flattering depiction of her, Yuga thought, still in a haze.

He realized he was still underwater from the waist down and recalling the shape of the creature he'd seen passing under the canoe, he scrambled out of the murk, coughing to rid himself of the taste of swamp water.

Whatever it was, it had been no mere octorok, Yuga thought. Worse, his staff was missing. He was certain he'd been holding it just before he fell into the swamp. He gave an aggravated huff. There was no way he'd find it out there, probably tangled up at the deepest most remote point of the mire with leeches, snapping turtles, and goddess knows what else. No one would ever find it. Maybe Hilda was just as lost to him. Just as Fayre said.

He looked around, seeing her nowhere.

Mother….

"Fayre!" He shouted into the swamp. The birds got spooked and flew away. And then silence….

"Where are you? You vowed you'd help me fix what you did to Hilda!" Yuga unleashed a primal scream; his frustration, rage, and despair manifest.

Hilda turning against him... Fayre's unknown but probable horrific fate... His prized staff at the bottom of the swamp…Everything had gone so fantastically awry… Perhaps even the goddess herself, watching from the edges of time, was corrupted just like her mortal incarnation.

He wasn't sure how long he was there, sitting in silence, but at last, he stood and passed the spring with the goddess statue. The water within appeared much too clean to be in the middle of a swamp as if purified by Lorelle herself. Lily pads floated on the surface. A small oasis in that miserable swamp. He could almost picture Hilda rising out of the waters in her pure white dress and smiling at him as she had so many thousands of years ago when he'd led her to the springs to reawaken the soul of the goddess within.

He turned away knowing he had no time to waste. Hilda was very well in harm's way. He divined the direction of the castle and made his way out of the swamp.

oOo

He cut through town, thankful to be in an area he was somewhat familiar with. He wasn't that far from Lorule castle now. His clothes and hair had dried, although he was sure he still smelled of the Mire; like the late queen used to say. The taste of swamp water lingered in his mouth.

He soon neared the milk bar; A place he'd heard much about, but had never imagined he'd be so tempted to enter because of intense thirst. If there was any former castle staff present, he just didn't care.

Stepping inside, the few bar patrons turned to look, but none of them gave the impression they knew who he was, but taking in his tunic bearing the crest of the royal family they seemed curious, or perhaps even put off. After a beat, they returned to their conversations.

A young woman with a pleasant face came to greet him. She wore a long skirt with an apron over it. Over her linen blouse, she wore a scarf that was held together with a strange broach. "Hi there. You're looking quite parched, Sir. What can I get for you? Name's Airalon." She was studying him, perhaps trying to figure out who he was.

Yuga gave a small curse. "Of course, I don't have any rupees when I need them most!" Yuga realized aloud, turning to excuse himself.

"Think nothing of it. I'll get you some water." Airalon said, reassuringly.

Yuga was speechless, not expecting such kindness from the average Lorulean. Surely, she'd treat him poorly if she knew who he was.

"Airalon. Don't give that liar anything without pay! He clearly serves the royal family." The skinny mustached man behind the bar huffed.

"Oh hush, Uncle Ingo. You never know who might become a steady customer if you'd just show some human decency."

Ingo grumbled, and Airalon went behind the bar to fetch the water herself.

In any other circumstance Yuga would loudly proclaim his connection to Her Grace and mock the bar owner's sloppy appearance, but instead, Yuga remained silent. As he waited he took in the bar's atmosphere. Towards the back of the bar was the biggest bird Yuga had ever seen; seven or eight feet tall perhaps, sitting on a stool and playing an accordion. The bird musician started to sing.

"Hero of Lorule, the hero of Reason.

Came to warn the turbulent princess of her advisor's treason.

He perceived the leech came to pervert the hopes of the goddess, Lorelle reborn.

And couldn't bear to see her forlorn.

For how could the golden three ever gift a leech the golden power of Beauty?

That man's intentions were not pure, knew we.

And by the hero's words, the Princess's eyes were opened.

Now that Reason guides Hope, a new era of prosperity for this land can be woven."

Yuga felt a dark shadow descend upon him. He rolled up his sleeves and swiftly made his way to the back of the bar without anyone noticing, not even the Rito minstrel who was so wrapped up in his song.

But then everyone in the bar snapped to attention when they heard the accordion come to an abrupt and shrill, off-key wail. Yuga jerked back his curled fist and released a swift punch to the oversized bird's beak. The Rito fell to the floor, looking at his attacker aghast. Yuga took several shallow breaths before picking up the fallen accordion and tossing it over his shoulder, causing it to give another short burst of a compressing tune, and then he continued his assault on the bird musician. Some of the patrons started to cheer while others shouted for help.

After a few tense moments and a simultaneously horrified and entertained onlooking crowd, Yuga stepped back. He covertly wiped the moisture from his eyes and sniffed.

"Who… Who are you?" The Rito managed, shaken.

"The leech." Yuga huffed. He took a few steps back and noticed the entire bar was staring at him. He took in their expressions. Some looked at him with contempt, others with awe.

"I hate birds…." Yuga said simply.

"Yeah, I don't trust anything that shits all over the place while it's in the air either!" A man with a bag over his head chimed in.

Yuga looked over his shoulder slowly, giving the strange man with his odd outburst a pitying look, wrinkling his nose. But it was no use, as the man with the bag on his head wasn't even looking in his direction, probably too drunk to notice or care.

"What in the name of Lorule is this commotion?" A knight came strolling into the bar, and upon seeing Yuga and the scene before him, his expression completely changed. He called for more knights just outside and drew his sword coming towards Yuga.

"Hold it!" Another knight called. "Are you forgetting what he did before?"

"No, look! He is powerless without his staff, and he can't fight all of us. We'll take him back to the castle. Let Her Highness decide his fate. Finally, she has come around. It only took everyone walking out on her."

Yuga didn't resist, smiling inside. Fools. This is exactly what I need.

In seconds the knights descended upon him.

"Wipe that smirk off your face!" Said one of the knights as he delivered a swift knee to Yuga's ribs, causing the sorcerer to cry out and double over in pain. And with that, he was forcefully led out.

"Her Highness will be pleased." One of the knights scoffed.

"Not as pleased as me." Said another. "But oh Goddesses... He stinks."

oOo

Fayre stirred at the sound of muffled footsteps. She breathed in the mossy scent of the deep swamp and sensed a shadowy figure hovering over her. Praying to the goddesses it was Yuga, she opened her eyes, only to be severely disappointed.

It was an older looking man with greying hair and an unkempt beard. He squinted at Fayre, as if not believing his eyes or perhaps appraising her.

Fayre's heart jumped into her throat. Where was Yuga? She stood up fast, which she instantly regretted as the ground beneath her was now spinning. She started to scream Yuga's name into the swamp. She didn't care if she looked like a complete lunatic to the man studying her.

He didn't drown or get eaten, Fayre repeated to herself again and again. The creature that attacked us was surely some vile servant of the twins. They sent it out to capture him, not to kill him…. I'm alive, so he has to be alive, too….

"Fayre…." the man behind her said, sending a chill through her. "Still searching for your son in vain after all these years?" The man laughed.

Fayre turned slowly, recognizing the man's voice, although it had a gruff intonation to it now. His lustrous orange hair she'd once admired had dulled and turned grey with age. No wonder she hadn't recognized him.

"Killian," She spat. "What are you doing here?"

"I was searching for the fabled spring of the goddess. Thought I'd try to salvage something to sell at a high price in town. But instead, I find you…. You're still as beautiful as back then." He said as his eyes moved over her. "And that staff…It looks quite valuable."

Fayre followed Killian's gaze to see Yuga's staff lying not far from where she'd washed up. She huffed, grabbing up the staff in an instant.

"That son of yours wasn't worth very much. Little old ladies don't have a lot of money to give for apprentices, but you on the other hand… You could make me a lot of rupees…" He said, leering.

"I'm not interested!"

"I wasn't offering you a business opportunity."

A simultaneous look of fear and disgust crossed Fayre's features. She held out the staff and without wasting a moment gave it a swing as she'd seen Yuga do in visions, but nothing happened.

"No… no…"

Killian laughed at her. "What are you trying to do?" He came at her quickly, ripping the staff out of her grip.

"I won't let you take that! It belongs to the royal family." She said, grabbing for the staff, but Killian held his grip on it.

"An heirloom of the royal family, you say? I really can't miss the opportunity to turn a profit off it then."

"The princess herself gifted Yuga that staff. There's nothing you could do to me. I'd sooner die than let you take it!"

"Die? Oh, certainly not! Not when you're going to make me a fortune." He lifted her into his arms before Fayre could protest and held her mock bridal style. "I'm not sure what will be worth more… You or that staff…." He said gleefully, spinning around as he held her. Fayre struggled but found she couldn't get out of his grip. She was weak, yet she resolved to protect the staff no matter the cost. She glared up at Killian, beginning to grow dizzy. He was beginning to hum in a giddy way and she was reeling with hate, but they somehow managed to see her at the same time... The statuesque woman stepping out from behind a tree and setting her sights on them.

Twinrova.

Killian dropped Fayre in fear, knocking the breath from the white-haired sorceress as she hit the ground. Fayre, seeing the flash of bloodlust in Twinrova's gaze, gasped and used what little strength she had to dive out of the way as Killian was turned to ice.