#and they’re probably the reason why i even passed the pathway course

[starved-vyka]

Some old friends from my uni pathway course that i only knew for a month just ran into me in the food court and I like them cause their really nice to me but they’re so extroverted and it’s exhausting to be around them

[bestialchorus]

“The Invisible String” (Falling for Donna Beneviento)- Chapter 1

Donna quietly gasps as your fingers lightly brush against each other. The head of the house immediately jerks her hand away in response, acting as if the minimal contact had burned her flesh. Despite her reaction, she doesn’t completely pull away, instead her hand freezes in midair as she mentally processes what to do next, her fingers ever so slightly shaking. You watch the scene from the corner of your eye, feigning ignorance as you pick up the brush you were originally reaching for. The last thing you wanted to do was embarrass her by drawing attention to her sudden jitteriness. You take no offence as you’re well aware of how her anxiety can manifest in different ways. You instead begin painting the face of one of Donna’s latest creations, giving it your own touch of life, avoiding her gaze.

To call the air between you both as heavy would be an understatement. For Donna was quieter than usual, if that’s even possible, while thoughts plague your mind. Thoughts filled with unspoken words that prick at your tongue, wishing to be set free. You sit in silence as all

that can be heard throughout the Beneviento home is an old grandfather clock ticking away down the hall. You couldn’t help but be grateful for the ancient clock as its presence always helped anchor you to reality, an issue that proved to be difficult whenever you were near the shrouded woman.

The tension you currently feel is nothing new.  For months it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, quietly peeking through now and again. You always felt it in the woman’s presence but chose to never vocalize it, naively hoping it would go away….but it never did.

For months you desperately tried to repress how the puppeteer made you feel, only to fail miserably. Every moment with Donna threatened to take your breath away, from the passing glances, accidental touches, and restless dreams you had no control over…but how you craved them. The longer you spent within the Beneviento home, the more you tried to sever any hope of the woman returning your affections. For to hope was to dream and dreams didn’t last long within reality’s grasp, not when you were a common painter and she, a woman with status and power.

For some reason, the tension in the air feels stronger than usual or perhaps it was simply all in your head. Perhaps you’re finally being punished for your naivete as your affections now threaten to flood your system. Your heart begins to pump faster as you imagine finally confessing to the woman in black. To think, a brush of fingers would be the final straw.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This all-started months ago when a shadowy member of house Beneviento had informed you had been summoned. You couldn’t help but feel anxiety bubble in the pit of your stomach as you automatically assumed the worst. All you knew about Mistress Beneviento were the rampant rumours that swirled around why she chose to conceal her identity at all costs; some say she was born with a monstrous appearance, others believe the flesh off her face had completely melted off in a horrific accident, while someone else had personally told you she was probably a cursed body with no head at all. You had never been one for rumours, but you felt nervous all the same, what could the head of a house want with a simple artist like yourself? Surely, she could afford a painter of well-known status if she wanted a portrait done.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The pathway towards House Beneviento would only fuel the stories of horror and enigma attached to the mysterious family. Isolated on a wintery cliff, overlooking a grand waterfall, you feel every inch of your being telling you to go back the closer you get to the eerie house. Despite the status of the Beneviento name, you see no sign of life surrounding it; no groundskeepers or servants to be spoken of.

The heavy wooden door closes behind you with a loud creak. Your confusion only grows as no help comes to announce your arrival, the space is seemingly empty. Despite the home’s quiet nature, you can’t help but find it surprisingly “cozy” as deep rich wood surrounds you. Lights create a warm glow throughout the space, contrasting with the harsh winter winds you hear rattle against the windows.  

A voice suddenly speaks from the top of the stairs, making you jump back. You jerk your head towards the sound as your gaze falls on none other than the mistress of the house, Donna Beneviento. Off first glance, she is as mysterious as all the rumours suggested, covered from head to toe in a long dark dress and veil, showing no skin except for her hands. Despite the image, you don’t find her as unnerving as you originally thought you would. Sure, there was definitely something about her that was almost otherworldly but so far, not in a threatening way.

“Welcome to my home, Lady Y/N.” She greets in a low and soft voice.

You hold a hand over your heart as you wait for it to relax, she’s truly given you a fright but you’re more concerned of how she was able to appear without making her presence known. Surely you would have heard her steps against the wood, right? You shake your head of the thought as you try answer as politely as you can, having no experience interacting with anyone from the four families.

“Of course, Mistress Beneviento. It’s no trouble at all, how ah…can I be of assistance?”

The woman takes a pause before answering, almost frozen in place. You feel a bit awkward under her “gaze”, wondering if she’s silently judging you from under her veil. Finally, she extends a hand towards the hallway to her right, no rush in her movement as she answers.

“Perhaps it is better if I showed you.”

You follow her upstairs, and she leads you to a room filled with porcelain dolls, each dressed to reflect a unique personality. Upon closer inspection, you take in how much love was put into them; from ornate detailing to masterful craftmanship. Out of every scenario you could have imagined you’d find within House Beneviento, this could never have been one of them.

Donna’s voice comes out almost in a whisper.

“I could use your help bringing more to life…I’m aware of the skill you possess.”

Most would find her phrasing a bit bizarre, but you picked up on the vulnerability in her voice, highlighting just how much these dolls clearly meant to her. You turn towards her and notice how she softly runs a thumb over her other hand, you assume it to be a self-soothing technique. The gesture makes you notice how nice her hands are in shape, delicate yet slender and her nails perfectly painted.

From that day on you became Donna Beneviento’s artistic assistant, helping her paint, build and touch-up her “children”.  Days turned into weeks and weeks into months as you worked side by side in her large workshop. You honestly enjoyed the work but quickly found yourself enjoying her presence even more.

The image of the eerie woman quickly sheds away the more you get to know her. Ultimately what lies under the veil is a timid woman who preferred not to draw attention to herself. From what you can pick up, it seems all Donna wants is to live comfortably in her home while pursuing her passions. She enjoys needlework and keeping countless journals. She has little issue working well within the night whenever she started a new project of any kind. She is a far cry from the stereotypes attached to her status and rumoured state. The head of House Beneviento was instead an artistic soul who was gentle in mannerisms as she was with you.

Donna would openly concern herself with your health, showing worry whenever you got little sleep, little did she know she was often the reason for it. Her gentle voice and stunning hands would plague your mind deep within the night, refusing to let you rest. You quickly changed the subject whenever she brought up the dark circles under your eyes, embarrassed they’re from imaging how her touch would feel against your skin.

The head of the house was also unsurprisingly a great listener. You first take notice of this once your favourite tea appears one day in her kitchen, remembering you had told her about it a few weeks ago. Soon after, desserts begin to appear in her fridge once she found out you had a sweet tooth. Eventually the woman would presence you with high quality brushes you always wished you could try out. Going forward you always tried to be mindful of discussing anything she could end up buying you, not wanting to take advantage of her generosity.

You remember the day you worked in silence as you processed the woman’s “gifts” as she never directly gave them to you but simply waited for you to notice their presence. Deep down you always wished they meant something more, but you quickly shook the thought away. You instead decided it must be because you’re working on her dolls. You’re just a worker to her and nothing more.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” She asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Hmm? Yes, I believe so. Why do you ask, Mistress? Are my strokes off?” You eye the small doll in your hand.

She lightly shakes her head, “no, your work is impeccable as always. It’s just..you’re normally more talkative.”

She almost sounds embarrassed when she answers, as if it was silly to point out the observation in the first place.

“Oh, right. I just thought I’d give you a break from my usual ramblings.”

You answer lightly while flashing her a smile, trying to hide the reason for your silence. A pregnant pause follows, and you wonder if you answered too casually, you quickly try to rectify your mistake by apologizing but her voice interrupts you.

“…..I like your voice.” She says quiet enough to be a whisper.

Your heart skips a beat at the confession and at first you feel you MUST have misheard her, that is until you notice her doing her usual self-soothing technique.

Your curiosity for what laid under Donna Beneviento’s veil would quickly disappear as you found yourself slowly falling for the soul of the woman beneath it all.

Months after that interaction, you find that very same woman slowly moving her shaky hand back to yours, gently covering it, making your heart stop.

[delldarling]

the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time. 

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try. 

-

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled. 

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here. 

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away. 

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those. 

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners. 

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar. 

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?  

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips. 

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard.  ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.  

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!” 

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer. 

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks. 

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales. 

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?” 

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier. 

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting. 

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.  

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist. 

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting. 

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-” 

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs. 

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand. 

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?” 

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand. 

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away. 

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.  

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand. 

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.  

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed. 

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips. 

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle. 

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

  “Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever. 

“I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed. 

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction. 

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”  

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed. 

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.  

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils. 

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

  Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm. 

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about. 

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

[loverspersonas]

the most beautiful moment in life | viii

pairing: ot7? x reader

genre: hyyh au, high school au, angst, drama, fluff, smut?

length: 5.5k

summary: Eight strangers with different stories happen to meet one day, by fate or some kind of cruel, exquisite happenstance, and realize that they’re not as different as they thought.

a/n: i realize i’m updating really slowly and the reason for that is online school which is taking up pretty much all my time BUT it hasn’t stopped me from writing at all. i actually have many different scenes written already, they’re just not in order, so i have to kind of make myself write the scenes that are happening first before any of those, which is hard sometimes cause i have so many ideas :) 

i realize that the pace of the fic is also kind of slow and that’s because i don’t want to have such a big overarching plot (like some kind of mystery to solve or a big villain) but rather small subplots happening at the same time. it feels easier to me to develop characters and relationships and i get to include a lot of different plot ideas that way (and there is so much happening in hyyh). it’s also hard writing this cause the bangtan universe is really complicated when you think too much about it, and we don’t even know everything about it, so i have to work with what we have and what i know. 

so thank you guys for liking what i’m writing! i hope i can do the hyyh era some (even if it’s the tiniest amount) justice, and i hope you guys enjoy it too. and if you have feedback or ideas, i’d love to hear it!

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Remembering details from a dream was a lot harder than a nightmare. Nightmares had you waking up in a cold sweat, sometimes plaguing your mind throughout the day if they were intense enough. Dreams, however, were only alive while you were asleep, and then they slipped away from your mind like they never even happened.

For the past few weeks, you’d been getting dreams that you could mostly or somewhat recall more often. Vague, obscure scenes or flashes that changed sporadically because even in your dream state, you had no control over your mind.

But you noticed that they tended to involve people in your life. Your mother, Sana, your old friends, and the seven boys you’d unconsciously formed a friendship with over the past month. Of course, it didn’t have to mean anything. But some of them strangely stood out more than others. 

One time, you saw Namjoon standing in a dark area with a single white light illuminating his silhouette from above, and a cigarette slipping from between his fingers. Another time, there was Hoseok at what looked like a train station. He was walking along the train tracks at night like he couldn’t see you watching him. And then, there was a scene of Jungkook walking on to the road, changing almost immediately before a car swerved right into him. That was one thing you couldn’t forget. Because you remembered it had been you driving that car.

“Y/N?”

The voice of the exact boy you were thinking of broke through your string of thoughts. When you looked up, you suddenly remembered where you were. 

There were a lot of nice vast areas of green fields that belonged to the Academy. With iron benches and tables and the smell of oak trees, it was an ideal setting for many fundraisers, picnics and outdoor events. You were currently sitting cross legged on top of one of those gray metal tables right beside a tall tree that cast a shade over you and the seven others sitting around you. Judging by the way some of them were looking at you, you must’ve missed something in the conversation.

“Hmm?” you asked, glancing at Jungkook who was sitting beside you, also on top of the table.

“See, I told you she wasn’t listening,” Taehyung said to the two taller boys on either side of him. “Face it, Namjoon. The books were boring.”

While Seokjin seemed thoroughly amused, Namjoon’s expression was just the slightest bit annoyed, so you could tell this argument might have been going on for a while. But his patience with Taehyung and the some of the other boys was astounding to you.

On the opposite side of the bench, Yoongi was sitting with Jimin and Hoseok, and quirked a brow in Taehyung’s way. “You literally said that you watched the Lord of the Rings a month ago.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So?” Namjoon repeated, and the tick in his jaw represented the snapping of his patience. “They have the exact same plot!”

You found yourself drifting from the rest of the conversation again, as some of the other boys began to chime in. On your lap was a notebook you realized you’d been scribbling in with a pencil while the others had been talking. It was hard to decide which was more concerning— the fact that you’d so effectively tuned out the boys, or that you were only vaguely aware that you’d been drawing at the same time.

You felt someone studying you in your peripheral vision. Jungkook decided to finally nudge you. “Not interested in fantasy novel series?”

“No, I—just spaced out for a second,” you answered lamely.

His earlier grin morphed into a slight frown. “Are you okay?”

Am I okay? “Yeah.”

His gaze dropped to your open book, widening a little in mild surprise. “I thought you said you couldn’t draw.”

“I don’t. Art class was an ironic choice that way.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin said as he leaned over Jungkook to get a better look. Slowly, the others turned their attention towards you too. “This is pretty good.”

Hoseok, who was one of the ones in closest proximity to you, stretched out his hand so you could pass him the book. “Woah.” He went through a few various facial expressions, a lot of them where he scrunched up his eyebrows. “What’s the inspiration behind that?”

“Probably not those dry as hell books,” Taehyung retorted.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate to shove the loud mouthed boy off of the bench, earning more than a few laughs from everyone. Taehyung shot him a glare with an offended hey! 

“Nothing,” you answered him. “I just got distracted.”

The notebook was now in Namjoon’s hand and his expression was contemplative as he fixated his eyes onto the page. “You got distracted and absentmindedly drew this? With no idea in your head?”

“I had a dream.” You gave a shrug, stealing a few potato chips from Jungkook’s snack. “So, I drew it.”

“A dream like this?”

You looked back at him, trying not to frown. “Why, is it that weird?”

“Not weird,” he assured. “Just… a little unusual. I’ve never met anyone our age who would come up with stuff like this from their subconscious.”

“Who’s the boy supposed to be?” Yoongi asked after the book got rotated to him.

“I don’t know,” you answered. There hadn’t been a real chance to glimpse the boy from that scene. All you remembered was the black hair and the white shirt he was wearing as he stood looking out the only window in a plain room with only a mattress and white flower petals scattered on the floor. “Some random guy, I guess.”

“Everyone we see in our dreams are people we’ve seen at some point in our lives,” Namjoon said.

You gave this a considerative hum. Though you knew maybe thirty people who could fit in that description. “Well, I don’t remember then.”

“Let me see,” Seokjin said, taking the book in his hand. A moment later, his face morphed into something you couldn’t quite decipher. But it was like for that moment, he had understood something without realizing it.

“Why the hell are so many people out here at this time?” Jimin spoke up as a few students or groups of them began to appear on the field or pathway, spilling out from the building. “This is when it’s supposed to be the quietest here. I was looking forward to not seeing… pretty much everyone.”

“It’s not like we own this place,” Jungkook reminded him.

Jimin shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as the bright young things don’t show up…“

And just like on cue, the group of cheerleaders and jocks were walking on the opposite side of the field. You didn’t let your attention linger on the old group of friends you didn’t want anything to do with anymore. But as you glanced away, Yoongi caught your eyes as though he knew what you were thinking.

“Way to go, Jimin,” Hoseok said, giving the boy a light shove. “You just manifested it.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat. “Seeing them this early in the day is really bad for my digestion.”

“Who told you to shove two chocolate muffins down your throat?” Yoongi said to him, referring to the now empty plastic container sitting beside you. You’d made a large quantity of them the other day and after recalling how Hoseok had liked your baking—and all his following requests over texts to make more— maybe the others would like something too. 

The younger boy didn’t acknowledge the harmless judging tone he’d used. “My inner subconscious, which by the way, I have no regrets about.”

“It’s great how you can say that so confidently about something in your life,” Namjoon said with slight skeptical wonder.

“Y/N made those muffins for us with all her heart and soul—“

“Actually, it was just flour and sugar...” you mumbled though your voice was mostly lost under theirs.

“I was just displaying my gratitude,” Taehyung said finally.

“The muffins were actually really good,” Seokjin said to you as he closed the sketchbook and handed it back to you. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Y/N’s a good baker,” Hoseok affirmed before looking at you. “How long did you say you’ve been at it for?”

“Not that long.” You twisted your dyed blonde hair into a bun and slid the pencil you’d been drawing with through it to hold it in place. “I just picked it up this year.”

Taehyung looked at you with a grin. “I guess I’ll have to annoy you enough at work to get stuff for free.”

You returned it with an exaggerated smile. “You come to work during my shift, I’ll have security ask you to leave for harassment.”

His mouth fell open. “B-but I’ll tip!”

You shook your head, chuckling a little. “You’re ridiculous.”

With his arms folded over his chest, he glanced around sombrely. “This is how brittle friendship is, I guess. Like a dark chocolate bar.” 

Namjoon, hiding his amusement with an arched brow, said, “Taehyung, remind me to never ask you for poetry recommendations.”

“Hey.”

Everyone seemed to fall into a silence, realizing that voice didn’t belong to any of you. They turned their heads towards the new arrival, but you didn’t have to look to know who’d approached the table. At first, you thought you could get away without saying anything, but the rest of the boys were casting imperceivable glances in your direction. Finally, one of the others did what you didn’t want to.

“Hi,” Namjoon said to the boy who’d once been the closest to you.

Min-hyuk stood there, as though expecting you to eventually say something to him. Then he looked around the group, smiling his friendly, star quarterback smile. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m Min-hyuk.”

“We know who you are,” Yoongi said, the cold undertones in his voice not going unheard by anyone. Leave it to him to keep things harsh but real.

Min-hyuk, probably not used to hearing that kind of tone with that sentence, stared at the boy, a little dumbfounded. “Oh…”

Namjoon—you reminded yourself to tell the guy what a blessing he was— stepped in again. It was probably good that it was him who was leading the conversation. You’d learned by now that none of the others were quite as sensible and level headed when they needed to be. “What he means is, do you need something?”

“Can we talk, Y/N?” Min-hyuk asked finally, the question you’d been dreading, because now it was explicitly directed at you.

You held back a defeated sigh and said, “I have class in a few—“

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

He seemed to be somewhat satisfied when you looked up at him and nodded just imperceptibly. He started to move away from the table, and you made a move to follow when a hand gently closed around your wrist.

“You know, you don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to,” Jungkook said quietly but firmly. His eyes held something like concern, and gazing around the table, the others wore similar expressions.

“Yeah,” you said. “But he won’t stop until I do.”

Jungkook released his hand from yours, watching as you got up and walked over to where Min-hyuk was waiting.

You put your hands in your pockets, right away saying, “Let’s get right to point this time, shall we?”

“I left you a note the other day,” he said, not happy with your attitude, but not able to say anything to it either. “You didn’t reply.”

“That was you?” you asked, dumbly. “I didn’t realize.”

“Come on, Y/N. Who else would write you that?” He paused. “My mother said she saw you at the hospital yesterday. Is everything okay?”

You didn’t meet his gaze, instead mostly looking at the ground. If your eyes drifted around too much, you were afraid to see that other students were watching you like a movie scene. You knew that the seven boys you’d just left were certainly doing that. “Uh huh,” you answered, without any emotion.

Min-hyuk held back an impatient noise. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I just want to know you’re doing fine.”

This time, you did look up to meet his eyes. “Why?”

“Why?” He was partly taken aback with surprise at your response. “We might not be together anymore, but it’s not like I just don’t care all of a sudden.”

“You didn’t care before.”

He stared at your expression, like he was wondering if you meant it. “Do you really think that?“

“You were never on my side.”

“What?”

Before, this would’ve been hard for you to talk about, because you’d only ever avoided it. To think about it would make you think about all the times you knew you should’ve walked away, the times that you stood there and just took everything when you knew you deserved better than that. But maybe it was time to rip the bandaid off. How long were you going to go back and forth like this? How long was he going to try to hold on to you when you wanted out?

“You wanted to know where it all went wrong,” you spoke. “How about when you stood there and let everyone, even our own friends, say all those things about me. And when I asked you to trust me, you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t that simple.” He shook his head. At least he had the decency to look apologetic, to sound like he meant what he thought. “I–I wanted to trust you—“

“I think I see it now.” It was taking a lot of courage for you to finally say what you needed to say, and now that you finally found it, you didn’t even care that other people were watching or listening. “We were both so good at acting like everything about us was perfect. And as soon as I stopped, things changed. The difference between us is that one of us still pretending.”

“Min-hyuk!” One of his friends from the football team—one of your former ones— came up beside him, tapping his shoulder. He looked at you with the kind of friendliness that was reserved for any random student in the hallway. “Hi, Y/N. What are you guys talking about?”

Min-hyuk seemed to have nothing to say, his gaze on you fixed, but his mind on the words you’d spoken. You were glad you had the ability to leave him speechless, to see him actually opening his eyes to a world outside that bubble he lived in. The bubble that you’d also been a part of, but were now glad to have found a way out.

“Well,” you said to both of them. “I have class now.”

With your bag over your shoulder, you turned and headed for the building without paying attention to any of the stares that followed you.

By the end of the day, that courage and energy that had allowed you to speak up to Min-hyuk had dissipated. Hopefully, he wouldn’t approach you again any time soon. Was it asking too much to not be approached by anyone else at all?

Now, you were standing in front of the doors to the pool once again, looking inside, but not having the courage to go in. It was almost a metaphor for your life. You were standing on the outside of a part of your life from the past, not being able to actually go in and see it properly.

Yoongi’s figure materialized next to you, not saying anything at first as though he could tell you were deep in thought. So, you broke the silence first and asked, “Long day?”

“You have no idea,” he answered. “Guess which asshole of a teacher decided to assign us a 10 page paper due in less than a week?”

Glancing sideways at him, you grinned. “The one who probably has hypertension from having to teach you?”

He shot you a dry look, but the corners of his mouth twitched a little like he was also holding back a grin of his own. “You’re hilarious, princess. But also probably right.” He noticed your attention on the pool on the opposite of the doors. "What, are you not allowed to go in or something? Weren’t you on the swim team at some point?”

Instead of answering, you turned away from the doors and started walking down the hallway. “Weren’t you on the basketball team?”

As Yoongi walked alongside you, subtle surprise appeared on his face. “It’s been a while since anyone’s asked me that.”

“You were captain of the team too, right?” you asked. “That’s how I knew you.”

Something else flickered across his face, though you didn’t know what it was. To you, it was probably the face you wore when you were briefly and vaguely recalling something in your mind.  “Well, it’s always nice to hear that my reputation precedes me. And not just as a gothic, underground rapper.” He ignored your subtle roll of eyes. “I played shooting guard actually.”

You hummed, remembering all the basketball games you attended in the gymnasium with your old friends. As part of the cheerleading team, you’d had an obligation to be there, but some of the games actually got interesting to watch. The first time you’d noticed Yoongi was when one time you’d been running late and had been trying to not fall behind the rest of the team. You remembered dropping one of your pompoms while trying to tie your hair up, and in passing, he’d picked up and handed it to you. You didn’t think he remembered it, and maybe it was a little embarrassing that you did. 

“You were good too.” You stopped near the front doors, most of the students walking around you with no interest since it was the end of the school day. Yoongi shot you a slightly puzzled look. “I was a cheerleader, remember? I’ve been to a bunch of games.”

“I remember,” he said after a moment, and it didn’t sound like something you’d say to someone just to blindly agree with them, so that was why you ended up meeting his gaze. There was something underneath those deep gray eyes that you didn’t really understand, but somehow, still found it startling to hold eye contact.

You half forced a chuckle to move the attention away from you. “Besides, it’s kind of hard to miss the only guy on the team with dyed blonde hair.”

He chuckled. “I almost forgot about that.”

“How could you forget? You were literally my inspiration,” you said, gesturing to your own bleached hair. When he threw you a dubious side eye, you shouldn’t have been surprised. Surely, that would’ve tricked one of the other boys. “Alright, fine, you didn’t. You know, I definitely do not miss the 5 hour practices, or the tiny uniforms or Yuna screaming at some younger, clueless girl to stop slacking.”

“But the outfits were so cute,” Yoongi teased, and though you were glad the topic changed, you shot him an unamused glance. “It was a joke. On a related note… what did the ex-boyfriend want earlier?”

You arched a brow and held back an amused grin. “You can say his name, you know.”

“Yeah, but that would give him too much significance. Unnamed means unimportant.”

You hummed in agreement. “Nothing really.”

“Is that why you ditched us afterwards without so much as a word?” he asked skeptically.

You tried not to sound irritated about it, but you’d hoped you could make it through the day without having to talk about it. “I ditched you, because I wasn’t in the mood to be interrogated about it.”

“How quickly you assume we would interrogate you.”

“Well, wouldn’t you?”

“Fine,” he grumbled after some seconds. “At least 3/7ths of us might. Can you really blame us for being curious? It looked kind of intense.”

Folding your arms over your chest, you looked at him with a grin forming on your lips. “Remember how you said you didn’t care? Well, it’s starting to sound a little like you do.”

He scoffed. “Please. You mistake my blind curiosity for something it isn’t.” He watched you a little longer as you shrugged before saying, “Remember when you said I was good at deflecting? You’re not so bad at it yourself.”

A part of you thought that this was a good time as any to actually talk about it. About how you’d cut things off with Yuna and Min-hyuk, and why you’d wanted to. By now, you felt like you could tell any of the seven boys and they’d listen—actually listen—and Yoongi, despite coming off as aloof and indifferent, wouldn’t judge you or anything. But this recent bond with them felt like a new and good thing, and you just didn’t want to jeopardize it, like you did with most things.

"Do you a need ride home?” Yoongi asked when he realized you were too deep in your head to say anything else about it. “I’m giving Jungkook one too, so I can drop you off after.”

“You go ahead,” you answered. “I have some stuff to do first.”

At first, he seemed almost reluctant to leave you alone, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t insist or comment on it. It would contradict his indifference to most things. Only after he left did you turn and start aimlessly walking down the other side of the hallway. It wasn’t like you had anything to do. You just weren’t sure if you wanted to be around anyone with curiosity like Yoongi’s lingering above your head. Talking about yourself and your personal life was never fun.

Eventually, you ran into another familiar face. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Namjoon said as he approached you in the hall.

“If this is about this morning, I’d rather not talk about it,” you decided to say immediately because if anyone could get answers from you by asking the right questions, it was probably Namjoon.

Fortunately for you, Namjoon could’ve read that from a mile away and wasn’t one to pry. He nodded in understanding. “I figured as much. Oh, hold on a second.” From his backpack, he drew out some loose papers tucked into a notebook. “I went through some of these to find whatever was legible enough.”

You scanned the writing briefly. “Your English notes?”

“Yeah, I remember you said the last class went over your head.” 

“I just don’t understand why it’s bought and not buyed, but it’s walk and walked? Like why can’t they can’t follow the same rule for every past tense conjugation?” you complained, but still a little touched that he remembered something you’d probably said in passing. “But thanks.”

“Also, if you see Taehyung, can you let him know I can’t walk home with him today?”

You nodded. “Sure. Staying back for extra work?”

“No, I—I have a shift today.”

You wondered why he sounded reluctant to answer. “Where do you work?”

“It’s a library,” he said with a small shrug. “It’s on the other side of the city, so I like to leave a little earlier.”

You shot him an amused grin. “Were there no libraries nearby hiring? Because I know if they saw your GPA, they would not hesitate.”

“Uh, this one has a nicer collection.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding not to question his responses since he hadn’t questioned you. But for some reason, it felt like he was trying to hide something. “See you tomorrow then.”

Smiling, he said, “Thanks, Y/N.”

As he walked away, you had to stop the curiosity from getting to you. It truly was an ordeal to be so curious and not want to intrude upon things that didn’t concern you. You had to remind yourself that it was better that information came to you at the right time rather than forcing it. At first, the reminder was about other people, but sometimes, you thought it was also about yourself.

After exiting through the west doors, you noticed Taehyung at the bottom of the staircase right outside the building. He was leaning against the railing, hood over his head and concentrated on whatever game he was playing on his phone. You slowed your steps, approaching the stairs. “You’re still here.”

Taehyung glanced up at you, slipping his phone into his pocket as you came towards him.  “Waiting for Namjoon. The kid’s a genius, but his punctuality could use a little improvement.”

You quirked a brow. “Kid? He’s older than you.”

Folding his arms over his chest, he said pointedly, “And I’m older than you. So how about you don’t question me?”

You had to bite back a smile at his antics. It was hard to believe sometimes that most of these boys were older than you. “He told me to tell you he has work today, so he can’t make it.”

He let out a loud and dramatic groan, practically cringing at himself. “For real? I probably look like some idiot, waiting on the stairs for his even more of an idiot boyfriend.”

You shrugged, not hiding the smile this time. “Just a little.”

He looked back at you. “How are you getting home? I’ll walk with you.”

He already started walking, expecting you to follow, so you didn’t get a chance to reply. With a defeated sigh, you decided to go after him.

Your first mistake was choosing to walk all the way home instead of taking the bus. Your second mistake was letting Taehyung take the lead, because that boy looked like he’d never had a plan a day in his life. While you somewhat admired the spontaneity, you were used to routine or a plan of some kind. Although you did suppose that this year, everything that had happened, and was happening now, was not planned at all.

“I’ve never gone this way before.” 

The buildings were older and a bit worn away, but almost in an intentional manner, posters and signs on the gray brick walls. You passed several small shops and restaurants and cafes that despite appearing quaint seemed very cute. The people that walked by were all in their own worlds, not so much as glancing at you or anyone near them. It was something like a secret tourist spot or a hidden gem.

“Really?” Taehyung said. He walked on your right, but a little ahead. You wanted to say it was because he was leading the way, but that presumed he knew where he was going. “This street’s pretty cool. Hidden away from the centre, though, so you don’t really know about it until you come yourself.”

You removed your eyes from an old bookstore with a chalkboard sign outside. “You must do a lot of exploring, huh?”

“Whatever gets me out of the house.” He stopped walking abruptly. When you stopped to ask what was wrong, you saw a mischievous smile form on his face. “I just had a brilliant idea.”

“Why am I kind of doubtful?”

Despite the many, many questions you asked, Taehyung didn’t answer any of them. He could try and be mysterious if he wanted, but you wouldn’t buy it, was what you said to him. Instead, you waited outside while he went into a convenience store for a few minutes. You shouldn’t have been so surprised when he emerged with a plastic bag in hand, full of bottles of spray paint. You opened your mouth to ask what he was planning, but he just tugged on your arm and made you follow him around the corner.

The street you stopped at had to be somewhat of a visual arts scene, because you recalled passing arts and crafts places and small galleries, and the wall that stood in front of you now was a graffiti wall.

“This is so cool,” you said in awe, all thoughts of skepticism at Taehyung’s actions gone. Your gaze roamed over the various artwork and writing, painted on by different kinds of paint and people and minds. It was like an anonymous outlet for creativity and self expression, something like in the olden days when things like freedom of expression was outlawed, so people had to get creative around it.

“I love all kinds of art,” Taehyung said, dropping his backpack and crouching near the ground. “But graffiti has become more interesting recently. Here.”

You looked to see that he was holding out a can of spray paint for you. “This is vandalizing.”

He half scoffed, half laughed. “This is an artistic statement.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive, Taehyung.”

“Relax, Y/N.” He placed the can in your hand himself after he decided that you wouldn’t take it, then took another out of the bag for himself. “I’ve done this billions of times. You won’t get caught.”

Despite yourself, there was an urge in you to just do it, get your hands a little messy. That was why you liked to bake after all, wasn’t it? That was why you chose art class. You could make a mess and make something good out of it. You could control something instead of being controlled. But turning back to the wall of art and messages and stories, you hesitated. “I can’t paint like this,” you tried lamely.

Taehyung shot you a look. “I saw your sketch today. It was far from shitty.” After a minute of waiting, he sighed. “Fine, I’ll go first.”

The way he walked up the an empty section of the wall with confidence, how he shook the paint can and effortlessly began to draw strokes in red paint told you that he wasn’t lying when he said he’d done this a lot. 

When he finished, he stepped back to where you stood, briefly appraising his work before saying, “Your turn. Don’t think too much. Just whatever’s on your mind, let it out.”

So, you found yourself closing your eyes briefly, and releasing a breath before stepping forward. You pushed on the paint can’s nozzle and let your mind take over for your hand and for a few minutes, all that was heard was the faint car engines in the distance and the spraying noise of the paint. Finally, you let your arm drop to see what you’d made. It was a pair of blue wings like a butterfly’s.

Taehyung studied the wall for a moment before humming, “Interesting.”

“By interesting, you mean awful.”

He shot you a look. “By interesting, I mean interesting. You and Namjoon might like to have second meanings to your sentences, but I’m a simple guy.”

“Uh huh.” You watched him move back to the wall and start painting something else. It was funny how before you’d known him, you had him pegged for some kind of reckless skater boy with a rebellious streak. He was actually more of an artsy boy with a rebellious streak. “I guess it would be easier if everyone wasn’t always pretending to be something they’re not.”

“Was Min-hyuk pretending to be a super nice guy again?” He only glanced over his shoulder at you when he didn’t get an answer. Of course this topic would’ve inevitable come up although you’d also assumed Taehyung would avoid uncomfortable conversations whenever he could. “None of those guys are all what they show. It’s good that you hit one of them. You might accidentally activate some part in the brain that knocks some sense into them.”

You nodded at this, slightly amused. “If that was how neurobiology worked.”

“Let’s experiment. Hit me over the head really hard and tomorrow, let’s see if I pass my math test.”

You were holding back a laugh when your gaze fell on part of his drawing. “Is that your signature?”

“Oh, that... it’s kind of like my alias,” Taehyung said almost like it was embarrassing for him to say. This must have been the first time he’d told someone about his side hobby. “For when I’m out painting.”

“For when you’re out vandalizing,” you remarked.

He mocked the face you’d made earlier and said, “They’re not mutually exclusive, Y/N.”

You let out a scoff, but couldn’t hide your amusement. “What does it mean? The V?”

“It’s short for Vante.”

You hummed. “Interesting.”

“You mean interesting good or interesting bad?”

“I mean interesting,” you said, deepening your voice a little to mock him.

The side of his mouth curved into a grin. “Touche.”

Returning your attention to the wall, your eyes began to study the various drawings, fleetingly going back to another wall and another drawing. “You haven’t seen anything like the hwa yang yeong hwa we saw before, have you?”

“No,” Taehyung answered, then gave it another thought. “Not that I’ve been to a lot of graffiti places outside of this area. But from where I have looked around, it’s made me think that maybe this... Smeraldo person isn’t a regular graffiti artist.”

“As in, this was just a one time thing for them?”

“Maybe.”

“I guess that means it’s not just graffiti we should be looking at,” you speculated. “It’s definitely a start but could be any art form.”

“Or maybe the art is just a way to get it out there.”

You frowned. “Meaning what? Someone’s trying to say something? To send a message?”

He shrugged. “It’s possible, yeah.”

His attention refocused on the drawing he’d started, but your mind began to run through possible explanations. What if somehow someone was trying to say something? More importantly, what if someone was trying to say something to you?

The sun was beginning to lower by the time you reached Taehyung’s place. You didn’t even realize the two of you had been out for a while with his detour idea. 

You tilted your head up to observe the apartment building complex. Since you’d never been to this part of the city before, you couldn’t say much about it. But by the oldness and the obvious low maintenance of the building, you guessed that the rent was affordable. Taehyung, like you, wasn’t one of the richer kids of the Academy. You supposed that the talent that had gotten him in was art related, if not painting specifically.

“Is this where you live?” you asked to break the silence.

“Yup,” Taehyung said, popping the sound at the end. “Home sweet…” He trailed off a little as his faraway gaze crossed the building, instead turning back to you. “Do you live close by? I can walk with you.”

You made a dubious face. “Are you sure you want to walk there and then all the way back?”

“Hey, I may be lazy, but I’m not that lazy.”

“I don’t need protecting, if that’s what you were going to say.”

He scoffed. “Obviously not. You broke a guy’s fucking jaw!”

“It wasn’t actually broken,” you muttered before shaking your head. “Wouldn’t you rather go home? Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

“No one’s waiting for me.” Before you could say anything, he waved it away, his long hair hiding the expression on his face you were trying to read. “It’s fine. Forget it.”

But he didn’t make a move to walk towards the complex’s stairs that led up to the first floor. Even as you stood there for another minute and he just stood with you, you realized he wasn’t about to head home regardless of if you left now or stayed. And for a moment, you wondered if this was what he had meant that day weeks ago. No one’s waiting for me. It was a thought that had held a place in your mind for a long time too.

It’s better not to force information you don’t even need to know, a voice in the back of your head reminded. Finally, you said, “Are you hungry? I could go for some coffee, and the Brew’s not far from here.”

Taehyung turned to look at you. If he was grateful for the chance to avoid going home, he didn’t show it. “Will you give me a discount?”

“If you stop talking, I’ll pay for your entire order.”

The carefree smile that stretched across his face as he started dragging you towards the next street was enough for you to know that he was, in fact, at least a little grateful.

chapter vii // chapter ix (coming soon)

[oss-crime]

Chapter 2-Project “Ma” –Eve–; Scene 4

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 37-48

Seth’s wound wasn’t too bad, but for safety’s sake he wound up receiving treatment at a hospital in the Twelve Royal Capitals.

He got on one of the huge automated carriages of the security force and went back with the soldier driving it.

Adam wound up staying in the village of Nemu for a time along with his bodyguard, Gammon.

Naturally their goal was to search for the “Witch of the Forest”.

And Eve…she served as their guide when the two headed out to the Forest of Held, as well as their driver for the carriage.

The fee they paid her for this service had far greater profit to her than her income selling ingredients from the forest, so she had no reason to refuse.

Eve knew of several of the villages where the people of the forest lived, and so she first took the two of them to those.

And then they tried going around to the places where the witch was rumored to be, or just moved through aimlessly.

But the days passed without achieving any particular result.

.

That day as well the three of them had been advancing along a forest path with the automated carriage.

The sky was overcast with thick clouds. When Eve suggested that it might rain, Adam replied that they perhaps ought to end things early today.

“That aside, you’re quite skilled with driving the automated carriage, Eve,” Adam complimented. “You must be, to move so smoothly through such narrow pathways.”

“It’s no big deal if you’re used to it. But as you’d expect you can’t get to the deeper parts of the forest with a carriage.”

“Still, people would seldom be going in such places. So they’re not likely to be targets of the tribesmen, and thus there’s a low chance of the witch showing up there.”

Putting together the information that Adam and Gammon had been able to obtain up until now, the Witch of the Forest would apparently make her appearances in public to rescue people attacked by the white army.

But strangely, none of the people who had been rescued by her could remember what this witch looked like.

“She has green hair, is a woman, fires lightning from a blue spoon…And that’s all they can remember, oddly enough.”

“They’re all probably in a state of shock from being attacked by the white army, so that’s understandable isn’t it?”

“I wonder. Maybe…this witch can use a spell that manipulates people’s minds.”

Upon hearing that, Eve’s eyes widened for a moment. Then she quickly chuckled. “That’d be pretty convenient, if there really were such a spell. I’d control all the big-wigs into making me the queen.”

“Haha, I guess so. You could have all the wealth and influence you want…Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“I’ve been raised in a village of sorcerers for over twenty years, but not once, no. Do you know of anything, Adam? You’re seem pretty well educated.”

“I’ve hardly done any studies on magic.”

“Huh…That’s a bit surprising. Don’t you have all this magical potential?”

“I only learned that relatively recently.”

As the two of them talked, Gammon simply looked around at their surroundings without showing the least amount of interest in their conversation.

Over these past few days Eve had been able to learn quite well that taken favorably he was a man who was very dedicated to his work, but taken unfavorably he was a very strait-laced person with little flexibility.

Adam was also a bit too serious, but he at least was easy to get along with.

Among the people who had come over from the capital there were some every now and then who would look down upon a country bumpkin like Eve. But Adam never showed any sign of such behavior.

From what she’d heard, while he was currently living in the Twelve Royal Capitals, originally he had been raised on the coast west from there.

“Just like you…I was an orphan.”

Apparently when he was a child he had been able to make a living and fend off starvation by hunting fish in the sea.

“One day a man suddenly appeared before me. He took me back to his home in the royal capital, and adopted me as his son. Even now I’m not sure why he did that. After that I received an education as a student under my adoptive father—Horus Solntse.”

“Did you…not have any parental figures until then?”

At Eve’s question, Adam responded without hesitation, “I did have a mother. …Though she was a whale.”

“Eh?”

“Ever since I can remember, that white whale had always been by my side. She watched over me…Or so I always thought. Though she never did anything to actually help me, ha ha.”

“…”

“Do you think my story is strange?”

“Mm, nooo…” Eve shook her head, and then replied earnestly, “I’m positive that whale must have been the manifestation of a spirit.”

“A spirit?”

“There are a lot of them in this forest; spirits that take the form of animals. Robins, chipmunks…I can’t talk to them, but I know of them.”

“I see…”

Adam listened in to Eve’s story, offering neither affirmations or denial.

“I too…had times when I was a child where I felt unbearably lonely. My adoptive mother and father were very kind people. But of course they weren’t my real parents…I couldn’t stand that.”

“…I understand that feeling.”

“In the middle of the night I ran out of the village and into the forest. But it was pitch-black, and I couldn’t tell my left from my right…I sat down alone and started crying. And then…it appeared.”

Eve’s shoulders faintly shook.

A drop of water fell from the sky and hit her face.

It had started to rain. There was no roof on this carriage.

Eve stopped the carriage under the shade of a large tree to keep from getting soaked.

“It?” Adam asked.

“A bear. A frightening bear…Here, look.”

Eve suddenly rolled up her skirt.

Adam unthinkingly moved to avert his eyes at catching sight of her bare skin.

But when he noticed the large scar on her thigh, he regained his composure.

“It bit you?”

“Because it was hungry. A little bit longer and I would have ended my life inside that bear’s stomach. But at that moment—the animals of the forest all attacked the bear at once. And they saved me.”

“And so they…were spirits of the forest.”

“I never saw a bear in this forest again. The spirits might have gotten rid of them, or else directed me so that I never got close to one…In any case, the spirits are my friends, and I owe them my life.”

Eve had never really told that story to anyone.

That was because anyone who didn’t know much about the forest in particular would likely think it was just a silly tall tale.

But in that drizzling rain Adam listened to her speak with a serious countenance. Conversely, Eve started to regret having told him.

Thinking on his goals…It would be only natural for him to start to hold some doubts towards Eve, upon hearing that story.

“Eve. So you really are—"

Before Adam could continue speaking, they could suddenly hear a loud explosion from far off.

“--!?”

They all turned over there at once.

…There was smoke coming from the direction of Nemu village.

“—What’s happened!?” Gammon shouted as he whipped out the sword at his hip.

What came to Eve’s mind was the white army.

They had never once attacked the village directly…And yet, she couldn’t think of anything else it could be.

As though in support of that, several tribesmen wielding weapons appeared from the shadows of the trees and circled the carriage.

“Oh, we’re not letting you get back to the village,” said a woman standing in the center of the tribesmen, glowering at Eve and the others.

Gammon had swiftly leapt down from the carriage, and shifted his piercing gaze to the woman.

“You must be the commander of the white army…The ‘White Fiend of Jakoku’.”

“Oh my. How impressive, that you know of my illustrious title…Your henchmen serve you well, it seems.” Gammon asked her if she had come here as payback for what happened on the plains, but Raisa shook her head. “Though there is a little of that, yes. This is more—a test.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I…Or rather, all of us, are planning to let loose much bigger fireworks after this.”

Giving no indication that she would explain any further, Raisa and her cohorts started to steadily draw closer to the carriage, weapons at the ready.

“You louts, tread cautiously! This military bastard looks pretty tough. Not to mention—” Raisa glared at Eve. “—He’s traveling with the ‘Witch of the Forest’, too.”

As though in response to those words, Eve got down from the carriage and stood next to Gammon.

“…You seem to be under a misunderstanding. I’m not a witch.”

Eve maintained a calm demeanor, but in response to that Raisa laid bare her anger.

“Don’t bullshit me! Countless of my people have been reduced to ashes by you!”

The moment she spoke, Raisa ran towards Eve.

Pale fire curled around the long and thin weapon she held in both hands.

These flames were not put out by the rain; they were likely some type of magic, or else produced by a unique power she had.

“…”

Eve glanced briefly at Adam, still inside the carriage.

He looked like he had something he wanted to say to Eve.

She didn’t have time to hesitate now.

First…she would need to do something about the enemy in front of her.

And she was worried about the village, too.

--Eve took out the spoon she’d kept hidden on her person.

A blue spoon. The item that was publicly referred to as the wand of the Witch of the Forest. For Eve it was a memento that she’d received from her adoptive mother.

She turned it toward Raisa, who was still heading towards her.

And then—expressionlessly, and concisely, she chanted a short spell phrase.

“Medvedi ubit!”

And it was all over.

It was a lightning spell she had been taught by her adoptive father.

A large bolt of lightning shot from the spoon, and then Raisa and her underlings in their entirety were swallowed up in a flash of light.

.

--The lightning strike that had engulfed the area had no effect on the trees of the forest or the animals.

It was the same with Adam and Gammon who were nearby Eve.

The lightning spell could only burn up that which it had been fired at. And after the flash of light went away, all of the tribesmen that had been surrounding the carriage had been reduced to charred corpses.

…No, there was one exception.

Raisa must have taken the direct brunt of the lightning, and yet despite her body having sustained massive burns she was still clinging to life.

“Wow…I’m surprised. That’s the first time anyone’s taken that shot and lived.” Eve looked down on Raisa with a cold expression.

“Y…you bitch…”

Gammon pressed down on Raisa’s body as she tried to crawl into the forest to escape.

“What an unexpected bounty, to be able to capture the head of the white army. For now let’s get her to the village—”

As he turned his face to the village, Gammon stopped speaking.

There was still smoke rising from that direction.

Eve quickly got back into the carriage and put her hand on the control crystal.

But Adam gripped her thin arm.

“The village will be dangerous. The bulk of the white army is probably attacking it now.”

“That’s why we have to go help my father and the others!”

Gammon tossed something at the carriage as it started to move.

Adam caught the weapon.

“This is…”

It was the peculiarly shaped sword that Raisa had been carrying.

“Take it! It should serve as some protection,” Gammon shouted to Adam. “I can’t let Raisa get away. You’ll have to go on your own!”

His words were in a sense an abandonment of his responsibilities as bodyguard, but under the circumstances he must have judged there was nothing more he could do.

Or maybe he was dazzled by the potential for glory that had fallen before him.

Eve didn’t care which it was.

Whatever the case, she was focused on the situation in the village now.

Though I can’t imagine my father would be done in by the white army so easily…

The residents of the village of Nemu were a band of once famous sorcerers.

Even so, Eve couldn’t help the unease in her chest.

The carriage started to race, Adam sitting beside her.

And in this way they advanced at full speed along the forest path, headed for the village.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[osakaso5]

La Danse Macabre

Episode 23

Chapter Index

23-1: Approaching Gloom (1)

Konoe: ........

Konoe: ...Hmm?

Konoe: Y-you're kidding me, right..?

Konoe: Kabane! Kabane!!! 

- - - -

Fuga: I'm so glad to see you again, Libel! Arme!

Libel: Fuga!?

Arme: Fuga! Why are you here!?

Fuga: I was desperately trying to track you down, so I went to that same cliff you disappeared from.

Fuga: There was this strange waterway that kept going down and down, so I followed it, as scared as I was...

Fuga: And I don't really remember the rest.

Konoe: You probably got sucked in at some point. I found you passed out on the riverbed, just like Libel and Arme.

Fuga: I thought I'd die or something. I mean, just look at me. I'm black and blue and hurting all over.

Arme: You're amazing, Fuga...

Fuga: I know, right? I'm made of stronger stuff than you, at least.

Fuga: I'm glad you were both safe.

Arme: Right... I'm happy to see you again as well, Fuga!

Fuga: But wait! Rebellion's in real bad shape ever since Libel disappeared.

Libel: I thought so... Tell me what happened, Fuga.

Fuga: Sure. I'll tell you all about what's been going on while you were gone.

Kabane: Three people falling down here all at once. That hasn't happened in a long time...

Konoe: It's pretty unexpected. I'm having fun...

Konoe: But Kuon would probably say something like, "Fate is trying to grasp us once more"...

Konoe: What should we do, Kabane..?

Kabane: There's no need for us to get involved. We should stay forgotten.

Kabane: They'll stay here until Libel has recovered. After that, they're free to go wherever they want.

Konoe: Will you tell them?

Kabane: I'll tell Libel, at least.

Kabane: I can't let him repeat what happened to us.

Konoe: ...Well, that's very kind of you.

Konoe: To tell you the truth, I kind of want them to end up like us sometimes...

Konoe: Working the fields with Arme was so much fun, I couldn't help myself...

Kabane: ...I'm sorry. I know I could never repay you...

Konoe: Please, don't... I didn't mean it like that.

Konoe: Milord...

Kabane: ........ 

- - - -

Kuon: I see now, Fuga. It's a good thing you weren't hurt.

Kuon: Libel told me about you. He says you're a trustworthy friend.

Fuga: Did he, now? Gee, I think I'm blushing.

Kuon: Yes. Libel is like steel.

Kuon: He needs something gentle to soften his surroundings, like feathers, cotton, or the wind. Or you.

Kuon: You're one of the stars which complete the constellation that is Libel. At least, that's how you seemed, based on his stories.

Fuga: ........

Fuga: What's this dude saying?

Konoe: That's just how he always is, don't think too hard on the stuff he says.

Kuon: Your injuries seem bad. You should rest, like Libel.

Libel: I don't think I have time to rest.

Libel: Rebellion's situation is getting worse and worse while I'm gone...

Kuon: I see.

Libel: I want them to know I'm alive, at the very least. That knowledge alone should help them get back on their feet.

Konoe: Ah, I suppose so.

Fuga: I've got a transmitter on me, you'll be able to use it if you get back on the Surface.

Kuon: Right.

Kuon: We'll show you the way to the Surface. We have no use for it, but it should still be there.

Konoe: It'll take even you a whole day at least, do you think you can handle the trip?

Libel: Yeah, and I want to leave right now.

Kuon: Alright. But you must come back. Your treatment is yet unfinished.

Libel: That's the plan. Once I get in touch with Cura, I'll return here.  

Libel: We should take advantage of the fact that I'm presumed dead. As long as I have a line of communication with Cura, I can use this place as a base while I come up with a plan...

Kuon: Yes, that'll do. We don't mind if you stay here.

Fuga: Are you sure you don't need me to come with you?

Libel: Yes. I'll be faster alone. You just focus on getting better.

Konoe: I'll show you the way. Follow me. 

23-2: Approaching Gloom (2)

Arme: Ah, Libel! Are you headed for the Surface?

Libel: Yeah. I won't be long.

Arme: Take care! Come back soon!

Libel: ...Yeah. I will.

Konoe: ...Arme's a nice kid. He makes everyone around him smile.

Libel: Right...

Libel: I want him to make lots of people happy. In order to do that, we must win our freedom.

Konoe: Freedom, eh...

Libel: By the way, is there a reason why you keep me and Arme separated while we're here?

Konoe: Ah...

Konoe: You noticed? Then again, I suppose you would.

Libel: Yeah.

Libel: You didn't seem to be doing it out of malice, so I didn't ask earlier...

Konoe: Oh, of course it wasn't out of malice. We did it for your own good.

Libel: .......

Konoe: Kabane will probably tell you all about it once you get back.

Libel: ...I look forward to it.

Konoe: Look, that pathway connects to the Surface. It's a painfully long walk,  but all you gotta do is go straight ahead.

Libel: Okay. Thanks for showing me the way.

Konoe: I want to know.

Konoe: ...I want to know what you'll do once you know everything.

- - - -

Kuon: ...What is it? Did you need something from me?

Kuon: Fuga?

Fuga: Yeah, there's just...

Fuga: A little something I needed to take care of. 

- - - -

Libel: Huff... huff...

Libel: Ugh...

Libel: ...I'm back on the Surface.

Libel: I missed this place.

[Beep]

Libel: ........

[Bzzt]

Cura: Wait, is that you, Fuga!?

Libel: Cura. It's me, Libel.

Cura: ......!?

Cura: Libel! You're alive!?

Libel: Sorry. I didn't mean to make you worr--

Cura: We'll talk about that later!  If you're calling from Fuga’s transmitter,  does that mean he's with you!?

Libel: .......? No, he's not with me right now, but...

Cura: In that case, make a run for it! He's not the guy we know anymore!

Libel: ...What..!? 

- - - -

Fuga: Haha...

Fuga: Kuon, was it? Your luck must be awful, since you got mixed up in our business....

Fuga: Haha, hahahahaa...

Fuga: Two more to go... 

To be continued...

[simpmeon]

Red: Companions

Pairing: Any Demon Brother x Gender Neutral MC, Diavolo x Gender Neutral MC Genre: Angst Word Count: 2k Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Cursing // Implied Smut

The Fall // Rebirth // Betrayal // Companions // Revenge 

His ability to charm all those he comes in contact with and how they all love him and all of them fell for the same lies he told you. You may have been the only one that those words may have been true to, but you didn’t care at this point. Every promise, every whispered affirmation, every touch he placed on your body was a lie. He was a liar and a cheater.

And you will have your revenge.

The masquerade was everything you expected it to be. You saw all the exchange students that followed you and each one left a more bitter taste in your mouth than the last. One seemed to be hanging off every brother, asking for the one you fell in love with and where he was. You could see the annoyance on their faces as they grabbed onto their arms and held their hands, begging for a dance. They were the one directly after you, a demonologist who dedicated most of their time to studying the demon brothers, both before and after the program. You could feel the disgust and anger waft off of them with every passing second. The one after the demonologist was a spoiled wizard who only saw their place as the new ruler of Devildom, only getting to the brothers to get closer to Diavolo. The third and fourth housemates were apparently twins that went down in different years. Those two did not not even bother showing up, citing fear of being eaten as their excuse, and the fifth housemate just strutted through the door, hickeys covering their exposed neck as they entered arm and arm with the demon you fell in love with. 

None of the brothers had really noticed your presence yet, but that was your own doing. Slinking between demons, hiding in the kitchen and hallways, standing behind Diavolo’s massive frame, anything to keep an eye on those fiery red locks and the other brothers. You wanted a dramatic reveal that you were not only a demon, but that you died with him being the last thing on your mind. You basically hung onto Diavolo all night, your composure eliciting praise from Diavolo.

Diavolo’s big speech was almost here, where he would introduce all of the exchange students that came before you, humans and angels alike. All of them were hanging out in a special room chatting away, but you mostly hung around on the outside of the room. Inside you could see Luke and Simeon, as well as Solomon, telling their stories of the first exchange program. 

“I heard the first person to live with the brothers was a descendant of Lilith! I must see if they match my sketch of Lilith!” The demonologist would squeal gleefully. Simeon would only laugh and go to describe Lilith in great detail from what he could remember. The demonologist ate up every word the angel breathed, ecstatic to meet one of the highest ranking angels in the entire Celestial Realm. Luke and Simeon have yet to mention the fact that they saw you fall to the Devildom, probably because you haven’t spoken to them since they last saw you on the pathway to the Celestial Realm. 

Poor Luke was still getting doted on by the angels and humans alike, his blush getting redder and redder with each head pet. Solomon was the only one who seemed to have noticed that you were behind the door, listening in and watching. You two would sneak glances at each other, almost conversing telepathically between each other. He was just as fed up with the other humans as you were which was refreshing to see. His eyes were glued especially on the one with fire red hair. No one really mentioned the fact that all the humans had a ring of some sort around their necks, all the humans giving some excuse of your old flame giving the rings as parting gifts to them so they would never forget their year in Devildom. You felt your body go rigid as they would talk about their times with the brothers and their times with your lover. 

EX-lover 

You had to remind yourself of that as you fiddled with the ring around your neck. Something that brought you immense comfort now brought nothing but pain to you. You had physically died twice in your life now, but the pain you felt whenever you would touch the ring was worse than any death. 

You felt someone’s hand on your shoulder, and your head snapped up to see Solomon looking at you with worry. The two of you walked further down the hall, away from all the commotion to be shrouded by the dim light of the candlelit hallways. You had been texting Solomon about your plan to reveal yourself at the masquerade, however he did express concern with the idea. Having not had the chance to speak face to face about the situation, he pulled you further down the hallways until you could barely hear the words from the room.

“Are you sure you want to do this? What if you lose control?” Solomon whispered, hand grabbing yours. 

“That’s what Diavolo is for and that’s what you’re about to be for.”  You replied with a chuckle. “If you make a pact with me you’d be able to get me to stop with a simple command, right?”

Solomon’s eyes shot open at that, completely in shock before relaxing with a smirk. “So. You’ve been a demon for a little less than a year and you want to make a pact with me?”

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to. I’ve known you for five years now…I agree that you’re a shady little shit but ….you’re my closest friend.” You said, squeezing his hand. “But I would like to make one with you one day.”

Solomon sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. “Listen Y/N, you’re powerful and would make an amazing pact mate considering you had all seven of the strongest demons I’ve ever known under your belt, but you’re not stable enough right now. Have you even been in your demon form tonight yet?”

“W-well. No. Dia wants it to be a surprise! And plus, if I was in my demon form heand the brothers would’ve saw me and so would Red over there and knew something would be up! It was easier to just maintain my normal form and slink around.” You explained, a light red tint on your cheeks.

Solomon smirked and let go of your hand to rest it on the wall, his free hand on his hip. “And what were you slinking around for?” He asked, amused.

You took a deep breath, blush tinting your cheeks at his playful tone. “I just wanted the rundown on those who came after me, and how they treated the boys. From what I’ve seen they’re all insufferable except for Red, but then again they showed up late so I couldn’t get a good read on them. They all seem to have no clue who I am.”

Solomon sighed again, now opting to lean against the wall with one leg and his arms crossed, although there was still that mischievous smile on his face. “That’s because the other students don’t know about you besides what they gathered themselves. I think the brother’s decided it would be best to not mention you and to stop comparing you to the other exchange students, for their sake. One of the few perks of having a twenty-four seven access point to this place is that you get to pick up on behaviors. For a whole month after you left Lucifer would grumble about how you were late with his coffee only to realize you weren’t there….Leviathan didn’t leave his room for three months….Belphegor slept in the attic more…even Satan began slipping back into his old habits of leaving books everywhere and untouched. I know Beelzebub stopped eating for a while and Mammon was almost never home, working constantly and then immediately spending the money….hell even Asmodeus stopped taking care of himself because you weren’t around. Do you know how annoying he can be sometimes? How many hours I spent cuddling him? Ugh, it was annoying.” He grumbled. “Don’t even get me started whenever Asmodeus would swing violently from being horny to being depressed.”

“Awww was someone tired of being the top?” You jested, poking his arm and giggling at the blush that took over his face. Getting Solomon embarrassed was such a delight because of how rare it happened.

“No! That’s not it at all! I’m just a very busy man.” He muttered, turning his face away from you to hide his blushing cheeks.

“Mhmm…of course you are wizard boy. Now go back into that room before Simeon goes searching.” You giggled, pushing Solomon gently, but he still managed to almost get slammed to the ground. The minute Simeon’s name left your lips, you frowned. How was Simeon? How was Luke? How were they handling the news…

“Why don’t you go in the parlor yourself?” Solomon asked, fixing his suit and tie, almost reading your mind. You pursed your lips together and gripped the ring that swung from your neck. Solomon picked up on the shift in your mood easily, once again standing closer to you. “Is it because of the exchange students?”

“They’re…..one of the reasons.” You answered, spinning the ring between your thumb and index finger. “Simeon and Luke were the ones to watch me fall…and I just don’t want them to know what I’ve become… not yet…��

“Oh…Simeon did mention that to me. He asked about you. Luke did too.”

“…What did you say?”

“That you became a demon. I didn’t tell them anything past that. Luke didn’t want to believe that, especially since they saw you on the way to the Celestial Realm. Simeon beats himself up almost everyday that he stood there and watched you fall from the heavens. Apparently Luke was practically beating him, yelling at him to save you with tears in his eyes. Simeon said he was crying too. They even went to Michael about asking God to save you, but by then you were already a demon and although you sinned as much as the next guy, the pacts with the brothers are what ultimately made them deny you passage.” He answered. 

“Oh…” You muttered, biting your lip. So they did know about you being a demon after all. That’s good at least, the shock won’t be too bad for them then.

“Having sex with them also didn’t help your case.” Solomon added with an evil smirk. 

Now you were a blushing, sputtering mess making Solomon laugh out loud. You pouted and crossed your arms, cheeks still a nice tint of pink. Solomon smiled and swung an arm around your shoulder so his laughter was right by your ear. He pressed a cheeky peck on your temple before flashing the peace sign and walking back into the parlor with the other students.

You watched him from around the corner as he entered back into the parlor, the warming glow of the candles casting orange light in the otherwise black hallways. You could smell the cinnamon and you could hear the laughter of all the students and part of you wishes you would have the courage to force yourself to walk in there, but you were too scared. Too scared of seeing Luke and Simeon and having their guilt take over them, too scared to see Red and to be bombarded by those who were just cheap replacements, not to mention the other angels who you’ve never met before. 

You sank down the wall, legs outstretched and arms crossed one over the other. You thought about the hickeys on their neck, how miserable he looked to be walking in with them, disguised with a smile. The way his brothers treated him like a stranger….how every exchange student under the same roof was enthralled by them. How cute for him to prevent them from entering the Celestial Realm and for leading them on because of his ways. His ability to charm all those he comes in contact with and how they all love him and all of them fell for the same lies he told you. You may have been the only one that those words may have been true to, but you didn’t care at this point. Every promise, every whispered affirmation, every touch he placed on your body was a lie. He was a liar and a cheater. 

And you will have your revenge.

[wordsablaze]

8. she’s always bad news

your beauty hides the pain Lost on the mountain, Jaskier accidentally angers a mage who decides to curse Yennefer with his company and for once, it might actually be a blessing in disguise…

A/N: i promise the chapter isn’t as dismal as its title !! @random-nerd-3 @surreal-static @10moonymhrivertam @bicount-de-lettenhove 

previous chapter

-

“-ake up, bard!”

Jaskier is hit with the distinct feeling of deja vu as he yawns, all but peeling his eyes open to see Yennefer watching him impatiently.

“What time is it?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head because his whole body feels stiff for some inconvenient reason. Oh wait, that’s probably because he seems to have ended up using his lute as a bed.

Yennefer shrugs. “Time to go. The sooner we find the source of the curse, the better.”

“Right,” Jaskier agrees, “but I don’t suppose we could grab some food for the road?”

With a heavy sigh, Yennefer nods. Considering that as permission, Jaskier takes the lead when they head back down, very slightly guilt-tripping and convincing the innkeeper to spare them some food in exchange for a performance on their return.

“Not bad,” Yennefer comments as they leave.

Jaskier bows as best as he can with both his lute and the bag of food slung over his shoulders. “I am widely known for my charm, you know.”

“What a polite way to phrase your so-called talents,” Yennefer drawls, starting to walk even as Jaskier splutters in outrage.

He follows her down several alleyways he never thought she’d even be willing to look at until they reach a more secluded pathway that’s clearly not used very much if the overgrown shrubbery is anything to go by. Before he can ask why she’s stopped, she starts muttering something, the air vibrating around them before a portal appears.

“Not bad,” Jaskier grins.

The grin falls as they step through and his stomach promptly decides to backflip but he manages not to fall over this time, a little surprised to see Yennefer waiting for him to recover instead of just pressing on.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s not as if I can just walk away even if I want to,” Yennefer says, folding her arms.

Oh yeah.

Doing his best not to reveal his disappointment, Jaskier clears his throat. “It’s alright, darling, you wouldn't be the first to find my presence irresistible.”

“Ugh, just show me where you found those flowers,” Yennefer snaps.

“As my lady wishes…” Jaskier grins, finally looking around and swallowing the urge to just flee, almost regretting his plan to so quickly come back to one of the worst moments of his life.

The only problem is, as easy as it had been to accidentally get lost the first time round, it’s a lot harder to purposely do so, especially with an unimpressed audience. They walk for far longer than either of them had been expecting, mostly in silence, neither of them wanting to admit their only lead may be a dead end.

“This is pointless,” Jaskier whines when his feet eventually start aching.

Yennefer hums. “You’re sure you didn’t leave the mountain?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “How exactly would I have done that, pray tell? The path we came up was destroyed, remember?”

He’s not entirely sure what emotion flirts across Yennefer’s face at that but he knows better than to assume it’s concern or anything like that so he just turns back to the landscape, squinting at the trees as if they’re going to tell him which direction to turn.

“I could jog your memory,” Yennefer offers quietly.

Jaskier has heard that phrase before but it’s usually followed by an injury of some kind so he shakes his head instinctively, stepping back. “I’m sure I’ll remember unaided, just- just give me a little time.”

“I’m not trying to threaten you, idiot.” Yennefer sighs, blinking slowly and pausing for a second. “I just meant that I could find which path you took through your memories.”

Straightening up, Jaskier shrugs. “Well, alright then. At least you’re asking nicely this time.”

With no other warning, his head starts to sharply ache. Groaning, he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on breathing as Yennefer mumbles an apology and the ache fizzles just a little until it’s no worse than a mild hangover.

It’s not exactly pleasant, probably because he really doesn’t want to think about Borch or Geralt or the mage with a grudge, but it’s not even nearly the worst thing he’s experienced so he just waits it out, barely noticing the way both he and Yennefer end up on their knees right next to each other. At least, not until Yennefer pulls away with a gasp.

“She’s not from Aretuza,” is the first thing Yennefer says, breathing heavily.

Jaskier blinks at her once he doesn’t feel like he’s about to pass out. “The what-uza?”

Yennefer makes yet another unimpressed face at him. “Magical academy, in simple terms.”

“So she’s from a different academy?” Jaskier asks, really not following where she’s going with this.

When he doesn’t get a reply, he just sighs, pushing the lute and bag of food aside before flopping onto the grass and turning his attention to the clouds. “Nothing about this mountain will ever be easy, apparently.”

He doesn’t get a reply to that either but he doesn’t really care, he’s too busy trying to figure out which cloud looks the most like a lute. Which is none of them, actually, because even the sky is being a spoilsport and holding back at the moment. He really didn’t think returning to the mountain could be so much worse the second time but apparently the world wants to prove him wrong.

“Please stop thinking so loud,” Yennefer says eventually.

He jumps. “Stop reading my mind then. It’s hardly my fault you’re not satiated by your own thoughts.”

“My thoughts are fine.”

Jaskier scoffs, sitting up again. He’s not sure what he was intending to say but the words melt from his mouth when he sees Yennefer’s dismal expression anyway. He’d almost forgotten that their situation is just as - if not more - frustrating for her.

“How about some food then?” he asks, already pulling some out of the bag.

There’s a brief tinkling sound and when he looks up, Yennefer is smirking, holding two goblets of wine; Jaskier is not even remotely ashamed to say his mouth fully drops open in surprise.

"I don't like having a dry mouth," Yennefer says casually, holding out one of the goblets for him to take, which he does.

The food is fine, bread and cheese and various little fruits, but the wine is nothing short of divine and Jaskier barely resists the urge to moan when he tries it.

Yennefer must be able to tell how impressed he is from his facial expression because she laughs, genuinely laughs, and it's such a lovely sound that Jaskier almost wants to write a ballad about it. Only almost though, because he definitely doesn't like her enough to write her a loving ballad no matter what the quality of her wine.

"It's a shame this place is tainted with memories," Yennefer says after a while.

Jaskier glances over at her in mild surprise before nodding. "You're right, of course. What a tragedy for such beautiful views to be ruined by a hollow hunt."

Yennefer elbows him, at which point he realises they'd moved so they're near one another again. "Did you just agree with me after only one serving of wine? I'm curious to know what you'll do after a few more."

"In better circumstances, I'd be happy- well, I'd probably be terrified but if it meant drinking more of this divine concoction, I'd be happy to show you."

"Terrified?" Yennefer echoes.

Recognising that her mirth has become mixed with something akin to hesitation, Jaskier sighs. "Although you are beyond worthy of poetry, my dearest witch, it's rather difficult to focus on that with the whole…"

"Geralt?" she suggests.

"Geralt," Jaskier agrees.

There's a moment of silence before their goblets refill and Yennefer smirks at him. "To forgetting our witcher."

Jaskier takes a gulp too large to be called sophisticated and sighs. "While we still can."

It's not the best toast in the world but if nothing else, it's at least something they can agree on so for the moment, they both ignore everything that's going wrong and just enjoy the view together.

-

not these two (and me) turning a magical crisis into a suspiciously pleasant picnic--

-

thanks for reading! | masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Twelve

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The sun was almost at its highest point, pale clouds mottling the sky white and blue, when Fernstar’s patrol came to a grove of trees.

“This’ll be a restin’ place for them,” Boarpaw said, chest puffed out with pride. He and his mentor, Glorypelt, had come back from their far-ahead scouting with the news that the scents of Redheart and a ‘mess of folk’ were clogging their noses in a place with drying ground and bent grass. The patrol had just reached it – they had walked slowly to allow the scouts to ensure their path was the right one, since the wind was starting to blow away the trail.

Now Fernstar nodded gratefully to Boarpaw and Glorypelt, smiling. “You’ve done good work. Thank you. Take a moment to rest while we investigate.”

Scouts, of course, never liked to rest, but Glorypelt guided his apprentice away from the main cluster of scents and let the rest of the Fleet cats sniff around, taking pathways this way and that, following what still remained in the soft, drying earth.

It was a little frustrating, Fernstar had to admit; the grass had not been bent severely enough to give a concrete trail, meaning they had to go on what the wind and sun hadn’t blown away or baked out of the ground. What was more frustrating was the knowledge that Viceroyclaw had brought up, now scratching at Fernstar’s head.

She couldn’t be gone from the leaders’ den forever. It had been several days now, and it would be several days more before she’d return. She would have to give up this hunt and leave it to the Fleet.

But there were questions she wanted answers to, questions that grew in number with every passing hour. Most of them were about Redheart, of course, but there was something Greyleaf had said when the story was reported to Fernstar that was intensely troubling her.

“Because I’ve seen it too,” he’d said.

What did that mean? Why did he believe in this story about StarClan that Redheart had started to tell when it was so transparently untrue?

Unless…

No. Fernstar shook her head. This was clearly something wrong with the two of them. She had seen StarClan’s power herself, during her leadership ceremony.

Cats circled around her, sniffing, as her mind wandered back to the days when she was younger and stronger. Back when she had fought hard for her position as deputy, had been appointed as high deputy, and waited only two or three years before the previous Clast leader had died and she was taken to the Lighthouse by a seer. She had fallen asleep to the crashes of the ocean’s waves just past the cliff the Lighthouse was set on, and when she’d opened her eyes a trail of stars was in front of her. She’d walked on it, too awed to say anything, coming up to a fawn-colored tom who represented the Clast leaders’ ceremony – Mulleinberry, he’d said his name was. He had gifted her with lives of ambition to serve the Clan and a drive to keep everyone safe and happy.

She’d like to think she'd kept good on the promise those gifts implied.

“Fernstar?”

She refocused. Fogpetal and Viceroyclaw were standing in front of her, looking at the little leader with concern and a bit of nervousness.

Fernstar slanted her head a little, indicating that she was listening, and Fogpetal spoke first.

“Viceroyclaw spoke to you earlier about you perhaps going back north,” she said carefully. “I understand that you being absent from the leaders can cause some trouble.”

Fernstar blinked slowly and stayed silent.

“If you like,” Fogpetal continued, undeterred, “we can continue the tracking from here, and you can return home.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Viceroyclaw offered, certainly more nervous than Fogpetal. “And I can send reports back to you. If- if that’s what you think is best.”

Fernstar knew very well that Viceroyclaw had made that suggestion because the alternative – acting as leader on Fernstar’s behalf – terrified her. A smaller, quieter group with a set mission that she didn’t have to invent and improvise on all the time was easier on her.

Fernstar took a moment to think. Not more than a moment. She could decide things quickly.

“Very well,” she said. “That may be best. I trust that you’ll do your duty to the best of your abilities, you two.”

The mollies bowed their heads respectfully.

“I can travel alone,” Fernstar continued. “Keep everyone you can with you. If you meet with any strangers, let them know who you’re searching for. The word will spread on its own after that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

Fernstar didn’t waste time. The clouds were thickening on the horizon, and she didn’t care to be caught in the rain if she could help it. With a wave goodbye and a thanks to everyone, she set off as if she hadn’t a thought in the world beyond her duties. But one did pick at her.

“Because I’ve seen it too.”

What did they see?

 ---

 Watching what little of the sky he could see, sitting alone, Greyleaf hated.

It would surprise many cats, if not everyone, to take a look into his mind and see how much hate coursed through his veins. How it soaked into his muscles and the very, very little fat he had on him. How every hair on his body wanted to be bristled at all times, how he wanted to bite and claw and scream to get it out. Fear had been his foremost thought the second he was born into a cold world, wet and blind and deaf. But ever since that fateful meeting with the Runagate, since his first sight of Redheart… slowly but surely, that fear started to burn instead of freeze him. It strained at his eyes, coloring everything with the knowledge he had now with red. It grew teeth that cried to tear apart StarClan and everyone who saw him with pity and contempt, who had no idea of the truth.

Mistface wouldn’t believe him if he said all this, probably. Mama certainly wouldn’t. Maybe no one would. Greyleaf had quickly become very good at containing himself starting from apprenticeship.

It was just a survival instinct at this point. Redheart had responded to StarClan’s truth with grief and determination. A plan that kept her alive. Greyleaf had no plan. He just had hate to protect him. And it’d done a good job so far.

But it couldn’t protect everyone else.

It couldn’t protect Nettlecloud.

“Hey.”

Greyleaf jolted and turned sharply to his right. Flyfang, standing behind him, jumped a little herself in alarm. Far behind her, Mistface and Redheart were whispering with Darkpelt, like conspirers. Laurelclaw, Littlepaw and Beetlefoot sat together, with Laurelclaw huddling like he wasn’t far outsizing the two of them no matter how he was postured. The air was tense, but it wasn’t frightened. It wasn’t hateful.

Greyleaf realized belatedly that he hadn’t said anything to Flyfang, so he cleared his throat. “Hi.”

Flyfang relaxed a little and tilted her head. “You doing alright?”

Greyleaf didn’t know how to answer that. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His jaw twitched and he looked down, away.

“You’ve just been by yourself for quite a while, is all.” Flyfang stepped closer with great caution. “Mistface was going to check on you, but Darkpelt wanted him and Redheart for some conversation or another. I don’t know why she didn’t ask for you, you and Redheart work together and all, but…”

Something must have shown on his face, because Flyfang trailed off. She instead closed the distance and sat down next to him, tail tapping nervously. Greyleaf returned his gaze to the thin sunlight, grateful for the shadows of the forest.

“I thought you looked a little stressed,” Flyfang said after a moment. “I know that’s normal for you, but…”

Greyleaf did not care to tell her what he had been stewing over the past few minutes. He just went with what was always on his mind, even just in the back. “I’m worried about my Mama.”

Flyfang’s face softened. Saddened a little, too. “Beetlefoot mentioned she wasn’t doing well the last time he saw her.”

Greyleaf saw no reason to be gentle. “She’s about to die. Cancer.” He squeezed his eyes shut, pain and grief and helpless rage in his chest. “She might be dead now, for all I know.”

Flyfang didn’t say it, but they thought the same thing.

And StarClan might have her.

“I shouldn’t talk,” Greyleaf said suddenly. “Your mother’s been there for a while.”

Flyfang nodded, her voice strained. “She has. Unless she was quick enough to run.”

“We rarely are,” Greyleaf muttered.

The two were quiet for a moment, before Flyfang fully turned to him.

“I have a request,” she said.

Greyleaf looked at her sidelong.

“If you and Redheart and everyone decide to leave…” She shifted a little, anxious. “I’d like to get my sisters before we go. They’re not far from here.”

Greyleaf blinked. “You’d travel with us?”

“I mean, yeah.” Flyfang gave him a mildly humorous look. “You all know the truth and I’ve made friends with a couple of you. And I trust you and Redheart. You’re both smart.”

At this, Greyleaf did half-smile. “Against all odds.”

“And you’re tough,” Flyfang added. “Like, just knowing about this, having no idea what to do, it almost makes me crazy. I have no idea how you two are sane knowing this your whole lives.”

Greyleaf’s smile faded just a little, but it didn’t go away. “I’m barely hanging on at this point, honestly. It’s been a lot of edging along a narrow cliffside, hoping not to fall, for my whole life.”

“Especially with your nightmares.” Flyfang shook her head, voice admiring. “I didn’t think anything of you at all when I first met you at the Clast. Healer, weak, nervous, all that. Did not expect you to be as hardcore as you are. Redheart, I could get, but not you.”

The idea of being ‘hardcore’ made an amused huff escape from Greyleaf. “I don’t know about that.”

“Dude, if any of us had suffered this for so long, I think we’d all go nuts.” Flyfang smiled broadly at him, oddly looking impressed. “And you’ve been at this since you were a kit. I think that qualifies as hardcore.”

Greyleaf’s eyes lowered to the ground, but his smile felt more genuine. “…Thanks, then.”

“No problem.” Flyfang leaned her head forward a little to look him in the eyes. “Are you a little happier?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Then my work is done.” Flyfang gave a self-satisfactory nod. “I just got worried about where your head was, and I thought you might need a bit of cheering up.”

Greyleaf looked at her, eyes narrowed in a more friendly way than anything else. “You’re not bad at it. Do you cheer up your sisters a lot?”

“Plenty enough.” Flyfang puffed out a sigh. “The Marish are terrible for a kit’s mental health, I’ll tell you. Mosquitopaw and Gnatpaw must be desperate to get out by now.” Her voice quieted a little. “And they have no idea of the real reason why they should.”

Greyleaf wanted to return the favor of positivity, but just as he opened his mouth, Redheart called, “If everyone can gather around!”

The two grey cats looked at each other in surprise, but stood up and joined the others, where they all sat down, watching the conspirators curiously. Mistface had a calmly pleased and, oddly, almost eager look on his face, and Redheart’s eyes were no longer exhausted. Darkpelt’s usual wide eyes and big smile were present where they should be, but there was a sparkle in them that Greyleaf couldn’t define.

“We have a proposition,” Darkpelt said. “And we’d like to share it with you.”

[aquilamage]

If you’d asked Detective Badd a week ago how much there was to know about nineteenth-century classical composition, he would’ve said no damn clue, and even less interest.

Apparently, there was a lot.

The kid had come in about a quarter to, the same boundless comfort and lack of awareness to the looks the other detectives gave him as always, and plopped himself down. Now, even the stragglers for the next shift are settling in, and he shows no signs of stopping any time soon.

So, having learned from Kay, he jumps in the moment the kid pauses for breath. “That’s nice” (from what he could tell, which is at least more than the times Faraday had gone off on some mechanical explanation rant (when all he’d asked was why he’d taken apart his old tv in the middle of the living room at 7am).) “But shouldn’t you...be getting home? Your father has to be expecting you for dinner.” He’s assuming a lot of things, but Debeste had never been one for patience.

For a second, there’s that confused little wrinkle of his nose. “Oh! No, Pops is really busy, so it’s just me!” A pause as he looks down, talking more to himself. “Well, since for lunch I….oh.” The frown disappears almost immediately as he crosses his arms, looking up. “I think it would be best for me to get going now.”

Alright then. Well, then he wouldn’t keep him, so he could go and do that at a reasonable hour. Nice...seeing you. At least that’s what he thinks. What Badd actually says is, “That’s...no good. How do you feel about noodles?”

He blinks. “What?” His free hand had been playing with the rounded edge of his baton, now bending it ever so slightly.

“There’s a stand...right around the block.” He gets up, collecting his things. “Let’s get you something to eat...now.”

The baton springs back to its normal shape. Otherwise, the kid stays frozen until Badd is practically out the door. “Okay!” he calls, and scampers after him.

It’s a clear night, a few stars visible through the light pollution. The temperature has dropped more than seasonable for March, but it’s still tolerable for a short walk. Especially since the kid can keep up with his natural stride – tagging about three-quarters behind him, but matching in pace. Badd always manages to forget that he’s so tall, might still be growing (and certainly hasn’t filled into his height yet).

He wonders how tall Kay is now. It’s been a few years since the last time Byrne’s sister brought her back for a visit, and even if she does send him pictures with heavy regularity, it’s not the same as measuring where she comes up against him.

(For example, the kid comes up past his shoulder, probably chin height when he stands up proper. It’s hard to tell exactly without measuring.)

Just as the stand comes into view, he checks over his shoulder. The kid is still there, watching him closely now. Everything else seems perfectly normal, but there’s a slight nagging feeling that something’s off. Without anything to go on for now, though, he shrugs it off. “Pick something out.” He gestures at the menu board.

The guy at the counter gives the kid a bit of a look as he continues staring down the options, mouthing out a few, and Badd shoots him a half glare that gets him to back off until they’re ready to order. He gets a basic vegetable ramen, and the kid orders something that Badd doesn’t know enough Japanese to recognize if it’s pronounced right (although he doesn’t falter saying it and the worker doesn’t correct him or react, so probably. Interesting).

As they’re standing there waiting, that creeping feeling that something is Off comes back, but looking around, everything appears perfectly normal. The shuffling bustle of the kitchen comes just above the buzz of the floodlight on top of the stand, which illuminates a circle of the little park around them, and the occasional car passing by.

The kid’s order comes up, and he cradles it in his hands all the way to the nearest bench. It’s strangely endearing.

A minute later his food is ready too. He sits down across from the kid, who’s staring down at his bowl in silence, and then it hits him that apart from getting his food, he hasn’t said a word since they left. This kid doesn’t do anything quiet.

“Something the matter?”

He immediately jumps, splashing broth on the table. “No! It’s fine! It’s really good.” Halfway through the last sentence, his voice gets soft. “Uh,” he’s put his baton down, but now he’s holding both chopsticks in both hands, and they’re not quite so bendy. “what did I do wrong?”

“...what?”

“I thought- You’re not upset?”

And here he thought he’d already witnessed the kid’s weirdest leap in logic. “No? What would I be upset about?”

He shrugs as though it was obvious. “Talking to someone alone means you need to yell at them, most of the time. Sometimes you yell at them in front of people. Why else would you invite me out here?”

There’s so many concerning parts to that that the number itself is concerning. Right now, though, there’s the fact that the kid doesn’t need splinters on top of everything else. “You haven’t eaten in a long time, so it’s not safe to be driving.” When the kid’s eyes continue to gather water, he sighs. “I’m not upset. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh.” A few tears fall, but he relaxes his grip to something normal.

They start eating in quiet, the kid thinking he’s sneaking glances. Soon enough, though, he pipes up with a continuation of what he’d been on about at the office (at least, Badd’s reasonably confident it is).

He swirls his noodles around the bowl. The kid’s last question echoes in his mind: why was he doing this? Not that he’d been lying, but what was his motivation for that reasoning? It wasn’t as if the kid was out of it or that much of a danger to himself; why spend more time with Debeste’s kid than he had to?

(Now, that wasn’t exactly fair. Despite his clear admiration for his father, the kid was more than that. He deserved better.)

…And maybe that’s it. Badd knows it’s not his place to comment – there’d been a number of nights where Byrne’s work kept him from dinner with Kay (mostly near the end, with a babysitter since the both of them were occupied), and seventeen was plenty old enough for a kid to be home by himself for an evening. Still, there’s something about it.

As the kid talks, he waves his chopsticks around. It adds an interesting layer of suspense, given that about one of every three times he gets distracted midway through bringing food up to his mouth.

“..Hey.”

He freezes up, prompting Badd to immediately follow up with his “I don’t mind the talking, but you should finish your food before it gets cold.”

“Okay.”

---

As they finish eating, it’s fully dark out. Even that doesn’t put any damper on the kid’s mood, though, practically a spring in his step. “Thanks for the food. It was tasteful.”

“Taste...ful?”

He spins around on the pathway. “Yeah, it was really good!”

Ah. His sigh comes out as a steady cloud of breath. “You’re welcome.”

Instead of moving again, he waves his hand. “I’ll see you later. Not tomorrow or the next couple, but...what’s the day after that?”

Badd tries to do the math with what day he thinks the kid means. “The fifteenth?”

A frown as he stares upward. “What day?”

“Friday.” It would be nice if they could have this conversation while they were walking. The residual warmth from the food is mostly faded, and they’re not even standing by the kitchen. Bringing it up now might throw the kid off-track, though. At least it seems like he’s got enough layers on.

“Then maybe on Friday.” With a smile, the hand with the baton goes to his shoulder, and he bows his head. “See you!”

Badd shakes his head. “That’s nice, but unless you...parked somewhere else, we’re still going the same direction.”

The kid’s baton smacks him int the face, and it’s all he can do not to reach out and- ...well, he doesn’t know what, exactly. “O-Of course!” And with a sharp turn, he starts back on the path.

--

By the time Badd gets in his car, his face and arms are numb from waiting and watching until the kid’s car pulled out of sight. Why he bothered, he doesn’t know – the precinct lot is reasonably safe (there’s more people loyal to his father than aren’t, or at least in some way held by his influence, and someone who wasn’t would plan something better than that) – but it feels right to do. If it was Kay...

He shakes his head. Kay’s a hundred miles away and not going to be around for ages, if ever. This kid is not the same, and he needs to get that through his head before it gets him in trouble.

[bluegarners]

If you're taking asks I would love to hear your thoughs about the Ric arc and the current state of Nightwing comics!!!!!!!!!! :))

Oh goodness, where to begin...

To start, I share a lot of the same opinions as @nightwingmyboi and @hood-ex ~~ they have very extensive and well thought out takes on the Ric Arc and the general direction DC has decided to take Dick Grayson with, along with his legacy of Nightwing. I highly suggest you read some of their posts about it, as they are very informative and probably more well versed in explaining opinions, haha!

So, my thoughts on the Ric Arc? Like most fans of Nightwing, I believe it kinda sucked ass. Like, sucked ass in the way where DC kinda just forgot characterizations (again), made it all about Batman (again), and ignored good side characters (Bea). The only thing positive I can really say about that whole arc was the art- I really enjoyed the take on Dick's features in Nightwing #74. I was happy they gave him more ethnic looking features with the fuller lips and the more angular nose. (However, they kinda screwed up with the heights??? Jason was tiny!! Barely 5' 4" it looked like LOL) The colors were pretty as well, Ryan Benjamin is a favorite artist of mine, and most of the scenes were fluid.

Another positive I can say about the Ric Arc is one of the very beginning scenes, where Damian goes to see Dick in the hospital while he's still recovering. It was moving that they let Damian be an impatient child when "demanding" for Dick to wake up, and then follow it up with him essentially fleeing and crying when he's not answered. Of course, Damian isn't really mentioned again after this, but it was still really nice to see this side of his character.

The plot.... where do I start? I don't think I'll get too much into it because it'll only frusturate me more sdfslhf but I'll say this. While I am a fan of Dick Grayson angst, DC made it very... unenjoyable, for lack of a better word. It felt like they just threw in as many villains as possible, what with the introduction of the new "sidekick" for Joker, aka Punchline, the Court of Owls appearing for a very brief time just to screw with Dick's memory more, KGBeast and Bane conspiring to get to Batman through Nightwing BY SHOOTING HIM IN THE HEAD (okay, mini rant here: DC, if you're going to make this comic about Nightwing, please please please actually make it about Nightwing. Make the problem about him, not Batman. I get that Bane is kind of the main motivator here, what with him trying to break Batman by killing his oldest allie and destroying his marriage with Seleina, but surely there are writers at the DC headquarters that can come up with a separate problem that doesn't always involve Batman. Surely that's possible right? Nightwing's whole persona was made so he could be recognized separately from Batman; stepping away from Robin was supposed to free Dick of his restrictive ties to the Bat symbol. By always tying Dick's problems immediately back to Batman or one of his enemies, it defeats the purpose of Nightwing being his own hero with his own villians and his own freakin city with its own dozens of problems!!)

Continuing on with villains, here's what I can remember off the top of my head: KGBeast, Bane, Punchline, Joker, Harely (not really, but I'm going to add her anyway), Talon, and the Court of Owls. Now, this is going to controversial, but I'm also going to add the Batfam as part of that list, and here's why. They didn't care. Plain and simple, they didn't care about Ric, they only cared about Dick and what he could do for them. There were a grand total of maybe three times where the Batfam reached out to Ric to try and reason with him, but before all of that, they re-traumatized an already amnesiac and confused person by showing him get assassinated. Like, Bruce. Wth?? I know a lot of this was mostly character assassination, especially with Barbara, but come on. Barbara was really weird throughout this entire arc, and even after he goes back to "normal", she blames Dick for being mean to her, completely ignoring the fact that he didn't know who she was half the time. And that he was, ya know,

mind controlled by multiple villains for a majority of the comic.

Moving past all of that, since I feel like I could rant for ages about it, I didn't like how abruptly they ended that arc. The crystal being my main problem. DC has many scapegoats, the lazerous pit being their biggest imo, but a crystal? All they had to do was show it to him and BOOM cured??? There was no character development. The build up to it could hardly be called build up, as it was done and over with in the span of a few panels. Nothing felt high stakes anymore, and then after he got his memories back, everyone cheered and was like "yay, he's back to normal! you were a real ass to us, and we're not going to apologize for leaving you homeless and left to fend for yourself against all these villains even though you had no memories! oh, but don't worry! we were watching this whole time, so we just let all that stuff happen to you! wow, so glad you're back- we really need Nightwing, but I guess having Dick back is okay too."

That's a very crass interpretation of what went down, but that's what happened. Bruce's half assed excuse of "I was always watching" was awful because then it just leads to more problems of, oh well, if you were always there, why didn't you rent him an apartment so he didn't have to live out of his taxi? Or get him out of trouble and bar fights? Or stop the Joker from getting him and taking control of his mind? Or any numerous terrible things that happened to Ric? It's just annoying that no one seems to actually try and emphathize with what Dick went through, and it's all getting brushed to the side in favour of, "oh, well, back to work!"

They could've gone down so many pathways with Dick getting shot in the head, but instead they gave him amnesia, trauma, bad reception from the fam, and being passed around from villian to villain just to be used over and over again. It felt like this weird dump fest where the writers just woke up one morning and was like, "how many characters can we fit into this arc to get the most amount of readers as possible? How can we become more controversial?"

I know that in the arc after Ric, we're getting some of the aftermath. I'm so so happy they let Dick cry over Alfred's death (he really needed that release of emotions, poor boy has been bottling them up for the sake of others [again, DC, I know he's supposed to be the emotionally controlled one, but please let him be healthy with his emotions and not a shut in with them]) but they still haven't addressed Damian? Like, Dick and Damian were arguably the closest before shit hit the fan, and Dick isn't wondering where the kid is? Or exactly what happened with Alfred and how Damian witnessed it?? A large part of it is the Batfam not telling Dick any of it and kind of just leaving him to his own devices now that the "issue" has been resolved (sound familiar? history repeats itself yet again....). Something else that bugs me a bit is that everyone is telling Dick what he should be feeling/thinking/doing/etc. No one's letting him... grieve. Like, Dick just got his memories back and he's probably grappling with old trauma that's now fresh in his face. Additionally, everyone is assuming he's just going to go back to normal, as if none of what just happened, well, happened. They're erasing this brand spanking new trauma, along with the news that Alfred was murdered, and the fact that Dick is still trying to do his best for his family because it's whats expected of him. I mentioned earlier that Barbara was being really weird, @nightwingmyboi actually already made a post about it, but when Dick tries to apologize and talk to her about what happened when he was Ric, she just kind of... runs away? Dramatically? Didn't even attempt to hear what dick had to say- she was just so consumed with her own hurt that talking wasn't an option for whatever reason. WHICH IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF HER CHARACTER. It's frusturating because Dick is doing his best to apologize to people when he should have nothing to apologize for- he wasn't under any of his own control and the things he did while Ric or "Dickie-boy" weren't under his own will. If anything, Dick is the one that should get an apology and a hug; he's been through so much and no one seems to be acknowledging that.

All of that to say: I liked the idea of what the Ric arc could've offered, but the plot fell through and just disappointed a lot of people. I'm hoping a lot of the issues presented in the Ric arc that went unaddressed do end up being properly resolved in the newer arcs coming out, but I'm not going to be surprised if it doesn't. Sorry for the long answer LOL

[jjmaybankx]

FEEL THAT LOVE | FOUR · SPHALLOLALIA

JJ MAYBANK FANFICTION MASTERLIST

< THREE

FOUR ❀☼❀ SPHALLOLALIA .✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*

sphallolalia (n.) flirtatious talk that leads nowehere.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

THEY RAISED SOME EYEBROWS ON THE FIGURE EIGHT THE NEXT MORNING.

"Is that Mr. Mac's daughter riding in with a Pogue boy? The one with the deadbeat Dad?" Rose Cameron asked Wheezie as they watched as JJ hopped off the boat, docking it while Brielle grabbed her things and came out.

Hearing Rose speak the way she did was golden, mainly because she herself had been a Pogue growing up.

"I guess," shrugged Wheezie, acting like she didn't care, but a smirk formed on her face as she ran towards the house to tell her sister what she just saw.

JJ raised an eyebrow over at Brielle as they walked towards their house in silence, but of course he opted to say nothing. Despite being dumb, he wasn't dumb enough to realize that there was a reason for her sudden appearances with his group.

"It's been a while since I've seen the inside of this beauty," JJ commented as they walked up the pathway to her house.

"You saw it once," Brielle reminded him.

"Yeah, like... last summer or whatever," he sighed. "Brings back memories."

"Shut up," Brielle said with a chuckle, unlocking the front door. "We don't talk about that, remember? Poor lapse in both of our judgements, that what you said it was, right?"

"Chill, Kook. What's gotten your panties in a twist?"

Their conversation was cut off when they got into the house. Instantly, their noses were hit with different aromas, the house smelling amazing.

"Hi, anak," Danielle Macatangay said when her daughter walked inside, pressing her cheek to her daughter's in a half kiss. She pulled away to send JJ a smile, "JJ, it's been a while."

JJ nodded with a polite smile, standing behind Brielle with his hands folded in front of him.

"It feel like it's been a while since we've seen our daughter," Kent said, hugging his kid. "She's always off somewhere that isn't here."

"JJ! Right on time, let me show you where the lawn mower is, son," Kent said, putting a hand on his shoulder as he escorted JJ right back out the front door.

"That boy hasn't been around in about a year," Danielle said, a smirk on her face as she looked at her daughter. "Not since I cau—"

"Mom," exclaimed Brielle, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. Was everyone going to bring up the summer before sophomore year? "Stop it!"

"Okay, okay," Danielle laughed, putting her hands up defensively.

"Why did dad even ask JJ to come over to mow the lawn? We usually do that ourselves." Brielle asked as she and her mother went into the kitchen. Brielle was confused as to why there was more kitchen hands than just Yaya Dettie there.

"We're throwing a party tomorrow night," her mom shrugged. "Your dad needed someone to mow the lawn while he sets up the rest of the arrangements."

Brielle's face contorted in confusion. "Why are we having a party? Shouldn't you guys be busy with midsummers coming up? I thought we were catering."

"Because it's your Tito Dario's last few days before he goes back home to the Philippines," she said, looking away from her daughter as she spoke. "So, tomorrow is party, then we have midsummers, and yes, we are catering with the help of Heyward's Seafood. You have your dress for that already, yes? We need to get you one for tomorrow, too."

Tito Dario, her mom's cousin from the Philippines. He had been visiting them since she was younger, spending a month or two in the Outer Banks before heading back home.

"Who's coming to this party?" Brielle asked, paying more attention to the kitchen hands. They were marinating meats and cutting up fruits, likely the only beforehand prep that they could do as far as catering.

"Most of our neighbors," her mom said, shrugging. "The Camerons, Carreras, Thortons..."

"What about Kie's friends?" Brielle asked just as the sound of their lawn mower turned on. "You know, like the blonde outside cutting our grass?"

Her mom's expression fell, and she grabbed her daughter's face in her hands. "Oh, sweetie, you know I like your friends, it's just... they're not like us."

"And what is like us?" Brielle asked.

"I'm sorry, baby," her mom said, not answering her question, turning around to walk away. "Be sure to find an outfit for tomorrow night!"

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

JJ walked behind Kent Macatangay, following him to the shed. When Kent had asked him to come over to mow their lawn, he thought it was a little bit peculiar. If there was one thing he knew about the Macatangays, it was that they barely paid other people to do things for them.

"So, last time I saw you, it was a year ago," Kent said, and JJ looked up from his glance at the grass. "Climbing out of my daughter's window."

JJ looked right back down, his face turning red.

"Which is why I specifically wanted you to mow our lawn," he said, opening the door to the shed for JJ. "Just because you turn red like that."

Kent Macatangay was anything was discrete and anything but subtle.  

"Not going to lie, when Brielle started to ask if she can hang out with Kiara more, Dani and I wondered if you had anything to do with it," Kent expressed to him, looking at him with a suspicious glare.

"N-no sir," JJ shook his head, intimidated by the father in front of him. "I'm hardly around while she's with Kie, she only spent a few days with all of us."

Kent nodded, but the look on his face showed he wasn't reassured.

"Alright, well, I'll be back in about an hour. Got some errands to run, and I'll have your money," Kent said, patting JJ's shoulder. "Lighten up, son. I'm not going to kill you. Yet. The machete is still in the storage."

As Kent walked away, JJ's eyes widened in fear. He looked back to his to see him shaking his head and chuckling, probably proud he was able to give JJ a proper fright. He started up the lawn mower and got right to work.

As he got towards the front of the house, he looked at the top window with the balcony that was to the right of the front door. Brielle's bedroom window, which had a very convenient and climbable tree next to it. He chuckled at the memory of slipping from the tree, landing back first on the soft grass below.

The curtain above moved, and he saw a flash of dark brown hair. He shook his head, realizing that Brielle had been up there looking out at him until he glanced up, too.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Brielle was in the kitchen with Yaya Dettie and the other kitchen hands helping prepare the fruits. She glanced out the window to see JJ still working, the hot hair causing him to slip out of his shirt. Instead of taking it off fully, the material sat scrunched up on his shoulders, his head still through the head hole of the shirt.

He stopped to wipe his forehead with his arm, and Brielle sighed. She walked up to the counter near the window. Her short frame could barely reach the window, so she lifted her body onto the countertop and pulled the window open. She pressed her face closer and shouted, "JJ!"

He looked over, turning off the lawn mower, the two even gaining the attention to the kitchen hands.

She waved him over, but he shook his head.

"I'm working!"

"Take a break!" she yelled back.

JJ shook his head again, and she huffed as he turned the lawn mower back on. She grumbled, closing the window and hopping off the counter. She grabbed a plastic tumbler cup, filling it with ice and water, before she grabbed a bowl and filled it with the different fruits they had been cutting up.

"What are you doing?" Yaya Dettie asked her.

"It's hot out there," Brielle shrugged. "He'll die of heatstroke."

She was over-exaggerating, but she still took the cup and bowl outside anyways. She winced when her body hit the warm, humid Outer Banks air, a harsh contrast to her air conditioned house. It smelt of grass outside, and she walked off to the side of JJ so that cut grass didn't get all over her.

He stopped the lawn mower at the sight of her, leaning an arm against it as he smirked.

"Awe, for me, babe?" he teased.

She scrunched up her face, handing him the water. He took it with a thank you, take a long sip before she stepped closer. He picked up pieces of fruit, chewing them gratefully. It was a peaceful silence, one the pair hardly found themselves in. Even with the occurrence of last summer, their favorite past time would always be to bicker. And then when that burned out as fast as it was lit, their bickering just intensified.

"Don't babe me," she snapped at him.

"Just admit it, you can't resist me, that's why you just had to come out here and look at me shirtless. It's okay, babe. I get it," JJ joked.

Anyone that passed by them when it was just the two of them wouldn't be too crazy to assume there was something going on between them. Apart from the constant sphallolalia, they flirted with a lot more than just meaningless words. JJ's everlasting smirk and wiggling eyebrows and Brielle's failure to conceal a smile said more than any amount of "babe" could.

Their moment was cut short. Loud music could be heard along with the sound of a car's engine. Their heads snapped to the car pulling into her driveway, and she stepped a little closer to JJ.

JJ's face contorted with confusion as he saw the rental car and an unknown person step out of it. The man sent a smile over to the teens when he saw them staring, and goosebumps ran up Brielle's entire body.

"Elle! It's hot, no? Why you wearing pantalons?" the man asked her, his thick Filipino accent coming across as he spoke.

"I like pants," she replied, her voice small as she looked away from him, but she felt his glance scorching through her.

He came up, and she took yet another small step towards JJ. The blonde was puzzled by her actions, unaccustomed to Brielle feeling so small in front of him. Normally, her confidence and loud personality was the first thing he was able to notice about her, but her vibes went down the minute the car pulled up.

"Hi, I'm her Tito Dario," the man said, putting a hand out for JJ.

Glancing down between his extended hand and Brielle, who was even closer to him now, JJ placed his free hand into his, shaking it. He was still holding the cut that Brielle had given him.

"JJ," the blonde said. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Dario nodded, looking at Brielle's expressionless face. He grabbed her chin, making him look up at him.

"Smile, Elle. Frowning makes you pangit, diba?"

She shook her head out of his gasp, still silent. He chuckled, brushing it off as he wandered into the house.

She let out a huff of an exhale, both of her hands going to grip the fruit bowl.

JJ knew abuse when he saw it, the signs and the tells of someone who was trying to pretend to not be terrified out of their mind.

"Kookie?" he whispered, leaning his head closer down to her as she looked down, her knuckles turning white. "Kookie?"

Without getting an answer from her, he pried the fruit bowl out of her hands and placed it on the floor, careful to make sure it didn't tip over into the grass.

"C'mere, Kookie," he said softly again, pulling her towards himself.

One of his hands wrapped around her shoulders while the other went to her hair, bringing her face into his chest.

FIVE >

[thebibliomancer]

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 10

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because DON’T TRUST WHO??

Last times in book: Kylan, Naia, Tavra, and Gurjin are on their way to Aughra’s High Hill to enlist her help in warning all Gelfling of the Skeksis’ drinking problem. I.e. they like to drink people. On the way up the hill, Kylan spots some dream-etching in a spider nest that says DO NOT TRUST HER. Vaguely ominous!

Chapter 10

Naia talks to some more plants. The party meets Aughra. Ha ha.

Aughra’s High Hill was not casually named. Within the mountainous forest, it was the highest point in all the land, near where the Black River originated, closest to the suns and moons and stars. Not a high hill, but the High Hill.

Good reason for it to be named like that then.

‘Aughra lives on the high hill’ ‘Oh, which one?’ ‘I don’t think you understand. When I say the high hill i mean THE high hill.’

Anyway, after all that stuff about reading writing under a spider web, Tavra doesn’t even care enough to ask. Gurjin does but Naia just tells him they’re not sure what it meant.

With Naia spending time chatting with Gurjin, it leaves Kylan nothing to do but think which he decides is his role.

If that was his job in all of this, then he would gladly take on the burden.

Its a lonely job possessing the sole pair of braincells to rub together ha ha (just joshing obvs)

Kylan thinks about that mysterious DO NOT TRUST HER message but he can’t really get anywhere on that ponderation so instead decides to ask Tavra what she meant when she said spiders hate Gelfling.

“Spiders hate Gelfling... All Vapra know this.”

“They hate us? All of them?”

“Oh yes. From the death-stingers to the crystal-singers.”

This was news to Kylan, though on reflection he’d never had a conversation with any spider before. The idea that an entire race might loathe his own was discomfiting. He wasn’t even sure what a crystal-singer spider was.

He asks why spiders hate Gelfling but Tavra just tells him to ask the next time he sees a spider. Which is a weird answer.

So I’ve changed my suspicion for what’s up with Tavra from ‘something something Skeksis’ to ‘something something Skeksis but definitely think she’s Spider-Tavra.’

I think the books and the show are following at least the same vague outline so I figure with all the opinions she has on spiders all of a sudden, she might be being controlled by one.

Later, Tavra tells the group they’ll reach Aughra’s by evening and asks if they’ve prepared what they’re going to say to her.

“I plan to tell her the situation and see if she has advice. Is there more to it than that?”

“You’re about to speak to Mother Aughra, the Ram-Horned. The mouth of Thra. She was born of the world, both child and mother. She has seen Thra before the Gelfling were but sprouts in the garden of all creatures. You would speak to her so casually?”

“I’ll speak to her like I’d speak to anyone else,” Naia said. “With respect -- if she deserves it.”

God, Naia is great. Its that Drenchen upbringing. The hard-talk. Just cut right to the point.

Gurjin points out that Aughra probably respects hard-talk since it’s the language of the natural world.

Which I kinda see? As a point?

Tavra just shakes her head at this but doesn’t really object. She doesn’t even want to be here so at best she’s disappointed on principle.

Kylan, almost passive protagonist but definitely a socially withdrawing protagonist that he is, doesn’t add to the conversation. Just thinks anxious thoughts.

Aughra was said to be wise, to know all things -- but as Tavra had said, she might already know about the Skeksis. Worse, she might already know and yet have done nothing. The Gelfling were her favored children, as their lore sang time and time again, but those songs had been written by the Gelfling. Did Aughra think of the Gelfing as much as any flower in her garden? Would she be equally content to see one creature devour another, if it, too, were part of the circle of life?

Its an interesting idea there about the Gelfling being her favored children, according to Gelfling. Like, oh geez what if we overestimated ourselves?

(Although the minor good point to add to this anxiety ramble is that the Skeksis aren’t part of the natural order. So there’s that.)

Gurjin also thanks Kylan for keeping Naia company and helping her in the woods during that whole Gurjin heroic sacrifice thing.

Kylan: “I’m glad you’re alive. I’m glad we all are.”

Aw, friends.

They reach the finger vines as mentioned in Rian’s warning.

Thick orange vines covered the cliff wall in front of them, finger-shaped and tangled like rope that had been left too long to its own devices. No further pathways led deeper into the crag, but Kylan could feel a draft coming from behind the vines. There was a tunnel there but they would have to pass through the overgrowth, and if one part of Rian’s instructions had stayed with Kylan, it was to stay away from the finger-vines.

Tavra hucks a rock into the vines and they immediately tangle about it before dropping it as inedible.

So, I’m pretty sure that these are the same vines that Jen will eventually blunder into. It’s not his fault, he didn’t have a helpful Rian in his life.

I wonder how long the vines take to eat something. Jen is lucky that Aughra was literally right around the corner when he got caught.

I’m honestly a bit surprised that finger-vines are a specific predatory plant and not just. Something Aughra set up to discourage solicitors.

Oh my god, I’m once again blown away by Jen going to visit Aughra in his quest without any idea of her significance. The UrRu never even told him that (for all practical purposes) god lived a day down the road.

I’m sure they did their best but wow. He has holes in his education.

I’m getting off-track.

Naia tries calling for Aughra through the vines but this time she’s not lurking right around the corner so that doesn’t work.

Tavra was unimpressed and unsurprised, almost smug at the situation.

I’m glad that you’re probably a spider, Tavra, because you are being a bummer.

She again calls this whole trip a waste of time which annoys Naia into wing flicking. Love the wing body language but now I’m wondering what specific muscles correspond to that. I guess if your back stiffens... yeah, that makes sense.

Anyway, Naia is so annoyed that she decides to dreamfast with a plant again. She just goes and puts her hands on the vines and instead of entangling her, they do not do that.

Kylan had learned the language of the Landstriders, as all Spriton did. Tavra had certainly learned the tongue of other creatures as well, in her training to serve the All-Maudra. But those were languages spoken on the tongue, in sets of words and phrases. Naia’s unique ability to dreamfast with creatures other than Gelfling let her speak in the universal song of the heart.

This is neat!

It expands on Kira’s beastmastery. At least in the novelization, it’s mentioned during Jen and Kira’s dreamfast that Kira’s podmom Ydra taught her the language of animals.

And apparently it used to be a thing for some Gelfling to learn. But not as much as Kira! Ydra knew a lot!

Anyway, after dreamfasting with a plant again, the vines open like a curtain to let the four Gelfling (or four Gelfling and a spider??) enter.

At the end of the tunnel they find a door to Aughra’s Sweet Orrery.

(Just imagine the Dark Crystal theme in your head)

Most impressive was the enormous moving contraption that occupied the center of the chamber. It filled the space of the room with dozens of huge spheres, mounted on poles and swooping arms. The machine rotated and gyrated like a living thing, spheres orbiting spheres, circling yet other spheres, all of it shining in bronze, copper, iron, and glistening stones. Clearly, the grating sounds emanated from the machine, and the movement of its pieces stirred the air so it felt as though there were a breeze, even inside the crystal dome.

“Amazing,” Kylan breathed.

He recognized some of the symbols etched deep into the metals: the symbols that represented the Three Brothers, others that represented the elements of the earth and water, air and fire.

“Its the path of the stars,” he said. “The suns, and...”

Then Aughra pops up from behind a book tower.

And she is amazing.

“What, you just gonna stare? Walk right into my home just to stare, did you? Maybe you should draw a picture, take it with you!”

This is exactly the kind of Aughra I was hoping for.

Also, the way she speaks the Gelfling language (the single Gelfling language that exists I guess?) with what sounds like an ancient accent to Kylan. Although I’m not sure how he would know, I’d bet he’s right.

Naia takes the lead and tells Aughra that they’re here to ask for her help, calling her Mother Aughra.

“Mother Aughra, eh? Ask for my help, eh? Why is it you Gelfing only call Aughra Mother when you need help? That’s what children do, I guess... I guess that’s what they do.”

‘You never call, you never write’ hahaha

This is quality Aughra content.

With her grump helpfully communicated, she takes note of the party and grumps some more, noting that they only have a Spriton, a Vapra, and a Drenchen.

“Hmph. Three out of seven ain’t bad. It’s still soon. Where are the others?”

And when they don’t have any idea what she means:

“What others, he asks? What others? The other clans, of course! Gelfling gathering. What else is there to know?”

Its like when you arrive to the final dungeon without a full party and the NPC is like ‘lol no go hit some more plot flags’

Aughra sat heavily on her table stool, as if hoping they might go away if she ignored them long enough.

I don’t know how many ways I can say how great this is.

I’m living for it. Unlike Jen, these Gelfling know that Aughra isn’t some random grumpy mountain woman. She’s basically god and she’s behaving like a cranky grandmother. Kylan can’t even warp his head around how different from his expectations this is turning out to be.

I also guess it answers in this continuity whether Aughra was so grumpy in the movie because she’d lost much of her hope after the Gelfling were all but wiped out. It turns out: no, she’s Just Like That.

When a thousand ++ trine you reach, be so nice you will not.

But since they don’t just leave, Aughra decides she will say more things.

“Come on, then, Gelfling. Children. Aughra already knows what you want to know. Whether it’s what you want to hear, though, hmph! Might not be.”

Oh, this sidequest is shaping up beautifully.

J.M. Lee, you have done a marvelous job.

[lucarioisinthevoid]

Have Simon and Mike ever been on a date?

Well, my sources say that they did indeed have a First Date at some point, made Cinnamon French Toast a while later, and even went out on Halloween calling it a Pick of the Patch! (Okay, but seriously, click these links, support these people, they’re fantastic and you’re sick of my shit, they made their own damn work and they did it AMAZINGLY. Seriously. CLICK THE LINKS. ENJOY THE WORKS. CHECK OUT MORE OF THEIR WORKS. And leave them some love by commenting/kudos, it is always such an amazing gift for a creator! It would be really kind of you guys!) But well, seeing as they now have some more time for this kind of thing…

They had been driving through the desert-esque area for a few hours now, or at least it felt like it. Time was hard to tell right now, but in the good way, in the comforting way. Mike was driving the van at the moment- they tended to switch up, aside from night driving, which Mike always did, as Simon struggled with seeing at night too well due his calibration. Maybe they’d find a way to fix it, but frankly, Mike didn’t care that his boyfriend was a little bit night-blind. The reason he was driving right now though, was because he wanted to reach a certain spot. Simon was reading a book Mike had given him out loud, providing both the pleasure of hearing his comforting voice, as well as him finally getting through it- Mike had been badgering him for weeks to do so. The ending is what made it worth it! Smiling to himself at that memory, Simon flipped a page to a new chapter- taking a short break to look outside. “… Mike, where are we going?” “Motherfucking guess.” The man seemed in a good mood, smiling deviously. “… is that the Grand Canyon?” “Yup!” Excited Mike looked forward, keeping his eyes on the road. “I always wanted to see this stupid place. I bet the sight from above is AMAZING. And the sunset! The sunset will be incredible! Can you imagine being that close to the stars-“ For a moment Simon thought there was some reason visiting the Grand Canyon was a bad idea- That thought however was swept SWIFTLY to the side as he realized something. “Mike…” “Hm?” “… is this a date?” Softly Simon asked. Instantly the generally aggressive guy grew a bright shade of red- like during the date they had been on before. And the one before that. AND the one before that one. It would probably never stop. “I- well- I mean- if you-“ He took a breath. “YES. Yes it fucking IS. Is there a PROBLEM?” Laughing the Phone Guy stretched himself, looking out with newfound interest. “… thank you.” “You- yeah- I mean- again, I always wanted to see it. And just climbing around the Grand Canyon while no one is around? That would be pretty fucking cool, right?!” “You mean while no one- uh- can hear you scream?” “EXACTLY. See, you get it.” Pleased Mike looked shortly at him, then at the road again. Watching him, feeling at peace, Simon leaned back, letting the late summer sun shine onto him. The thing with Mike was that he really loved abandoned places. Deep, dark forests, mountains off the beaten path, a hut in an area that otherwise had only cornfields… when Mike wanted to be romantic, he brought him there. And dear god, he was the only person on this planet who was allowed to ask for something like this without being demanded to step away at least twenty feet and stay put while the police is being informed. No… he was looking forward to this. They had been climbing around, not for long, for a good amount of time though. It was nice- the feeling of the rock under their fingers, the noise of wind and the sun reflecting on the ground far, far below them- reflecting in a river that seemed tiny from up there. Dangerous? Maybe. Maybe it was VERY dangerous, actually. But they were tough- they had been through so much, both of them were completely convinced that if either of them would fall, they would survive it. Somehow. The sight from up here was beautiful, it had been worth it. And finally, the taller of the two seemed to have spotted something. “There! We can sit on there!” “Oh- fuck yeah, that looks pretty sweet!” Getting out a soft outside blanket, they sat down on the little ledge and took out some food, making themselves as comfortable as possible to witness the sunset that was approaching. Both of them were leaning against each other- safe from wind and weather, on the still warm stone radiating heat through the blanket. “… it is beautiful.” Mike mumbled, hiding his face a little in the shoulder and neck of his partner. Being sincere was embarrassing, but- He wanted to be sincere right now. And when nobody was nearby for miles and miles… then it was okay, right? Gently Simon cupped his face, kissing him- to the best of his abilities- with his smooth dial. “That it is, Mike.” Intertwining their fingers, they looked both out at plane that was colored in gold, orange and black by the late and sleepy sun. Silence was between them, the restful kind of silence… Until finally the first few stars started shining above them. Laying down on his lap, Simon was staring up at the sky, trying to see if he could count them, now that there were only so few of them. Mike played with his phone cord, staring up too. “You know… when I was young, I always wanted to be an astronaut.” Mike started. “��� I didn’t like thinking about my future, but sometimes, when looking at the sky at night, it felt like there was a place for me. I imagined leaving everything behind and trying to- I don’t know. It was only about being somewhere else. Somewhere, where other things mattered.” Simon snickered, gently. “… it’s always either a dinosaur or a space phase, isn’t it?” “Hey! I had both! They’re just fucking cool, okay?” “Didn’t mean to tease you! Uh- actually, it’s better than my phase.” Curiously the sitting man glanced down. “… how so?” “Oh, I- I had a Greek mythology phase.” Nervous Simon laughed. “And… that in itself wouldn’t actually have been a problem, if I wouldn’t have learned all the things I knew about it from cartoons and comics. Like- the one cartoon where Odysseus was on the ship and had this owl and-“ “Never watched it. Always fucking hated cartoons.” The guy scoffed, before pausing. “Maybe… we should watch it together… someday.” “… I’d really like to.” Enjoying Mike’s touch for a moment, he almost forgot to continue what he wanted to say- wait, right. “Uh- anyhow, so I learned it all from child-friendly media and… when we had the Greek mythology in class, a few years after that, I felt like such an expert. I explained the entire cartoon to my class. The, uh- the teacher seemed- not upset, but it seemed to hurt his soul to have to tell me that the original story wasn’t exactly like that.” For a moment he paused, thinking about it. Then he continued. “… I played with Ian a lot in the garden- on the good days I mean. Yeah, on the good days when I could convince him to come out with me… and we played these myths and gave them our own twists, because we were of course a lot smarter than the greeks. Why didn’t they think of what WE thought of?” Quietly he chuckled. “… morals in stories were always lost on me.” “At least you got SOME parts of the mythology. The closest I ever got to understanding any mythology stuff was with what Rick Riordan spoonfed to me.” “… who?” “Ah fuck- an author. I gotta make you read his work sometimes.” Mike shook his head. “He’s great, I swear- but that’s not the point. I think. What was the point again?” “… was there supposed to be a point to this?” Both looked confused at each other, before Mike facepalmed, hiding a bit of a smile. “Aw fuck, look at us. Terminal dementia. Each day our brains get consumed more.” They laughed a little, the sky having now turned fully into a dark blue, covered in glitter and stripes, dominated by a large full moon. Finally, Simon sat up again, looking down. “… I want to get to the river.” “In the dark?” “In the dark.” Mike grinned. “Madlad.” Turning on the lights inside of his head, Simon lit the way, while Mike checked the route for the safest pathway around. This SEEMED to be at least some sort of semi-normal route- not too safe, certainly not around this time of day, but it wasn’t a straight up wall. Hell, they had useful gear with them too. It was somewhat safe! Kinda, a little, mostly! But it did take a while. No matter, they were moving together, chatting and teasing each other, so it felt like no time was passing at all- the only thing showing the progression of time was the moon above, slowly moving through the sky. When they arrived down at the water, it was wonderful. The gentle sound of it moving along the river’s edge, the wind playing with the surface, coloring patterns into it with the rocks on the ground. Not that this was easy to see- all that was really visible was the silver and black playing with each other. The noise still was reassuring though, enough to make Mike creep up to the edge, ensuring he wouldn’t accidentally drop in, softly pulling Simon behind him, until they arrived at the closet spot they could, sitting down one more time. Playfully Mike splashed at Simon, who raised an arm to shield himself, rolling his eyes- though with a bemused smile. He dipped the tips of his fingers into the water, enjoying how cold and clear it felt. Then he looked up once more, the stars now feeling framed by the walls around them. “… you know- places like these… they feel so much more real.” “Hm?” Mike leaned back, curious. “What is that supposed to mean?” “Oh, uh- y’know. It feels like… this is a place beyond time. I know there’ll be a tomorrow, but while I’m here with you- it feels like- it feels different. As if just we exist and nothing else. I, uh- I kinda like it. I hope that isn’t weird. I- I don’t actually want everything else to disappear, but-” Embarrassed he laughed. “Sorry, I think I ruined the moment-“ “Simon. I love you.” Mike stood there, between shadows and moonlight, his expression was hard to see and even harder to read- but his voice showed it all, every little bit of it. “… I love you too, Mike.” Taking his hands into his own, Simon smiled at him. Feeling… … happy. All good things had to end though. Perking up, Simon frowned, leaning to the side to try and look behind Mike. “Uh- can you hear that?” In the far distance… … ‘yarrrr—rr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!’ Mike DIDN’T turn. “… is it the sound of a pirate Foxy?” “Uh. Yes.” “… on a raft?” “… yeah…” “Coming right towards us?” “Well- uh- yes.” “With violent intentions?” “Most likely.” Slowly Mike sighed, slowly turning around. “… they always find us, don’t they.” The Fox jumped off the raft, his hook shining in the dim light, along with his teeth. “YAA-AA-AR! I AM THE FOXY OF THE CANYON LAKE! I HAVE SPEND DECADES DOWN HERE, GUARDING MY TREASURES! WHO ARE YEEE TO ENTER MY- MY- MY PLACE THING. MY TERRITORY!!” “Buddy, pal, friend, for fuck’s sake, we’re just having a walk. We’re not even on the river. We’re not on your territory.” Foxy’s golden eye shined. “Arrr… is that you? My arch nemesis? FREDDY’S MICHELANGELO?!” Baffled Mike stared at him, before rubbing his face. “That- that is not my name- ah you know what, fuck it.” As Mike rolled up his sleeves and got out a taser, Simon fell back. “You got this honey!” “… yeah, yeah, fuck you too.” He signed at the fox. “Get the fuck over here, filthy pretend-pirate.” “WHAT DID YOU CALL ME, YOU FILTHY! F-FILTHY! URGH- LAND-DWELLER!? I’LL MAKE YEE WALK THE PLANK FOR THAT!” With that the epic fight broke out.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

I’LL GET IT RIGHT (ON THE FIRST TRY)

gendrya wedding smut / (e) / ao3

Gendrya Week 2020 Day 1: celebration and songs & lyrics

***

don't want no plan b

(I'll get it right, get it right)

I ain't got no envy

(If it keeps you by my side)

I'll get it right, I'll get it right on the first try

I don't need no second chances

(I'll get it right, get it right)

I don't want no new romances (If it keeps you by my side)

I'll get it right, I'll get it right on the first try

- Johnnyswim, First Try

Let it never be said that Arya Stark does not know how to make compromises because, unbelievably, both she and her mother ended up quite satisfied with her wedding outfit.

The outfit, not a dress. That was Arya’s concession.

White outfit though, because Catelyn refused to bend on that. Stark women get married in white. – she said and before Arya could even begin to open her mouth, she quickly added and Tully women also.

So she walks down the aisle (which is not really a true aisle but a pebble pathway in her parents’ garden) in the ruffled jumpsuit in the shade of fresh snow. The top doesn’t have a back and Jeyne put her hair up in a high ponytail, so the tattoo between her bare shoulder blades is perfectly visible, and Arya can hear guests gasping as they spot it. Which may or may not be her intention.

Besides, why should she bother covering it up, when even her mother admitted that the simple geometric bull has a certain charm?

It’s already after dawn, but Sansa went all out with fairy lights and lanterns and so Arya can see everyone perfectly; their friends from university fencing and rowing teams, their aunts and uncles, and cousins, their sisters and brothers with dates. All the people she cares about gathered in one spot to see her get married, probably at least half of them not able to believe their own eyes, because Arya Stark and a blushing bride just don’t fit together in one sentence.

Well. She is not a traditional bride in any sense of this word, she will be the first to admit that.

But she finds it hard to care about all that when Gendry’s eyes widen as he takes her in and he’s staring at her as if she was the only thing he wants to look at for the rest of his life.

And yeah, okay. Maybe she does blush a bit.

 ***

However, no matter how comfortable the jumpsuit is, and how beautiful and sexy she feels in in, it’s hard to deny that it’s not the easiest outfit to take off and a pretty impossible one to have sex in.

‘’Not that I’m complaining, but if you wore a dress, we could just hike it up.’’ Gendry groans, sounding somehow both amused and frustrated as he’s tugging on the hidden zip on her left hip.

She swats at his hand and whips her head up to glare at him.

‘’If I were you, I would stop talking. ’’

He doesn’t get to be the one whining while she’s soaking through her nice, uncomfortable lacy panties.

With his tie and suit jacket gone and his hair thoroughly tousled by her fingers, he makes a pretty distracting sight though, so she quickly lowers her eyes back to her pants.

The two of them were pretty much expected to sneak out for a quickie just after the cake was served at their own wedding reception. Arya doesn’t think even her mother will be surprised when she notices they’re gone. It was supposed to be just a few minutes of bliss anyway and then back to the guests, and they nailed the first part flawlessly; he took her hand and lead her to the corridor and soon they were kissing against the door, giddy and high on joy, with happiness buzzing in their veins along with champagne.

Arya’s stubborn wardrobe was decidedly not part of the plan.

With a huff of annoyance, she begins tugging on the zipper herself. It’s all ridiculous, truly. She’s already topless, for fuck’s sake, having slid the ruffled straps off her shoulder ages ago. What is even wrong with those pants? She should’ve known Mom agreed on this outfit way too easily.

Gendry’s leaning against the sink silently for a second or two before clearing his throat.  

‘’You know… there are some things that we can do without you taking this off.’’ His voice is strained from how badly he tries to sound casual and Arya’s brain lags for a second as it mulls over the meaning of his word.

He keeps his hands in his pockets. And he would not be nearly as flustered if he was suggesting a simple handjob.

There is something intense swirling in his blue eyes; something that draws her closer, like a moth to the flame.

Gendry has literally never asked her for a blowjob. Ever. Not even once during the course of their entire relationship. Even during scenes, even when she brought it up herself repeatedly as something she would like to do. He was weird like that and with time she just dropped the topic. For whatever reason, he had this very strange idea about honor and treating her honorable that she was not able to change, no matter how hard she tried.

(And make no mistake, she tried pretty hard.)

So to hear him proposing it here and now, is more than unexpected.

Unexpected… but not unwelcome.

She lets go of the stubborn zipper and flashes him a wicked smirk. There is a fluffy, cream-colored carpet covering the tiles and Arya has never been more grateful for her mother’s ridiculous obsession with  putting rugs all around the house - not really for the sake of her knees but mostly due to the pristine shade of her pants.

‘’Okay, husband.’’ She hums, sinking down on the floor and smiling at the way his Adam’s apple bobs at the sight of her in front of him. ‘’That’s the first time, I believe.’’

The party is in the full swing behind the closed door. She can hear people laughing and the metal clang of cutlery against porcelain, and even the faint sound of Sansa’s shriek when ‘Single ladies’ starts to play. She half-wishes she could see her sister, serial monogamist and recently outed bisexual having the time of her life on the dance floor after way too many glasses of champagne.  Maybe she’ll trip and ‘accidentally’ fall face-first into Margaery Tyrell’s cleavage like she’s clearly dying to. Maybe Bran will be kind enough to record it for Arya.

Because there are some other important things she must attend to.

‘’Well.’’ Gendry’s fingers lightly trace the line of her jaw, his thumb sweeping across her lower lip and making her shiver. ‘’Special requests for a special day?’’

He’s cupping the back of her head with his other hand and smiling down at her with this shy, sweet smile that he has reserved for her and her only, and oh. Oh, they’re married now.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to it, seeing him like that, even in twenty years from now. Eyes dark, voice low and husky. The corners of his mouth up. The most handsome man she has ever met trembling with desire for her.

Hers, until death do them apart and all these other sappy, honest things they promised each other just a few hours ago.

‘’Absolutely.’’ She lets him tuck stray baby hairs behind her ear. ‘’After all, we’re celebrating.’’

Thanks gods, Gendry’s zipper works perfectly well on the first try.

The air escapes from his mouth with a sharp hiss when she licks down his shaft, but her heart is beating almost too loudly for her to hear that. What she does hear – or feels, rather – is Gendry sliding lower against the sink so she wouldn’t need to raise her chin so damn high. It makes her feel weirdly fond, or at least as fond as she can possibly be, taking her husband’s cock in her mouth and sucking him off during their reception.

‘’Arya.’’ He sighs softly, almost in the same way he was addressing her under the flower arch. ‘’Fuck, Arya.’’

She hollows her cheeks and slowly bobs her head up and down, making the tip of his cock slide against her lips. In response, his hand moves higher and grips her already half-undone ponytail, tugging on it slightly.

It feels so good. She has never thought she has some kind of gratification kink, but she can possible get off on this alone – on Gendry’s quickening breath and low moans, on his fingers tangled in her hair and the way he barely manages to keep his hips from moving.

On the way he murmurs her name over and over again, each time more adoringly than the previous.

So she rubs her thighs together and sucks harder, takes his cock deeper until it hits the back of her throat; looks up at Gendry to meet his stare and winks, which makes him curse quite loudly and bang the palm of his hand against the porcelain of the sink.

She would probably giggle at that, if her mouth was not occupied at the moment.

Her head withdraws, leaving only the tip inside her mouth so that she could swirl her tongue against it, teasing him as delicately as she can.

‘’Ahh, just like that, love.’’

Gendry doesn’t mind hard and fast and she knows that well. But, for the first time ever maybe, she does not want that. She wants gentle and soft, and loving, and all of what he deserves. Today was probably one of the most monumental days of her life and the only thing she could really focus on was how full her heart was, filled to the brim with a peculiar mix of grand and scary emotions.

Like love. Like adoration.

It must show on her face somehow, what she’s thinking about, cause he lets go of the brim of the sink to caress her neck again, brushing his finger up and down her pulse point.

‘’So beautiful.’’ He coos at her. ‘’You’re so beautiful, darling.’’

She lets her eyelids flutter close and inhales. Slowly, she relaxes her jaw, caresses the fat, pulsating vein under his shaft with her tongue. As on cue, Gendry lets out a drawn-out grunt and thrusts into her mouth a little bit, keeping her head in place with his grip on her ponytail.

And because she knows him and she’s sure he’s about to withdraw to ask her for consent, she begins sucking in earnest, picking up the tempo so that he would have no other option but to continue moving, desperately pushing his cock down her throat.

‘’Damn you, Arya, fuck.’’

Giddy, she realizes that even if somebody passes the bathroom now and hears his curses or the wet sounds she makes, this somebody will have no ground to stand on. They are married now, which suddenly gave them full societal approval to fuck however and whenever they wanted. Gods bless.

She still hopes her father stayed in the ballroom, though.

He on the brink of finishing, almost there and her jaw begins to ache a bit, so she braces one hand on the brink of the sink and uses the other one to cup his balls lightly, squeezing them in the way she knows will drive him insane. She manages to open her eyes to look at him just as he’s coming; he’s staring down at her, all panting and blushed, strands of hair plastered to his forehead. He makes a pretty picture like that. Some kind of gleeful pride blooms deep inside her chest and she wonders if that’s how Gendry feels like when they’re playing in the bedroom and he reduces her into a quivering mess at his mercy.

As she’s swallowing his come, he reaches down to caress her cheeks, his fingers dancing on her heated skin.

And when she releases him with a wet pop, he gently pulls her to her feet, letting her lean against him and stroking her arm, her shoulder, her waist, any exposed part of her.

‘’Pretty good for a first try, hmm?’’ she finally asks, breathlessly. She feels the rumble of her chest against her head when he starts to laugh.

‘’You are a terrifyingly fast learner, Arya. I am honestly afraid of what will happen if you become more practiced.’’  

‘’Well, we have our whole life to figure it out, don’t we?’’

She cannot blame him for leaning down to kiss her sweetly, savoring his own taste on her lips. This is exactly the response she had in mind.

While his kiss is as innocent as it can be, his hand diving in-between her thighs to stroke her through the smooth white material of her pants is decidedly not. 

‘’Not that I don’t enjoy fucking you the regular way, but this jumpsuit was an excellent idea. Do you think your mom’s seamstress messed the zipper on purpose?’’

Arya bites on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from giggling. 

‘’If so, the joke’s on her.’’

[gunnerpalace]

How do you think how Ori would do as a villain?

In my view, Orihime’s pathway to villainy would be using her powers to reject all the events that get in the way of her getting what she wants (which is to say, mostly Ichigo). In other words, going Full Spooky Galadriel and deciding, “In place of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen! […] All shall love me and despair!”

Now, she could settle for the present where Ichigo already knows Rukia, and Aizen and Yhwach are off the board, but we already know what that yields because of 686: a universe where Ichigo is at his absolute happiest when he just sees Rukia again and argues with her, rather than when he marries Orihime or she gives birth to their son, or whatever typical things might be cited as the happiest moments of one’s life. And, honestly? From Orihime’s perspective? That must really fucking suck.

So, if Orihime is going Full Spooky Galadriel (Orihime Untethered), why would she settle? Surely she can do better than that. And the simplest way to do better would be deleting Yhwach and Aizen at the right times in history. 

The right time for the former would be during the late 1980s or early 1990s, and would keep Masaki alive and fundamentally alter Ichigo as a character (probably significantly dulling his focus on protection and removing his disaffection), and removes future problems associated with the Quincy coming back.

Doing the latter could only be done in the latter-half of the 1980s, after Ichigo had been conceived, but before Aizen set any of his other plans in motion. So the Visored and Urahara Shop would still be around, and Kaien and Miyako would still be dead. Regardless, doing this would keep him from doing what he did with Rukia.

Trouble is, the Hougyoku is already in Rukia’s soul by that time. And it seems highly likely that Aizen did not “send” Rukia to Ichigo, but rather that the Hougyoku bent Aizen’s machinations so that it happened. (Why would Aizen be immune to the Hougyoku’s effects?) In other words, the Hougyoku being stuffed in Rukia’s soul makes it seem likely that Rukia would still encounter Ichigo eventually, regardless of how normal and happy his life was, because their encounter is essentially fated. (Kaien more than likely reminds Rukia of Ichigo, in a non-linear framework, rather than Ichigo reminded Rukia of Kaien.)

So the trouble for Orihime Untethered is that she has to:

Delete two of the most powerful dudes in the series (admittedly not at their strongest) to get a lock on the guy she wants (i.e., by removing “incentives” for him to not want to be human, and to remove her main competition) when her powers don’t work on any sufficiently powerful reiatsu.

Her main competition still having a reality-altering device shoved into her soul which may or may not be beyond Orihime’s powers to mess with even if she could kill a merely Shinigami Aizen and a comatose Yhwach. (As it was never made clear whether she actually could destroy the incomplete Hougyoku with her powers, and it sure seems like Aizen is impossible to destroy with one in him in the present.)

So the question here is: where does Orihime Untethered get the kind of monstrous power that would be necessary for such feats? And the only place she could reasonably get it from would probably be if Uryuu decided to somehow lend her the power by going beast mode in a reishi rich environment. 

Whether Uryuu is stupid enough to do that for her without knowing what she really intends, for the sake of making her happy even if he’s not in the picture at all, is an open question. (Perhaps yes, because Uryuu can be dumb like that.)

So, Aizen and Yhwach get deleted and the Hougyoku is plucked out of Rukia. (I feel it’d be going a bit far for even Orihime Untethered to delete Rukia, and I really don’t think Uryuu would agree to that.) This of course means it is never around to be in proximity to Orihime herself and Chad, so she is also retroactively keeping herself from getting powers in the first place.

Oh, that’s a problem. It’s a one-way ticket. This isn’t Donnie Darko or The Butterfly Effect: if your powers get deleted from the timestream you can’t get them back and you’re stuck. Ooh. So maybe don’t delete the Hougyoku from Rukia, even if you can. But doesn’t that then mean you’re relying on encountering her…?

Masaki would probably teach Ichigo about Quincy powers once he was of age, so he’d probably have noticed and gravitated toward Uryuu in school?

But the thing is, even if Masaki (and Kanae) didn’t die, Souken still did. So Uryuu would still become bitter toward Shinigami. Maybe he would turn Ichigo onto that way of thinking too? So they probably still become embroiled with Soul Society.

Okay, so Orihime has to have deleted Mayuri too now, to keep Souken alive and keep Uryuu and Ichigo from fighting against Shinigami. Uryuu in the present giving her the power to change shit carte blanche would probably be cool with that.

So, Souken is alive too. His big thing was cooperation with Shinigami. Working with them to eliminate Hollows in a non-destructive way while protecting humans. His proposal seemed to have been working at least a little.

What’s to say that Rukia isn’t sent as Soul Society’s representative as part of that program? Or one of the people sent? Or that she isn’t sent to walk the beat in Karakura anyway, since it seems to be the 13th Division’s responsibility? Especially so if she still has the Hougyoku in her, warping events around to take her to Ichigo?

So, there’s Quincy Uryuu and Quincy Ichigo (with latent Shinigami and Hollow powers…) working with Shinigami, including maybe Rukia. If Rukia didn’t have the Hougyoku, and turned up like this, Orihime would have no ability to get her powers back and keep up. If you can’t get powers then can’t keep up if Ichigo and Uryuu start getting adventurous in this new, happier Bleach with more functional familial and friendly relationships. So she needs the Hougyoku to still be in Rukia no matter what.

She can’t remove the Hougyoku from Rukia, let alone delete her even if she wanted to, and her having the Hougyoku means she is almost assuredly going to show up. (Plus, even if you could delete her, karma is a bitch. Who’s to say she wouldn’t reincarnate even if you did delete her? Especially if you do it too early? She might just Senna her way back. Hell, even if it works, maybe Senna herself shows up to take her place! Especially since a lot of the filler is now being treated as semi-canonical.)

So, we go around in circles with the real problems.

The first real problem for Orihime Untethered is ultimately that Rukia is absolutely necessary to her own ability to have a role in Ichigo’s supernatural nonsense. Meanwhile, she can’t really strip Ichigo of powers because they’re fundamental to who he is. So there is no way to really undo things when it comes to either of them directly, just the things around them. Ichigo and Rukia are effectively “status locked” in a fashion similar to Doctor Who’s “time locked” concept.

The second real problem is that even without Aizen and Mayuri, Soul Society is still its corrupt self and likely to draw the Kurosaki and Ishida into its shenanigans. And even if Yhwach is eliminated, Wandenreich is also still out there. As are all the Espada. So some version of supernatural nonsense is basically guaranteed to happen, no matter how many other pieces you knock down.

At the end of the day, Ichigo and Rukia are going to meet. They are going to have adventures. They are going to develop a rapport. And her only real solution is going to be social engineering, not her powers. And the truth is, Orihime isn’t really that great at the Mean Girls game, and I doubt Orihime Untethered is either.

I see her trying to force, as much as possible, the series into being a slice-of-life school comedy series, and it kind of playing out like Groundhog Day as she selectively undoes things and redoes scenarios, and it just never works out. And that leads back to the fundamental issue she’s encountering: she is trying to fuck with something that is more or less written into the fundamental laws of the universe itself.

Even if she gets Ichigo, it’s always going to be some form of settling for less. She is always going to be the second-place prize. And she is also likely to be only a temporary one, because if souls are kicking around at a rate of aging ~30 years per 2000 years that pass, an awful lot can change. And that’s before taking into account the confirmed mechanic of reincarnation.

(And this is, ultimately, why 686 is stupid in addition to being a non sequitur: okay, IH and RR had kids. So fucking what? Divorces happen. People can change, grow apart, and move on. As I said once before, what is “five lifetimes” in comparison to like, 5000 years? Or an infinite cycle of maximally 5000 year reincarnations? Barring their souls being killed somehow, Ichigo and Rukia are going to be around for longer into the future than we are now from when the Pyramids were built. You think some possibly expedient marriages are going to keep them apart all that time? Or into their next lives? Yeah, no. That’s the thing: their story isn’t over even if Bleach is. That’s yet another reason that ending is so shit beyond its character assassination and ass-pull pairings: literally anything could happen beyond it. It is not definitive because these are not normal-ass normal people.)

So what does she do, trapped in this hell of her own creation? As I see it, she has three options:

She goes completely crazy and decides to delete existence itself or massively restructure it a la Yhwach. I also really don’t think Uryuu would agree to that and I can see it ending rather tragically.

She decides to just accept being second-best with a smile until it eventually burns her out, at which point she probably tries to find someone who actually appreciates her. (One guess as to who that is.)

She skips being miserable and instead grows up and realizes that Ichigo is never going to be as happy with her as he is with Rukia, and that she needs to find that person immediately rather than wasting everyone’s time, including her own.

So we’ll call (1) the really angsty ending, discard (2) because it’s just a drawn out and angsty version of (3) which admittedly a lot of real people fall into, and we’ll call (3) the happy ending because hey, at least Orihime’s selfish efforts to rewrite the timeline would have improved the pile of shit that is life in Bleach by restoring some sense of family bonds and healthy relationships.