#anyway this was loitering in my drafts so here

[sparky-is-spiders]

Watching people be horny over other people's pics/selfies/whatever is so funny to me. Like. Glad you're all having fun. You have access to a level of perception which is entirely alien to me.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Hey. I love your work. I notice you write for shatter me and i got to say the amount of attention that booktok and i give to Aaron Warner, I thought there would be an explosion of fanfics. Unfortunately that's not the case. So i was hoping you could write something for me based on him.

So it goes like this. Reader has this guy friend and she is very very very close with him and they even have nicknames. Aaron is so annoyed by this and especially with kenji because he won't stop moking him. That is until reader introduces him as her best friend and kenji is livid. Maybe you could show how they get rid of the guy and kenji and Aaron bonding.

Thank you and have an amazing day ahead!

Not Enough Attention

Summary: Y/n has been neglecting Aaron in favour of... of him.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: omg anon i feel you because whyyy does pookie not have more fics???? absolutely ridiculous. disappointing honestly 😔 like wanna write for pookie but i have so many drafts rn, but i will write for him because i have a few things planned for him 🤭

(not proofread yet because im about to go to sleep im sorry 🥲)

anyways, enjoyy!!

Kenji was not known to be the smartest creature on the planet, everyone knew that. And that was the only reason Aaron never bothered to converse with him.

But alas, everyone has to face their nemesis at some point.

To make matters worse, Y/n, the only one keeping Aaron sane, was away again.

Probably meeting with her lover.

Aaron had to force himself to not roll his eyes.

"Hey, Warner. Have you seen Y/n?"

Aaron glanced up from the papers he'd been reading through, sighing. "Probably loitering around the building with her new... friend."

Kenji snorted, pulling back the chair in front of him and then practically throwing himself in it. "Aww, is our wittle Warner jealous?"

Aaron leaned back, setting the stack in his hand on the desk. "Wittle?" Kenji opened his mouth to explain, but Aaron cut in before he could spew more stupidity. "Never mind. And I'm not jealous."

Kenji smirked, leaning the chair back so it balanced precariously on its back legs. "Sure you aren't, Warner."

Aaron took a deep breath, trying not to let his words get under his skin. "I'm merely concerned for her safety-"

The door opened then, and both the men turned to look, watching intently as Y/n stepped in, another boy following her.

Aaron's jaw clenched, looking away from her smiling face.

"Y/n! I was searching for you."

Unable to resist, Aaron let his eyes wander back to the people in front of him.

Y/n nodded. "I know, I saw you walk in and thought you might have been looking for me." Y/n glanced back at her new friend. "Oh, and this is my best friend Jack. Jack, this is Kenji."

Jack offered a simple nod to Kenji, impatience shining in his eyes.

Y/n seemed to understand why he was so impatient, and she turned to Aaron.

"I have some work, I'll see you two later, yeah?"

Aaron avoided her eyes as he nodded, waiting for her to leave the office before releasing the breath he didn't even know he had been holding.

Kenji seemed to be lost in thought as he stared after Y/n, his jaw working.

"You know... maybe this needs to be looked into."

Aaron pressed his lips into a tight line to stop himself from smiling in triumph, and stood, dusting off invisible dust from his pants.

"So, what's the plan boss?" Kenji questioned, his expression more serious than Aaron had ever seen.

"We do some work."

Aaron would have never thought that he would be working along side Kenji, let alone looking forward to working with him, but here he was, anticipation building in his gut as he stood leaning against the doorframe leading to the barracks.

Kenji had left him standing there to go search for Jack.

They did not have a solid plan, no matter how hard they pretended. All they had talked about was the fact that they were going to ambush him. And then have a friendly little chat.

Aaron knew Y/n would be mad when she found out, but he couldn't help it. Aaron had never really had friends, so he as quite protective over the ones he now did have. He refused to be overshadowed by anyone, let alone someone named Jack.

Footsteps neared, alerting Aaron. He reached down, patting the gun at his hip.

He knew he shouldn't have to resort to violence, but this was his best friend he was concerned about. He wasn't about to take any chances.

He ignored the voice in his head who chirped about how she wasn't just his friend.

She was also the object of all his desires.

The desire to hold. To protect. To kiss.

The desire to love.

To be vulnerable.

He straightened, clearing his mind of any and all distractions, and turned to watch as Jack walked in step with Kenji, right into the awaiting hands of his doom.

Kenji slowed down the moment his eyes met Aaron's, falling behind Jack in case the fucker decided to run.

Thankfully, he wasn't as dumb as he looked and he just stared at Aaron's looming form.

"Did you need something from me?"

"What are your intentions for Y/n?"

He blinked. "We're just... friends?"

Aaron scowled. "I don't think you have only friendly intentions for her though. Tell me, how many times have you thought of kissing her?"

Jack's eyes bulged at that, and he looked so disgusted with Aaron that even Aaron had to question whether he as mistaken.

"I am not interested in Y/n like that. What even gave you the impression-"

"Don't lie." Kenji sang in a loud high pitched voice, and Jack turned to glare at him.

"I'm not fucking lying. Why do you two think I- is it because we have become close over the past week? Is that it? Is she not giving you two enough attention?"

Aaron didn't let it show on his face, but inside he agreed to that statement to some extent.

He felt like he was being ignored, abandoned, and he did not like it one bit. His father ignoring his existence most the time was enough for him. He didn't need even his best friend and the woman he was in love with to ignore him too.

When neither of them replied, Jack let out a sharp laugh. "Get Y/n. Let her tell you why I've been seeing her out so much the past week."

Kenji winced, his eyes wide with alarm. "I don't think that's a good idea-"

"What's going on here?"

Aaron froze, and so did Kenji as Y/n's voice rang down the hallway.

Jack turned to meet Y/n's gaze as she stalked towards the three men, her brows furrowed.

"Tell them Y/n. Tell them how in love with you I am."

Y/n stared at him, bewildered. Aaron snuck a glance at Kenji, who was staring at the only exit, and Aaron could practically see the gears in his head turning.

"I- what?"

"Exactly. They think I'm here to take advantage of you somehow, and also because they miss having all your attention on them, they cornered me. Trying to do what, I don't know."

Y/n turned to glare at Kenji, who raised his hands and stepped away, avoiding everyones eyes.

"Jack, you go. Get some rest. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Jack nodded, clasping her shoulder in farewell as he threw a scathing glare at Aaron, then stalked into the barracks.

"What was that about?"

"Hey! I did nothing-"

At one look, Kenji shut his fat mouth, retreating further as he realised Y/n's glare was now targeted at Aaron.

"You want to explain?"

Aaron swallowed, looking down at his shoes.

She sighed through her nose, rubbing her temples.

"He's getting married."

Aaron jolted, his wide eyes flying to hers.

"Well, not married. Yet. He has been planning on the best way to propose to his girlfriend. He was just asking me to help him plan everything."

Aaron stared at Y/n, not believing his ears. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Kenji disappearing down the hallway, and Aaron cursed him silently.

"I can't even begin to understand why you would do something like this-"

Aaron knew that if he didn't stop her now, she would keep talking, and while he loved listening to her voice too much to ever want her to stop, he also did not want to be yelled at.

And so what did he do?

Instead of telling her to stop, he stepped forward, and in a moment of sudden confidence, he grabbed her face, intending to hold her until she stopped speaking.

Alas, she had other plans as her eyes fluttered shut instantly, her hands flying to hold onto the lapels of his jacket.

And of course, Aaron was not about to miss a chance to have what he always wanted, so he leaned forward.

And kissed her.

Shatter Me Taglist: @dahliawarner

Permanent taglist: @cassie6392 @bubybubsters @harrystylesfan2686 @berryzxx

[wyvernquill]

Another Dreamling Anastasia AU Snippet

So, this AU somehow gained some new traction over the past few days, and I remembered I still had this in my drafts! It's a direct continuation from the last post - the first time their paths cross, though I think I'll save their actual first conversation (already written!) for the next part. Mostly a lot of background and exposition, but I hope it'll be enjoyable nonetheless! Thanks everyone for your enthusiasm for this AU!!!

(Masterpost here!)

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

(I don't know why it just won't let me do the proper tag sometimes... I hope the people Tumblr refuses to let me tag will see the post anyway, I'm very sorry...)

---

There is a fight just about to break loose at the White Horse Inn.

It will happen because of a man; a pale, stick-thin skinny thing of a man, barely more than an ashen, grimy face under a mop of coal hair balanced on top of a ragged black coat, loitering close to the fireplace and trying not to be too obvious about soaking up its warmth. At his feet, half hidden beneath the torn hem-line of his coat, there is a bird, some sort of corvid, following the other guests - and their purses in particular - with its beady little eyes.

The bird’s master is watching, too, watching the inn’s staff collect coins and shove them into their pockets, watching the plates and bowls of food being carried about, hungry, starving-

And then he’s noticed watching, a barmaid muttering a word or two to the innkeep over by the beer caskets - and the moment the man’s eyes find the stranger, they narrow.

And in turn, the moment the stranger notices the hostile eyes on him, he seems to brace himself, something feral in the way his lips draw back from his teeth as the innkeep makes a beeline for him through the crowded pub.

Words are exchanged.

Words are exchanged, loudly.

An arm is grabbed - and the bird jumps up with an angry caw, beating its wings at the innkeep’s face, and the scullery boy runs over to help, as does the burliest of the barmaids.

(There’s that fight now.)

The stranger shouts and scratches and twists as he is dragged through the common room, towards the door, growling profanities in a hoarse, dark voice, while his bird squawks, wrapped in the scullery boy’s apron.

It’s a right mess, but perhaps not an unusual one - the White Horse makes quick work of unruly drunkards (and those who are here to pilfer money rather than spend it), and even as some guests are following the fight in fascination and with half a mind to join in just for the pleasure of throwing a punch, most of their clientele barely spares them a look. Soon, the stranger will be cast out into the cold and the night again, far away from the warmth of a fireplace, or the smell of food, or opportunities for thievery. Nothing special. Soon, it will be just a quiet evening, like any other…

If it weren’t for the fact that, over in the far corner, a familiar man, and a familiar something-altogether-else still managing a rather sound impression of one, have been nursing their drinks for a good hour already, trying to drown their failures in ale.

(The humans have robbed Destiny of his powers, torn his realm from him, burned his book - but destiny still shapes the lives of mortals and immortals alike; and it is that power, which makes Robert Gadling look up from the sad remains of his beer, and, for just a fraction of a second, lock eyes with the vagabond currently in the process of being removed from the premises.

That is enough.

With just one look, the wheels of fate are already set in motion, and our story can begin in earnest.)

"Hey, Gil." Hob nudges Gilbert's arm, not taking his eyes off the struggling, furious stranger. "Over there. Look."

"Hm?" Gilbert blinks owlishly, following Hob's nod to the commotion behind him. "Oh, yes, yes. Ghastly, isn't it? Disgraceful, that some hoodlums cannot conduct themselves in public houses with the appropriate decorum - in my days, I tell you, when the Endless were still-"

"No, look!" Hob cuts him off. "The hoodlum. Look at him, really look."

"Hrmmm," Gilbert makes a sound of polite displeasure, and fiddles with his circular little glasses, peering through them and across the room, where the haggard stranger is spitting abuse at the innkeep even as he is in the process of being shoved out of the door.

And then, "oh, good lord!" Gilbert gasps, and drops his glasses.

"You see it too, then?"

"I… yes. Gracious, yes. Like a ghostly apparition." Gilbert gropes for his glasses with one hand, eyes never leaving the stranger. "The physical resemblance - most uncanny. A good deal more malnourished and, ah… rather grimy, it seems… and yet, overall…"

"A dead ringer for Dream of the Endless, isn't he?" Hob finishes, nodding. “Better than any of the men that auditioned for us, certainly.”

“Heaven help,” Gilbert’s voice is weak with emotion, “even knowing it isn’t him, I feel like… ah, Robert, if he were only given a bath, some better garb… it would be as if His Lordship walked again!”

“Would be?” Hob’s grin is bright and hungry, like a hunting dog smelling his prey, as he pushes himself up from his seat. “Will be!”

“-and if I see either you or yer blasted bird thievin’ in here again," the innkeep snarls, tossing first the haggard stranger, and then a squawking bundle of black feathers, out into the snow. “I’m callin’ the coppers! Y’hear?”

The word the stranger spits back, gathering all his limbs and his dark coat around himself as he staggers to his feet and off into the night, is so filthy even Hob would blush upon saying it. A bit rough around the edges, this man, not exactly the model of a fairytale king - but such things can be taught, can’t they. Hob’s seen a production of Shaw’s Pygmalion, years ago, and if Higgins can make a fine lady out of a flower girl, then Hob and Gil can make a Dream Lord out of some vagabond.

“Begging your pardon, good man.” Hob leans against the doorframe, watching the stranger’s dark shape angrily stomp off through the snow, bird hopping along at his side. “Howsabout this, a shilling for anything you can tell me about the man you just tossed out of your establishment.”

“Whot, Murphy!?” The innkeep blinks. 

Holds out his hand.

Hob dutifully deposits one of his last few shillings in it.

“Thank you kindly, sir, much obliged.” A tip of the hat, and the coin disappearing in the innkeep’s pocket. “Murphy’s one of the local beggars. A filthy thief, too, and no mistake. He’s trained that raven of his into it - heard the city even pays him some little pittance to control the birds in the area! They wouldn’t do it if they knew what he was doing with ‘em. I don’t like seein’ him around the Horse, not with the trouble he’s causing. Stealing leftover scraps from tables I can forgive, might even give him a full meal now and then in the name of charity - but if he goes for the pockets of my regulars, the regulars don’t come back, understand? Can’t have that.”

“Course not.” Hob agrees readily. “Bad for business, a pickpocket.”

“Just so, sir. He’s been in the London area for… oh, eight, nine, maybe ten years? Hasn’t got a trade, not very willing to do an honest day’s work in any case, can’t hold down a job for the life of him as a result. Still thinks himself better than the rest o’ us, anyway. I’d leave him alone, if I were you - he’s vicious as all Hell, bit the kitchen boy once and the lad needed to get his arm stitched up afterwards. And that raven - the thing’s a demon, swear to God. A familiar, like witches have. If we were livin’ in a less civilised age, they’d’ve strung old Murphy up for witchcraft and devilry years ago!”

Hob hums thoughtfully. “Do you know if he has fallen in with that crowd? Not idle hearsay, mind, but facts. There’s still some men in London who practise the Old Arts, does he meet with them?”

(Hob has heard that the old Magus of Wych Cross died perhaps a year or two after his greatest accomplishment; for all his powers that tore Endless spectres from their lofty thrones, in the end he couldn’t defend himself against his own son finally snapping, smothering him in his sleep, and running off with the gardener. Good riddance to the old goat, in Hob’s opinion - but he had a good handful of supporters in every major city, and they can’t all have died with him.)

The innkeep takes his time answering, staring out into the softly-falling snow.

“...not that I know of, sir.” He finally says, cautiously. “He doesn’t meet with anyone, really, ‘xcept the birds. Solitary type, is our Murphy, with no family, and no-one to miss him if he freezes himself to death some night. But.”

A pause.

“There’s something wrong about that man, if you ask me. He has a look in his eyes… whatever it is, it’s not natural. Might be magic. Might be madness. I really couldn’t say.”

“I see.” Gears are turning in Hob’s head, puzzle pieces slotting into place, plans unfolding.

A man sleeping rough, with nobody to miss him or know much of him, fierce and angry and constantly on the brink of starvation, looking just like Dream. A diamond in the rough, and quite possibly desperate enough to actually agree to their mad plan just for a few weeks of guaranteed food and a roof over his head.

Dear God. He’s perfect.

“One more question, about Murphy.” Hob beams, half-giddy. “Where do you think I could find him, say… tomorrow?”

The innkeep’s eyebrows rise up into his hair.

“Can’t see why you’d ever want to,” he mutters into his beard. “But very well. On your head be it.”

He names a nearby small park, where Murphy often goes to feed his birds, and is rewarded for it with another tuppence; and then Hob saunters back to his and Gil’s table, already feeling like he can almost taste the promise of eternal life on the tip of his tongue.

(“We cannot know for certain that he will agree, Robert. He sounds like a most prideful young man - he is much like His Lordship in that regard as well, I suppose.”

“Oh, he’ll agree. I’ve been where he is, Gil, and there were times I would’ve sold my own mother to the devil for a warm meal and a bed to sleep in. Not that the devil would’ve taken the old bat even if I’d paid him, of course, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“That hardly makes it much better. We’d be taking advantage of the poor man’s unfortunate situation!”

“Everyone’s situation is unfortunate these days. And we’d be improving his, on the whole, along with ours.”

“Let it be noted, dear fellow, that I am voicing my ethical and moral quandaries.”

“I really don’t think our plan to scam the Endless is very ethical in the first place, Gil.”

“...now that I cannot possibly argue with.”

“There we are then.”

“However! You will have to be the one to suggest it. I will help you instruct him and present him to the Endless if you do convince him - but for now, I wash my hands of the matter.”

“Fair enough.”)

[thenewportbitch]

Chapter One Draft

Consider this my little Amazon excerpt. Currently writing chapter two amidst finals.

Danny hanged himself two days before my twenty-first birthday.

I had walked into his room to ask him to turn down his music. Danny's taste had always been obnoxious, and he liked to turn his music up until you could hear it from across the bay. So I had walked into his room and there he was, hanging from a necktie, his fingers all purple and swollen and I knew it hadn't been long because he was still swaying to the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Something inside me wanted to reach out and see if he was warm to the touch.

I didn't do that. Instead, I walked past him and turned off the CD player. Then I walked into the doorway and screamed for my mother.

That's it. I didn't see anything else. I know there are all these stupid rumors about Danny's death, and I'll keep saying they're wrong. My brother did not leave a note, especially not one blaming the rest of us. My brother was not masturbating when he died. There was no child porn open on his computer. There were no photos of dead little girls scattered across the room. None of that was true.

He hanged himself. He died two days before my twenty-first birthday--which was going to be a Wimbledon watch party, by the way. I screamed and my mother screamed and we called the police because no one wanted to touch him to get him down. That was all.

Another thing. My brother did not kill himself because he hated me. People say that a lot, but Danny and I were extremely close. He'd been the best brother anyone could ever have, and, even with four years between us, we'd been inseparable before I had gone off to Miss Porter's. Anyone would have grown apart after that, but we were still close. We loved each other. I don't know why he chose the day he did. It was an awful thing to do. I'd just won the Redding Challenger, and now my victory would only remind people of Danny's death. My birthday party got cancelled for his funeral, too, even though we'd already arranged the catering and everything. My mother insisted that, even if we had rescheduled my party, no one would want to come to two events so close to each other. We had to choose between my birthday and his funeral. I fought hard for it to be my birthday. Danny got his funeral anyway.

I knew my mother had her reasons for choosing Danny's funeral. People felt more obligated to attend a funeral, and my mother hated no-shows. I hated to admit that the turnout was excellent. I counted everyone from the Abbots to the Wittes.

Now, the Abbots would have come to either event--they practically had no choice. They were family friends, and Danny and I had grown up alongside Pat Abbot's sons.

The Ken brothers were easy to spot loitering near an ostentatious floral arrangement--hyacinth and white rose. My mother's idea. Hyacinths had been Danny's favorite flower, or something. Ridiculous that a man could even have a favorite flower, let alone flowers as girlish as hyacinths.

I was debating myself on what sort of flowers were actually appropriate for a funeral when I realized I was staring. Kenneth caught my eye and smiled. I looked away. The Ken brothers weren't actually twins, but I couldn't blame anyone for thinking so. Kenneth and Kennedy had been practically identical growing up, all dark hair and awkwardness, until they got five inches and a scar between them. The Kens, we'd call them. Ken and Kenny, if we were feeling charitable. They were actually pretty easy to tell apart in adulthood, but something about them confused people anyway.

Danny and I had always been able to tell them apart. Kenny was Danny's best friend, and Ken was his brother's satellite. Then Kenny and Danny had had their big fight and I moved away and at that point the Ken brothers had ceased to be anything more than a footnote in my life. Until Stanford. And here I was catching Kenneth Abbot's eye. Bad enough I had to see him at Stanford all the time.

I instead turned my gaze over to the Levants, who were hovering near the refreshments like vultures. The casket’s over there, I wanted to sneer at them. Ashley and Dan Levant were childless, wealthy, and utterly brainless. As were the Hadleys. Irrelevant to my life other than the fact that my mother bafflingly coveted their attendance at her events.

The Wittes had Richard, at least, who was Ken's friend and my eternal annoyance. Richard hadn’t joined his parents today, so I mentally cast them aside.

Looking over the sea of black fabric, I couldn't find anyone else I cared to mention. There was someone I thought I knew–shiny black hair, a flash of silver, but no. No. Just a stranger. Unsurprising. I didn't care about most of these people, and I was sure they felt the same about me. I cared about tennis, and they cared about my father. Such was the way of the world.

I supposed they must have known Danny, though. He'd actually gone to high school here, along with a sizable chunk of their children. It didn't feel right. Somehow, I'd gotten used to thinking that Danny's life was on pause when he wasn't right in front of me, but while I was perfecting my forehand, he'd been going to high school here in our hometown. Making lifelong connections. Or once-a-year acquaintances. Same thing, really.

People kept going up to see Danny. I needed something to drink. My parents couldn't possibly host an event without alcohol, could they? Nothing here, so they were probably saving it for after the burial. Fair enough. I wouldn't have wanted to encourage drunkenness at ten in the morning, either. Especially with an alcoholic like Mrs. Abbot attending. She probably couldn't even remember Danny's middle name, but would still find an excuse to get sloppy drunk in his memory.

The reception ended without me even approaching the casket. Nobody would judge me. Nobody could, when I'd already seen what a dead Danny looked like before the mortician worked their magic. I wondered how they were hiding the marks on his neck. Distracting us with a fancy tie, maybe. Maybe even the one he hanged himself with.

Burberry. Checkered. A gift from our father, if I wasn't mistaken. It had suited Danny.

We all took our places for the ceremony, and I spent the first ten minutes thinking about that tie. I was shaken out of my reverie by the piano, and a faint sense of nausea. The piano itself wasn't unexpected. Danny had been an excellent pianist, before he'd given it up. I'd been expecting something like Chopin, Bach, Amazing Grace if we really ran out of ideas. This was Otherside. I'd found Danny while Californication was playing and, yes, I did some mental math. My mother's attention to detail was truly horrifying. What kind of idiot requested a piano arrangement of the song her son hanged himself to? At his funeral? No one else here would even recognize what it meant.

I gave my mother a look of disbelief. She mistook this for a sign of great emotion, and squeezed my hand. The woman had plainly lost her mind.

The rest of the ceremony might have been quite beautiful and touching. I wouldn't know. I was more concerned with my eulogy.

My parents had been absolutely no help. Probably too unwilling to share their own dubious inspirations. I didn't want to do this. There were few things lower on my list than standing in front of everyone and talking about Danny.

I had just won the Redding Challenger, you know? The very day he did it. Two days before my birthday. None of it made any sense. It wasn't even like I'd lost. I could at least understand it if I had lost. My heart rate spiked. I tried to keep that, hold on to any emotion at all. It could come in useful for the eulogy, if tears were absolutely required. Crying could at least help fill any awkward silences. I kept turning my index cards over in my hands. They didn’t say much. Just a few bullet points

Don’t lose your head. Don’t talk about the body. Don’t talk about the tie. Don’t make Danny look bad. Don’t make the family look bad. Danny was a nice person.

And some random facts. Like I was going to forget how tall Danny was. Or that he hated beer.

There had to be a story.

Telling a story is easy, really. You lay out all the events, exactly as they happened, and add in your thoughts and emotions whenever they seem relevant or interesting. Then you bring it all back together at the end. People love stories because they're always true. And the truth is usually better than reality.

I didn't even have to do much work to set the story up. Everyone here already knew Danny, or at least had their own idea of him. I cycled through all the stories I could tell about Danny as an adult, but I kept coming back to when we were kids. That Danny was realer than real, larger than life. That Danny was my big brother.

Most of the people here knew Danny as a child, but that wasn't a problem. No one would mind if I told them a story they remembered. People love hearing about things they already know--especially if they find out that you'd been thinking the same thing they were.

My mother couldn't bear to deliver her eulogy, which left just my father and I. She was still holding my hand when my father started walking up to the podium. She was crying. Not the polite tears she cried during a fundraiser, the few delicate drops on shining, perfectly-composed cheeks. The movie starlet tears for the veterans, the cancer-ridden, the homeless. Now my mother was weeping with blotchy cheeks and a runny nose. I'd never seen that before. Not even in the past two days.

I leaned in. "Mom," I whispered. "Mom, it's okay. It's a beautiful funeral."

She nodded, still sniffling. Her mascara was holding up very well.

My father cleared his throat, and the air changed. Everyone held their breath--even I sat up straighter. That was the Daniel Barclay magic. He had this way of pulling the room into him and having everyone hang on to his every single word. My own eulogy became an afterthought.

There was a picture of Danny displayed next to the podium. Christmas 2006. It was probably the best picture of Danny I'd ever seen. It almost looked like a photo of my father as a younger man. They'd been nearly identical: the same vivid green eyes, high cheekbones, dark blond hair. The only thing that separated Danny from my father was Danny's nose, some beaklike thing that overtook his entire face. Danny often said that his nose was his best feature. I'd resented him for that, since I would have done anything to remind people of my father.

I admired that man more than anything.

"Good morning," he began. "I'm Daniel Barclay Sr., Danny's father. I give my thanks to those of you who made the time to honor his life. We gather here in the wake of an unspeakable loss. My son, Daniel James Barclay, was a young man of incredible potential, taken from us too soon."

By himself. But my father was never going to dwell on that in public.

He continued: "Danny was a man of great intellect, and even greater creativity. Newport Coast became much quieter after my son went off to college, and I'm sad to say that Boston will now be as well.

"However, my son's greatest quality was his kindness. Danny approached the world with patience and understanding. I remember how many late nights he'd spend studying, and how many more he would spend tutoring his classmates at Boston College. That was the kind of man my son was; the kind that always put others before himself."

My father put a masterful spin on things. Acting like he would miss Danny's constant noise, even though my father and Danny hadn't spoken for weeks after Danny quit piano for guitar. My father's frustrations with Danny's flagging academic performance suddenly became proof of Danny's selflessness.

"Danny--" My father's voice started cracking. Extremely unusual. "Danny lit up our lives far too briefly. I only regret that he chose to keep so much from us. We could never have imagined how much he was struggling, but that was Danny's way." My father started blinking faster. I knew what was coming. "Danny was--Danny was always smiling," he finished. At this, he got choked up and couldn't finish, politely excusing himself and taking his place next to my mother. She put her hand on his back and whispered something I couldn't catch. How convenient, that he'd gotten too choked up to finish just as he ran out of things to say. It took longer than I thought it would, at least. I would almost have believed that Danny was his pride and joy, except that I had lived with the two of them.

I couldn't remember standing up. My father finished his speech, and then I found myself up there. Next to the photo of Danny, and I remembered just then that Danny had gotten that tie last Christmas. You could see the box in the background.

I think I stood up there too long. This place reeked of roses. It was too much for me. That sticky, cloyingly sweet smell that coated the back of my throat. Another fleeting, irrelevant thought: why couldn't we have doused those stupid flowers in his cologne?

"Danny's cologne had been Light Blue Pour Homme," I said absentmindedly. I heard myself three seconds later. Was I an idiot? My index cards were useless now. That was fine. They'd been mostly blank, anyway. This was a funeral planned in two days--I could improvise my eulogy.

"Danny's favorite color was teal. Danny's eyes had been U.S. Open green. Before they made the courts blue, anyway. It felt right, somehow, that the change would happen the year I turned 18. I saw Danny in everything when I was a kid. Then I became an adult, and the courts were blue from then on. Danny's eyes stayed green." My father wasn't shaking his head in disgust, so I continued.

"Danny brought so much color to my life," I continued. That was a good line. I could do this. "He had a way of doing that for everyone he met. I don't think there are a lot of people that could light up a room the way Danny could. Like my father said, Danny was always smiling." I turned to the picture to illustrate my point. Danny was smiling, wide as ever, those smile lines carving themselves into his face. He smiled like a cornered animal. "I was always warning him, you know. That he'd get wrinkles if he smiled that much. He already had smile lines at twenty-four. I'm glad he never listened to me. Danny smiled enough for two lifetimes."

Laughter. Who was laughing? I knew that laugh. Could almost place it. High-pitched, lively, nerve-wracking.

I looked over my audience one more time. My parents both looked like they approved, which was a relief. Everyone else was smiling. The small, sad, polite smile you give mourners, but still smiling. The only tears in the audience that weren't from my mother came from Kennedy. He and Danny hadn't been best friends for years now, but I guess death had a way of changing things. Or Kennedy was so high he would cry to anything. I pitied Danny a little bit. I pitied myself more. 

My palms were sweaty, but every time I tried to wipe them off on my dress they slipped on the black silk and made me look stupid.

"He loved kids, too," I began, because the right story was right in front of me. "That was something really special about him. He was fun, kind, and utterly incapable of feeling annoyance. All he wanted to do was help people. I remember thinking... I remember thinking Danny could fix anything in the world. He was my big brother. My protector. The best guy there ever was." My throat felt tight, and the feeling wouldn't go away. I swallowed three more times, then gave up. It took a minute to get going again. "There was this time... I must have been eight, and my brother was twelve. We were at the harbor with two other kids--Kennedy and Kenneth Abbot, actually. Though they were Kenny and Ken to us. Really, um, really glad to see them here.

"And, Ken's seven, with absolutely no sense of danger. Like most seven-year-olds, you know? He's got this little bucket filled with 'beach treasures'. Shells and glass and worthless junk. The day's coming to an end, and the water is cold and we're all sunburned and grumpy and dying to go home.

"So of course that's when Ken falls into the water. Sinks like a stone, too. And before anyone can even take another breath, Danny jumps right in after him. And when they're both back up, Danny and I realize that he had our father's camera around his neck. My father loved his photos, and something in him had possessed him to leave his favorite camera with Danny. And while Danny and I are staring at the camera in horror, Ken starts screaming. For his bucket.

"It was just cheap plastic. But Danny goes in again to find it. And he actually does. Twenty minutes later, my brother comes back exhausted, shivering, holding a bucket full of seawater. Ken's overjoyed, of course, and the whole time I'm just screaming about the camera. How could he go back in without taking off the camera? And do you know what he says? 'The camera was already broken. A little kid's toy is a thousand times more important.'" I stopped and laughed, a little hysterically, because that was exactly what he'd said, and I still couldn't believe it. And, yes, I was still somewhat terrified by what had happened to my father's camera.

"I loved Danny. More than anything. And I'm really glad I got to tell him that. Our last conversation was, um..." My voice wavered. I hated how I was starting to sound. So small. Weak. I took a deeper breath, straightened up, and spoke from the chest. Nobody was accusing me of anything. "The last time we spoke, Danny told me he was proud of me. He said I'd done a great job, that I was always so strong, and how he was--how he was, um... so proud to be my big brother. He said he loved me. And I got to tell him, I got to say--" 

I just won the Redding Challenger! That's what I had said. Those were my real last words. 

"I got to tell him I loved him, too. And I'm really glad. I'm really glad that's what we said," I finished, trembling a little. I couldn't even see anyone else. For one insane moment, I thought that the stage lights were too bright, but of course there were no stage lights. Only a bunch of people I didn't care about, some hideous flowers, and an abundance of natural light.

My mother hugged me when I sat back down, like I was a kid. But I wasn't eight years old anymore, and we still had to put Danny in the ground. So it didn't matter.

The drive to the gravesite felt endless, but it was really twenty minutes at most. I had a sandwich in the backseat—peanut butter and honey, Danny’s favorite. I resented my mother for making all this fuss about remembering Danny’s favorites now. If she’d cared about him so much, she’d had twenty-four years to prove it.

At least her crying had stopped. Her hands trembled so badly she couldn’t open her makeup bag, so my father, without a word, leaned over and opened it for her.

“There,” he said, his voice calm as ever. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s come over you today. This isn’t like you.” Well, yes, but I wanted to remind him that she had never been to her son’s funeral before.

My mother nodded, reapplying her lipstick. She couldn’t hide her lower lip’s trembling, though. The silence stretched on. I couldn’t have spoken even if I’d wanted to—my mouth was too dry, the peanut butter and honey too heavy.

My father broke the silence. “I think I’ll get the iPhone on Friday.”

My sniffled, pursing freshly-painted lips. “Oh, Daniel, we talked about this. Don’t you like your Blackberry?” She put her hand to her forehead, like this was the tragedy of the day. “The glass... it just screams fingerprints, cracks, all kinds of smudges. It’s a mess waiting to happen.”

"It's innovation."

"It's hideous."

My father started tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. He was probably worrying the tip of his tongue between his front teeth, too. A habit he hated, that I’d picked up from him anyway.

"It's the future, Sarah. I wasn't asking permission. It'll be good for us. We can't let ourselves get stuck in the past. People notice that. It matters." 

My mother opened her mouth, but he was already starting up again. "Men like me have to stay limber, relevant, spry. You do that by staying on top of things." He clicked his tongue, then smirked at me in the mirror. "That's what kids like Emma are for, huh? Isn't that right, sweetheart? Going to keep your dad in the loop?"

"You know it," I said.

"Yes, Emma, why don't you keep him updated?" She always started in on me when she was losing to my father. Actually, she'd always started in on Danny, who wasn't here. And would never be started in on again. "Tell your father what a horrible world this is turning into! Did you know that Peter says we should be cutting back on spending? That's exactly what he said. The economy's collapsing any day now, he said!" She was getting hysterical, now, and her mascara wasn't waterproof enough to handle a second round of tears.

"Oh, Peter says so." Disgust usually marked the end of an argument. "Yes, Peter would turn a blip into a recession, wouldn't he? You should know better. That man's been predicting the next Great Depression since Danny was in diapers. Always some kind of disaster with Peter." Peter was my mother's friend from high school, and a financial advisor, or accountant, or something. I'd met the man exactly once.

My mother was sobbing again. "And wasn't he right? God, look at 9/11, God, Katrina. Columbine. Virginia Tech!" And now she was screaming. "That could have been our children there, Daniel! It's a horrible, awful world, and it's onl--"

“Sarah,” he interrupted, almost too quiet. And it was over. “Calm down. Look at Emma. See how well Emma’s been doing? Everything is fine.”

I looked out the window for the rest of the trip. No need to get involved. We were only a few minutes away, and then the day would soon be over. Then I could wake up tomorrow and start all over again. As I always did.

By the time we stepped out of the car, my mother was a dignified mourner again, and my father looked carved from stone.

The gravesite was sunny, which felt wrong. People should only be buried on rainy days, or in the dark. The ground wasn't even muddy. It was such a perfect, beautiful day, and here we were, a black cancer in the middle of it.

It was quiet. Just us and the Abbots and a few others. I was trying to figure out what relation everyone had to Danny when I saw it out of the corner of my eye. And this time, I knew what I saw. Who I saw. But she’d disappeared by the time I turned my head, and she had no reason to be here, anyway. It must have been someone else. Danny’d had a girlfriend, right? Was she Asian? I couldn’t remember.

We were silent through the prayer and the casket being lowered into the grave. Then, Kennedy, obviously on something, walked up to the grave, threw in a white rose, and said, much too loudly: "He should have shot himself, man. Hanging's a terrible way to go." Kenneth hushed him and pulled Kennedy off to the side, where he stood, dead-eyed and stupid. People gasped and tittered and my mother actually clutched her pearls, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Because we prayed for Danny, and that was when I saw it. Roses, my tennis ball, and a silver charm. A tennis racket, small enough that it immediately slipped beneath everything else. But I saw it.

Vivian wasn't supposed to be here.

[sleeping-jayy]

Guys, trust- I've been alive, I swear. Anyways. Erm here's some recent (Edit: this has been in my drafts for over a month now) art I made of some "creepypasta" (see: original characters that are by category online horror stories- but can be put into the context of something like the "Slenderman" side of creepypasta) characters. Here's one of them:)

Warnings for creepypasta typical violence and dark nature, especially that of cult themes. stay safe out there friends

First one is Reed (he/him). He was born into a cult that worshiped an unnamed deity that supposedly would save them from the endless dark. Their practices were that of a 'hidden utopia' among the 'corrupt modern day'. Adopting older ideals such as men would be powerful and women would take care of the home. Reed, since he was a young kid, decided he didn't feel like a girl and didn't like the path laid out for him, so he told his parents he wanted to be a boy (yippe:D).

This was seen as a great thing for the family, as male children were seen as a symbol of power against the darkness sworn to come. This means that his parents fully accepted him and even sent him off to school with the rest of the boys in the community rather than home schooled with the girls.

He was seen as weird at his school and ended up in a group of fun loving misfits who showed him the wonders of the outside world, queer identities and acceptance (Derek (he/they), Kate she/her), and Terryn (they/them)) One day, after a night of fun, hair dye and a piercing gun, and smoking Reed goes home and gets severely punished by his parents. After this punishment, it makes Reed realize how different things are from his home and the outside world.

Time goes on and Reed has gotten good at hiding his friends from his parents, and adjusting to the cultures of being a teenager in a 'normal' world. Come Christmas and the New Year, Reed convinces his parents over Christmas break to let him have a study session with his friends to keep their minds sharp for when school inevitably comes back. His parents allow this and he goes off with Derek, Kate, and Terryn to have some fun.

Eventually Terryn goes home to tend to their little siblings and that leaves Reed, Derek, and Kate looking for something exciting to do. They decided upon drinking as celebration (Terryn doesn't drink or smoke, so they weren't missing out) . They start coming up with ideas how how to get their hands on some drinks, until Reed pipes up, remembering the stash of Champaign that his parents kept for celebration.

They all go to Reed's house, Reed leaving Derek and Kate to loiter outside while he sneaks into his own house to steal Champaign. No one is home so Reed retrieves it easily. When he gets back outside to meet with Derek and Kate but they're both gone.

He wanders around his neighborhood until he gets to the woods, hearing people and the distant light of lanterns. He treks out there to find half his neighborhood as well as his parents in a ring around Kate and Derek. Kate is crying, holding an unconscious Derek. Reed pretends to join the cult, jumping in at the last minute to defend his friends as they dump a mix of alcohol and other flammable liquids on them.

In an attempt to get them to back away, Reed fishes a lighter from Derek's pocket and attempts to attack one of the members with it. He unintentionally sets him and his friends on fire. The members flee and Reed is left in the snow to burn. He manages to put him and his friends out, but his friends look dead, he leaves, grabbing a discarded sacrificial knife and running into the woods.

He knows he'll never be able to return to the commune, and he thinks his friends will never forgive him/are dead.

Thanks for reading if you did, I know it was long. There might be more art of him so I wanted to do a little post on him. :)

-Jay (host)

[lukas-clost]

an intro, of sorts

Hi! Hey! I am LuKa, and welcome to my closet wear I hide all my skeletons and their oddly paired socks!

I write Undertale fanfiction mostly about the skelebros and potential romantic partners (because I love Sans and I can't get enough of that gorgeous little 8-bit world!)

pfp made using QueenBee's character maker!

I'll be sharing story ideas, some of my WIPs and characters and stuff

asks and DMs are more than welcome!

until further notice, I don't do commissions or requests or anything else of a similar calibre

I am legally an adult, so anything NSFW will be explicitly stated, but minors, please watch yourself and be good, okay?

if you see lukas-wrld loitering around, don't mind her, she's me, but more sane, and dare I say, boring

Wattpad (does anyone even use this anymore?), Quotev, Ao3

I think mushrooms are cool (I don't know anything about mushrooms)

works below the cut!

TW: mentions of sex and drugs

An Escort

completed!/being rewritten

TW: mentions of sex, vague descriptions of sex, substance (ab)use

In Suncity, it's not unheard of to have a monster in your bed. With the desire to feel, through adrenaline, drinks and sex, it's no surprise that you have someone over every night. But the same monster over and over again? That's a shitstorm just waiting to happen.

If you like Underlust, platonic sex, or a (as far as I know, anyway) unorthodox writing style, you should check out An Escort! I may post the chapters here, when I finally get to polishing up the story, but for now, hope you don't mind reading elsewhere

tumblr post || Ao3 || Quotev || Wattpad

Blood, Dust & Honey

in progress

TW: death, kidnapping

The monsters have been on the surface for almost a year now, and even after being given the official ‘okay’ to integrate, humans are still sceptical about them.  When monsters start disappearing, their dust is swept under the carpet even as the Ebott City Police Department try their best to get to the bottom of it. Then humans start disappearing and citizens revolt against what looks like retaliation. Kate, an impatient, newly recruited detective, decides to take matters into her own hands when her superiors fail to make sufficient progress.  With the help of the other recruits and her new monster friends, she’ll have to find the culprit lest she lose her job and the rights of monsterkind.

If you like Underswap Papyrus, slow burns or kind of mystery I guess? then you should totally stick around for this! I plan to start posting in September, whether I'm done with the writing or not, lol

tumblr post || Ao3 || Quotev || Wattpad

The Colour of Love (Working Title)

planning/drafting

Living with hair that changes colour according to how you feel makes you an open book for interpretation. But then a certain skeleton monster makes you feel all sorts of things that you can’t pinpoint the feelings for the colours. Mix in that the truth of your obscure past starts to surface and suddenly colours seem to lose their meaning to you. But there’s one colour that makes you reconsider.

If you like Undertale Sans, memory loss or crazy scientists, then you might like this story! I plan to continue writing this once I finish with the previous story, whenever that may be, but that doesn't stop me from adding a few chapters or scenes in between!

TW: crazy scientists, memory loss

Pushing up Daisies

planning/drafting

The monsters have been released onto the Surface, and while mankind struggles to grasp the arrival of a new magical species, a malady that sweeps the earth causes them to disregard any friendliness that might have been shown in favour of slaughtering the beasts that supposedly brought the disease. The dead soon share ownership of the Surface with malevolence and lasting another day becomes harder and harder. But pair a badass young adult who has long since tuned out the cries of her Soul, with a perverted skeleton in search of his family, and maybe they'll be able to unearth the germ of all of this. If you like Underfell Sans, zombie apocalypses or cross country (more like city, lol) trips to find family, then this could be for you!

TW: death, the undead, weapons, blood

A Series of Mansions

skeleton lords and their maids, romance, shadows, and... problems As of now, I'm literally just worldbuilding and figuring out character dynamics and jotting down little scenes that I can't wait to write! But I'll be sharing a few things here and there and trying not to lose my mind over the mountain I have decided to climb... this should be fun! even though it's really ambitious for me, but I can't get rid of the idea!!

I Call Shotgun!

planning

A crackfic(?) where Burgerpants, NiceCream Guy, Bratty, Catty and Mad Mew Mew go on a road trip together. Shenanigans ensue and bad luck follows. I don't even remember where I got this idea from, but it's silly and I want it to be very light hearted and fun and completely different paced from what I usually write!

[emphasisonthehomo]

This has been sitting in my drafts since Oct 25th, and I know no one really cares, but I do kinda wanna just get it out because I've thought a lot on it. It's kinda long and digs into my headcanons, what choices I made for Tommy's childhood, why he's the way he is, etc.

Anyways, Tommy grew up as a single child in a small town. His parents cared more about who they thought he should be, than who he actually was.

His dad listened more to what I would consider "classic" dad rock. Led Zeppelin, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Rolling Stones, etc. As an angry kid who felt isolated and lonely, it was easy for Tommy to get progressively into heavier stuff.

Stuff specifically that his parents would complain about, because that's what you lean into right? Shit with screaming, shit with profanity, shit that sounds weird. And with Tommy being born in 1984/1985 that means he's in peak teenage years for the rise of nu-metal. This is before streaming or digital music. Tommy gets a copy of Follow the Leader by Korn and has it on repeat in his shitty tiny cd player in his room.

And then Slipknot. He gets really into Slipknot, in the way only an angry and frustrated 15 year old can. And things kind of go from there. It's not like there's a fucking metal scene in his town, there’s not even a music store, it's not big enough for that. It's just him and his two buddies who also listen to it. They go together into the city to loiter around and buy CDs. They've got the big jeans and the chain wallets, they get bullied, etc etc.

(Now this is where I could really into how this whole thing applies to Tommy as a trans guy, but that's another post.)

The thing about having nu-metal be your introduction into metal (I'm stereotyping, don't come at me with Not All Metalheads) is people make fun of you for it. It's generally speaking a very hot topic as to whether it even counts as metal. The fans are posers, the vocals are too clean, the inclusion of rap elements is bad because [insert loud farting noise here], etc.

Tommy enlisted right out of high school. He's 18, he's still angry, he needs a ticket out of his small town and out of his parents' sphere of influence. So he takes what the Army will give him. The first other person he talks to that’s also into metal immediately gives him shit. And it seems like a small thing, but it's just another layer of this sense of rejection/isolation when he's already emotionally a hot mess.

And in a move that he’ll repeat a lot over the years, he changes his behavior to better “fit in” and get someone else’s approval. He’s alone now, enlisted. He doesn’t have his two friends with him that made it easier to just be the weirdos in a small town. This new person he’s just met and gets along with has started making fun of him. The push to conform within a sub-culture that prides itself on being rejected.

It’s not too difficult for him to change up his music taste. He’s no longer in Bumfuck Nowhere, USA. It’s a lot easier to buy stuff. He gets into death metal because it’s a genre that’s ‘respectable’ in the eyes of his new friend, and has the bonus of being something he enjoys. I’m thinking bands along the lines of Cannibal Corpse, because that’s just the classic prototypical death metal band in my head.

His music taste has changed over the years. He absolutely had a phase where he listened exclusively to metal. As he gets older he manages to unclench and pull the stick out of his ass, and he starts listening to other stuff too. He does fucking love metalcore once he lets himself. There’s the nastiest battle jacket imaginable in the back of his closet. It doesn’t fit him anymore, but he keeps it for nostalgia’s sake. He’s at the point where he regrets getting into the pit when he goes to a show, but he's also the dude that will haul ass to pick someone up when they fall.

And sometimes when he's doing the dishes Wait and Bleed comes on shuffle. It takes him so sharply back to his childhood that he has to stop for a moment and just listen.

Okay realistically, who here would give any shits if I got deep into Tommy hypothetically being into heavy music?

[nahoney22]

Could I request Cad Bane with a shy/introverted reader please? Preferably gender neutral or female. Thank you so much!!!! 💕💖

Oh hey a request that’s been lost in my drafts 😅 so sorry the wait and hope this is okay for you ♥️

Chin Up

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Cad Bane X GN!Reader

word count: 2.7k

Working in a Cantina on a backwater planet washing dishes wasn’t the fabulous life you had set out for yourself but when a worker goes ill and you have to step in to serve its patrons, you wasn’t aware you would be serving one of the most famous Bounty Hunters in the galaxy.

warnings: none, readers boss being a jerk. Shy/introverted reader, I’m a sucker for badass soft Cad, pet names and cad being a lil flirty

Masterlist

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Another plate, another bowl, another spoon, another this, another that.

As you duck your hands underneath the soapy water to clean yet - what is it this time? A fork - you were in a world of your own as you tried to imagine this shift to go quicker. What you didn’t realise until a rag was thrown at your head was that your boss, an angry looking Besalisk called Melv, had been shouting at you for the last few minutes only for you to have completely ignored him.

“S-sorry what?” You stammer pathetically, tossing the fork to the side and wiping your hands against your apron to get the suds off as you walk towards him.

“You’re needed out front on the floor. Di has had to go off sick.” He orders without a second glance whilst you stood there wide-eyed and shaken to the fore with nerves.

“The floor? But I’ve never-.”

“I don’t care. Get serving! And make sure you don’t wear the apron either.” He snaps with a wave of one of his four hands and you look down to see your food covered apron and take on his advice with removing it. Then again it wouldn’t matter anyway, the place is a disgusting mess.

You’re dawdling at the door that led out to where the patrons and bar were and your heart was racing as fast as light speed. You were so used to being behind the scenes where you knew you wouldn’t have to speak to anyone you didn’t know aside from the kitchen staff. One of the reasons you took this job was to earn money and stay out of the way from rude and ignorant customers but yet here you are.

Eventually you found your courage and walked out, loitering behind the bar as you watched the main bar keep, a droid, serve drinks to those sitting at the bar. All you had to do apparently was collect glasses and pass drinks over to those at tables. Seemed easy enough.

You’re around twenty minutes in and everything seems to be going okay. Nobody spoke to you and let you do your thing but as you’re collecting some cups from a nearby table, your eyes catch a glimpse of a lone and tall figure sitting in a booth in the corner.

His head was looking down and you were certain that he was just a sleeping patron until you silently walked towards his table and began to clear the empty glasses from the previous patrons. The voice that came next sent an unpleasant or even pleasant chill up and down your arms. It was slightly modulated but very rich and very deep.

“I’ll have ma usual when you’re ready, sweet thing.”

You halted, hand only just touching a glass when you see him look up at you from under the brim of his hat. Once again, the chills came.

Blood red eyes penetrated your own seemingly average coloured ones. His skin was a cold looking blue and he donned a toothpick between his lips. You could see he was heavily armed and you definitely found that you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.

“S-sorry?” You rolled your eyes mentally at your stammer and stood straighter, placing the glass on a tray you were carrying round with you and watched as he craned his neck to the side. He’s watching you, deeply and intently and you had a horrible feeling that you were suddenly wearing no clothes like what happens in dreams.

“My usual. When you’re ready.” He drawled before twisting the toothpick around in his mouth and you grow hot under your collar as you see him smirk. “Sweet thing.”

You let out a shuddering breath you had not realised you were holding but quickly nodded and scuttered away behind the bar. It soon dawned on you that you didn’t realise what his usual ever was! Was it a drink? Food?

Since you had been on the floor you had not realised that the cantina recently got an onslaught of customers and so the bar was considerably busier than before.

You try to explain to the droid about the issue with the man in the corner but obviously he was busy with other orders and instead tells you how to infact make his drink.

It was a concoction of different liquors and mixers, most you had never heard of but nevertheless you made the drink. Was it in the right order? Was there enough ice? Too much? Too little? Did he even have ice?

You inspect your creation and just take a deep breath before walking back to the man. You had a feeling that he saw you coming because once in his eyeline, he sits up a little straighter and watches as you place the drink down in front of him.

He says nothing at first and instead stares at it for a moment too long for your liking. Oh no, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong your mind goes wild with negative thoughts. A breath is stuck in your throat as he raises the glass to his lips, takes a sip, a minute one, before placing it back down. “Interesting.”

You gulp. “Is everything okay… sir?”

He blinks up at you and again, tilts his head. “You’re new here, ain’t ya?”

Shifting in your spot you can only nod, tucking your now fidgeting fingers behind your back. “I wouldn’t say new. I’ve been here for around three months.” You reply after eventually finding your voice.

“Tha’s interestin’.” He says nothing more and you were unsure if you should leave or not.

You were nervous, no doubt about it. You were often reserved and a shy individual anyway so to have this dark yet alluring presence in front of you, you somehow couldn’t find yourself retreating. Then again, you definitely did not want to come across as rude. Then you thought about what he said and how it was apparently ‘interesting’ which piqued your curiosity.

“Interesting how?” It came out more cocky than it did curious so you felt yourself shrink into yourself and mumble a swift apology.

Instead, he ignores your question. “Do ya know who I am?”

Oddly enough, this sent chills down your spine. Should you? Should you not?

“Should I?”

He’s surprised to say the least but doesn’t let his face show it. As one of the most renowned bounty hunters in the galaxy, it was rare for Cad to come across someone who did not know him or better yet, someone he didn’t know. Which was why he was slowly getting intrigued by you.

He finally removes his toothpick away from his lips and lazily flicks it onto the table, resting both his arms over the back of the booth. “Nah. Best ya don’t.”

You’re both looking at each other and you watch him take another sip of his drink, arching his brow bone. “Did you make this?”

You nodded quickly and for a moment you swore he smiled. But, then he stopped and placed the drink back down. “I’ll leave ya to get back to work, darlin’. Don’t get into trouble on my account.”

For some reason you didn’t want to go back. By the way he talked it seemed like everything he said was a threat or condescending and you innocently none the wiser. You had wanted to ask again if the drink was okay, but you knew better than to prod at the customers so with your tail between your legs, you scurry back behind the bar and kept your head down.

Every now and then you’d glance up towards the stranger, just to see if he was there or had moved on and to your both horror and surprise, his gaze was trained on you. The chills were back but still you sweated under the collar and he raised his glass to you, almost cockily and you felt your legs shake.

Half hour passes and you’re wiping down the bartop when Melv marches out of the kitchen, past you and surprisingly towards the man in the corner. You tried not to be nosey but as your feet carried you to the other side of the bar where you were now considerably closer to the pair, you were well within ear-shot of the conversation.

From what you heard, this man was bad business. Very bad. A Bounty Hunter. One would think that they were good and to a degree they were; help keeping some safe from trouble they’ve gotten into but then again… sometimes it’s the latter.

You couldn’t tell much of what was being said but you were not too surprised to hear that Melv was in some kind of trouble. Big trouble.

“I need those credits by tonight. I’m done waitin’ round for ya to get your head out of the ground.” His voice was low and very dangerous. Obviously, Melv owed him money but you decided to keep wondering rather than ask. After all, he would probably fire you on the spot.

Eventually they moved onto something else and something quite boring so you occupied yourself by cleaning the glasses but when Melv began to question the drink Cad was having, you had two pairs of eyes on you.

“Oi! Get here now!” The glass in your hand almost shattered in your grasp as you jumped at your boss's rumbling voice. Your eyes are wide, horrified but do as you say and make your way over to the men with your heart in your throat.

“Did you make Mr. Bane this drink?”

Mr Bane. Great. He hates it. He thinks it’s foul and did not have the balls to tell me. Fucking Bounty Hunters. Like before, you tuck your hands behind your back to hide your fidgeting fingers and you nodded, not having the nerve to speak as of yet.

“Did you not think that should be left to the professionals? The ones I bloody hired for the job?” Melv raises his voice and you grow embarrassed as you begin to notice that other patrons were looking at the exchange.

You shift and look at Melv and this ‘Bane’. “The droid told me to make it because it was busy… I, uh, probably didn’t follow the correct recipe.” You breathe out shakily and you lock eyes with the other man. “I’m sorry you didn’t like it.”

Cad says nothing. Instead, he looked at the agitated Besalisk who was throwing daggers at you with his eyes. “See Bane, this is why I need to get outta here. Can’t have fools like this one keep messing this place up.” He gauffers, shaking his head. “They’re just a dishwasher anyway.”

The Duros slowly nods his head and then gazes back at you. “Why are ya behind the bar if your job is in the kitchen?” His question is not rude, not that you’re aware but he sounded genuinely curious.

Awkwardly, you pointed a finger to Melv for a second. “He told me to.” It was true, wasn’t it?

“I didn’t tell you to serve-.”

“Yes you did!”

Your temper had now risen and you felt no shame in snapping at your boss. All he did was ridicule you and treat you like the bantha dung under his feet. “You told me to ‘get serving’ because your other staff went off. I had no other choice.” You huffed, chest heaving a little as your anger flared up but you knew straight away that you would be fired before the night is done.

“Apologise.” Cad says aloud. He’s looking at you again, eyes a little narrower than before but his posture was much stiff.

“I’m sorry for snapping-.”

“Not you. Him.” Cad cocks his head to the side and that’s when Melv began to stutter in complete bewilderment.

“Me?! For what?!”

Cads eyes moved to him as Melv crossed all four arms over his chest like a petulant child that just had his sweeties stolen off him. “For lyin’ and trying to embarrass them.” He says simply and you watch in awe as he pulls a toothpick from his pocket and plops it into his mouth.

“R-right, well I forgot that I said that,” he rubs the back of his scaly head nervously but growls literally at you, “but Cad, I will not have staff ruin your day with a bad drink!” He tries to insist but the Duros leaned forward a little and swiped up the glass and took yet another swig of it.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like the drink. In fact, I like it made better this way.”

Both you and Melv pulled the same face; complete and utter shock.

“Y-you do?”

“YOU DO?” Melv was beside himself at this point. He was sweating and oh so nervous. It felt brilliant.

Cad nods. “Yah, I do. You just started to run your damn mouth.” His voice has raised this time and you see Melv flinch as if something had pressed into his back. “Now apologise.”

Melv hesitated, licking his lips and catching his shaking breath before he looked at you with none short of resentment and muttered, “Sorry.”

“Do ya forgive ‘im?” Cad then questions you, eyes intense.

“Nothing to forgive.” Oddly enough, you felt more confident in yourself but largely due to this Cad Bane. You were not one to hold grudges and it seemed that Melv had enough on his plate already than have Cad, whatever he intended to do with him, to deal with.

“Good… good. Get goin’ Melv and remember what I said. I want ma damn money.” Melv tumbled out of the booth and splat onto the floor and that’s when you see the blaster that had been pointed to his back be tucked away into a holster.

You step aside to let Melv hurry back to the kitchen and that’s when you turn back to Bane to see him stand, towering over you quite literally with a hand lazily resting on his weapons belt. “Ya alrigh’?”

You felt your mouth run dry at this sudden closeness, unaware of how unusual it is for Cad to be ‘friendly’. “Uh, yeah. Thanks for that but I think I may have no job in the morning.” You say with a soft yet nervous laugh.

The Duros hums in little amusement. “Nah. He won’t fire ya.”

“Did you actually like the drink I made you? You don’t have to lie to me.” Your tone was sort of hopeful and you watched as he grabbed the drink and swilled the rest of it down his throat and handed the glass over to you.

“I liked it a lot. Best I’ve had since I’ve been comin’ ‘ere.” He’s honest with you and likes the way your face lit up at the compliment. In fact, he liked it a lot.

You’re just staring at him at this point and once he cocks his brow as if to say ‘what you looking at?‘, you tell him you should go and get back to work.

“Very well but word of advice?”

“Sure.”

A sudden wave of warm shoots through your body as Cad tucks a finger under your chin and tilts your head up ever so slightly with an irritatingly attractive smirk on his lips. “Stop bein’ shy and jeep this sweet face up. You’re good at ya job.”

You’re bright red and you know you can’t hide it from him. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel the warmth of your face radiating under his touch. “I’m n-not sure about that.”

“Well be sure of it.” He’s stern with his words, touch a little more tense than before but it soon softens as he continues to say, “I wanna see ya workin’ out front again. And I want ya to make me that drink again.”

Breathing softly in awe you nod your head slowly. “Of course, Mr.Bane.”

He pulls away from you and subtly tips the brim of his hat to you. “Just Cad will do fine, sweetie. When I come back I also hope to take ya out one night. If you’ll have me?”

Not only has he saved your rear from getting fired but he’s given you advice, defended you against your boss and liked the drink you made him - but he was now asking you on a possible date? How more crazy can this shift get?!

“I’ll have to think about it.” You smile teasingly and he loves it, strives for it.

“Keepin’ me on ma toes? Love to see it…” he moves past you, hand ever so gently brushing against your arm and you liked to think it was something intimate for him.

𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁 𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙

Masterlist

Tags: @sporadicthingcollection @twistedstitcher27 @teletraan-meets-jarvis @jennamelinda12 @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell l @theroguesully y @equalityforcats @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri i @sadspring @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @ilovebadboys

[lucilleguinevere]

Sweet Mess

⌗ Some thinks he’s stupid, some think he’s smart. Some thinks he’s docile, and some think he’s an animal. But everyone can agree on one thing, he’s a beautiful man. Inside, and out.

𓆩⊹ Lookism x Male Reader fanfiction ⊹𓆪

Chapter 1

.the past.

Trigger Warnings: violence, murder, blood, gore, fighting, child assault, etc (you get the gist of it).

Word Count: 1,929 Words.

Note: A story that has been loitering around in my draft library! Lookism is a fandom I can always re-immerse myself in anytime, because it's both exciting and.. There are too many handsome men (๑•̀д•́๑) Like how??? Why??? Dude, marry me??? So anyway, I have a ton of Lookism fanfictions and I found this little guy again. I had re-edited it one time, and after a brief proofread by yours truly and some change of words, it was ready to go! I really liked the backstory of the Reader character, and I really wanted to keep it, so here it is! I figure I could combine it with my other idea together, and the result will come out clear soon. I'll stop my long ass story and let you all enjoy the first chapter! (It originally had a prologue but I thought it was a bit too dramatic so I didn't post it (￣∇￣))

⊹ “Bold with quotes: Chinese.”

⊹ ‘Italic with single quotes: inner thoughts.’

The wind was chilly, more chilly than usual. The people around walked in thick clothing, while a small boy walked in only thin clothes and shorts. He walked barefoot, homeless and in a daze. He’s used to living alone and surviving in the streets, but this was his first winter without his mother who would always nag him to use thicker clothes, even if they rarely contact each other. He wrapped his arms around his trembling body, huffing a breath before he widened his eyes, a puff of cloud in front of him as he exhaled shaky breaths. Soon enough, white snow came showering on the small town as people admired the snow. Winter had arrived. While the young children played in the snow with glee, the boy could only tremble as he thought of the worse; he had little to no clothes, even if he were to wrap in rugged rags like a taco, the cold would still be able to seep through.

Disappointment flashed in the boy’s gloomy eyes as he watched the snow fall. He sat down on a wooden box as he stared into the sky, he had been hoping it wouldn’t snow, but the gods decided to go against his wish. Why are they so cruel to a victim like him?

“Hey!!” A female voice rang out, alerting the boy as he looked to the streets, where a pretty girl and a handsome boy were standing beside each other, the girl waving her hand his way. “Hey you!! Yes, you!! Come over here!!” The girl called, gaining attention from a few people nearby who looked at her as if she had a screw loose— maybe she does. The boy held a sigh as he got on his feet and walked his way towards the girl, what could she possibly want from him?

As he approached the two, he managed to examine their features better, the girl had dirty blonde hair and black doe eyes, her lips curved into a sweet, mischievous smile. Looking at the boy beside her, he had a handsome face, black hair and black eyes, a cold expression as his black eyes held affection for the girl beside him. “I like you! You’re pretty! Are you a girl??” She started, bombarding the boy with questions. Pretty? Him? In worn out clothes with a probably dirty face, pretty? His mother used to call him an ugly bastard with a smile, as if it was funny, but he didn’t understand. His face scrunched up in confusion, “..I’m a boy.” The boy finally answered, making the girl freeze as the boy beside him raised an eyebrow.

“Y-You are?!! Whatever, anyway, wanna work for me? My family’s rich and you can—” The girl started her ramble about how her family is a powerful family in China, but the boy couldn’t care less. After he waited and ignored everything she said, with a poker face, he said. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I don’t meet the requirements to work for your family. Please excuse me.” His immediate response stunned the girl as he walked away, leaving the two alone as he wandered off.

He walked up to one of the food stalls and the smell of food hit his senses, his stomach grumbled in hunger as he passed the stall, a wicked plan forming a shape in his mind as he looked around. With his dirty hands, he sneaked up near one of the stalls and whisked away one of the dangos, hiding it in his clothing as he passed by as if nothing had happened. He kept a calm face as he passed by, walking further and further away out of sight. No one would realize what happened to one, missing dango. As he chomped on it, eating it as fast as he could, he hid away, his mind drifting off to the girl in expensive clothing.

‘She must be the daughter of a noble, so arrogant and spoiled. Does she not know she could get into trouble, shouting out how her family is powerful and rich?’ The boy thought to himself as he finished his dango, a small group of thugs passed by, a dirty and evil grin plastered on their faces as they passed by, not bothering to whisper about their plans and findings. “I heard a small girl shout out about how influential her family is. She’s a pretty one too, did you look at her clothes? That’s some high quality silk over there, I’m sure she isn’t lying. Bet she’d sell for quite a fortune, especially that boy beside her.” The thug spoke to his friend, who lit up his cigarette. His face disinterested as he leaned against the wall. “Guess we can take ‘em, keep yer eyes on ‘em. Strike when they least suspect it.” The other spoke, telling the thug what to do as he nodded. They discussed a bit more before dispersing, unsuspecting of a boy who eavesdropped— no, overheard their conversation. The boy thought of warning the two, but shrugged it off of his mind, it wasn’t his business.

Besides, it was her own fault. No smart or sane person would shout out about their family's position without any bodyguards. Unless that boy beside him is a bodyguard? Who knows, it's none of his business. The boy stood up and sneaked away, looking for people who looked like pushovers to beg for their money. He eventually found some, getting a few yen, and bought himself better clothing. Of course, on discount. When people pity you or underestimate you, you're guaranteed an upper hand. You can save money, and have a bigger winning chance in fighting. After winning a sum of money from betting, he walked through the snow which was building up on the streets, his once barefoot now covered in a pair of cheap shoes. At least he feels more warm now. As he walked around in the uncomfortable clothing, he heard shouting and cries, as well as the clashes of melee weapons. He calmly approached the source of the noises, peeking his head out to see what was happening. It was the two kids he met just moments ago, the girl laying on the snow, tears falling down her eyes as the boy held his ground, his face covered in blood, and so was his spear. The only thugs left were the two who planned it all in the beginning. The boy watched as the thug managed to defeat the boy, getting him on his knees as the girl crawled over to him, cradling him as she glared furiously at the two thugs. "Please!! I'll go with you, so please spare him!" She begged the two thugs, who simply snickered.

"Did you think we're stupid? We may not receive the same education as you, but we're not that stupid. You are coming with us, and this boy is going to go down in the lake." The thug said, his grin greedy and lustful as he eyed the little girl who cried even harder, the boy gripped the little girl's hand as he stood up again, wobbling. Before he could grab his spear, the other thug sighed before kicking him in the stomach harshly, sending him backwards and lying on his back. His breathing became ragged, his chest rising and falling at a fast pace, he tried to catch his breath, but it's obvious he was too injured to even focus on protecting the girl. The thug grabbed the girl by her hair and picked her up, her feet dangling above the ground, his hand gripped around her neck, squeezing it. The boy watched it all happen, but his heart, his morality was screaming to do something because he can. He could do something. The boy sighed as he looked around for a weapon. His eyes landed upon a thin, metal pipe. It's end sharpened.

"You.. Le-t go of h-er this instance!" The boy laying on the ground on his stomach coughed and gasped for breath as he glared daggers at the thug holding the girl, his voice cracked as he growled and snarled at the thugs. He was choking her, his grin twisted devilishly as he did it for entertainment, watching the girl suffocate. The other thug approached the boy, smoking his cigarette, bent down to take a hold of him, but then a sudden blow of pain bloomed in his eye, and the feeling of warm liquid flowed down his cheek. His other eye widened in horror as he realized what happened, "Ah.. AAAHHHHHH!!!!" A metal pipe had pierced his eye, and the boy with dirt smudged on his face pulled the pipe out before raising it up and slamming it down on the thug's head, making him collapse. Whether he was dead or not, the boy did not care. The ravenette looked up in surprise to see the rude boy from earlier to look at the thug he just attacked, his glum eyes flashed with disgust as he approached the other thug who looked at him in interest. "Oh? You killed him? Well, no matter. I won't have to share the loot with anyone else then. So, I bid you my thanks." He grinned, showing off one of his golden teeth, his eyes flashed with a twisted look as he approached the boy, dropping the girl who was gasping for air on the pavement and left her behind.

"I say we fight—" Before he could finish, the boy striked, but this time, he didn't aim for the thug's eyes nor his head. But his balls. He tried stabbing it, but the thug was prepared, "Holy shit! You didn't hesitate—!!" Ignoring his surprised remark, the boy stabbed his leg, making him hold a shout of pain as he dropped to one leg. "You—" Without waiting for the thug to finish, the boy immediately pierced the thug's throat, making him cough out blood from his mouth as the metal pipe went through his thick neck. The boy pulled the metal out, blood matter spewing out everywhere, and even on his new clothes. The boy then threw the pipe away, noticing that the girl went to the black haired boy, looking up at him with fear and slight awe. The boy had the same look in his eyes, added with respect. "...What's your name?" The girl asked, her voice laced with curiosity. The boy kneeled down on one leg, and fished out an antibiotic his mother got him once. "M/n." He answered, looking into the girl's and the boy's eyes. His eyes held curiosity as he blinked, his cheeks splattered with blood.

But even so, he still looked chaotically pretty. "What's yours?" He asked in return as he examined the boy's hand, which were calloused and scratched. "My name is Vivi and he’s my bodyguard, Shaorung." The girl answered, with a small smile adorning her face. Her cheeks dusted with slight pink when M/n reached to touch her snow white skin, the feeling of cold surprising the girl as he put antibiotic on the scratch on her cheek. "So you said something about working under you?" M/n asked, recalling the first time the girl, known as Vivi called for him. His words made the girl's eyes widened, her heart thumping louder in her ears as she stared at the boy in front of her.

It was winter, and in that season, something sweet had bloomed among the red colored snow. It was also the beginning of his story. Of their story and how they meet each other. It was random and absolutely coincidental,

It was fate.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

[helpimhyperfixating]

Photos And Crushes p3 !!! 😫😫 I love the first two so much :,)

Thank you both so much! It means a lot that you liked it given its one of my favourite works I’ve made >w<

So originally PaC was meant to be just that two parter, but then my brain said “horny time 😏” and I decided to make a 3rd part so that I could fit in a smut XD

However… sadly after writing the entire chapter out, my phone glitched and everything on it got wiped, including the last chapter, leaving me with only an old draft. I kinda lost steam after that because I was so sad. Felt like everything that I rewrote was worse than the original

But I still plan to finish it someday!! I have a big chunk (like 2/3) rewritten! So yes, here is the start of the third chapter as a sneak peek ;3

This is not smut btw so its safe to read

-

Walking around town, Jotaro sighed. It was good to breathe fresh air again after he had been unable to leave the house for three days thanks to his grandfather and mother not letting him leave because of his injury.

Had it been just his mother he would have been able to just brush past, but the same could not be said for Joseph Joestar. The man was built like a brick house despite his age and would thus easily overpower Jotaro now that he was missing the full use of his left side.

It was just that… the young Kujo wanted to see you.

After getting shot and him taking you home, he hadn’t seen you due to being stuck inside. Especially after what happened in the forest though, he really wanted to. You never even properly got to talk it out.

“Hey, mister! Mr. Jotaro!” A young voice suddenly sounded from his left and the man nonchalantly turned, seeing Jack and Tommy running at him while waving their hands.

Jotaro scowled a bit, having preferred if they addressed him a little more formally - he wasn’t their friend after all - but it’s kids, what can you do.

“What is it.” He asked as he leaned his right side into the fence he was standing next to, Jack and Tommy’s eyes falling to the sling his arm was wrapped in, the left side of his trenchcoat just draped over his shoulder, leaving the sleeve empty.

“Whoa, what happened?!”

“I got shot.” Jotaro deadpanned and the boys’ eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

“You did?! D-Did it hurt?” Jack nearly yelled that out and Jotaro barely managed to stifle an annoyed groan.

“Yes. Now what did you call me for.” It was a demand, not a question and the boys quickly snapped back on track.

“Right! Have you seen Ms. Y/N?” Tommy piped up and Jotaro furrowed his brows.

“Not in three days. Why?” He asked, a little suspicious.

“W-Well, we were supposed to have a lesson yesterday, but she never showed up...”

That caught Jotaro’s attention. For, you never missed a lesson. Teaching those kids was the highlight of your week, much to his past chagrin. So, to hear you missed a lesson? With no prompt or explanation as to why? That sat wrong with the man in black.

“We’ve been asking around if anyone knows where she is but no one has seen her.” Jack now spoke and Jotaro kissed his teeth, mulling things over as he straightened up.

“I was headed to her house anyways. I’ll see what’s up.” Jotaro informed the boys just out of courtesy, since they did come to him for help after all.

“We’ll come with you!” They perked up but Jotaro scoffed.

“Fuck no. Go do whatever it is that you do, I don’t want to have you snot-nosed brats loitering around.”

“O-Oi! What did you call us?!” Jack called out, offended, but Jotaro just raised a brow.

“You heard me. Leave me be.” With that, he turned on his axis and started walking, continuing down the street he was before the kids showed up.

Yet a worry spiked in his mind and gut. His eyes drifted to his left arm and his breath hitched slightly. The sheriff had informed Jotaro they caught the two guys, but they were part of a gang. Would the others come after you?

His thoughts took up so much of his time that he didn’t even realise he was already standing in front of your house.

Looking up at it it seemed.... empty.

Quickly crossing the small path to the door, Jotaro knocked.

No response.

He tried again, this time a little firmer, yet still no response.

Deciding ‘fuck it’ he walked around the back, having to hop two fences before he reached the back door. It did not have a lock and Jotaro knew that so he simply twisted the doorknob and opened the door, stepping inside a moment later.

The entire house was dark and cold, some items strewn and flung about, but only a few.

“Y/N?” He called out, just in case, but as he expected, no answer came.

Something on the dining table suddenly caught his attention and he walked up to it.

It was a paper, something written on it in your handwriting though a lot messier, as if you were writing it in a hurry before being pulled away at the end, the pencil dragging over the paper and leaving a messy line.

Turning it around to face himself, Jotaro read your note.

‘Aunt sick

Gone f-‘

After that it was already illegible and Jotaro lifted his head, scanning the room once more. There really was no sign of either you or your family and so he turned around to walk out of the house, hopping the fences once more as he held the note still in his hand and read it a few times more.

So your aunt was sick and you went to visit her? If you couldn’t even visit him to say or even leave a proper letter, only this messy note, then you had to have been dragged off by your parents in a hurry. Was it that bad? Or was this a coverup and did that gang actually come after you? No, why would they just take you and not leave a ransom note or something. It couldn’t be that.

“I figured I’d see you snooping around here at some point, Mr. Kujo.” A crackly male voice suddenly said and Jotaro looked up from the paper in his hand to see an elderly couple looking at him from the house next door.

Jotaro creased his brow in question at them, not having a clue who they were or what they wanted and the woman chuckled, now speaking up. “Next time, don’t just break into someone else’s house. You can simply ask around. I saw them leaving in a right hurry three days ago. Wagon loaded and storming off.”

Looking back down at the paper, Jotaro’s suspicions about you being dragged off by your parents were now confirmed and he curtly nodded at the couple, stuffing your note in his pocket and turning back into town, walking away.

And just like that, two weeks passed.

[astridthevalkyrie]

A Scene Popped Into My Head But Instead Of Writing A Whole AU I'm Just Going To Write That One Scene <3

---> Scene Capture Fics Masterlist

---> Today's Feature: Pining Best Friend Levi Part 2!

---> Part 1

---> a/n: he's back! i can't get best friend levi out of my head, y'all, he's too adorable. also, tumblr deleted the first draft of this so :)))) fuck me i guess. i ended up rewriting it after all, and i kinda like this version more anyways. this levi listens to what makes you beautiful on repeat, he is a menace to society and my heart

A few hard thumps on the door and some shrill rings from the doorbell knock him out of his stupor. Setting down the glass of apple cider, Levi walks to the door and opens it, brows raising ever so slightly when he sees you, out of breath and wrapped up in your favorite coat that he knows you only wear for nights out with your friends.

Without wasting another second, you've thrown yourself at him, arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hug that he returns with a soft sigh. His hands gently rest against your back, one finger wrapping around a lock of your hair.

"Over text?" you seethe, clutching his turtleneck tightly. "Is she serious?"

It's more than what he deserves, honestly, dating someone when he's pathetically in love with you. Although it's not like that's the reason Kathryn dumped him, apparently it's because he doesn't know how to express himself. You don't share your feelings with me, so why should I share mine with you? Have a nice life, Levi.

Just to spite her, he's going to make sure he has a miserable life from now on.

He doesn't even answer you. He's too busy taking in the pine scent of your coat, wondering why he even bothered trying to move on when just the sight of you makes him forget why you're even here. A breakup, he's supposed to be heartbroken. "It doesn't matter. Weren't you out getting boba with Erwin and Mike?"

"Yes, but you take priority." Something squeezes his chest hearing you say it so easily and earnestly. "So, how does a rewatch of National Treasure sound? You still have that strawberry ice cream, don't you? Unless you'd rather take me shopping," you tease, referencing what he'd done when your asshole of a date had stood you up one time.

Does it make him a bad person to see it as a date? Is it terrible that he doesn't want to sit around moping about a girl he's not going to miss?

"Yeah, actually, I would." Carefully, he buttons up the first button on your coat, covering your chin and leaving you peering at him with wide eyes. Fucking adorable. "Come on, I'll treat you to a hoodie or something."

"What? No! I was kidding, Levi, I'm not letting you splurge on me when you just got dumped."

Splurge is a bit of a rich word for someone who never actually buys anything. The most you leech off him is the ice cream that you two end up eating outside the mall on the hood of his car. Loitering! you always cry dramatically, as he warns you not to let any of the melting treat drip on his car.

He slides his hand in yours, and the warmth seeps through from your glove into his palm, creeping up his neck. "I don't mind. And I don't really wanna rewatch National Treasure for the hundredth time either."

"Well, we could watch Speed instead!"

"Hey," he says firmly, "let me take you shopping."

Levi sidesteps you, reaching for the closet door to take out his gloves and coat. But right when his hand closes around the doorknob, his breath hitches.

You've snaked your hands around his chest, resting your cheek against the nape of his neck. Barely contained shivers run down his back at the contact, and the simple black turtleneck does little to muffle the loud beating of his heart in his chest.

"She doesn't know what she gave up," you murmur, "you make for a great boyfriend, Lev."

Sometimes Levi wonders if he's not the only one infected by this dangerous feeling.

But he quickly pushes that thought out of his head, closing his palm around your fingers and pressing his lips to your knuckles. Not a kiss, just a slight acknowledgement. Something just between the two of you. "Ready?" he asks.

He can feel you smile against his neck. "Ready."

Oh, Hange will never let him live this one down.

[helliontherapscallion]

Shenanigans and Love (Adrenaline Junkie Part 13)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: the Warden, mentions of death, phantom pain syndrome, extreme fluff

Word count: 3,226

The light glow of the redstone lamp illuminated your work space. Currently, it was about two hours before everybody was due to wake up and you were hovering over your journal containing your notes on the Warden. Not much was known about the cave-dwelling creature, but you found a couple of books about it at the library. So far, you found out that it indeed didn’t have eyes; it navigated via a mixture of hearing and a vibration network found in the blocks that had the glowing tentacles on them (you now knew that they were called ‘sculk blocks’). The sculk blocks would pick up on movement or touch, it would send vibration waves through the air, where it would reach the Warden’s own sculk stalks. Without the sculk stalks on the Warden’s head, the Warden was defenseless.

You also read about the anatomy of the creature. Known juvenile specimens ranged from seven to eleven feet tall while adults spanned from twelve to a whopping twenty feet tall. While their average lifespan is unknown due to the parasitic nature of the beast, it is known that they are out of their juvenile stage once they are approximately twenty years old. Thinking back on the one in the cave, it was about twice as tall as you were. That was a juvenile mob and it’s probably grown rapidly since then. The thing that killed you so viciously was a juvenile. You shuddered thinking about what an adult could do.

Juveniles are charted to be more erratic in their decisions while adults were known to be calculating and alert. Known weaknesses were known to be the sculk stalks and the heart. It was going to be incredibly difficult to take it down by yourself, but if worse comes to worse, you’d gladly take the beast down with you. Just in case, you left behind a small will with things you were planning on giving to your family. You were going to leave your workshop and your blueprints to Arthur, your collection of diamonds to Tommy and Wilbur, your stock of netherite and gold to Technoblade, and your wealth and life savings to Philza. You requested that Philza take care of Arthur, you couldn’t ask for a better father figure to have than Philza. Only the best for Arthur. In addition, you had a letter prepared for every member of your family. They were still in their first drafts, but they were coming along fast. In them, you detailed how grateful you were for every single one of them and reminisced on your favorite memory you shared with them. You still had about a week and a half left before you planned on attacking the cave, but you always liked to have extra time to complete things.

Your alarm clock sounded with harsh, lazer like beeps before you quickly silenced it. You didn’t need Arthur or Philza waking up so early. Sighing, you hid your journal and letters under a false bottom drawer and gently closed it. You trudged up the stairs quietly and made your way to the bathroom to shower for the day. When you took off your prosthetic, you could feel the phantom pains shoot up your nonexistent wing. In addition to that, the feathered stump and the areas around it felt stiff. The warmth of the shower did nothing to alleviate the pain.

After your shower, you started to make breakfast. Soon after, the other members of the household filed into the kitchen with differing energies. Arthur, the hyper, knowledge craving kid he was, walked into the kitchen with a bounce in his step and his head held high while Philza followed him with disheveled hair and tired blue eyes. With breakfast situated at the table, everyone started eating. You continuously shifting uncomfortably in your seat didn’t go unnoticed by the two as they eyed you after they woke up a little more.

Finally having enough of your constant movement, Philza finally spoke up, “(y/n)?” You hummed, turning to look at him, “yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

You suddenly become hyper aware of your movements as you force your body to sit still. “Everything’s fine, why you ask?”

“You look a little uncomfortable. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

You sighed, “I’ll tell you later. Arthur did you have anything specific you wanted to learn today?”

His eyes shone with the brightness of all of the stars in the universe as he made quick work to swallow his mouthful of toast, jumping in his seat slightly as he chewed. “Yes! I was wondering if you could teach me how to work with comparators!”

“That takes a lot of time and patience to learn, we probably won’t get it all done by the end of the day today. Is that alright?” He enthusiastically nodded, shoving the last bit of toast in his mouth and running off with a mouthful of unchewed bread.

You could feel a slight worry stab your gut, “Arthur, swallow your food before you run! You could choke!”

You watched as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, vigorously chewed, swallowed, and resumed his sprint upstairs. You dragged a tired hand through your hair and sipped at your coffee.

“Ender, now I know how you felt with us when we were kids. Kid’s gonna be the death of me.”

Your dad chuckled, sipping at his own coffee. “He’s a lot more tame than you four were. Techno and Wilbur weren’t that bad, you were just a tad bit more chaotic, and well, you remember how Tommy was. You’re just way too worried about him. Kids will be kids, they do crazy things and sometimes you can’t stop them. After the couple months of adopting Tommy, I just let him learn from his mistakes. You gotta let them learn from their mistakes or else they’re never gonna learn. It’s just something all parents have to do if they want their kid to grow as a person.”

“That’s tr- wait, parent? Arthur’s my protégé, not my kid.”

He smirked over his mug and raised an eyebrow at you, “really? Cuz you seem awfully worried about him.”

“Dad. I’m just worried that he’s gonna accidentally kill himself. What, can I not be worried about my protégé?”

“No need to get defensive, just trying to point out the obvious-”

“The obvious? Dad, I'm only twenty. I’m not adopting anyone anytime soon.”

“I adopted Techno when I was twenty three,” he pointed out with raised eyebrows, “besides, I think you’d be a great parent. You’re already a parental figure for Arthur anyways, so nothing would change too much.”

You were silent for a moment as you stared at him blankly. You never viewed yourself as a parental figure type before. Your current lifestyle of never leaving your workshop would never be able to accommodate having someone that depended on you. You could hardly take care of a goldfish (you still had Bubbles’ grave in the backyard at your house in L’manberg), let alone an entire human child. Sure, you babysat Fundy when Niki was too busy to, but that was your nephew and it was only for a day at a time. You planned on taking Arthur with you back to L’manberg (only if he wanted to of course), but you didn’t think that far ahead. He was probably going to have to stay at your house. You weren’t cut out to be a parent, you wouldn’t be good enough for Arthur.

Philza, noticing your slightly panicked zoned out state, quickly reassured you, “you don’t have to make a definitive decision right now, you have time. Just- just consider it. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to come to me. I think I’ve raised enough kids to know what I’m doing,” he chuckled to himself.

Your feathered wing dropped in relief as you gave him your best smile over your coffee mug. “Thanks Dad, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you, you’re a lifesaver.” Right after that, a particularly large burst of pain shot along the length of your nonexistent right wing and loitered in the area around the base of your wing. You bit your tongue at the sudden pain as you felt the muscles twitch.

“It’s no problem, I’ll always be here to help ya.” He smiled at you before his eyes snapped to something behind you. His smile dropped as he eyed you concerningly, pointing behind you. “Is- is it supposed to do that?”

You followed his eyes behind you to your prosthetic wing. The metal was twitching in sporadic bursts with varying intensity. You could hear the slight scratching of the metal clashing lightly against the wooden chair. Though it was very inconvenient, you supposed you should be glad that it was moving with the muscle impulses of the muscles you used in flight. Suddenly, you could feel a muscle directly on the base of your wing twitch as the metal moved in tandem with the impulse. The entire wing extended to it’s full length and knocked over the chair next to you. It stood erect for a bit before another twitch caused another spasm that worked its way throughout the length of your metal wing. This time, the wing reared back to your body and almost smacked you in the face. If you didn’t move, your eye would’ve probably been plucked out by one of the metal feathers.

Your flesh wing puffed up slightly in embarrassment as you turned to look back at the blond man in front of you, “technically? I mean, it’s just the sensors picking up on the twitching. I-I’ll get the chair.”

As you stood up, you grunted in pain as another spasm hit you. This time, your wing extended fully perpendicularly to your back causing the muscles in the base of your nubby wing to be pulled unexpectedly. Hissing, your hand shot to rub at the base of your wing. “Fuck that was a bad one.”

You heard the screech of wood on wood as Philza stood up and hurried over to you, dodging a couple of swings from your wing. His hands were hovering indecisively in front of him. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Take it off. Just- hhh, just take the sensors off. There should be seven of them, all on my back and shoulders.” You bent over with your hands gripping the table with each spasm of your muscles. You could feel the fabric of your shirt being pulled slightly from your body and the warmth of your dad’s hand brushing against your twitching skin as he hurriedly ripped the sensors off your skin.

Once they were all off, the metal wing drooped limply downwards, occasionally being moved slightly when what’s left of the flesh stiffened. “Good, can you unfasten the belts? There’s three of them, they’re a little- ah, a little tricky. After that, carefully pull the metal out through the slit in my shirt. Make sur- sure the sensors don’t rip.”

You sighed when you felt the wing being taken off from you and pulled through the slit in your shirt. Slumping back down into your chair, you reached a hand around to nead the skin on your back. You could feel the twitching slowly decrease in intensity, leaving a sore feeling in its wake. Your wing was placed gently onto the table in front of you, some parts hanging off the side. “Goddamn, I haven’t had an episode that bad since I grinded out making weapons for the War.”

You could hear water running before a glass was placed in front of you and Philza picked up the chair you knocked over and pulled it up next to you. He started to rub circles around the muscles around your wing. You sighed in content, feeling the knots in your back being relieved, “thanks. That feels good.”

“(y/n)?” A small voice said from the doorway of the kitchen. You shot up and bit back a groan when your sore muscles were moved. The young boy was leaning into the doorway with his hands on the sides and his mop of brilliant copper hair hung downwards. He looked worried and slightly scared.

“Hey Arthur, we can start your lesson soon, I just need a sec.”

“Are you okay?” His wavering tone and small voice combined with the tears slowly filling his eyes broke your heart. Eyes softening, you stood up and walked over to him, pulling him into a soft hug. “Of course I’m okay, you don’t need to worry buddy,” you deepened your voice and spoke dramatically, ‘(Y/n) Minecraft the Great, Conqueror of the Unknown’ will never be taken down!”

He gave a watery chuckle against your shirt and burrowed his head deeper into your shoulder, gripping you tighter. You reached up to stroke his hair and wrapped your left wing around him loosely, shielding him from the world with a protective feathery barrier. You could hear Philza picking up dishes from the table and quietly start to do the dishes. Despite the occasional twitch in your back and the phantom pain shooting down your wing, you directed all of your attention to Arthur. Eventually, he pulled away and wiped at his blotchy face. “Are you still up for the lesson?”

Just as Arthur opened his mouth, Philza interrupted him from behind you, “you’re not doing anything until you feel better (y/n).”

“Dad, honestly it isn’t that-”

“Don’t say it honestly isn’t that bad, we both know that’s not true. You’re on bedrest for today.”

You grumbled to yourself as you stood up and handed your glass of water to Arthur, who sipped at the contents giving you a small “thank you.” Nodding, you were escorted out of the kitchen by Philza and ushered to the couch. Once you were laying down on your stomach, he handed you a book and placed a hot water bottle on your back. Before you could stop it, a pleased hum left your lips as your body relaxed on the couch. “You’re staying here. I better not find you anywhere else when Arthur and I come home.”

You lifted your head up and stared at him with an eyebrow raised, “where’re you taking him?”

The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes lit up slightly before he put on his stern facade once more. “Just to the village. I need to pick up a few things.”

“And you need him why…?”

“Well, I can’t go without someone helping me! I’m an old man after all.” He started to nudge Arthur towards the door and slipped his shoes on.

“You’re only thirty six, but whatever. Arthur, be good for my dad.”

“Alright (y/n), feel better soon!” He gave you a bright smile before he was pulled out of the house by Philza.

You tried to read, but the nagging worry for Arthur in the back of your mind never allowed for you to be immersed in your book. You knew Philza would never let anything happen to him, but you couldn’t help but worry whenever Arthur wasn’t in your line of sight. You supposed that it was a part of being an avian hybrid; you needed to constantly know if the child was alright. You tried to force yourself to go to sleep, but the pain prevented you from doing so, so you ended up mindlessly watching the seconds tick by on the clock. Before you knew it, your eyes closed and you were put in a light slumber.

You were awoken by the front door opening and laughter filling the house. You cracked open your crusty eyes and groaned as you sat up. You looked at the two with bleary eyes. Arthur was laughing at something Philza said as the blond looked over at you. “Hey hun, you feelin better?”

“Yeah a bit. What’d you get at the village?”

“Just some things for dinner. Arthur, wanna help me cook?”

Arthur, being the walking ball of sunshine that he was, nodded vigorously and started to drag the older man to the kitchen. Furrowing your brow, you called out to them, “do you want me to help?”

“No, stay there. Don’t come in!” Arthur’s excited voice shouted back to you, making you raise a brow at his words. You couldn’t lie, you felt nervous at his words. Just what did he have in store for you? Occasionally, you could hear yelps and bangs, which made you want to go into the kitchen even more. But you held off, trusting Philza.

About an hour and a half passed before you were summoned to the kitchen by an overly excited Arthur. Once in the kitchen, you were in slight awe. Spread out on the table was your favorite meal with the addition of fresh cookies left to cool on the stovetop. “All this for me?”

They smiled at you as Arthur ushered you to your spot at the table. “I… don’t know what to say. I- thank you guys.”

“Don’t thank me, it was all Arthur’s idea. I just helped.” Philza looked over at the blushing boy with a smile.

You reached over to ruffle his hair, “well, thank you Arthur. You know me too well, these are all my favorites!”

The boy bashfully smiled at you, “there’s something else too, but that’s for after dinner.”

You put a hand against your heart, touched, “Two surprises in one day? Ender, you’re spoiling me!” Arthur laughed at you.

Dinner went by fast with light-hearted laughter bouncing throughout the kitchen. The dinner and cookies tasted amazing, your taste buds felt like they were in heaven. After dinner, Arthur drug you to your room with an excited Philza following you two. On your bed sat your wing, but it had colorful things attached to the surface. Furrowing your brow, you looked closer to find various magnets sticking to the iron surface.

They ranged from the nonbinary flag to small mobs to little puns (your favorite ones were ‘olive you’ and ‘bird puns fly right over my head’). You could feel your smile widening at every magnet you saw, your wing fluttering in happiness. One of the magnets made you stop completely though as you stared at it with wide eyes. It was simple, but oh did it make your heart sing in joy and your eyes fill with tears. On the magnet, in big, bold letters were the words ‘world’s best parent’.

“Arthur…” You looked at him through blurred vision. He looked nervous, looking anywhere but at you and shifting on the balls of his feet. You lunged forward and pulled him into a tight hug and wrapped your wing around him, making sure he was as close to you as possible.

Philza watched the exchange with a soft smile before he decided to let you two have some privacy. His heart was full of happiness as he walked downstairs to clean up the kitchen with a bounce in his step and his wings fluttering uncontrollably. He was ecstatic to officially welcome Arthur to his family. Sure, he had a small hand in leading Arthur over to the ‘world’s best parent’ magnet, but it was Arthur that picked out the magnet for you. He knew you were going to make a fantastic parent.

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[laventadorn]

hold this for me 1/?

here’s a rough draft of the first 1k or so of hand-holding ficlet... it’s almost 4k now and i’m still going (how far will it go?? who knows, not this chick) and that’s after i scrapped a bunch of stuff at the end and revised bc it was going off in a direction i didn’t know what to do with h e l p 

soooo bc my act has gone on the road i’m posting some as a teaser (*´▽`*)

this is set during winter break of year 6

❖

The cold was sharp and biting, the sky craggy with dark clouds. Harriet, bundled up in her heavy winter cloak, followed the trench Snape had crushed in the snow as he walked ahead. Snow powdered on the black cloak hem, crunched beneath his boots; her breath hung cloudy in the air. The world was silent except for those breathing sounds, the breaking of snow and the settling of branches in the dark mass of the forest ahead. 

Snape turned his head a little, one black eye peering over his shoulder, past strings of his hair. She smiled, reflexively. He whipped forward again, as if pretending he hadn’t been caught looking back at her. She saw the tip of his ear turn red and grinned. 

Jogging a little, she closed the gap. He didn’t look around, but he shifted the basket on his arm. Since she knew he didn’t register discomfort until something like his leg was about to fall off, he wasn’t moving it to find a better position. This was a fidget. 

She hummed a little tune to herself, pleased. Snape let out a breath, like it was too much work to sigh. She grinned. 

“If we were here to find anything that required stealth,” he said, his voice curling in the air like fog, “you’d be making all our work useless.”

“You wouldn’t have brought me if you needed stealth. Although, I can be perfectly sneaky.”

“Sneaky is not the same thing as circumspect,” he said dryly. 

“Well, we’re just here for plants anyway.” 

“Some plants require stealth in order to approach. Which you’d know, if you paid attention in Herbology,” he said, like the swot he was. This would be the sort of snotty grown-up observation that would completely kill the mood if Hermione didn’t also say the same thing all the time (only more nicely). 

“Gosh, how will my ego survive with you trashing my Herbology marks,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

They’d come to the edge of the forest, into the shadow of the trees, the forest gloom folding over them. 

“These are Frost Blooming Drops,” said Snape, still swotty. “They grow quite a distance inside the forest. If you get cold, you’re a witch.”

“I’m all set.” She patted her cloak pocket, where a jar of Hermione’s little bluebell flames warmed her ribs. 

“And don’t wander off. We use the Forbidden Forest as a defense boundary for a very good reason.”

“I’ll be clingy,” she promised. 

“Hm.” Snape’s gaze slanted along his gaunt cheekbones, then swept forward again. She smiled and followed him beneath the enfolding branches of the snow-crusted trees. 

The thing with Snape was, you had to filter everything through a translator. There was normal-person speech, which would express concern by asking “Are you warm enough?” However, Snape-speech was, “If you get cold, you’re a witch.” After all, if he didn’t care, he’d have waited until she was already freezing before saying anything. 

There was also this whole outing. Yesterday Snape had actually showed up at lunch, sat next to Slughorn (who was on Harriet’s left), and made noise about going into the Forbidden Forest to collect some rare seasonal flowers. It was a very long walk; the flowers weren’t even very useful, hardly seen in any potions you would use except twice every five years; pretty much a waste of time to bother collecting them. He’d go early so he could get there and back before dark. 

This was clearly an invitation; he wasn’t even the Potions professor this year, and Slughorn’s attitude had clearly wondered why anyone would be so mental. So Harriet had bundled up this next morning after breakfast and loitered near the empty Quidditch Pitch until Snape turned up with a basket over his arm. His face passed through some interlocking expressions that she couldn’t decipher, but all he said was, “Walk behind me,” and crunched a path through the snow. This, too, was Snape-concern: if he made a path, she didn’t have to. 

The snow in the forest wasn’t as deep, so she could walk next to him. He kept fidgeting with his basket. She smiled to herself. 

It might work in her favor that he was twitchy about something. She had a plan, and she might be able to get away with it if he was too distracted to see it coming. 

“So what potions do these flowers go into?”

“What do you think Frost Blooming Drops would be used for?” he retorted, which she interpreted as a desire to have a conversation. Good; it saved her the trouble of pestering him for one. 

“Minty fresh breath?” She smirked. 

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “I should know better than to ask you Potions trivia.”

“Probably,” she said peaceably. Her middling marks seemed to genuinely irk him, although now that he was her Defense professor and she was his top student, he didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Sometimes he seemed downright helpless. 

“So, what do they do?” she asked again. 

“One of them does give you the power to expel frozen breath.”

She squinted. “You’re making that up.”

“Would I?” he asked blandly. 

Right, a double agent who never made things up; that was believable. “What would you need frozen breath for?”

“You tell me.”

“Mmm. It’s hot out, and you want a cold drink?”

“Yes, for a wizard it would be far more sensible to mix a potion to cool the breath than to simply conjure ice.”

She grinned. “Which is why I’m saying you made it up.”

“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to trap me into admitting anything,” he said, affecting boredom. She knew it was fake because he was picking at a sticking-out bit of weave on his basket with a split fingernail. 

She pointed a mittened finger at him. “So you do admit something.”

There was a glint in his eye, but his voice was still bland and his expression smooth. “I speak generally.”

“Yeah, sure. C’mon, don’t you want me to learn something about potions for real?”

He gave her a look: I-know-what’s-in-your-head-and-it-most-certainly-isn’t-potions. “If I thought it wouldn’t go in one ear and out the other, perhaps I’d give it a shot.”

She shrugged, smiled, and spread her hands in their mittens. He only rolled his eyes again. 

They crunched along for a bit without speaking. Harriet watched his hand fiddling with the edge of his basket and thought about her plan. She’d mapped it out last night. All she had to do was find the right moment. . . She’d say, “Here, hold this for me,” and he’d say some variation of, “Why do I have to hold something for you? Aren’t you a witch?” but he’d put his hand out anyway, and then she’d--

“Harriet!”

“Huh?” She looked around, because he wasn’t next to her anymore.

“What did I say?” He was glaring her way, one foot below the edge of the path, apparently ready to climb down something. “What did I say about wandering off?”

“Right, right, my bad.” She crunched over to him. The tops of his cheekbones were pink, for some reason. Maybe it was the cold. 

She peered down the slope, where a little side trail made of rocks descended along a narrow trench, beside a gentle stream of black water. “We’re going down there, then?”

“Watch your footing.” He stressed every word. “These rocks are icy.” 

He shot a spell at the rocks to crack the ice, but even without the ice, the rocks were still wet, and she did have to watch their step. At the bottom, where a little trail wound into the snowy gloom beside the stream, he put his wand away. 

His glare was still giving off little sparks, like a log settling in the fireplace, so she put on her best contrite air and decided she should wait till he cooled off a little before she tried. . . anything.

(to be continued in part 2/?)

[hphm-etched-engraved-everlasting]

21. Clara

Author’s Note/Table of Contents

I was no stranger to Knockturn Alley, but I couldn't say the same about my sister.

The darkness enveloped me the further in I ran, swallowing what light streamed through the bustling friendly atmosphere of Diagon Alley until the warmth had completely leeched out of even the air around me. Wizards and witches shrouded in fabrics of pitch black, skin as gaunt and pale as a ghost's, loitered in the shadows, away from the streetlights that flickered with its dying power. As I turned a corner, eyes resting upon the storefront of Borgin and Burkes, I felt my arms tense up with the cold draft that blew past, and I shivered, goosebumps forming over my skin. Who knew that, in the span of only a few days, the place would feel like a freezer?

I quickly fished in my bag for something, anything, to wrap over myself to grant me some sort of warmth. My fingers brushed against the smooth surface of dried paint, and I instantly pulled the set of paint-splattered robes out into the open, throwing it on without a second thought. Andre suggested this to perform my chaos for Peeves in style, and it did serve a good souvenir and reminder of all that I went through to get my brother back. Handing Peeves the mischief masterpiece in exchange for the vault portrait was a major obstacle I had to leap over--needless to say, I was happy I executed it to the poltergeist's standards, but even happier that it brought me one step closer to bringing my brother home.

"Clara!"

The sound of my younger sister's voice as I slipped my left hand through the sleeve made me freeze, and I glanced up to see her jog towards me, almost tripping over the uneven cobblestone in her haste.

"Em!" I sprang forward just in time to catch her, and she fell into my arms, a heavy breath escaping our mouths simultaneously in a loud whoosh.

"So this is what Knockturn Alley looks like," Em remarked, her tone suggesting no admiration as she straightened up. "And this is why our parents didn't want us to come here."

"Sorry, Em. I just remembered last year, Duncan Ashe--"

"Hold up." Little Em slowly raised a finger toward another familiar figure, standing on the other side of the shop with her violet eyes gazing intently at the dark artefacts in the shop. "What is she doing here?"

Oh no. Somehow, without my knowing, Merula Snyde had entered Knockturn Alley as well. Last time it was Ben, and now...

I'd imagine this wouldn't be the last time I'd come here, but hopefully it would be the only time I'd be here to stop Merula from concocting whatever stupid scheme she had in mind here and return to finding Jacob.

"Merula Snyde," I eventually said, approaching her with my little sister behind me. "Fancy seeing you here at such a late hour."

"Should have known you'd come here," Merula sneered, looking up at me and little Em with a look of pure disgust on her face. "Come to take me back to Hogwarts and try to convince me that the 'kill or be killed' mindset is all but a waste of time?"

"What are you doing here anyway?" I asked her, folding my arms.

"Shopping at Borgin and Burkes. Not like it's any of your business," Merula responded. "Have you seen the cursed opal necklace in the window? It's supposedly claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners. It'd be perfect for Rakepick, don't you think?"

"You're right. That isn't my business to know," I retorted. "I should have known that you'll still be out here plotting to kill Rakepick."

Beside me, little Em pulled out her wand from within her robes, and she pointed it at Merula. "Don't you dare get any ideas," she warned her.

"Right. Like a little baby badger's supposed to threaten me well enough to stop me from performing the perfect payback for Rakepick," Merula said with a scoff, shaking her head. "You're both awfully quick to judge for someone who's slumming through Knockturn Alley, too."

"For a better reason than yours, I'll bet," little Em growled. "We're here to find Jacob. Clara thought he might be here, though I'm not sure why. Have you seen him?"

Just as the words left her mouth, a sudden crack pierced through the air, and I placed a hand on Em's shoulder as the person materialized in front of us, the effects of the Apparition he performed leaving him completely unfazed. His finely cropped black hair still bothered me completely to this day, but the firm expression he had on his face, the stony glint in his brown eyes, remained familiar to my memory, his long brown coat slightly dirtier now after his release from the portrait in the last vault.

"Now I have," Merula piped up meekly.

Little Em just stared in absolute shock at our older brother, who changed so much from the last time he saw either of us at home. Her eyes were wide, her mouth was agape, and she had completely lost hold of her wand, which fell to the ground with a hollow clatter. Years of absence from the family rendered him almost unrecognizable to her--and, admittedly, to me when I first saw him again after so long. She just looked at him as if he was suddenly a stranger, and for a few tense seconds, no one moved.

"Jacob." A smile slowly made its way over my face as I eventually ran forward and hugged him, just like we did when we reunited in the last vault. "There you are! We've been looking all over for you since I heard you were spotted at Hogwarts."

"It's good to see you too, Pip," Jacob said, nodding as he took a good look at me. "I'm so glad you're alright." Then his eyes landed on little Em, still trembling slightly on her feet. "And...is that our little sister? Em?"

"You've...changed so much," little Em remarked quietly. "Is that really you, Jacob?"

Jacob nodded, extending an arm to her. "Of course it's me, little Pipsqueak! I'd never forget about my youngest sister. And you've just started at Hogwarts, too!"

"Yup." Little Em's tense worried face soon melted away, and as she hugged her older brother I felt a spark of warmth tingle through my limbs, a bubble of hope rising through my being. If only our parents were here to see this family reunion. At least then they'd see that Jacob was alright, and we'd fix everything together after all.

Meanwhile, Merula looked just about ready to puke. "Ugh, come on. Anymore of this sappiness and I'll perform the Slug-Vomiting Charm on myself."

"Where have you been?" I asked Jacob then. "I haven't seen you since the Cursed Vault."

Jacob glanced up at me, though his arm was still firm around little Em. "I know, Pip. I'm sorry. But I had to try to stop Rakepick from getting away," he explained. "Besides, I knew you'd trust me to find you again, like I said I would. Along with the added bonus that is our sister," he added, smiling down at little Em who just nodded, squeezing Jacob's hand.

"I suppose all that matters is that you're here now," I said. "Which is great, because I have so many questions..."

Instantly, Jacob's face fell, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Clara. As much as I'd like to indulge you in your inquiries, we've got no time for that. Right now, we have to duel."

"Wait. Duel?" I swore I didn't hear that right. Why would my own brother want to duel me?

"This family reunion just got interesting," Merula remarked snidely, a low chuckle escaping her lips, and I made a mental note to slap her the next moment I got.

"Yes, Clara. I think an assassin is after both you and Merula," Jacob told me then. "And only you two specifically, though I'm not sure why--but there's no time to explain. You're just going to have to trust me."

Now little Em turned just as pale as one of the Knockturn Alley denizens, and she shook her head in disbelief. "Jacob, you're being serious, are you?"

"They know nothing about you, little Em, so you're safe for now," Jacob reassured her--or at least attempted to. "Or as safe as you can be. I'm doing whatever it takes to protect you and stop any assassin in case my suspicions do end up being true. But you may find yourself coming face to face with them one day, so you must be prepared. Duelling will help me make sure you are prepared, in the case that an assassin does attack."

An assassin, and a possible attack. Of course I knew that with all the events that preceded this very moment, more and more danger would continue to tumble towards me, snowballing until it reached the point where it could spin me off my feet--and not in a good way, either. At the sound of this, Little Em immediately leaned into Jacob and shook her head at me, her hand gripping tighter on his. I almost didn't even notice how she still looked like the little Em she had been even before Jacob went missing--so tiny, so helpless.

So vulnerable.

"Let an assassin try. I'm ready for them! It'll be a good warm-up for Rakepick," Merula piped up then, puffing her chest in pride. "Your sisters, on the other hand, don't understand that it's kill or be killed."

"Just because neither of us agree with your mindset does not make us weak," I shot back. "Besides, there are many ways to settle arguments. Killing doesn't have to be the only way."

Jacob shifted his weight to his other foot, and he let go of Em's hand. "As much as I hate to admit it, Merula has a point. Dark witches and wizards like Rakepick won't hesitate to hurt or kill you. You have to do whatever it takes to survive."

"Ha. Serves you right for disagreeing, Lin," Merula chipped in. "At least someone in your family has some sense."

"Wait, but--"

"Clara, we can't keep at this right now. We have to duel," Jacob interrupted me.

"Jacob, hold on just a second, alright? Everything's happening so--"

"Don't hold back. I want to see everything you've learned while at Hogwarts."

And hence, Jacob moved away, his wand at the ready. I barely got myself prepared when he shouted, "Slugulus Eructo!"

If Merula had her desires to choke up slugs, well, she'd get her wish sooner than expected had she been here in my place. The slick, slimy substance held such a vile taste as I burped up a slug, squishing it firmly under my foot, raising my wand at him. "Confringo!"

The blasting charm should have had a major dent in his stamina, yet Jacob still remained standing firm. He managed to recover in time to Disarm me, and I almost lost my wand to the gutters three feet away.

Spell after spell was cast with relentless power and force, and I felt the sweat break out on my forehead in a fine sheen, my wand arm feeling heavy after every spell. This shouldn't be different from all the other duels I've had before--with Merula, with the Troll, with Acromantulas and the Hungarian Horntail and the werewolves and even several dark wizards. Yet I knew Jacob wouldn't go easy on me. In some way or other, he did have more experience with magic. My only question, then, was when did he get his new wand?

"Episkey!" he cried next, healing himself with a wave of his wand over his head.

"Incendio!" I shouted then, watching as a jet of fire emerged from the tip of my wand.

The burns eventually did it. Jacob sighed and nodded as the flames died away, and he put his wand away, approaching me and my sister again with a nod of approval.

"Huh. I'm impressed, Clara. You've really learned how to hold your own," Jacob remarked, beaming. "Clearly you're not the little kid who needs my help chasing the Ghouls away anymore."

"No, of course I'm not, Jacob. We've all grown to learn how dangerous everything has become," I told him firmly. "That's why you should let me help you with Rakepick, with this assassin...with everything."

But Jacob shook his head. "I told you, this is my fight. I dragged us into this, so it's my responsibility to finish it. I can't let you all get hurt any more than you already have."

"We have to do something to help!" little Em chipped in then, shaking her head in refusal. "Everyone back home misses you terribly, Jacob. At least give us something to hold on to!"

"Pipsqueak, you already do. You'll always have your sister to hold onto. I'll come back when I can, but I have to go. I can't afford to let the trail go cold," Jacob said.

Now Merula jumped in surprise. "Wait, but what about my duel?"

"Jacob, at least answer some of my questions first," I said then, eyes widening in worry. "Like, how could you come to Hogwarts and not see us? Why are you looking into Mahoutokoro? And what do you know about the last Cursed Vault?"

"I'll explain when I can, I promise. But right now there's no--"

"No time, I get it." I sighed and shook my head, gesturing little Em to come over. "You don't seem to have much time for either of us anymore--or any of our family, really."

"Pip..." Jacob sighed as well and gave me one last hug, his arms firm around me before extending another arm to little Em. As the three of us hugged each other, I thought I could hear Merula fake-gagging, but I couldn't care less. It wasn't easy to get this opportunity to see him in this tight circumstance. Who knew when I would get this kind of chance again?

"We'll talk again soon, Pip and Pipsqueak," Jacob promised us. "Until then, watch your backs."

That said, he Disapparated with a loud crack, disappearing into nothingness in front of our eyes.

"Jacob, wait!"

No, there was no calling him back. I sighed again, holding my little sister close as she hugged me round the waist.

"You can't seem to hold onto anyone anymore, can you, Lin?" Merula teased me then with a laugh.

"Shut it, Merula!" I snapped, raising a hand and slapping her hard across the cheek. I know I shouldn't have, but at this point I was tired of Merula trying to butt into what was meant to be a meaningful reunion, even if it did have that foreboding note in the meeting. The sting from the slap tingled in my fingers, red hot in my anger. "My brother is trying to protect us from this assassin and Rakepick. I'm sure he'll come back once this is all over."

Merula visibly flinched at the sudden slap as well, her hand raised against her cheek which began to swell and redden beneath her fingers. "Yeah. I hope so. I'd like to see him again," she simply responded then once she's recovered well enough to volley another attack. "He's surprisingly...cool for someone who's related to you."

Cool, huh? That was the first time I've heard Merula say something that wasn't trash at my brother.

"What do you mean, someone cool?" little Em asked Merula then, folding her arms.

"Nothing. Forget I said anything," Merula snapped at little Em then, though I could see both her cheeks reddening and flushing--definitely not a side effect from the slap I gave her.

"Wait a second. Are you interested in our brother?" I inquired her carefully, the words dripping carefully from my tongue like venom.

At this, Merula shrugged and smiled sheepishly, her expression suddenly bashful. "N-no, of course not!" she denied. "We just share similar priorities is all."

"I'm not buying it. My brother is nothing like you, Merula," I told her defiantly.

"Right. Keep telling yourself that," Merula responded, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "But it's clear that your brother understands that when you're up against someone like Rakepick or this assassin, nothing is off the table."

Nothing. Right. Everything for me has already been laid on the line, but that didn't mean I had to kill to prove my worth and way of dealing with the circumstance. Jacob may have agreed with Merula on that point, but I still found myself disagreeing wholeheartedly with this mindset. Doing something unforgivable when your own life is on the line...would such an exceptional case still be made an acceptable one that leaves no guilt upon the conscience?

"Anyway, shouldn't you be worrying about your own social life instead of mine?" Merula asked me then.

"My social life? My friends are still as well as they can be, and I'm still connecting with them as best as I can," I said. "Or at least my sister's trying to keep our ties going. We're doing fine with that, thank you very much."

"I truly admire how naive you are, Lin."

"What do you mean anyway?"

"Cedric Diggory, the new star of Hogwarts," Merula responded finally. "He's only a first-year, but he's all the school can talk about. And that means you and your sister are no longer topics of gossip."

"Oh, I know Cedric, alright," little Em said then. "He’s my housemate and friend. If anything, I'm kind of happy he's found his place at Hogwarts. So what does it matter if my sister and I are no longer topics of gossip?"

At this, I thought I saw her hand raise toward the rose in her braid, but she lowered it after five seconds of holding it in the air. Something must have really bothered her more than I thought.

"You say that now, baby Lin, but see for yourselves the attention Diggory gets and we'll see if you feel the same way," Merula said.

"Right. Whatever," I groaned. "Anyway, we better head back. You can stay all you want if it makes you happy."

And just as little Em and I reached the tunnel to head back to Diagon Alley, Merula called us back.

"Remember, it's kill or be killed. And if you're not careful, your popularity won't be the only thing you'll lose this year..."

[bangtan-dreamland]

Winter Coffeeshops

Prompt: “Stay?”

Pairing: ksj x reader

Word count: 6.2K

Warnings: none really lol

Summary: You never expected your daily trips to the coffee shop to be anything more than ordinary, yet here you were- sharing a table with Worldwide Handsome, Kim Seokjin.

Genre: slowburn, strangers to friends (I’d say lovers but this is the first chapter so...)

A/N: Hi hello I love Kim Seokjin and hIS BIRTHDAY IS COMING UP I AM G I D D Y man am I excited to celebrate the birthday of one of the lights in my life. 

Next //

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Seokjin rarely ever went to coffee shops.

Coffee shops were more Namjoon’s style, whenever he wanted to catch a break from the chaos that came with living with six men, as well as read his newest book in silence. Sometimes Taehyung or Jimin too, would go get coffee. Never him, though. He was more inclined to brew himself a cup in the privacy of their own apartment.

Yet here he was, practically shivering underneath the huge, padded coat he wore as he stepped inside Little Coffee and felt the warmth of the establishment start to alleviate the coldness from outside.

The coffee shop was decorated rather comfortably, fitting right in with the winter season. Warm tones of red and brown enveloped the room, small tables and huge chairs dominating the floor. The subtle tones of jazz filled the room, and though the noise from conversations were loud, somehow they were drowned out enough by the music.

Looking around though, he was glad to have worn the cap with the face mask- with the sheer amount of people loitering inside the shop (most of them clearly having the same idea as him), it would have been impossible to keep his identity hidden. Still, he was cautious as he looked around, searching for an empty table, preferably in a corner not easily seen.

Luck wasn’t on his side though, and he bit back a sigh as he moved to the counter, having decided to at least order something. It would have been rude to do so otherwise, anyway, considering he was already inside.  The line wasn’t too long, thankfully. Soon enough he was waiting for his order- muffins, as well as coffee.

“You could go to the second floor, if you want,” the barista manning the counter suddenly said as he handed him his food. “Since all the seats here are taken,” he added, gesturing to the crowd of people.

“You have a second floor?” Seokjin asked in surprise. He hadn’t seen any stairs leading up- although, now that he thought about it, there was a balcony and a set of windows visible from outside. The man nodded, pointing to a hallway partially hidden by a set of potted plants, at the very back of the shop near the staffroom.

“Just go through those, and you’ll see the stairs at the end of the hallway. Usually we only let favorite patrons have access, but you seem like you need it.”

“Uh- thank you, then,” he replied, a bit wary considering the place. Still, when he looked around, he had to admit, even if only to himself, that an empty seat was nowhere in sight. And even if it were, being surrounded by people would immediately kill his appetite and just stress him out. It wasn’t that he was scared that people would know Kim Seokjin was currently at a coffeeshop, but rather what they would do. He valued his current privacy, and as much as he loved ARMY he didn’t fancy being mobbed or being followed. Heaving a sigh to himself, he started making his way to the alleged ‘favorite patrons’ area. His only hope was that it wouldn’t be as crowded as the main room of the shop.

Upon reaching the second floor, though, he was surprised. The room was small, and rather cozy. A few tables and chairs were spread out, the floor cushioned by a thick rug. Bookshelves and paintings decorated the walls, as well impeccable artwork. But the best thing yet about the room had to be the heater that was installed near the ceiling, sending warm drafts of air everywhere and fully melting away the cold chills that lingered from the snow.

That said, though, the room was also somewhat full of people, which was a disappointment. He lingered near the doorway, looking around, when he saw the perfect spot to sit down- he could make out a chair in an area sectioned off by the bookshelves. He instantly made his way over, cheering inwardly.

It was only when he was a few steps away to the chair that he saw her.

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Coffeeshops were never really your style.

Actually, coffee was never your style. You rarely drank coffee- unless the ratio of creamer to coffee was 1:1, with added sugar and milk (and then your friends and family would argue that wasn’t coffee anymore).

But the heavy snowfalls that happened in this town you were staying with for your internship gave you a sudden craving for warmth, one that the apartment you lived in couldn’t provide. See, the heater you would use had a problem- it could only run for a few hours before it threatened to overheat and break down. Which meant that you could only use it when you went to sleep, and never before or after that. But the apartment grew cold even when you closed the windows to keep the winter air out, and work ended in the afternoon, which always left you with a few solid hours of nowhere to keep you safe and warm from the elements outside.

Which was how you first ended up in Little Coffee, seeking refuge and warmth. The shop had been nice enough, the walls thick and the air inside enough to keep you satiated. You ordered coffee (even if you didn’t want to, but hey, you were at a coffeeshop so…) and a slice of raspberry cheese cake, and one bite into the food had sent you to heaven.

The next day, you found yourself at the same place, in the same chair, except this time, you ordered the triple chocolate deluxe, since they kept changing the cakes they sold every day, and found yourself falling in love. The third day, you were back again. And as time passed you became a patron of the coffeeshop, despite never actually drinking their coffee much- somehow the pastries they served were absolutely amazing, and you never got tired of eating them.

It had been a month or so since then, and you’d apparently become a valued patron of the shop, because as of a week or so ago you’d been let known about the hidden gem that was the second floor of the shop. It was perfect- cozy, not too many people, warm, with chairs that were huge enough to swallow you and soft enough you could sink into them without a second thought.

It was perfect timing too, considering that only a few days after the weather forecast for the town had been nothing but snow, snow and more snow, with the rare moments of sunlight. It had been colder than ever since the winter months started, and you appreciated the warmer, yet quieter and more comfortable room you were given access to instead of the first floor.

There rarely were people the owners allowed upstairs though, which was reflected in the amount of chairs they put in the room- a part of the reason why, you were confused when you saw a stranger head over to your spot.

How does his shoulders fit inside that coat, when they’re so wide? That was your first thought, followed by, who wears a cap inside? Is he someone famous or something?

Still, you didn’t say your thoughts out loud, registering the surprise that melted into resignation on the man’s face. You didn’t need to ask him to know what his problem was- he probably wanted to sit alone. Before he could turn away, you found yourself speaking to him.

“You can- the seat’s free, if you want to sit down. Only if you want to, I mean. I promise I won’t be a nosy… table mate?” You scrunched up your nose at the weird way you ended your sentence, internally cursing yourself for the blunder. You fiddled with the scones on your plate, a few left. Half of you wanted him to stay, even if you didn’t know exactly why- the other wanted him to go, embarrassed after having witnessed you stumble over your words.

“Are you sure?” He asks, instead, and with the decision thrown over to you you nod your head, instantly agreeing because damn it you already did ask him, so. A beat or two passes, and even from the plate to which you had your gaze firmly fixed to, you could hear him sigh in relief as he sat down.

A plate of muffins finds its way onto the table, followed by a cup of coffee, still steaming and hot. You start nibbling on one of the scones, feeling an air of awkwardness settle around the two of you.

“Do you- uh, do you come here often?” Instantly you wince again. You spoke up because the awkwardness made it hard to eat and relax, but then you had to go ahead and stutter…

To your surprise, you hear him reply instantly, as if he too was bothered by the forced silence. “Not really. I’m more the type to make their own coffee at home than go to a coffee shop,” he says.

“Oh- me too,” you say in surprise. “Well- before I came here, of course. I’m not really a fan of coffee, but the way they make the coffee in here somehow makes the perfect accompaniment to their desserts, you know? At least, for most.”

“Ah, it’s really that good, huh?” He says thoughtfully, pulling down his mask and starting to drink his cup of coffee. You beam at him, making him smile widely back at you. Encouraged, you continue talking, for some reason unwilling to let the conversation die down.

“Y-Yeah, you should try one of their cakes- all of them are delicious, but the vanilla sponge cake is one of my favorites,” you fiddle again with the food on your plate, unsure what to say, before you get one. “Oh, speaking of which, it must be really crowded down there, huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well- you just said you don’t go to coffee shops, and, you didn’t seem to know about their desserts here, despite having obviously bought some. Which, I mean, is okay! But, uh, I don’t know if they didn’t tell you but they only let people who frequent the shop a lot have access to the second floor.” You feel yourself blush as you ramble, as opposed to the growing smile on your table mate’s face. “An honest surprise for me when they let me up when I’ve only been coming here for a month or so.”

“A month?” He raises an eyebrow at you, surprised. “You look so at home here, I thought you would’ve been a longtime patron.”

“Mm… uh, I told you that I’m not the type for coffee shops, right? But I recently had to move here for an internship, and I guess it’s just luck but my heater started acting up as soon as winter arrived and I eventually found myself in here to stave off the cold,” while you speak you find your gaze drifting back to your lap again, unsure what to say next. What else did you have to talk about? You wanted to keep talking with him, for some reason, but truth was, you’d explored all the topics you had in common. Was it weird to ask someone you just met what their favorite drink, food, color, etc. was?

“Like me then, I guess. The snowfall was so heavy outside, I was forced to take shelter,” he replies after a while. “But I guess it isn’t so bad, since I get to talk with cute girls.”

Your head snaps back up in surprise, red blooming across your cheeks like a furnace, speechless. Although you didn’t see it earlier, your tablemate is gorgeous, eyes a warm shade of brown, with smooth skin, a sharp nose and plump lips. He’s also somewhat familiar, but the fact that you have your mind on his compliment- teasing?- makes it hard to place his name. The realization that he’s breathtaking only makes the color on your cheeks grow brighter. Your reaction must be quite something at this point, because he lets a giggle slip out of him, and you frown in response.

“Not funny,” you grumble.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, amusement visible from him. “Sorry, sorry. I only wanted to help you loosen up.”

“It’s not every day I let strangers sit with me, of course I’m a bit tense,” you snipe back, a pout on your lips. Still, you can’t help but admit to yourself that you feel more comfortable now, and your tablemate must see it as well because they continue instead of giving more apologies.

“Alright, so that didn’t quite work as I wanted it to,” he says with a grin, and you raise an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘no shit, sherlock’. “Hmmm… so let me try this instead- what do you get, when you cross a snowman and a vampire?”

“Frostbite,” you reply instantly, feeling the urge to giggle strike you when his face falls and he pouts. “Sorry, but I’ve already heard that before, so…”

“It was a good one though, right?” He cajoles, a grin back on his face again, before he taps a finger to his cheek. “Wait, let me think of another.”

“If all you have are bad puns, then I don’t think you’ll ever accomplish your mission.” You huff quietly, amused, but also touched that he apparently wants to continue talking to you, at his efforts to make you smile.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, making puns are snow joke,” he replies instantly, smile still fixed to his face as he delivers his line.

“That was terrible.” So you say, but you feel yourself smiling, in spite of how you don’t want to. Your tablemate seems to catch your smile, because he barrels on, mock offense visible on his face as he huffs dramatically.

“Water you saying? My puns are pure cold! I’ll have you know, my audience are usually in stitches at this point, but icy now, you’re a special challenge. So this is my warm-ing to you, you better prepare yourself!”

“Stop- stop, oh my god.” You burst into laughter at the onslaught of puns, unable to contain yourself. Across from you, he himself falls over laughing, and you find yourself too delighted at the moment to consider being embarrassed that you two are being loud as can be in a coffee shop. Still, when your laughter softens to giggles, you find the last of the tension falling away.

Whoever he is, he must feel the same too, because the smile that remains on his face is just as bright as yours. After that, the conversation between the two of you flows freely, jokes and puns and funny anecdotes about the weather outside being passed to each other.

It’s only when you finish you finish the mountain of desserts on your plate with your coffee half-drunk that he sends an amused grin your way, sliding his own plate of muffins to your side of the table.

“You’re really not a fan of coffee, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure I already told you that,” you snipe back with a roll of your eyes and a smile on your face, before you reach for the muffins offered. “But no, not unless it’s sweet rather than bitter. I don’t really get people who drink it straight black.”

“You wouldn’t want to meet one of my friends then, I’ve never seen him take coffee any other way than that,” he remarks, the corners of his eyes crinkling a little in fondness at whoever this ‘friend’ of his may be, and you find yourself curious about his friend.

“Sounds like a terrifying guy. What does he need pure caffeine for?”

It’s as if someone splashed cold water on him, because he suddenly straightens up, surprise in his eyes before he chuckles awkwardly.

“Uh- just- he’s a workaholic, so…”

“I see…” You bite your lip nervously as the atmosphere between the two of you becomes a little colder, a little distant. Suddenly, you’re left unsure just what to say. You really want to go back to how it was previously, but…

“Oh… I have to go now,” your eyes widen in surprise when you catch a glimpse of the time from the clock behind him. “I set up my schedule around my heater these days,” you awkwardly explain, mentally hyping yourself. You can do it, you will yourself to think. “Um! Will you be back tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” he replies, looking unsure, before he adds, “Probably downstairs, though, I’m pretty sure me coming up was only a one time thing.”

“O-Oh…” You look down at your feet, disappointed, before you decide to push through again. “If you do get to come back up here, I’d love to talk with you again,” you mumble, your cheeks pink as you quickly brush off the crumbs on your body and walk away. You really don’t want to look at his reaction- you feel like you’d melt into a puddle, whatever it was.

Still, you find yourself halting when you’ve taken only a few steps away from him, whirling back to see a light flush on his cheeks as well. “Wait! Uh- what’s your name? Or, well, what do I call you?” You give him your name, and you watch as he repeats it, as if to make sure he gets it right (and oh, the way your name rolls off his tongue makes your heart beat fast), before he sends you a confident smile.

“Just call me Jin.”

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From that day onward, you find yourself coming back to the coffeeshop at exactly the same time you did when you met Jin, sometimes (actually, most of the time) even earlier than that. It was, admittedly, pretty embarrassing to realize you craved his companionship so much you would arrive an hour or two earlier than when you unanimously decided to meet, but if anything, Jin obviously felt the same, so you let yourself be excited. It helped that it turned out that your worries about him not being let onto the second floor was nothing, because the owners didn’t mind it if you were with him.

“Have you ever tried reading any of the books here?” You found yourself asking him one day, gesturing to the tall stacks of books laid on the shelves. “Most of them are novels, though a few are, uh, those on philosophy and life, I think?”

“No, not really? I don’t read books much,” Jin looks at the bookshelves thoughtfully, before the meaning of his words hits him and he flails, ears rapidly reddening. “I mean, I read a lot, but I don’t usually-“

You laugh, placing a hand on his arm to calm him down. If he sees your cheeks redden, you hope he doesn’t think it’s from anything more than the heater. “It’s okay. Though, um, since we’re here anyway, do you want to read one together? Not that we have to if you don’t want to!”

“Okay,” he agrees, ears as red as your cheeks and you feel your smile grow even wider. You stand up to get a book, before pausing.

“Do you have any preference?” You ask him, and he shakes his head.

“I’ll depend on you to get a good one, so you have to make it worth it,” he says, grinning at you, before he waggles his eyebrows and you know he’s going to- “try not to take too many though, my weekends are booked already, so if you do I’m going to have to ask you to exercise some shelf control.”

You find yourself giggling, hands reaching up at a book already. “Now you’ve made me nervous! I’ll just choose a random one, then, that way it’s up to luck. Maybe we’ll get a good one.”

When you tug the book free though, bringing it over to your table, you find yourself laughing again with Jin as the cover reveals the book to be ‘The Best Book of Puns’. He moves his chair closer to yours so the two of you can read together, and the two of you spend the day laughing at each, trying to outdo the other by slipping the jokes in between conversation. When you step out of the store, you find that even the snow falling can’t make you feel cold. It’s a funny, sweet kind of feeling, one that you find you’ve only ever felt around Jin so far. You want to mind it, really, but... you crave it too much to worry. 

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

A week passes before you remember an important topic, one that makes you abruptly change the conversation.

“You know, I never really asked, but what made you come here to the town? I told you I’m here for an internship, right?”

“My job takes me to a lot of places,” Jin reveals, confusion from the change in topic visible on his face. “I often travel from and to other other countries. It’s fun, most of the time. We get to eat the authentic version of foods famous in their home countries, even if we don’t get to tour the places ourselves.”

Oh. You feel a part of yourself wilt in response to his words, momentarily tuning him out after the first sentence. How long will you be staying then? Is what you want to ask, but you refrain yourself from speaking the words out loud. When Jin looks at you weirdly, you belatedly realize that he’s been waiting for a reply, and you force yourself to smile. “Really? What’s it like? Sounds like you get to experience a lot of different cultures…”

Jin shoots you a concerned look, the furrow in his eyebrows not gone yet, but you insist on smiling and he soon drops it for the meantime. “Well, the last place we went to was in Italy…”

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

“Do you like your job?”

“I guess,” you reply slowly, mulling your response over. “It’s not exactly my dream job, not yet at least, but I’m working hard now to apply for the position I really want.”

“Huh,” he says. There’s a contemplative look on his face after you answer him, and you wait for him to formulate his thoughts.

“I hope you get to achieve what you’ve been striving for,” he says after a while, and you feel a smile form back on your face.

“Mm, I hope I succeed too. Oh- and, what about you? Do you like your job?”

“I do, I love it,” his reply is instantaneous, as if it’s a question he’s been asked many times, but also as if he’s sincere enough with his answer that he doesn’t have to think about it. “Even if there are moments when it tires me out,” he lets out a small smile at that, and you hum thoughtfully, thinking over your answer, before you intertwine your arm with his and squeeze his hand in support.

“That’s okay. You can love your job and what you do and still feel tired or sad or angry over it. We can’t be positive all the time, can we?”

Jin’s smile grows wider, just as sincere, and you spend the rest of the afternoon with your arms linked together.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

“Namjoon-hyung, have you seen Jin-hyung?”

The living room is directly connected to the doorway, which is how Seokjin hears Jungkook asking after him when he gets in. He dusts the remaining snow off him, cautious not to leave any on the inside floor and instead leave it outside. When he puts away his shoes and coat, stepping out with his slippers on, he can hear Namjoon reply.

“No… I haven’t seen him all day. Actually, now that I think about it, he’s been spending a lot of time outside, huh?” Have I really? He wonders, surprised to realize that yes, most of the past week and then some has been mostly spent with you, the girl he’s thrilled to be meeting everyday, in between the shelves and the scent of sugar and coffee. Your name tastes like chocolate on his lips, your smile beautiful, and it should alarm him that he’s started connecting the scent of coffee to you now, thinking of you almost every time he sees a cup of hot coffee. But it doesn’t and he can’t deny the joy that builds in him when he thinks of you.

“If you wanted to eat something, there’s still leftovers in the fridge you know,” he eventually cuts in, an amused smile on his face. He breaks out into laughter when Jungkook and Namjoon start in surprise, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Hyung!”

“Although if you really miss my handsome face, I can give you a new selca everyday,” he continues, chuckling.

“Yah, that’s not it, hyung. Just- you’ve been going out a lot these days. I thought you preferred staying home when it’s snowing.” Jungkook’s reply is immediate, and Namjoon casts a pensive look at him. Jin shrugs, suddenly wanting to tell them about this girl, who he’s come to associate with things he never paid much attention to and how she’s made them feel important and become a happy reminder. It’s amazing, really, how she manages to make his days brighter. The moment he started talking with her, although he was initially wary about talking to a random stranger, he found himself relaxing and truly enjoying himself with her. It’s easy, to trust her, it feels as though they’ve been friends for a long time and the smiles he coaxes from her with his jokes never fails to put a smile on his face too. He wants to tell them all about her, but he catches himself before he says them.

A part of him wants to keep her secret. If he tells the other members about her, they’ll probably ask about her and he’ll have to face the music- being an idol and befriending people, especially people not from the entertainment industry were two concepts far from each other.

“I do,” he eventually says. “I’ve just been walking around the town. It’s a little too noisy when we’re holed in this hotel when we’re already together 24 hours.“

Namjoon gives him a long look, as if to say that he knows that Jin isn’t exactly telling them the truth, but then he speaks again and Jin feels as if someone’s doused him in cold water, reality shoving him back to the present.

“Well, we’ll be flying back to Seoul as soon as the snow stops falling, so at least we only need to put up with it for a little while more.”

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

You loiter in the shop, waiting for Jin, even as your plate becomes devoid of sweets and your cup empty. Where are you? You want to ask him, but as it is, you don’t even have a method of contact. It’s the first time you two haven’t met up since the day he first came in, and you’re worried, but still…

Maybe he got held up with something, you reason with yourself.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Half a week passes with you sitting alone, waiting for company that you miss. Each time you hope against hope that he’ll come back, and you sit alone until you risk having to run home just to keep your apartment from fully freezing, but Jin doesn’t come back and that makes you feel cold all over anyway.

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

We are glad to offer you a position in the company. Should you accept, we hope to work with you in the main company in Gang-nam, Seoul. Your shift would start in a week…

The email you received earlier this morning had sent you in a spiral of moods. At first you had been excited- this was a step up, after all!- before the realization that you would have to leave soon, if not today crashed your mood.

You wanted to accept their offer, of course. It was the whole reason why you joined the internship, why you stuck with the cold even when you could have easily moved back home. Still…

Jin’s face flashes in your mind and you find yourself unable to feel happy about the offer, especially when it meant leaving him. The fact that your mood was so downcast, shoulders slumped and vision stuck to the ground, even as you walked towards Little Coffeeshop, was probably why you bumped into someone. You yelp when you feel something solid smack into you, and when your feet slips you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to prepare yourself for a world of pain. But then seconds pass and you hesitantly open your eyes to look into familiar brown ones.

“Jin,” his name falls from your lips in a breathless daze, and you see him smile a little, cheeks pink from what seems to be the cold. Arms that must have kept you from falling sets you back gently onto the ground, and you look up at him in wonder and a not so small amount of anger and worry.

“Hi,” he replies, his smile a little dim, and you feel worry overtake anger.

“Is there- I mean, is something wrong? You haven’t come by these past few days, so…”

“I might be leaving soon,” the words tumble out from him, and you feel yourself freeze. Despondence washes over you, and you find yourself at a loss for words.

“You- You’re leaving? I mean- you do have your work, so,” you stammer, unable to focus on anything other than the two of you were parting ways already. You would be leaving, and so would he, and would you ever meet again? You doubted it- what with the stories of his work that he told you about, you really doubted he would have time to meet up with you.

You’re surprised to suddenly feel cold hands wipe away tears on your face, ones you didn’t even know had been falling. When it registers in your mind that it’s Jin, your funny and adorkable friend who’s wiping away your tears that you try to hold yourself back from fully crying.

Jin’s hands are gentle on your face, and you feel yourself hiccup from the force of the sobs you’re holding back. Jin, realizing what the hiccups mean, panic.

“Wha- hey, hey, don’t look so sad! I did say soon, it doesn’t mean I have to go now,” he blurts out, concern visible in his face as he tries to calm you down. “Ya, although I already know it, my company really is that good, huh?”

His joke makes you smile weakly, hiccups dying down to sniffles, and you decide to just go for it, like you did the first time you met him, the decision that somehow gave you this wonderful person who you know you like even if you’ve only been seeing each other for little more than two weeks.

“Of course it was,” you say through your sniffles. You feel him chuckle, relief evident in his tone before you speak again. “Jin? I’m going to hug you.”

Not waiting for him to reply, you tackle him into a hug, holding on tightly and feeling a sense of giddiness come over you when you feel strong arms envelop you back. You press yourself into his chest, uncaring of the snow, before you look up at him and—

You gape in shock. Somehow, in the brief moment you were hugging him, Jin’s cap had fallen off, as well as his mask.  Once or twice, you’d seen him without one or the other, but it’s only now that you see him without both that you finally connect the dots on why he seems so familiar.

“You’re Kim Seokjin!?” You say, stupefied, before the fact that Seokjin, Kim Seokjin is standing out here in the open without his mask or his cap and anyone can see him and easily recognize him hugging some stranger that you snap back to action. “Wait, put your mask back on! What if someone recognizes you? God, sorry- I kind of just hugged you- is that okay-?”

“Calm down,” Jin- holy shit, you were talking to worldwide famous and handsome Kim Seokjin, what the hell, you’re still in shock- chuckles, though a wary look is still present on his face. “I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later… Yeah, my full name is Kim Seokjin. I hope you’re not mad I hid it from you.“

“Why would I be mad over something like that?” You blurt out in surprise, before another thought fills your head. “Wait, so when you said your job took you to many places…”

“Mostly for our tours, but other times we have shootings for shows too,” he explains. You fall silent, trying to wrap your tiny mind around all of what you just learned. Jin, it seems, understands what you’re going through, so he falls silent as well, though his eyes may as well communicate to you how nervous he really is, with how fast he’s blinking.

“Is the fact that you’re Kim Seokjin what kept you away?” You finally ask, after a few moments of deliberation. “I mean… was this your way of letting me drift away, cutting this- this friendship?” Even now, you flush, whether out of disappointment, anger, or embarrassment. You’re not quite sure which you feel stronger when Jin, Seokjin nods his head hesitantly, ears red.

“I won’t be able to see you as much as I can… as much as I want to. I like spending time with you,” he hastily explains. “But I’m not really sure if you’d still want to be friends with me when you find out who I am.”

“Most people would be ecstatic to meet up with Kim Seokjin on the daily,” you point out quietly. Jin lets out a wry smile.

“Yeah, well, you’re not most people.”

You take a few more moments to think over his words, and when you come to a decision, you firmly grasp his hands. Jin starts in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away, and you pull him towards you instead, in a kind of hug. When you speak, it’s almost muffled into his coat, but he manages to hear it anyway.

“I understand what you did, you know- keeping your identity hidden. You can’t just know someone from a few meetings after all. I could have been someone who’d sell you out or something,” and here he shakes his head, about to speak in defense of you, but you resolutely speak onward. “I still want to be friends with you- I mean, if you still want to. I’m certainly not opposed. Besides, who said you wouldn’t be able to see me much when you fly to wherever your job takes you next?”

“Huh?” He looks at you with surprise.

“I mean- we have phones for a reason, right? That and-“ grinning at him, you let your hand part from his to pull out your phone and show him the email you received earlier today, the pieces falling into place,“-remember the internship I was telling you about? I get to start work officially at the company’s main building in Seoul. So… when you come back to Korea, we can still meet up… even if it’s not as often as it’s been this past week.”

“I- really?” Jin looks astonished, mouth open in surprise, and really, you’d feel the same. The problems that held you two back- suddenly have been solved, and you don’t have to lose whatever it is you two have now.

“Really,” you say warmly, feeling a bubbly, giddy feeling come over and drive away the gloominess you felt before. “So- you don’t have to go and stay away our last days together here. Stay, okay? I promise we’ll make the most out of it while we’re here. And… when you have to go to your next appointment, we can talk over the internet and we’ll continue our trips when you’re back in Seoul.”

Jin’s smile is a beautiful, glorious view, as is his whoop of excitement, and you return it with one of your own. The two of you must look silly, you belatedly realize, standing under the snowfall, talking and yelling while hugging each other. Yet, you can’t seem to care. Not even the wind or the snow can dampen your mood, and when your cheeks darken, you know it isn’t just from the cold.

“Come on, Jin, we have to go defend our spot!” You grin at him, beckoning him over. Jin giggles, hands reaching out to clasp over your own.

“Okay,” he acquiesces, before a familiar mischievous look settles on his face. “Chill we go in?”

“Jin!”

≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫≪ °❈° ≫

Coffeeshops weren’t your thing, for either of you. Seokjin valued his privacy- you preferred hot chocolate to coffee. But somehow, as the two of you sat down in your favorite spots, the familiar scent of coffee and sweets filling the air, the two of you agreed that this was one that you could make exception for.

[raendown]

The next chapter of my Amends to the Dead series, commissioned by the wonderful @birkastan2018 who has been amazingly supporting of my works and provided so much inspiration. 

Pairing: None Word count: 4239 Chapter: 1/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don't get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama's obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header! 

Chapter 1

Grey clouds and a dreary sky greet him when Izuna leaves the administration tower this afternoon, a dour forecast for the evening’s weather. Determined to keep a positive attitude, he tells himself that at least it is holding off for now, will hopefully keep itself in check until after he finishes his inspection. That massive dream-headed idiot of a Senju wants a wall around their settlement but as much as Izuna freely agrees with the tactical benefits of such a barrier he is glad Madara has managed to talk the man in to waiting rather than just springing something up out of the ground willy-nilly. Although several clans and minor villages have already emigrated to join them there are still others they hope to bring in to the fold as well. If Hashirama grows a wall around them at their current size it will ostracize any new districts built in the future – not to mention that such a short-sighted buffoon will almost definitely forget to leave room for population growth as the years go on.

Hence why Izuna has saddled himself with the boring task of trudging his way around the outskirts to scope out where they can expand, how far, whether some portions of the surrounding terrain should be left available to grow crops, that sort of thing. Trying to keep his thoughts grand scale, the first thing he does is make the long climb up the mountain face overlooking them all. From there he is granted a wonderful view of all they have built so far and all the space they have to build upon in the future. Izuna does his best to sketch what he sees on several different pieces of paper and includes the surrounding terrain as little symbols. Later he can use these sketches to create different proposals for wall construction.

Considering how often he changes his mind he intends to make at least five copies. He only gets halfway through the fourth before his hand freezes in place and his eyes slowly roll to one side, looking around without actually turning his head. It’s a useless endeavor anyway. Even if he turns all the way around and carefully inspects every inch of the space behind him Izuna knows he will see absolutely nothing.

Tobirama is better than that.

Weirder than the fact that his counterpart has been following him around like a lagging shadow for weeks now is the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a reason for it. The man hasn’t even gone to the trouble of suppressing his chakra. Izuna might not be a sensor type like his brother is but he isn’t so chakra-blind that he can’t tell when someone he’s spent years on the other side of a war from is nearby. He might be tempted to think the other man is mocking him somehow if not for the fact that Tobirama never once alludes to his little stalker habit when they are forced to interact in the tower. If anything his habit worsens during work hours. Very few days go by when Izuna does not turn around to find Tobirama hovering over him or staring intently from across the room.

Knowing that his old rival has been up to the same idiocies all day – just as every other day – is not very comforting but it makes his movements a little less awkward as he decides that he’s taken up enough time loitering here at the top of the cliff. It’s odd, the things one can get used to after being exposed for long enough. Having someone follow him around isn’t exactly comfortable but it’s something he learned to live with as soon as he concluded that it isn’t a statement of the Senju’s lack of trust. Not the clan as a whole, at least.

If there were anyone they don’t trust it would be Madara and no one follows him around. Izuna cannot imagine them wasting their best on him while assigning someone lesser to tailing his more dangerous older brother. The Senju have never been a stupid enemy.

Almost worse than the strangeness of knowing that he is being followed is trying to decide how to act. Izuna packs his sketches away and does everything he can to resist the urge to turn around and search for the face he knows is watching, reflecting that he isn’t actually sure what Tobirama will do if he confronts the man. When this first started Izuna hadn’t really known what to think of it, held off on reacting in any way in case he was misinterpreting something, and now that he knows for sure that the other is following him he realizes he’s let it go on for so long that bringing it up now will only be more awkward. They need to talk about it at some point, obviously. Just maybe not right this second.

Using that excuse only gets less and less valid with every day.

With a grand overview of the village fresh in his mind Izuna refocuses himself on the task at hand and begins drafting a few tentative blueprints in his mind while he scales his way back down the cliff. Halfway down he makes a mental note to suggest they install an easier way to get up here somehow. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that any tourists or visitors will be very interested in the view of a village so important to the history of the five great nations, the first of its kind. Then he pushes the thought away in to the corner of his mind for ‘things to deal with later’; he has much more important business at hand. Before they can welcome any tourism they need to be more solid in their defense of the people already here.

Senju Touka stands in the center of the road leading in to their settlement from the north when he arrives. Izuna is quick to hide the grimace that appears as soon as he catches sight of her. Enemies they might not be any longer but Touka is not likely to ever be his favorite person. Too brash, too hard, and too focused on being a warrior without ever allowing herself to still be a woman. Izuna enjoys a tough skin as much as the next shinobi but he needs friends and lovers who allow themselves to unclench at least once in a while. The woman before him carries a look on her face even when making no expression which tells him she probably hasn’t unclenched since the first time she learned to wield her body as a weapon.

“Nothing to report,” Touka’s voice rings out sharp even when she speaks quietly. He nods once to show that he understands.

“Border inspection,” he grunts back.

“Already? With all the paperwork that goes through the Tower I had guessed it would take at least another week for anyone to even think about doing something useful about their own ideas.” She snorts and this time Izuna allows the grimace that slides back over his face.

With a rueful sigh he shakes his head. “I gave myself the job for just that reason. This needs to get done.”

“Lots of things need to get done,” Touka mumbles dryly. Her eyes flick back down the path and her chin dips to signal someone else. “The others can walk the road; if I’m going to guard the wall when it goes up I’d like to hear your thoughts on where it’s to be built.”

Since there is really no polite way to refuse her Izuna shrugs and turns away without waiting to see if she follows. If she can’t keep up that’s her own problem. He isn’t the one who invited her along. Just as he finishes the thought her footsteps come from behind and her severe face returns to his peripherals with the blank expression of someone waiting to form an opinion.

That gives him an idea, actually, speaking of opinions. As the two of them travel in silence he lets his eyes roam around the terrain on all sides, mentally comparing it to the visual he remembers from above even as another part of his mind races trying to find the wording for how to broach a subject that many still consider sensitive.

“If I may, I’d like to ask about the climate in your clan,” he says eventually. Touka gives no physical reaction, betrayed only by the caution in her tone as she replies.

“You may ask your questions.” He notices that she has promised him no answers.

“Tensions were high for a while after we first merged our territories. Obviously it’s going to take a number of years before our people can coexist with true ease but – for my own clan at least – I’ve noticed massive improvements. What I mean to ask is: what of your own clan?”

“What of them?” Touka grunts.

Careful not to show his temper, Izuna keeps his voice low so it will not carry to other ears following along behind them. “Have the tensions eased in your people? Or do they still fear mine like enemies?”

“Fear isn’t exactly how I would describe it,” his unwanted companion muses. “Caution would be more accurate.”

“Do they distrust us so much?” he presses.

To his utter lack of surprise Touka turns to give him a sharp warning look. “Don’t go looking for trouble where there is none, Uchiha. Our people distrust yours no less than yours return in kind. Like you said yourself, it’s going to take years to erase the effects leftover from generations of war. Those of us who lived through it may never recover entirely. But”-from the corner of one eye he watches her move both hands away from her weapons in a deliberate motion-“we recognize and accept that the Uchiha want this peace to work. “

“Ah. Thank you for your input, Touka-san. I had thought that was how things stand but at this stage assumptions aren’t safe to be relied upon. Let’s change the subject. We’re thinking of building out from the current settlement to allow for growth but I don’t think this particular area would be good for that. Doesn’t the ground here turn in to swamp a few miles out?”

While she does allow him to change topics without comment Izuna notes the lingering gaze from the corner of her eyes to the corners of his own. He lets her stare. If they truly are allies then he has nothing to fear from a couple of eyes that don’t even have the advantage of a Sharingan. Rumor says this woman is nearly as good with genjutsu as any Uchiha but it would need to be some kind of skill indeed to trap him in an illusion he can’t escape – and besides that there is really no reason for her to do any such thing unless she wants to start another war.

Instead the two of them trade mild opinions on the surrounding land and discuss construction plans all while pretending they don’t notice the acid undertones or the barbs hidden in their words. Much as he is loathe to admit it, by the time they make a half circuit around the village and Touka declares it time for her to turn back he almost finds himself reluctant to see her go. Almost. Sometimes it’s nice to find someone who can withstand the worst of his vitriol. He is still firm on his belief that Touka will never be one of his favorite people but perhaps they can stand each other a little better than he first imagined.

The rest of his patrol around the perimeter is done in silence with no one to talk to but the thoughts inside his own mind, probably the most intelligent conversation he is likely to have all day. Rather than give that Senju woman any reason to look at him funny again Izuna ends his inspection by ducking in between some of the housing built on the fringes like afterthoughts.

He could have done without some of the man’s habits and opinions but if there is one thing Izuna wishes their brothers had actually listened to Tobirama about it’s the road planning. Caught up in their dream as they had been, Madara hadn’t so much held Hashirama back as he had egged the man on to raise frames and rooves without a single thought for the carefully drawn street maps Tobirama had been trying to present them with. Now everyone else pays the price for it as they wind their way through crisscrossing streets that often follow no logical direction whatsoever, haring off towards wherever Hashirama had raised the next home. Surely it can only be the mercy of the kami that made him finally stop and listen to his sibling before he made a similar mess of the village center.

Finding his way through the busy foot traffic is infinitely easier once he reaching the districts where the streets are wider than his own wingspan, leaving plenty of room for Izuna to duck and weave around the gaggle of children chasing each other, wild laughter ringing over the crowds with no regard for the different clans they each belong to.

This, he has come to understand, is the peace that Madara has been dreaming of since they were young boys clinging to each other with all their strength, the last of their siblings and so desperate not to lose any more. In some ways he wishes he had understood earlier. He also hopes that the idiot following along behind him on a nearby rooftop understands the same.

When he reaches the tower Izuna heads straight for his office and rather pointedly shuts the door behind him, relieved to note Tobirama’s distinctive chakra moving off to hopefully be productive somewhere else. How the man gets anything done when he’s following other people around all day is a mystery but Izuna is just as glad to finally be alone. It’s much easier to concentrate on drawing up a few difference proposals for wall construction when he doesn’t have some part of his concentration occupied with the ever-watching eyes over his shoulder.

Unfortunately for all that he’s always been fast at coming up with plans he is also, given the time, a perfectionist. What should only take him a mere twenty minutes to sketch some rough blueprints turns in to nearly two hours of meticulous lines and painstaking notes along the edges of every paper to list the benefits of each different proposal. Izuna is already rolling his eyes at himself by the time he finally drags his body up out of the chair with a firm mental declaration that any further additions will be a waste of time. Only one of these proposals can be chosen as the final plan and the entire council will be looking over it to add their suggestions. No one expects him to think of everything himself.

Seeing Madara roll his eyes as well when he lets himself in to his brother’s office makes him stick out his tongue, a gesture the man returns without pause. Dignity isn’t exactly a concern when they are alone.

“Took you long enough,” is his greeting. “Didn’t you leave to do that just after noon? It shouldn’t have taken you that long just to walk in a big circle and doodle a couple outlines. What did you do, take a nap in a tree somewhere?” Madara tuts and shakes the handle of a brush at him, then he frowns and looks down at the parchment he’s just splattered with ink.

“Pardon me for doing my job well,” Izuna grumbles.

“Well give them here then. Looks like you have several ideas. That’s good, actually. I know it sounds counterintuitive but the bloody elders actually decide faster if we give them more options.”

The two of them share a tired look and Izuna nods understandingly as he tosses his papers on the desk. “Fewer options always means one person picks a favorite right away and another person takes exception to that. Best to let them talk it all out first, I get it.”

Madara spreads the sketches out and fiddles with the end of one, lifting it only to turn his eyes to another.

“Do you have any you’re particularly attached to before I look them over?” he asks.

“No.”

He should know to watch his tone. It’s only a single word but the moment it leaves his mouth Izuna winces, pinned in place under the sudden scrutiny of dark eyes that know him just a little too well.

“You sound upset by something,” Madara notes. “What’s wrong?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say wrong, precisely. I’m being followed around again and I still don’t like it.” It’s gratifying to see the other man scrunch his face up with distaste. At least he isn’t the only one who finds this situation endlessly odd.

“Still not talking to you about it, I suppose?”

“Not a damn word. Any time I bring it up he just stares at me with these…empty eyes. Honestly sometimes I’m tempted to worry that he’s been possessed by some demon with a grudge against me. Somehow that would make more sense!” Izuna shakes his head, stepping around to slump his body in to the single visitor chair available. Then he squirms uncomfortably as a floral scent wafts up his nose. It’s easy to tell who usually sits in this chair.

Fingers twiddling absently at the edges of the papers spread out on his desk, Madara rolls his eyes at such dramatics but makes no comment on them, which Izuna takes to mean that his sibling agrees in his own way. He wishes he could say he is only being silly and dramatic but deep down he truly believes that Tobirama being possessed by a vengeful spirit would make more sense than for the man to follow him around as though suspicious of his intentions. Still ridiculous, of course, but somehow more plausible.

He hadn’t been stupid enough to believe Hashirama's vague words about recovery during the first few meetings of peace between their people. The longer time went on without the Senju second heir appearing the less anyone had been willing to believe such nonsense but it was the look in Hashirama's eyes which stilled their tongues as the months stretched out in to a full year. Not anger or exasperation, no nervousness that they might be taking offense. What earned their silence both then and now had been the worry in his eyes, the fear for another which he tried so desperately not to let them see, the flash of uncertain terror that shadowed his eyes with every mention of his brother. Izuna has seen that look in the eyes of those who worry for their loved ones even when there is no wound to worry over.

“And he’s not…aggressive?” Madara asks.

“No!” Izuna throws his hands in the air and slumps further in his seat. “At least if he was angry or something I would understand that but this silence and following me around, it’s just weird! I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to it.”

“You could, oh I don’t know, ask him to stop?”

With the bitchiest look he can summon Izuna nods exaggeratedly. “Oh of course, why didn’t I think of that? Ah right. Because I did. And all that accomplished was a big fat load of nothing.”

“There’s no need to be so sarcastic,” his brother grumbles. When Madara turns away to pout Izuna rubs at the space between his brows.

“Do you have any idea what his problem is? Serious question, any idea at all? Has your best friend for life not said anything or dropped any hints? I’m at my wits end here.” What small hope he has is dashed by the shaking of the other man’s head.

Madara shrugs as he says, “Not a clue. It’s weird but Hashirama doesn’t actually talk about his brother very much.”

“You mean they don’t like each other?”

“No, not like that. But every time Tobirama comes up in conversation, if it’s not work related Hashirama will get this really weird look on his face and change the subject. Usually in such a way that I don’t think about it till later. You know how he is, all loud and distracting.”

“He’s certainly not as dumb as he pretends to be,” Izuna agrees.

The two of them sit in silence for a minute or two, thinking of the all the unexpected similarities between the Senju siblings and all the ways they’re still so different. For all that they are both unexpectedly intelligent it seems to be only in their own respective fields. Where Tobirama’s intelligence is nearly unparalleled when it comes to science and political machinations he seems to be quite useless when it comes to human interactions and yet that is where Hashirama shines – earnest Hashirama who can only stare with a blank smile whenever his beloved sibling goes off on some in-depth explanation of a new tax code proposal.

Shaking his head to clear it, Izuna takes a deep breath and decides that sitting around moaning about his own confusion isn’t getting much done. There are still other things he needs to do that day and he can’t do anything of them while staring across the desk at Madara.

Leaving the man to his work is as easy as reminding him that he has a lot of it and suddenly Izuna finds there is no more attention on him, the perfect time to slip out the door and wander slowly back to his own office. It is only his perfectionist nature which leads him to hearing what he does then. Were he anyone else he might shrug it off when he notices the wrappings around his left ankle coming loose, something that can certainly wait until he sits down to be fixed, but he stops instead and leans against the wall just before a turn in the corridor to bend down and fiddle with his ankle. Not until he is already busy unwrapping and retucking does he realize he is in the perfect spot to overhear two people just around the corner.

“Tetsuo thinks maybe they’re having an affair of some kind,” the first voice says, full of scorn for their own words.

“Ridiculous. That icicle and Izuna-sama? Not a chance. They were rivals for years, they’re not going to fall in to bed only a few months after peace was made!” The second voice sounds vaguely familiar, probably a member of his own clan though he can’t quite identify them.

“I never said I believed it!” the first objects. “But it’s weird, right? The way Tobirama-sama just…hovers around him. If they weren’t enemies for years I would say he’s acting like a nervous parent or something with how he watches Izuna-sama’s every move and how he glares at anyone who says something bad about the man.”

To Izuna’s annoyance his possible clan member feels the need to waste time defending his honor with a sharp, “Who’s saying bad things about him?”

“Oh for kami’s sake, that’s not the point.”

“Hmph.”

“But you get what I’m saying, yeah? I know Tetsuo think they’re rolling around together but my theory is a blood oath or something. Maybe Hashirama-sama set him this duty as penance. I heard one of them almost died in the final battle between your clans and everyone knows Tobirama-sama is too fast to go down easy.”

Much as it hurts Izuna’s pride a little to have someone believe him the weaker in any battle, he forces himself to remain still and continue listening. It takes a moment for his prideful clansman to get past the spluttering and rage over the same issue but eventually it fades in to senseless grumbling and a solid declaration that Tobirama was in fact been the one injured during their final clash. Clearly this person hadn’t been present or else they might not so casually reference that moment.

Very few had known how to process the sight of an elder version of his rival appearing only to turn and slaughter his own younger self.

As the two strangers continue to speculate Izuna swallows thickly and turns away to take another route back to his office, finding suddenly that listening in on a conversation he isn’t supposed to hear has lost its appeal. More than ever his curiosity has been peaked, however. He needs to figure this situation out.

Why does Tobirama follow him?

That will have to be dealt with on his own time, however. Later he will pass on what he heard to his brother and they can speculate to their hearts’ content over dinner. For now he has work to do. Work that, so long as he remains shut away within his own office, he can trust that he will be able to do in the silence of solitary.

Only when the work is done will he turn his mind to the problems that he has already let go too far. Surely one more day of ignoring it all cannot hurt anything. He’ll deal with it eventually, of course, but until then Izuna supposes he can hope that ignoring his problems might, by some miracle, simply make them go away.