#because its such a neat idea and i love the idea of stacking words

[itsbumblebunnybee]

You know the drill guys, its kandi time!!

Lots of letters this time! And can you tell I’m trying to use up my gems to make room for new beads? 😅 i do love them but i prefer beads that can be used with thicker elastic.

Pretty colors tho!!

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eleven

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ notes: we will see Eris again next chapter I promise lol

Definitely pictured Nuan's workshop like Tinkerbell's workshop in the old pixie hollow books. (pic here)

Also the clock Nuan gave Aya is inspired by the Egyptian myth about the beetle that pushes the sun across the sky every day.

warnings: none for this one, just a little angst and Aya being hard on herself again.

☁︎ a drawing of Nuan to go with this chapter

☁︎ word count: 3.5k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ taglist (as always lmk if you want on or off): @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial @roseodelle @sbgal @adventure-awaits13

After Aya's visit to the Night Court, something within her began to settle in a way that she had never hoped for. Something ever moving finally stilled, tamed by the knowledge that what she was had a name.

But as lovely as it was, the quiet was unnerving. As much as she had hoped and prayed for it, now it served as a wide open space for other thoughts to invade.

Welcome or not, the stillness did not last long anyways, because where one ceaseless search had miraculously ended, another began. Before the battle of Hybern, Eris had occupied Aya's thoughts more than she'd like to admit. But now he was like a permanent fixture in her mind - a certain shade of red tinting every facet of her world. It was as if her heart had adopted a new beat, reaching for her mate with every thump,

Find Me Find Me Find Me

There was no call from the Forest House, for which Aya was grateful. There was no telling what impulsive decisions her heart may have made for her. What would it be like to bear her soul to him and tell him what she had learned about herself? Would he be frightened of her power? Or maybe even threatened?

To stave off the incessant pestering of the bond, she spent every spare moment pouring over the stacks of books Rhysand had lent her. So far, they did not offer any new information. But each one was carefully read, notes and references copied into a notebook dedicated to the cause. Each finished book was sent back with a snap, and once or twice over the days a new one was sent back with pages bookmarked with notes in Nesta's neat script.

Videmati Videmati Videmati

The other rhythm of her heart, competing for Eris's attention in her mind, filling every vein with the desire for more knowledge. If she could bottle the feeling of hearing that word for the first time, she would drink it one drop at a time, drawing it out for the entirety of her immortal life.

Perhaps this desire would not be quite so voracious if there were not an underlying feeling that there may be answers closer than she once suspected. This inkling began halfway through her tour of Velaris, in a tinker's shop somewhere in the rainbow. Vague whispers of memories and ideas pulled for her attention, but refused to reveal themselves fully.

One night, as Aya studied another book of magical history under the full moon, she finally understood. The grandfather clock beside her desk struck midnight, the mechanism clicking and whirring as a door below the shining clock face popped open. She watched the little mechanical beetle roll its sunstone orb across a painted pastel sky, so lovingly and painstakingly crafted. Miniature clouds drifted across the scene, fading to nothing as the minute passed, enchanted to return again in another twelve hours. One of her most treasured gifts.

As she thought of the hands that had created such an incredible thing, the book fell from her grasp and clattered to the floor. Nuan. The one who had made this clock. A clock whose mechanical song sounded just Lucien's eye, like a signature of her work. An eye that had abilities nearly identical to Aya's powers.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Aya crossed the bridge to Nuan’s workshop as slowly as she could manage. Each level of the tower was comprised of open arches, obscured only by creeping vines and drooping flowers. In the upper levels, an enchantment turned the exposed arches into a mirror, reflecting an image of the sky instead of letting anyone see inside.

From the level that connected to the bridge, the clanking of metal and snap of magic was a quick giveaway that Nuan was home and hard at work. Each tall arch was also enchanted to keep out the weather, but it apparently did not keep any sound inside. The inventor did not care much if the outside world could hear the sound of her tinkering.

Aya had visited the workshop a few times, and admittedly held great admiration for it. But there was an uneasiness that crept up on her in Nuan's presence that caused her to avoid her when possible. Aya did not care to examine the source of that uneasiness. Any time she got too close, it began to look something like jealousy.

To Aya, and many others, Nuan was the embodiment of the Dawn Court. Beautiful, clever, and a force to be reckoned with. There was plenty to be jealous of. Face to face with the curtain of ivy that veiled the entrance, the healer chewed her lip. It would be worth any awkwardness, she reminded herself. She could survive this visit.

Nuan found her before she could get any further in her pep talk.

“Aya,” She called, pushing the leaves aside to reveal her smiling face. She had pushed her work goggles back, strands of dark hair sticking up beside them and framing her sweaty brow. Even with smudges of grease across her slender nose and round cheeks, she still looked beautiful.

“Hello,” Aya banished anything but warmth from her expression, “I hope I'm not interrupting you.”

Nuan waved a hand and tilted her head in invitation.

“I was just taking a break actually. Please come in, I haven't seen you in so long.”

Aya stepped through the doorway into the magic of Nuan's workshop. The space was utter chaos - workbenches lined every wall of the tower, each one covered in half finished projects. Cabinets and shelves overflowed with materials and scraps, a few dedicated just to salvaged parts from old clocks and machines. A miniature forge filled the room with heat and smoke, and an apothecary cabinet of enchantment components gave the air an herbal scent. Against the far wall, a set of stairs spiraled up to the second floor, covered in dishes from meals eaten in haste and set aside to be forgotten.

Nuan had a reputation of precision, elegance, and cleanliness. Which is why not just any visitor was allowed in this tower. The inventor insisted that this chaos was the secret to her success. But it may still come as a shock to those who had a certain image in mind.

Aya loved it. The space thrummed with hidden colors and the buzz of magic coming alive with the help of her power.

“I was happy when Thesan told me you wanted to see me,” Nuan began, filling a beat up kettle in the sink. Aya pushed down the pang of guilt that rose in her stomach. She should see Nuan more often, not just when she needed a favor.

“Yes, I had a question for you,” Aya said shyly, choosing an empty stool near the sink.

“Do tell,” Nuan sang, a note in her voice suggesting that perhaps Thesan or Zoren had hinted at some of the recent events in Aya's life. She set the kettle on the hot plate and then leaned forward on the counter, chin propped up in her hands.

Heat crept over the tips of Aya's ears and for a moment she considered indulging and confessing about the bond, but she feared that if she began talking about it, she wouldn't be able to stop herself. So she said instead,

“I learned something about my powers recently.” It was strange to say it out loud. She knew Nuan was aware of her powers, but Aya had never talked much about her magic outside of her family and her mentor. Though it had been Nuan who had delivered her daily dose of faebane to keep her powers hidden from Amarantha.

Her eyes stayed glued on the table, running her finger over a nick in the wood to hide its trembling.

“And?” The excitement in Nuan's voice hit Aya with another twinge of guilt. Nuan genuinely cared for her.

“I'm a videmati,” Aya raised her eyes, watching the inventor carefully. The word still tasted strange on her tongue, though just as delicious as the first time.

“A videmati,” Nuan breathed with heavy reverence, her eyes widening. “That's amazing.”

Aya’s finger stilled on the table as she stared at Nuan, an ache in her chest easing. So she did know what the videmati were. And she was not afraid. How was this the first time Aya was realizing that Nuan always spoke to her as an equal?

The inventor watched her with her chin propped in one hand, waiting with eager eyes for Aya to go on. Nothing in her posture to indicate that she was only humoring the girl before her.

“Please, tell me everything you know,” Aya blurted, spurred by this realization. Her fingers began to tremble again, this time in anticipation.

“I'm sad to say that I don't know much,” Her smile turned to a grimace, “Everything I know came from one chapter in a book.”

“And that was the inspiration for Lucien's eye?”

“It was,” Nuan's dark eyes sparkled, “Very clever of you to figure that out.”

“How did you learn about it?”

She turned and began rifling through collections of books and papers lining the shelves above the worktables behind her. Her long, glossy hair swayed as she moved, and loose papers fluttered to the floor as she carelessly shuffled the stacks around.

“It was a long time ago” Nuan answered, “During a visit to the Day Court, and I bought a copy of the book to bring home.”

She paused, and Aya felt her chest tighten with the hope that it was not a book that Aya had checked already. She had already returned over a dozen back to Rhysand, to be declared as dead ends. Even after checking the extensive references and footnotes of each one.

“It may be worth a visit there, if you haven't tried already.” Nuan went on.

Aya pursed her lips. It definitely would be. An expert could be invaluable. But Thesan was too busy to go with her, and she did not like the idea of visiting on her own. Helion had a way of working gossip out of the most unwilling of victims. He often proved to be a particularly difficult challenge for Aya's social anxiety.

“This may take me a minute,” Nuan moved to a different cabinet, a stack of spare parts clattering to the floor as she opened the glass door that had been holding them in place, “Feel free to look around. Window shop a little.”

Aya had already been skimming, eyes drifting over wooden crates of raw gemstones, jars of marbles, and spools of thick wire in every color. Finished suncatchers, wind chimes, and drying flowers and herbs hung from the rafters. Fae lights bobbed among them, painting the room in their pale glow. A canopy of beautiful things.

“How's the clock holding up?” Nuan's voice drifted over from behind some shelf.

The healer had slid from her stool and begun to move through the room, wings tucked in tight to avoid upsetting any of the precarious piles. The anticipation thrumming in her body would not allow her to sit still while she waited.

“Lovely as ever,” Aya smiled to herself, stopping beside a row of jars, each filled with colorful liquids and half-submerged sticks with crystals growing on them. That clock was one of her most treasured belongings.

“Has it slowed down at all?” Her voice was a bit muffled this time.

“Not at all,” Aya ran her finger over the edge of a small watercolor painting taped to the wall. “It's still very smooth-”

Her voice guttered out as her gaze moved to the next little painting above it. A sparrow sitting on a branch, enchanted to blink at the viewer, an invisible wind ruffling its feathers.

“This is beautiful,” She murmured. Nuan's head appeared again as she scoffed. “Will you paint me one like this? I'll trade you some tonics.”

“You can take that one,” Nuan waved her hand irreverently, “No tonics needed. Sit tight, I'm going to look upstairs.”

Aya was still staring at the painting as Nuan bounded up the stairs. Her boots rattled the ceiling above with each footstep, making a few of them wind chimes sway and sing.

Gingerly, she pulled the paper from its place on the wall and held it in her hands. As the little bird blinked at her, alarmingly life-like, Eris’s voice echoed in her mind. The moment he found her after the battle. Her skin burned as if it was only a moment ago that he had held her face in his hands. Seemingly the last simple moment between them before everything grew so complicated.

Would Eris react as Nuan had, if she told him what she was? What would he think, having a mate with such strange and rare powers? Her fingers tightened on the paper as she wondered - would Eris know anything about the videmati?

It felt like only a minute that she stood there, reveling in the memory of that moment, all of her wonderings whirling through her mind like snowflakes. But the next thing she knew, Nuan had appeared beside her again.

“I didn't know you liked birds so much,” She said softly.

“Oh,” Aya blushed, finally setting the painting aside, “It's a newer interest, I suppose.”

That twinkle returned to Nuan's eyes, like she knew a little more than she let on, but she said nothing more about it.

“Here,” She held out a leather-bound book, “This is it.”

Aya read the title hungrily, and her heart sank to the ground. A lump formed in her throat as hopes she'd forgotten were dashed.

“What's wrong?” Nuan's brows drew together and she tilted her head, trying to catch Aya's eye.

“I already have this one,” Aya swallowed hard and met Nuan's gaze, plastering on a smile, “I'm very grateful for your help.”

“Oh no,” Nuan frowned, “I'm sorry I don't have any more.”

“It's alright,” Aya mustered a small smile.

A moment passed and then Nuan asked, “Do you need someone to go to the Day Court with you? I imagine Thesan is too busy to go. Unless you'd want to ask Zoren instead.”

Aya looked up, throat sore from swallowing tears and the shame of her childish disappointment.

“Why would you do that?” She croaked, “I've never been a very good friend to you. I don't deserve your kindness.”

“What do you mean?” Nuan asked, bewildered. She frowned again and shook her head. “You've been a perfectly good friend to me, Aya. You're always so hard on yourself.”

Aya was quiet, looking down at the book in her hands. A single tear dropped from the tip of her nose and landed on the worn leather.

“You have nothing to punish yourself for, Aya,” Nuan said softly. Her hand landed gently on the girl’s shoulder, “You push people away because you think you didn't deserve them. But the truth is, that just deprives us, too.”

Aya shut her eyes tight, tears falling onto the leather cover with a soft patter. Aya knew she was hard on herself. Those feelings were a slog she walked through daily - a weight that was not as easy to shed as people made it sound. ‘Be easier on yourself,’ She heard many times. A command, as though her problem was obedience.

But the way that Nuan said it made Aya feel as though the inventor knew. It was not commanded, not even a chide. She was reaching through the fog in Aya's mind and placing the words there like seeds in a bed of soil. To grow and bloom.

Aya had not realized that Nuan had drifted away to give her a moment alone. Until she let out a frustrated groan, making Aya jump.

“Oh, Mother,” Nuan stood by the hot plate, frowning at the silent kettle. “No wonder the kettle never boiled. I never turned the hot plate on.”

Aya could not suppress her giggle, her already bubbling emotions promptly turning it into roaring laughter that would not make sense to anyone else if she tried to explain it. Nuan laughed with her just as uncontrollably, cheeks pink from embarrassment.

Their laughter faded into soft conversation, Nuan apologizing a few more times for not being able to help more. She recalled everything she knew about videmati powers just in case, and promised help in every way she could think of.

Aya determined to find some way to show her appreciation. For her efforts to help and also her friendship. Despite the aching disappointment, Aya was happy to simply bask in the presence of someone who cared for her as she was.

A long, comfortable silence settled between them. Aya cradled her tea cup in her hands, drinking in the warmth of it, trying not to let it remind her of certain fiery autumnal powers. Every once in a while, Nuan would hum to herself, eyebrows drawn close together as she was lost deep in the thought. Eventually, she returned to the present moment and drew the quiet to a close.

“I like your sash,” Nuan tilted her head, gazing at the beaded waistband of Aya's skirt. A pattern of lotus flowers was embroidered into the pink fabric. “Lotuses are often a symbol of new beginnings.”

She took a sip of her tea and murmured through the steam dancing above her cup, “And power.”

The words echoed, resonating with something in Aya's heart that she had not yet named, but had been making its way to the surface. And with that, she realized how tired she'd become. The sky surrounding Nuan's tower was slowly sinking into a gentle crimson as the sunset approached. She was ready to go home, to lay down and let her mind sort through everything she'd learned as she slept. Tiredness seemed to hit her so much faster these days.

Even still, Aya said farewell with a lighter heart. Even the disappointments of her visit could not weigh her down. Not with a new friend and so many possibilities on the horizon. Nuan's words continued to wind through her thoughts, both thrilling and foreboding.

As she passed back under the curtain of ivy, a sweet and almost spicy scent caught her attention. Something vaguely autumnal.

A pot of calendula flowers sat just outside the archway, surrounded by several other planters to adorn the main entry.

With that scent overwhelming her senses, Aya remembered something she had not thought about in a very long time. Perhaps it was fate, or the mother, or a mind preoccupied by new beginnings. She was not sure what exactly placed the thought at the forefront of her attention. But she decided to indulge it, wherever it had come from.

Peeking back into the workshop, she caught no glimpse of the inventor. She’d probably retired to her room upstairs. But anyways, Nuan was always so generous, she likely wouldn't mind one borrowed flower.

Aya plucked one of the lovely golden flowers from its stem and scurried away, heart pounding with anticipation.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Chamomile for clarity

Chrysanthemum for hope

Calendula for the mother

The old wives tale had been nearly lost in Aya's memory. Her cheeks flushed as she stirred honey into her cup of tea, feeling a little embarrassed over what she was about to do.

But she'd heard others swear by it, that the little spell worked. A cup of chamomile tea before bed, a smear of chrysanthemum oil over the heart, and a calendula placed under the pillow as an offering to the mother. The combination would allow one to dream of the bond. And if one used the spell before a mating bond had snapped, whatever dream that followed would contain hints of their future match.

If it did not work, and all Aya woke up to was wasted oil and a crushed flower under her pillow, she would feel incredibly foolish. But no one would ever know, and the components were easy enough to gather.

And how was she supposed to make any sort of decision when she had no idea how Eris felt at all?

The healer breathed deep and downed the last of the tea before crawling into bed. The stolen flower was placed carefully under her pillow, and a dot of sweet-smelling oil applied above her heart.

Aya pulled her blankets tightly around herself, closed her eyes, and sent one last desperate plea to the mother.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Sleep carried her away faster than it had in weeks now, pulling her away to a world dappled in golden sunshine. Billowing clouds filled the sky, tinted lovely colors by an iridescent dawn. Aya stood on a bridge carved of sunstone, the structure seemingly inspired by the intricate architecture of the Autumn Court. Torches lit the bridge at intervals, filling the half-translucent stone with light, as if it was lit from within by embers and flames.

Aya could have sworn she felt the cool, smooth stone beneath her feet, too real to be just a dream. She remembered her ritual, but nothing of the time it had taken to fall asleep. Unusual, since that state of in-between was lately occupied with dark and painful memories.

But the spell worked. She was here, seeing the bond with her own eyes. And it was beautiful.

Drawing in a deep breath, she began the journey across the bridge before her, toward the tall, foreboding

[avocadoooo]

foolish one

character: alhaitham x fem!reader

a/n: i didn't do the whole song, small letters intended, also never proofread🤸‍♀️ do send in requests❗

you give me just enough attention to keep my hopes too high

rubbing the sides of your forehed, you let out a heavy sigh while looking at the random numbers and formulas written in paper infront of you that you've been trying to understand for the past twenty minutes. the longer the time passes, the longer the number jumbles and shuffles together.

and when you were right on the edge of giving up, you a pair of hands clap right next to your hear startling you.

"you've been staring at that stack of paper for the past twenty minutes and you haven't even gotten passed the first page yet," you hear a familiar voice say, immediately recognizing the owner of it.

"if you're not going to help, best get away. i'm not in the mood to deal with your scolding today, alhaitham."

he doesn't say anything and you hear some shuffling, thinking that he's going to leave, you put your headphones on when suddenly the chair infront of you was pulled from its place. he sits down, dropping a stack of paper infront of you with his neat handwriting of his notes, ready to help with the parts you struggled with (all of it).

wishful thoughts forget to mention when something's really not right

arguing with alhaitham was one that tried their best to avoid, not just because he always thinks that he's right, but also because he makes you think you're making a big deal of things that really are a big deal.

alhaitham's eyebrows meet as he says, "i just ate outside, i didn't think you'd make that big of a deal out of this."

you roll your eyes, already used to him saying those words as you say, "you ate outside when i told you i was going to go and cook us dinner. you also went out of your way to go with nilou, you know how i feel about her, haitham."

he crosses his arms, already over the argument and says, "we've gone over this millions of times already, i told you that she's just a colleague. will you ever get over this? it's getting tiring"

a tear drops as you turn around, locking yourself in your room and your heart with you.

and i will block out these voices of reason in my head

all the signs were pointing to the exit. you knew that it was probably the best thing to do, especially in your situation, but were you going to do it? of course.

you won't.

every single thing about him was screaming red, that it was something wrong and dangerous. and you were well aware of that.

but you always liked red better than green anyway.

and the voices say, "you are not the exception, you will never learn your lesson"

you knew that staying in yours and alhaitham's relationship is a bad idea, hoping that things would turn around and work out for the better.

but you also knew that wishing for that would be throwing another star to the already millions of missed shining ones.

and yet you did anyway. your friends advices going into one ear and out the other as you run back to him. but you know they'll be there for you, ready to catch you as you fall into their arms, crying once again.

you swear you won't come back to him, that you'll be choosing yourself this time around and it'll be better as they nod along, knowing that you'll be back by his side in the morning, things said the night before already forgotten as you look at him with lovestruck eyes.

and you know damn well that he knows that as well.

foolish one, stop checking your mailbox for confessions of love, that ain't never gonna come

was what your friends always told you numerious times, on multiple occasions. have you ever listened? no. have they gotten tired of reminding you? yes. they've realised that you're foolish, you were always a hopeless romantic, but they never thought you'd be a foolish one as well.

and here you were, all dolled up for your anniversary dinner, phone on the table you're sitting infront of with the messages you sent hours ago, looking down at the device with teary eyes.

"hey al, i know you're busy with work but i just wanted to remind you of the date we have tonight! you also said you'd send what you were gonna wear so we can match, see u:))" - sent at 11:30am

"it's 3 hours 'til the date but can you send me the picture if you're not too busy since yk i take a while to get ready. thanks, love" - sent at 3:03 pm

"an hour to go and i have to leave in 20mins, we won't be able to match since you haven't sent me yours, sorry:((" - sent at 5pm

"here at the [location], take your time though" - sent at 5:50pm

you checked the watch on your wrist, 7:43pm, it read. it's been two hours now that you were waiting for your beloved to show up.

"maybe he's just working overtime" he would never work over time.

"he's probably stuck in traffic" the reason you had to leave 20 minutes early was because this place was 5 minutes from his work place so it'd be more convenient for him to come.

"his boss most likely asked him to stay late" he is the boss.

even if you were the one being embarrassed for waiting for wlmost two hours in a restaurant, you still tried making excuses for his behavior anyway.

you grabbed your phone and started typing away

"love, i might leave now since it's been almost two hours that i've waited, you're probably home already since you got tired from work and forgot about the date, it's okay though, we can make up next year"

then you hit send, and just as the message gets delivered as you stood up, a phone chimes from the entrance so you turn to look.

and then there he was, standing at the front talking to the server and you smile thinking that maybe he was just late after all when he walks in and turns to look back out, with his hand extending out.

a hand holds his delicately as nilou walks in.

he turns, looking around the restaurant when you lock eyes, his are shocked, while yours are filled with disappointment. you shook your head as you walk out the exit door, not even bothering to look back as he calls out your name.

you were indeed, the foolish one.

[somberjoon]

SYZYGY [1]

✩ pairing: alpha namjoon x chubby fem!omega reader

✩ genre: wonderous , soulmates , strangers to "friends" to lovers , fluff , romance🔞 , life lessons , slice-of-life , brief angsty situations , happy ending

✩ word count: 6.4k

✩ chapter warnings: cussing , cover art does not depict fmc features, drinking / mention of bar hopping , Namjoon is drunk upon meeting FMC but there is nothing that happens! , lots of inside feelies and thought processes

✩ summary: Namjoon would say that he truly lives the normal life. As an alpha, he works the job he wants, he goes out when he has time, and he has never received a single late-fee on payments. He's living the mundane life- until an unknown omega literally drops into his life. Where did she come from? Why him?

✩ cover: me

ch.1 , ch.2 ...

“It is your time, precious one.” 

“What if- what if I’m scared?” 

“You have no reason to be fearful.” 

“I was born to do this- he is just a man, an alpha that I know nothing of- what if we are not compatible like you say we will be?” 

“Do you find me inconsistent in the success of my pairings, precious one?”

“No, I am just afraid I will not live up to your expectations now that I am to be on my own.” 

“Oh, my dear, that is the reason you were matched.” 

“What?”

“Please, trust me once more and trust yourself always from now on.”

“Of course.”

“It is she that loves all thy flaws.”

“It is she that loves all thy flaws.”

Namjoon

It’s another small bar that plays shitty remixes. The only good things about these places are the owners with their intimate service and the perfectly made drinks. 

“What song is this?” Namjoon just about screams into Jimin’s ear. Another remix plays, probably by a newer pop star that he has yet to familiarize himself with. 

“I don’t know or care! It’s your turn!” Jimin points at the messy stack of cards in the middle of the small table. Namjoon gives a lazy eye roll and intently looks at the cards in his hands once again. 

“Do you have a five?” He turns to Seokjin to scream into his ear. 

“Hah! Go fish, bitch.” Namjoon begrudgingly pulled another card from the only neat stack on the table. 

“Can we pick something else?” Namjoon yells between the two, hoping to God that they heard him and will take pity on him. 

This is the one night in a whole month that he has had time to go out and forget about his job. The first shitty bar was just what he needed. Drinks were made with alcohol that was poured with a heavy hand and the music was chosen perfectly. You always have to start with the loud, dance club settings when you bar hop. Then, by the end of the night, you’re sitting at a chill bar that provides board games for its patrons and puts the correct amount of alcohol into drinks. Plus, if you have the right vibes, you can score some free samples. By now, the owners have given them a few too many and all three of them should definitely leave soon. 

“I have a better idea!” Jimin yells. Instead of the others responding, they just wait for Jimin to say what’s next on the agenda. He’s basically been running the whole night, deciding where they go next and what the feel is after each one. He’s the pro. 

“Let’s go home.” 

“Thank god.” Namjoon mumbles to himself. Immediately starting to put their cards away in a mess of backwards and upside down stacks. It was Seokjin’s turn to pay for the tab, so he’s up and heading for the main bartender in a hurry. Apparently they’ve all had enough for the night. By now it’s not just fun noiseless thinking and laughing about ‘the good old days’, it’s tired mumbling and sighing at the hit of cool air that greets them outside of the bar. 

“Ugh, Joon, you should just let us crash at your place. I really can’t imagine the price of a cab right now.” 

“I don’t care, I just wan' be horizontal as soon as possible.” Namjoon mumbles at them, already leading the way to his studio apartment. 

"You're such a fuckin' nerd." Seokjin giggles to himself, making Jimin join in."

"Because I use 'horizontal'? Ya'll can fight over the fuckin' couch cuz' you're not sleepin' withme in my big, sof' bed." 

That just eggs them on more, leaving Namjoon to lead the way as they stumble along behind him.

-

“Uh…Namjoon?”

Seokjin’s unsure voice asks behind Namjoon as he clicks his apartment door’s locks into place. His limbs seem to lag as he tries to peel his shoes and jacket off. 

“What?”

“I thought you said you didn’t go out last night.”

“Bro, I didn’t.” Namjoon adds a whiny ending in his answer. Both Seokjin and Jimin have been asking if he went out without them- the whole night he’s had to convince them he stayed in on a Friday night to work.

“Then, why is there an omega in your living room?”

“There’s not an ‘mega in my liv-” Namjoon finally pries his shoes off and turns to find a female standing just next to his couch. Her scent hits him like a bag of bricks- it’s fucking everywhere, like she scented ever piece of fabric in the house and pushed out some more just for extra measure. 

“Alpha!” Her bright eyes land on his still adjusting eyes. He’s trying his best to piece together why the fuck this is happening. He must be really fucking drunk. They must all be. There wouldn’t be a random omega in his home. He hasn’t touched another person in months thanks to the workload he has. 

“Namjoon? She’s talking to you.” Jimin pipes up, trying to cover his nose with his jacket sleeve. He can’t think the smell is bad can he? Namjoon thinks her scent is nice, really good, perfect even- but as his eyes turn to Jimin and Seokjin he can see their discomfort. 

“You’re talking to me?” Namjoon asks stupidly. He can’t, for the life of him, get ahold of a single thought. There’s no reason for her to be here talking to him. 

“Yes. I’ve been waiting for you.” She says surely. “She sent me to you.” She ends with a giddy smile. 

“Namjoon if you’ve got some weird roleplay going on please let us leave.” Seokjin says finally, pushing Namjoon into his apartment more to dispel the situation and- apparently- leave the stunned, drunk alpha alone with this unknown omega. 

“Who are you?” He asks, studying her to try and figure out if this was an omega he forgot he had a thing with before. Namjoon can’t imagine her as anyone he’s been with before- he’d surely remember a face like her’s, a scent so perfect. 

“Y/N. I’m your gift!” She says with certainty, never letting her smile leave as she waits for him to react to her. Instead, he just feels extremely light headed. With a few slowed-blinks, Namjoon collapses to the ground with a few thuds. 

-

"Please don't die. Please, please don't have drunk too much and die before I could do anything."

Namjoon wakes to a pounding in his head that seems to be speaking to him as well. A foreign voice worries around him. It isn't until a touch to his forehead that has him bolting up from a lying position to come face to face with a woman that he definitely thought he dreamt up.

"Oh, thank The Goddess! I thought you drank too much." Namjoon tries to push himself away from the woman, going as far back to his headboard as he can get. 

"I definitely drank too much, 'cuz who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd remember." He watches confused as she seems to straighten the hoodie she has on- a hoodie he realizes is definitely his- and prepares herself for an introduction. 

"I'm Y/N, your personal omega match." She gives him a grinning greeting that shows her confidence and content in a situation he sure as hell isn't familiar with.

"What- what does that mean?" Namjoon tries to rub the hangover from his eyes, an ache being soothed only when a constant pressure is held to his temples. He listens to her as he continues his ministrations.

"The Goddess raises us, teaches us how to be perfect for our matches. No matter the combination, no matter the gender identity- there's always a match for someone. But, the chosen match only goes through if the one we are matched to deserves it. Our safety is her number one priority."

He takes in this headache of an explanation, trying his best to piece together why the hell he was chosen. He's trying to figure out if this is really happening to him- if this is real, despite him knowing of those that had been 'gifted' an alpha, beta, or omega. 

"I can help you with the pain, I was taught how to alleviate hangover symptoms."

"No, no it's fine, don't touch me." Her face falls at what he says upon opening his eyes. The look of devastation on her face worries him, itching to figure out why what he said had made her so unsettled.

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Why?"

"I have been touching you. I brought you to the bed and made sure you didn't sleep with your jeans on. And I've been switching out the cool rags all night to check if you were still sweating. I definitely should have asked."

The scent he was so used to he forgot about it, is now mixed with a burnt equivalent. 

“It’s alright. I was- yeah I don’t remember much. So, thank you for helping me.” 

“Of course! I love helping, I could make you soup if you’d like. I- I don’t know what you like yet but if you let me know what you need right now I can figure it out.” 

Namjoon gives pause at the sheer want that’s on her face, the softness in her scent now. He’s never had another person in his home making him things and wanting to take care of him besides Seokjin and Jimin. Those two will try to help him out whenever he even voices a discomfort, but this stranger is sat kneeling on his bed, tending to him as if he means something to her. He doesn’t know how this works exactly, where she comes from and why she’s so comfortable with him without knowing anything about him. He can’t just take advantage of her either. He’ll learn. 

-

Even as Namjoon prepares a soup he would most definitely not have put the effort into making any other time he was drunk, Y/N is looking over his shoulder and watching what he does every step of the way. Just as his dog at his parents house used to do, she’s right on his heels, trying to memorize the steps. Even worse, her scent is giddy-ingly releasing as if she’s not in control of it. Luckily, he finishes it without spilling or burning himself, setting the bowls on his only place to properly eat in his apartment- a small peninsula in his kitchen that extends to fit four people. He sits to find one Y/N having already gotten him water and found acetaminophen to set next to his bowl. 

“So, you were busy while you were waiting for me, huh?” Namjoon quips more than anything. He gestures to the air around them, the scent. His dry humor doesn’t seem to hit the spot, though.

“I’m sorry about that as well. I was so excited to see a home, your home, and your space. And- I know it’s important to not interfere but it just- came out.” She cringes at herself, her eyes finally leaving him to focus on her bowl of food. Namjoon finds himself hiding his smile in his bite of food, savoring the flavor that he hasn’t had in a while. His amusement doesn’t last long with his overthinking. The first bite of her soup is at her lips before he asks. 

“Did it smell bad? Is my scent not- ya’ know? Not good?” 

“No! Not at all. Your scent is- well- really good to put it simply. At first I was just so excited my own scent was pushing out, but then- I smelled you. It was addicting, and I found I was just curious about what our scents are like together. I’m sorry I disturbed your space.”

“It’s okay-”

“You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.” She states. 

“I’m not. You’ll come to learn I’m very verbal about my wants and disinterests- so I’m telling the truth when I say that your scent is ‘really good’ as well.” Namjoon makes a point to jab at her earlier description, finally bringing another smile to her face. 

“Okay, I’ll remember that. And I’m glad you like it.” She shyly admits. 

“Now that we know that, though, let’s just try not to push it out as much until we get to know each other better- just so we don’t act on instincts too haphazardly.” Namjoon politely suggests. He’d never put someone’s scent over consent and their verbal wants and needs- but if they are truly matched by The Goddess, then he knows that an interest will develop and then scents cloud instincts and will make them both do things they may regret. 

Looking at Y/N now, he can imagine it. He can imagine her being the omega he’d do anything for. Right now, his imagination is only based on what The Goddess has given him, though. That’s the problem. He needs to know her inside and out, not just her sweet, warm scent. The softness of her hair- long, warm brown curls that cascade down to her hips- needs to be a feeling that he could recall into his fingers at any moment. He would need to be able to lick his lips and taste her on them. She’d need to be ingrained into him, just as much as he makes sure he’s the same for her. They are the only two that will know each other as intimately as he wishes. Until then, he will care for her as he’s supposed to, and they will get to know each other- as friends. 

“Okay, I can do that.”

“And I’m guessing you had no clothes?” 

“I didn’t know they’d drop me here naked, I just grabbed the first things I found comfortable.” Again, she seems to be more embarrassed of herself in that realization, but she pushes on. “I can get a job. The Goddess taught me how to have good communication and hard work.” 

He didn’t think of that. Should she work? Does she want to work?

“For now, let’s just see how things workout, and if you wish to work, I’ll help you with the process. If you enjoy being here without one, or find out you hate it, then no big deal- I earn enough. Let’s get you some clothes today, though, some things that are better suited for your skin, yeah?” Her eyes light up immediately, her eyes never leaving Namjoon in the dark about how she feels. He likes that already. 

“I can go outside today?” 

“Y/N, you can go outside whenever you want-” He catches her ready to interrupt but he can already guess what she’ll ask. “We’ll talk about scenting another time. But, I am not going to tell you what you can and can’t do. I’m assuming you want to stay here-” A few satisfied nods from her is the answer. “Then we’ll have some basic rules. We tell each other where we’re going, or if we want to go out and do something- just so we know and just so we’re both as safe as possible. We don’t invade each other’s privacy ever- when doors are shut we always knock and when we’re curious about something we ask. We tell each other how we feel if we are having issues or when one wishes to communicate a change in the rules. We are two separate people who have our own needs, and we both need to respect that. I think those are most important, but- do you want to add or change anything?” 

“I appreciate how thorough you are, but where do I sleep?” 

-

"How about this? It's soft and similar to the one you're wearing." 

"Hmmm, I don't know if this is what I want to wear daily, though." 

"How about we just get some basics you immediately like and then we'll get more later on when you figure out what you like in broader areas."

The main issue with shopping for a once-celestial-being is that clothing was never a unique-based choice for them. Everything was uniform and based only on what that person chose to cover. 

"I like simple things, but I just want some more color." 

Namjoon scans the racks of the clothing, but only the sections with more colors. Even then, all of the clothing in the women's section is different. Cuts and flares are different or nonexistent. He finally just looks up to ask a question, but finds Y/N with two arms full of choices. 

"There's just so much and I've never tried them before…can I just try stuff on?" 

-

Namjoon waits an odd amount of time to see the first outfit that Y/N shows him. It's not a crowded store, nor are the stores around them busy. But, when she walks out with a tight forest green crop top that obviously shows she has no bra on he immediately feels like every eye is on them. He's not one that cares about it, he's definitely a 'free the nipple' kinda' guy. But the very brief sight has him standing up immediately from the waiting chairs and blocking her from the small entrance that people could see through. 

"This one is so soft and I love this color. The skirt is a little weird, though. Does it look okay?" 

Namjoon pulls his glued gaze from her face to travel down her body. A body that he is now seeing in a new light. The clothes fit as if they were made for her- even a small pudge of her stomach sticks out between the top and the skirt to pull his gaze in. The skirt isn't weird, it's a creme colored, long cargo skirt that is probably a new style he's a little unaware of. If anything, it's perfect and is as lovely as she sounds. It matches her, unlike his hoodies and matching sweats- though he has to stop himself from wishing she’d just wear his clothing all the time. He gets to her feet, his oversized socks and the smaller pair of slippers that Jimin usually wears in his apartment are on her feet. It's so cute and so soft that he has to completely ignore it to give her an honest sounding answer.

"It looks really good." He says it with a heady voice, already obsessed with how everything looks on her. "Is it comfortable?" He changes the topic to not have to say more than he needs to.

"Yes! I tried on some jeans but the baggier stuff and skirts are more comfortable right now. I can try those later on. I like the sweats and softer stuff, this one was just one I wanted your opinion on." 

"Okay, grab whatever you'd like and then we can get shoes and bedding." Namjoon turns before she answers, hoping he isn't stinking up the damn shop.

Now that they’ve left the clothing shop, Namjoon feels like he can breathe. Despite Y/N having already chosen what she’d found comfortable, she wanted his opinion on a few more options just so she didn’t get ‘too much’. He really didn’t mind buying everything she liked, but she was insistent on living with only necessities- just as she did before she was ‘dropped’. That’s how she describes it, so he will as well. All her clothing is plain and is like her clothing before, as she described. Tight, simple bands and flowy fabrics that were different shades of and between white and black. Now, she just wants to add color and, apparently, his opinion. 

“Why do I need extra bedding? Is there an omega version of most personal items? It was always pretty equal before- everything was perfect.”

“I think that’s the point of being directly raised by The Goddess, it’s all catered to you. You don’t think that a blanket could be two different things to one person there? Like, perfectly soft and fuzzy to you but silky and cool for another.”

“Oh, I never thought about it that way. We just got necessities there and, to be honest, there wasn’t a need to share.”

“It’s just easier for those here to have their own stores or versions of preferred necessities because of your skin. Clothing and bedding is softer in certain stores, products can be found in a large variety based on needs and wants as well, and depending on your second gender there are just other needs you have- you know that though.” Namjoon really hopes that this won’t be a conversation he has to have when they barely know each other. He couldn’t imagine The Goddess making things as important as heats and ruts to be something unnecessary in Her ‘magical land above’. 

“Yes, I know. I’m already recognizing that face you make. Please don’t be shy with me- I kind of lied about sharing things back then- we shared heats and ruts with each other if we wished. It wasn’t sacred there like it is here- it was just a means for survival and The Goddess knew it was something that was our choice. Here, though, it’s far more special and we are taught that- I’m only yours, and if you'd like, you’ll be mine.” 

She says these things with such confidence and assurance. He can’t just let her be this open without him giving that energy back, but he’s more so just not ready. This time to get to know her is crucial and keeping their personal information separate if wanted is important to him. He also can’t blame her, she just told him that their bodies were shared if wanted based on survival, and they were watched over all the time and provided for without having much of a say. It’s all just another thing to learn- he’ll learn to get used to her nonchalance. 

“When it comes up we’ll talk about that then and figure it out together.” Namjoon assures her, hoping he sounds as reassuring as possible. 

“Okay. Ooh, these are nice!” Y/N points at a specific type of blanket in one section. She touches the samples of comforters that line the wall under each different type on the shelf. He likes these comforters as well, the airy, padded blankets provide warmth but don’t make you sweat in the hotter months. 

“These ones are good during the hotter seasons as well- I think they’d be good.”

“Can I get two? For nesting.” 

This part doesn’t take long at all. Namjoon suggests some things and lets her pick out whatever her heart desires as this is all stuff he’ll be less helpful in. By the end, Namjoon is carrying the two clothing bags, and two regular pillows while Y/N’s usual giddy face doesn’t struggle at all to carry the two comforters and two plushies she thought ‘looked like him’. He tried denying the panda, but the koala wasn’t an awful comparison. (He folded immediately). 

“What’s next?” She asks with excitement on her face.

“We plan dinner and then go to bed.” 

“Oh..okay!” The excitement leaves her, but only for a second. 

She never thinks long about what it is she’s taking in. She’d definitely not one to take things lightly, as she said she’d been memorizing his fucking expressions, so it’s probably just content. She’s content to be here and do whatever he suggests because that’s all she knows. 

“How about we go out to dinner? Is there anything you like?” He watches her think for another slow couple of seconds, and then she’s excited again to talk to him. 

“Whatever is your favorite. I’d like to just try something new.”

“You’re going to be sorely disappointed.” Namjoon gives her a mischievous smile that’s more fond-looking when it’s directed at her. 

-

It’s a seedy pizza spot that is honestly not actually all seedy. Namjoon was never one to judge a place or person on how they look- so, when he stumbled upon this place that seemed to be the only thing open after a late-night recording session, he gave it a shot. It’s shitty on the outside with a dirty, worn down awning that could just be black on purpose and a sign that you can barely read. The inside is far better, luckily. It’s as clean as you could probably get the place without gutting it, and the owner is the one making the pizzas. It’s not very seedy because of that and the fact that the owner won’t share his real name. He named it ‘Mario’s’ only because he likes the games and wanted people to think he knew what the fuck he was doing. So, Namjoon isn’t sure- but the pizza’s fucking amazing. 

Y/N doesn’t look like she should be walking into the establishment. She’s bright-eyed and wanting to take in the world as it is her first time seeing it, technically. He doesn’t know how exactly she lived or what she has seen, but it really seems as if she’s appreciative of even the dust lining the crevices of the flooring. 

“Hey, music man. The usual?” 

“Yeah, but double it, please.” 

“Ooh, pretty lady here.” Despite Namjoon never having a jealous moment in his life before this, he immediately tenses up at the attention he gives her.

“Hi! I’m Y/N.”

“Very sweet, well I’ve seen you in here by yourself too many times- so, I’ll charge you for one order today, ey? Nice date, nice price.” 

“Thanks, man.” Namjoon tries to get the conversation over with, looking over to Y/N to see that she doesn’t mind one bit.

“Is this a date?” She suddenly asks, bouncing off the idea that the owner obviously put into her head.

“Just dinner as friends right now. I’d let you know if it was a date, I’m really possessive.” Namjoon says it a little louder than necessary as he leads her to a booth seat that conceals her from the counter’s view. “Let me pay, I’ll be right back.” 

Namjoon misses the giddy smile that Y/N has at the new information she now holds in getting to know her alpha. They aren’t each other’s yet, but he’s all she knows right now and he’s treating her so well. It seems bound to happen that he’ll become closer to her- her's, in all senses that she finds meaningful. It’ll mean she’s doing well, and that she won’t disappoint The Goddess or Namjoon. 

The wait isn’t long, Namjoon’s favorite part besides the perfect slices of pizza. 

“One pepperoni slice and one cheese. I’m a simple man.” 

“I like simple.” Is all she tells him with a shrug before she greedily eats the cheese slice. She talks as she eats, not caring for the food in her mouth. “Wow, there was nothing like this! We didn’t need to eat, but there were cravings in our time of heat. I usually craved something sweet, and with only the necessities being our priority it was usually fruit. We learned to cook basic things as well- breads, soups, and different kinds of rice.” 

Namjoon feels comfortable talking with a half-full mouth now as well, becoming more and more comfortable with a stranger that he just acquainted himself with this morning. 

“You’re in luck, besides music, I’m a professional take-out order-er.” 

“Mmm,” it seems she takes that information and is already imagining the good food that she doesn’t know exists yet. “I didn’t know you made music- that’s your job?” 

“Yeah, I produce music but I’m mostly at home doing it. Sometimes I’ll go in to help with a recording, but that’s not often. I just get paid to make the beats or change lyrics whenever they need help with that.” 

“That’s really cool. Could I hear something sometime?” She looks so interested, so enthralled by him that he almost chokes up at the attention she’s giving him. He doesn’t feel worthy as an alpha to be someone she’s interested in. He’s never had someone look at him like he has all the answers and can provide for her without a second thought. He knows this is a learning process for them both, but he’s thinking that she’s already set on whatever it is she was made for- while he’s just a man that is still figuring out everything himself. A stable job and a home that he can provide isn’t enough. He isn’t enough yet. 

“You’ll probably hear it all the time when I’m working during the week.” 

“Yay.” She gives him that same smile, now with her lips sealed because of the food in her mouth. Grease stains her lips and he has to push down the want to wipe it from her. Her lips, now that he’s looking, are plump and the pink of them is hiding under a layer of orange grease. Despite that, they’re still kissable, memorable, probably soft and pliant in times of need-

“Here’s a napkin.” 

“Thank you!” She takes it and immediately uses it. 

He has to stop doing that.

-

It’s only once they’re home and have hauled everything up to the apartment that Namjoon realizes it was a horrible idea to share the bed. He wants to be a gentleman and he doesn’t want to just push her away. She’s here for an obvious reason, they were matched- supposedly perfect for each other- and he only feels like a dick pushing her away to sleep on his uncomfortable couch. 

He shows her how to use the washing machine, and as they wait it’s far more awkward than he means for it to be. 

“Have you tried the TV yet?” Namjoon asks as she goes through her bag of clothes to show Namjoon the contents. He mentally smacks himself, he really didn’t have to ask, he could just turn it on and put a random show on to end the night. 

“No, I didn’t want to touch anything I wasn’t familiar with.” She’s nonchalant about it, why can’t he be nonchalant about it?

“Okay, I got these to sleep in, they didn’t have that many options so I hope I can borrow a shirt to sleep in if that’s okay?” She holds up a pair of sleep shorts that has far too little fabric. It’s her choice to wear them- he’s not a fucking teenager, he’ll be fine. 

“And I know it’s most decent, so I did find these to wear…” she has to find the tag and read them. “Sports bras.” She holds up the three-pack proudly to show him. Despite her being the one to show him, he feels invasive, immediately turning away after a quick smiling nod to turn on the TV.

“And then this skirt as well as this smaller one, and a more flowy one. The fabrics are nice- I like how different they are here.” 

“Very pretty.” He says, hoping it was normal enough. 

“Thank you! And then just a few more of those shirts like the green one and a couple hoodies and sweats like yours. We’ll match! Plus these shoes and socks will go with everything I got.” She excitedly looks over her things again and again. She’s so happy with just those, so happy with the simple things and the shitty restaurant that he’d never even think about taking a woman to unless they were much more comfortable together. 

In his thinking, he doesn’t notice Y/N standing in front of him until she’s holding up that pair of sleep shorts for him. He takes them without thinking, looking up from the couch to give her a questioning look. 

“You said we could talk about scenting later. Is scenting my clothes off-limits?” She looks down at him with worry in her eyes and a peak of worry slips through to make him weak in the- everything, really. 

“No, uh, no that’s okay.” It’s a possessive thing he feels when he scents the shorts, looking up at her as he gives them a good rub against his neck and even going the extra measure to make sure his scent is thick and potent. 

“There.” He hands them back, the soft fabric going straight to her nose to take in a whiff. He wants so badly to know how much she enjoys it, if she enjoys it as much as he enjoys her’s. She takes her time, then points to the pile of clothes. 

“Can you do the rest once those are clean?”

“Yeah.” It’s a breathy response, hanging onto the hope that he’ll be able to scent her at some point. Having his scent on her things, on her body, it truly finalizes the fact that she’s here for him. She was made to bless someone- all pretty omega, inside and out, and soft features with a soft body. She was made to bless him, he realizes. Though he doesn’t know if it was meant to be him from the beginning, she was still curated in a way that led them together. He doesn’t deserve it. Not when he’s clunky and unconfident in his abilities to be her alpha. His instincts are kicking in without the confidence to even put them to use. 

“Let’s get the bed ready, however you like it we can change it, yeah?” He’s suddenly antsy in his need to make his room presentable and safe. He’s grabbing both blankets and pillows and is in the bedroom before Y/N even makes it there, still becoming more and more tired after her adventures today. 

“Are you tired?” He asks, noticing her tired eyes and the shorts still lifted to her nose. He gets a nodding answer. Perfectly, maybe by fate even, the dryer chimes its finish, indicating that now both of her new blankets are clean and warm.

While he is just about freaking out over never having made a nest before, Y/N is at his side and pulling one thing at a time from his arms. She places the blankets haphazardly in his eyes, just making a small dip for her to cuddle into. Even in her fog of scent and growing tiredness, she is able to do what she needs for her comfortable nest. He even lingers on the fact that she’s making it on the correct side, probably having already noticed where his scent lingers the most. 

“Okay, we sleep.” she almost gets into the bed before Namjoon is tugging at her (his) hoodie, pulling her back. 

“No outside clothes. You need to be comfortable and clean.” She immediately obeys, pulling her (his) sweats down as he looks up at the ceiling to admire the texture. He remembers she needs one of his shirts so he uses that as an actual excuse, plucking a random one from the hangers to hand to her. He completely turns around for that part, waiting only until he hears her settle into the bed before he turns back to her. He catches her arm sticking out, patting the large space next to her, before disappearing again. 

She’s going to be the death of him, really. A pretty omega nesting in his bed. 

He’s a rod next to her. Stiff and trying to take up as little room as possible. He has work tomorrow and a new responsibility he has to navigate- he can’t just stay up all night and be useless in both ways. 

“Namjoon.” Despite how tired she was, she whispers to him with a lucid voice. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m just- I don’t know- tense? Could I…sleep with your hand?” 

This is more intimate than he thought it’d be. To have her in his bed, wanting his wrist to scent freely and maybe even scent herself. He’s not one to take scenting lightly. To him, it’s special, and should be sacred to the one he is to be with for the rest of his life. He was fine with the clothes, he maybe even thought about it a few times since their shopping trip- but is this too much too fast?

“Nevermind, I’m sorry, I know we didn’t talk about that yet.” She whispers again. 

“Y/N.” It’s silent for a few long seconds. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m not sure if I want to scent right now, but could I- could we just try this once and I can let you know how I feel?” 

“Are you sure? I know I just came to you so abruptly, I don’t want my presence to change your previous boundaries. I’ll do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

He really thinks about it, about how he’s felt before with others he’s been interested in. Even with Seokjin and Jimin, he’s never thought about scenting them or even needing to push out his own scent in situations that needed his ‘dominance’ for assistance. It was never something he prioritized, or had a reason for. So, the fact that it’s now wanted and needed, it feels intimate. But, maybe wanting to give this to her is what’s right. If not, and he’s reading this wrong, he’ll let her know. His own rule was to be open and to voice their concerns. 

“It’s okay, here.” He sticks out his arm before he can overthink it more. She takes his hand as if it were a precious jewel, her skin is just as soft as he imagined. Maybe it was even better- but he can’t explain it. All he knows is that his own skin seems to call out for her, yearning for a touch he has just met. A touch that he only knew of a second ago. He grasps onto her hand, rubbing his thumb into the back of it as she directs him to her nose. The brush of her nose is like static, a shock to his system that he’s never felt before. His sensitive scent gland there is immediately releasing his scent in wafts that she only snuggles closer to. 

“It’s so good. Is this okay?” She mumbles, clearly trying to keep a clear head as well. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, but really he’s just trying to keep cool. “Do you feel better?” 

“Yes, it’s safe and warm. Thank you, Namjoon.” 

With her nose and upper lip pressed to his wrist- with a mumble of his name whispered into his own skin- he lets out a ragged breath, and he himself tries his best to drift to sleep. It isn’t long before he’s actually tiring down, her sweet, warm scenting pushing out to meet him. She could probably scent the nerves. He doesn’t mind how it happens, nor how they’ll wake up at this point. Now, he can rest, knowing a sweet omega is safe in his home.

[loreholdlesbian]

Unfinity Draft Booster Challenge

Every set, I like make a booster pack of custom cards that could have come from that set, inspired by one of the challenges from the great designer search (the link to which is now dead). I skipped over unfinity when it first came out for a number of reasons including the tight release schedule and stuff going on in my personal life, but I wanted to backtrack to it. The primary goals of this challenge is both to a) be creative by making cool designs and cool uses of set mechanics and b) to design within the constraints of a given set, and to be able to blend those two needs together. I opted not to include a sticker sheet in this pack, because I don’t have anything close to the frame I’d need for them. Pretend I did include one, and both the power/toughness stickers had a ticket value of X and power/toughness X/X, cause that seems like a neat twist of the mechanic. I also don’t have access to the ability to do the acorn stamp, so I just used silver border instead. Now let’s get into what I did do.

Rare

Enter the Casino 3GG

Enchantment

King me (As this enters, you get a king’s deck if you don’t already have one. (A shuffled 52 card playing deck.))

You have no maximum hand size.

Whenever you draw a card from your library, also draw a card from your king’s deck. It’s a creature card with power, toughness, and a generic mana cost each equal to that card’s value and convoke. (Aces are 1, Jacks are 11, Queens are 12, Kings are 13.)

[Silver border]

Art link

Normally I like my rare for these challenges to do something interesting with a set mechanic that I couldn’t get away with at a lower rarity, but for an un-set I wanted to go with something really wacky. I don’t love how wordy this ended up but I really love the effect and I think it’s all largely necessary to get it to work. I love the idea of having a big hand full of both normal playing cards and magic cards mixed together, that feels really un to me. The problem I had to find a way around with using a playing card deck is that a lot of the cards are values that are quite big for magic- 8, 9, 10, etc. Making them big X/X for X creatures felt like the cleanest implementation but a lot of them are just gonna be dead cards cause you don’t often get up to that kind of mana and if you do you have better things you could do. I hope the convoke helps address that, especially since this card helps fill you up on creatures.

Uncommons

Tokens of Affection 2W

Enchantment

As ~ enters the battlefield, choose a printed token.

Spells you cast that could create the chosen token cost 1 less to cast.

Creatures you control that are the chosen token get +1/+1.

[Silver border]

Nothing says “love” like a plushie with a recording box in it that says ‘love’.

Art link

Here’s a design that I thought would be cool, but just doesn’t work within the rules, making it perfect unset material. It wants you to use a bunch of token makers that make the same token. In draft, I intended for this to be used by the RW clown deck, but when you expand to constructed the sky’s your limit. It even works with artifact tokens, mostly.

Beanie Vendor 1B

Creature- Vampire Hatificer Employee

As long as you’re wearing two or more hats, Beanie Vendor has lifelink.

At the beginning of your upkeep, you may stack a hat on top of your head. If you do, Beanie Vendor gets +1/+1 until that hat falls off.

1/1

[Silver border]

Art link

Unfinity has a hat theme, and I wanted to make a card that took that to its logical extreme- making you stack a bunch of hats on top of eachother. It just seemed like a fun thing to encourage. I don’t expect the hats to actually fall off much; the main point of wording it that way was to make it have a slow growth but also so that you couldn’t keep taking off and putting back on the same hat.

Release the Clowns! 3R

Sorcery

Open an Attraction, then create a 1/1 Clown Robot artifact creature token for each artifact you control. (Put the top card of your Attraction deck onto the battlefield.)

[Black border]

“And woe be upon us, for from inside the fun house, I heard a faint chorus of honks.”

Art link

One of my gripes with unfinity is that it’s mechanics are a bit insular at times. Or at least, the payoffs for them are, and there were quite a few payoffs for them. So this was my attempt to make a payoff that works more broadly; it works well with both attractions and with the robot deck, as well as the other random artifacts you might pick up. And of course, it’s black border, so you can toss it in a commander deck that wants lots of artifacts out.

Commons

Little Gray People 1

Art: A gray background with “This space left blank” in darker gray letters

Creature- Alien Guest

T: Put an art sticker on ~.

T: Choose a color among white, blue, black, red, and green in Little Gray People’s art. Add one mana of that color.

1/2

[Silver border]

This is an experiment with a new way to care about art stickers- you care about the colors on them. The art needed to be completely gray to avoid having any of the five colors, so I thought a “This space left blank” joke felt very appropriate, and I like how the name references that while also referencing a classic alien trope.

Employee of the Moth 3W

Creature- Insect Employee

Flying

When ~ enters the battlefield, open an Attraction. You gain life equal to the amount of numbers lit on that Attraction. (Put the top card of your Attraction deck onto the battlefield.)

3/2

[Black border]

She was drawn in by the bright lights of the Astrotorium, and never left.

Art link

This was a top down design from the name and I’m extremely happy with it. It might be my favorite design in the pack. I love that it explores new design space for attractions and also that it’s a moth that cares about lights. It’s perfect.

Tightrope Walker 4U

Creature- Human Performer

Tightrope Walker can’t be blocked as long as you’re balancing it on top of a single horizontal finger.

3/2

[Silver border]

Without gravity, the impressive part isn’t avoiding falling down but avoiding floating up.

Art link

It really isn’t much of a challenge, and there’s no limit on the number of tries, so I costed this as if it was always unblockable because it basically is just with a more flavorful ability. My point of comparison is mystic of the hidden ways.

Word Player 2U

Creature- Vedalken Gamer Guest

~’s power is equal to the number of words in its name.

1: Exchange ~’s name with the name of another target creature you control until end of turn. (Stickers aren’t exchanged.)

*/3

Art link

I like this design, because it works especially well within the context of the set since you can put name stickers on it can also just generally do some fun things. And those things are irrelevant enough that it’s fine at common.

Escape Artistry 1B

Instant

Choose a creature you own. You get a ticket counter, then you may put a sticker that creature. When that creature dies this turn, return it to the battlefield under your control.

[Black border]

Count Dragula’s famous buried-coffin trick is much less impressive when you remember she’s already dead.

Art link

Another thing I don’t have access to: The ticket counter symbol. This card is an unfinity twist on the standard black protection spell cause I was surprised to find it didn’t have one at common. It takes advantage of the fact that stickers stick around.

Scary Cyborg Arm R

Artifact- Equipment

Equipped creature is a Robot artifact in addition to its other types.

Whenever equipped creature attacks, target creature can’t block Robots this turn.

Equip 1

[Black border]

Art link

Like I mentioned, I wanted to give red a little bit of an artifact theme, but it was hard to find a good way to do a payoff for that at common when other cards in the set don’t care about artifacts, so instead I went with a good enabler that is an artifact and turns a creature into one. And it plays with the deck that’ll have the most artifacts lying around, the robot deck. Admittedly, this isn’t the wackiest design out there, but it plays into the robot tribal theme well. I had a weirder design for the red common, but it was a creature and the pack was a bit creature heavy especially at common, so I went with the equipment.

Enthusiastic Reader 1G

Creature- Elf Guest

T: Add G. If this mana is spent to cast a wordy creature spell, cover that spell’s rules text. That spell can’t be countered unless an opponent can recite that spell’s rules text. (A spell is wordy if it has four or more lines of rules text.)

1/3

[Silver border]

There’s nothing they love more than their Questing Beanie.

Art link (base)

I created this cause I wanted to make another solid silver border common that had nothing to do with any of the set mechanics, it was just a neat design, and I’m really happy with the results. I like it as a joke on the “big dumb green beatstick with far too many words” that the community likes to make fun of, Questing Beast being the biggest example of course. And I also love that it introduces a minigame element that doesn’t take much time out of the game. The only time your opponent ever needs to recite it is if they’re gonna try and counter it. I would like to offer my sincere apologies to the artist though.

Attractions

Runaway Rollercoaster

Artifact- Attraction Vehicle

Flying

Visit- ~ becomes an artifact creature until end of turn.

3/3

Lit numbers | 3, 6

[Black border]

I don’t have an Attraction frame, sue me.

Art link

Yes, now we reach the final thing I don’t have: An attraction frame. So you get these horrible ms paint abominations. Here’s a bit of a twist on attractions, by combining them with other card types; in this case, vehicle, though I could imagine something similar with equipment.

Craps-troid Belt

Artifact- Attraction [common]

Visit- Roll two six-sided dice. You gain life equal to the difference between those results. If you rolled doubles, claim the prize!

Prize —  ~ deals 4 damage to any target. Sacrifice Craps-troid Belt, then open an Attraction.

Lit numbers | 2, 4, 6

[Black border]

With just one, it’s more a buckle than a belt.

Art link

I wanted to make both my attractions black border commons for the sake of pauper. Additionally, I wanted at least one of them to have a prize if able, for The Most Dangerous Gamer in commander. Finding a minigame that works in black border at common was very difficult, but I think “try to roll doubles” works. I didn’t even come up with the idea trying to make an attraction- I came up with it for a red combat trick, but I didn’t want to have two cards in the booster riffing on the same idea and the attraction needed it more.

[cosmos-dot-semicolon]

Ooh I'm SO glad to hear from you on this, since I didn't go in blind on it; the only reason I bought Dicey Dungeons was because I spoiled myself on the plot and realised the dialogue was really well written. So it's really cool to hear somebody else who loved the game come from the opposite perspective discussing that!

Yeah, one of the best things about this game is its pacing. I've had ideas about it for a while, but you've just made me realise how well the gameplay and writing work together in this aspect:

Everybody's dialogue is upbeat and excited in their introductions, with Lady Luck sounding interested in and being encouraging towards their desires. Even her sinister slip-ups sound more like game-show banter - just like with the wheel-spinning you've mentioned.

You get to the gimmick episodes (2 and 3), and you see everybody keeping up their spirits, but it's clear they're slightly more worried. Lady Luck pokes more at their insecurities, but backs off and just lets them take it. And you make it through those just fine, probably. It takes a little longer than the beginning episodes, but you can make it, even if the number of levels left seems daunting. The wheel still doesn't land on any winning spot…

Then, without any warning, you get hit with the elimination rounds. There is no dialogue for them and no preparation. Story-wise, it's a difficulty hike for no justifiable reason. Gameplay-wise… it's built well enough. But, well. It's hard. Also Witch 4.

Then in Parallel Universe, Lady Luck shifts everything completely. Everybody is aware she holds all the cards and you really feel the pan boiling as she starts handing each contestant a personalised option of surrender.

It's fantastic. I'm aware that 'slow-burn' is usually used in reference to romance, but I think it really fits your description of the plot progression and also the 'oh' feeling wash over you more than the word 'twist' does. The candle was lit the moment the contestants entered the dungeons, and it stays burning at a constant pace. The realisation of both the characters and the player that the fire won't stop is just more horrifying than everything bursting into flames at once.

And yeah. God, it's been a while since I've seen a piece of media use a cutesy exterior design to hide "dark" revelations in a way that didn't feel like edgelord-signalling. I was not expecting it from a video game about dice of all things!

And yes! I'm a big fan of how Lady Luck does in fact have power over everything in the dungeons - even with her rules in Backstage - but thankfully doesn't touch its denizens' minds. And she does find it legitimately impressive that they manage to beat her at the end. It's a part of her (metaphorical) game that stops things from feeling entirely unfair towards the contestants, and it makes way for a really neat message about holding out hope and finding friendship in a chaotic world stacked against you.

also.

#i have to write the best dicey dungeons analysis so my mutual doesn't know i only just realized today that 'fixing the dice' is a pun #make sure you delete that last tag before posting

fine. apology accepted. also big fan of the way you sound like baby squid writing out those tags.

I remember you saying Dicey Dungeons has a strong narrative in one of your posts about it. I agree (and am in fact working on a essay on it) but I'm kind of curious to hear what you liked about it :O

Dicey Dungeon spoilers below:

The main thing that stood out to me was the buildup.

I went into Dicey blind (dev of Wandersong reccomended it on his twitter), so when it starts I was like "oh its a fun little game show", and "Oh ha ha, they're not winning that car, game show humour". Then, just as not-winning is starting to get kind of repetitive, all the hints towards the sinister nature of Lady Luck and the dungeons that had been slowly piling up start to really click into place, and the subtle "oh" feeling that's been building up washes over you.

It wasn't a plot twist so much as a natural plot progression, and yet the way it affected how the story is viewed was so smooth. I wouldn’t call it shocking, but that slow build-up hits better than a lot of the plot twists I've seen in other media. And the goofy tone and cartoony design don't initially incentivise you to go looking for that kind of "darker" undertone, which heightens the impact when it does hit.

And despite the realization of the immense horror of the situation the contestants are in, the game maintains the same tone it started out with. I didn't feel sucker punched, I didn't feel tricked, and it was very refreshing. The direction the narrative took made sense and led perfectly into the Lady Luck being the final boss.

Speaking of, once it's been established just how big of a power house Lady Luck is, her anger over Jester's betrayal is super intimidating, but it you squint it also reveals a chink in her armour. Lady Luck, who had hitherto been in complete control of everyone and everything in the dungeon abs maybe even luck itself, can apparently be bamboozled.

Does this mean we may actually be capable of defying her? It isn't going to be easy, but if we try, maybe we can climb out of this pit of hopelessness we seem to have fallen into.

Dicey doesn't try to do anything huge with its story, it keeps things simple and fun and moves slowly enough to let the game play shine, but keeps up the pace to keep the story evolving and engaging.

The pacing works really well for the game play, the characters are efficiently established and charming, the trapped-in-the-dungeon and Jester-betrayal are solid revelations, and things escalate in an appropriate and interesting manner.

[its-vannah]

Our Secret - Theseus x Reader

A/N: I only ever publish things I'm somewhat proud of, and I absolutely love the way that this one turned out.

Word Count: 1,342

Warnings: Sassy Lally (more of a gift than a warning), fluff (<3)

Lally's skirt swishes around her ankles as she entered her classroom at Ilvermorny, a long sigh escaping her lips as she made her way to her desk. Papers were scattered all over the surface, parchment placed in a heap at the center of the table, and quills were spilling out of their holder.

Her students were already done for the day, now nestled back in their common rooms in preparation for the next day. But you were still there, twirling around in her swivel chair, enjoying the moment.

When you noticed her, a large smile appeared on your face, and you rose from your seat, "Lally, you're back already!"

She nodded, "I've been gone too long. Can't have you teaching them better than me, can I?"

"Well, it's too late for that." You teased, giving her a quick hug, "It's good to see you, but you really should get going. You look exhausted, Lally."

"I assure you that I'm quite alright. Just glad to be back and in my classroom." Lally said, waving her wand to arrange the parchament in a neat stack, placing the quills all in one cannister, and sorting the papers by student's year.

You shrugged, "Suit yourself. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."

"You could get back to teaching Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow and tell them what a great professor I am?" She suggested, wiggling her brows, "You never know, Y/N, maybe I'll teach Care of Magical Creatures one day and you'll teach Charms."

"You? Teaching Care of Magical Creatures? And me teaching Charms? You're too kind- and unrealistic." You sighed, shaking your head, "I'd have better luck getting a job with MACUSA than I would getting the role of Charms professor."

"You're probably right. I don't think the charms teacher here wants to leave anytime soon. She likes what she does. She's rather good at it, too." Lally teased, reclaiming her seat.

You raked a hand through your hair, "I don't know, I'd say she's okay."

Lally jokingly rolled her eyes, reclining in her seat.

The door behind you burst open, the doors slamming into the walls on its sides. Startled, you drew your wand, aiming it directly at your target.

But Lally leaped out of her chair, gently pushing your hand towards the ground, "Careful, Y/N, he's no harm. Just a friend."

She turned towards the man who had just entered her classroom, "What can I do for you, Mr. Scamander."

"Please, Lally, call me Theseus." He said, offering her a small smile, before clearing his throat, "Newt's here for the next few days as a guest speaker for Care of Magical Creatures. And, given that he's, well, Newt, I've been sent here to supervise. It's a good thing, too, because he's already lost Teddy."

"You don't think he's gotten in here, do you?" Lally questioned, peering around the room for any sign of movement.

Theseus shrugged, "I'm not sure, but I don't want to leave any table unturned."

They began scuffling around the room, peering under benches, tables, and in between bookcases. You stood in the center of the room, unsure of what to do with yourself.

Clearing your throat, you offered your best smile, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Theseus turned towards you, his eyes locked on yours. But you didn't notice, your eyes were too busy wandering the room. But Lally noticed, and that's when an idea popped into her head.

"You know, I'm awfully tired. I should really be heading back. But Theseus, Y/N would be more than happy to help you search for that niffler." Lally pretended to yawn, stretching her arms as she walked past him, winking at you as she made her way to the door, "Greatest of nights to you two!"

And then the doors shut and she was gone.

You stared at the closed door, then looked back to Theseus, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

"A niffler." He responded, lifting himself up off the ground, "Specifically my brother's niffler."

"What's a niffler?" You asked, your head tilting to the side, curious as to how he'd describe the mole-like creature.

"Oh," His forehead creased, and he began making odd motions with his hands to describe it, "He's… soft… and he's got a pouch… and a pinkish face, but black fur… saved my life…"

You raised your brows, a laugh escaping your lips. Your hand rushed to cover your mouth, but it was too late. Soon enough, Theseus began laughing to, ceasing his movements, "I'm not exactly sure what I was trying to show you there… Can't really make a niffler out of air."

Nodding, you smiled, "You're very creative."

"Aren't I?" He teased, his hands in his pockets as he accepted defeat, "I don't think he's in here."

You stood up from your spot on the floor, where you had been looking under a bookcase, "That's a shame. Is there anywhere else you could look?"

He shook his head, "We'll have to enlist help checking the common rooms tomorrow when the students have cleared out. It wouldn't be right to go in there now."

Suddenly, his tweed coat began to sway, causing his eyes to widen. He reached down deep into his pocket, letting out a sigh when he lifted what looked to be a niffler, from what he had described, out of it.

"Is that the niffler?" You asked, walking over to him.

"You couldn't tell? I thought I explained it so well!" He joked, softly scratching the creature's head, "This is Teddy, he's my brother's."

You rubbed Teddy's chin with your finger, smiling as he squeeked excitedly against your touch.

"He's quite friendly." You acknowleged, "Your brother has done well."

Theseus nodded, "I've grown quite fond of him myself. Thank you, again, for your help."

You waved her hand, "You did most of the work. Or, he did."

"Well, now that we've found him, it's time to return him to my brother."

"Oh." You said, your shoulders sagging, "Well, it was nice to meet you… Theseus?"

He nodded, "Y/N, right? You know, it'd be nice having another set of eyes on him. To make sure he doesn't run off again. Would you mind helping me track down my brother? I understand if you don't, it's a lot to ask, but I'll make it up to you. I'll get you dinner afterwards?"

"I'd like that, very much." You beamed, holding the large wooden door open for him.

He stepped out, looking around unsure, "If I'm being completely honest, I don't exactly know where I'm headed. I went to Hogwarts myself."

"Really?" You questioned, acting surprised, "I was sure you were an american with that accent.

Theseus laughed, "Were you?"

You nodded, "Thankfully for you, I know exactly where I'm going."

"Did you go here?" He asked, trying to keep Teddy for crawling up his arm.

"I still do."

His eyes widened, "I didn't realize you were a student. I thought-"

"I'm a professor." You said, cutting him off.

"What do you teach?"

A smirk appeared on your face, half covered in the shadows, "Care of Magical Creatures."

"So… you knew exactly what a niffler was and what it looked like?" He swallowed, stopping dead in his tracks.

With a nod, you placed a reassuring hand on his back, "It's alright. You explained them almost as well as my first years."

He shook his head, his cheeks flushing.

"It's alright, really! I was just teasing." You laughed, "Hurt your pride?"

"Maybe just a bit." He said, chuckling to himself.

"Here, follow me. I know a shortcut." You said, pulling down on a nearby torch. Large stone bricks began to rearrange themselves, allowing the two of you into a passageway, "It'll be our secret."

"Our secret?"

"Yes."

Theseus smiled at you as he stepped into the passageway, "I like the sound of that."

The two of you continued walking side by side, neither saying a word but knowing what the other meant.

[liptonsbabe]

Chains of a family [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Grant! Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Summary: Molly knows about the reader’s relatives and she’s not so sure to put her trust in a girl that had just betrayed her own family

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Hi! i’m so happy that you guys liked this thing! thank you so much for your support and, again, if you want to keep reading this let me know. Same note as ever, english not my mother language, so tell me if something’s is wrong.

Chapter 2: Not your family

The next morning turned out to be quieter than you imagined.

You slowly got out of bed and looked at everything around you noticing how quaint Bill's old room was. The ceiling was lined with grainy wallpaper with stacks of photographs of Quidditch players hanging from the reeds that moved from side to side, simulating the playing field; the right side of the room had a huge hole behind the small stool that tried to hide it, and from that hole a small garden gnome was sleeping peacefully with a small piece of cloth on top of his head. You stood up, walking towards the huge window that gave you a beautiful view of the Weasley's garden that at that moment was covered by a thin layer of drizzle that had fallen during the night.

Molly's fruit trees gleamed under the faint rays of the sun and you saw how a doxy from between the leaves poisoned Mrs. Weasley's apples, causing them to fall from the tree branches in a thick black mass with a foul smell coming out of it. You shook your head, excited to witness a very different way to wake up.

Even though several minutes have passed since you woke up, the house continued to remain in a strange silence that made you think that the family had decided to leave the burrow with the intention of buying more supplies or something like that. You knew that Bill wasn’t at home precisely for his obligations within the Order, so you didn’t worry about looking for him around the room, so you decided that a better option was going down to the dining room and know what was happening.

As you went down the spiral staircase, you cursed in a whisper when you forgot to put on your slippers before leaving the bedroom cause the floor was so cold that you slipped a couple of times. Back in the days, when you were still welcome in your parents' house, you had many servants who did all the things for you - putting on your shoes as soon as you woke up was one of those things - but now that your life had changed so much, you assumed that you would have to adapt and start taking care of your own needs.

Your curious eyes roamed the walls covered in family photos that caused a big warmth in your chest. In each of those photographs, all of Molly's children appeared along with their father, smiling for the camera and sending effusive greetings. A pic was hanging at the fireplace were Molly and Arthur were carrying a small white bundle crying his lungs out. You assumed it was Bill as his parents seemed too young back then and even as a small baby, you could recognize those tantrum features anywhere.

A giggle escaped your lips when you noticed a funny sequence from that same photo in which, even with Bill crying in his mother's arms, his father tried to carry him for a moment to calm him down, however the baby's cries didn’t stop. The baby was so annoyed that he ended throwing up  the milk ration that he must have had before the photo session on his father's neat shirt.

You laughed because you knew that William's impertinence was something he had carried with him for several years now.

"Bill hates those photos." You jumped in your place scared to see Molly standing behind you. Your cheeks turned red “He says that it’s embarassing but i think that’s nonsense. He was an adorable baby”

"he was," you answered, looking anywhere but into Molly's shrewd eyes. "but I guess displaying them in the fireplace isn’t the right thing to do."

“Is it not?

"No, they should be at the front door where everyone can see them”

Molly giggled as you watched the sequence of photos over and over again. A silence settled between you, but surprisingly it was not an awkward silence, but one that was allowing you to create a bond that neither of you expected. Mrs. Weaslsey brought up a rag, wiping it around the corners of the photo from the dust.

"Arthur and I had to save up for months to take those pictures," she mentioned wistfully, "we just had Bill and it seemed like a good idea to welcome him into our family with a gesture like that. Arthur was new in the ministry and wasn't earning too much, but we had that quirk and decided we could afford to skip certain things to pay for the pictures. It cost us ten galleons and it still took us four months to gather them”

“Oh” You didn't know what to say, but you just kept looking at the photograph feeling a bit uncomfortable. You never had those problems at home because your family was insanelly rich thanks to the inheritance in life that your grandfather Tim had left to his son and later to his grandchildren. Even the descendants of your grandfather's servants came to work in your house, reason enough for you and your siblings to grow up with no sense of responsibility other than your own wishes. Molly sighed remembering those times when life seemed to be easier.

"So when Bill asked me to remove it from the fireplace, I refused. He doesn't know how hard it was to raise that money, but I think he has nothing to be ashamed of, he was too adorable!

"I don't doubt it for a second, Mrs. Weasley."

"You can call me Molly," she said, walking back to the kitchen where you continued watching the way the pans moved back and forth preparing breakfast. You were not very good at cooking - in fact, you had never cooked before- however, that didn’t stop you from offering your help. So you took a pan, placed it on the stove, and decided that you would find a way to make a good mountain of strawberry-filled pancakes just like your dear nanny did. Molly observed you carefully. "I think that now that you are living with us it is appropriate to have a more cordial treatment.My son told me a lot about you”

“Just the good things, i hope”

“Kind of” You stopped mixing ingredients to look at her carefully” He told us a bunch of marvelous things about you and how you two met. Actually, what worries me the most is what he didn’t tell us”

And there was the recrimination you were waiting for. You were aware that it had to arrive sooner or later, however, you would have been grateful that it did it when Bill were by your side to give you the opportunity to defend yourself properly. You cleared your throat uncomfortably, knowing that what Molly needed to hear from your own lips was which family you came from. You continued your task with the pancakes, turning out as bad as you expected.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way, Mrs. Weasley."

"Molly," he corrected.

"Molly" you smiled slowly "But believe me when I tell you that it was me who asked William not to mention anything about my last name or where I come from. I know that in this case, with the war above our heads, it is necessary to be certain of the people who enter your family and I apologize for that, it's just ... Bill is very important to me” Molly's eyes narrowed “Since we met ... I have found a home in him and well, all that feels when someone is in love. "Mrs. Weasley shook her head, understanding the feeling." I have experienced the rejection before. When people know that Tom Riddle is my family ... they run away in fear, curse my family and even walk away from us, as if sharing a blood bond makes us as evil as he is.

“And it’s not like that?” Molly asked with a hand on her neck. She didn’t want to be like the others and judge you without knowing the full story, just as she had promised Bill the night before that she would, but it was so difficult not to remember the death of his brothers by Voldemort’s hands and to pretend nothing had happened in the past. You sighed because the eggs you cracked on the bowl got mixed with their own shell “ I've heard of the Grants before, they're all Death Eaters, including your siblings!”

“It is difficult to have to choose a side  when you don’t have your own convictions”

"And you have it?"

You looked at Molly in pain. Of course you expected those reactions from Bill's mother, she was within her right to be upset that her oldest son never told her that he was in a relationship with a girl who seemed to have the most fucking powerful and evil wizard in the world as a great-uncle. No, Molly wasn't mad, she was deadly angry, she felt like she was bursting!

Her hands became fists and without knowing how, you found yourself between the wall and Molly's big arms from one second to the other. The pancake batter was forgotten, as was the woman's promise to treat her son's girlfriend in a good way.

"How is it possible ..." Molly questioned in an agitated voice, pressing your arms against the wall, "... that a single deer leaves the nature of its own herd?" How can you ensure that one rotten apple even in a gold container doesn’t rot the others?”Your breath caught at the questions of the woman in front of you. Once again, you were aware that your presence wouldn’t be good news to them, but at least you hoped they understood your motives before judging you “Explain to me, (Y/ N) Grant, when have you seen a pig away from his equals?”

Your words caught in your throat at Molly's fierce question. Bill had talked a lot about the temper of his mother. Even if she could be really grumpy at times, she was in general a very sweet, pleasant and maternal woman with everyone; however, you didn’t fit into that generality because it seemed that the woman was determined to kill you with her own hands.

"If my presence bothers you so much, then you shouldn't have let Bill and I to stay here."

“He's my son! All I want for him is to be happy, and that's why I don't understand what he managed to see in you”

"Maybe the same thing you saw in your husband." Molly's lips twitched in anger, but you didn't stop. You hoped that she would at least understand what your words meant, because that would make it easier for both of you to try at least get along better, even if Molly seemed not to want to do it under any circumstances. How is it that this haughty little girl dared to compare herself with her dear and wonderful husband? "I'm sorry, but I don't think this conversation is going to take us anywhere."

"If someone betrays his own family ..." Molly stopped you before you walked out the front door. The others got down the stairs, seeing the scandal formed in the kitchen “The rest of us can't expect too much, can we?

Your eyes blured.

[lumosinlove]

PREVIOUSLY ON RELIC KEEL:

We get our first glimpse of Finn, who is still in Saint Clair orphanage. Finn has worked out that Crucio is being given to the orphans because it allows them to see their families again and makes them want to stay at Saint Clair so they can keep receiving it—even if it means reliving memories every day that are not their own. Finn doesn’t want that at all, and he’s been in solitary for the last week because he refuses to eat, realizing that the drug is mixed in with the food.

Luke is struggling with his mother, who seems to be delighted that Luke’s father is gone. She has completely transformed into a woman Luke doesn’t recognize, offering him alcohol, and wanting to get rid of Luke’s father’s things. Luke escapes her words, retreating to his father’s study where he can take Crucio and re-arrange the events in his own mind, making it so his father never got taken away.

Remus and Sirius, at James’ house for a movie night, have an awkward exchange in the kitchen. Remus wants to ask Sirius if he wants to go sailing with him, quickly realizing the unexplainable but seemingly unavoidable crush he’s developed on Sirius, but they get interrupted by Saint.

Saint asks Remus to help him sneak into The Hogwarts History Museum, where Remus is working for the summer, but when Remus refuses, guesses he has to take matters into his own hands.

Saint finds Luke on the grasses with the others, watching a movie. Luke wants his father’s watch, which Saint stole, back, but Saint refuses. Luke can’t believe Saint has never seen many movies, but rudely puts it up to Saint’s “fucked childhood.” They argue, and it just makes Saint quietly angrier. Saint thinks more deeply about it than he lets on, though, reflecting on people’s need to control things—a need that Crucio plays on. Saint leaves, but not after stealing the keys to Luke’s car, deciding he can control things a different way—with ancient gold from an ancient pirate ship, perhaps.

Sirius follows Saint out of the house. He can tell that he’s more on edge than usual, that he has been ever since Logan arrived. Saint won’t tell him what he wants from the museum, though—a treasure map to the Voldemort. Sirius is hurt. He’s angry at himself for liking Remus. Both Sirius and Saint, it seems, have a hard time distinguishing pity and friendship.

Leo and Logan are waiting for Saint so that they can all go to the museum together. Leo asks about Finn and finds out that Logan and Finn are in love, that they’re everything to each other. It stings Leo’s slowly developing feelings for Logan.

Remus and Sirius go to the history museum to try and thwart Saint and find out he’s working with Logan and Leo, and that they’re all after The Voldemort. Saint confesses he’s trying to help Sirius, to Sirius’ surprise. Leo wants to finish his father’s work. Logan wants Finn—but no one seems willing to help him bust Finn out. When they find the drawer where the map should be kept in the museum’s archive room, however, it’s gone, having been taken out on loan by Luke’s father, Victor Deveaux. Victor and Luke loved the tale of the treasure, too. Perhaps it has something to do with Victor being sent to jail.

They go to Luke’s house where Saint climbs through Luke’s bedroom window. Saint studies a sleeping Luke, a strange, unexpected constant—a brooding, rude, beautiful one, that is. And oh, how Saint hates letting things surprise him. Saint wakes Luke, who has taken Crucio, and plans to use his father’s watch as leverage to get Luke to help them find the map.

~

*****cw: mentions of drugs, mentions of use of drugs, mentions of past deaths, mentions of past abuse, mentions of blood*****

~

part vii

Luke’s father was standing over Remus’ shoulder, flickering as the Felix wore off, and it was really fucking with Luke’s head.

“Some fellow treasure hunters,” his father said with one of his soft smiles. “Sounds fun.”

“Sober up,” Remus’ voice filtered in. “What makes you sober up?”

“I’m not drunk.”

Luke watched Remus just shake his head at him. His father’s flickering frame was looking closely at Saint, who was picking up everything in sight.

“We both know what you are,” Remus replied. “Now, come on. Coffee? Anything I can do without waking your mom up.”

“She’s not going to wake up,” Luke rubbed his eyes. “She takes these—sleeping things, I don’t know.”

“Well—“ Remus hesitated. Behind him, Luke’s father flickered out.

“I’m fine,” Luke said. “What’s going on?”

“We’re bargaining, remember?” Saint held up Luke’s father’s watch again. “Tell me about your father, Deveaux.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“Well, Lupin’s already told us a little. You, him, and your treasure hunting days.”

Luke looked at Remus, who looked half-guilty and half-curious. “You mean—like when we were kids?”

Luke didn’t want to tell them about the time he had spent with his father in here, just the two of them, fantasizing about gold and pirates.

“We were at the museum just now,” Remus began slowly. “Your dad loaned out a map…it’s of the Cradle. Of a, what was it, a trading post?”

The tall, blond boy standing in a corner nodded.

Remus looked back to Luke. “Have you seen it? Here?”

“A map?” Luke scrubbed his hand over his face again. “What fucking time is it?”

“Oh, he’s swearing,” Saint said as he opened another drawer. “He’s back.”

“Fuck—” Luke clamped his mouth shut. He turned away from Saint and fully towards Remus. Sirius and another dark haired boy were standing near the blond one. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Treasure?”

Remus winced. “Like the Voldemort.”

“The—what? He was never serious about that stuff,” Luke replied. “It was just for fun.”

“And yet he takes it upon himself to acquire an ancient document,” Saint piped up from behind him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke said again over his shoulder.

“Um—“

Luke looked towards the blond boy, who had taken a hesitant step forward.

“I know what it looks like. My dad had a copy.”

“A true father’s affair,” Saint mumbled.

“What?” Luke asked for what felt like the one hundredth time.

“If we could just look around—” the blond began.

“You come here at ass o’clock in the morning to look around may dad’s study? For a treasure map that your dad has?”

“Used to have,” the blond’s eyes went colder. “His version was lost with him and his boat.”

Luke swallowed, eyes drifting away from the other boy’s blue ones. He looked back to Remus. They used to spend hours playing pirate when they were younger. Remus looked like he was remembering those hours, too.

Luke only had to blink for that golden-edged memory to mingle with the hours Remus had held Luke close in Luke’s bed, letting Luke soak his t-shirt through when they’d taken his dad away.

“Why do you think my dad has it?” Luke said now. “What do you mean loaned?”

“We went looking for it at the museum just now,” Remus explained. “Well—not not we. Saint stole your car—”

Luke looked back at Saint. “I’m aware.”

Saint flashed a smile.

“—and went with Logan,” Remus pointed to the somber looking brunette, “and Leo,” the cold-eyed blond, “to more or less, God, break into the museum archives. If they’re going to find the treasure—which, in my opinion, they’re not—they need—”

“A map,” Luke said, then scoffed out a laugh. “You guys are fucking crazy.”

Remus ran a hand through his hair. “Look, none of this was my idea, but your dad’s name was on the loan card. If it’s here, it's here, and then they’ll take the picture they need and we can all leave. I mean, shit, I have work at seven tomorrow morning, guys.”

Luke let out a long breath. He was tired, from being woken up and from the Felix, and he frankly wanted Saint to stop messing with his father’s things.

He nodded at Remus. “You can look around. And I will. The rest of you, don’t fucking—” he snatched one of his father’s fountain pens out of Saint’s hands. “touch anything.”

Saint just tiled his head defiantly. Luke couldn’t help but hold his gaze for a moment, remembering waking up to those syrupy eyes and feeling—he didn’t know what. Like he was standing on the edge of the Howler cliffs, above a storm-warmed, rough ocean. Saint’s hand had been in his hair, and it had been ever so gentle, unlike the rest of him. His words were tough, and, from what Luke could tell by his own jabs at Saint, so was his skin. He guessed a kid didn’t grow up the way Saint had without at least a little armor—Saint was practically drowning in his own.

As if Luke could talk. Luke looked away and gestured towards Remus. “Let’s get this over with.”

Luke opened drawers and cabinets. He looked through stacks of paper and under dressers. He checked the den, even, just in case, but there was nothing. Everything was orderly—and even more, the police had taken so much. Any paper they could get their hands on. His mom wouldn’t tell him what they were looking for, and neither would the lawyers that occasionally came to the house.

But there was no map.

Luke began to double check, if only at Remus’ insistence, but he was at a loss. There were only so many places—

“What’s your birthday, tweedle?” Saint said suddenly.

“What does that have to do—” Luke began as he turned, but his words died in his throat when he saw Saint.

Luke’s father had had the old map of Hogwarts framed and hanging in his study ever since Luke could remember. He knew its markings as well as he knew the island as it was today. Saint had it tilted to the side, revealing a sliver of sleek steel. A safe.

“I told you not to touch anything,” Luke said breathlessly. He hadn’t known about that safe. He’d stared at that map a thousand times and he hadn’t known. Did his mother know? The lawyers?

“I bet you one of Leo here’s best breakfast sandwiches that the map’s in here,” Saint replied, nodding to the frame. “Little bit of an X marks the spot, don’t you think? Now,” Saint reached for the painting and unhooked it smoothly, setting it on the ground to reveal the neat square metal sunken into the wall with a dial in the center. “Tell me your birthday.”

“Why do you think the combination is my birthday?”

Saint rolled his eyes. “Because you’re his son. Fathers do that. Don’t they?”

Saint asked the last part like he was trying to be sure, but wasn’t.

“January first,” Luke replied.

Saint hummed as he leaned in. “New year, new you, huh?”

Luke just swallowed dryly as he listened to the dial tick. It felt so loud in the room that was now holding its breath. It felt like it lasted forever, but, finally, the safe opened with a gentle click.

“Damn, Saint,” Sirius said softly.

“I know, I’m so good,” Saint said, and made to push the door open when Luke pushed forward and grabbed his hand. Saint’s fingers were warm in his own. Saint raised an eyebrow.

“Like you said,” Luke still felt breathless. “I’m his son. I’m doing this.”

Saint raised his free hand in surrender until Luke let go, and he backed away. Luke faced the safe. He felt the Felix in him all over again, though it was long gone. He felt his father, smelled his cigars. Luke reached for the door, too aware of the four pairs of eyes on him, and pulled it open.

It was relatively empty. There were papers that looked like they had once bound money, but lay ripped and lifeless now. There was a case of expensive cigars.

And there was an envelope with Luke’s name on it.

“There’s a letter,” Luke said faintly, picking it up. “For me.”

He looked up at Remus, and Remus nodded.

“Like the clues he would leave us?” Remus said quietly.

Luke went for the seal—only to have it snatch out of his hands.

He looked up, eyes wide, and found the unfamiliar brunette—Logan, Remus had said—staring back at him, at all of them, with wild green eyes.

“Logan,” Leo said, voice filled with surprise. “What the hell are you—”

But Logan just backed up towards the door. There was a familiar click, and the flame of a lighter appeared in his other hand.

“Hey—” Luke stepped forward, panicked, but Saint’s palm pushed against his chest.

“Don’t,” Saint said softly, for Luke’s ears only.

“That’s mine,” Luke snarled, shoving Saint away.

“Yeah, well I have something I want, too,” Logan snapped, and then looked at Saint. He held the flame closer to the envelope. “You want to know what this says? Then—”

“So do you, Logan,” Saint said. “You need that money. You know you do. The Carrows know it, too.”

“You owe me something first. I want Finn.”

“I don’t owe you,” Saint replied evenly. “I don’t owe anyone. That’s kind of my general idea in life, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Logan faltered, and the flame slipped close enough to the envelope to make smoke trail, but when Luke stepped forward, Logan took another step back. He looked small, framed by the grand desk and leather chairs. Small and scared.

“You left us in there,” he finally whispered, and Luke thought he heard Saint’s breathing stop and hold, like a punch to the gut.

“He was seven years old,” Sirius growled, and Luke didn’t know what they were talking about, was done waiting.

“Do you know the last time I talked to my dad?” Luke said, voice raising. He glanced upstairs, careful of his mother despite her pills, and dropped it to a deadly whisper again. “He’s not allowed calls. Not until the investigation’s over. This could—” Luke hesitated at putting his wildest, most desperate hope into words. “This could prove he’s—”

“Do you think I give a shit about the last time you talked to your daddy?” Logan snarled just as harshly. “When’s the last time I talked to mine? Oh. Right.”

“Please,” Luke heard the word rip out of his throat before he could help it, but Logan wasn’t even looking at him. Logan’s eyes were on Saint.

“Help me get Finn out. The windows are barred now. There are alarms, I’ve seen them.”

“I didn’t use a window,” Saint replied.

“Then show me how you did it.”

“You won’t be able to get in the way I got out.”

“Then do it for me.”

If Luke was begging, so was Logan.

“Fuck, I’ll help you,” Luke shouted. “Just don’t. Please. My father—”

“You don’t know shit about Saint Clair,” Logan snapped, then looked back at Saint. “We both know where he is. Why I haven’t seen him. Saint—”

“All right,” Saint said, voice calm. His brown eyes reminded Luke of stormy seas, ruddy with stirred up sand. “All right, Logan. Just don’t burn the letter.”

“Promise,” Logan said.

Saint laughed, cold and clear. “What has a promise ever meant to either of us? I said I would. Take it or leave it.”

There was a terrifying moment in which Luke worried that the letter would go up in flames anyway. That he would never know what his father had wanted him to have, wanted him to know. He didn’t know Logan, didn’t trust him.

The lighter clicked off and Logan held out the envelope. Luke took it and gave Logan a shove towards the door for good measure.

“Get out,” he said. “Get out of my house.”

“What does the letter say?” Logan replied firmly. “It could be about the map.”

Luke laughed, and it rang a close twin to Saint’s in his own ears. “You should have thought about that before you held it hostage for your orphan friend.”

Logan took a step forward, mouth opening to protest, but Luke was bigger than him, stronger and taller. He met him chest to chest.

“I said get out.”

“Logan,” Saint sighed. “Listen to him.”

Leo stepped forward then, a gentle hand on Logan’s fiery frame. Logan simmered for another moment, but let Leo lead him from the room, lighter still clutched in his fist. Remus followed them with a whispered, I’m sorry that Luke barely heard.

He faintly heard Saint say something to Sirius, who followed Remus.

Saint, the only one left in the room now, looked at Luke steadily. Luke expected some sort of joke, or a snarky remark about the desperation Luke had shown—something he tried to never let slip through. He didn’t care what it was. He just wanted to be alone, to have this room feel like his father’s again. Instead of a crime scene. Instead of a lead, or a pin-point on a map. Just his father’s familiar room.

Instead Saint tossed him something that shone—his keys.

“Let us know, if you want,” Saint said simply, and held the gold watch out. Luke took it with shaking fingers, watching him go.

Then, he looked down at the letter, at his name in his father’s familiar scrawl. He peeled back the seal with a lump forming in his throat.

~

Remus’ steps slowed to a stop when he saw who was waiting for him at the end of his dock in the five-AM light.

Sirius had his flip-flops beside him, his feet dangling over the edge into the water, the Wolfsbane rocking gently in the early morning waves to his left.

“Sirius?” Remus called, more so that the first thing Sirius felt wasn’t the shaking of his footsteps than anything else.

Sirius jerked around, startled either way, and scrambled to stand.

“Hi,” he said. “Or, morning.”

“Morning,” Remus laughed a little, glancing at the boat. “I…is this you taking me up on my offer?”

Sirius ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Ah, well, I’m here to say sorry about last night. Dragging you into it and all. That wasn’t fair of Saint, but he’s…I don’t know what he is right now. I usually do but…not this time, I guess.”

Remus nodded, trying to buy himself time to figure out what to say. He stepped onto his boat and took a rope in hand, just for something to do. To hold onto. Sirius had spoken the words plainly enough. There was nothing about Saint and himself being together, but Remus still sensed some sort of intimacy that wasn’t quite friendship, just as he had at the museum.

“It’s okay,” Remus said. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

Sirius’ smile was a small, relieved one. “I guess so. Still. He was on some sort of mission. He still hasn’t told me anything, so.”

Remus leaned back from stowing his phone and keys securely in a hatch. “He doesn’t seem like the type of person you can really get things out of.”

“That’s true,” Sirius laughed, and it was easier this time. “Anyway, I’ll let you…I just wanted to say.”

Remus wanted to ask again, if Sirius would come with him, but Sirius was already backing away and so Remus just nodded.

“Thanks.”

He turned after he said it, breathing in the ocean air and trying to still himself, to let the familiarity of his boat and sails wash over him. He would find someone. Maybe they weren’t Sirius Black. Maybe they just weren’t here. Maybe he’d fall in love on the water, or in a classroom, or—

“Can I?” Remus heard Sirius say, and turned to look. Sirius had stopped half way down the dock.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Take you up on your offer?”

Remus smiled, even if his hope at Sirius’ words paired with the thought of Saint made his heart a little tender.

“Of course you can,” Remus said.

Sirius jogged towards him with a grin of his own, but he paused before he stepped onto the Wolfsbane, looking down. Remus wondered for a moment if it was the gap over the water, but Sirius had said he sailed, too, he’d said—

Remus understood. He unmoored the nose. “Get that rope back there if you finally want to do something other than watch.”

Sirius jumped to unknot the rope with ease, and then stepped onto the waves beside Remus, using one of his feet to push them away from the dock. Remus let them drift a moment, feeling for the wind. It was quiet for now, but he could see rougher waves out past the point.

“Is it just yours?” Sirius asked as he watched Remus with the tiller.

“Yep, birthday present,” Remus patted the side. “My baby.”

Sirius smiled. “It’s a beautiful boat.”

The wind began to pick up as they got farther from the land, pushing towards the open water. Remus’ heart seemed to pick up with it and, glancing at Sirius, who looked contemplative and—well, beautiful—Remus didn’t think it was merely the sea’s doing.

Remus had never thought too much about Sirius Black. Sirius had been there one day, gone the next, and in the run-ins at James’ house once Sirius had started working there, he had been a suddenly handsome face. Grown into himself and strong from his outdoor work. In turn, Remus always became suddenly awkward around the boy who obviously didn’t like Gods. He and James poked fun at each other, he and Luke were downright hostile, and Remus didn’t know where he fit in.

He hoped the water and the Wolfsbane would do some talking for him, and maybe some listening, too.

They didn’t speak as they began to fly. The pontoons skimmed the waves and the wind would have snatched their voices away, but Remus swore he heard Sirius laugh.

Sirius knew how to sail, too. He breathed it all in, just as Remus did, and they worked together, balancing and pulling and leaning out to trace their fingers along the water’s surface. It felt as warm as a bath against the cool air.

Remus didn’t let them go too far out, he had to be back, but he would have. He would have sailed right to the horizon with Sirius without looking back.

As the wind died down, as they turned around, Remus felt something different. Like a wind change between the two of them. They grinned at each other, flushed with it, and as the wind cut down more, as they past the point, Sirius’ turned self-conscious but it didn’t disappear like before.

The boat settled into a glide towards the shore. Remus let his feet dangle in the water.

“So, the treasure,” Remus asked, because Sirius looked hesitant to talk, sitting there soundly on the other side of the boat. “Do you think it’s real?”

“Fuck if I know,” Sirius replied, and Remus laughed. “But if Saint thinks it’s worth it…I’ll try to go along with it.”

Remus nodded, taking that in. Saint. The mention of him slowed his heart back to a glide along with the boat. Remus cleared his throat and Sirius looked back at him from the horizon questioningly.

“What was that thing with—Logan? I mean, you don’t have to tell me but…”

Sirius took a long breath. “Logan has someone, Finn, inside Saint Clair. Finn helped him escape. And I don’t know if it’s guilt that’s making him help to get Finn out, or something more, but…Saint's the one who can help.”

“Because he escaped.”

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“Is it complicated?” Remus asked. “Like, is he worried he won’t be able to do it twice?”

Sirius shook his head. “It’s not complicated.”

He was silent for a moment, and Remus didn't want to push him. He waited, seeing if Sirius would continue.

“Saint walked right out the front door,” Sirius finally finished, and looked at Remus. “I think he’s worried because it wasn’t a grand escape, even if he tells it that way. Even if he makes it seem like he climbed walls or something. He’s worried because…because it was a fluke. Sometimes there are doors you can’t walk back through.”

Sirius said the last sentence heavily, as if he had a door of his own. Remus guessed that maybe everyone did.

“So, what’s he going to do for Finn and Logan?”

Sirius just shook his head again. “I have no idea. But I’ll help him in any way that I can.” Half a smile raised Sirius’ mouth. “If he lets me.”

~

“No.”

“Tell me,” Sirius demanded. Saint just rolled his eyes and popped a sweet potato fry into his mouth.

“Tell us,” Dorcas cut in from her place beside Marlene.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Sorry.”

“Saint,” Marlene sighed. “If you’re not going to tell us, it’ll make us think you have no plan at all.”

“Who invited the God?” Saint said airily.

“My girlfriend,” Dorcas scuffed the back of his head.

“Not for long she’s not,” Saint replied, and at Dorcas and Marlene’s expressions, waved a hand. “Come on. She’s going to college, Dor, you’re not…don’t tell me you haven’t talked about it.”

“We—” Dorcas began, but flushed and closed her mouth. Sirius glanced at Marlene, whose eyes were firmly down towards her burger.

“Stop trying to change the subject,” Sirius sighed.

“I’m not, I’m just telling everyone what to expect.”

“Saint,” Sirius leaned forward. “How are you going to get Finn out of Saint Clair? You said last time—”

Saint cut in quickly, “I say a lot of things to you that are just for you, Black.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do with what you said,” Sirius replied. “Come on. Please. Is it because you don’t know? Is that why you won’t say anything?”

Saint stayed quiet, looking down at his food. “I know. We’ll just have to see if it works.”

“Saint,” Dorcas leaned forward and Saint turned his palm up for her hand. He knew they were trying to help. “Babe, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You mean you want to make sure it’s not too insane.”

Sirius nodded. “That, too.”

“Can’t you just rest assured that I’m doing this for myself, too?” Saint said. “I’ll get Finn out, Logan will calm the fuck down, and maybe Luke will let us know about the treasure.”

“Who gives a fuck about this treasure?” Dorcas said harshly.

“It probably doesn’t even exist,” Sirius added.

“You want off this island, like you said? Then you give a fuck.”

Sirius began to shake his head. “It’s not—” he said, but Saint pushed on, voice raising.

“We’ll get Finn out, we’ll get Luke’s help, we’ll get the map, we’ll find my mom—”

Saint stopped talking, frozen by the words that had ripped out of him of their own accord.

Sirius, Dorcas, and Marlene’s eyes were wide. Pity. The word seemed to hang in the air.

“The treasure, I meant,” Saint managed. “We’ll find the treasure and…”

“Saint…” Dorcas said, and when he looked at her…Pity. “Do you know where she is?”

Saint was furious with himself for the slip. He was looking for Sirius. He wanted the treasure for Sirius, he didn’t need it for himself. He didn’t need anything, especially not people who left. Not his mom, not Sirius.

“I don’t need help with Saint Clair,” Saint said and pushed his chair back, leaving them staring at each other across the table.

~

Saint hadn’t let any of them come. He didn’t want anyone here to see him tremble and shake at doing the one thing he had always promised himself he would never do. The one thing he didn’t think he could do.

But, thinking about it, the trick wasn’t getting out. Anyone could walk out the door. The nuns needed it that way, for business. For the appearance of normalcy. The real trick was getting inside without being let in. The way to keep secrets, after all, wasn’t keeping everyone out. Walls begged to be breached. The secret was to filter the truth. Let people see half, a quarter, or different parts at different times. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.

Maybe Saint was half of Saint Clair, keeping his cards close to his chest.

The offices. He needed to get the the offices, and then he needed to get to Finn. In and out—just not through the door this time.

“What’s the plan?” said a voice just behind him, and Saint closed his eyes.

Sirius.

“I told you not to come,” Saint said.

“And I told me yes,” Sirius parroted. They rolled their eyes at each other even as Sirius rested a gentle hand over Saint’s where it was clenched over his own knee. They crouched beside each other, staring at Saint Clair in the darkness. It was two in the morning, maybe a little past it now, and Saint wanted everyone to be asleep.

He looked towards the chimney. It was wide and old fashioned. It would be too hot for them to be using it tonight.

“Jesus Christ,” Sirius sighed, following his gaze.

“The windows are barred. The doors are alarmed. I’ve cleaned that thing, I know it’s big.”

“Yeah, everything looks big to a seven year old,” Sirius countered.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“And getting out?” Sirius asked.

“Alarms don’t go off if you open the door from the inside. There’s a kitchen door around the back. We’ll use it. We just have to get in.”

Sirius nodded slowly, and then asked, “Your mom?”

Saint pressed his lips together. He needed to get to the office, and then to Finn, and then out.

He started forward towards the drain pipe, just like on Luke’s house, and didn’t look to see if Sirius was following him.

~

Marlene didn’t like seeing that contemplating look at Dorcas’ face. Dorcas was chewing on her lip, eyes staring at the movie playing on Marlene’s laptop, but she was somewhere else entirely. Marlene put her pencil down at wiggled her toes, which were in Dorcas’ lap. Dorcas blinked and looked at her.

“Don’t listen to Saint,” Marlene said. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

But even saying that ate at her. Marlene thought of the acceptance email, of California and Berkeley, buried in her inbox right now. Tell her, said everything inside, but Dorcas already had that look on her face. The worrying, I-want-everything-that’s-good-for-you-regardless-of-what-it-means-for-me-or-us look.

Marlene didn’t want to see that look. She’d seen it the first time her father had banned her from seeing a Salazar girl. They had been fifteen and Dorcas had offered to stop, and Marlene had kissed the idea right out of her mouth, right out of existence.

This was different. She couldn’t kiss college away. She didn’t want to. But she also wanted Dorcas, and California felt far, far away.

Dorcas chewed on her lip some more, then rubbed a soothing thumb over Marlene’s ankle. “We haven’t really talked about it, though.”

“I know,” Marlene said softly. She pushed herself up and set her sketchbook aside before reaching over to close the laptop, cutting the actor off in mid-sentence. “I guess I’m sort of…avoiding it.”

“We are, you mean,” Dorcas offered her a small smile. “I…I know we said we wanted to just have our summer, and I do want that. But I think I would feel better knowing what you think. About, you know…about when you do start hearing back.”

Marlene looked down as she whispered, “I got into Berkeley.”

A short sucked-out sound of silence filtered in between them for a moment. Marlene looked up.

“I should have said,” Marlene sighed. “I know I should have. I just…”

“Sweetheart,” Dorcas sighed, and then Marlene was pressed back onto the bed, Dorcas’ hard kisses bringing a hot blush to her cheeks. “That’s amazing.”

Marlene hummed against Dorcas’ mouth, a sad-happy sound, and wound her fingers into her hair as Dorcas kissed along her jaw. “It can be as amazing as it wants, but it’s really far away. And you like it here, and—”

“I like you,” Dorcas said, and pushed herself onto her forearms so she could look down at Marlene. “Marls, the question about us was never a debate about you following your dreams and going to college, just like you want. The question lies with me. I don’t know how to pull off following you yet, but I’m working on it.”

Marlene looked up at her and felt tears join the heat within, felt her voice wobble. “I’ll miss you. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be with me.”

Dorcas’ kiss was softer this time. “Me too.”

Marlene enjoyed it for a moment, relief bubbling in her chest, until Dorcas began laughing into her mouth.

“Maybe the boys will find that treasure and give me a piece of it.”

Marlene laughed, too. “God, if that’s our best option…”

They wound tighter together, snuggling down into Marlene’s quilt. Dorcas pressed her forehead against Marlene’s.

“Whatever I can do, I’ll do it,” Dorcas said. “I want you, wherever we are.”

Marlene just kissed her again.

~

Sirius was noisier on the climb than Saint would have liked, but they made it to the slanted roof without trouble, standing on its apex to stare down into the soot-dark.

“Is this really going to work?” Sirius whispered.

“It could.”

“Why not climb the fence? Maybe that door is open.”

“Too loud.”

“Why didn’t you let Logan come with us?”

Saint huffed out an annoyed breath. “Because if this goes wrong, what Finn did was for nothing. If this goes really wrong, at least there would still be one of us on the outside who knows what it looks like inside,” Saint stared out at the trees and bit of coast they could see by moonlight from here. “One of us who doesn’t return every night, that is.”

Saint went down the chimney first, one step at a time. The stones and rusted iron rungs provided easy enough footholds, they just had to hope no one was having a midnight cup of tea when they reached the bottom. He looked up once, blinking through the fine grit of ash that seemed to hang in the air, at Sirius’ face, the silver moonlight like a halo around his dark hair.

And Saint kept climbing down. He went slowly, listening hard. If someone was down there, they’d hear him, and then he’d hear them, and he could scramble back up the chimney and out of sight. Once he was down, however, who knew what they would do to keep him that way. He could practically taste the heavy sleep of Crucio, and his stomach rolled against the images it brought back. The many different families—fathers, siblings, and mothers. So many mothers that he didn’t even know which had been his own anymore.

He hated them for it. He hated them for thinking he wanted that.

Saint’s trembling foot slipped on the last hold and he tumbled out, only barely withholding a cry as the log holders scraped heavily across his side.

“Saint,” came Sirius’ harsh whisper from above him, and Saint waved a hand beneath the flue to show he was okay, then pushed himself up from the now ashy floor, gripping his side.

He knew this room too well. He knew it through the over-active eyes of a five year old. He knew it through the only slightly more alert gaze of his seven year old self.

It was smaller than he remembered. Shabbier than it had seemed then, with its hard couches and children’s books, its desk by the window that still held a letter opener that he had eyed a few times, wondering if he could fight his way out like heroes did in the books he read. Now, he willed all to stay quiet as he walked over and picked up the dull knife. He hated the sight of it.

Sirius came after him, more smartly, landing feet first.

“You could have fucking impaled yourself,” Sirius whispered.

“I didn’t, though,” Saint said, and looked at his ribs. The cuts stung, but the bleeding didn’t look too bad, just enough to dot uneven lines across his t-shirt.

Sirius lifted his shirt to see, and passed a careful thumb near the worst of them, his other a familiar weight on the side of Saint’s neck.

“Let’s go,” Saint whispered.

“Wait,” Sirius said, and turned Saint’s gaze gently to meet his own.

“We don’t have all the time in the world,” Saint began, but Sirius just shook his head, silencing him.

“Listen to me,” Sirius whispered. “All right? Just this once. Just listen to me.”

Saint closed his eyes briefly. “We don’t have time to talk.”

That only succeeded in bringing Sirius’ other hand to his cheek. “If something goes wrong, you just run.” Sirius reached down and took the knife, setting it back on the desk. “Don’t think about me. They can’t keep me.”

“They’ll give you to your parents,” Saint warned.

“I don’t care,” Sirius said. “They can’t keep me. They could try to keep you and I won’t let that happen.”

Saint looked up at Sirius. The only person he could ever remember caring. Saint didn’t like that a side effect of being cared about was caring back, didn’t like that risk…but he liked Sirius.

“You’re leaving anyway,” Saint said. “It doesn’t matter where I am.”

“I never said that and you’re wrong.”

“But you will say it.”

Saint turned away, keeping a hand laced with Sirius’ to pull him towards the dorms. He knew the words sounded accusing and regretful, but he only half meant them that way. Sirius deserved to go.

Sirius didn’t respond. It wasn’t the moment, and they needed to listen for other things.

The dorms came up on their left. Boys to one side of the hall, girls to the other. Saint paused, looking in.

You’ll sleep here with the rest of the boys, Sebastian. Be a good boy and make your bed every morning and you’ll get a treat with breakfast. Chocolate milk, how does that sound?

“Was this you?” Sirius whispered, and Saint shrugged.

“I slept all over this place,” Saint breathed to Sirius. “I’d sneak into the other dorms, the attic, the reading room. I was just…” Saint turned away, unable to stand the softly rising and falling chests of the boys within. “I was just trying to find a place where I felt like myself. Maybe it wasn’t the place, though.”

Maybe it was the dreams. Maybe the drug.

“Maybe it’s just me,” Saint said.

Grimmauld was the closest he had ever gotten, the most settled he’d ever felt. He loved the ocean, and his gold draped vanity, and Sirius always beside him. But there was still—something. A misplaced, tweaked something inside of him that was feeling around in the dark for a comfortable position. Saint didn’t even know what he was looking for, but he did know that it was too dark to find it right now. Sirius had been the first gleam of bright, a pin-prick of a star, a friend, a lover, and a safe place. But stars weren’t a moon or a sun. He needed light to see.

“Let’s go,” Saint said. “This way.”

They walked the halls carefully, listening after nearly every step. Saint knew that the nuns slept at the other end of the house, but that they woke to check in on the children. He couldn’t remember when, though. With the Crucio, his young age, and the late hour, the nights had felt the same and endless. He’d shuffled around like a small ghost, trying to escape the unfamiliar dream-faces. They’d only caught him a few times. A slap on the wrist. Solitary.

That’s why he nearly jumped when they heard the first footsteps. He was seven again, haunting this place and being haunted in return. Saint froze, eyes on the bend in the hallway.

“Here,” Sirius whispered, and together they ducked into a room—the offices, Saint realized—and behind the open wooden door. They huddled together, barely daring to breathe as the footsteps got closer.

“Sirius,” Saint breathed, and didn’t realize he was trembling again until Sirius’ arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“Shh,” Sirius hushed him.

The footsteps passed right by them, towards the kitchen, Saint realized, and Sirius pressed Saint against him more tightly, no doubt feeling the dry pants that his breathing had turned into. They would be caught. They would be seen. Saint hid his face in Sirius’ neck.

Don’t be a waste of space, boy. Line up, after number six, come on.

He took up too much space here.

Try that again, Sebastian, and you know what happens.

Saint hated that name. He couldn’t remember who had given him that name. His mother? The nuns? What was a name if it was just a number, too? A way to keep track of him. A way to tell him what he was. Orphan boy. Five. Six. Seven. Abandoned. Good. Bad. Asleep. Awake.

Go to sleep now, there’s a good boy.

The hall was silent again and Saint felt Sirius’ embrace ease, felt his hand running soothingly along his spine.

“I’ve got you,” Sirius said the words so quietly they were barely words at all. “Let’s just go. Let’s get out of here.”

“Finn,” Saint rasped.

Saint looked up and saw the protest in Sirius’ eyes. It was wrong of Logan to make you come here.

“I told him to stay away,” Saint said softly. “I needed to come. I needed to come and get out again.”

Saint needed to get rid of some of this damned dark.

Saint pulled away from Sirius carefully and peaked around the door with a dry swallow before walking over to the cabinets. Records. They weren’t in alphabetical order, though. They were numbered.

Saint fingered his cross, looking towards 1-20.

7.

He traced a finger over a key hole dejectedly, and tried the handle anyway. Locked.

“Saint,” Sirius breathed. “Your mom?”

Saint shook his head, clutching his necklace. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t know you wanted…”

“I don’t,” Saint snapped. “Let’s get Finn.”

The door to solitary was one that Saint knew well. It was a normal door, and the room beyond was a normal room. It was the memories that made it unbearable to see. Almost every kid Saint had known knew what it meant to be in that room. Alone, the wallpaper flowers withered, the bed turned cold, and the ever-changing family members flickered through your mind without anything to counter it. No reality. There was a glass window with the shade pulled. Saint hesitated for a long moment before lifting it up.

“Finn,” he breathed.

Finn’s red hair was fiery against the white bed spread. He was asleep, and Saint swore he could see Finn’s eyelids flicker from here.

Saint wrapped his fingers carefully around the door. The trick was getting in to see the whole picture.

Everything in Saint Clair felt locked from within. Everything in Saint did, too. It had taken years of wandering around at night for Saint to discover that he could open more doors than he had thought. He was still trying doors eight years alter.

The hinges didn’t so much as squeak, and Saint felt like a ghost again.

“Don’t let this close on me,” Saint whispered to Sirius. His voice shook and just one of his feet just barely breaching the threshold.

Sirius held the frame fast and shook his head, leaning forward to press a steady kiss to Saint’s forehead.

Saint crossed the small room in two slow steps and knelt beside the bed, the motion making the punctures on his torso ache. He pressed a hand to Finn’s cheek and stroked a gentle thumb across the freckles on his skin until Finn stirred.

“Bash,” Finn murmured, eyes barely open.

“Hi, Finn,” Saint said softly and gathered Finn into a sloppy sitting position. “Let’s get you out of here, huh? See if you’re worth all of this fucking trouble.”

“Crucio,” was Finn’s only half-spoken reply. “They make it.”

And then Finn went limp again in Saint’s arms.

~

All Logan could taste was sour guilt, despite the heaven Leo had placed on a plate in front of him not too long ago.

For Saint. For Leo. For the letter and even Luke. For the map. The treasure. The Carrows.

Finn.

His heart ached with the thought of seeing him. Of holding him.

“Why weren’t we allowed to go with him?” Logan asked Leo for what he knew was the tenth time, but he couldn’t help it. “I asked him to help me, not go for me.”

“It’s easier to get one person in and out than two?” Leo said. He was puttering around the small kitchen, had been for the last hour, and the entire house smelled like sugar and cinnamon now, replacing the herbs, lemon, and chicken. He didn’t look at Logan when he said it.

He hadn’t looked at Logan much at all since the night at the museum.

Logan watched him taste a bit of what looked like frosting and wet his lips.

“Are you mad at me?” Logan whispered.

Leo’s restless hands paused. Logan watched his chest rise and fall once.

“I’m not mad,” Leo said finally. The heat of the oven had fluffed out his hair. “I mean, I’m not sure if we reached a dead-end or not…and you could have told me you were going to do that. I said I would help you, didn’t I?”

“I needed Ba—Saint,” Logan replied. “But I also…I should have told you. And I shouldn’t have made Saint go. I just want…he’s my family. Finn is my…”

“I understand why you did it,” Leo cut in softly. “I probably would have done worse if I thought that there was something that could save my dad.”

That just made Logan feel even smaller, sitting at the table. Leo glanced at him, gave him a tight smile, then went to the sink and began scrubbing dishes.

“Hey,” Logan said, then rose and strode over to Leo. “Hey, let me clean up.”

“I just need something to do,” Leo said shortly.

“Me, too.”

They stood, their shoulders pressed together. Logan washed. Leo dried. He slipped cinnamon rolls into the oven and then returned. They kept close to each other at the sink and it felt…so normal. Like a home. Leo felt like a home.

“I never really thanked you properly,” Logan said into the now more comfortable silence. “For letting me stay with you. And—I just want to say, and now with Finn…I understand if you want us to leave. I mean, three’s a crowd.”

“You’re welcome here,” Leo said quickly. Logan watched his throat bob. He was looking away again. “You should do what feels best for you, but you’re both welcome here. Just—”

Leo paused, and Logan found himself suddenly desperate to hear what he had to say. He knew he hadn’t been friendly all the time. He knew he’d been selfish. Leo had been nothing but kind. He was funny and warm, teaching Logan how to weld two pieces of metal, talking about the latest book he was reading while he whisked batter and handed Logan different new recipes he was trying out.

Finn would like Leo, Logan thought, and glanced towards the door. Maybe he was about to find out.

“Never mind,” Leo said, and flashed a smile.

Logan went to protest, but then his phone began buzzing madly on the table and he all but lunged for it.

~

Luke stared down at his father’s handwriting.

Luke, it began. And then there was a name.

Pascal Dumais.

There was no mention of himself. There was nothing. Luke had thought this would make him feel better, make it easier. Only, now, he was frustrated to the point of tears. He couldn’t seem to ease the lump that was lodged in his throat. He clutched the paper in his fingers hard enough to tear, willing something else to appear on it. He thought of Felix.

“Well?” said a voice from his window.

“Oh—” Luke flinched, surprised, then cursed at Saint, who was stretched out on his window sill. “Come on. Are you kidding me?”

Saint’s mouth twitched up in a smile, but it was strained. He was sitting awkwardly, tense rather than his usual languid posture.

“What’s wrong with you?” Luke asked hesitantly, trying to discreetly wipe at his face.

“What isn’t?”

Luke spotted the blood between Saint’s fingers and rose. “You’re hurt.”

“I fell down a chimney.”

“Is that a joke?”

“No.”

Luke blinked. “That’s how you got into Saint Clair? And you climbed to my window?”

Saint pulled himself all the way through the window with a soft groan and Luke walked forward, hands hovering near Saint’s shoulders, unsure if he should help.

“The orphan?” he asked instead, then at Saint’s sharp look, “Finn?”

“Sirius is bringing him to Grimmauld.”

“What’s Grimmauld?”

Saint sat down heavily in Luke’s desk chair, hand still pressed to his side. He had what looked like soot on his hands and face. “A place.” He picked up a book. Jane Eyre. “Didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“You’re bleeding all over my room.”

“Lucky you.”

Luke tucked the note into the pocket of his shorts. “Fuck—come here. Jesus.”

He walked into his bathroom and jammed the light switch up, looking back when Saint didn’t follow him. “Come here.”

Saint rose, still holding the book. “I am coming!” Saint quoted, head tilted in a way that made his neck look long. “Wait for me! Oh, I will come!”

“Very funny,” Luke sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a reader.”

“Why?” Saint said as he stepped out of the darkness of the bedroom and into the yellow-lighted bathroom. His brown eyes took on the soft yellow, too, and he leaned forward as he pushed himself up onto the counter carefully. “Because I don’t buy my books and,” Saint looked down at the book, flipping through it. “Write all over them like you do?”

“Because you didn’t go to school,” Luke said with a raised eyebrow as he ducked for the first aid kit beneath his sink. It was good to have one near during the lacrosse season—or it used to be.

Saint rolled his eyes. “You Gods and your single paths in life. You’re all stupid.”

“Then why are you here?” Luke asked as he unlatched the kit.

“Because this is the last place anyone would look for me,” Saint replied. “And you’re mean.”

“Mean? Are we in seventh grade?” Luke scoffed as he wet a towel in the sink. “I don’t know if it’s healthy to want to be around people who you think are mean to you."

“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Saint said. “And that’s all Sirius will want to do. And I don’t want to. And we don’t have this shit at Grimmauld.”

“Is that where you live?”

Saint just set the book down and reached behind himself to tug his shirt over his head. Luke tried not to stare at Saint’s smooth, light brown skin. He swallowed, busying himself with the bandages and the wet towel again.

“For all the breaking into places you do, maybe you should invest in some band-aids,” Luke said, and glanced down at the finely woven muscle on Saint’s ribs, at the red edges of the slashes. “If you flinch too much, you’re doing this yourself.”

Saint smiled. “Mean.”

“Fuck off,” Luke said, out of reflex, and then pressed his lips together. Saint laughed and then hissed as Luke pressed the towel to the cut.

They were close like this, Luke leaned in to dab the blood away, and then dot it with disinfectant, all while Saint’s muscles jumped beneath the palm he had steadied low on his belly. He could feel Saint watching him, and remembered waking up to those eyes. Saint’s hand in his hair.

“How did you do it?” Luke said into the small space between them. “Get in and out.”

“The chimney.”

So, he was serious.

“What did the letter say?” Saint asked.

Luke glanced up at him warily, but wiped a hand on his shorts before fishing the letter out of his pocket and handing it over. “Do you know who that is?”

Saint read it quietly, and then met Luke’s eyes. Luke was stuck there, pinned like a tack in a map, marking the place to be.

“Yes,” Saint said, and smiled brightly. “I know exactly who this is.”

[fullmetalscullyy]

For the sharing a bed ask bc I can't remember for the life of me if I've sent one to you yet 🙈 'they took turns sharing it while the other was on watch' or however exactly that one was worded ❤️❤️

aaa tysm for the prompt! i loved it and i hope you enjoy! continuing with the no plot just vibes agenda~

send me a prompt

rated: g | words: 3679 | tags: royai, there was only one bed, shelter from the storm, snowstorm, tending to wounds, comfort, fluff

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Exhaustion followed both occupants of the crumbling bothy like a shadow. It clung to them, slowing their movements, as if it was physically attached to their ankles like two weights. Booted feet were dragged across the polished, undulating stones underfoot, worn down after years of use, and finally came to stop in the centre of the main room.

Years of use didn’t warrant years of upkeep apparently, Riza thought, as she did a sweep of the building. It was not in the best condition however it was still standing, and it was shelter from the storm outside. That was all Riza was currently concerned with.

There were only two rooms, plus a bathroom with a functioning sink and toilet – surprisingly enough. The pipes grunted and groaned, screaming in protest at being used, but it worked and was clean. A worn plaque above the sink indicated the water was drinkable as well, which was the best news she’d heard all day. A small blessing in this wretched situation they’d found themselves in.

To counteract that thought, at that exact moment, a howling gust of wind rattled the door thoroughly and whistled through the cracked class of the windows to its left and right. The Colonel whipped around to stare, partly in fright and partly because he was on edge. They both were. The sudden scream that sounded as the wind tried to force its way inside through the glass made Riza jump as well.

They shared a look and the Colonel’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“So much for the famed northern hospitality,” he muttered. His words held a bite to them, however Riza was unsure whether it was directed at the situation itself or at anyone in particular.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault they’d found themselves in this situation, however it was not ideal, nor was it pleasant. The first point on their ‘bad things that have happened today’ list (at this point, they were up to around number six) was a snowstorm had rendered their transport from the station in North City to the town they were supposed to be visiting useless. The truck owner boasted it was an all-terrain, all-weather vehicle, that he was handpicked by the military for transport because of his “beauty’s” prowess. He quickly stopped bragging though and started muttering angrily at his prized possession, kicking the tyre in fury as it sat pitifully in a snowy ditch, unable to escape the confines of it. It was safe to say his “beauty” fell short of the mark for the two soldiers. No amount of pushing from the three of them would shift it. However, they had deadlines to meet, so were forced to say their goodbyes and go ahead on foot.

There was no way they’d make it in time but at least they could honestly say they had tried when questioned.

It was by a stroke of luck they’d stumbled upon a walker’s bothy. Night was creeping in quickly, especially with the ongoing snowstorm. The world was turning greyer by the second and when Riza spotted it, she made a beeline straight for the shelter. The wind was too loud to talk over, but the Colonel saw her beckoning gesture and nodded, following behind her without question, already trusting her judgement and thought process.

The main room housed a single wooden bedframe with no mattress. There was another spot where another bed frame should be, but only half it remained. It had been broken in half. Whether that had been from an accident, an act of vandalism, or due to the passage of time, Riza wasn’t sure. Not that it would be of any use to them split in half, but simple curiosity had the Colonel searching the rest of the small building for the other half. There was a large stone fireplace that was bereft of any wood, they noticed with dismay, however after venturing through to the second room on the left, there was a massive pile of it within. It was a supply for the winter months for anyone who needed it, so the piece of paper tacked to an old corkboard on the wall said. There were two chairs placed around the fire and some cast iron cooking utensils stacked in a neat pile upon the hearth, lifting their spirits slightly. They had rations from the truck driver that would not require their use, but the sight of them was still a positive.

“I think we’ll be safe enough to sleep here tonight,” she announced, ignoring the Colonel’s petulant comment.

“Lieutenant,” he called quietly to her, catching her attention. When she turned her head, he gestured to one of the chairs. “You should rest.” He glanced down at her feet, and Riza knew exactly what he was thinking.

She’d stumbled and twisted her ankle while they walked. The pain had eased completely the more she’d walked, so Riza assumed it would be fine. Now they’d stopped, it was throbbing in time with her pulse. It appeared to be worse than she’d thought.

Just what they needed.

She sighed and mentally added that as number seven to their list.

Sitting on one of the chairs, Riza sighed quietly in relief as it lessened the pressure on her injured joint. The Colonel followed suit and he too sounded extremely relieved to finally sit down.

“What a day,” he muttered, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Riza hummed in agreement, causing him to reopen his eyes and glance tiredly over at her. She shifted in place, feeling a shiver travel down her spine.

Without a word, the Colonel stood and ventured into the other room. He came back with arms full of firewood and started the process of arranging them within the fireplace. After a single snap the fire roared to life, filling the room with a soft orange glow and warmth. A few minutes later the invading bite of the winter chill was beginning to alleviate and Riza could feel her muscles relaxing.

“Do you think there will be anything outside waiting for us?”

His question was so sudden as he stared into the fire that it took Riza a moment to process it.

“Pardon?”

The Colonel blinked and tore his eyes away from the dancing flames. He repeated his question as he turned to look at her, expression serious.

“Like what?”

“What about bears?” He looked genuinely concerned.

Riza blinked at him. “Probably. I think so, yes.” She faintly recalled hearing stories about the size and might of the bears in the north but elected not to bring it up. She didn’t think that would have been beneficial or productive in that moment, especially not after recognising a faint glint of fear that was discernible in the Colonel’s eyes.

“Do you think we should be concerned?”

Riza glanced over her shoulder at the door as it rattled on its hinges. “I don’t think so. We’ll be safe in here.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do you know any bears that can open doors?” Both her brows lifted as she regarded him.

“I know a bear could open that door,” he scoffed, jerking his head towards it. “It’s hardly a strong line of defence.”

That was true. One more gust of wind might snap it off one of the hinges. The top one rattled playfully to emphasise his point.

“I think we’ll be okay, sir,” Riza replied smoothly, trying to keep her amusement out of her tone.

The Colonel scowled at her anyway. Apparently she hadn’t been entirely successful.

Riza chuckled upon seeing his expression. “City boy,” she muttered to herself, her tone light and playful.

“I would say it was a legitimate concern,” he replied haughtily.

“You also thought there were bears in the woods outside my father’s house.”

“I think my point still stands.”

“Bears do not exist in every wooded area and forest, Roy.” She rolled her eyes at him in amused exasperation, momentarily forgetting herself.

It was so easy talking to him like this. The two of them were alone together and stuck in a predicament that neither could have ever predicted or conjured up, yet here they were. It was surreal, but it was nice. Despite everything that had happened today she was still relatively happy. She was grateful to be with him. Ideally, she’d have neither of them stranded in a snowstorm, however she was glad he was here. If there was anyone she’d want to be stranded with, it would be him.

After she’d realised her minor slip up, Riza paused and glanced over at him, noting his soft expression and smile. It was so genuine and happy that she didn’t cringe or apologise. She didn’t feel the need to.

“We sound like we did when we were children,” he replied.

Riza felt her own nostalgic smile spread across her face. “We do.”

“I’ll take first watch,” he offered.

Riza opened her mouth to protest but he’d already shoved a threadbare blanket he’d found towards her. Riza didn’t particularly want to use it – she had no way of knowing how clean it was – however the building was not heated in the slightest, aside from the fire. It was built for hikers who were well prepared with sleeping bags, which they were not. For survival, Riza had to accept any kind of warmth she could get.

“You need to rest that ankle,” he added.

She nodded and took the blanket from him. Riza settled herself on the hard, wooden bedframe so she was facing into the room. It was warmer than facing the cold stone of the wall beside the bed.

“Colonel?”

He glanced over at her expectantly.

“Watch out for those bears.”

* * * * * * * *

The wind had died down throughout the night at least. Roy had been partly joking when he brought up the bears that may be lurking outside for them, however now that he’d put the idea inside his own head, he couldn’t help but take an extra glance every now and then out the window.

Just in case.

It was worth bringing it up to hear the Lieutenant’s laugh. To hear her accidentally call him by his first name. It had been so worth it.

To whittle away the time his mind tried its best to summon a plan of attack against any bear that did appear, going over how he would react and how he would fend one off, but Roy had come to only one conclusion after about half an hour of plotting. It was folly. There was absolutely no way he’d be able to take on a bear. His eyes narrowed at the rickety old door and took solace in the fact the doorway looked too small for a bear to fit through. They were safe from them so long as they stayed inside, and that was good enough for him.

Now the bear appearance dilemma, likely or not, had been put to bed, Roy’s thoughts turned towards the Lieutenant. He glanced down at her ankle as she lay sound asleep, remembering how she’d stumbled and fallen in a snowdrift. Insisting she was fine, they’d pressed on. They didn’t have much choice in the matter anyway, but he was still concerned. He had a strong inkling she was suffering for it as they travelled. A sprained ankle under normal conditions would ease with rest, but that was not a luxury they’d been afforded as they traversed the snowy landscape to safety. Snowdrifts up to their knees were common and Roy had felt dead on his feet when they finally came to a stop inside this shelter.

That was one blessing of the day, at least. He’d simply laughed at their luck, shaking his head, now they were safe beneath shelter, dry, and out of the storm.

But if he’d felt tired down to his bones, then he couldn’t imagine how the Lieutenant must have felt upon their arrival.

Steadying his resolve, Roy determined there was no imminent danger. No bears coming through the night to get them. Now the storm had eased, looking through the shards of the window, Roy could see the gorgeous landscape splayed before him, illuminated by the moonlight, and enhanced by the heavy snow. It looked a lot more inviting than it had a few hours ago.

He wouldn’t, but he was tempted to wake up the Lieutenant to show her how beautiful it looked.

Roy smiled to himself, the thought dredging up an old memory from their past. He faintly recalled doing something similar when he’d experienced his first winter at the Hawkeye house. He’d ran to her room without a thought, excited and eager to show her how the dark forest outside had transformed into a silvery white and green wonderland.

It had been something he’d been desperate to share with her.

“Colonel?”

A tired voice called to him, and Roy immediately lost his interest in the world outside. He turned, seeing the Lieutenant blink tiredly at him.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted, an air of concern about him. He hadn’t expected her to wake so soon, and if she did, he knew she’d want to take over watch duties.

She shot him a small smile, placating his nerves somewhat. Pushing herself up into a seated position, the Lieutenant stretched her arms over her head.

“How’s the ankle?”

She grimaced, but only slightly. “Better now that I’ve taken my weight off it.”

That didn’t answer his question entirely. “Is there any pain?”

She was silent as she looked down at her legs. “It does throb every now and again. That’s what woke me up.”

Roy nodded, dismayed to hear she was in pain. If he could take it away, he would, but they didn’t have painkillers in their first aid kits. The only thing that would help was a support, which the Lieutenant had already put on after gently easing her boot off. She didn’t react to the angry red hue of her skin, but Roy felt his stomach tense. It hadn’t looked good. The compression support had been slipped on slowly, but Roy saw the way her eye twitched twice and how her jaw clenched while obviously trying to conceal any kind of pain.

“Why don’t you try and get a few hours sleep,” the Lieutenant offered. “I think I’ll be up for a while now.” She swung her legs around and to the floor, visibly wincing when her sore ankle contacted the floor. Another appeared when she tried to stand, but Roy quickly scrambled towards her.

“Please, stay seated,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.”

The Lieutenant shot him a strained smile. “That doesn’t bode well for us for tomorrow,” she quipped.

Roy opened his mouth to reply, but she was right. Still, hewas right. She shouldn’t be walking on that ankle.

“Regardless,” he admonished, placing his hands on her shoulders as a gentle restraint to keep her in place. “All the more reason to remain seated and keep resting it then, right?” Triumph flashed through him, and he smirked when the Lieutenant’s lips pursed, because she knew he was right.

“You can’t sleep on the floor, though,” she warned.

His shoulders fell in defeat, glancing down at the bed. His mind rejoiced with the idea that sprung into it, however it was so far out the realm of what was appropriate that it was completely out of the question.

Roy retracted his hands as the Lieutenant placed both hands by her sides and effortlessly slid herself backwards, so her back came to rest upon the stone wall behind her. She made herself comfortable and looked at him expectantly, patting the space beside her to indicate he should join her and sit.

Even if it wasn’t appropriate to share a bed with his Lieutenant, Roy only needed to take one look around them both and remember where they were. This day was already bizarre enough. What was one more occurrence to add to that list?

He wouldn’t particularly class it as sharing a bed with her either. They would both be sitting upright, looking out at the room, with considerable distance in place between them.

“We can take turns with the blanket,” she smirked as she handed it over.

Roy snorted lightly and gratefully received her offering. The room was warm enough with the fire but the stone behind his back still stubbornly clung to the icy temperatures from outside, refusing to accept the warmth they’d provided the room. Wrapping it around his shoulders, Roy settled back in place and made himself comfortable.

He woke with a start a few hours later. His head jerked upright and swung left and right, unseeing as he still tried to shake the vision from his dreams.

“Colonel? Colonel!”

He paused for a second, recognising the voice. It was from someone he thought he’d lost in his dream.

“Roy,” the Lieutenant called to him.

It was enough to surprise him, that it brought him back to the present. Glancing to his right, he saw his Lieutenant still seated next to him, eyes wide and concerned.

“Are you okay?” Her eyes were searching his, moving back and forth frantically as she scanned his face with worry.

“Yes,” he breathed, trying to get a hold of his racing heart to slow it down. He was all right. She was all right. They were safe. He gulped down air, trying to get enough into his lungs and take away the fear that had both restricted them and wrapped tightly around his heart. “Just… A bad dream.”

The Lieutenant nodded in understanding and patted his forearm. That was when Roy realised she didn’t remove it, and that it had been there the entire time.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roy shook his head. “It’s okay,” he breathed. “Thank you, though,” he quickly added. “It was just… the usual,” he offered. The usual nowadays was him losing someone dear to him. The Promised Day had not been kind on his mind. To this day he still suffered, and he didn’t particularly want to relive it after it was so fresh. His reply was code enough that the Lieutenant knew exactly what he was referring to. They’d already been open about what their ‘usual’ nightmares consisted of nowadays.

As suspected, realisation dawned upon her features, and she nodded in sympathy.

“I… I need some time before I can sleep again,” he admitted. There was no shame in his voice though, not with her. Never with her. They were both very well acquainted with the reasons the other struggled to sleep. “You should try for a while.”

“Okay,” she acquiesced. She gave his forearm a squeeze and again, she didn’t remove it. “Wake me if you need anything, all right?” She waited for him to verbally agree with her. Only once he did, did the Lieutenant’s eyes close.

Watching her do so caused Roy’s brow to furrow slightly in confusion.

She must have moved closer to him as he slept, because where there had been about two feet of distance between them before, there was now mere centimetres. Just enough distance for the Lieutenant’s head to loll and fall against his shoulder comfortably as she slept.

He’d been startled awake, so Roy hadn’t realised he’d initiated it. In sleep, his head had bowed and rolled to the side, seeking out her presence. After shifting closer, the Lieutenant had eased him from his uncomfortable position and lifted his head to lie upon her shoulder.

Now recovered from the turmoil of his dream, Roy smiled down at her and relished in the comfort her presence brought him. The weight of her head against him eased his mind and slowed his racing pulse. He could breathe easier with her lying against him. A peace washed over his body, relaxing his taught muscles, and soothing his very soul.

Despite their predicament, he was glad she was here with him.

The grip she had on his forearm loosened, so Roy snaked his hand over to it, hooking their fingers together and holding on tightly. The Lieutenant stirred next to him, disturbed from sleep.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “it’s okay. It’s just me.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze.

There was a brief pause with no reply, then the Lieutenant’s grip on him tightened and remained.

“Okay,” she exhaled peacefully. She moved next to him, shuffling closer, which Roy was more than happy to indulge in.

As she was lulled back to sleep, her grip on his hand slackened but Roy never let her go. He anchored himself to her.

They’d get through this and get home. Not that she’d allow it of course, but Roy would carry her through the snow with that ankle if need be to ensure their safety. It had been the day from hell professionally, however ending it with the two of them curled together on that uncomfortable bed, gripping onto one another, was not bad in the slightest. Roy thought that was the closest to heaven he was ever going to get.

* * * * * * * *

Their luck must have finally been turning for the better, as that morning a group of hikers entered the bothy loudly, laughing and joking with one another, while Roy helped the Lieutenant strap up her ankle. They were offered food and directions to the nearest town, which was only two miles away. The group set off with them, insistent on offering their help and support, and even assisted the Lieutenant with some painkillers as well.

After the day of travel they’d had before, it brightened up both soldier’s moods somewhat as they set off again through the snowy northern landscape with their new company.

Thankfully, they didn’t come across any bears.

They made it to the town in one peace and called North City Headquarters for assistance. And also requested back up for that assistance.

Just in case.

[langernameohnebedeutung]

Top five magneto moments from the X-Men movies?

Ohhh...lemme think. (I tried picking from different films. It's not really in any order of preference, just scenes I think are neat.

1. aka the first one. I mean, not the first-first one or the second one or- but the first scene with Charles and Erik being Like That and doing their thing.

There's already at least one pretty popular post about why this scene is so damn good and how it tells us so much about these guys' dynamic without telling us much at all and I just really think it's well-done, well-acted. Especially since in the og movies, Mags and Charles aren't the main-characters so they don't get that much screen-time but this is what we need to know and there is just so much being communicated. I was kind of torn whether to pick this one or the very last one of the film but I chose this one bc I feel like the first one is more about Magneto (we already know he's going to be the villain right here, we learn what motivates him, we get some of the trademark bitchiness Ian McKellen brings to the character. Good stuff. Also when he walks off like: "We're the future, Charles! Not them! They no longer matter!" So much going on here.) while the end-one is more about Professor X. Also, for me the last scene actually elevates this one even further because of the way it makes this exchange frame the entire narrative of the film. You do get the sense that Charles and Erik are two chessplayers moving their pieces with the whole "What are you doing here?" - "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers?" and -

Like, you just get the sense that everything that happened between those scenes is just a little bit beneath them. It isn't any major break or change in their lives or relationship, they're the same as before and that also gives you an idea about the kind of history these guys already got to have.

2). Obviously.

Iconic. Show-stopping. Do I even need to say anything? Probably one of my favourite prison-break scenes ever put on screen. Everything about it. The dialogue, the violence, the "never trust a beautiful woman - especially one that's interested in you", the camera movement, the wink, the glass shattering and the cell coming apart, Ian McKellen floating on a metal/blood frisbee. This one has it all. Some physics guy on YouTube actually made a video about how powerful Magneto has to pull this off and apparently, this is a lot more impressive than any of the major property damage we see him cause across films.

3. Ah yes the Villa Gesell scene

Lemme say first: This scene is completely and utterly pointless from a plot-perspective. It's literally just a character moment. And I love character moments. It's just there to show us who Erik is and the film bends over backwards to justify this scene being in it: An entire stack of coincidences that is Shaw's photo hanging on the wall of this pub with the name of his boat clearly visible and he's sitting next to the two Nazis who happen to be sitting in this very pub right there and then and of course one of them has his Nazi knife with him (which is a very weird mixture of a Hitler Youth knife and an SS Honour Dagger and even ignoring that it's a mess bc they even forgot that German capitalises its nouns so why is the inscription all lower case and I'm the most annoying person on the planet to watch movies with but t-)

And the thing is - I actually like this entire scene even more for all of that. Because they could have just had that Swiss banker tell Mags where Shaw is. But instead, his entire trip to Argentinia is in there to let us see Erik kill Nazis and we get an exact sense of what he's doing with his life, who he is, how he is - and also did I mention dead Nazis? - I live for that (and also for a deleted scene where he sees a mother and her kid at the Argentinian airport and has a flashback and 😢).

I also like that it continues the pattern we get in the bank scene where he doesn't confront his targets directly but sets them up to incriminate themselves. We also get the "Frankenstein's Monster"-line which is something I have a lot of thoughts about - especially bc the whole "what makes us human/monsters"-question is a big deal in the movie. Also-also it sets up Charles 'head empty' moment from the finale of the movie where he tells Erik that the people CURRENTLY FIRING FUCKING NUCLEAR MISSILES AT THEM are just 'good innocent men' who are 'just following orders' and you just get the sense of how often Erik has heard this shit (also...thinking about how this film is set in 1962, meaning right after the Eichmann trial). There's just. A lot going on.

4. Oh let's be controversial!

ok I know this is something I know a lot of people hold against Erik and say it's one of his meanest and most unfair moments. but honestly? His anger is at least as earned as Charles' at this point and any take on this scene that is "one of them is right and the other is wrong" is ...boring. Erik once again lost people he cared about, he spent ten years in solitary confinement for a crime he didn't commit, he just learnt that literally everything that he warned about in the last film will happen (already has happened, partially), pretty much word for word ("Identification, that's how it starts. And ends with being rounded up, experimented on, eliminated.) to the point that an actual TIME-TRAVELLER comes back from the fucking future to tell them how bad they all fucked up.

(One of the things I like is that he doesn't make a difference between people who chose his side and people who chose Charles' side - he names Banshee along with Emma, Azazel, Angel. He's just sad about all of them. Generally, I'm still prissy that we never got to see him go full Magneto for any length of time in the prequels so him speaking of 'mutant brothers and sisters' is the closest we get to knowing what he would be like if they didn't always find some new weird between-movies plot for him like prison or starting a family in Poland or starting a leftist commune on an island - although I can kind of respect that one.)

Also anyone who ever had the misfortune of actually hearing me talk about this movie for any lengths of time knows I have...a lot of thoughts about Erik and his time in solitary confinement and I like that the first times we see his powers after he gets out after ten years of no metal, it's a huge mess. Erik as we know him from First Class would probably just wave his hands at those guards in the Pentagon kitchen and kill them with a few well-aimed knives in a blink of an eye - but this time around, he trashes the entire room and hits no one. And in the plane scene we see him lose control completely and almost bring down the plane once he snaps and you really get the sense that after ten years, he's no longer used to having metal around that reacts to his powers.

Also, in that same scene the mutual acknowledgement between him and Logan in the end? I liked that.

5. (almost) all scenes where he's just a giant menace to infrastructure and important landmarks.

Like the fact that he destroyed the Sydney opera house is just such a casual by-note, we don't even talk about that one. It's just how it goes, you know? The only let-down is that he literally went to France without taking down the Eiffel-Tower in DOFP? A giant metal structure? This is a serious oversight by the writers and really cheapens the whole movie-going experience. 2/10.

[mrs-dr-reid]

The Girl Behind the Desk

(A Criminal Minds Fic)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Requested by @imagining-in-the-margins​; “Spencer goes to the same library whenever he can. In part because he likes to read the encyclopedias, but also because he’s in love with one of the girls who works there. Unfortunately, he’s also convinced she doesn’t know he exists.”

Genre: Super fluffy, doods

Warnings: Pining, I guess? (is that a thing that needs a warning? I dunno, maybe)

A/N: Okay, this was so fun to write? Oh my god. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Word Count: 1858

———————————————————————

Spencer didn’t know why he kept going there. Well, he takes that back. He kind of knows why he keeps going to a very particular library in the D.C. area: There’s a very robust collection of encyclopedias there that he can go and read whenever he has time off from the BAU. Therein lies the kicker: he’s already read the entire collection at least half a dozen times. So why does he keep going there if he’s already read the one thing there that interests him?

The answer is quite simple... the encyclopedia section is within viewing distance of the check-out desk, and whenever he goes in to read them, there’s always a beautiful young woman there with shiny Y/H/C hair and striking Y/E/C eyes checking out books, answering the questions of other library patrons, and taking the reshelving cart to some other section of the library. He’s never plucked up the courage to go over and talk to her, but he knew from overhearing the conversations she had with her coworkers that her first name was Y/N.

Spencer’s played out a thousand interactions with her in his mind, but he’s never gone over to the desk to actually play one of them out. So for the past month and a half, he’s just been sitting in the corner by himself pretending to read a book while staring at the beautiful librarian from across the room like a lovesick idiot. And he was a lovesick idiot, because he couldn’t recall a single time in his life where he was utterly captivated by a woman he’d never even spoken a word to before.

He noticed every little thing about her: the way she would smile at young children who would plunk a Magic Treehouse or Percy Jackson book on the counter and stand on their tiptoes to hand her their library card, then give them a small lollipop from the glass bowl on the desk before they left, the way she laughed when one of her coworkers told a really lame library joke, the way she could pull her hair into a neat bun while she was working without one of those hair donut things he’s seen JJ use a couple times, and the way there was always a skip in her step and a song in her head when she was pushing the reshelving cart to whatever section she needed to go to.

She never looked over at his lonely little table because she was busy focusing on the more busy sections of the library, like the magazines, the research computers, and the children’s books, so the logical half of Spencer’s brain managed to convince him that she had no idea he even existed and that he really had no business being in the building. Still, the other more fantastical half of his brain kept him rooted in his plush library chair on the very slim chance that one day she’d look over and at least give him a smile. He highly doubted that would ever happen, but a guy can hope.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Y/N could tell that the guy in a purple sweater vest with unruly brown hair and thoughtful brown eyes sitting at a table near the encyclopedias wasn’t really there to read all of them every time he came in, because she was pretty sure she saw him read every single one of them and put them all back in the right place in the span of a few hours the first day he came into her library.

Sometimes when she was refilling the candy bowl, she would steal a quick glance over at him and see him absentmindedly flipping through the pages of an encyclopedia she knows she’s seen him read in record breaking time with a furrowed brow, because she had to admit he was handsome in his own nerdy little way. And she’d always feel her stomach flip when he pushed his hair away from his eyes or adjusted his tie, because his hands look HUGE, even from far away, and she knows that if they ever shook hands, his would completely swallow hers.

She only knew his name because he answered his phone one time, and she heard him say, “Dr. Spencer Reid,” which made her raise her eyebrows in amazement, because he couldn’t have been much older than she was and he was a doctor. She could tell by the way he dressed that there was no way he was a medical doctor, so she assumed that he was a college professor with a proclivity for literature.

He came into her library sporadically over a month and a half period, and when he was gone for long lapses in time, Y/N assumed he was doing lectures either at the school he worked at or at nearby schools as a guest speaker. But whenever she looked over at the empty table where he usually made himself at home, she couldn’t help but miss him, which was utterly ridiculous because how could you miss someone you’ve never even spoken to? She then made a pact with herself: the next time she saw him come in, she was going to find some excuse or another to talk to him.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Spencer got back from a really rough case, and he figured that a trip to his favorite library might lift his spirits. He walked in through the doors, expecting it to be a normal session of “pretending to read so I can stare at the desk girl”, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a voice he’d only heard from a distance say, “We just got in a couple new ones about fungi and spores, in case you wanted to look at something new.”

He turned around to see the woman he’d been admiring from afar for nearly the last two months with her award-winning smile on her face. She pointed at his table and said, “I noticed you liked hanging out by the encyclopedias, so I thought I’d let you know if I caught you before you hunkered down over there,” making him struggle to find the right words to say. He finally settled on, “Ummm, okay. Cool. Thank you for letting me know,” and smiled before starting to walk away.

Y/N knew that was her last chance, so she said, “I’m Y/N, by the way. Y/N L/N,” and held out her hand, so Spencer hesitated before grabbing it and saying, “Hi, Y/N. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Sorry, but, handshakes aren’t normally my thing. You see, the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is outrageous. It’s actually...,” making Y/N say, “Safer to kiss, right? I’ve dealt with my fair share of germaphobes who whip out that fact,” before shooting him a wink.

Spencer didn’t know how to react to that, but he knows for a fact he went pink in the cheeks. Y/N continued, “And I already knew your name. I heard you answer your phone once. You’ve never checked out any books, so I just thought you were too busy with teaching to remember to return them and never went over to ask you about it,” while she started grabbing new books to stamp and stack.

Spencer didn’t really know how to respond to that, but he remembered how to speak English, and he said, “You think I’m a teacher?”, so she said, “Yeah. I mean, based on the way you dress and the fact that you’re slightly too germaphobic, there’s no way you’re a medical doctor. I figured you were a college professor, more specifically in the English department. How close am I?”, while sitting down in her swivel chair.

Spencer was impressed by her profiler-level deduction, so he said, “I’d say you were 70% accurate. I’m not a medical doctor, but I do have three PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, 2 BAs in Psychology and Sociology, and I’m working on a BA in Philosophy. I am a college professor, but I teach Criminology. I’m also a Supervisory Special Agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI,” which made Y/N’s eyebrows fly up. She said, “Seriously?! All this time, I’ve been sneaking peeks at a super genius pretending to read an encyclopedia in the corner for the past two months?”, which made Spencer’s sly smile drop off his face.

He said, “You knew I was pretending?”, so Y/N grabbed her water bottle and said, “Yeah. You breezed through the entire collection in less than 3 hours the first day you came in, then you put every single one back in its rightful place. I even double checked after you left, and I didn’t have to swap a single book into the right place,” before taking a sip of water. Spencer said, “Well, I guess that’s what happens when you have an eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute,” which nearly made Y/N choke on her water.

Spencer’s eyes widened in concern, and he said, “Oh my god, are you okay?”, but she waved him off and said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just wasn’t expecting that,” before setting her water down. She checked her watch, then said, “Okay, my shift ends in a couple hours. And knowing you you’ll probably finish all those new encyclopedias by then, so how about when I clock out, you and I can go get coffee or something?”, which took Spencer completely by surprise. He said, “Uhhhhh, sure! Yeah, sure! That sounds great!”, his voice betraying him by cracking awkwardly.

Clearly Y/N thought it was cute, because she grabbed a pink sticky note and a clicker pen from the cup on the desk, jotted something down, then handed it to him before saying, “Be sure to think of some interesting fungus facts to tell me later, Dr. Brainiac,” winking, and heading off to reshelve some books. Spencer stood there awestruck for a solid minute before shaking himself and going to his usual spot. He finally looked down at what she had written, and he felt himself go completely red, because on the note was a series of numbers that could only be her cell phone number, an address that could only be hers, and the words “call me sometime, Boy Genius” written in a gorgeous looping scrawl.

Spencer looked up again to see her talking with one of her coworkers behind the desk, so he pulled out his phone and punched in her number before typing “Is texting okay, too?” and pressing send. He saw her pull out her phone, and she looked up and gave him a playful eye roll before typing something and putting her phone back in her pocket. His phone buzzed again, so he checked it to see that she had sent back “Of course it is, Dr. Reid ;)”, making him smile before going to grab those encyclopedias she was talking about.

———————————————————————

Tag List: @agenthotchner​, @hurricanejjareau​, @xgoldentigerlilyx​, @therestisconfettis​, @less-intelligent-spencerreid​, @aryaarathornson​, @thomasgibsonfan01​

Let me know in the comments if you want to be added

[peaceoutofthepieces]

44. "Make me" for Wesper? 🙈

I’m very happy this is the first new request I got

44. “Make me.”

“Jesper, come on, you’ve made it this long. Don’t ruin it,” Wylan pleaded.

Jesper rubbed a hand over his face with a sigh. He had been feeling antsy all day, and he’d almost made it out the door; now, this conversation was prolonging his agony. And it was not the type of prolonged agony he enjoyed.

Although he had Wylan well-rehearsed in that by now, too.

“I’m just going for a drink,” he insisted. “You don’t need me to read you bedtime stories tonight, tomorrow’s a free day. Which also makes it a perfectly acceptable time for a hangover, so you can’t complain about that, either.”

Wylan narrowed his eyes.

Normally, Jesper would enjoy this. Getting Wylan all strung up with his panties in a twist was just as entertaining as making him blush. But on this occasion, it was decidedly not in Jesper’s favour. Maybe it was time to work for that blush.

He sidled up to Wylan and slid a hand along his jaw, cupping his cheek with care. In a moment, he hoped to have it heating under his palm. “Don’t worry, love. I don’t plan on staying out, I’ll still be back to warm your bed.”

Voilà.

Wylan’s cheeks pinked at Jesper’s low tone and sultry wink, and he swayed a little into Jesper’s orbit, and then a frown reclaimed his features. “You think I don’t know when you’re lying to me, and it’s insulting. I’m not naive, Jes.”

Despite the twitch and tremble that was still encasing Jesper’s bones, urging him to move and go, to get this over with so he could escape and satisfy the itch under his skin, his chest tightened and he grew stiller. Unlike Jesper’s assurance and bravado, the hurt swimming in Wylan’s eyes wasn’t fake.

“Of course you’re not,” he said, softer. The self-resentment was building up in him quickly, but it had already been there driving him. This was only worsening the rush of his blood and the pounding in his head. “But I’m not lying. What makes you think I am?”

“You’re not lying,” Wylan repeated. “So the reason you’re not going to the Crow Club, where you’d probably get them to give you your drinks for free, isn’t so that you won’t have Kaz’s eyes on you?”

Jesper raised a brow and tried not to feel too caught. “Why would it be? Quite fancy Kaz’s eyes on me from time to time, makes me feel special. You know how he is with his attention. Flattering to have it, really.”

“Not when he’s cutting you off before you can even bet your first hand,” Wylan said bluntly.

Jesper bit back a swear. It’s not worth fighting with Wylan. It’s not. “It’s sweet that you believe Kaz gives a toss about anything I do.”

Wylan simply tilted his head and gave him a look.

“I’ll be back in a bit. You won’t even know I’m gone,” Jesper tried again, already backing up.

“Jes,” Wylan caught onto his wrist. He’d softened considerably within the space of a second. The sternness was given up, and he was now powering those baby blues with puppy pleading. “Come on. What’s going on? You said you’d talk to me instead.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Jesper got out, “entirely nothing, even though I should already have a drink in my hand, because I’m still here, talking about nothing.”

Wylan wilted, and the self-resentment was really rearing it’s head. Still, Wylan gripped him tighter. “Clearly it’s something, if you’re acting like a child.”

“Leave it, Wy,” Jesper warned.

Of course, it didn’t work. Wylan was smart—a little genius, truly, one of the smartest people he knew—but his intelligence twisted and grew under guidance like Kaz Brekker’s. Meaning, it was not an intelligence that heeded something so irrelevant as a direct warning.

No, instead Wylan’s eyes sparked with something, a lightbulb rather than a flash-bomb going off, and he worked his way back into Jesper’s space, and said, “Make me.”

“Oh, I—“ Jesper froze where he’d already begun to lean into Wylan, voice dipping low again with such little prompting at the familiar thrill of such a taunt. He froze, making the abrupt change in his mood stop in its tracks, and he narrowed his eyes. “I see what you’re doing.”

Wylan’s expression was still puppy-innocent, but now those eyes were telling. “I’m not doing anything.”

Jesper laughed with closed lips and pressed a little closer, resistance crumbling despite himself. He was thinking you can’t possibly give in that easily, and then he was snapping back at the thought this isn’t what I shouldn’t give into. He did know exactly what Wylan was doing; it was a neat, nasty little trick that didn’t and wouldn’t always work.

But it was—or had been so far—a sure fire way of twisting Jesper’s thoughts enough to get him thinking clearly again. Even if it didn’t always have the intended result. Even if it ended in impromptu target practice with Jan Van Eck’s lingering, useless but precious belongings, an activity that kept Wylan and his mother up much too late much too often. Even if it meant getting shockingly drunk on whatever liquor Wylan would prefer they didn’t have to buy. Even if it meant, on one particularly terrible occasion in which he’d been feeling particularly pathetic, sobbing in Wylan’s arms for an indistinct but embarrassingly long time for lack of knowing what the hell else he was ever supposed to do with himself.

He didn’t know which kind of night this one was, yet, and it left his softly-spoken words ringing true. “That’s a dangerous game, merchling.”

“You can’t call me that anymore,” Wylan reminded him, which meant he was rather losing his game already.

But, then again, Jesper was still here, and now he was even sliding an arm round Wylan’s waist as his brows rose. “If you’re looking for a new nickname, darling, I’m sure we can find one. I was, however, under the impression that you quite liked the original.”

Wylan looked dubious. “What gave you that idea?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jesper smirked. Both arms held Wylan now with hands pressed to his back, the relentless twitch and buzz beneath their skin morphing into a new fire. Wylan’s hands curled over Jesper’s shoulders in response, the light in his eyes shifting as well.

“For now,” Wylan agreed, carefully. “Are you going to stay?”

The question was more tentative than it should’ve been in the context, more hopeful and pleading than Jesper deserved. He’d been asked before, and Wylan hadn’t really believed him then. He mustn’t have, when his voice was wobbling now. Jesper had promised to come back that night, though even he couldn’t be sure he’d manage that, and Wylan knew it. Wylan never wanted Jesper to go off and rid himself of all the progress he’d supposedly made, never wanted Jesper run around and make a mess after he’d mostly managed to clean himself up.

Jesper had never really taken the time to recognise that, possibly, Wylan didn’t want him to go do all of these things because Wylan was still afraid he would go.

It was ridiculous, and it would have made the self-resentment tear him apart if it didn’t simply break his heart. Gambling was a hard habit to quit, and he knew one of these times in which he teetered on the edge he was bound to fall, but even this long proved it was something he could live without. He didn’t need to go back to it. It was the itch and the thrill of the risk, the restless energy and fruitless desire that was a part of him; not the cards themselves. It would not cut anything out of him to cut himself off (as he continued to tell himself, every damned day).

Wylan, on the other hand, was a piece of his heart. It would hurt Jesper to leave behind even for a moment, and it would kill him not to return for it.

Jesper could tell him all of this and watch him melt, the heat that would rise to his cheeks burning him down. He could gamble his heart with Wylan and know he wouldn’t lose it; that Wylan would instead accept it happily, cradle it and keep it safe for him, stop him from tossing it to the flames on a reckless whim. For once, he knew his odds quite well and could see how heavily they were stacked in his favour.

And yet, it was one risk he wasn’t quite ready to take—not with the itch still shoving him towards the door.

Wylan deserved to hear it, when Jesper could be sure it wouldn’t end up looking like a lie.

For now, he’d anchor himself the best way he knew how, and hope Wylan would feel the words in each touch anyway.

He slid his hands around further, pulling Wylan even closer, and dipped down to brush his nose against Wylan’s as teasingly as he could. “If you’re so adamant,” he murmured, “why don’t you make me?”

It wasn’t enough for Wylan—as far as Jesper was concerned. But Wylan knew he had won, and lit up brighter than Jesper felt he had earned.

Today, it turned out to be more than enough for Jesper. Wylan’s hands slipped Jesper’s off his back, then pinned them behind Jesper’s own as the young merchant let their lips brush. Jesper made a sound he would have been more embarrassed by if he wasn’t so relieved at the new anticipation burning through him. He didn’t need the cards, he didn’t need the cards, he didn’t need the cards.

But bloody hell, he needed Wylan. Much more urgently, all of a sudden.

“How do you suppose I should do that?” Wylan asked, brave even through his blush, eyes already dark and lips already parted as Jesper gave into him.

“Off to a good start,” Jesper said.

Prompt List

[lizaloveslevihan]

if you have some angsty writing energy rn: hc where jean notices that hange hasn’t fully grieved or come to terms with erwin and moblit’ deaths, so he gets over his fear of levi to ask him with how to help hange because he’s so concerned for her

Title: Hange-san

Ao3 Link: Here

Notes: I also got some inspiration from this beautiful art I saw on Twitter.

They weren’t really close by any standards. Thinking about it, they probably just had two or three conversations the entire time Jean had known him. But his utter devotion was enough to catch anyone’s attention. If he wasn’t screaming at her to take care of herself, he did it silently by running each tiny errand and sticking with her like glue. He always walked by her side — shoulders hunched from obvious stress, hair a little unkempt, but hazel eyes as bright as ever, taking in every word she said despite the obvious dark circles underneath them. It was almost as if her personality and lifestyle were being injected into him, giving him life. 

Jean hadn’t really understood the nature of their relationship before — couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone so willing to put up with Hange-san’s eccentricities and borderline craziness, day in and day out, especially given their slightly above average wages. It hadn’t seemed romantic at first glance by any means (he would have gotten a different vibe from them if it were the case) but rather, it was fueled and strengthened by a strong sense of loyalty and attentiveness. Those in the Survey Corps had dedicated their hearts to fighting titans and ensuring freedom for humanity, and though vice-captain Moblit Berner essentially did the same, it was as if a large chunk of his heart was dedicated only to Hange-san. 

Jean paused, taking that new idea in. He stood outside the newly-appointed commander’s office, the journal he found tucked securely at his side. He had been hesitant to see her, especially after yesterday. She had asked him privately, eyes devoid of any emotion, tone full of anguish, if he could clean and clear out the former vice captain’s room. He understood her pain and had somehow expected this request — they were all grieving, having lost all those people — but he didn’t expect to feel pain over the task given to him. 

His room was neat enough when Jean entered it yesterday morning. The bed was made, the shelves free of dust, and each article of clothing folded neatly inside his small closet. The only thing out of place was his desk which had mountains of paperwork that still lay on top of it. 

He didn’t know him that well. They weren’t really close. But as Jean shuffled through and organized every piece of paper, every work of art, each sketch of an unfamiliar face, he felt his chest tightening. He vaguely remembered the vice-captain being an excellent artist, but he didn’t realize just how talented he was. 

For some reason, he wasn’t surprised to see Hange-san’s face more so than the others. He had drawn her messy hair and wild eyes so perfectly that Jean felt as if he wasn’t worthy to even touch those pieces of paper. Some of them were hastily drawn, some with exquisite detail. He also saw sketches of her with captain Levi, and his eyes widened at one particular portrait where he was drawn gripping his teacup and smiling at her tenderly. 

Damn it, Jean thought as he gingerly placed those papers back down on the desk. He would have loved to take lessons from the vice-captain if he only knew just how amazing he was. He had always been passionate about making art and drawing things he saw in his dreams back when he was younger. But of course, he had buried it in the face of reality. Seeing these sketches lit up a fire inside him. A fire that both consisted of his long-lost passion and the grief and sorrow he had tried to conceal ever since they returned from Shiganshina. He had looked around the room and let out a deep breath. No, he couldn’t allow himself to linger too much on those thoughts. He knew if he kept thinking about the warm, artistic vice-captain, he would be plunged into a deep abyss. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop seeing every single face that they lost, especially him. Especially that warm, freckled face full of joy and compassion. That face which had looked at him with so much respect and admiration.

Shaking his head, he forced his mind to turn blank. He started to stack all those papers neatly on top of one another, finally freeing the desk of its mess. However, that was what exactly led him to find the dreaded journal whose contents would continue to haunt him for the rest of the day. 

Jean shook his head and looked up, staring at the door to her office. He had been plagued by those thoughts since that task. The commander had ordered him to drop all of his things in her office and so far Jean had made two trips without her being in there. He had a feeling, however, she was behind those doors this time around. He internally debated with himself if he should enter now or wait for her to go to town, seeing as she had a meeting with Zackley later today. However, before he could even decide, the door swung open. Jean jumped up, a little startled, and was met with captain Levi’s usual impassive expression. 

“What are you doing here, Jean?” the captain asked, raising an eyebrow. He crossed his arms and lingered at the doorway. 

“I, uh,” Jean started, scratching the back of his neck and trying to keep eye contact as much as possible, “I’m here to hand the commander some of—”

“It’s Hange,” the captain cut him off, now closing the door behind him. “I know you’re obligated to call her by that title, and that’s fine for formal occasions, but I want you to keep calling her what you and the other brats call her as much as possible, alright?”

The captain didn’t elaborate any further, which made Jean a little uneasy. He gripped the journal tighter and nodded. He already had a good feeling as to why he would ask such a thing. 

“At ease,” the captain spoke quietly, placing a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “You and the brats did well.” Jean looked down and saw… pride? relief? emotions that weren’t normally seen behind the captain's light gray eyes. He allowed himself to briefly recall what had happened on the rooftop. How the captain kept moving forward despite all the pain and loss he endured was unbeknownst to Jean. But then again, that’s what all of them have been doing ever since they joined the Survey Corps, wasn’t it? Is this how his life would always be like? Taking in loss after loss and moving forward from each friend? Forced to kill others with no hesitation? Valuing certain lives and sacrificing others? Clearing out each empty bedroom after every mission? As he was nearing that dark abyss, the captain pulled him out by saying: “Don’t blame yourself with what happened with Reiner, alright? If I only had killed him before he transformed, maybe we wouldn’t have been in this goddamn mess.” the captain recalled briefly, shaking his head and scrunching his eyebrows, “Hange’s inside. Don’t linger too much. She still has a lot of things to do.” and with that, he made his way past Jean and went off across the hallway. 

Jean couldn’t help but stare after the captain. He had already come to terms with the fact that it was him who let Reiner get away. That it had all been his fault. But here was the captain, who, the same as Hange-san, took the blame and responsibility for letting the armored and beast titan escape. He felt that it came from more than their positions as superior officers but from their genuine kindness. Their desire to look over everyone. He felt both comforted and pained because of it. 

He also couldn't help but think of what the vice-captain had said about captain Levi in his journal...

He shook his head once again. They needed time. He needed time. He already had enough things to deal with because of the damn journal. With a deep sigh, he walked towards the commander’s office and knocked thrice on the door. After he heard a small, muffled “come in,” he pushed it open and was surprised to see her not behind her desk, but standing by the window, looking out at the training grounds across them.

“I’ve brought the last of his things, Hange-san,” Jean said as he closed the door behind him. When she didn’t respond, he shuffled his feet nervously and looked around the office. Bookshelves were covering both sides of the wall, a large desk pressed at the very back, littered with numerous paperwork and books, and the two large windows on either side of which. It felt a little stuffy if he were being completely honest. He had been to Hange-san’s lab before where things were much more chaotic and disorganized, but much more full of life. This place, well, felt like it didn’t belong to her at all. 

Which was pretty much a given, considering she had just moved in. The place still embodied the late and great Erwin Smith. 

After a few seconds passed, she finally turned around and flashed him a small smile. 

It was obviously forced.

“Thank you, Jean,” she spoke, walking up to him and gently taking the journal from his outstretched hands. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she inspected the object. “I… forgot this existed.”

Jean simply nodded, not really knowing what to say. He still felt incredibly awkward. 

The commander kept looking at the old, worn-out book as she took a seat behind her desk. She still hadn’t removed the bandages that covered her damaged eye. “This was what he always carried around whenever we did the experiments on those titans. Even if we weren’t doing them, actually. I remember him telling me how his life’s work was here, should he die in the field. How I should inherit it, on the assumption that I’d live longer than him…”

Jean would have had no problem with this conversation if only he didn’t open the book and flipped through the pages himself. Yes, he would be pained, but not as pained if he didn’t read through the long letters that the vice-captain had left in that book. If he hadn’t digested every tiny sketch and word. He had no business in doing so, perhaps he could even get punished should Hange-san find out what he had done, but he couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked within him. Only if he could turn back time. He wished he’d never read those letters. It was just too much. 

“He… saved you, didn’t he Hange-san?” Jean muttered respectfully, his body incredibly stiff. She looked up at him, her face just so tired. “When Bertholdt transformed, he pushed you to safety…?”

“I knew it would come to that one day.” the commander said both wistfully and solemnly, “I’ve always been a handful. Careless. Absentminded. Reckless.” she listed off, drumming her fingers on the wooden desk, “I keep getting too close to the mouths of titans. I was more than okay with dying. Especially if it meant I had contributed one way or another to humanity’s freedom. There was this myth I had read before, you know? It was in a storybook meant for children to warn them to never leave the walls.”

At this, she stood up and started walking around the room. “It was a tale of this child who was given wings by his uncle, or was it his father? I couldn’t quite remember. They were trying to escape and leave this tower by flying away. The older man had warned him not to fly too close to the sun, but the boy, being this curious little thing, didn’t listen. Thus, his wings were burned and he fell to his death.” the commander laughed bitterly, her fingers trailing the bookshelves on the left side of the room, “He had always warned me not to fly too close to the sun, Jean. But I still did. Instead of me, it was him who suffered the consequences. It makes me wonder… what if one day, I’ll have this chance again? What if I fly, soaring through the clouds, and my recklessness or heroism or whatever the rest of you would call it, would cause me to fly too close to the sun?”

Jean wanted to leave. He didn’t like the words that were coming out of the commander’s mouth. He wanted to shut himself in his room and maybe sleep this whole thing off. He didn’t want to think about her dying, or anyone for that matter, especially after the loss they were still trying to deal with. That story upset him more than he realized, especially since it didn’t seem too far-fetched at this point, considering all the gruesome deaths he had seen. He knew it was the grief talking and the pressure from her new position, but still, it unnerved him to see someone he always knew was filled with life looking so dead inside. 

“You meant a lot to him, Hange-san,” Jean replied, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. You meant a lot to him more than anyone in this world, if he were being completely honest. “We always want to keep the people we care about safe, sometimes even if it means sacrificing our lives. He will always live on, in you — in us. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

Jean didn’t really know what he was saying — the words he uttered felt meaningless in the grand scheme of things — but he knew they were words that needed to be said. After reading those things, well, he felt as if he needed to give her as much assurance as possible. 

The commander gave him a tight-lipped smile, her remaining eye tearing up. She approached him, and it was only then Jean finally noticed how she had a slight limp in her step. How her shoulders were tight and slumped forward. She placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded at him. “Thank you, Jean. You don’t know how much that means to me. You’re a great kid and I hope you know that you’ve proven to be an invaluable asset to not only the Survey Corps but to humanity as well. And,” Jean met her eye and his chest tightened once again in seeing it glimmer with a sense of pride, “thank you for cleaning Moblit’s room. I could have done it myself but…”

“I understand, Hange-san,” Jean said, his voice surprisingly reassuring despite the overwhelming amount of emotions he felt. She finally said his name. “I really do.”

The commander smiled a little brighter this time — the most genuine one yet, “Thank you.” and Jean felt that statement didn’t only apply to this situation. “Once we settle everything with Zackley, I’ll let you kids take a much-needed break. You mentioned your mother lives in Trost, is that right?”

“Yes, along with the rest of my family,” Jean replied, the prospect of seeing his mother again warming him up. He still wasn’t able to visit her due to the situation at hand, but he was eager to finally do so. He had always been reluctant in the past due to his embarrassment, but now he understood how superficial those fears were. He was so lucky, luckier than most, that he still had a family to go back to at the end of the day. 

The commander nodded before squeezing his shoulder. “Make sure the rest of your squad finishes up their reports, alright? I want them on my desk tomorrow morning.” 

“Understood, Hange-san.” Jean nodded in return, offering her a small smile. 

She finally stepped away and Jean took this opportunity to carefully walk to the door. However before he could open it, the commander called him once more. 

“Don’t blame yourself over anything, alright?” she said, crossing her arms, her voice now laced with a sense of authority, “It was always my decision. It was always my responsibility. I hope you remember that.”

He felt a knife pierce at his heart from her words — the same words the captain had told him no less than twenty minutes ago. He recalled the letters he had read from the vice captain’s journal and Jean couldn’t help but smile at the thought. He wondered briefly if he should get Hange-san to leave for her meeting with Zackley first before opening up the book and reading through everything in it, something Jean was sure she was going to do once he left her alone. But how could he possibly tell her without causing suspicion? How could he possibly tell her that whatever she was about to read could potentially break her? More so than she already was?

He couldn’t, because he shouldn’t have read those things in the first place. He shouldn’t have let his curiosity get the best of him. So instead, he simply nodded and quietly muttered a “thank you” before leaving. 

He went down the other hallway to make sure he wouldn’t come across captain Levi. He needed to clear his thoughts before he could face them anytime soon. Jean wondered what his reaction would be if he read those letters as well. He let out a large sigh. Either way, it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Hange-san’s.

*******

The next couple of days had been surprisingly normal enough. They had filed reports, went into countless meetings after the other to discuss the situation regarding what they had found in Shiganshina, all the while still sending letters to each family who had lost a member in the battle. He didn’t see much of the commander other than the times they had to present themselves to Zackley, during which she acted completely fine — delivering each line with that of a smooth and authoritative manner. Other than that, she was gone — either in her office or delivering each letter of condolence personally. When he heard of that, his respect for her had grown even more immensely. She was an unbelievably kind and compassionate leader, and Jean felt even more honored to be working with her. 

The promised day-off eventually came. Hange-san could only give everyone three days, seeing as recruits were going to be entering the Corps soon which meant Jean and the rest of his friends had to work on training them. Either way, he was glad to be getting some time to spend with his family. His mother was for sure going to dote on him to no end, but surprisingly, he was looking forward to it. 

Already dressed in his civilian attire with his carry-on pack by his shoulder, Jean made his way to the commander’s office once more to inform them of his departure. He had visited Sasha earlier at the hospital and was pleased to know that she would be discharged later today and would be going to her family straight after. He offered to wait for her and drop her off himself, still wary of her injury, but Connie had offered to do it in his place. Eren, Mikasa, and Armin having no place to go opted to go around town for the day, and Floch had already left to visit his own family which basically meant Jean was the only one left in headquarters. 

He finally rounded the corner and was about to knock on the old wooden door when he heard a loud crash followed by a screaming match. He immediately stepped back, feeling his blood run cold at the sounds. Only two people could possibly be behind those doors, and he didn’t like that he was hearing any of these things right now. He was lucky that the doors were thick enough to muffle the details of their conversation or their screaming match, but he still picked up on certain sentences.

“He would know exactly what to do next!”

“You’re not supposed to be him! Don’t you understand that?!”

Should I just leave? Make a run for it? Hange-san would surely understand, Jean thought to himself, panic building up in his chest. He recalled that time in his childhood where his parents would fight over food or jobs or whatever adults had fought about. He always felt uncomfortable and disheartened, thinking his parents hated each other and would never get along again. He didn’t like seeing the ugly things that had transpired between them. However, before he could even decide, the door suddenly slammed open, but this time, instead of captain Levi, Hange-san came out, walking briskly and angrily. She didn’t even notice Jean standing there and moved past him, shoulders scrunched together, a frustrated hand running through her already messy hair. 

“Oi! Hange!” captain Levi exclaimed, suddenly appearing by the door frame, running a hand through his hair as well. The bags under his eyes were deeper, as usual, his cravat loose around his neck. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but it was obvious it was not in a good way. He was about to kick the door frame when he finally noticed Jean. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

His voice was a little hoarse, and a chill ran down Jean’s spine as he took all of it in. This was too personal, this was none of his business, and so why was he getting roped in again? 

“I was just about to report my departure to Hange-san—”

“Well, she’s obviously not here anymore,” the captain cut off in frustration, his eyes narrowing up at him. Jean didn’t like how he was seeing a new side to captain Levi, didn’t like seeing him so frustrated and lost. “Goddamnit what have I done…” he muttered to himself.

Jean could have just told him he was leaving. He could have just nodded and excused himself, headed straight to the stables, and made his way back to Trost. They would eventually forget about this incident as it would cool down, and all would be well. 

But Jean remembered the letters. He remembered those words. He remembered her tired, broken expression from days ago. Jean knew what it was like to be a leader — to have people look up to you and count on you. He knew how it felt to think you weren't good enough, to think you weren’t special and how people shouldn’t trust you because you lacked certain skills or that you weren’t perfect enough. He looked at the captain, stared right into those intimidating gray eyes, and felt a surge of confidence within him. 

“Captain, you know her better than anyone else,” Jean spoke, reiterating the Moblit Berner’s words, “What can I do to help her?”

The captain was slightly taken aback by Jean’s words. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, studying him carefully. “Why are you—”

“Because I care about her.” Jean said firmly, “And I respect her. And I want to help.”

Captain Levi simply stared at him. Jean would be lying if he said he didn’t feel awkward. They were still soldiers, after all. Captain Levi was still his superior officer, and having heart-to-heart conversations was something they didn’t essentially do. There wasn’t any room for sharing feelings — it opened up vulnerability and that was something you couldn’t have out in the field. Especially since the battlefield they now had was much wider than before. 

Jean was prepared to get shrugged off. He was prepared to leave without getting any answers. But the captain had sighed, fixed the cravat around his neck, and spoke softly: “Come inside.”

It was now Jean’s turn to be taken aback. Nevertheless, he followed the captain inside and was even more taken aback by the sight in front of him. 

The commander’s desk and seat were turned upside down, forcibly, he presumed, with books and papers scattered around it. He stopped in the middle of the room and heard the captain sigh as he closed the door behind him. “Help me fix this shit, Jean. I can’t have this lying around here.”

Jean didn’t ask any more questions. He already knew the answers as to how this had happened. He wanted to know why, of course, to satisfy his curiosity, but at the same time, he didn’t. He dropped his satchel on the floor and proceeded to pick up the scattered papers and books, making sure not to step on them as much as possible. The captain also did the same, kneeling down and gathering everything in his arms. Once they were finished, they placed everything on the corner of the room, underneath the right window, and started to turn the desk upright once more. Jean took one side, the captain taking the other, and together they lifted and placed it back where it had originally sat. After which, Jean took the chair and pushed it back against it while the captain took the books and paper and placed everything neatly the desk. They worked in silence the entire time — the friction from their fight or whatever had happened in here a few moments ago, still lingered and Jean was afraid to pierce through it. 

“I had served under two commanders,” the captain said suddenly as he filed through each piece of paper. Jean looked up and stared at him. “Shadis was alright — you already know most of his story anyway, but he was still a good leader. He had the drive, but still lacked some of the talents. And then Erwin came along…”

Captain Levi let out a deep sigh as he started inserting some of the papers in between the pages of a book. “Erwin... was a special man. He was one of the greatest assets to humanity. I don’t think I really need to tell you any more now, do I?”

He was right. Erwin Smith had been a special man. He was one of the greatest minds Jean had ever seen. He was an incredible strategist, an inspirational and respectable figure — all that and more. He had a feeling, however, that it wasn’t really about that. Jean was sure the captain just didn’t want to talk about him in general, at the moment. And really, who could blame him? Especially after what had happened on the rooftop? 

Jean shook his head and looked down. A few tense seconds passed before the captain continued: “He never made any miscalculations. We all had a feeling Hange would be next in line and we had been right. Hange was the only one who had stood up to him, the one to push forward ridiculous and extreme ideas that could have gotten all of us killed. She thought differently and wanted to look at things from a different perspective. Hange…” at this, Jean looked up to see the captain’s expression light up, “was always the best choice. All of us knew this. All of us but her.”

He sighed and started to mindlessly look through some of the books now. “It’s not easy, being in her position. She thinks she doesn’t deserve it. But she does. I’ve been with Hange for a long time now, Jean. I know you brats are there, but we’re the only ones who just… have each other left. She was there when I had first entered the Corps and had been with me ever since. But Erwin and Moblit? They had been with her way before I was ever in the picture.”

It was the first time he had mentioned the vice captain’s name, and Jean had to stop himself from thinking too much about the letters again. One would think he’d get over it at this point, but it was much harder than he thought. 

He continued once more: “Anyway, I’ve never been good with this shit, Jean. But you brats are just real nosey, huh?” he said, and Jean couldn’t tell if he was being serious or playful — maybe both. “The truth is, you being concerned and sticking your nose up to where it doesn’t belong is already helpful. You being here, following each command, and being the leader that you are is helpful. Just by staying alive, you’re already helpful. You, well, you’re already fucking helpful if you ask me. Hange knows this, and it may not look like it, but she’s thankful for all the little shit you and the brats do.”

It had taken him a few seconds to fully understand what the captain had meant, but he eventually did. Jean didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting, but those words flowed through his heart and made him feel good inside. He didn’t realize he was already doing enough. He was just doing the bare minimum, wasn't he? But the captain had a point. If he continued to stay by their side, to stay by Hange-san’s side and follow her wherever she had lent them, then it could help erase the doubts she had regarding her position. Just by staying alive, he was helping her feel better. Just by being there for as long as possible — just like Moblit and Erwin, like captain Levi — was enough. 

But he also had a feeling that the captain didn’t want him, or any of his friends, to worry about their situation. He couldn’t explain it, but those were just the sort of parents did for their children. And though Jean would probably never admit it, Hange-san and the captain were quickly stepping up to be parental figures to them already. 

The captain finally took out a single piece of paper from the stacks and held it up slightly. Jean saw it had been the sketch of him and Hange-san, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. 

“Vice-captain Moblit was really talented, wasn’t he?” Jean finally spoke up. The captain nodded in front of him and traced the outline of Hange-san’s smiling face on paper. 

Captain Levi’s lips twitched a little upright. “He really was.”

*******

Though the journey back home was a long and tedious one, Jean was grateful to have had the time to himself to ponder on his thoughts. Captain Levi ordered him, or was it a friendly suggestion? not to speak about this to Hange-san. He then parted to look for her which enabled Jean to finally leave. 

He thought a lot about the letters, about the myth Hange-san had told him days ago, about the captain’s words, and even about the late commander Erwin.

The sun was setting when he had arrived home. As he passed through the neighborhood he grew up in, he couldn't help but feel both excited and terrified. The threat of the titans was now over, right? But now they were facing an even bigger menace. Would his home be safe? Would the people they had fought so long to protect inside the walls be safe? 

“Jean-boy!”

He turned and saw her face. She stood at the front of their house which surprisingly looked the same after all this time. She was excitedly waving her hand, and once he got closer, he saw that tears were falling from her eyes. Once he stopped in front of her, he quickly dismounted his horse and enveloped him in her arms. 

“You’ve grown so big! Oh my boy!” she exclaimed, clutching the back of his shirt and pressing her face against his chest. Jean hugged her back eagerly and tried his best not to let his emotions take over. But it had been a long couple of days. His body still ached from the battle, his brain was consumed by too many thoughts, and his heart still grieved the lives of all of the people they had lost. He couldn’t believe he had taken her warmth and comfort for granted so many times. Who did he think he was, trying to shove her out of his life because he didn’t want to be embarrassed? 

“I’m home, mom,” he said, finally closing his eyes and inhaling her scent. She laughed happily before disentangling herself a little, looking up at him to study his face. Her eyes were watery, the lines around them having deepened. Her hair also started to have gray streaks and Jean felt his heart ache at the sight of her much older form. “I have your favorite already waiting for you in the kitchen. I also cleaned your room so you better change and wash up before we eat dinner, alright? I’m so glad you’re here my Jean-boy.” she said, hugging him again. 

He truly was home. 

*******

A wave of nostalgia hit him the moment he had entered his childhood room. True to her word, everything was neat and tidy. His bed was made, desk free of any clutter, and the window was left a little open to let some of the breezes go in. He exhaled, closing the door behind him and moving to lay on his bed. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted and wanted nothing more now than to close his eyes and sleep. He wondered what the others were doing at this very moment. They had been through together so much that it felt weird not to have any of them near him. It was probably the first time in a long time he was going to sleep in his bed, in his own room, without anyone else around. Letting out a deep sigh, he willed himself to stand up, grab the satchel he had brought with him, and place the contents atop his desk. 

As he rummaged through his things, he wondered if there was something he still could do for Hange-san. Though he took the captain’s words to heart, he couldn’t help but feel like doing something for her either way. Something that wasn’t too outrageous that would give her the wrong idea. Something that he himself would do, something that was uniquely his. Afterall, the captain said that just by doing what he did, he would be able to help. He eventually found his answer when he opened one of the drawers of his desk and found his old sketches and art supplies from long ago.

He immediately stopped what he was doing and gingerly took out his old artworks. The passion he felt was still there, tingling the back of his neck as he stared at the portrait of the woman he had seen in his dreams. His lips tightened as he realized that the woman he had drawn resembled Mikasa so much. He really only had eyes for her from the very beginning, huh? Shaking his head, he looked through some of his old work and realized then and there exactly what he needed to do. 

He may not be as good as the vice-captain, but it was the least he could do. Besides, maybe once he went through with this little project, he would finally be able to release all his thoughts about this matter. He was relieved to see there was still some paper and pencils left. Nodding his head, he closed the window, placed the papers back down, and proceeded to change into a cleaner and much more comfortable shirt. He’ll have time to do this later after dinner. But for now, there some much-needed time to be spent with his family. 

*******

He found himself back in front of the commander’s office once again, days later. This time, he carried with him two scrolls of paper. He stopped and listened intently, making sure no one was arguing behind the doors before knocking. 

He let himself in the moment he heard Hange-san’s voice. She was seated behind her desk, finally sporting a dark patch on her injured eye. “Ah, welcome back, Jean. Did you need anything from me?” she asked as Jean closed the door behind him. 

“I just came by to drop some things off for you, Hange-san,” he spoke lightly, feeling incredibly nervous. He scratched the back of his head as he approached her quietly. 

She looked so much better this time around. She had discarded her military coat and her bolo tie was tied securely around her neck for the world to see. Her glasses were impeccably clean and gleamed when she looked up at him, her hair nicely framing her face. She seemed much more relaxed, and it didn’t feel like when she was going through meetings and such where she acted fine. This time, she actually did look genuinely alright and at peace. 

Jean wondered how she and the captain had spent those three days. He had a feeling, once again, that they had spent it together. He could tell that the captain had something to do with the improved state she was currently in. Either way, Jean was happy to see her like this. 

“I… had seen vice-captain Moblit’s sketches,” Jean started right off at the bat, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of this than it already was. He saw more than the sketches, of course, but she didn’t need to know that. The commander didn’t look upset or surprised, which made Jean continue: “And I had been sort of an artist too, you see, but obviously not as good as him.”

He carefully handed her the two scrolls of paper, and she raised an eyebrow before taking it from his grasp. “When I returned home and saw my old work, I realized that I wanted to do something for you, Hange-san. No one put me up to this, and I hope, for my sake, you don’t tell the others.”

He added that last part, a light blush dusting his cheeks. If any of his friends found out about his old hobby, they would tease him to no end and demand to see some of his old work. 

She carefully inspected the two scrolls before putting down the second one and gingerly opening the first. She gasped, her hand flying straight to her mouth as she looked on and stared at the portrait in front of her. 

“Oh Jean…” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, “I can’t believe you did this.”

Jean had a pretty good memory of things. He remembered the vice captain’s worried, concerned face. He remembered the former commander’s authoritative expression. And of course, how could he forget captain Levi’s tiny smirk or Hange-san’s bright eyes?

It felt awkward, putting those visions on paper. He felt his heart clench at the sight of his portraits. But he powered through, and Hange-san’s expression made it all worth it. 

She traced her fingers over the etched lines. She lingered, he noticed, over commander Erwin’s and vice-captain Moblit’s face. She smiled and laughed brightly as tears now streamed from her remaining eye. Jean had drawn them all together, side by side, arms around one another. It had been a product of his imagination, but he had to admit it wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

“Why? How?” she said, her voice breaking. She placed down the paper and gently removed her glasses to wipe some of the tears from her face. 

Jean looked down and shuffled his feet, “He never really had any portraits of all of you together. I thought well, that shouldn’t be the case.”

“Do I even want to know what’s in the other one?” she said teasingly before clearing her throat and putting her glasses back on. Her smile was absolutely infectious, and Jean was happy it was seemingly etched permanently onto her face. 

“I think you do,” he said, clearing his throat as well. That particular portrait was the first one he had finished, and he loved how it had turned out. He was also grateful for the creative outlet. He had to admit, he missed indulging in these kinds of things. Who knew when the next time he’d be able to do something like this again? 

Hange-san laughed — a bright and beautiful melody that continued to light up the room. She shifted her attention to the unopened scroll, picked it up, and proceeded to unroll it. However, unlike the first one, she remained silent, her eyes widening at the sight. A few minutes had passed before she pursed her lips, her fingers shaking a little, before rolling it back up and setting it back down on her desk. She studied Jean carefully, and he could tell that perhaps she was picking up on the idea that he may have read those letters. Nevertheless, she stood up, shook her head, and quickly strolled to him and hugged him. 

“Thank you, Jean,” she said after a few seconds, and Jean allowed himself to snake his hands behind her and hug her back. He closed his eyes and a small part of him reprimanded himself for being so soft, for sticking his nose into other people’s business, for doing all of these rather embarrassing things. But life was short. He needed to express his feelings to others before it was too late. He needed to tell people he cared about them before it was too late. He felt the magnitude of her gratitude from those small, common words. From the way she had tightly clutched the back of his shirt. They pulled away — the hug being a rather brief and short thing, just as captain Levi entered the room. 

“What are you two doing?” he asked, closing the door behind him and crossing his arms. Jean turned around to see a curious and wary expression on his face. Hange-san laughed behind him, and Jean then and there witnessed how the captain softened at the sound. His shoulders relaxed, his lips parted slightly, and his eyes gleamed in wonder. 

“Nothing,” Hange-san sang as she approached him. “Are you ready to go?”

“The horses are already waiting for us,” the captain said gruffly, but Jean could tell he was pleasantly surprised by the commander’s tone and attitude. “What are you and Jean—”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” she spoke heartily, moving to grab her civilian coat from the coat stand by the door. “We’ll be meeting with some of the press, alright Jean? We’ll be back later tonight. I believe Levi over here is planning on cooking for everyone.”

“Oi! That was supposed to be a secret!” the captain exclaimed, his eyes sneering at her. Hange-san shrugged before approaching Jean and laying a hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him once again which Jean reciprocated. She whispered another “thank you” before patting his head affectionately. “Please don’t tell the others, Hange-san,” he spoke quietly, only for her to hear. 

“I won’t.” she assured, “But you have to know that I can’t keep anything from this grump right here,” she said, her head tilting towards the captain’s direction. 

“What are you idiots talking about?” the captain eyed suspiciously, moving to approach them. 

“I know.” Jean scoffed, his eyes gleaming. Hange-san nodded before swiftly looping her arm around the captain’s and dragging him out the room. “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

Jean followed them out the door and saw their figures moving down the hallway. Captain Levi stopped her suddenly as if asking her once again what she and Jean had been doing. The commander laughed before patting his head affectionately which then made the captain gently kick her leg. He then started to inspect her coat, straightening it out before buttoning the front. Jean shook his head at the soft and sweet gesture in front of him. He looked back inside the office to where the drawings he had and quietly went back in and approached the desk. 

He carefully lifted the second scroll and opened it. He didn’t really know what kind of reaction he was expecting from Hange-san, but so far she didn’t really give away anything obvious. He was certain that she had read those letters. But it felt as if she just wanted to move on from them, and thinking about it, that would be the best course of action wasn’t it? 

He stared at the portrait. They weren’t really close by any standards. Thinking about it, they probably just had two or three conversations the entire time Jean had known him. But his utter devotion was enough to catch anyone’s attention. Jean hoped he was able to catch them and had translated it properly on paper. There were hundreds of sketches of Hange-san and everyone else, but there weren’t any of just them together. He had drawn him the way he knew him — face scrunched up in concern as he looked onto her. He had a hand placed on her shoulder, and Hange-san was laughing at whoever was in front of her. 

Slowly, with his other hand that wasn’t holding the portrait, Jean placed a fist over his heart in a salute. 

Thank you for dedicating your heart. 

 *******

Dear Buntaichou, 

I’ve decided to start writing to you like this in the event I should get a heart attack and die from your irresponsibility. I also needed to let out my frustration through a healthy matter. I really don’t understand as to why you would charge headfirst into a forest, all by yourself, and try to capture a titan. How you managed to get away with screaming at the commander and still having all your limbs attached today is a miracle. I’m glad Captain Levi and his squad were able to intervene and help stop you from getting eaten. I’m glad you’re okay. At this time, you’re currently locked in your room, devouring whatever is inside the notebook you found. Maybe you’ll finally be able to convince commander Erwin with your discoveries? Still, you could have died. No matter how much I try to stop you, you always try and go at it, huh?

That was so very stupid of you. How are you so brilliant and stupid at the same time? 

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou, 

DID YOU REALLY ALMOST FALL OFF THE WALL?! I’m so glad my grandmother forbade me to curse because I would have exclaimed a variety of colorful language at you during that entire situation. 

It was our first test run of your titan capturing method, and all would have been well if you weren’t leaning too far and, I don’t know, SLIPPED? 

It was a good thing captain Levi had incredible reflexes and had gotten to you just in time. He seems very attuned to whenever you put yourself in danger, isn’t he? I could have sworn he was just waiting for something bad to happen. I also could have sworn I was going to get a heart attack then and there. 

Why are you so reckless and stupid? Great, now I feel bad for calling you that. But hey, I need to let it out, okay? Don’t take it personally. But then again, captain Levi pretty much calls you that daily and you seem to find it endearing. 

I’m also so worried about when we start experimenting on titans. By the walls, you’re not going to make it easy for me, are you? Just please don’t die. 

—   Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou, 

I knew you weren’t going to make things easy for me. I have to admit, you giving names to those titans was pretty strange — but it was still rather cute. Only if you weren’t going crazy about it. 

I feel like I say that as if it’s a new thing. But then again, back in our training days, you were relatively calm. You always indulge yourself in books and go out of your way to try and learn new things. Those were nice and calm days, weren’t they? You’ve always piqued my interest from the very beginning especially since you were the only one who pronounced our instructor’s name wrong. 

Why am I bringing this up? Anyway, if this is the last letter you read it means that I was eaten by Albert or whoever that other titan was. We can’t afford to lose you, you know? That’s one of the things I’ve learned so far anyway. That some lives in the Survey Corps matter more than the others, and I would gladly get eaten by a titan if it means you’d live another day.

I don’t mean to make you feel guilty or anything of the sort. This is just how I feel. 

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou, 

How do you do it? It seems you’re the only person (besides commander Erwin, well, it’s a given) who has full control over captain Levi. You’ve managed to persuade him to capture a titan for you, and though he complained about it, he still did it anyway. 

Since you’ll never get these letters while I’m still alive, I can probably be as honest as possible. 

I think that he has feelings for you. 

Now, I hope by the time you read this, he’s made it obvious to you by then. And I know it seems like a stretch, cause well, he’s captain Levi and everything and he doesn’t seem like he’s capable of those types of emotions, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. 

I think it started when you ran off to the forest and he followed you. I read the reports of what had happened, and it seemed he was really shaken. We also work a lot with their squad, so there’s a lot of room for things to blossom then I suppose. 

I know I sound incredibly foolish. And I’m telling you right now, I’m completely sober as I write this. But it’s just something I can tell, something that doesn’t seem too far-fetched. He cares about you a lot. 

Now I need a drink. I don’t know what’s going on with me. 

— Moblit

*******

Dear Buntaichou,

I think you have feelings for captain Levi. 

This is an even more outrageous claim than the one in my previous entry, and because I’m always glued to your side, I feel like I know more than others do. 

It’s been a while since I wrote my thoughts on here. It’s been a rough couple of days? Weeks? I forgot. So much has happened. I don’t want to delve too much into the details but essentially, we had engaged with the female titan outside the walls, then inside Stohess district, then the armored and colossal titan. I also finished investigating Ragako — Connie Springer’s village. I haven’t had enough rest these days. A lot of us haven’t. And though I feel incredibly exhausted and want to make use of these couple of days of peace before we head onto Trost, I felt like jotting some of the things I had witnessed between you and the captain.

I know this is really silly of me. But forgive me again, this is the only outlet I have. Don’t worry, I’ve already jotted down the important findings in the middle pages of this journal/sketchbook. But I’m starting to feel things myself. Feelings I didn’t know I could feel either. 

Anyway, you had visited him when he was still in the hospital, getting some treatment for his injured leg. You had dismissed me that day, saying you were going to him. 

I also had caught you lending him one of your jackets. And though he had protested, he still eagerly wore it. 

Not to mention the number of times I had caught you making tea for him. How did I know? Well, no one else touched the tin of black tea in the mess hall but Captain Levi. So it had been an easy assumption. 

There are a lot more instances, but I can’t seem to bring myself to put them on paper. I don’t know why — maybe there are just too many, maybe I just don’t want to recall them. I think maybe both. 

Either way, it seems as if you two have feelings for one another now. I’m glad. I’m also glad that you’re okay, that you’re alive, that you’re still here. Hopefully, that will continue to last long. 

—  Moblit

*******

Dear Hange-san, 

I think… that this will be my last letter. 

I know it’s been a long time since I last updated this series of letters (we haven’t exactly had a lot of free time) and as we are preparing to return to Shiganshina, I felt the need to address everything here and now. Seeing as there’s a high probability I might not make it back. 

The moment I first met you back when we were cadets in the Training Corps, you had captured my attention almost immediately. Your hair had been way shorter back then so there wasn’t any need to tie it up into a ponytail. Other than that, your eyes always remained bright, your laugh was always infectious. When you had told me back then how you wanted to see the world beyond the walls, I had thought you to be crazy. My family had always wanted me to enlist in the Garrison, especially since I had a lot of relatives there. But the moment you started talking about what life could be like, about different plants and trees, about different types of animals — the way you had smiled up at me and used your hands excessively to discuss your points  —  I knew then and there that I would follow you wherever you went. 

Going into the Survey Corps was absolutely terrifying. But being with you, helping you, and staying by your side had made it worth it. 

The amount of times you almost died, the amount of times you had put yourself in danger is just too much to count. The number of times you had made me worried  —  well, let’s just say I’m glad my heart didn’t suffer any complications. Or maybe it has and I just don’t know. 

Seriously, you’re too reckless sometimes, you know? But I can’t help but admire you still. You do it because you desire to change because you want to understand our natural enemies. You’re the only one I’ve met who thinks that way, and people have mentioned more than once that you’re really crazy, and perhaps they’re right, but you’re also the most brilliant of all of them combined. 

And because of this, you have captured my heart. 

I’m sure there are more reasons, but I can’t find it in me to talk about all of them. I don’t know why this happened, how this happened, or if I was too obvious. But knowing you, you probably wouldn’t know if someone had romantic feelings for you even if it hit you straight in the face. After all, this is exactly what’s going on between you and captain Levi. 

I know for certain now that he loves you. I had a hunch before, but I know now. I could tell by the nicknames he gave you, from how angry he was when you fell during our battle, how he went to visit you, multiple times, after that incident. How when he sees me alone in the corridor or something, he always asks about you. How in every mission we go, he always looks at you, as if he’s engraving your image into his memory should one of you not make it. How he captured a titan for you. How he knows how you take your tea and how he always goes to your side for comfort. How he basically forces you to take a bath. How he just knows you and understands your entirety as a human being. 

It all makes sense now. I suppose, if you didn’t pay attention much to it, you’d think it was something else entirely. Just a comrade looking out for another comrade. But his eyes, oh his eyes always say otherwise. He loves you and I hope by the time you read this, you’re well aware of that fact. 

And I also hope you’re well aware that you love him too. 

I could tell by how you tease him almost to no end. By how you always talk about him, either positively or negatively. How you just know when he's around as if you have a keen sense just for him. How you translate his words for others (he’s not very good at those). How even when he’s fuming angry or irritated, you seem to be the only one who can get him to calm down. How you had visited him multiples times after his injury. How you just knew all that information about him living with Kenny the Ripper as if you two had discussed the life he had led before. How you know exactly how he takes his tea. How you always make it a point to celebrate his birthday despite our lack of funds. How you just know him and trust him so well. 

You love him, Hange-san. You love him so much. Dare I say you love him as equally if not more as your titans and your research. What you two have is something so special I doubt anyone inside the walls has the same kind of bond. 

I wanted that with you. 

You both deserve happiness together. But I know that’s not possible. Especially with the world we live in. 

I just wanted you to know this before it’s too late. I want you to know that should I never come back by your side, that you always have him. That he treasures you. Perhaps… even more than I do.

Enclosed in this journal are all the findings in research we collected through the years. And so are these letters. And so are some… portraits I had done myself. I hope you like them. 

If you’re reading this, then that means you have survived and may or may not be the new commander. Hange-san, I hope you remember that you are life itself, that you are so brilliant and amazing, and that you continue to give others an inexpressible joy. You have enriched my life (despite almost killing me multiple times). I know you will do a fantastic job as commander. That’s because, well, you’re you. You’re Hange. I wish I could elaborate more but it is what it is. 

There’s so much more I want to say. So much more I want to tell you. But there isn’t any time nor can I bring myself to put any of it on paper. You also should be expecting me on the training grounds in a couple of minutes from now to continue Eren’s experiments. So I suppose, I’ll just leave you with this:

    … I love you. 

  Sincerely, Moblit Berner. 

[inventors-fair]

Epithet Commentary

So, this ended up being a fairly popular contest. I think the prompt was really open and creative, but limiting enough that it wasn’t overwhelming. You all did a pretty good job with it, and I’m happy with the turn out.

Some themes I noticed? One was board wipes. A lot of legendary creatures have some sense of power or finality to their epithets. They’re all the biggest, or the strongest, or the most powerful of whatever they are. It led to a lot of ways to kill things, and a lot of black cards. I was impressed with the non-creatures as well: I was expecting a lot of enchantments and auras effectively granting the epithet to something, but there were a decent amount of spells, and even a few artifacts. In general I was impressed with the cleverness this week. Some people had a lot of fun throwing curve-balls. Picking cleverest reinterpretation wasn’t easy.

Enough talk, on to the talking! BTW, if there’s two paragraphs for an entry, the first is an art direction submitted by the designer.

@bread-into-toast - Archive Keeper

mood: flightless aven librarian, suspended in a cavernous maze of shelves

I like what you’re going for here. That first ability sounds really cool, and I could see it being sort of a build-around theme. I don’t know about uncommon, though. There would have to be quite a few ways to put cards into a library in the format, maybe a keyword that does it, like if flashback tucked instead of exiled. The exact wording of this would make cascade particularly scary if it were in the same format. I also like the flavor, caring for a literal library, and the art is great. Now lets get to my big issue with this: the activated ability. I do really like that you gave the card a way to trigger its first ability, but I think you went a little too aggressive with it. First, unless the format is particularly bad it it, this keyword is going to always be active. It’s cheap and requires a very easy resource to get. The fact that it stacks with multiple of these guys is also scary, especially with it being uncommon. Second, it’s off-color. I know it’s your own graveyard, so it’s not like it’s graveyard hate, but blue has never done this. White does it a little. Also, even though they’re separate, it does sort of read U: This creature gets +1/+0 and gains flying until EOT. That really isn’t blue. That’s fire breathing. Blue doesn’t get fire-breathing, at least not for a very, verly long time. White gets it very, very rarely, but I think it might be fine here. I know the colors are an attempt to put this card in the colors of “putting things in libraries,” which I think is good, but the exact payoff for doing it isn’t quite right.

@chungus-supreme - Lich Queen

Interesting take on Lich. Almost like a mix of Lich and Recycle. The number of permanents you have when you play this will never change. Unless of course you’re playing reanimator or something. It’s especially scary if you’re playing non-permanent cards. These types of cards are rather hard to judge, since saying “this is very swingy and will either lose or win you the game with no inbetween” is kind of the point. Putting lich on a creature is especially awkward since it leaves her open to wraths or sweepers. I do like how she doesn’t technically kill you, so she works will in lich-tribal decks which are more common than you’d expect. Still, I don’t think these kinds of cards are healthy for the game, even if they are fun and silly. They just lead to very simple “do you have it or not?” scenarios which can lead to sour players. Still, as I said, a neat take on the archetype.

@corporalotherbear - Young Conqueror

Art direction: A haughty young man, surrounded by kicked and humbled servants, wearing a crown reminiscent of the horns of a certain elder dragon planeswalker.

What an brat. I get what this card is doing. I like how the “young” part denotes its small power toughness, but the high mana cost and splashy ability makes it feel powerful. I don’t know if I quite agree with “conquerer” specifically, since it takes away from your opponents but doesn’t give you anything. I think that’s kinda minor. I like the ability itself, and I think it's probably costed right. The lose 1 life is mostly trinket text, but the other two effects are pretty strong. ETB discard is at two mana, ETB one-sided sacrifice isn’t actually super common, but on spells its about 2 mana, so a combined four mana is probably okay once you factor in the three colors (and it being a rare, unlike the cards I’m using as an example). I’m going to ignore the personal part of me that dislikes blink decks and aggressive ETB effects and say that this is something wizards would think is okay. And at least this loses value as the game goes on or against specific decks. So in total, I like it. And it’s a good use of this week’s challenge!

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion - Royal Scion

Well isn’t that a pretty boy. So I get the treasure part. But I don’t get the last ability. You can spend money to save things? I don’t quite get what story you’re trying to tell. Mechanically, the card is fine, but there’s a few tiny issues. First, the last ability I believe can target itself. As in, you can sacrifice an artifact to make itself indestructible. Not very intuitive, but I expect it will happen often. That will essentially make this guy a 2/2 that comes with a 1/1, with a little utility. I guess that’s okay. The second issue is I don’t know where this guy is going. Treasure decks and artifact decks have less in common than you might expect: the former are aggressive and usually base red, the latter are usually slow and base blue. They both occasionally show up in white or black, but neither probably want a small body that gets you a few chump blockers and protect some stuff. At uncommon I could see this in maybe an artifact heavy set or a set with treasure synergies, but I’m having some difficulty. I think this guy is fine, but I’m just not a big fan of it.

@demimonde-semigoddess - Heart of Fire

Love the art there, it’s very evocative and really seals the card. I’m also surprised to see cipher; I’ve always thought the mechanic was cool, but it’s hard to do well. I think you may have fallen into the trap as well. This card is very strong. Two damage will usually be able to get at least a single blocker out of the way, and then you get to cast this card again for free most of the time. Most cipher cards were costed as though you were going to get two free casts a turn. The “draw a card” one costs four mana, for example, because it usually comes out as a divination + a curiosity rather than a cantriping curiosity. So this card ends up being really close to a reckless rage that you can go face with and can be recast. Think about Direct Current, which was also a sorcery and also cost you another resource and was 3 mana but still saw lots of limited play. I do like the fact that the card deals damage to the creature it’s encoded on, but because of how cipher works it’s hard to make it feel necessary. Unless the creature has trample, the damage is pretty much going to be all or nothing. Dealing small amounts of damage to your own creature is most relevant before combat. Doing damage after doesn’t usually matter unless it kills it. But it still makes it a cost: you can get another copy of it, but it’ll cost you a small creature. Despite all of my issues, I still like the card. It’s creative and flavorful, it’s just the sort of card that could dominate games, and should not be at common.

@dimestoretajic - Torch of Defiance

I don’t know what to say. It’s a good card. It’s got a very basic pump with a slightly fancier extra ability, and it feels flavorful. The defiance part is a little weak, but I get it. I also think you maybe could have upped one of the costs, or made the equip not have red. As is, it’s stronger than a lot of menace-granting equipment, and it even lets you spread it around. But maybe that’s just me wanting to play it safe. Anyway, card is good! I’m very happy with this one.

@fractured-infinity - Shifting Flame

What an amusing little card. The name helps me picture something, but not an equipment. However, seeing it, I actually like that interpretation. The idea of “wielding” a flame is a cool idea. The effect is cool, though a little weird. It reminds me a lot of balefire dragon, a 7 mana mythic, but maybe the fact that it needs a body and time to set up helps bring it down. I do enjoy some of the safety valves, such as it being double red, meaning it's harder to put it on a deathtoucher, and how it’s all or nothing, so you can’t remove the absolute minimum and have an easily repeatable board wipe. I’m still unsure how much I like this card exactly. Outside of balefire and shockmaw dragon, this effect is pretty rare. At a minimum, it turns a creature into shockmaw. Getting a blazing volley every turn is stronger than it sounds. It makes it hard to build up a board or get your smaller creatures bigger. I do like that, the longer this sits out, the more likely it turns into “equipped creature must be blocked.” Even with all the setup required, I’m a little scared of a reusable one-sided board wipe that just sits out until it's necessary. Granted, I’m not as scared to print this as a lot of cards, but I’d just want to see how it plays first. I think you made a cool card with a unique ability that could end up being a little too hard to come back from without direct answers.

@gayagendaofficial - Heretical Healer

For the art, I imagine a human man pulling a corpse out of a grave. The corpse is not yet fully out of the grave, but the man is already measuring it and preparing to saw off a limb.

Wow, this card is nuts! It’s a repeatable reanimator with very little effort. First, let me address some templating. After the “mill three cards” text, you can have the next sentence be connected. As in, “mill three cards, then you may...” Also, you don’t need to say “under your control” because it’s already coming from your graveyard, so it’s kind of assumed. Okay the card. So, if you play this card, as long as you have two creatures i your graveyard, this reanimates a creature. If you’re playing four of these guys, it’s entirely possible to play this, mill another, then reanimate it, then mill a clone, then clone this guy and do it again. If you’ve ever played when Gyruda combo was a thing, I could see this doing something similar. However, the card itself is pretty cool, and I think it’s worth saving. One option you have is just increasing the cost: I would suggest up to seven mana. Another thing you could do is restrict what you can reanimate, sort of like Gyruda. Perhaps it can only exile or only reanimate the cards it just milled? Or maybe come up with some other restriction, like it having to be a creature with a certain mana value or something. In summary, I like this card’s design, but it’s a little too easy to just be way too powerful in a good enough deck.

@ghoulcalculator64 - Dungeon Warden

I love cards like this. O-ring effects that care about what you O-ringed. How very “imprint” like of you. However, the connect doesn’t quite feel right to me. The two effects feel like they’re pushing in completely different directions. Banisher Pirest effects are best in aggressive decks, where having a removal spell on a creature is super relevant, and you can hopefully kill them before they get their creature back. The card draw half of this feels really weird in that style of deck. It seems really strange to have a ticking time bomb like this that just sits there to draw you cards. The high mana cost doesn’t help with that, but I don’t think it could be any cheaper, either. There’s also the fact that it can target your own creature. That feels really antithetical to the design, and can lead to shenanigans that are really counterintuitive to new players. That also sort of ties to one of the first (yet less legitimate) complaints about the card, which is that I think the last ability needs better flavor. I remember in the Discord you mentioned it was supposed to represent interrogating a prisoner for information. But if that were the case, wouldn’t you be exiling your opponent’s graveyard? And if you are allowed to target your own stuff, would you be interrogating yourself? Like I said, this is a little more nit-picky-y, but it really makes that last ability feel disconnected. If I hadn’t seen the Discord message, I wouldn’t have known what it was representing at all. I’ll also say that referring to “the exiled card” even though the card exiles a lot of cards is confusing, but I don’t really know a way to fix that. With all that said, I still don’t think this is a bad card. It’s well designed, creative, and although I say it pushes in opposite directions, sometimes that makes it more viable as a “Plan B” sort of card.

@gollumni - Sun’s Nemesis

Boy, this guy sure does hate the Sun! A little direct on the interpretation here. The white mana symbol is literally a sun, and red mana is… hot. I do love it being a shade, that feels like such a great flavor choice. Mechanically, gotta say I don’t like this card. There’s nothing an opponent can really do once this card hits play. The only real “fun” I think you can have with this card is playing a blood moon, but I don’t know if blood moon leads to fun games anyway. It’s also strange to have a card that does literally nothing but be an overcosted flyer in a lot of matchups. I think the fact that this triggers on every mana is also a bit much. If it cared about the spells being cast, even if it cared about mana costs, that would feel more fair. But right now it’s just so all or nothing, and so easy to make a mistake on. It also will lead to some more annoying players saying “do you tap it for blue or for white?” when a player uses their hallowed fountain to cast a colorless artifact. I get the style here, and I think it’s a really fun way to make a nemesis of the sun, but I think this card leads to unfun games.

@helloijustreadyourpost - Torch of Defiance

I do like the flavor of this card, and the art really helps with that. I like the fact that it just keeps getting stronger and stronger as the game goes on. However, I think it needed to make them stronger. In order to get the first counter, you need to pay a total of 5 mana and have your creature die from damage, all before getting a single amount of value from it. After you do that, though, it can finally start to snowball. Unless they have a bounce spell. What I’m saying is that this card is really fragile. Compare it to Malefic Scythe, which is cheaper, lower rarity, starts with a counter, and works with sacrifice outlets. While I know the damage clause feels correct, I think it’s putting too many restrictions on this card. If you wanted to avoid combos, I think “and it wasn’t sacrificed” would have really helped with that. You could also let counters be put on it when any creature dies form damage, not just the equipped one. I also think you have some extra space to put text on the front of it, so it could grant something while it’s still empty. Menace would be the most obvious and on color, but about anything could work. I could also see it starting with a counter. I like the auto-attach, but it’s really all this card has going for it, and I think it’s hard to take advantage of this card enough to be worth putting it in a deck.

@hiygamer - Cursed Huntsman // Primal Hunter

Fun fact: I have signed foil copies of both of the cards you used for art here. I will not let that color my opinion of the card. Luckily the card is pretty good anyway! I love a good, simple, well-made vanilla. This isn’t technically vanilla, but it’s close (it’s also not french or virtual vanilla, for those wondering). A 3/3 for 3 is a little under curve, but a 5/5 for three is pretty good, exactly what you want from a werewolf. I’m not sure how I feel about the exact flip condition, I kind of feel like a simple “transform this when X dies” would work very well, but then you get some awkward state-based damage effects for the big guy. My biggest complaint with the trigger as it is is that you can play the huntsman post-combat and have it flip right away. The original werewolf clause specifically worked against that, so that it would actually feel like you were transforming a card that had been on the battlefield and not just going straight to the end. I’m also really impressed by the names, which feel like perfect mirrors, sort of like breakneck rider // neck breaker and daybreak ranger // nightfall predator. I don’t normally do judge picks, but I really feel like this is a card I want to see. I like it.

@hypexion - Hate Seed

Now that’s what I call a bad seed! Love the art, by the way, as does my fiance who walked into the room a minute ago. I like this as a card that sort of sits out here and “grows,” much like a seed. It’s pretty easy to grow this guy, especially in mono-black. Playing this one turn two, then playing any number of bobs, sign in bloods, or group pingers like Spawn of Mayhem can get this guy massive by the time you pop him on turn 5, not to mention actual damage! Most cards like this put some sort of restriction on the loss of life, such as paying life, only life you/your opponent loses, or once-per turn. I think it needed something like that, because even without building around this card you can often get it above 10 power by the time you hatch it, at instant speed no less! And with trample! Oofta! From a purely design perspective, I’m glad you put the counters on it, and at the right time, rather than just making an X/X, both because those are hard to remember and also because it helps this card double dip on counter synergies. However, I worry a lot about the memory issues of the first ability, since loss of life comes in many forms and could be confusing to many (i.e. is it more counters for more damage? Does multiple creatures in combat count? What if I gain life at the same time?). Also, and this is really a nitpick, but I think this either wants to tap to activate or be an enchantment. So in total, I think this card is better than it looks and more difficult to play correctly than it looks, which makes for a generally good card but one I’d be worried about printing.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Mirror-Breaker

Art direction: On the right, Mirror-Mad's "main" spirit (the one in the hallway) is exiting a mirror, who is being ruptured by this fact. On the left, with their back on the ground, someone is terrorized, a hand raised up as to defend themselves from the angry spirit.

This is a type of card we don’t see a lot of. At a minimum, it’s a big hastey one-hit-wonder. But you can hang onto it for a while if you’re smart! I like the literal interpretation of the name. It literally breaks mirrors. And if it doesn’t, then it gets angry and leaves. You can even use it as an artifact sac outlet if you somehow need that. I’m a little unsure about the deathtouch. It seems very unlikely that 5 power won’t kill, and with flying and 1 toughness it’s rare that they’ll double block and need you to spread damage. If anything, the deathtouch is more relevant for blocking. It’s actually kind of strange that this has a downside for attacking, despite having haste and flying and five power, but you can just have it sitting on the back line, read to trade for any creature they have. I don’t think people would do that, but it’s strange how much it kind of rewards you for not attacking. The strange mix of things happening on this card and the different directions this card is being pulled make it hard to put this in a deck.

@jund-berserker - Locus of Rage

I like what this card is trying to do, but it’s way, way too good. At a minimum, you can cast this, name a number of a card in your hand, then cast it. You get a three mana bolt (which is plenty playable, especially in limited at uncommon) and the inevitable ability to do it again. If you name 1 or zero, you can likely win the game with this the turn or two after you play it in almost every eternal format. Compare this card to Aria of Flame, Imminent Doom, or Eidolon of the Great Revel. All these cards are less consistent and harder to build around, or are symmetrical. This just lets you turn half the spells in your deck or more into free lightning bolts. Also, the fact that it triggers on your opponents’ spells just feels mean and oppressive. However, like I said, I like what ou were trying here. I just think that if this had said 1 damage, or maybe 2 damage but only going face, maybe this would be okay, but right now it’s just too good.

@loreholdlesbian - Slumbering Isle

I like the description of a volcano being a “slumbering isle.” That’s a really clever way to reinterpret that. However, I think the “isle” part was either taking too far or not far enough. Basically, I don’t know why this taps for blue beyond the name. It’s sacrifice effect is entirely red. I’d say add a scry or something, but we already have Surtland Frostpyre. This is especially a strange case because lands, as we all know, are colorless. So it’s not like it’s a break or anything, right? But Maro has said that activations costs follow the same rules as cards when it comes to colors. If this activation requires blue, it should do something blue. Alternatively, maybe drop the blue entirely from this card. Or, if you want to make it feel really flavorful, drop the blue from the cost but make it only tap for blue, to really sell the idea of a normal island turning into a scary volcano.

@maizenolo - Lunarch Marshal

That’s cute. Lunarch, moonfolk, that’s so clever. And it’s really cool that you gave it the moonfolk ability to bounce lands. However, that signature ability is… bad. It’s not particularly fun to keep bouncing lands. As with you card specifically, I have two issues with it. First, I don’t think blue gets +1/+0. The only cards that really do it usually have some other thing attached, usually unblockability, so just a flat buff seems weird. I don’t think it’s a color break, but it doesn’t feel blue. Second, this ability is so repeatable I’m worried players are going to overuse it and it will lead to frustrated players. If you just want to hit for three a turn, you’ll slowly be going down lands. Worse yet, imagine you attack your opponent late in the game and they’re at five life. You can bounce all your lands, and maybe they’ll die, but if you get hit with removal you’re going to lose the game, all because of this ability. Is it unfair to blame the designer for a player misplaying a card? Probably, but it’s our job as designers to encourage players to make the right decisions, because the better decisions they make, the better game they’ll have, and the more fun they’ll have. That's the end goal as a designer, isn’t it? I think a good way to get around this is to increase the mana cost, limit it to once per turn, or make it not as useful on repeat uses. For example, if it gave +1/+0 and unblockable, I think it would be less likely that a player would repeat it (though it would need to be costed differently). I think moonfolk are really hard to design. Still, I like the way you answered the prompt.

@misterstingyjack​ - River Guide

I like this card, but I also have a lot to say. First, the first ability is weird. In general, cards that get better based on your opponents lands have been phased out. There’s nothing your opponent can do about it for the most part, so it just feels mean. However, a single card ebing drawn isn’t that bad, and it’s especially interesting here because drawing a card is the one thing blue decks most want to avoid letting their opponents do. They want to one for one with counters. So this is more of just a strange hoser ability. The last ability has one obvious issue: you can exert something without tapping it. Currently, as written, after activating the ability, the island would still be untapped. But that’s a simple fix: just say “tap and exert an untapped island you control.” I kind of feel like you could have avoided the exert keyword, since it doesn’t really fit flavorfully and it’s not an evergreen keyword. I maybe would have just said that it doesn’t untap in the ability itself. But anyway, the card itself. I think it’s… fine? It’s sort of like a mix of key to the city and the first Thasa card. I think this is one of those cards where it either does nothing in the format or is a four of in a top tier deck. It really depends on the format. But I think independent of all that, I think it’s an okay designed card. And the flavor is spot on, very clever.

@naban-dean-of-irritation - Fractal Bloom

Oh no! Math! This card adds up quickly. It doesn’t quite double your counters each turn, but it gets pretty dang close. This is a really scary card in two ways. It’s very scary when it’s going off, but it’s also really scary to put in a deck. This card really needs to be uilt around to be useful. Yes, this means having cards that have counters, but it also needs a bit of a payoff, still. You can spread counters around, which is nice, but it’s slow enough that you aren’t going to be using it aggressively. At the same time, you don’t want cards that “spend” counters, like Fertilid, because the counters need to stick. So you’ll mostly want this for doubling the power of trampling hydras. I think this card is a little weaker than it looks. I wish this card had a better fail state. I wish it had some very minor but possible way to add counters. Perhaps an expensive activated ability, or that it puts a minimum of one on a card. As is, the card could very easily do nothing, especially considering it costs six mana, requires a board, and doesn’t do anything until your next turn, giving your opponents a lot of ways to interact with it. I think this could probably cost 5 mana, maybe even four if it has a more restrictive color cost. In general, “win more” cards like this are only really fun if they do win you the game quickly or if there’s something do with them when you aren’t using it to win.

@pocketvikings​ - Defiant Hero

Art Description: We're seeing our hero from the back, charging the Big Bad and facing whatever spells are being thrown at them.

I get it, it’s a hero! Like heroic! But the fact that it triggers on opponents makes it feel like it’s not just a hero, but a defiant one. One who fights through the trouble. I’m having trouble making up my mind on that last bit. Part of me thinks it’s useless. If it makes your creature indestructible, why would your opponent ever cast a removal spell on it? The indestructible will never be relevant because it will always be there. Which means it is relevant. But it also just sort of feels like hexproof from spells? But not if its exile or -X/-X effects. Though opponents are probably very often going to fall for “give your creature -2/-2 oh woops its too big now” which, while clearly on them is something that should probably be avoided. Basically, it’s an ability that is either never going to be used, feel like it isn’t relevant, or only be useful if your opponent misplays. That’s all kind of awkward. Lastly, and this is a big one, this card isn’t rare. This feels a lot worse than Tenth District Legionnaire, which is at uncommon

@rasputingold​ - Hunger Tide

So this one’s a bit wild. The insect token is a little closer to its origin card, Grist, than I would have liked for this contest, but I can look past that. The fact that you get one for every creature on the battlefield is crazy powerful, though at least they can’t block so you don’t immediately get chumpers forever. I kind of wish there were more of a limiter there, either non-insect, only opponents control, or only you control. As is, this barely needs anything to get nuts. The last ability is very hard to parse. More often than not, it will just be “each player sacrifices a creature,” since it takes 6 insects before they need to sacrifice anything more than 2 toughness, which I feel is about average. I also realize that it being symmetrical balances both the ability and the card as a whole, since you’ll eventually lose all your insects, but it all seems so weirdly roundabout. Lets say you have a creature and they have two when you play this. You add 3 creatures, pass, come back to you, you sacrifice two of your insects. Those insects have done nothing but make math hard. I’ll also say the fail state of this card is still amazing. It’s been a while, but The Abyss is still a four mana card, and this is very nearly strictly better than it. I will say, though, I really enjoy the execution of the story here. They come in slowly, but eat away at smaller creatures until they eat the big ones or die off. It’s a very, very good mechanical representation of a locust swarm. I just think its too complex for any normal magic set.

@real-aspen-hours​ - Monstrous Raider

NOTE: this is a render created by me. Originally submitted as text.

Vampire Barbarian is a terrifying thought, but a cool concept. I like the fact that this seems so willing to fight that it will stop trying to win the game in order to kill something. I worry that an on-board way to repeatedly deal with creatures is too strong, though. If your opponent ever has just one creature in play, it’s going to be really hard to deal with this guy. They NEED two creature in play, but the fact that this kills one every turn makes that hard. Also, I’ll say that the template is probably different than what you’ve got, looking at a card like Soltari Guerillas. Still, the two toughness at least makes it pretty easy to kill, so it’s a pretty high risk and a pretty high reward. So while it’s probably fine, I worry that this could lead to really frustrating board states.

@reaperfromtheabyss​ - Cradle of the Sun

This is cute. Love the feeling of a cradle here, and how different it feels from the original. I also have a soft spot for cards like this: Colfenor’s Urn, Cold Storage, Endless Sands. They all have such weird utility. I like that you kind of skip to the end with this card: rather than playing this, wrathing, then getting your creatures back, you play this, wait for a wrath, then wait for them to build their board, then wrath while un-wrathing. It’s such a weird concept and would probably make for some interesting games. Don’t get me wrong, I like it and I love the concept. I just have no idea how it would play. In general on-board wraths lead to long, drawn-out games because no one wants to dedicate to a board state. The fact that this lets you continue to do so is neat, but could be frustrating. At the same time, you’re leaving yourself to get blown out by artifact removal if you’re not careful. So yeah, as a whole, I like it, but would really want to playtest with it before I printed it.

@scavenger98​ - Battle Seraph

So I’ll start off with the obvious, which you even admitted to, which is that this is very close to the card its based on, basandra. Same cost, same type, some power. But the rest is very different! The comparison to Omnath is pretty clear, and I’m glad that card exists to give us a clear idea of the templating. Other than the “is” needing to be “are” I think you got it right. As for the exact ability, I think it’s kind of messy. For omnath, the three abilities felt very linked, even if it was just because they all had the number four. Linking them helped you remember what they do: I get 4 of something, just gotta remember what. Here, the three abilities feel very disconnected. One gains life and is dependant on how much damage was dealt, the second makes a very specific token, and the last is a generically good effect. The triggering condition is also really weird. It doesn’t care which creatures, so you have to pay attention to exactly what happens on every turn to every creature. The fact that the first ability cares about how much damage is also really weird and hard to do. You have to count every damage done to everything every turn. But, if your opponent pings a creature in response, you don’t gain any of it, just the ping. The next two abilities I kind of like. A little token is nice, and I like how it makes it easier to trigger in the future by not having first strike. The last ability is almost definitely out-of-color, but considering how much work it takes (first strike, normal combat, and a spell/ability all dealing damage to creatures) maybe makes it worth it. I’m probably wrong, and it’s still probably not okay to let Boros draw cards, but you gotta try. So as a whole, I really want to like this card, and I really like the directions it's pushing, but I think it’s just really, really hard to keep track of what this card is doing while it's in play.

@shakeszx - Wielder of Mysteries

Love the flavor here, great use of an epithet. I’m wondering if this would finally be the card to make this ability work. For reference, Mind Reaver and Grimoire Thief have tried this sort of “use your own cards as counter fuel,” and neither have been all that playable outside of combos. This guy has no combo potential, but boy does he mill! Each end step and each opponent means milling four cards a turn, more in multiplayer (though this guy doesn’t do much else in EDH, the most popular multiplayer format). The fact that he doesn’t doesn’t sacrifice to counter really sets him apart. Putting the card in the graveyard so it isn’t a hard lock is something I appreciate, and I’ll say here that you probably could have said that as the cost to save some space (i.e. 1UU, put a face-down card exiled by ~ into its owner’s graveyard: counter target spell with the same name as that card). My guess as to what kind of deck would play this is some sort of flash deck that can leave up the mana or maybe a control deck that tries to leave this in play as a mill win-con. I don’t know how great it fits into either of those with it’s squishy wizard body, but at least it has a place. I wish there was a way to make this safer to play. Maybe give it ward or more toughness or even more power and flying so it has something to do rather than sit there and hope to be useful. I think this is better than other cards that do the same thing, but I don’t know if it's quite good enough to see play.

@snugz​ - The Hidden Realm

Very clever to put this on a land. Lands are almost never legendary, even if they feel like it or have “The” in the name. As for this card specifically, I don’t think you realize what this does. When you tap it for mana, it phases out. It will phase back in at the start of your untap step. That means that this is a five color land with no downside other than that it can’t be untapped and used again if you’re using it for colored mana. In fact, it’s a lot better, since your opponent will never be able to target it with removal, rare as that is. So yeah, this card is way too good. Five color land with upside.

@starch255​ - Tower of Triumph

Gotta say, was not expecting this one, and not just because I did not know that path of mettle’s back half had an epithet. I love the towers. It was one of the first “whoops, we forgot to finish that cycle because we didn’t even think of it as a cycle” cycles. I’m a little unsure of the templating here. I feel like there needs to be an “each” or “all” in there somewhere to make it clear that you’re not just “activating abilities” but activating at least one per card. This is one of those funny cards where taking it as face value is hilarious. Requiring 48 mana and 6 overcosted cards in play to win the game is essentially impossible. However, having 6 bad cards in play, then playing Galazeth Prismari or Flame Fusillade and paying 8 mana may be more doable, if not “intended.” So this card has a casual, obvious, fun-but-not-viable way to sue it and another less difficult way to use it. I still wish it had some fail state. Maze’s End, for example, has a long and slow win condition tied into it, but it also fixes your mana slowly. Thassa’s Oracle can let you fix your draws. Win conditions tend to be more fun and more playable if there’s something you can do with them before winning, especially for a card like this where it will need to stand on the field a little while probably and therefore risk getting hit by removal.

@takemuse1 - Sengir Thrall

I cannot find any card that has the epithet “Sengir Thrall.” I think you may have either misread the prompt or submitted to the wrong contest. Either way, the card seems fine. I like what you’re trying to do here.

@teaxch​ - Celestial Wind

I remember the wind cycle, even had a few, for some reason. Here’s a card that hits a bunch of stuff. Get rid of up to three things, get back up to three things. It’s a little wordy. I think it’s possible to make this non-modal, but my suggestion would be “Choose one or both: -Exile target artifact, target enchantment, and/or target creature. - Return target artifact card, target enchantment card, and/or target creature card from your graveyard to the battlefield.” It still reads a little complicated, but at least you wouldn’t have the super weird blank space on the upper right of the card. The functionality of the card actually fits the rest of the cycle pretty well. It’s okay. It’s hard to make a nine mana card that feels worth it that doesn’t just win you the game. I think if you’re playing this you’re mostly going to be using it for the reanimation, since it will be pretty rare for your opponent to have all three permanent types, but there’s better ways to reanimate each of those types, and having a mix of types makes the deck harder to build. You really need at least four modes firing for this card to be even playable, and that’s not easy. Obviously multiplayer is where this card shines, especially EDH, but even there I don’t know if you want a nine mana card unless you can cast it for free, and again, there’s better cards to do that with. I think this card is trying to make up for its cost with its versatility, but there’s a difference between a card always having a use and a card always being useful. This will never be a dead card, but I don’t think it’ll ever be exactly what you need. Final note: compared to Blood on the Snow and Casualties of War, this could pretty easily be a rare.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path​ - Artful Provocateur

I read your submission comment before the text box and you got me excited for a card with provoke. Instead, it’s got goad, which is the opposite but also the better keyword, so yeah, that’s fine. I like the second ability, it’s got a lot of flavor to it and I could see it being a key card in some decks, like Marisi EDH. The last ability is fitting in a goad-style deck, and works well with the theme. The first ability I don’t think I’m a fan of. Spending a treasure to cast this guy feels weird, since you’d need the extra mana anyway to activate the ability. And if you’re not activating the ability, then you’re just attacking with a 2/1, which is not worth sacking a treasure most of the time. I’d say that it’s neat trinket text to encourage players to play this in a treasure deck, but the middle ability already does that. But I’ll stop focusing on that for now. I like the last two abilities and how well they play together and how nicely they fit in a deck. I like the creature types as well. I wonder a bit about the rarity. Repeatable goad only happened by attacking (which means it didn’t repeat often) or by having it permanently on a single creature, even at rare. The timing is also going to be strange, since you’ll be waiting until the declare attackers step 90% of the time, meaning your opponent’s must be constantly aware of you goading one of their creatures as soon as they move to combat. That’s going to make combat a nightmare. Limiting to sorcery speed would be great. If this is meant to be a conspiracy style set, I think this card is doing way too much at uncommon. If this is meant to be in a commander precon, I kind of understand it as attempting to combine multiple themes. In fact, this seems like it’s trying to combine the two commanders of the RB commander deck they just released: Prosper having a treasure theme and the Eye Tyrant having a goad theme. Still, that first ability seems really tacked on and will lead players to misplay. I like what the card is trying to do, but it needed a bit more restraint.

@whuh-oh​ - Eternal Pilgrim

Love the art here. This is another take on a pilgrim, our second, and a completely different interpretation. This guy mills you and gains you life, at a minimum one (unless he’s killed in response), then lets you reanimate something, even if it’s just a land. So, first things first, this definitely need to be a rare. It’s such a complex ability, and does a lot of things that shouldn’t happen regularly in limited. The way it snowballs, turning tapped creature into more creatures into bigger creature, or at a bare minimum ramping. I also reeeally wish this were green. I feel likeit’s pretty likely you’ll be reanimating lands most of the time, unless you’re built around these guys. Self mill and life gain are also both green. This is not to say this is out of color, I just think it fits better. I also kind of wish it restricted your reanimation to just cards milled. That would encourage you to really get X up there, instead of just laying back, activating two of these guys in response to each other and getting back the same two two-drops you just blocked with. I want there to be a little more going on here than just slow, repetitive value.

@wolkemesser​ - The Untouchable

I mean, I don’t want to touch him. A very direct interpretation of the epithet. He can’t be targeted, and if you touch him you die. I like the minion typeline, it’s a rare one, but it really fits the deathtouchiness of this guy. However, that’s about all I like. Deathtouch and trample don’t exist on the same card for a reason. It’s an incredibly niche and awkward interaction that confuses new players. Putting this at uncommon means it’s likely new players are going to have to interact with that. Plus, it having shroud means it will have to be blocked in order to kill it, meaning it will almost certainly come up. I do appreciate that the shroud makes it less likely you’d need to do it with more than two creatures. But trample also doesn’t fit the feel of the card. It doesn’t really make it less touchable. It also isn’t needed for power levels, it’s already strong without it. I think this card is a perfect encapsulation of the epithet, but I wish it wasn’t as unfun to have in play.

~

-Mod Mr. ShinyObject

[jj-ktae]

Note II - Aldehydes

Moodboard : Courtesy of the lovely Jacqueline @jaebeomsmullet​​ ! Thank you for helping and hyping and just being here whenever I need it.

›  Title : Fragrances ›  Genre : Angst, Fluff, Romance, Composer!Jungkook x Perfume Maker!Reader ›  Pairing :  Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader ›  Warning : Mentions of Suicide, heavy subjects, depression (none of these are used with the idea of glamourising mental illness), strong language, smut in later chapters probably. Do not read if any of these trigger you.

›  Author’s note : This is another version of the story I wrote a few years ago for GOT7. Some of the events will be different, others will not change just like some paragraphs will be the same and others won’t. Informations, definitions and words are taken from here and here.

›  Summary : In the world of Perfume making, it is believed that everyone has their own natural fragrance. It is also believed that everyone has that one scent capable of making them feel a thousand things. You find yours in the form of a composer on the verge of breaking, right when you have to face one of the biggest challenge in your life.

Masterlist | Note I - Ionones | 

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Note II: Aldehydes

An aroma chemical that contains a functional group consisting of a carbon, a hydrogen, and an oxygen atom. Aldehydes can be derived from natural or synthetic materials. There are different types of scents associated with this chemical function but the most commonly referred to when profiling a scent as “aldehydic” is a sharp, metallic, crisp, slightly fatty impression often associated with the smell of clean textile or hot iron. One of the first “aldehydic” fragrances is the famous N°5 created by Perfumer Ernest Beaux in 1920 and launched by Gabrielle Chanel in 1921.

Your second day is worse than the first one. Jimin is all over the place, mixing essences and sniffing everything he can. You’re glad though, it makes him go silent whenever he concentrates on something, and you have time for focus. It doesn’t help because you’re still frustrated if not more, but at least you can overburden yourself in peace.

 The only light in all that shadow comes from the memory of Jungkook’s scent, precise yet unknown. You try to create something similar, but it’s everything and nothing at the same time and no matter the amount or variety of scent you use, you can’t even get close to it

His scent is a mystery.

It adds to your misery, like a voice mocking you for not being able to recognise a scent while another one forces you to crave for more. It feels like chasing a ghost.

The sound of your head against your office takes Jimin out of his momentum. “What’s happening?” He inquires. He gets up from his own working area to stand next to your powerless soul.

“When is the meeting?” You try because it is potentially the only hope for today. That powerful lady came in early to inform you about an upcoming meeting with the marketing team. The project seems big, because Jimin started to work as soon as she flew out of the laboratory. It’s been one day and he is so open about himself that you can already read his body language.

“3 p.m. I was thinking about a brainstorming. Let’s think about a concept.” He offers because this is going nowhere. You’re about to give up at any minute, and he needs you to be into it.

“What concept? I’m running in circles.” 

“Sexy? Provocateur? Romantic? Angsty? Bucolic?” 

“All of these have already been worked on so many times...I don’t think they want to go for something as...forthright. I’m quite sure they won’t be satisfied with a mere sexy perfume.” It’s what you understood - if your sudden creative freedom is anything to go by.

Jimin understands, his eyes now wide. He has no idea how to achieve that, but he still thinks you’re brilliant for thinking out of the box. He picks his notepad and starts writing everything you said, his brows furrowed.

“We want to be unique. The concept needs to be appealing to the greatest number without being too cliché. We are free to use what we want.” He notes things down and you find yourself peeking at the words, meaningful yet complex.

“So we need to mix a little bit of everything.” Jimin stops for a minute before a whine escapes his thick lips, “I’m lost, help me.”

“We can’t work this way.” You raise your head slowly, ruffling your wild locks in a nonchalant way. “We have to find a scent and put a concept over it. We can’t force the scent based on an imaginary idea.” This only works when a brand has specific goals but here you have nothing. You can’t possibly force an idea into your head. 

Jimin looks pitiful as he puts the notepad away. “It’s going to be harder than I thought.”

And just like the day started, the meeting followed. You were not expecting much of it and you were right. The marketing project came and explained you were free to do anything you wanted. Their main objective was to follow you on whatever you wanted to create, and it’s infuriating. 

How many times do you have to repeat that you can’t do it before they start to believe you?

Jimin, who was stressed before the meeting is now dejected and it almost breaks your heart because you feel responsible. You send him home earlier and decide to work on your own. Two hours later you leave the lab with Orchid oil all over your bag and the urge to cry.

There is only one way to make you feel better. You feel ashamed, like you’re addicted to something but you have to admit it.

Jeon Jungkook’s scent is the only thing worth smelling.

When you come back from work, there is no trace of him. His backpack is gone, the bed looks neat, and even the towel he probably didn’t use is dry. There’s still his smell, fresh in the air and it makes you run back outside to find the bridge where you had found him the night before.

He is not there.

You were exhausted, but you’re suddenly on fire. This situation is stressing you more than it should be when you don’t see him. It’s like you won’t ever see him again. You look around all the bridges you can find close to your place. Jungkook is nowhere to be seen.

You open the door of your apartment with a heavy heart. It’s like you lost something precious and it’s making you angry. What the hell is happening to you?

But you open the door and it hits again, like a whirlpool of long lost feelings and dried memories.

Jeon Jungkook is in your living-room, and his delectable scent pounds in the deepest zones of your brain. He is sitting on the floor by the small table, right hand dancing over bright white paper and guitar on his lap so you only see his back, but it’s the biggest relief you had in years.

He doesn’t turn around when you let your bag fall on the floor, he doesn’t move when you stop next to him. He looks absorbed, entranced. His knee is shaking to an unknown beat, mimicking his left hand which is drumming on the soft brown wood of the instrument he is holding.

“God. I thought- I’m so stupid.” You don’t want to share your worries with him, but the thought of him throwing himself off a bridge is still fresh. It stings more than it should, more than the pain you’re supposed to feel when confronted with a stranger’s despair.

“Hmm?” Jungkook doesn’t move toward you at first, but eventually his hand stops, and he glances up at your pallid features and tensed body “What’s wrong?”

“I came back home and you were not here. I thought...I thought you did something stupid.” You let your body fall on the couch. It’s like blood is circulating again into your veins, your skin going back its initial colour. 

Jungkook is puzzled, like he doesn’t understand why it would be so dramatic for you. “I went around town after I grabbed some stuff from my place.” It’s crazy but he feels sorry for you. “I’m sorry for worrying you” he trails off, scanning your face some more. He has no idea how to react to a stranger panicking over his disappearance. His own family doesn’t panic when he doesn’t show up. He is lost as to why you would be so affected by anything related to him when no one else barely does.

You snort, not mad at him. You’re high on his smell and it’s all that counts. “It’s okay.” Your eyes find his, and his tilted head looks like it’s searching for any sign of discomfort. He only stares back, with eyes way too shiny for someone as dark as him. He looks candid, like he has everything to discover and it’s a mystery how he turned out thinking about the worst.  You have no idea what he might be thinking - excepted that you’re probably out of your mind for reacting like this but he doesn’t question your intentions, for whatever reasons. You finally notice the papers and decide to move on before it gets too disturbing to deal with. “What are you doing?” you nod toward the torn pieces of paper and point a finger at the pile stacking up next to his crossed legs.

He swiftly puts it under his leg. “Nothing. Did you just come back from work?” He tries to change the subject. His voice gets higher and you instantly decipher his anxiety. He isn’t good with facing his own problems and it’s way too early to go into deep talks about lyrics and melodies. He might have agreed to a crazy proposition, but that doesn’t mean he is going to open to you. At least not now.

“I looked for you all over the place.” You admit because it’s a normal thing to do when somebody is in distress. Jungkook is dumbfounded.

“Why would you do this?” The situation in itself is already crazy enough as it is. He doesn’t mind you being friendly with him, even though he is pretty sure he doesn’t need it, but to the point of being dead worried for him?

“You were about to throw yourself off a bridge. I don’t know what kind of life you’ve been living but it’s pretty normal to freak out when something like that happens.” Your outburst shocks him. He doesn’t understand the impact of his actions over his surroundings. He has always thought he was just a detail in everyone else’s lives. 

It has always been this way. He writes in the shadow for people to shine. Him not being here shouldn’t matter to anyone. 

“It’s my business. I’m staying here because I have nothing left and it’s easier than staying in my empty apartment and facing my failures. It doesn’t mean we have to care about each other.” Jungkook doesn’t want to sound mean but he has to make it clear to you. His distress is by no mean a way to ask for anyone’s pity. He refused to add anyone into that mess, let alone a stranger.

It’s obvious, in a way. You know it’s stupid but this scent, it’s making you go wild. You can’t let it pass until you know what it is.

So you agree, taking the same tone and hoping your voice isn’t wavering. “I’m not here for you, I’m worried about another human being wanting to end his life. If it gives you the illusion that I care, I’m sorry about that.” You get up and you sound mad, something Jungkook notices as soon as you close the door a bit too violently.

No matter how mesmerising his scent is, he is apparently not that friendly. You’re not hurt by his words, because you don’t care enough personally to be affected. You’re being selfish, only thinking about your own benefit and what his scent could bring into your life. Jeon Jungkook himself doesn’t pull you in at all. He is someone you barely know anyways.

He doesn’t move from his spot in the living-room until later that night. He suddenly has too many things to write and too little time on his hands. He decides to stop when his wrist starts to hurt and his body hits the mattress of his new bedroom like a bag of sand hits the ground.

He feels at ease in the small room. Wood is covering the floor, and it is the same colour as the tiny office by the window. The view is peaceful, with buildings popping up from the floor like mushrooms and lights festooning the city in tiny dots. The bed is large and thick with soft bedding. The scent of the washing powder turns Jungkook into a nostalgic boy when he rolls into the bed, stretching his sore limbs. He feels even more stupid for feeling comfort in a seemingly empty room. 

He falls asleep right away, exactly 10 seconds after you do. You’re both too exhausted to care about each other, but you both know you’re no strangers to your own common serenity.

And just like you understand the importance of his presence for your brain to function, he notices he needs your place to exist in his creative yet tortured mind. As stupid and as hard to believe as it is.

When you get up the day after, you see him by the kitchen’s table. He is sipping on orange juice that is not yours, and munching on toasts you definitely didn’t buy.

You go to the coffee machine, your head too cloudy to deal with his strong presence.

He speaks first “Want some juice?”. He is trying to make it up to you for his cold behaviour. He just isn’t used to being around you yet. He isn’t used being around anyone yet.

Also, he is the worst when he composes. He needs absolute concentration.

You sip on the hot liquid and nod his way. He hands you a glass with an unreadable face.

“Have a nice day.” He doesn’t know why he says it. He tries to be nice, because there’s nothing much to say to someone you met two days ago. Maybe his pride spoke for him yesterday, or maybe he decided to accept the hand of a stranger, because it’s less burdening than accepting his failures to his entourage. 

You drink the fresh juice fast and walk away. “Thank you.” It is too hard to be rational right now, because the smell seems even stronger now. You probably come off as rude when you don’t reciprocate his words but you don’t dwell on it; that boy isn’t going to accept any sort of compassion anyways.

You enter the bathroom and get hit by the scent of his shower gel. Not that scent either.

You get ready at the same time as you build your resolve. Motivation is the key so maybe if you believe in you and your assistant, things might work out. Jimin is already here when you arrive, his citrus smell filling you from the first floor to the lab. He is joyful, like he found something awesome.

“Boss! Have a sit, come come!” His thin hand adds a tiny pressure to your back, leading you to your office.

“What’s happening?” You barely have the time to comprehend; he is already putting a sample in front of your noise.

You freeze.

“Wh-where did you find t- t- this ?” You utter, immediately thrown off by the odour.

“I was looking through essences this morning, and I thought we could start with a base, just to see what we could make of it. It’s...”

“Winter fir and Balsam*.” You conclude. Everything in this base is satisfying but the most important detail is that you remember this base. You smelled it this morning when you entered the kitchen.

You smell the very distinct feelings of comfort, warmth and softness which invades you whenever you’re close to Jungkook.

Jimin added a little twist to it, tho. “You added Cottage Herb Garden**”. The latter grins at you, visibly proud of himself for coming up with such a smart idea. He too gives off that feeling of freshness that is found in that herb. It is serene and woody and gives off feelings of sweetness and sensuality. Cottage Herb Garden fragrances are made using Aldehydes synthetic scents. 

“I didn’t add much, but I thought it would go well because they both make great seasonal fragrances. I only put 8% though, how did you find out?” he looks shocked but not surprised, like he was half-expecting you to guess it yet still thought it would go unnoticed.

“The herb comes last. The earthy smell that lingers in your nose, it’s this one. Smell it again.” You tell him and he takes his time filling his nose. He closes his eyes and thinks for a moment before opening them again.

“This is Cottage Herb Garden.” You confirm and his mouth is now wide opened. He can’t believe he is working with such a talented person. 

“So, do you think we could try? I feel like we’re using a lot of Aldehydes but at the same time it feels like a soft base note…” Jimin trails off, his fingers playing with the bottles. 

You acquiesce, mind already elsewhere. It feels like the first step to Jungkook’s identity and it is energising. You take a sharp breath, startling Jimin who laughs at you because it’s like you found life again. 

“You sound satisfied.” He offers the sample along with a genuine smile and for the first time, you smile back at him, thankful.

“You did great. I wonder why they hired me when you’re doing great on your own.” It’s true. Jimin came up with extremely complex scents and came up with a base note you would have never found on your own.

Jimin rolls his eyes and decides not to answer. If only he could have a quarter of your talent. He opens his notebook and starts writing, his eyes now shiny with glee

Base notes:  Aldehydes (Synthetic) = Winter Fir  /  Cottage Herb Garden.

You put the sample in front of you and stare at it. So that was it. You smile to yourself, in a way, it’s like you can almost smell Jungkook.

You spent the rest of your day looking for another element to add to your base and when nothing comes to your mind you feel frustrated, but it’s the best you can do for now. Jimin is exhausted and snoring in a corner of the lab, his petite body squeezed between two cabinets. You shake him to wake his sleepy body and tell him to go home when you give up for the day.

It’s been so long since the last time Jungkook felt this satisfied. He didn’t go out, too engrossed into his lyrics to care about the light of the sun peeking through the opened blinds. It’s leaking off his pen, like he can’t stop the flood of ideas and he feels like a mad scientist, crazy and ecstatic. He takes a break around dinner time and when his stomach starts creating its own music.

He takes out noodles from the food he bought the day before. Living with you meant sharing a flat, but he wanted to provide his own necessities. Participating in daily life matters is only natural, after all.

His phone rings, and the caller ID makes him sigh. He is too hungry to face what is about to come, and his spent brain is screaming for rest.

He coughs, keeping his voice steady “Yes.” His tone is disillusioned. Jungkook barely gets any call nowadays, and except from work, he only knows one person who can annoy the hell out of him so much.

“You remember me? I thought depression AND amnesia hit you at once.” He wants to hang up when he hears the throaty voice. It’s heavy with judgement but then again, when is it not?

“And you wonder why I don’t call you, Yoongi-hyung.” Jungkook finishes the sentence in a sigh. Yoongi is awesome at being a nagging mother.

“You’re too busy being away I guess. Artists are such a handful.” He hears steps and after a while, Yoongi speaks again. “Where are you? I’ve been waiting in front of your flat.”

“I moved out.” Jungkook looks fine with the revelation. It’s like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What? Where? Why didn’t you tell me?” he hears Yoongi’s car and supposes the latter is already going back to his place. 

“It’s been two days. I’m living with a girl.” He blows hair on the steaming bowl of noodles, ignoring his friend’s deep shriek.

Yoongi doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. Jungkook leaving on an inspiration crusade is common, it’s something he does whenever he gets overwhelmed by his feelings. Never once did he actually move out to live with someone else, let alone a girl.

He doesn’t even remember when was the last time Jungkook even dated someone. “Living together as in...romantically?” he tries, suddenly wary because he expected a lot of answers, but not this one.

“I couldn’t write anymore. I’m renting a room in her apartment.” He swallows the food like he has been starving for days. There is not the slightest hint of discomfort in his voice.

Yoongi laughs after a while “You’re living with your landlord. God, Jungkook, I know you people need some sort of inspiration to exist, but to the point of living with some old lady for the sake of music...”

“She’s not old.” Jungkook has no idea why it’s the only part of the sentence he reacted to, but all of a sudden he doesn’t want anyone to make fun of the person who took him in, not when he wrote ten songs in the span of two days. Not when he feels like no one can hurt him in your quiet kitchen.

“Anyways. Lunch with me tomorrow, how does that sound? Shall I check on that woman you’re living with ? How much is she charging you ? Aren’t you being scammed?”

“I can’t.” Jungkook sighs, ignoring the numerous questions because this is so typical of Yoongi to make sure no one is messing with him. “I have to eat with my parents, don’t tell them that I moved out.”

“You have always been doing everything you wanted anyways, what would it change if he was to know?”

Because he is going to crush me down like fine dust.

It has always been the same, and no matter how successful he was at some point, his father was never satisfied. Not when music is not a certain source of income, not when reputation comes before everything else.

 “I’m hanging up.” He announces once panic overtakes him and hears his friend objects, telling him he will meet with him no matter what.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to see him. It’s just complicated. Jungkook has always been different from others. He was raised with Yoongi and they had the same nanny when they were young. The age difference rapidly made Yoongi turn into the older brother as time passed, and while he was the one introducing Jungkook to music making, he quickly stopped to take over his family’s business. He never explained to him how he drifted from music, but he is now all about business.  Their respective parents were and still are too busy to deal with education, and while Yoongi grew up like the sharks his father works with, he took after a quieter side, the one that tells him to do what he wants instead of chasing money.

Yoongi often tells him he is a fool, that he doesn’t need anything else if he can have a bright future with his father’s company. He often answers that he doesn’t want to work without a purpose, and Yoongi always tells him to stop being a hypocrite and rely on his father’s money if he was to spit on it.

It’s true, Jungkook doesn’t know struggling. He was born in a rich family with a lot of possibilities. He was able to become a lyricist after a lot of failures, and his parents never gave up on him financially. This is probably why he is so affected when he can’t write. He doesn’t know how to deal with difficulties, he who lived with all the good things of the world.

He hears the door opening and your sore body appears before him, surprised to see him home. It’s like you were expecting him to run away, again. You don’t speak when you see him, mouth full of noodles and wearing the same clothes you left him in this morning. The silence is thick, oxygen heavy with uneasiness. Jungkook blinks, slurping on the noodles before wiping his mouth hastily.

“Want some noodles?” It’s hard to catch on the words, but he moves the bowl in front of him, and you understand. 

You nod.

No matter how strong the smell of seafood is, his scent always wins over everything else. You decide to stay close because you’re slowly deciphering his smell, and you need more time to know where you’re going.

He goes to the cupboard like he has been living here for years and fills another bowl before sitting back. You’re surprised by his sudden gentleness but brush the worries off. You’re supposed to feel weirded by the fact that an unknown man is now living with you, but none of you are freaked out.

Jungkook is too happy to be productive again. You’re too drawn into your memories to stop everything.

You sit in front of him and after a couple of minutes, he speaks. It takes you out of the now soggy food.

“What’s your job?” Jungkook sounds interested, but you know he is only trying to ease the mood.

“I’m a perfume composer.” You decide not to dig further into the matter. It’s a peculiar world, something that only a few people can relate to. Most people think you mix synthetic molecules into expensive glass bottles, wrapped in glitters and hidden into luxury boxes with frills and furbelows.

And you get offended, knowing fully well that it’s exactly what you think you’re doing.

Jungkook doesn’t sound impressed, you’re not surprised by that. 

“Sounds complex.” It is. It truly is, and even more when he is entering your every pore. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it.

“It’s not.” you lie, “How about you?” His face lits subtly, and he seems shy all of a sudden. You don’t know this side of him yet, and you wonder where his emo behaviour went.

He coughs, putting the bowl down. “I’m a lyricist. I write lyrics and sometimes I compose, but I mostly write.”

 “That sounds complex.” You muse. Jungkook is a tormented artist, then. It explains why he keeps on dreaming on bridges like he is filming a music video.

“Sometimes it’s complex, sometimes it’s a matter of course. I’ve been having a blackout recently.” It’s a confession, and he doesn’t know why he is sharing such a deep problem with you, a stranger.

You forget about the food “That’s why you were surrounded by torn papers.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. I’m getting there, though.”

It feels different to deal with such an open Jungkook. He chats like you’re close, smiles sometimes, he is almost glowing.

That evening you learn that he uses a pen name to write lyrics. He doesn’t want to tell you, but you know too little about the music industry and he finally spills the beans.

JK.

It sounds like some mysterious pen name used by thriller writers but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you decide to go to bed. No matter how comfortable you both seem, you’re not ready to share the part about you being addicted to his scent. He goes to his spot near the small table in your living-room and his hand goes back to a wild dance, covering the blank paper with ink. He is inspired.

He goes to bed right when you get up the day after and wakes up late for his lunch with his parents.

It’s not like he is eager to meet with them.

_

Plants. Plants plants plants. You look through the samples with haste. You know it has something to do with nature. The base note has to be about something else.

“What are you doing?” You smell Jimin the minute he opens the door, but you don’t let yourself be interrupted. You know you sound like a stalker, but you might or might not have smelled Jungkook’s jacket this morning, and you are sure of a thing: there is only one element left to create a frank base.

You don’t know when you switched from creating a perfume to reproduce his scent, but it doesn’t matter.

“All the samples are here, right?” The organ is huge and cabinets full, but it’s not enough for you. Jimin throws his vest on one of the chairs and approaches you, stifling a yawn.

“Yes. I think that’s quite a lot, actually.” He peeks from behind your shoulder, and sees your hands going through the numerous bottles, unsatisfied.

“No. No. These are generic scents. You don’t have any rare roots names, you forgot a lot of exotic fruits and most importantly, you don’t have anything uncommon.” 

Jimin makes a face. He is not lost, he is adrift. “I’m afraid I don’t understand...”

“Tobacco abs, myrrh, resinoid, Balkans...” You talk but it sounds like a whole new language even for your assistant.

“Well, we have listed a lot of names. Most of them were used by previous composers, but we added more. I didn’t think it needed that much to be completed.” He knows about perfumes, he has a lot of knowledge, but you’re suddenly on a whole new level and can’t be reached.

You’re suddenly talking about tobacco odours and it freaks him out.

“I have a lot of these at home.” This could seriously help you. You barely use these, and most of them were sent by your father and collected on the internet. It’s the first time you can actually put them to good use because you know they could help, but you can’t bring them here.

Also, you think about how much easier it would be to just move work to an environment bathed by that scent which makes you crazy. How stimulating would it be ?

Jimin is expectant, but you don’t say more. He finally waves a worried hand in front of your face and you snap to meet his blinking eyelids.

“Let’s work from my place. This is what I often did.” Your offer makes him take a step back. He is not used to you being so devoted to this project.

“Are you sure? I don’t think the boss would object. We’ve had a few composers with weird demands before.” He doesn’t know what’s on your mind, but you’re a genius to his eyes and the mere idea of him seeing the place where you created such amazing products is electrifying. He can’t wait to know more about your ways.

“Good.” You glance around the room, “I don’t like this atmosphere.” You don’t mind if Jimin sees your place. At some point, you’re pretty much sure you could go with anything as long as you find the missing pieces of this conundrum. 

You’re aware that you’re turning into an obsessional mess, but it feels pleasant to have a goal. This goes beyond everything you experienced, it gives you a fuel you didn’t know you could have.

You take the day to gather some samples and ask Jimin to let the boss know about your change of plans. At the end of the day, he helps you carry the numerous samples home. You’re a happy mind, torn between apprehension and excitement.

You open the door and Jungkook sees two huge boxes enter the living-room. He is rubbing a towel against his wet hair but he catches your box before you can let it crash to the ground. Jimin lets his own fall with a soft thud and you’re startled when you hear a dismayed squeal, along with Jimin’s shocked face, his finger pointing at a puzzled Jungkook.

“JK?!”

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* Winter Fir and Balsam : This redolent mixture of refreshing natural pine mingled with a sweet, peppery, delicately refined and soft base note of balsam has a soothing and warm character. It evokes particular feelings of warmth and comfort. The mind’s eye (and nose) recalls Christmas trees and sleigh rides and happy times by a fireside or even in a small apartment among special friends or family.

** Cottage Herb Garden : Sparkling blue waters, gentle summer winds and cozy brick cottages nestled in the lush, serene English countryside characterised this green floral scent. Enticing notes of sweet, earthy, star anise, fresh basil, grassy parsley, aromatic wild flowers, fresh garden greens and a woodsy, sensual musk base note comprise this complex aroma.