#but apparently as some inner stain in a tree

[snarkythewoecrow]

Humans are the best, we are getting a big tree cut down in the front yard, and the gruff looking guys are all cool with their saws, but then when the final piece falls, in a child like excited voice the dude goes, "hey it looks like Australia! Guys come here and look at Australia" and for the next 5 minutes, this group of men were like children and it was damn cutest shit I've seen in a awhile, I'll update later when they are done, with a picture of what I'm excitedly hoping looks like Australia

[honeymaki]

↳ Ghostface!Ymir

Pairings: Ymir x reader

Warnings: DARK CONTENT AHEAD. mentions of murder, blood and gore, description of injury, predator/prey kink, strapon, dumbification, rough sex, degradation.

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: part 2 of ghost face!Ymir

Mean.

That’s how she had described herself in that moment; mean, mean, mean. Apparently not mean enough when she’s bullying her thick cock into your convulsing body, smearing something unmentioned against your arched back and clapping her hips hard, hard, harder into your ass. 

Something catches your elbow, a branch? It hurts, stings as it tears your skin deep enough to bring beads of crimson to the surface. There’s wetness on your bare feet, leaves sticking to your shins and mud caking your exposed thighs, staining the stupid, stupid white nightgown you were dressed in. 

And nothing else. It pained you to run, not because of your feet, but because of your breasts heaving and the biting wind catching between your legs, hissing through the welts shaped like fingers around your throat. Time had stopped since she’d let you go, since she’d brought that dreadful mask close to your face and demanded you look at her with fake sweetness in her voice, cooing at you when you start crying and batting open your legs from where you had been subconsciously clenching them together at the simper and the hot breath you felt wet your neck. It was nighttime, you knew that because it was impossible to see anything two foot in front of you, darkness swirling and beckoning you closer, promising you freedom where you knew barbed wire and broken glass lay in wait for prey as pretty, and as innocent as the others. 

Were you innocent? With how clean your hands were, yes but with how soiled your inner thighs were, how drippy you were with every step, every tender shuffle around trees and through bracken; no, you were by no means innocent of the crimes beholden of her and her mask, and her fingers, and her cock. Tears sprung from your eyes involuntarily at a twig snapping in the distance, body freezing and breath catching in your throat, clogging your chest and causing you to splutter with fear, and with something else. You had seen her in the bathroom before, tightening the straps round her thighs and waist, shoving something into her jeans, cursing when she admired herself in the mirror for a moment; the bulge at her crotch pronounced and so - mouth watering. And yet, it belonged to someone with no face, a mask for you to cry at and claw at in the throes of your orgasms, plastic cold on your lips when you desperately search for a kiss you knew deep down would never come. 

That was your fate, that was was awaited you when she finally caught you in the damp, in the damp, creeping up on you like she did with all her other victims; only their end would be met with a very different kind of warmth and wet. But the chase was no less terrifying, no less - paralysing with the voice that echoes through your head,

“Be careful not to run too far, don’t want those pretty feet all cut up - might slow you down and heh - where’s the fun in running down a wounded prey?” 

Wounded. Hurt. She was so mean to you, thinking you were some lost soul she had plucked from the suburbs with the promise of lust and love and something thicker than the two. That was the promise that awaited you too, rubbed into your bottom and hitching the silk of your dress, bulging so, so close to where you felt yourself dripping with need for her. A hand disappears between your thighs, sobbing at the slick you find and you almost collapse when you accidentally swipe over your hardened clit, throbbing and ready, and too neglected to even think about. 

How - how dare you even be this aroused? How stupid are you? As stupid as she tells you when she’s got you bouncing on her fingers in the back of her van that smells funny and has bottles of bleach in the footwell? Probably more so if the mere memory of that has you whimpering and half a second away from cumming in the middle of this god forsaken forest. 

♡.

She can see you from a mile away, no - smell you. You are stupid, a stupid little whore who begs so pretty and so lovely for her cock near every night. Can’t get enough of the thing, can’t get enough of her even though - even though you have no idea what she looks like, no idea what her lips taste of, what colour her eyes are, whether she still has those freckles her mom used to count before tucking her in. 

You were her prey tonight, you were her victim, her flesh to carve and maim, her blood to spill, her cunt to fuck as she pleased. And there you were, leaning against a tree with your silly little hand stuck between your silly little thighs, whimpering and moaning; a naive little doe in the eyes of a beast unnamed by humankind and feared by those of its own specie. Ymir had to give it to you, even beneath her mask she could smell your arousal, leaking into the wind and sending blood rushing to her cheeks; addictive and almost as mouth watering as the blood caked to the bottom of her converse. 

Comfy things they were, convenient, easy to chuck in the washer and forget about for an hour. Comfy, light, good enough to chase in, quiet enough to sneak up close to you, close enough to smell the perfume she makes you wear, close enough to hear the lewd clicking of your fingers swiping through your sodden cunt, close enough to whisper deep and low,

“Gotta run bunny, run while you still have legs to walk on,”

♡.

Your scream echoes around you, feet thundering as loud as your heart, blinding you almost as you tear through the trees, down valleys and up hillocks. You didn’t care for the tears and bruises on your legs, didn’t care for the rips in your nightgown and the leaves clinging to your hair; she was close, so close and you - you could barely breathe. Adrenaline shoots through you, bones cold and skin colder with the sweat clinging to your pores. Right, left, a little way upwards - there was a big tree back there you could maybe hide in, or down by the stream? - a cry leaves your throat when your foot catches on a fallen branch, knees buckling and - 

“No - no, up bunny, c’mon now,”

How is she still so close? How can you still smell the rancid stench of her clothing and see the ominous white of her mask through the dark? You’ve been running for hours, screaming with every howl and hoot and shudder in the earth, crying when the clouds part and reveal the new moon, dark and haunting and somehow ridiculing you. All this for some dick? Pathetic. Whore.

“I don’t want to play anymore!” Why are you stopping? Your body isn’t supposed to be doing this, you’re supposed to be running, scrambling, sobbing for mercy and yet - you’re slowing down with painful wheezes and gasping cries, “I don’t want to! I’m tired! I’m scared! I want to stop playing!”

Home didn’t even enter your mind, that was a foreign word to you now, strange and unfamiliar because home didn’t really exist anymore, not really, not in this blood thirsty world. You don’t stop moving, but you don’t speed up, clutching your chest and trying desperately to swallow down your fear, your saliva, your terror at the huffing and growling and beastial noises coming up behind you. 

“You - are pathetic,”

The pain comes minutes after you hit the ground, cry muffled by long, lean fingers dripping with something and nothing at the same time. An arm hitches your hips up, propping you up on your knees and gravel digs into your skin, palms tearing on brambles and the flush of blood over your knuckles makes you -

“You’re so fucking - you’re such a whore,”

Even covered in mud, out of breath, crying and snotting, bloody and bruised, and most likely concussed; you’re grinding back into her crotch and moaning like a bitch in heat. Even in the darkness, Ymir can see the slick smearing across the tight material of her jeans, sliding with the audible pulse of your cunt and she almost rolls her eyes, almost snaps and brings your neck with it but maybe, maybe that’s why she gives in so easily, maybe that’s why she lifts one leg to brace and shoves your face into the mud, maybe that’s why she flips your dress over your hips and undoes her fly - because she likes it, she likes the way you’re so desperate and so dumb for her, so stupid that you blatantly overlook the knife lying only inches from your nose and can’t hear the zip ties clattering on her belt,

“Fucking fine then - if you want it so bad, if you’re fuckin’ gagging for my cock then take it, fuckin’ take it,” 

A single slap to your clit has you keening and clawing at the dirt, thrashing and almost looking as tough you’re trying to get away from her, but she knows, she knows all this is because you’re so desperate to feel her deep and hard, just how you like it best. You scream, you arch your back, you’re positively weeping when Ymir forces the strap inside of you, thrusting down, down to where she knows you’ll drip pearly white and gush so nicely for her. 

“Should’a run bunny, should’a done what ghost face wanted - might’a gone a bit nicer on your stupid whore cunt,”

Your whole body jiggles with her thrusts, being shoved up and through the leaf litter, hands scrambling for purchase and she’s sure you loose a nail in the fight, but you’re too busy leaking down her thighs to notice the blood smearing on your cheek. 

“Nngh - f - fu -,” you’ve got a mouthful of mud and your breasts rub raw on the ground, but there’s a band in your belly and you can feel something building, feel claws down your back and latching on to the nape of your neck, pushing you further into the ground, a beast crowding over you, hard and big and dark. Pain blossoms over your spine as you are bent in half, ass so high in the air that you’re almost balancing on your tiptoes, skin tingling with the slamming of her hips into yours. Ymir spares you nothing, a fate worse than death maybe, splitting you open over and over with the girth of her cock, heavy against your cervix and bullying that soft spot over and over until she can see the sticky webs dripping from your pussy, fat lips plush against the silicon balls with every hard, hard, mean thrust. 

Yes, this is where she’s mean, this is where ghost face is horrible and terrible and as mean as can be. Hardly letting up when you scream through your orgasm, gasping for breath and on the verge of hyperventilating, legs shaking and struggling to hold yourself up against the dizzying assault on your cunt. Hardly letting up when you sob and cry out for - something, more, deeper, harder -

“Please! More! Don’t - nagh - don’t stop!” There’s nothing behind your eyes, crossing and rolling and fluttering when the wind catches just right on your clit, pulsing and angry and beating with your erratic heart, and Ymir thinks maybe this is her calling instead of terror and horror and the mask. Maybe she’s been put on this earth to bully your sensitive, needy pussy every minute of the day, maybe God looked at her soul and decided that it belonged on top of yours, inside of yours, owning yours the same way she owns your cunt, your body, your mind. 

And you don’t even know her fucking name. 

It’s a shame really, she’d much rather have you beg for her cock, Ymir’s cock rather than lashing out at whatever name comes into your tiny little brain. 

S’mean really, how Ymir threatens to choke you on her cock day in and day out, and doesn’t even have the audacity to tell you her name or show you her face. But what’s really mean, really fucking mean of her is the next time she brings home a pretty innocent church girl to set out in the woods around her cabin; you’re there too, ass up face down and taking her cock like the proper perfect whore you are and Ymir finds they scream so much louder when they can hear you cumming in spurts and sprays through the fog. 

[ninnodesu]

“Can I See You?” ch 2 || Modern!Thomas

Well. People apprently wanted more of modern!Thomas, so naturally, my brain conjured up a continuation.  GUESS WE HAVE TWO LONG STORIES NOW, FRIENDOS

I AM GOING TO TAG EVERY CHAPTER OF THIS FIC AS CICU IN CASE YOU WANT TO BLOCK OR FOLLOW!

TWs: - Mentions of rape - Broken bone - Mentions of cannibalism - Mentions of murder - Murder

He could see in your eyes, how the tears welled up and streamed down your face that you’d recognize him and he left. He couldn’t look at you at this point, couldn’t look at you cry because of him. He heard you cry behind him as he turned to go into his basement bedroom, his heart stung in his chest as he heard you beg and scream in fear. Closing the bedroom door, he proceeds to lean up against it, back pressed hard to it, eyes shut closed. Some kind of desperate way to make your panicked begging go away.

I can't, I can't, I can't, his inner voice chant like a mantra. His anxiety gets the better of him and he starts pacing, the wood under his feet already marked with a worn-out pattern left by his heavy boots after years and years of anxious pacing. A fierce battle erupts in his mind.

- I can't kill her - You have to, and you know it - No, I won't - Come up with one good reason to fistfight the old man about this - He would die and I wouldn't have to do this fucking thing anymore - And what? You'll live happily ever after with this woman? - I… - She would never accept the truth

Returning to his original place with his back to the door, he slowly sinks down to sit on the floor, one leg sprawled in front of him, the other resting under it. He's lost, he doesn’t know what to do. If he lets you go, you'll go straight to the police. If he kills you, he'll never hear from you again, he'll never see your face again, a sudden wave of intense nausea hits him at the thought of keeping the skin of your face to make a new mask. No, no he can't do that.

This is the first time since he had to butcher his first human that he feels genuinely lost.

He's mad at his uncle for wasting the low amount of money they do have on ugly hookers and booze, having Thomas resort to this way of living. He never truly did want this. The first time Charlie, or Hoyt as he wants to be called now - although Thomas never really did care about his apparent name change and still called him by Charlie to piss on his ego - talked to him about this, he threw up minutes after being left alone.

He still remembers the first time he got forced into butchering a person, just like it was yesterday, even though it’s nearly four years ago.

That day, he was on his way home from work, ending the day with bashing his old boss’s head in with a sledgehammer. The old man had disrespected his family, something Thomas wouldn’t stand for. Knowing that the security cameras were already turned off, he swung the hammer out of anger. He was mad that they were closing the slaughterhouse and he was hurt by the words that had been spoken. No one disrespects his family and gets away with it. Killing his boss didn’t wake any regrets. He believed the old man deserved it. The afternoon sun was still blazing down at his already sweaty form, propping his headphones on his head, he turned the music on full blast and lumbered home with no care in the world.

His right hand carried a memento of his old work, the slaughterhouse’s chainsaw.

As he had come out from a few trees up on the gravel road, a police car was parked by the side of it, the harsh blue and red light blinking to get his attention. Figuring he was caught, he took the headphones off, letting them rest around his neck and stopped in the middle of the road. His hair blew in front of his face as he took heaving breaths, waiting for the piercing pain of a bullet.

Bang! Thud.

What greeted him instead of searing pain, was Charlie standing behind him, brandishing a shotgun and looking down at a police officer with the head blown off. Everything after that is a blur. Vague memories of Charlie talking to him about the plan, the body was laid out on an old table in the basement. He’d never seen this side of his uncle before, so he tuned out.  Words like “ do it”, “no money left”, “can’t afford”, “ butcher him ”, “don’t tell mama” and the worst sentence he’d heard in his life; “ you have to do this, Tommy. For the family. We need meat to survive, boy.” echoed in his mind.

A loud bang coming from outside woke him from his memories. When he just seconds later heard your voice in a shrill pitch, he almost jumped off the floor and hurried out only to see you laying on the floor with half the table over you, the other half leaning against the metallic sink.

Jesus christ…

Being left alone again, your thoughts start racing and your heart along with it.

Where did he go? Why is he here? Does he live here? Is he going to kill you? Rape you? Keep you as a hostage? Was that his family? What? Why? Where?

It’s quiet, but you hear a faint shuffling coming from somewhere close to you. All you can do is lay there and look up at the ceiling, and to your left or right.

On your left you see what looks like a workbench, an apron rests on a hook next to it. It looks well used, stained with a dark and muddy hue of red. There's a sink and dirty towels hanging off the edge of said sink. The sight to your right, however, makes your stomach flip and turn on itself. There’s cleavers, knives, hooks. Huge bins stained with the same red hue as the apron. Putting all the puzzle pieces together, your breathing increases, teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. Thomas, your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know, the one you’ve missed for these two weeks, the one who made you all giggly when he sent you the first full-face selfie of himself… a murderer.

As the adrenaline starts shooting through your body, you try wiggling a bit to see how bolted down you are. Your fastenings are tight and they burn as you try pulling your hands out. The metal just digs into your skin resulting in nasty burns.

Fuck…

That’s when an idea - or rather a small glimpse of hope - blooms in your head. Hopefully, the table is not bolted down. It’s a stupid idea, and you know that if Thomas doesn’t kill you, the table most likely will. But rather the table, than the man you’ve slowly started to fall in love with during the months you’ve talked. Getting killed by Thomas’ hands would haunt you more in the afterlife than anything else.

Gathering all the remaining strength, you throw the entirety of your body not bolted down to the side, doing your best to ignore the burning in your wrists and ankles. The first attempt yielded nothing major, the table moved, yes, but not to the extent you wanted. So you do it again, this time, the table goes down, and you with it. You feel the bone in your leg crack before you feel the brutal pain that explodes through it.

Your scream is high to the point where you feel your vocal cords strain and your voice slowly becoming lower, raspier. The pain is enormous, the throbbing pain in your leg thrumming together with your rapid heart. But - thankfully - your scream summons movement, footsteps, and voices. The most prominent footsteps, heavy ones, belong to Thomas as he’s the first one to your side. Even if you can’t see him, you see his clunky boots and grayish jeans, at least you hope that’s Thomas and no one else. All you do is sob onto the floor, your tears pooling under your chin at the pain radiating from your leg… and the burns around your wrists. It takes a full minute before you see big fingers curling around the edge of the table, a grunt coming from above you before your vision starts flying. He was lifting the table up. A loud, hoarse cry escapes your dry throat as the table thuds back into place, jolting your broken leg.

You're about to scream again when your brain catches up to the cleavers and knives hanging to your right but quickly after the first raspy pitch leaves your throat, a hand clamps over your mouth. The rasping sound is muffled under the big hand and you can feel it moisten due to your breath, but all he does is put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and plead with his eyes for you to stay quiet. Which you don’t, you rasp out a hoarse scream against his palm and keeps shooting daggers at him. My god, are you pissed right now.

Who the fuck are you, and what have done to the Thomas I know, you fucking animal!

You don’t quiet down until you hear that sliding door slide open again and an angry voice rings out. "Thomas! What the fuck is that racket?!"

Thomas jerks his head up as he hears Charlie's voice. He's not sure what to do, his uncle’s footsteps thud down the stairs and soon enough, Thomas sees him in full and exchanges eye contact. "This bitch is still alive? Why haven't you taken care of'er yet, ya idiot?".

Shit uh…

He glances down at your dagger filled eyes while trying to figure how to keep you quiet and talk to his uncle at the same time, needing both hands to do so. He can't sign to Charlie if his hand is clamped over your mouth. Letting out an annoyed grunt, he grabs the nearest towel and shoves it into your mouth as quickly and deep down he can without choking you, making sure you can’t spit it back out. Seeing you so shocked, and angry and… some other kind of emotion he couldn’t place, he got the urge to show you some kind of affection. Resulting in him patting your cheek, his huge hand basically engulfing half your face before walking over to the stairs.

"Well?", Charlie spits out his venomous words. Thomas' hands fidget a bit, nervousness taking a hold of him.

'I know her' The same signs that he kept on repeating earlier, annoyance building inside him knowing that his asshole of an uncle refuses to learn more. Making it almost impossible to have a normal conversation with him. "Listen, Tommy, I. Don’t. Care.", the looks between the men are like venom. "You were 'sposed to get to work on'er before mama gets home. You know damn well how much she hates when the cattle scream." Thomas really can’t help the smirk hiding beneath his mask when he hears that. He glances up the stairs before checking the time on his wristwatch before shrugging, pointing to it, and slowly signing two words he knows Charlie can decipher.

'Fifteen minutes'

That's when Charlie grabs the neck of Thomas' shirt and yanks him forward, the only reason he's able to is that he manages to catch him off guard. His breath reeks of alcohol. A clear cut sign that he’s drunk. "Listen here, you bastard. I've had enough of your defiance today. If you ", he stabs a finger in Thomas' chest at the last word, "don't take care of that girl, I will . And you know damn well I ain't going easy on'er." Charlie releases Thomas with a shove, making him stumble backward slightly. The final words from Charlie’s mouth before leaving the basement stings in Thomas’ heart. "I don't want to see your ugly ass upstairs until she's done for."

Thomas watches him leave and turn towards you, who’s still crying silently on the table.

His heart stings more and more the closer he shuffles to you. Sure, he had had nights where he dreamt that he would meet you. But not like this. Never like this, never here. He did not want to see you on his butcher's block. At the same time, he moves to remove the towel he makes the same shushing motion towards you, with the same pleading eyes as earlier. This time, she nods. And Thomas lets out a sigh of relief. As he removes it, you’re panting, breathing sounding almost more like wheezing squeaks. He goes to rinse the towel under some lukewarm water to pat clean the bloody gash over the eyebrow that got hit to knock you out before getting here. All the time, he feels a burning gaze on him, from eyes that are seemingly watching his every move.

You wince when the damped towel touches your eyebrow, a wound you didn't know you had greeted you with a sting, a small hiss leaving you. Your eyes are glued to the giant man, making sure you see his hands at all times. You want to speak, but your throat is dry and hoarse, figuring out that your earlier screaming has annoyed your vocal cords to a great extent. So all you do is watch him. He, on the other hand, is doing his best to avoid making eye contact with you. And it pisses you off, but at the same time, it relaxes you and makes your heart hurt.

Why the fuck are you avoiding me?!

The thought makes your eyebrows furrow. He’s seen you naked, yet can’t fucking look you in the eyes? You try thrashing a bit with your shoulders to try and get his eyes to yours, but to no avail. His tender way to clean your wound surprises you. This huge killer, this murderer, and straight-up deranged man are making sure not to hurt you, and you can't help but breathe out a laugh.

That's when he - apparently - seems happy with his cleaning and turns his back to you, he turns the water on and it sounds like he's rinsing something. Shutting the water off he moves out of your line of sight. A slight panic arises in your chest at the thought that he might have gone off to fetch whatever tool he seems fit to end your life.  You hear a rummaging sound close by, and then he's back above you, looking down at you. This time, you feel a large hand on your head as he slowly and carefully tilts your head back, your eyes are met with harsh light and you shut them. That overwhelming want and need for him to look into your own eyes die down. Now, you don't want to look at him when he slits your throat.

But he doesn't.

You hear what sounds like a paper wrapping open. Two fingers press on either side of the gash over your eyebrow, a small whimper escapes you at the pinching pain, and then something sticky is attached to you. A band-aid. He had put a bandaid on the cut of your eyebrow. It isn't until you feel his hand leave your head that you open your eyes. And at that moment, your eyes are met with his blue ones. The way he's looking at you makes a tiny bit of your anger and hurt, and fear goes away. His blue eyes are filled to the brim with hurt, and sadness, and confusion. It almost looks like he’s about to burst into tears. He looks broken down.

Thomas fiddles a bit with the paper wrapper of the bandaid after making sure it's secured on your eyebrow and proceeds to look down into your beautiful eyes, your eye color popping in the harsh light. Something in them reflects his own emotions. He doesn’t want this, he punishes himself for not responding to your text messages the past weeks, or that he didn’t reach out to you. What he’s looking at is clear cut torture for him. He wants to cry.

I'm so sorry…

He hears the familiar clacking of his mother's shoes above the both of you, a sigh of relief escapes him. Patting the pockets of his jeans, he makes sure he has his phone and the keys to the basement before he heads over to the stairs. But he stops right before ascending them and looks over to you.

He pulls his phone up, unlocks it swiftly, and goes to his text-to-speech app, making sure the volume is put on high before typing out two words and hitting the speech button. A male voice rings out through the basement.

"I'm sorry"

[bookwormscififan]

Silence and Chest Pains

Buy me a coffee?

Read on AO3!

A/N: Finally finished this! Yay! Here’s how Jackie became a hero.

Warnings: there is a near rape, but nothing really bad happens, so I won’t tag it.

He had always been deaf. He was born deaf, and had learned some sign from a young age.

He was also an inventor. He was always adapting things to make his silent life more practical. From text-to-speech beepers to Morse code wristbands that drummed translated code into his skin, Jackie had tried everything.

His inventions weren’t just for the benefit of himself, however. He made things to help other people, earning him the title ‘Technological Hero’ by the age of twelve. But he never saw himself as the hero. He just helped people to improve their lives.

He had gotten quite used to a life of silence, until he learned about the wonders of sound.

As he was making a delivery of an invention, Jackie found himself in the middle of a dark alleyway, relying on his eyes to know where he was. Marvin had been helping him, but when he stopped to get directions, Jackie had wandered off, getting lost.

The gloom settled in around him, shrouding him in darkness. A single lightbulb at the end of the street flickered, then burst, deepening the blackness surrounding him. A chill ran down his spine, and he silently sank into a crouch as he let his fear take over.

And then his wristband began to drum into his wrist.

.--. --- --- .-. / .-.. --- ... - / ... --- ..- .-.. Poor lost soul.

.-- .... --- / .-.. . ..-. - / -.-- --- ..- / .... . .-. . / .- .-.. .-.. / .- .-.. --- -. . ..--.. Who left you here all alone?

Jackie froze as the code tapped into his skin, and he slowly turned around in search of the source of the text. His eyes went wide as the moonlight illuminated the grinning face of a tall man towering over him. He took a shaky breath, then slowly stood up, waiting for the man to speak so he could read his lips.

“I wonder if you make any noise?” the man mused to himself, moving closer, causing Jackie to step backwards in fear. He kept moving until his back hit the wall, and he cowered under the predatory stare of the man as he moved to be as close to Jackie as possible. His breath stank, hitting Jackie’s face like a punch as he leaned forward.

Just as Jackie closed his eyes, something grabbed the man and pulled him away, leaving Jackie feeling cold and shaking in fear. The wristband on his arm tapped a command into his skin, which made him open his eyes.

.-.. . .- ...- . / -- -.-- / -... .-. --- - .... . .-. / .- .-.. --- -. . Leave my brother alone!

Standing across the alley from him, Marvin towered over the man, who was crumpled on the ground, holding his head. The magician turned to look at Jackie, running over and taking hold of his hands before beginning to sign to him.

Why did you walk off? Are you alright? Jackie read the signs, nodding slowly before raising shaking hands.

Marvin… you saved me… His brother nodded, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and leading him out of the alley. Jackie looked at his brother’s face, reading his lips as they walked away.

“That man is a creep. Next time, please don’t wander off.”

When the brothers returned home, Jackie and Marvin sat in front of the fire together, Jackie wrapped in blankets and leaning against his younger brother. Marvin was sitting deep in thought as he fiddled with a deck of magic cards. Suddenly he put the cards down, tapping Jackie’s shoulder to get his attention.

The code thing isn’t working. You need a better hearing substitute. Jackie read the signs, then raised his own to respond.

What would be better? I can’t hear anything. Hearing aids help those who can hear a little bit, and the code thing works… most of the time, he thought to himself, scratching his ear as he looked aside.

Marvin sighed, then stood up, adjusting his shirt as he looked at Jackie.

If you won’t try to adapt new substitutes, you’re going to get hurt. And I won’t always be there to save your life. Someone might get you from behind, and you won’t hear them coming. He turned to leave the room, stopping to sign one last thing.

You can’t save everyone else if you can’t hear anything. Trust me.

—

Jackie spent the following nights testing and modifying systems, creating new products to aid him in the quest for sound. He modified a digital watch to pick up police radios, pinpointing places for him to help out.

The issue he had was hearing. Nothing was helping him to hear at all, and until he found something, Marvin wouldn’t let him leave the house. Jackie sat in his room day and night, ordering and experimenting with technology, trying to develop a product to suit Marvin’s wishes.

Marvin came into his room with a pair of hearing aids, holding them out to his brother as Jackie looked up. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, then began to speak.

“Apparently these hearing aids amplify sound in a different manner to the other ones.” He shrugged as Jackie looked up at him, then continued.

“Maybe you could adapt it to help you?” His brother took the aids and inspected them, then smiled at Marvin.

Thank you.

—

The design of the hearing aids was complex, but Jackie could figure them out. They amplified outside sounds and projected them into the inner ear, moving deeper than other aids. As Jackie inspected the device, he began to think about ways to adapt them differently to the other trials.

Pulling out a notebook, Jackie began to brainstorm ideas for his next experiment.

—

It took a few days of trial and error before Jackie was confident enough to test the device. Slipping the aids into his ears, he turned on his laptop and prepared to note his findings. Taking a deep breath, he turned on the device and stood up, leaning over his desk to open the window.

His arm knocked over his glass of water, liquid splashing onto his keyboard. As the water seeped into the computer, sparks began to fly out of the device, and Jackie felt a spark go through his body.

As the shock set in, he jumped, arms knocking things off the desk. Jackie froze as he heard his laptop fall, hitting the chair before snapping as it hit the floor. The tinkling of broken glass felt like thousands of needles scratching his head. He winced as the rustling of clothes assaulted his ears, and he clapped his hands over them as he curled into a ball, the sounds of the world beginning to give him a headache.

—

Marvin raced up the stairs the second he heard thumps from Jackie’s room. Outside his brother’s room, waited until the noises stopped before slamming open the door. As he dashed inside, he immediately crouched beside his cowering sibling.

“Jackie, are you alright? Jackie!” He tapped Jackie’s shoulder, leaning back as his brother stared at him with wide eyes. He took a deep breath, calming his hammering heart, then raised his hands slowly to his ears and cleared his throat.

“Loud…” his voice was croaky, evidence that he’d never used it before, however his pronunciation was clear, proof of his years of mimicking Marvin’s speech patterns. His brother gently placed his hands over Jackie’s ears, carefully removing the hearing aids and placing them on the floor.

When Jackie was looking at him again, he began to talk.

“Are you alright now? Is there anything I can do?” His brother paused, looking to the side as he thought, then he carefully put the hearing aids back in, rolling his finger along the back of the device to turn the volume down.

Clearing his throat, Jackie looked at his brother.

“Will you… take me to… test these?”

—

The brothers wandered around the park, Marvin holding Jackie’s hand and telling him the names of the sounds he heard. Despite it being a weekend, Jackie was grateful that the park was relatively empty, as he wasn’t as overwhelmed by the noises.

Marvin sat him down under a tree, well away from other people, and leaned against his older brother. Jackie closed his eyes, bathing in the new sounds, before Marvin tapped his arm. He looked down, seeing a question in his brother’s eyes.

“How are you able to talk so well? You haven’t spoken in all the years I’ve known you.” The older sibling smiled, motioning to his eyes as he began to speak.

“I watched you talk. When you would sleep, I’d imitate everything I saw you saying. I may have been deaf, but I know how to speak.” He ruffled his brother’s hair lovingly, smile widening as the sounds of Marvin’s laughter graced his ears.

The duo sat under the tree a while longer, listening to the world pass by, until Marvin suggested looking for somewhere to eat dinner. As they stood up, Jackie removed his hearing aids and put them in his pocket, shrugging to Marvin as the younger sibling gave him a questioning look. He pointed to his head, giving a short sign that he was getting a headache.

—

As Marvin and Jackie walked down an alley on their way home, a presence made itself known with an electrical charge to Marvin’s leg, causing him to grab Jackie’s arm on his way down. Jackie looked at Marvin, then behind them to find the man from so long ago, smiling at him.

“You’ve come back. I wondered if I’d get to see you again,” Jackie read, watching the nicotine-stained lips move. The man moved closer, taser flickering in his hand, before pressing the device into Jackie’s chest, causing him to shake as electricity coursed through him.

He fell, watching as Marvin feebly reached for something to help him up.

—

Marvin stood shakily, readying his hands as he turned toward the intruder.

“Don’t touch my brother. You can hurt me, harm me, but if you touch my brother again… I’ll kill you.” The man just laughed, stepping closer before dropping his weapon as Marvin delivered a blow to his inner elbow.

—

Jackie watched, occasionally twitching, as his brother fought the intruder. He closed his eyes as a surge of heat rolled through his body, then an immense pressure built behind his ears before bursting, and he jumped as he suddenly heard the sounds of the fight.

He crawled to a stand, hand against his chest as his other hand pressed against his ear. Something in that taser had made his hearing return, and he wanted to help.

—

Marvin stared as Jackie joined the battle, dodging the attacks with a speed only achieved by… a sense of hearing. His eyes widened as he looked at the taser on the ground, and began to connect the dots.

As the man stumbled away, Marvin hooked an arm under Jackie’s own and helped him back home.

—

“That taser gave you your hearing, didn’t it?” He asked as soon as the siblings returned home. Jackie paused, turning to Marvin with wide eyes. He glanced away, rubbing his arm uncomfortably as he began to speak.

“I think so. I don’t really understand how, but I could hear things suddenly.” Marvin nodded, thinking, before he looked decidedly at Jackie.

“We’re getting a hearing test tomorrow. Keep working on the hearing device; maybe it can help in a different way.”

—

The hearing test revealed that Jackie’s hearing was about 75% of the level that the average person had. When Marvin came to pick him up, the older sibling was standing outside the clinic with his hearing aids in.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d need those,” he commented as he hugged his brother.

“I modified them last night,” Jackie replied, taking one side out and handing it to Marvin.

“Test it. I programmed it to work in higher frequency chirps and beeps, and developed my own code to interpret them. I can hear things from a distance, and figure out what’s going on if I really want to.”

Marvin smiled as the words Jackie said were translated to lines of beeps that he couldn’t understand, then moved to hand the device back.

“Keep that side. I’ve got this one, and both of them in give me a headache.”

—

Months after the hearing test, Jackie was sitting at his desk, fiddling with his digital watch. Marvin came into the room, holding a box of magic tricks, and sat on his bed.

“What are you doing, Jackie?” The elder sibling leaned back, holding the device as he rubbed his eyes.

“Developing something. I’m looking into helping people.” He held the device up toward Marvin, who watched as sever blinking lights flashed over a map of the town. He looked at his brother, whose eyes were shining.

“I’m going to be a hero.”

[magicalsalamander]

Flowers that Speak Poetry

Pairing: BTS Seokjin  ⇆ Reader

Genre: Fluff | Angst | Smut | Alien | Childhood friends | Tattoo artist |

Summary: Butterflies are one thing, but flowers and butterflies bring prosperity. The Butterfly, a servant to the Flower Inn, home to Anemonas of Anisum, was your home and it was all you knew. However, home for you lied across the yard into the next. In the shadows, Jin painted with needles on bodies, but for you, he painted with brushes butterflies on your skin. Like the butterflies, your heart fluttered when you were with him, but he always called you a child and treated you often as such. However, will your heart always be able to flutter when another offers to buy you from the Inn?

Warning: Rated Mature; explicit language, war imagery/mentions, species-ism(?)/racism(?) -alien vs humans, mentions of alcohol and consumption, slavery, prostitution, tattooing is illegal, trafficking, bullying, abandonment, insecurity in body image, death of minor charactors, it’s alien, dom/sub implications, possessive behavior, soulmates(ish), virgin reader, unprotected sex, fingering and riding.

Words: 25.6K

A/N: Story inspired by the story Mademoiselle Butterfly by Ogura Akane but with its own twist. I’ve read this story when I was younger, and it’s been a favorite for a long time, so I wanted to pay homage to it. I really recommend you read the story after you read this, please. I’m sorry for the delayed release AND GOING UP UNEDITED. Header image edited by me, but I don’t own the photo. Thank you for reading!

masterlist | moodboard

*UNEDITED*

Unceremoniously the wooden screen door slid open, rattling gently as you peered inside inconspicuously. You had heard shouts, even from within the Flower Inn, and felt the tickling need to check it out. Within the living room, the man lying, who had been making a hideous face in the light of pain, startled as he caught you suppressing a laugh. “HEY! Who are yo-ugh!” Grunting at the pain you giggled harder at his inability to complete his thoughts. “Brat, don’t laugh!” He finished that shout with a yowl as the needle pricked him deeper. You covered your mouth suffocating another chuckle.

Ironically the appearance of the customer was exactly as you predicted. He was burly, older, scared from civil battle, maybe not from the capital because of the slight tone in his scream. Human men were always the type to wail like a woman in labor while getting tattooed.

The tougher they are on the outside the weaker their inner heart is.

With a heavy sigh Jin pressed down on the man with his free hand harder, knee jerking to hold him but pausing. “Please don’t move.” The man whined grumbling unsavory words underneath his breath relaxing for a moment before Jin continued to poke the remaining ink of the needle into the outline.

You glanced at the tattoo as Jin turned and dipped his needle tipped stick back into black ink. “Don’t disturb me. I’m in the middle of work right now, Butterfly.” You already could imagine the lighthearted glare he wished he could’ve spared over his shoulder at you. You blatantly disregard the warning tone and carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. Lowering your white canvas apron, you had been using as a makeshift coat, you shook off the droplets of rain on the porch then slipped it back on knotting it in the front. You smoothed out your linen navy skirt, before you placed a docile hand over your chest and bowed forth dramatically. You softly apologized to the customer in your sweetest tone then you relaxed against the doorframe.

Heavy rain fell off the black clay tiles of the roof creating a sporadic cascade of water. The stone steps leading up to the porch were stained a dark grey as water pooled on their surface. The dark wood of Jin’s home appeared darker, but the white walls even brighter as the grey clouds looming over dispersed light. Borgo was archived by old buildings built from when the first humans settled on Anisa seven hundred years ago. You had heard that humans, your species, came from a planet called Earth. The planet itself was gone, but the few human languages spoken was the only true remainder of old Earth on Anise. Guerrian was quickly replacing the old tongue with the new regime’s customs.

Jin was a man of his work, requiring peace and quiet—then there was you. He was used to your shenanigans, they never phased him anymore; fourteen years of familiarity tends to create a tolerance for chaos. He raised a brow expectantly at you, but you held his gaze as you further relaxed against the doorframe, slumping into your spot in spite. You might even grow roots there if you so felt like it. Sighing heavily, he rolled his eyes, he returned to his work receiving a hiss as he began tattooing again. A small smile pulled at your lips in your small victory.

You took a deep breath in, falling into a natural rhythm you had with Jin. The crisp, autumn air was causing the tip of your nose to inflame in response to the chilled, wet air. It was refreshing compared to the air within the Inn. Something about this air was completely different from just over the fence. Even the way the rain hit his roof was different. You smiled at the tree that sat in Jin’s yard as most of the leaves had turned auburn. It was as if they had absorbed the molten heat from the previous summer and it left a scar in place of the once vibrant green. It was all we had to hold from the blistering summer as it had long past and it only reminded you that winter was quickly approaching. You wondered if Earth had similar seasons like you do on Anise.

Turning away from the yard you asked habitually. “Can I get one next Jin?”

“No.” Short and sharp.

You chuckled under your breath.

For now, you were content to sit and watch his wide shoulders that narrowed to his waist as he meticulously worked on the tattoo. Jin’s work was always incredible, to think it came from him poking a needle in and producing a masterpiece. A dragon, so Jin called it, curved around the man’s back with the face of the beast between his shoulder blades. You remember seeing the dragon piece in his sketchbook and having to ask him what that was. Apparently, it was an ancient Earth beast that used to roam. He had proven it with an old book he had that his grandpa had left him that had all types of creatures that used to live on Earth.

You changed your mind after that, you were glad you didn’t live on Earth or ever saw it.

It was when the man shifted his head, burying it in his elbow suppressing groans that you noticed his hair was cut short. It was a fresh cut. Would this man’s tattoo heal in time? Your chest squeezed at an even more churning though. Would Jin ever have to cut his hair short too? The large tattoo meant that he feared the red letter more than the needle. You knew it though, the fear was inevitable, weren’t all young men when they neared thirty? If they lived long enough to see it that is.

You brushed the thoughts away, physically dusting yourself off with shooing sounds to accompany it like you were warding off evil. It was no use worrying about that when there’s no letter in hand.

Jin finally spared a glance over his shoulder, the customer sighing in relief for a short break. “Butterfly.”

You froze, the look he gave you had your heart doing somersaults; his gaze wasn’t unique or uncharacteristic, it was simply him existing, but his cordial calmness gave him this ethereal command. Butterflies within your stomach fluttering to their content enticed by the honey tone of his voice. His black hair was parted but the strands curved and hung off his forehead outlining his honey skin. The long, lilac robe made that went to his knees if he stood was made of silk, the white collar that formed a V from the crossing of the lapels framed his neck. His black pants accompany the ensemble made of the same material of his robe. He told you his outfits were traditional. It was what his grandpa wore, so would he.

You couldn’t help the tinge of heat that rose to your cheeks as he called your name again and you met his raised brow.

For sure he had caught you staring.

“They’re calling you.”

“No, they did’n—.” Your lips formed a pout, although the motion didn’t clog your ears as you wish they had been.

From next door, the Flower Inn, Cherry was out in the yard shouting, “Butterfly! I can’t believe I’m standing in the rain for this girl! Butterfly!”

Your shoulders sunk.  

Cherry’s voice grew louder, “BUTTERFLY! I swear to the gods if you are at Kim’s and not doing YOUR CHORES—!” Her booming voice sent a shiver down your spine and you were at attention immediately not caring to hear the rest of what she had to say. There was only one Anemona you feared and that was Cherry… second to the Mistress, and if she found out you were here…

You shot up from your spot!

“I’ll be back later Jin!” You paused struggling to pull your apron back over your head. ”Bye Mister! Come back safe!”

The man receiving the tattoo found it upon himself to chuckle and waved at you as you scurried across the yard holding up your skirt to keep it from getting wet while still holding your apron over your head. You hopped over the fence with slightly struggle nearly tripping as your skirt caught on a branch of a bush. They could hear murmurs between you and Cherry as you shouted, “I’m okay! I’m good—no, I didn’t trip Cherry. All good! Ah, wait, Cherry! Stop pulling me, I’ll come willingly—!” Resounding giggles filtered through as you wiggled out of her grabbing your ear. You ran towards the Inn with Cherry shouting about you running off again.

The man rested his head on his forearm chuckling lightly. “She’s cute. Is she an Anemone?”

Dipping his needle in the viscous ink he let it drip off like his smile. “No, she’s a child.”

The customer laughed, “A child? She looks ripe to me.”

He winced, convulsed in pain, then shouted colorful profanities he couldn’t understand.

Jin finally moved his knee up and gently placing it on the man’s lower back only using only some strength. His black eyes evolved as his pupils bursted orange. “YAH, I said don’t move! How many times do I have to tell you. Don’t make me tell you again!” He dug his knee in a bit for emphasis.

The customer whimpered burying his face further into their elbow.

------------------------------

Fits of giggles were loud through the screen doors as loud grunts and boisterous drunk laughter followed. You dropped the serving tray back in the kitchen staring longingly outside the kitchen window. The cooks were busy with their backs turned and other servant girls were on route. You eyed the fresh pastries on the table and quickly slipped a few onto a napkin and tucked them away in your apron pocket. They were so warm as if you had put a warm stone in your pocket. The thought alone made you shimmy in place.

Quick on your feet you dashed out of the kitchen. You peered down the hall waiting for signs of stirring, but quickly you realized it was clear. The multicolored lanterns hanging from the ceiling were bathing the hall in warm light and flickered as you sped by. You crept down the hall down towards the servant’s quarters; your newest escape route after getting chewed out by Cherry. Your feet were light on the polished wooden floor that was so glossy it twinkled thanks to your handiwork. A small smile pulled your lips imaging the smile from Jin when he takes a bite. Should you have swiped more?

Eyes widening you plastered yourself in a crevice against the wall behind a dresser as an Anemona stumbled out of a hosting room with a customer. The customer’s cheeks were red and high in happiness as he drunkenly laughed. His pupils were dilated and red, all the same, but you missed it in his sudden movement. In a blink of an eye he had her pressed up against the wall on the other side of you. They shared a lasting kiss, sounds emanating from both of their throats and your cheeks would’ve flushed if it was the first time you had seen it; being twenty-three you had seen more than a pure eye could handle over the past decade and some. You waited for them to stumble down the hall towards her room. You sunk further into the shadows as the dresser jostled as he stumbled. In a husky laugh he pressed her up against the wall breathing hotly on her neck. Curiosity got the best of you as you leaned over gripping on the dresser as you peered over. Your eyes widen as big as saucers. You recognized her, one of the thirty Anemona that worked at the Inn, but what was her name? Was it, you scrunched your brows…Daisy? No. You wrestled through the countless names, but none felt right. You weren’t close to anyone though. Cherry was the only one you spoke to regularly. Well…spoke to was a loose term around these parts.

You slunk back as her eyes flickered about his face. He attempted to whisper but instead spoke loudly. “Let me buy you, Lily.”

She twirled the hair at the nape of his neck with well-manicured fingers, “What can you give me Sir?”

“I am a Guerra of ranking! I can give you anything. Get you out of this Inn, of Borgo, and into my palace.”

She giggled. “Palace? You live in the palace?” He hummed sinking into her neck and taking a loud sniff. She pets the back of his hair, “Buy me then. I want it all.”

He growled full of lust, “But first let me see you in your room.”

She giggled taking his hand as they raced by you, his figure appeared like a large shadow in his haste as they whisking away upstairs towards the second and third floor rooms. You couldn’t remember which one was hers. At some point so many women had passed through these walls that you didn’t bother learning their names. Especially when a man would moan it in ecstasy. You knew they were all going to be bought by someone. You sighed heavily when their footsteps disappeared. Third floor, they went to the third floor.

You may not have known her name, but you knew of her. Had seen her face countless times. You knew she was in love with the boy who worked in the kitchen, the one that made the pastries. You caught glimpses of them when they thought they weren’t being seen. After you leaned against the door one day, catching him with a dreamy expression after she left the kitchen. You struck a deal with him; he’d make extra pastries just for you as long as you kept his affair a secret. Suddenly the pastries in your pocket didn’t feel so warm. You couldn’t lift your gaze as you stared at the floor feeling almost paralyzed. In this world, your world, moments like these you’re reminded you have a debt to pay. There wasn’t room for choice. You had a debt to pay just as much as everyone else.

Anise was a planet you used to call home until it was torn apart. It was constantly at war as you had heard from the whispers of elders and retold stories of their parents. Years ago, your father never returned after he was forced to cut his hair short. His red letter on the table as his hair surrounded it. He joined the army to fight in the uprising against the Guerra, quietly leaving that night. It was your mother, two siblings and you until your town was affected by the war. Guerra were known as true warriors, a fearless and fierce race. No one knew of them; galaxies far and wide had never heard of them until they began integrating and conquering planets. Quickly they became the feared from the edge of the universe, but what was even more unnerving that they looked human like.

You remember in flashes the night when they came to Silva, of them in packs, tall, ominous shadows with red pupils, swords and fist a light as you huddled under the window with your family. You remember seeing the flames reflected in your mother’s eyes, before it felt too warm where you hid.

Your mother took you and your siblings and escaping Silva, but in the new town your mother grew a debt despite working herself to the bone trying to feed you and your siblings. You were the oldest. Clearly you can recall the warmth of her hand, the grey sky, and the damp soil as she walked you through the town of to the merchant. With tears streaming down her face as you pleaded with her, she promised to come back for you. She promised, but promises were never forever.

The merchant took you to Anisum, the capital overtaken from the humans by the Guerra a hundred years before you, even though you put up a fight. She was going to come back for you, but how was your mom supposed to find you if you were in Anisum? You don’t remember much besides the hunger pains, the cold nights in Winter as you sat in back of the horse drawn cart next to other young human girls and boys. The cart pulled up next to places across the capital and into nearly every district. The kids dismounted as the merchant bargained with the shop owners or people. You were the last in the cart. In the district of Borgo, the merchant pulled up an Inn, the Flower Inn, the building silhouetted in darkness from the twilight hours, but from the windows of the three floors emanated light. The entrance door clanked open as the heavy doors swung open and the Mistress stepped out onto the street. The merchant nodded and she quirked a brow. Your head was tipped back her index under your chin as she looked you over. She said nothing about your runny nose or tears slipping from your eyes. Her gaze was chilling as it was unreadable and stoic, yet you couldn’t stop crying. Quietly she turned and placed a few coins in the merchant’s hand, then the merchant shoved you out of the cart. You struggled to get up, your weak knees and limbs were tired. The wheels of the cart turned as the merchant left. The Mistress went inside and your elbow was yanked until you stood. You gazed at the person picking you up, although at the time you had no idea, it was Cherry, a human who just a few years older than you. “Come inside, it’s cold. There’s much work to do.”

You nodded wiping your face and you followed her inside Flower Inn.

Although at the time you were none the wiser, but you grew to realize where you were sold to. Borgo, the city of the forgotten, where the humans are of the servant class and the Guerra gain pleasure. It’s the only district between the divided land of humans and Guerra where both species roam freely. The Flower Inn was no stranger to pleasure, entertaining and catering to Guerra and wealthy human alike, as long as they had money they were welcomed.

The sound of giggles brought you from your memories. Your eyebrows knitted as you sighed at the reality of the rhythmic thumping coming from the ceiling. You’re going to have to do extensive laundry after the amount of council members that decided to visit tonight to celebrate something you couldn’t bother to remember. Emerging from the shadows you crept down the dimly light hall until you snuck into the shadows again and slipped outside. Chirping from nightcrawlers greeted you in symphony and the cold night air had you shivering instantly. You looked up to the night sky the two moons shining bright in the east and the third, just a small after image, in the western sky. Feeling a chilled breeze, you pulled your arms tighter around you uselessly. The night air always dropped towards freezing, temperature dropping dramatically as soon as the sunset. You worked fast across the yard as you made your way into the neighboring yard, breath near visible. The tree in his yard was your guide as the green leaves glowed golden softly. The midrib and veins of the leaves had a bioluminescence, coming to life at night from the stored solar energy during the day. It was the only tree in Borgo that did that, it was like it was alive. Like his tree, scattered warm light was visible from the frosted glass of his screen doors and windows. You instinctually smiled, he was still awake. You nearly jogged up to his porch, kicking your shoes off before you climbed up onto the porch leaving your shoes on the stone steps. You opened the never locked door without prompting finding Jin sitting in front of a table on the floor painting another sketch. Warmth instantly embraced you like you were sitting in front of a furnace.

“Jin, I’m home!” You teased.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”

You sighed slipping down next to him. “Thanks for the welcoming. It’s great to see you too Jin.” When he didn’t humor you, you continued on a small rant resting your chin on the table. “They’re already drunk. At this point those men are searching for something else besides alcohol. I could hear the coins dropping form their satchels with every fake giggle.” You rolled your eyes, “Tell me Jin, are men that simple that a single laugh can empty a man’s wallet?”

He laughed at that breaking his concentration, causing you to smile at the squeaky sound. You quickly fished out the goodies that were still steaming. “I brought you some Junq tarts.” You handed him one before you took one.

He grabbed your wrist faster than your eyes could process his movement as you brought the pastry to your lips. His hand was stained black from his ink. Your eyes flickered from the treat to his with your mouth still wide open. He glared at you, “Did you eat, or did you skip again?”

Your mouth clamped shut as you blushed. You tried ignoring his question by still attempted to bring the pastry so sweetly calling your name to your mouth. His grip on you tightened almost painfully as he plucked it out of your hand setting it away from you, including his. He’s learned from experience. You whined defeatedly rubbing your wrist dramatically. “Fine. No. It got too busy I didn’t have the time.” The Mistress had informed you and all other staff an hour before the arrival of the Guerrian government officials. To say you were busy was an understatement, and your stomach grumbled loudly against your will in convenient timing. A pastry wouldn’t kill you, but Jin always wanted you to eat properly. He laughed as he got up, adjusting his silk, blue robe taking the treats with him as he went to the kitchen to prepare you a meal. He grumbled, “Now I have to start a fire.” You longingly stretched out your hand as you watched him take the treats away.

You were nearly drooling when Jin had placed food in front of you. You looked to him with gleaming eyes and thanked him for the meal. That was another thing Jin was great at. He could cook a delicious meal out of the simplest ingredients. His meals were worthy of being served at a royals table. You moaned at the first bite of food as the bite of braised meat and rucke grain nearly melted in your mouth. He gazed at you with a smile before he picked up his brush and began painting again. You nearly shoveled the food in your mouth choking on how delicious it was. He patted your back, “Slow down, there’s more in the kitchen. No one is going to take your food.” Your cheeks flushed as you sipped on water clearing your throat. You nodded and began asking him about his day. You ate slower, keeping conversation with the background being accompanied by soft hum of distance music from the Inn.

After nearly licking your plates clean, not leaving a single grain of rucke, you rolled over onto your back snatching a cushion to rest your head on. You watched Jin as he carefully dragged his brush on the paper, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You felt content, you could fall asleep. Fighting off sleep you sat up, all be it slower because of your full stomach. Softly you called to him to gain his attention, “Jin~Jin, Jin-ie.” You held out your wrist and forearm for him. “Draw something for me.” He sighed taking your hand gently into his, the stains of ink only randomly on the tips of his fingers. His long, slim fingers grazing over your soft skin almost medically, but you brightened thinking how delicate he always was with you. His hands were always warm, but it was just something that was always true for him. Your heart was racing, and you tried your best to suppress it.

“The usual?” You nodded.

He dipped the brush and began carefully painting. It sent a small shivers down your spine as the cool ink touched your skin.

You had met Jin fourteen years ago when you were nine and he was thirteen. The house was originally owned by his grandfather, but he had passed six years ago. Jin took over the family business, continuing to practice although tattooing was considered illegal; In Borgo, anything went, as long as the officials who cared didn’t catch you. Customers still came.

The first week at the Inn, Cherry pushed you out the entrance tossing you a satchel of coins with a list of things to pick up from the market. Feeling lost you trudged your way towards the street following the makeshift map Cherry had drawn out for you. Confused at the simple line drawing, you paused when out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of movement coming from the house across the Inn. As you peered over the fence like a bandit, you saw a boy sitting on the porch hunched over a floor table. He looked to be very concentrated in what he was doing. You couldn’t help your curiosity as you wanted to see what he was doing, but you underestimated the strength of the fence. It collapsed forward into his yard and you screamed, faceplanting into grass and bushes. Startled he dropped his brush and rushed over to you helping you up, nearly fishing you out of the bushes. He laughed once he realized you were okay. You forgot about your pain as you were surprised by the sound of his laugh. It was unique and it reminded you of when you polished the floors. Your face had blade of grass and dirt stuck to it. He crouched down then brushed it off. You felt like a brief zap of static shock zip through you at his soft touch. When your eyes met his, your heart skipped a beat, his near black eyes were captivating. He was handsome and if your face wasn’t flushed before it was then. Immediately you wanted to run from embarrassment, but he introduced himself with a full smile. After a confession of why you were lurking at his fence, he showed you what he was working on. It was a sketch of a butterfly. Your eyes lit up and immediately. He watched you carefully as you turned to him holding the paper. “It’s beautiful.”

Butterfly…it all started with a butterfly.

After persuasion and consistent pestering, you wanted a picture for yourself. Instead of giving you a sketch Jin would practice painting butterflies on your arm. A simple design his grandfather gave him to do over and over again. His grandfather always emphasized the basics; a foundation was important. Over the years it became more intricate as Jin became more skilled, but it was always a butterfly for you. You would come back to the Inn and the other girls began calling you Butterfly. Your real name was to never be spoken at the Inn, it was to be forgotten, erased…except Jin knew of it. He was the only one that knew you were Y/N Y/L/N, Butterfly.

Just being by his side…you were happy.

Your forehead was nearly resting on his. His scent was surrounding you like a warm embrace, a mix of the smell of ink and something floral. He looked up and your faces were only inches apart. You held his gaze, his eyes full of unspoken adoration. Your eyes dipped to his lips as he licked them, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. You missed the rose gold color blooming in his pupils as he closed his eyes. He pulled away placing the paint brush back onto the holder. “There.”

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you played it off by checking out his drawing. Had he thrown another log into the oven? It was two butterflies that were fluttering towards you. It was beautiful. You looked up and Jin was already watching you, eyes black but with glimmers of gold that must’ve reflected from the lantern on his table. Your eyes flickered to his lips again before you looked down at your wrist. Surely were imagining what you were feeling just now.

“Thank you Jin.”

He hummed, flicking his eyes low as he waited for all the emerging and existing color to drain before letting go.

A smirk bloomed on your face, “Now, about the Junq treats.”

He laughed, a devious expression setting on his features as he looked up. You knew that look. You saw it coming before his comment. “What do you think held me over in the kitchen while I cooked for you.”

Your jaw drop, “No. No you didn’t Jin! You didn’t! You didn’t eat them all.”

He stuck his tongue out at you.

“JIN!”

Muted sliver of silver and golden light peeked through the door as you cracked open one of the sliding doors. Jin was sound asleep on his floor futon mattress with a single arm strung out from his thick, pink comforter. Pink due to a mistake you had made, but that wasn’t for discussion. The back of his hand stained black from dried ink with splatters on his forearm. Like a serpent it slithers back into his comforter as he groaned in protest when you opened one door completely letting in the bright afternoon light into the once dark room. Particles of dust floated through light that illuminated him before you pushed both doors open. He flipped over on his futon away from you, covering his face back into his pillow and pulling his comforter over his head. Tussles of his hair was still poking out like weeds.  

“Kim Seokjin, it’s noon already! Get up.”

He groaned, voice husky from sleep. “Nooo.”

You left the doors purposefully open, letting in the cold air even though it was causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. The cold was one of the only way you found you could rouse him from sleep, Summers were always more difficult and you had to get creative then. He groaned tucking himself deeper into his comforter on the futon, weeds disappearing. Your nose scrunched at the strong smell of alcohol. You picked up dishes and empty bottles of alcohol before you dropped them off where they belonged. You knew he had his friends over the previous night. It was rare that all his friends could visit. When he had told you they were coming you were excited. As usually he rolled his eyes at you mumbling to himself. The six of them always treated you like a sister and brought souvenirs from their travels. You were too busy the previous night working. Correction. You attempted to sneak out but were caught red handed by Cherry. You were monitored for the rest of the night and had to help clean up all the hosting rooms as well as punishment.

You really needed a better method.

With your hands on your hips, you poked at his back with your foot nearly rocking him. “Yah! Get up. It’s noon! You have to get up.” He just wiggled with your shoving. Frustrated at the lack of progress you got on your knees attempting to yank the blanket off. “Jin, wake up! You have to start the day. Don’t you have customer’s today?”

Suddenly he rolled onto his back and grabbed you, wrapping his arm around your waist. With a late scream he dragged you down onto the futon next to him. His very warm breath tickled your face as he moaned. “Sleeeeep.”

Your face heated and your heart was beating fast. You swallowed as you tried pushing against his firm chest. That was something interesting about Jin you had never seen him exercise, yet from the glimpses you got of his arms during the summer, he was built and toned. He slowly began slumping over you holding you down. He was heavy. He nearly was laying on top of you as he held you within his embrace tighter. He didn’t budge as much as you tried. You felt like you were going to combust from your heart alone, but was he running a fever? You froze as he tucked his head into your neck. His lips were grazing your skin. He huffed hot air onto your neck. “Sleeeep, Butterfly, pleaasse.”

“J-J-Jin.”

He lifted his head up from where it was tucked in your neck pouting. You couldn’t help the chuckle as you cupped his cheek stroking just under his eye. He made a sound that was akin to a purr. Even when he just woke up he was still handsome. He blinked sleepily at you and you saw a flash of yellow in his eyes. It happened so quick you nearly missed it, but you couldn’t second guess it.  

“JIN!” A booming voice interrupted as the door opened. The man gasped closing the door immediately, “Sorry! I didn’t know you had someone over!”

Jin inhaled deeply before he got up, mumbling angrily, “No one will let me sleep today.” You laid their blinking hand still in the position it was stroking his cheek. You hadn’t even realized you had cupped his cheek. “Jimin, it’s okay. It’s just Butterfly.” You winced. Your hands slowly curled and lowered to your chest. It shouldn’t have hurt; he always called you a child and treated you like one. You brought your knees to your chest before you sat up.

Jimin opened the door again and peeked inside his brown hair making an appearance first. His eyes formed half-moons with his short smile as he greeted you and you politely returned it. He was one of the six. Jin was an isolationist, but somehow, he had a close tight knit group of friends. Out of all of them, Jimin was the least you knew about. He was enigmatic only coming in and leaving as far as you were aware.

“Why are you here Jimin?”

“I have an appointment.”

Jin raised a brow, hair still a voluminous bird’s nest. “What?”

Jimin chuckled, eyes turning into halfmoons. “Ah, you’re finally showing your age if you can’t remember last night. Lay off the partying old man will ya.”

A playful growl bubbled in Jin as he yapped neck elongating to spit out a monologue. Jimin continued cutting him short, “I’m actually late, but I knew you’d still be asleep. You agreed last night that you would finish my tattoo.”

Jin grumbled, rubbing his face to dispel sleep, going along with it. “Alright, alright, let me get set up.” He looked over to you, “Butterfly, can you make some tea for us?”

You nodded and made your way over to the kitchen. You missed the glance that Jimin gave you as you walked past him.

You sighed as you brewed tea, his words echoing in your mind. The way he was looking at you earlier had your heart fluttering, but now it was flatlining. You were just a servant at an Anemone house none the less. Jin…was different, it was evident in his facial structure. He was gorgeous and he could have any woman he wanted. Of course, he wouldn’t want a, a—child like you.

When the water was boiling you dropped in tea leaves and watched them sink. Standing there for a moment you let it steep. Placing cups on a tray and the kettle you brought out the tea. With practiced ease you maneuvered like you always do at twilight hours. Jimin was already sitting in the cleared room at the floor table. You placed the tray on the table and began serving with both hands. Jimin stared at you as you poured him tea as well as an awaiting cup for Jin. He couldn’t help admiring your gentleness.

“Thank you Butterfly.” You looked up at him with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes that had him returning it.

“I’m taking my leave.” You gathered the skirt of your dress as you closed the porch door behind you without sparing a glance.

Jin came back in the room with jars of ink and tools. Jimin raised a brow as he sipped loudly at his tea. “Is she okay?”

Jin quirked a brow not catching on as he set up his inks and needle. His eyebrows scrunched in contemplation before settling, “Mhmm-yeah, why?”

Jimin shrugged, setting his tea down. “I guess it’s just been a while since I’ve seen her.”

It was quiet except for the ceramic clinking and the tapping of tools as Jin maneuvered.

“You know Hoseok has his eye on a girl in that house, but you know how his parents are. They’re trying to push a girl from the upper side, some sort of alliance thing.”

Jin hummed as if to say he was listening, but his head was still throbbing lightly from the hangover sitting in. He looked around and sighed in relief seeing the tea cup as he took a large gulp.

“—it’ll only be a matter of time before she becomes an Anemona.”

“What?” Jin questioned tuning in to Jimin’s chatter, setting down the empty cup.

“Butterfly. It’s only time before that Mistress makes her one too. Human women are now becoming a commodity. The human population is dwindling and the Uppers are seeing to it by buying them.”

“No.”

Jimin shrugged, “That’s a shame—she’d earn a lot if she did. She’s grown up really well. Maybe I—.”

Jin glared at him, burgundy tinging within his pupil, “Don’t you dare. I know what you do with women.”

Jimin chuckled his nails clinking against the ceramic cup. “Why not? She’s grown and can decide for herself.”

Jin glared, opening his jars more intensely than necessarily. “She’s a child! she doesn’t need you and your playboy ways to taint her.”

Jimin laughed nearly falling over. “Child? When are you going to stop using that excuse. I mean Jin, do your eyes work properly? She’s far from being a child anymore.” Ignoring the glare sent his way, Jimin continued, but near mumbling it. ”Honestly, she’s prettier than any of those girls in that house, you know it. She could open her own Inn if she wanted.”

“Why don’t you buy her then?”

Silence answered Jimin back as he had expected. Jin curling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Alright, ready. Lay down.”

Jimin eagerly removed his jacket and shirt exposing the crane tattoo that was partially done on his back. Jimin settled down excited. Jin wondered for a moment how he wasn’t hungover, but then quickly he remembered Jimin’s tolerance level was unmatched. He can’t even remember what happened last night. Humans could always consume fermented drinks as if it was their job—especially Jimin.

After mapping out the rest in his head, Jin dipped the needle into black ink swirling it around for a moment. He moved over to Jimin, pressing down harder than necessary and stabbed into his skin. “OU-OW-OWOWOWCH—shhh---HHH!” Jimin cried out, teeth clenched and lower lips wiggling.

Jin shrugged, smacking his friend’s arm as if he hadn’t put extra force into the prick. “Don’t move.”

Jimin glared at him before yelping again. “JIN! THAT HURTS!”

You hung up the last of the laundry as you hummed a tune Jin had been humming recently to keep yourself awake. You hadn’t slept well last night as nightmares had clouded your dreams with shadow men with red eyes and images of your mother being pulled away by them disturbed you. It all was in flashes and you can’t remember much of it, but each time you closed your eyes again it played again.

You hummed louder to yourself.  

Snowflakes fall down

And get farther away little by little

I miss you (I miss you)

I miss you (I miss you)

How long do I have to wait

And how many sleepless nights do I have to spend

To see you (to see you)

To meet you (to meet you)

You smirked at the thought of when you had caught him mindlessly singing it as he cooked dinner for the both of you the other day. Yoongi had been working on producing the piece and had come over to show it to Jin weeks before, you just happen to be there. You wiped the sweat from your brow, the sun was beaming down strong in the sky. All the ice had melted, and the flora and plants were anew—spring had arrived.

You paused as you picked up another clean piece of bedding then shaking it out. You felt their stares before you met their upturned chins as Anemonas walked by. You stared wistfully; they were gorgeous with dresses made of silk like fabric that you were sure was expensive and hair carefully done so that there wasn’t a stray strand. They looked like they’ve never cleaned or worked a day in their life. They walked with poise and grace that only high tiered Anemona could ever poise. It almost seemed like they were gliding across the floors. They were beautiful and your hands were calloused.

They smirked and near snorted when they caught you staring. You turned away continuing to adjust the fabric, but your ears were still alert. You barely picked up the whispers between them.

“That’s the one that bothers the artist? How pitiful.”

“Doesn’t she know her place?”

“You think he uses her?”

“Have you seen him? He’d never go for her. You’re more suited for him.” They giggled as they kept walking.

Your expression flattened but you worked to keep your face neutral as if you hadn’t heard their remarks. You had swallowed all those feelings, even Jin’s, and let things return to normal. You could swallow your feelings if it meant you could keep being around Jin. As they passed you turned back around and hung up another blanket.

As long as you could be next to Jin, you were happy. That’s all you need.

As you were about to place the remaining last clip you heard stomping coming from the hall. The Mistress was in her slip, it was rare to not see her fully dressed. You watched curiously as she nearly jogged down the hall, her face angry and for once you were glad it wasn’t you on the receiving end of that expression. You laughed at the thought. You turned back and hung up the rest of the laundry still carrying the melody.

Passing by the edge of the cold winter

Until the days of spring

Until the days of flower blossoms

Please stay, please stay there a little longer

----Later

An hour before sunset you were in the kitchen sorting and polishing cutlery. You were talking to pastry boy as he was sneaking small bits food to you. Lilly may not be here anymore, but he still gave you treats. As you popped in a treat savoring the sweet flavor, the kitchen door swung open. Clattering from other various staff sounded as everyone shook. You nearly choked as the Mistress gaze searched the kitchen instinct to run kicking in. Her fiery gaze landing on you. On reflex quickly you swallowed the treat as if your life depending on it. She strode up to you, small, slim figure cutting through the crowd like a knife. Her long black hair flowed wildly around her pale face, but the motion couldn’t compare to her wild gaze. “Come with me now!”

Just when you thought you had evaded her wrath for a day. You wiped off your shaky hands on your apron and bowed, “Yes, Mistress.”

She looked around the kitchen to wide eyed staff, “Get back to work.”

Silently you followed her to her office. She nearly collapsed into her wooden seat but still attempted to do it gracefully. On an exhale, “Butterfly.”

You stood in front of her desk kneading the dirty skirt of your dress. What had you messed up so bad that you were being called to her office? You quickly recalled all recent events. Was this about you stealing pastries? No, you do that all the time. Or was it when you accidently walking in on the couple? Look, you hadn’t eaten and you were a bit tired, they should’ve locked the door. On second thought, maybe this was about you–.

“You shall serve tonight.”

Her statements cleared your thoughts. Your head whipped up jaw slack. “Mistress? I-I believe you are mistaken. I’m not a—.”

Her nostrils flared, “Silence.”

You sealed your mouth.

“An honorable guest has requested you, and this is an offer I cannot refuse. I owe his father a great deal of a favor. You will serve.”

She stood up, face softening as she saw your eyes gloss over. “Butterfly, you are no longer a child.” Your hands scrunched in the skirt of your dress tighter. Those words clung to you like oil. So much was happening your mind was racing a million miles per hour. You’ve watched for years and could probably do it all blindfolded, but that doesn’t mean you wanted to. You didn’t want to.

She began to slowly step closer to you, speaking much softer than before. She played with a loose piece of hair as she tilted her head almost. “Oh Butterfly.” Your eyes lifted until you met hers until they lowered again. “Do you remember that night that I bought you?”

You nodded once.

“I saw something in you, and I only invest in potential. All my girls are of the highest standard. Now I expect to reap those investments back. I saved you, so now save me this favor.”

A knock at the door sounded with two older retired Anemonas coming in after. They were the ones who took care of the styling and dressing of the girls. With a wave of the hand the Mistress commanded, “Get her dressed and ready.”

With a minor bow they surrounded you grabbing your elbow. You felt defensive tightening up. “Come along dear.”

You wanted to argue, but what could you?

You had a debt to pay…just like everyone else.

You didn’t argue as they washed your body with luxurious soaps that made you smell as the others did. You didn’t argue as they twisted and pinned your hair in a specific way. It was as beautiful as you had seen on the others. Or how they painted your face to their liking, red lips being the point. You slipped on the tight slip, then into the silk burgundy skirt that had gold embroidery skillfully woven into it to appear as highlights when the fabric moved. Pulling it up you realized the skirt had two slits in the front just apex at the top of your thighs creating a panel in the front. The bodice was a halter that followed the design of the skirt as they laced you up from the back as you held the bodice up. Finally, with a last heave the dressed forced you to stand upright, they tied it off in a large bow. They finished it off by adoring you in golden bracelets, anklets and hoop earrings, which felt like shackles to you despite their statement of luxury.

As you sat at the vanity staring at your reflection the Mistress came in, she was similarly dressed in her own gown. From the vanity assorted hair pins were displayed. Humming under her breath in approval she picked up a gold pin with a ceramic multi petaled flower at the end. From the flower were string chains of pearls and a butterfly. With ease she slipped it in your hair then placed her hands on your shoulders softly. “You look beautiful, Butterfly.”

You couldn’t recognize the person in the mirror. It was you, but it wasn’t at the same time.

“You will serve Mr. Park tonight. He is the son of the Guerrian Collation Ambassador for Human government. Treat him well.”

Your stomach sunk even further. This person was so high ranking why would they want you? Your eyes slowly looked up to her, “Yes, Mistress.”

Anemonas came into the room and they paused nearly crashing into one another as they stared at you. You wanted to curl in upon yourself, but your dress didn’t allow you. One who you recognized from the when you were doing laundry earlier. Her eyes scanned you, what you didn’t realize was stunned in surprised before she quickly hid it. You hadn’t had the chance to learn their name, nor would you want to. Her voice was clipped, “Hurry girl, he is here now.”

Your legs feel like jelly, but somehow stiff as you walked. You had little practice in the stilted shoes they wore, but that wasn’t why your limbs were stiff. Walking down the hall brought a new feeling to you. A door slid open as Cherry stepped into the hall before pausing. Her eyes widened, “Butterfly?” You held her gaze before you looked back in front of you. She stepped out into the hall watching as you descended the stairs to the first floor. She clenched her fist and quickly turned down the hall.

The girls ushered you and hissed harshly at you. “You cannot mess this up! Do you realize who he is? You! Cannot! Mess! This! UP! Do you hear me?”

How had they known his face? Apparently, he had been here before, but why had he requested you? Had this person seen you serving drinks before? Why you? Why you! You tried to be as discrete as possible, a no name servant among the Flowers. So…why you?

As you had watched Cherry done before, you swallowed your nerves as you steeled your face. Passing the first host rooms the people within were already laughing as their shadows danced on the paper screen door. Night had settled comfortably in the sky, three moons just near peaking. You counted the seconds that passed with each clatter of coins falling from the adjacent room. The laughs being the refractory period between drops. The lanterns above didn’t feel bright enough to guide you forth suddenly and you were running on pure instinct. Pausing at the last room you waited in front of the screen door. Your hands were trembling as you assumed stance that you’ve seen a million times.

The girls opened the sliding doors in unison, and you took a stable step forward that even surprised yourself. “Thank you for having me tonight, I’m Butterfly.” Slowly you raised your head to increase the tension. Playing coy was always the game. At the other end of the table as they lower a ceramic shot glass from their thick lips, his eyes were brazened as his chin jutted out knowingly, the sharpness disrupted by his big smile. He was sitting alone in the room, the largest room available, with a buffet displayed before him. Your eyes widen as you realized who Mr. Park was.

Jimin.

Jimin…was a son of the ambassador? Your mind rattled through memories, although few, that you had spent with him. He had never acted mighty, never flaunted his wealth around you all. How come you never noticed before? It explained so much at the same time, the enigmatic nature especially. Snapping out of your stupor at this moment he was a customer, not Jimin. Softening your eyes into something you had seen the other girls play. “Good evening, Mr. Park.”

He laughed, eyes forming half-moons. When you still didn’t move, he saw the conflict in your eyes. He urged you closer to him with an open hand. “Please, Butterfly, call me Jimin—it’s just me.” With a smirk that revealed his white teeth there was a glint in his eye. “I don’t bite.”

“If that is what you wish.” His eyes roved over you as you strode over to him. The panel of your dress somehow remained perfectly in front of you, but you felt vulnerable with your legs and arms exposed. You shuffled over to him and sat down on a cushion next to him.

He chuckled again, completely amused by you. “You look like a doll dressed like this.”

Jimin was a handsome man, any girl would be lucky to be his suitor. However, he…he wasn’t Jin. You’ve never thought of him as anything more. You felt neutral towards him, this must be how the other Anemona felt. Remembering their words, you automatically put on a face hoping the hollowness was concealed. You giggled covering your mouth with your hand. He smiled lowering your hand from your mouth, “Don’t cover it. You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, he was so close to you, faces nearly touching. Your mind flashes back to when Jin had his face this close to yours two moons ago; how your hand reached for his then, but your hand now remained trained at your side. He wasn’t warm enough.

You sat back, “Would you like me to play you a song Jimin?” His eyes lit up. You entertained, keep conversation, played an instrument, all be it not as well as he was when he took it from you. He blamed it on Yoongi for your lack of ability. It was odd, you felt comfortable but something in the back of your mind was niggling at you. He drank, but very little, when you asked why he confessed, “I want to remember my time with you. I want to remember it all. Does that bother you?”

You suppressed the flush and shook your head. He laughed as he had been all night. Yet, his eyes were sincere and full of adoration. He took your hand and held it gently in his as he looked down at the exposed skin of your forearm with a soft smile grazing his lips. “Did Jin draw that?”

You wanted to pull back realizing that your skin was still stained. You nodded. He grazed the faint butterfly with his finger.

“I always ask for a real one, but he refuses every time. He says I’m too young.”

Jimin huffed, forcing air from his nose to suppress the snort. “But we are the same age and I have one of his tattoos.” Your heart winced at that, it’s true. Another reminder of how Jin saw so little of you, how he didn’t see you the same. Jimin continued seeing your expression have fallen slightly, “A Butterfly shouldn’t be kept in this cage, when her wings are so beautiful.” It’s quiet as he carefully transverses the image. “I want to buy you, Butterfly.”

You tensed up under his delicate touch. He smiled at you dropping your hand to your lap, “Of course, I won’t force you. I never force my women; you must know that. I am man, no feral Guerrian.” He smirked at his own joke, but you sat there stunned, missing the insinuation. The wind had been knocked out of you. This was far from anything you had imagined would happen tonight. He tipped your chin with a crooked finger forcing you to look at him. His eyes were full of adore. “I’m serious, Butterfly. Think about it. I’ll be back tomorrow by noon for an answer.”

He got up and adjusted his clothing, “Thank you for tonight Butterfly, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He walked out of the room and you sat there dazed. Minutes must’ve passed before you got up but stumbled on your feet. You clutched the table, food nearly untouched as you focused on breathing through your nose. You kicked off the annoying stilted shoes. Never in your life did you think you were going to be bought. You got up, feeling better with your feet touching ground.

You flung open the screen door jostling Anemonas who had been lingered outside the room as you came out. They rushed up to you when they found their ground. “Butterfly! What happened? Why did he leave?”

“You didn’t make him happy did you? No man leaves happy without going upstairs at least once.”

Another asked, “Did you scare him away?”

Cherry pushed through the crowd coming up to you and instantly pulling you into an embrace. She held you tightly as your hands loosely reciprocated. She pulled away but still held you with shaky hands. You had never seen her upset, but you missed the look of concern. Your mind couldn’t focus. “I’m so sorry Butterfly. I tried to convince her to pull you out. She said he requested you. I tried even asking Hos-,” she sealed her lips cutting herself off. Her grip tightened again, “What happened Butterfly?”

You felt like the walls were closing in.

“Butterfly, answer me! Talk to me!”

Over the chaos you answered all their questions. “He wants to buy me.” You couldn’t motivate yourself to have an ounce of happiness in it.

Nameless girl of the hall was the first to speak, “Park Jimin? He wants to buy you? Yeah right.”

Cherry shot her a glare silencing her as the Anemona rolled her eyes. You nodded.

The other girls shrieked in excitement, “Congratulations Butterfly!”

No. No. No! This wasn’t what you wanted at all.

You pushed out of Cherry’s embrace and past the small crowd. Their excitement and happiness died out when they realized you weren’t excited like they were. “Butterfly! Butterfly!” Cherry took a few steps after you before she stopped. She sighed, she knew exactly where you were going, but this time she didn’t have the heart to stop you.

Your feet gained speed as you jogged faster and faster towards an exit. There’s only one place where you know to go.

Your feet were freezing, but you didn’t mind the numbness as you ran across the yard and into another. Oddly you felt unclean, tainted and disloyal as you could still feel Jimin’s light touches on your skin and see his smile behind your eyes. Your feet were gaining traction, but the weight of the material of your dress weighed you down. It felt like you were running through water to get to him. Your hair restricted movement and the makeup made you feel stiff. The tree was faintly glowing, the recently fallen leaves in his yard still barely pulsed. You reached the familiar porch with the warm amber light flickering from inside.

You slid open the door and opened your mouth to speak but immediately clamped it closed. A woman was lounging across his floor completely nude from the waist up with her back to you. Her back was covered in a partial tattoo, art you recognized. She turned over to look at you, chest on full display and her face was just as gorgeous as her salacious body. A smile bloomed further solidifying her beauty. “Wait your turn, sweetheart.”

You blushed and suddenly the sliding door slammed closed nearly clipping your nose. Jin pressed in behind you hand still on the frame sealing the door shut. “Get out!” He was seething. “Who the fuck do you think you are coming into my house.”

You recoiled back at his tone and words. He had never yelled at you before. You turned around slowly. Her body clearly still in your mind as you came face to face with his chest. His robe was loose as he wasn’t wearing an undershirt, splatters of dry ink was on his collarbones. You swallowed as you looked off to the side.  

His eyes widened as far as they could stretch. He hadn’t realized it was you on his porch, he thought it was someone trying to sneak inside. It wouldn’t be the first time an Anemona from the Inn had tried to. “Butterfly?”

You hadn’t heard him call your name too engrossed in your thoughts. Gorgeous was the only word that came to mind and the tattoo that was on her back was eerily familiar. You couldn’t help to compare. She was a woman to him. Your lower lip began to tremble as tears were beginning to build in the corner of your eyes. You dipped your head. You couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Your voice wasn’t as stable as you spoke. “I’m sorry for intruding.”

He heavily sighed removing his hand, but still standing close to you. “You know not go in when I have clients.”

When you hadn’t responded he called your name again, but you refused to look up. He knew something was off, he curled his finger and placed it under your chin. You slowly raised your head, eyes still downturned. He stepped closer nearly whispering your name full of concern. “Butterfly, look at me.” Taking a second you finally raised your eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to look away until the hair pin poking from your hair caught his eye. A small golden butterfly was dangling amongst other jewels. A small smile was tickling at his lip before his eyebrows furrowed. His eyes traveled down to the dress you wore, your figure was on full display teasingly by the tight fabric. Your bare legs exposed; the slits dangerously high that almost your entire hip was out. It had him feeling some type of way as he felt his eyes warm as he devoured your being. Why? Why were you dressed up like this, like an Aneomona? A snarl in throat was barely audible at the thought of someone else besides him seeing you like this. Had someone? The threatening sound blooms as  his mouth opened to ask when a breathy voice inside called him. “Jin, Darling?”

The tears you’ve been holding back were threatening to break again. Of course, of course he had someone else. Held someone else. His words that he had always told you ring in your ears, those girls, as well as Jimin’s recent ones. The veil was pulled as you saw the landscape clearly. You were a child to him. He had never looked at you otherwise. You were mistaken all those times. It was only you who had been feeling this way towards him. You had been trying to hide how much it hurt you, but this was undeniable.

You bowed your head, not daring to look up as a tear slipped down. It stung, but you couldn’t bear to wipe it. “I’m sorry.” You raced past him your long dress caught under your feet as you stumbled and caught yourself on the tree. The fallen leaves pulsed brightly as you disturbed them before they looked like falling stars settling back down. Heaving you collected the skirt of your dress and disappearing into the shadow and the dark night as you ran off.

He jogged forward, bewildered as he stood at the edge of the porch as you disappeared. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Ji~~n.”

Heaving a sigh, he hesitated, something pulling within him to go after you. He turned around grumbling under his breath in a different tongue. He opened the door and closed it behind him with a bit of force. The lantern hanging on the porch swayed on the closing of the door until the wax tipped and the light went out.

Nauseum swirled in your empty stomach, but you couldn’t bear to eat. Jimin would be coming soon. Your mind was foggy yet chaotic with many incomplete thoughts. You felt torn mind and heart; your stupid heart wanted to see him while your mind told you not to. However, you weren’t one to listen to the latter. Standing up on sore feet you make your way through the halls, girls you passed in hall looked at you with envy. You didn’t pay them any mind as you let your feet carry you with the muscle memory. Your feet crunched in the grass as you walked. You paused, the ground under your feet cold, you swallowing thickly, what if she was still there? Would she still be there? You had never seen someone come out of his room before last night. Your stomach churned with all the maddening thoughts. You swallowed it again though. That was none of your business. You were going to respect it, even if you didn’t like it. He was still Jin.

As you entered Jin’s yard your eyes widen, the porch door was already open. Your eyebrows furrowed; he was never up this early. It was always your job to wake him up. You paced slowly with your hands folded in front of you as you peered inside. Jin was sitting at his table already sketching with a steam cup of tea. You crept closer and sat on the edge of his porch. You knew he knew you were there, but he said nothing to acknowledge it. She wasn’t there.

It changed nothing though.

Sitting alone with yourself last night you realized a lot of things. You were twenty-three and if you ever wanted anything for yourself you couldn’t depend on Jin for the rest of your life. You couldn’t watch him be with someone else. You couldn’t watch him smile at someone else. You couldn’t watch him…love someone that wasn’t you.

The Mistress was right and this is how you’ll pay her back.

You were going to leave your childish self behind, even if that meant leaving him behind.

You crawled up closer and sat against the door frame taking a deep breath, holding the feeling before it slipped away. You couldn’t be sad. You didn’t want tears to be the last thing he remembered you by. One last time you asked. “Will you give me a tattoo Jin?”

Without looking up from his paper, “No.”

You smiled, a genuine laugh bubbled and lasted until your stomach began to hurt. In a way that was an answer you wanted. Maybe you didn’t want a tattoo to remember him by, but those words that he’s always told you. Not treating you any differently.

He finally looked at you with an odd expression of concern. Why were you laughing? None the less it made him smile.

Catching your breath, you turned away from him and gazed out at the yard, the morning light flooding and the dew sparkle on the grass in the garden was quite beautiful. Rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves of his tree creating a beautiful distortion on the grass.

He bathed his brush in the ink as he stared at you. You were too quiet. You had been off since last night. It sets his spine straight as he remembers what you looked like last night. The way you looked had replayed in his mind all night as he worked on that woman’s tattoo, even after he kicked her out.  “Butterfly?”

Your eyes had become glassy without realizing it and you wiped at the tears that were forming. You smiled wide, “Ah. Sorry, just remembered something.” You recounted, “Remember when we first met and how I broke your fence? And somehow you let me still come around even after that?”

Placating his earlier feeling he chuckled recalling the memory. The image of your once smaller being coming into mind. He stared at you for a moment, then taking a sip of his tea. You were still you. That thought made his smile widen. Nothing had changed since then, that was still the routine.

Feeling brave you looked over your shoulder enticed by sound of his laugh like a butterfly attracted to a beautiful flower. You took in that moment where everything feels like it was going in slow motion and you could count the lashes on each of his eyes. He was ethereal, almost too good for this planet, as he is. His features handsome, golden in the morning light.

You turned away from him. “Jin, I—someone bought me.” The confession spilled from your mouth like vomit.

His brush stilled on the page, ink pooling as the paper soaked it up willingly as he stiffened. You looked over your shoulder, quietly waiting for him to say something. You both held each other gaze. His eyes narrowed before he began painting again. In a tone too casual, “Don’t joke around Butterfly.”

“I’m not. I’m leaving today.” You didn’t know how to handle it from here, truly not even having expected yourself to have the gull to come over.

“Butterfly,” Jimin was making his way over towards you crossing the yard. He was dressed smartly in clothing you had only seen worn by wealthy humans. He was showing his true colors now that you knew. Jin furrowed his brows at the appearance of one of his best friends. Normally he would be glad to see him, but something felt off at his appearance. He had no appointments. Jimin was all smile as he came to stop in front of you. His eyes near sparkled as he greeted you. “Good morning, Butterfly.” He then turned towards Jin who was just watching. “Morning Jin, you’re up early.”

Jin nearly tossed the brush at him, even making the gesture. Jimin flinched out of reflex before Jin put down his brush. Seeing Jimin wasn’t just stopping by he stood up and walked until he stood at the edge of his porch right next to you. “What are you doing here Jimin?”

Jimin’s smile bloomed further crinkling at the corners. “I’m here to hear Butterfly’s answer.”

His eyes narrowed at Jimin. Your heart was pounding hard in your chest. Jin questioned, a low undertone of a growl in his voice. “Answer?”

Jimin stepped closer to you, his polished shoes crunching under the grass as he shifted on his feet. He grabbed your hand gently. “What is your answer Butterfly?”

You paused purposefully waited for something, an objection, a scoff, a laugh, anything. It was silent. It was silent except for the thoughts within your head screaming for something yet, the silence from him was louder than any scream, any thought you had. You resisted looking at Jin. You already had your answer. You decided this. You wanted this. You wanted had to do this. You wanted—this. “Yes.”

Jimin pressed a quick kiss to your hand, his plush lips soft. Your face and body heated up to a near sizzle. That was something you had never expected.

Jin’s visage was rumbling beneath barely containing control at the simple gesture from Jimin. He looked up to Jin before meeting your eyes. “We should be on our way Butterfly.”

“Let’s go home Butterfly.” Nodding you took his hand and slipped off the porch.

You paused, “Goodbye Jin.”

He said nothing staring at you as you realized he wasn’t going to say anything. You turned expressionless, matching his. You let go of Jimin’s hand  going back towards the Inn.

Jimin and Jin stared at one another, a certain tension in the air. Jimin’s face suddenly softened as his smile returned as he bowed to his friend before he followed in your direction.

Jin watched as the wind blew by messing up his hair, wisp of his bangs covering his eyes that had turned red. His hands clasped behind his back speckled like they were stained with dry ink.  

The steam from his cup was flowing freely from the cooling tea. He found himself glancing up at the clock on the wall. His fingers rhythmically drummed on the table. He looked up to the clock again and found the small hand had only moved a minute. He had even left the screen door open. He had finished all his clients for a day. His wrist was sore with how many clients he had been taking on. He debated if he should cancel all his clients for the following day.

He checked the clock again and realized yet only another half a minute had passed. He heaved a sigh.

What was keeping you? Where you busy? Had they finally scolded you for the last time? He knows that you found a new route as you recounted your story of it in full detail. His customer had to hear the story that day too, but somehow, they were engrossed in your story. He laughed brushing the hair out of his face. He pulled at the strands, when had his hair gotten so long? You would trim it for him. Maybe he would ask you to trim it for him ton—.

It hit him hard when the sound of the clock ticking drummed in his ears, the memory hitting him.

You were gone.

You had been gone for weeks.

He sighed heavily as he stood up and went to the kitchen grabbing liquor. On his way back he opened the porch door, his body running too hot even for his comfort. He gripped onto the doorframe as he stared at the tree in his yard. It no longer glowed, it had been fading and fading until tonight, it no longer glowed. It was spring it was supposed to be thriving. He placed his hand over his chest and rubbed it in a circle, eyes turning amber. He sat down opening the bottle as he set up his ink block and opened his sketchbook to a new page. He took big gulps of the fermented amber liquid as the rucke flavor covered his tongue.

He had seen you at the marketplace. He had seen you with Jimin as you were perusing the shops. He found himself watching disregarding the shop owner trying to bargain with him. You had nodded along to something Jimin had said. You chuckled as Jimin raised a hideous dress to you then holding it up to him with a brow raised. He had never seen his friend so friendly with a woman. Jimin normally never was seen out with a woman, especially during daylight. The distance between you two was too close for comfort. Speaking of clothes, you were wearing a new dress, not the normal blue canvas one you always wore. Your hair was shinny and were well taken care of, rather than your normal tied up and messy, carefree taming. You were almost unrecognizable, like that night you came to him when he was working. By your gait he knew it was you. He could pick you out of a crowd of a thousand if given. It was almost intrinsic, you. 

He took another gulp of the beer, feeling looser as the liquid cooled his being. His eyes grew similar in color to the liquor as it filled him. He dipped the brush in the ink letting the black ink drip into the block. The way Jimin placed a hand at the small of your back and leaning into you played over in his mind. Swirling his eyes grew darker taking on a red hue before it morphed into hot iron.

Violent strokes scrapped across the page as the hair of the brush made a resounding slap as it hit the scroll canvas. His hand working sloppier as his hand got in the ink of the canvas blending in with his changing hand. Stroking forward, gliding it around as if on autopilot he created. He hooked the brush on the stand as he blinked blearily at the sketch. The alcohol already running heavily through his system. Exhaustion took over him as the buzz was shutting him down. He slumped over hand holding the paper as he sleep overcome him. His lips smacked.

He had painted a butterfly.

You stared at the starless sky having spent the evening watching the sky turn from your windowsill daybed. The three moons had all shifted into the east sky nearly overlapping one another You felt restless. You weren’t allowed to do much, if anything. Jimin insisted he had servants to do things. He was confusing, had he not bought you to do the same? You were having a hard time adapting to his way of life and expectations. His life was completely different from what went on in Borgo. Tall, pristine white buildings with black tiles filled every street in the heart of Anisum. The roads were paved with stones versus the dirt you were used to. People used their given names. You hadn’t realized Anisa, the whole world was…so large. The heart was different as people were more standoffish and selfish, but the same could often be said of Borgo. But there you knew people, there was a sense of community even though everyone was different. Even those who came in from neighboring planets held this air of stature. It was the first time you had seen others from different planets as they government didn’t allow them into Borgo. You saw starship stations, things you had only heard rumors of existing. Of course you had seen them in the sky, but they were so much larger in person and up close. Beings of all skin color, stature and shape filled Anisum.

There was so much, but it felt hollow. This wasn’t home.

There was an ache that comes and goes, always returning in quiet moments.

Knocks sounded at your door and you sat up straighter. “Come in.”

Jimin entered and shut the door behind him with a winning smile on his lips. You matched it in greeting. He strides over to where you were, hands clasped behind his back, a habit he had when he was in front of other officials, but this felt mischievous.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

He sat next to you gazing out the window. “The moons are beautiful tonight, what’s not to be happy about?”

Quietly you nodded. You enjoyed Jimin, he had been nothing but hospitable. He was sweet to say the least. You found out you had a lot in common with him and found yourself build a friendship. Yet, you didn’t feel…

“Are you happy Butterfly?”

Your cheeks heated and you tried swallowing the truth. He had been watching you this entire time you were lost in your thoughts. “Yes, I’m quite happy here.”

He laughed, face contouring comically. That was something you appreciated was he never put up the same pretense around you he had with others here. “Butterfly. I can see your unhappy.”

Waving your hands, “No! No really I’m—!”

“Butterfly, Butterfly, calm down! It’s okay, it’s okay!”

You hung your head in shame. You couldn’t look at him. You felt guilty admitting it even to yourself. You should be happy. You have everything now. All…you…ever…wanted.

Jimin leaned forward elbows resting on his knees. “I want to do something for you. Will you let me?”

You quirked an eyebrow at him in confusion. You weren’t one to deny him feeling burdened by his kindness. You didn’t like the way the feeling from earlier intensified, he was up to something. “Okay.”

He smirked up at you with a sly smile. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

His chest was rising and falling slowly as he draped his arm across his face. He wanted to pull up his comforter but in his drunken stupor he had only managed to lay his futon down last night. He had slept with the porch door open his body was feeling overwhelmed by an odd fever. His body was tingling with restlessness setting his joints steely. It had made him snappy and alcohol had been a hasty solution to the agitation in his veins. The slight hangover was still drumming in his head and the unsettling feeling in his bones returned. He let out a heavy sigh.

A shadow casted over him and a laugh tickled like a clear bell in his ears. His arm that was draping over his eyes fell away. He let your voice soak in, your words, the way your eyes meet his and didn't turn away. You were smiling down at him, a halo of light behind you. “Jin, it’s noon.”

He kept staring at you. He blinked closing his eyes for a few moments before he opened them again. You pinched his cheek and his face scrunched. “Did you drink too much again? I warned you not to drink so much.”

“What are you doing here?” Were the first words out of his mouth.

You pouted your lips then it fell into a smile in your signature tease. “I want a tattoo.”

“No.” He grunted, rolling over.

You quirked a brow eager for the challenge. “Today, I’m a paying customer.”

“No.”

You hummed nonchalantly, unaffected. “The ones you drew for me never lasted; I want this one to last.”

He sat up on his side and pushed off walking towards the kitchen. You grabbed his hand before he could get out of reach. “Jin. I want this.” You tugged, Please.”

He pulled his hand out of your grasp. “No! No matter how much money you give me I won’t. You…you, you’re a –.”

You finished for him, “Child?” Instantly you felt defensive.

He had the semblance to look embarrassed. “Yes...a child.”

You had been doing a lot of thinking in the past few weeks; amplified last night since Jimin implanted this idea in you of what you’d say to Jin when you first saw him, but this had been something you had been holding in, wanting, for a long time. A breeze blew by shivering the leaves of the tree in his yard and it carried hints of Jin’s scent. Floral but inky, yet the accompanying scent of alcohol was distasteful. You scoffed, frustration finally bubbling to the surface. “Over and over again you’ve called me a child and told me not to get involved! But you know better than anyone else that I was never allowed to act like a child.” Ironically you were feeling flushed as he kept eye contact. “So, don’t get involved, treat me like everyone else —a customer. I’m not the Butterfly of the Inn anymore.”  

Your chest was heaving slight as you released all your suppressed emotions. He sat there for a moment before he got up. His blue robe billowing about him as he walked away. The silence always hurt more. A pang of hurt filled your chest. This wasn’t how you wanted it to be when you saw him again. You wanted to him to see you differently. See that you had done things on your own. You sat there, hand hanging in the air. Footsteps returned back lightly thumping on the floor into the room as he stood in the threshold of his kitchen with his jars. Your brows furrowed then it struck you why he was there.

“What do you want?”

You smiled eyes lighting up. Your stomach was doing somersault in excitement. “You know what I want.”

He nodded setting down his supplies and sorting them out. “Where? On your arm like always?”

You shook your head taking in a deep breath. “On my back.”

His face was neutral, but his ears were a burning red. He cleared his throat. He took a moment before he nodded. Your fist clenched on your lap in excitement, it was finally happening.

Your heart was beat so fast. Your pride suddenly was asking to be swallowed. You had never been nude in front of others despite seeing nudity your whole life. Especially in front of Jin. You hadn’t really thought of the real implications of what getting a tattoo on your back entailed. Your hands were feeling sweaty.

“Did you changing your mind?”

You bristled at his question. You weren’t going to change your mind! Taking a deep breath and in a single motion you pulled your robe down and let it pool at your hips, while still clutching your hands over your bare chest with your sleeves. You decided to forgo an undershirt today wearing a thicker robe coat to compensate, but you wore a skirt as the robe wasn’t long enough to be a dress.

His jaw clenched as he tried to not clear his throat at the sight of your bare skin. He closed his eyes for a moment allowing the color to diffuse.

“Lay down.”

You carefully maneuvered and you laid down on the futon. It was quite eye opening how vulnerable and nervous you were feeling. When you settled, he only then moved. You flinched at the unexpected feeling of his large warm hands on your bare back. You both lacked to comment on your reaction. With his index he started at the top of your next and with his thumb of the same hand marking the end point, he inched his fingers counting how many he stretched. It was a simple touch, but it had your shoulders moved closer together as his index and thumb met at the small of your back. “Relax Butterfly.”

You nodded resting your face on your forearm.

The ritual began as you heard him open up the ceramic jars. The scarping of his wooden wire whisk as he mixed the ink fast then slow lifting at the end as he checked the consistency of the ink as it dripped off. The sound of fabric crumpling as he rolled up his white sleeve of his undershirt forgoing his blue robe. The first prick had you hissing through your teeth. You finally understood his customers wholeheartedly. He chided you, “Stay still.” A sound akin between a whine and aggrievance answered him, surprisingly putting a small smile on his face at your reaction. Your hand clenched and fisted the futon underneath you. He found it oddly endearing. Eventually you fell into his rhythmic pricking and the pain dulled out and was tolerable. He was gentle with feather light touches and pricks. Hours passed as he quietly painted you.

His needle was set on the table closing the session. “Done.”

You felt immensely sore, but immensely content at the same time. Carefully sitting up you carefully held your robe over your front as you looked over your shoulder. He was already staring at the four butterflies that flew up towards your neck starting at your lower back in varying sizes. You realized that was the first time you were truly seeing him. No pretenses as you looked at one another. He looked different. His tan skin somehow darker although you were sure he sat inside all day. His eyes having this shade under them that wasn’t there before. He looked ill. While he was tattooing, he must’ve dropped ink on himself, his hands were stained heavily, fingers nearly completely stained black. He was normally a clean worker, never or rarely staining himself. His eyes looked different, almost as if they had a golden hue like the setting sun. He stared at you, but they remained there with noticeable difficulty. Before you could inquire on his wellbeing his gaze tore away from your spine as he moved to close the jars piling them on the tray. His voice was strangely thick, “Clean it well.”

You twisted around facing him fully. “I’ve missed this.” You scooched closer to him stopping just short of brushing your knees to his. “I’ve missed you.”

Proximity was vital to him now as the fever within him returned. A cramp settling in his stomach at the dulcet tone of your plea. “Butterfly—.” His voice had depended as pleaded with you. The fact that he didn’t pull away made you believe in your favor. You ignored distance, holding the front of your robe together with one hand as you reached forward, hand instinctually wanting to cup his cheek. It felt like you were imagining things as you thought Jin was leaning towards you as well. Your fingertips grazed his cheek and the feeling washing over him in local pleasure but his stomach swirled stronger in contrast.

The spell was broken as knocks sounded at the front door before followed by echoes of it sliding open. Jin’s whine were concealed. “Butterfly! Are you done?” Jimin’s voice echoed down the hall.

The feeling disappeared from the air as Jin turned away from you. You didn’t answer Jimin as you stared at Jin who collected his stuff. He got up and the air had dramatically cooled around you as he began walking away towards his storeroom. You pulled your robe back up feeling vulnerable again. His blue robe crumpled on the floor reflected the light beginning to illuminate softly from the leaves of his tree outside. Your words had him pausing. “I have no more excuses to see you anymore. I can’t pretend I miss the Inn. I can’t make detours to this street from the main market without it being more obvious. Or say I want to see Cherry without glancing over and hoping your door is open.”

The tree outside shivered as the wind passed by.

Night was coming soon.

His footsteps continued.

Tears fell from your eyes, but as quickly as they fell, they dried. You tied the knot of your robe tight around your waist. You pulled out the satchel of coins and dropped it on the cleared table not caring to count or ask how much. Slowly getting up on sore legs as you walked towards the front door. Familiar pain can still made you nauseous. As you turned down the corner of the hall Jimin was waiting for you at the front door, hand extended out to you.

Eyes rimmed red and with the saddest smile you walked towards him with your own hand extended.

He sees it all, especially the way you don’t pull away or recoil this time when he holds your hand. There’s no reluctance or hesitation and somehow it makes his hold much looser this time after he can see the dullness behind your eyes. This wasn’t the reaction he had expected. He had thought this would be the answer. “Are you happy now Butterfly.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jin appeared at the door silently, you hadn’t noticed but Jimin had. Jimin glared at Jin upset at the outcome. He couldn’t believe he was standing there after so calmly when you were clearly upset. Why was his friend so stupid and blind. Jimin neutralized his expression and it turned coy. It was his last coup before he gave up trying. Jimin stepped closer to you, near face to face as he leaned in to whisper loudly into your ear. Daringly he placed a hand on your hip as he pulled you closer to him. “Will you let me see it later Beautiful?”

You nodded not hearing his request despite his proximity and touch. Your mind was elsewhere.

Eyes glinting, his hand was still on your hip. “Let’s go home Butterfly.”

Your feet felt planted as if they had been molded, but uprooted as Jimin gently pulled you alongside him going towards the tall gate. You took a breath then a step towards. Your head swam with regrets, why couldn’t it all turn back to how it was. Maybe you still were a child yearning for him even after such clarity. The ink in your skin didn’t make you a woman. You were still you and he still didn’t want you. They say once bitten, twice shy, but I think for it's more like forever shy. Tears built in the corner of your eyes again, you felt stupid.

You reached the gate Jimin pushing it open until you were jolted by a sudden tug and onset heat. Jin twisted you around pulling you out of Jimin’s touch vicariously pushing Jimin away. You were face to face, a breathtaking sight as his figure towered over you. His eyes were fiery red, pulsing, replacing his black irises. His face feral with something wild you had never seen his gentle feature morph into. He seethed, “Don’t.”

The subtle smirk that Jimin had sent you had been the last straw. He had been holding back, composing himself for so long. He allowed Jimin to mess around, even buy you from the Inn, telling himself you were better off—safer that way. The last thread holding his senses together snapped as unadulterated anger filled him. The tattoo he had just given you was so intimate—his—and it was only his to see. You…you were only his, and all of you was for his eyes only.

You stared wide eye at him. “Jin…your eyes.”

You saw his face shift into horror as he realized he had let himself slip. He dropped your hand like he had been burnt. He brought a shaky hand up to his face as he began to stumble backwards rapidly. His eyes flicked to yours petrified. You blubbered, “Seokjin, you—.” He turned on his heel and ran back into his home, stumbling before he disappearing down the dark hall.

Your mind raced completely bewildered by the situation, yet as a sense of familiarity settled in. Those eyes. Flashes of those eyes. You had seen them in him before, but you had brushed it off as a reflection of light, the sunset, anything but…what you think it is. Those eyes belong to only one thing, the same ones that were outside your childhood home, the ones in your nightmares. You had thought it was just that though, a figment of your childish imagination, anything but real. But they’re just human like…weren’t they?

Jimin got up from the ground and jogged over to you. A heavy sense of guilt in his stomach, Gods, this wasn’t how it wasn’t supposed to turn out.  “Butterfly.” He shook your shoulders when you didn’t answer him. You blinked and looked at him.

Jimin looked at the house then back to you, “Listen Butterfly. I’m sorry Butterfly I-I—I.” You scrunched your brows, did Jimin know? What was going on.  “I just didn’t expect it to happen like this.” He pointed towards the house. Frustrated he grunted and he ran his hand through his hair, really, he didn’t expect this nudging to come this far.

Yoongi’s cup of rucke was sitting just out of reach next to him as his fingers pressed the keys of his lap piano. Jungkook and Taehyung had taken it upon themselves to freestyle a song with slurred lyrics that weren’t lingual. Alcohol being the influence had all seven of them giddy, giddy too after seeing eachother after a while. After the meeting they brushed away all the blueprints. They had gathered around the floor table that was filled with empty and partially filled bottles, glasses, and plates Jin had prepared. Jin only hosted gatherings because of his ability to cook and the other naturally decided on their own his home was the epicenter of their gatherings. Taehyung had brought new ink for Jin in his recent travels in the system. Namjoon had brought political gossip what was going on in the higher courts. Jin, along with everyone joked upon a cheer cutting Joon’s monologue short about the shortcomings of the government. He thought they had closed the meeting already. Jin held up his cup, “To the next King, Namjoon!” Simultaneously despite the others partially listening cheered along.

Namjoon blushed mouth gaping like a fish. “Guys-alright, alright, I’ll stop. I’ll stop! But don’t come complaining to me when you can’t fuckin’ keep up next meeting!” The man absolutely blushed nearly dropping his ceramic cup of alcohol from snorting and dismissing the cheer. Even Hoseok, who was calmly laying on the floor as the first few sips had already rendered him chill, suddenly sat up and clanged his glass along with everyone else. The cheer didn’t diminish just to taunt him. It enticed them to sip more. It had always been chaotic when all of them gathered.

The porch door was propped open letting in the breeze and aerate the room full of men alike. Over the music of Yoongi was playing there was a light under hum of music coming from the Inn. When the room quieted Jin smiled at the siren like call. His ears were red, skin had been crawling with patches of ink and from his chest a light glow emitted shining through his shirt, robe long ago discarded and Jungkook was wearing it. He had been partially shifting all night. “Butter~~fly”

Jimin rolled over, hearing the murmuring coming from Jin. As he listened closer, he could hear the name Jin was mumbling. The urge to tease overwhelming him as he propped on table next to him. Jin rarely drank, only when they came over, usually too busy to bother with it and the effects.

“Jin, where’s butterfly? Why isn’t she here?”

Jin blinked slowly as he huffed out an answer, “Cherry probably.”

Hoseok’s ears perked up at the mentioning of the name before he slumped back down onto the floor.

Scooching closer to Jin, he unnecessarily whispered. “Hey, hey Jin!”

“Hmmm?” Jin’s eyes had closed, his brain signaling slowing down as the alcohol flowed through his system.

“Did you tell her yet?”

A shout of howls around the room picked up as a betting game had picked up. The arguments of who and what were the rules always took up the most of the time before the game even started.

He hummed scrunching his face not hearing Jimin clearly. “What?”

Jimin spoke loudly, “Did you tell her about you—you know?”

Jin’s head shot up, eyes fiercely glared at Jimin, pupils turning ember and suddenly sober. “No!”

Jimin pouted, clearly tipsy as well, and senses not picking up on the change in Jin. He scoffed, annoyed. He had been watching Jin for the longest time. He had known him since they were young. It was painful watching the two of you run circles around one another. You were painfully obvious, but painfully oblivious to the obvious. Jimin was naturally whiny when he was sober, but alcohol tended to intensify it. “Why won’t you tell her, she’s going to find out soon enough?”

“No!” His fingers gripping hard and scratched the surface of the table. Anger bursted like a flame, but his focus was still fuzzy, as he racked his brain for the right response. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Oh come on Jin.” Like a candle sparked Jimin got up using the table as a stabilizer.  

He stumbling towards the porch, passing the others who were slapping down cards and calling out counts. Yoongi was still playing his piano, although the beat had slowed down significantly. The others payed him no mind. Jin kept his eyes on him. A coy smirk pulled at Jimin’s lips, a single brow arched in taunt. “If you won’t tell her because your too pussy to do it. I’ll do it. It’s easy. Watch.”

Jimin had pulled open the porch, “Butterfly, I hope you hear this, Jin’s a—.”

Jin was up within seconds as he dashed forward and spun Jimin around pinning him to the wall. The force was hard enough that the wall shook. Jin’s pupils were dilated and irises completely red. A black veined hand was wrapped around Jimin’s throat. “Don’t. You. Dare!” He seethed the command through his teeth.

The room had grown silent all of them staring before instantly sobering. Taehyung, Namjoon and Jungkook stood up, black veins and red eyes emerging in all three. All three gathered the strength to pull Jin off Jimin. Although Jimin never lost his smile through the ordeal, laughing. He had dangled the bait and Jin caught it willingly. Jungkook was the strongest of the group, but Jin’s strength rivaled his often. The other two supported by maneuvering them off Jimin safely. Barking but not biting immediately the alcohol his Jin’s system hard as he slumped into Jungkook’s arms mumbling like a child. Taehyung held onto Jimin as Namjoon ordered Jungkook to lay Jin down, “He’s had enough.”

Taehyung supported Jimin as he brought him back to the table checking on him. Jimin waved everyone off, he was fine, Jin would never actually hurt him. Jostle yes, but never hurt. Hoseok checked him over before rubbing a knuckle to his head, “Ai-gu, you know better than to tease him about Butterfly when he’s drunk.”

Jimin giggled drunkenly as he brought his liquor up to his lips. “Are you guys tired of it too?”

He looked around and all of them had the same hesitant expression. “I don’t like secrets.”

Yoongi grumbled as his playing picked up again. The tip of his fingers dark too, but they began receding into his usual pale skin color. “Children in men’s bodies, all of you.”

The lot of them laughed.

Jimin’s eyes shifted over to Jin who had been haphazardly laid on his mattress already fast asleep. An idea popped in his mind, the fun wasn’t over.

Jimin held up his shot glass, “Cheers!”

Glasses clanked, “Cheers.”

Your mind was racing, all the denial, all the fears came to life. ”J-Jimin?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Butterfly.” Jimin was uncharacteristically unkept and bent out of shape as he raced to explain.

The stake felt like it had dug deeper in your chest hearing that. Fourteen years…fourteen years and you never noticed he…wasn’t quite human? Guerra were human though, right? The eyes made you believe different. The images you had seen in your youth made you feel that you had just seen the surface. You had never imagined that he was…one of them. How….how had…you not known?

Who was Jin really? What…what was he?

Jimin had expected Jin to stop him the day he bought you, but Jin did nothing, as usual complacent when it came to you. He didn’t mean for it to come to this confession, just—a confession. He ran his hand through his hair a few more times before running his tongue over his lips. He held your shoulders, pleading with you, “Butterfly, I’ve made a mistake that I shouldn’t have. I just…I just didn’t want to see you in that Inn anymore either. You belong here. Here with him. Not with me, not at the Inn, here you belong here. I could see it, always have, the look you both give eachother. He’s scared right now, more than you are and he needs you. You’ve always wanted answers, now it’s here in front of you.”

He spun you around until you were facing home. Jimin pushed you forward again. “Go.”

You regained traction before you face planted and with a step forward you walked back towards home. With a hand on the doorframe you glanced back and Jimin nodded assuring you. You were trembling you didn’t know what to expect. A loud inhuman groan that sounded like a growl echoed from within. You turned around ready to run but Jimin stopped you turning you back, “Don’t be afraid! He won’t hurt you. He’ll never hurt you.” Holding onto that you took it to heart. Jin had never hurt you. You took a shaky step forward before you found your feet walking you inside. For Jin, you could do this for Jin.

The atmosphere felt different as you carefully walked forward hands trembling. You had seen that color in his eyes before but ignored it. The time Jin had pulled you down with him coming to mind as you saw specks of gold and red in his eyes. Maybe you did on purpose, the truth was heavy. The dark wooden floor echoed the sound of your footsteps in the near empty hall, the tall white walls felt endless. Deep shadows had settled in, but you knew exactly where to go. Standing at the sliding door of the main living room you could hear the sounds rumbling from within. Your hand reached for the ajar door. You needed answers, you wanted answers despite your churning stomach. You pushed open the rest of his main room door and stepped inside. He was heaving in the far corner of his room, nearly engulfed in the shadows.

“J-Jin?”

An unsettling growl erupted from his throat. “GET OUT!”

You swallowed the fear that coursed through you at the unfamiliar hostility, physically refraining from stepping back like you had wanted to. This was still Jin. He was still Jin. You weren’t going to run away now. You closed the door behind you. “Jin, please.”

He growled louder turning slightly exposing his face that was still partially obscured by the shadows. He began turning and exposing himself slowly from the shadows. His white shirt was soaked through in sweat despite the temperature dropping rapidly as he turned around. Black strands of hair were stuck to his exposed forehead as his head was tilted back exposing his neck, lips parted as he heaved. His eyes were feral, red and fully dilated, as his brows knitted, and you could assume from frustration. He didn’t want you to see him this way as it was difficult for him to maintain eye contact.

“Are you alright?” You struggled to keep your voice stable

“You need to go now!” He commanded. The room because of him felt smaller than you remember, despite being in here not long ago. It was as if his being was an extension of the shadows as it crept the whole width of the room. His jaw clenched trembling with restraint.

“No, I’m not leaving.” You stated with confidence you weren’t sure. “I can’t, I can’t keep turning away and taking no for an answer.” You swallowed the words almost stuck in your throat. “Who are you? Why…why didn’t you tell me? Is this…is this why you kept pushing me away?” Tears began pricking at the corner of your eye.

The coal in his eyes returned with a sense of vulnerability accompanied by a ring of gold before it dissolved. He was silent, but you weren’t going to allowed it. You were tired, tired of rejection and being left in the dark. You tried reaching for him, “Please, Jin.”

“STAY BACK! DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” He tossed his head back with a vicious snarl. Moment by moment he began to look wilder and more deranged as he shivered backing further into the corner. “Leave!”

“Jin your scaring me.” You retracted your hand back holding it to chest as if it would protect yourself. Jimin said he wouldn’t hurt you. You knew Jin wouldn’t hurt you.

He heaved strenuous breathes, imploring you, “You should leave.”

He appeared to be in a lot of pain and it was concerning. Reason caught up to you. Should you get Jimin? Jimin would know what to do. But you didn’t want to leave, what if he collapsed. “No. Let me get Jimin, he can help.”

At that he faltered, and he let out a high-pitched whine. “NO! Don’t go near him!” He couldn’t control it anymore. It was taking over. He had been resisting it for so long, trying to hide this part of himself from the world—from you. But you-- were the trigger. His knees caved and buckled until he collapsed knees spread hands in front of him for support. “I can’t—I can’t control it any—!” He let out another high pitch whine that turned into another vicious snarl. His nails scratched at the floor scrapping and causing curls of wood to coil in its trail. He sat up with flinging his head back as his spine arched. His bones began cracking and snapping as they reformed and elongate. You watched in horror as his skin shifted and his physique grew and filled out. His shirt tore as his already wide shoulders and chest expanded; pieces were hanging by the thread. His pants ripped at the outer and inner seams but remained on in his kneeling position. The sound of cracking and snapping had stopped; his already tall height had increased by at least another foot. His muscles grew and shoulders were impossibly wider to accommodate for his shifting into a giant.

Moonlight illuminated his kneeling figure that poured in from the frosted panes as night finally settled in. His name sat on the tip of your tongue just when you thought it was over. Instantly his tan skin then erupted in dark spots like ink soaking into a canvas. This part seemed to not be painful as he made no sound of protest. It began at his fingertips until it simultaneously became one and replaced his skin color with a color akin to charcoal migrating up his hand and forearm; it paused at his elbow and through the tears and holes in his shirt you could see the dark color began to branch off like veins over his upper arm as it trailed up. It looked like armor but engrained in his flesh as it settled.

Hidden under his sleeves it reappeared, creeping up his neck like veins. The pigment crept up his neck and over his jaw and marked half his face in an uneven crawl of black pigmented veins. At the same time his chest glistened as his torn shirt billowed around him as the veins began to trail on his chest towards his heart. Over his heart under his skin a circular patch began to glow white hot as Jin let out a guttural groan. It morphed and looked like molten fire was underneath and the shadow veins began encasing around it connected the fire to the rest of his body. It pulsed alongside his heartbeat.

Jin’s jaw suddenly unhinged open in a silent scream. From the pulsing core in a single hard pulse the fire like molt spread the molten glow replacing main shadow veins that were adjacent to major veins. Large strips over his arms were filled until it ended at the tip of his middle finger on both arms. A similar fire vein began creeping up his neck next to his jugular, over his jaw and up over his eye until it stopped at his hairline. It appeared like a molten scar down his face.

He had fought off the shift so long, only allowing small episodes, but he hadn’t shifted fully in years. It was overcoming him in such a powerful wave he had never experienced before. His sweaty black hair hung in tendrils front of his eyes as he heaved. The shift was complete.

This…this was your answer. This…was what a Guerra truly is. This was Jin.

This whole time you thought you had imagined that, a child’s rendition of a Guerra, a monster. You had thought they were only human like, but in all truth you were unaware of what made them different. This being hiding under a sheep’s skin. It was simply an apartheid to you. A giant shadow with glowing red eyes. The fire, the heat, it all made sense. You had seen them before and it wasn’t your imagination. Jin was…the word slipped from your lips. “Guerra.”

His head lifted eerily slow until his eyes met yours. When he opened his eyes blearily one was glowing red and the other, the shadowed was gold like the vein.

“Are you afraid?” In a strained voice he asked. “Want to run now? Now that you see the monster that I am.”

You shook your head side to side hands clenched at your chest. In all truth you weren’t afraid, not like you were earlier. The imagination and unknown were more terrifying than the truth. You knew the history, what they had done to your family, but that…that wasn’t Jin. He was still Jin. “No.”

Parroting you, “No?”

You slowly walked towards him despite the soft growls he emitted with each breath. In this form his senses were heightened and he could hear your heart beating hard in your chest. His nostrils flared as he took in your scent. His senses heightened in this new form. It smelled so sweet and enticing. He remained still fighting his baser self. You slumped down onto your knees in front of him. From this close up he looked even more formidable as if he had manifested from the cracks of Anise. Sweat began beading at your hairline from the heat he was radiating. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care that you’re a Guerra. I just—you lied to me. You never told me about this. Why? Why did you hide this from me?”

He shook his head, growling under his breath in an attempt to scare and evade you.

Feeling bold you reached forward placing your hand over his.  The simple touch had him shivering as he attempted to control the feeling of power thrumming through him. The inky skin felt calloused at contact, but oddly smooth when your smaller hand twined over his hand. His growling ceased as your simple touch had him slumping slightly forward towards you and it eased the tension in his being; tamed in an instant by your simple touch. You had so much control over him and you didn’t even know it.

His voice was deeper than you were used to as he spoke. “I had to hide it from you Butterfly. I’m not the only one Tae, Kook and Namjoon are Guerra too. We all have to hide it because of me—because of my family.”

You controlled your expression regardless of how much that additional fact hurt as much. They had hid it from you too. You kept quiet waiting for him to continue. When he reopened his eyes after taking a moment of silence, they sought yours in an act of bravery; pain swirled with the burgundy and it gripped your heart.  

“The Guerra used to fight in wars against the Titans to protect the universe—even humans. We are peaceful people, it’s in our blood to be protectors. Papa had told me that we were until the new rule took over and our race became…murderers. Invading planets, colonizing and destroying isn’t how we were supposed to be.”

You sat back on your feet trying to take your hand back but he didn’t let you. He tightened his grip around your hand and you returned the feeling to assure him you weren’t going anywhere.

“My family were personal guards for the royals for generations, but when my father saw that humans were being killed senselessly he couldn’t support stand by the regime anymore. It wasn’t who we were, Guerra—we don’t hurt. We don’t hurt unless someone hurts us or our loved ones.” He voice shook hurrying his words and making them almost indescribable. His thumb was running over the back of your hand in an act of self-soothing. He licked his lips before he began, knowing what he was about to say would probably hurt you, “The war.”

Your hand squeezed his back at the mentioning like he expected. His hands itched pull you into him, protect you from the truth, but for now he had to be content holding you like this; because you may not want to much longer. His head tipped down and his long, black hair curtained over his face. “Our parents…started it.”

Your eyes widened impossibly. Panic settling within you as the painful grip his eyes wrapped around your heart squeezed. “Jin, what? What are you saying?”

He shook his head, strong voice pulling your attention back center, “Listen Butterfly, I know this is a lot, but I need you to listen. You wanted to hear it, and I’m telling the truth.”

“Tell me.”

“Kook’s dad was also a guard with my dad and they both worked together to gather evidence against the regime. His mom was a maid in the palace and would sneak letters to Joon’s dad who worked for the universal courts. They were building a case against the regime.”

“My father found out the regime had been planning a genocide. A full take over Anise to erase all the humans. My father had Kook’s human mother spread the word amongst other palace maids and it spread quickly outside the palace. Kook’s dad was a Guerrian guard too and called his friend, Joon’s dad, who was a member of the universal courts and told him of the conspiracy. They warned people, but it was too late, the war had started and they captured my father. They killed my father and Kook’s…my mother died sacrificing herself to save me and Papa. This house was my mom’s house before she was sold off to the palace to work. Tae’s family was upper Guerrian, an old friend of my parents, who were entrusted to help us escape the palace and come here.”

The face of your mother comes to mind. The face of your father you had lost to the red letter. Your siblings. The ones who came in for tattoos. So many people had been lost.

“After the war the courts made it illegal for Guerra to shift to protect the humans, but there was so much….destruction, so much pain left. It’s not how it’s supposed to be.” He slipped his hands from yours as he looked at his hands with detest. He clenched his fist and the core on his chest brightened. “The war may be over, but its not for me—for us. There’s another uprising soon and the regime plans to strike again. The regime still has plans and if they found out, that a Kim and the others involved in the coup had survived then they would come for me—and you if you were with me. I’d be killed on the spot.“

Tears flowed freely as you sobbed. It explained so much and filled so many gaps. Your heart ached immensely you had no idea he was holding in so much. There was so much you had no idea about, yet the underlying emotion of fear was present. You could lose him, there was another war on the horizon. You could lose him like you lost everyone else. You could only whimper his name.

He sighed and smiled as he wiped your tears. You were too kind with a heart that was too big. It was something he had always loved about you. His hot hands cupped the side of your face, they were so large it curled around the side of your head. “I did this to protect you. You are not safe with me, Butterfly.”

You leaned your head into his touch with your hand going over his and the other on his wrist to hold him to you. You hadn’t realized how much he was holding in and how painful it must’ve been. He had the others, but you know the loneliness he must’ve felt not having his parents and to suddenly carry such a heavy burden. You didn’t have words for how badly you felt for him, but you knew you felt so much. You felt brazen and nothing mattered anymore that everything was out now. “I love you Jin. I don’t want to be without you.”

Hearing the words he feared the most he pulled away from you. In the haste of his motions his torn shirt fell off him like scraps further exposing his shadowed body. Molten veins were pulsing faster along with his core mimicking his heartrate, but the most intense radiation came from the scar like vein that transverse his face. They were glowing at you as his expression scrunched. “You don’t get it! I can’t drag you into this. They’ll kill you too Butterfly. They’ll kill you!” He stood up and your face barely came up his knees. His torn pants were hanging loosely around his waist, and you could see more of the veins shadow and molten on his body through the rips. Shifting on his heels he began backing away from you. He felt the need to defend his one last secret he had been guarding carefully with his whole soul for years. His tone flat, “Leave. Leave and don’t come back.”

His words were like a catalyst causing you to stand up. There was much to fear in life, but you were exhausted letting it be the ultimate hurdle. You were afraid of the future, but a future without him was terrifying. He backed up with every step you took forward to maintain that vital proximity. “I don’t care!” You shouted over his rambling. Tears streamed down your face again. “Don’t, don’t make me leave again. I can’t do it again. None of this scare me, nothing scares me more than not being with you. I don’t care that you’re a Guerra, or that I could be in danger by being with you. None of that compares to the pain of being without you! I was miserable at Jimin’s. I couldn’t—can’t stop thinking about you. Everyone, everyone threw me away, even my own family, and the only time I’ve felt like someone cared was when I was with you. Don’t… leave me too…please. I love you.”

Each declaration chipped away as him like he was taking bullets. You could see his face soften as his resolve was crumbling. It was minute but you caught it, you knew him like the back of your hand. It was the same one before he always caved and did whatever you asked. You moved forward going on your tippy toes as you grabbed onto his shoulders and yanked him down to you forcefully. Your lips met skin, but it wasn’t his lips. You had missed his lips and had planted your lips against his chin. You pulled away sitting back on your heels but your hands were still on his shoulders. You head dropped as disappointment overwhelmed you. “Ha, I’m still a child after all.”

He tipped your chin back, his red eyes meeting yours with so many intense emotions love, sorrow, adoration, and fear. You were fearless, always doing whatever your heart desired. You were braver than he could ever be. He was afraid just as much as you were, but here you were jumping into his truth with no gripes. He held you there, held you in his eyes as if the world was within yours. With each second that passed, his feelings of guilt and remorse began to leave him. “No.”

He dipped down capturing your lips in a gentle press hoping to convey all his thoughts. All air left your lungs and it kicked your heart into overdrive. He gently moved his lips against yours and you could only describe his mouth against yours as a furnace. You were unsure of what do as you had never kissed before. Coming to your senses you began moving your lips against his plump lips softly and hesitantly. Skinship was casual between you too, but this level of intimacy was new to you. A low, drawn out groan that held a mix of relief, happiness escaped him as he felt you reciprocated. His hand that was under your chin shifted as he gently cupped your neck. Although you didn’t want to you pulled away for air overwhelmed and unprepared.

“Butterfly,” he whispered huskily against your lips. The air around you grew warmer if possible and heavier around you, and it felt familiar yet new with the desire that began to well within you.

He dipped down and picked you up as if you weighted nothing, his strong arms barely flexing in the motion. Earlier he had to strain and lean down and hunch over to meet your lips. You naturally wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. Jin’s body had always felt overheated to you, but it meant safe and security. It had your body heating up with arousal. He mumbled to himself almost, “You’re so small—so precious Butterfly.” You wanted to refute, you were quite average for a human, but he gave you no such chance.

“Jin—mpf!” He chased your lips this time with unrestrained desire and furiously that had you gasping and glad he was holding you securely to him. Your nails scratched unwittingly against his thick neck and tangling your fingers in his wet hair causing a long, low groan to rumble from deep in his throat. The vibrations sent desire thrumming through your veins. If this was what kissing was like you were upset, you hadn’t done this sooner. His tongue poked out and swept over your bottom lip before he took it between his teeth. It had you moaning tightening your grip in his hair that had him reciprocating the sound. He had greater lung capacity than you and it was evident in the way his voracious kissing never let up. Everything was happening so fast, but you were willingly falling in. You escaped his lips and when you pulled away there was a borderline animalistic growl he released. You couldn’t help the chuckle you released at his sound. You rested your forehead against his and holding his cheek. Teasing him back, “So precious.” He lightly tapped your thigh catching onto the gest. You pecked his lips as you giggled, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Your breathes mixed and he was staring at your puffy and bruised lips. Prideful that it was his doing. “Mine.” His hands tightened on your legs and slid up your tights trusting you to stay put. He gripped and kneaded your hips and you gasped at the possessive touch. A wave of heat went up your spine as you shivered, calling his name. A smirked pulled at his lips, he liked the way that sounded. His lips continued as he kissed the corner of your mouth moving to your jaw. His mouth trailed down until he pressed searing, sloppy kisses on your neck suckling and leaving marks behind. A needy whine that melted into a moan left your lips as he scrapped your hypersensitive flesh with his teeth.

He panted against your neck, unable to hold back his thoughts. “This is wrong.” Despite his protest his tongue poked out tasting your skin. He showed no signs of slowing down or stopping. Your hands squeezed his muscular shoulders holding onto him tighter. You felt small and vulnerable against this expansive figure. You whispered into his ear as you leaned forward. “If this is wrong then I don’t want what’s right.”

He pulled his face from your neck and met your eyes with a look you had seen customers give Anemonas—lust. You knew he saw the reciprocal want there. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me Butterfly. Do you know what you’re doing to me, what you do to me?” He rested his forehead against yours pecking your lips, all for himself so he wouldn’t succumb to the ravenous urges. He had surrendered fully to you. He adjusted you in his arms pulling you closer. In the action your chest brushed up against his and your crotch pressed against his member that had been forming. You mewled tucking your face into his neck at the arousal it sent through you. He chuckled at the cute reaction. He knew you were a virgin. “We don’t have to do anything.”

You shook your head, “I want this. I’ve waited for you long enough. I want all of you.”

He was back on you. He kissed you deeply weaving one of his calloused, inky hands on the back of your neck so he could deepen the kiss further. Night had settled in encasing everything in darkness with the lanterns unlit in the dark room, but you both hadn’t noticed the change. He was radiating a bright copper light from his being. It was enough to cast a mood light as if he was a lantern burning. You didn’t realize he was moving too lost in the feeling of him. The futon was still laid out from your session. Carefully he sat down with you straddling his lap, the whole time he was aware of your back. The skirt you wore had ridden up so far it was exposing nearly all your lower half. He chuckled when you whined as he broke the kiss, the irony. He teased nosing around your temples then neck taking in your scent that was getting sweeter. “You couldn’t stay away could you, Butterfly? You couldn’t listen to me huh?” You mewled as he squeezed your hips. His hands trailed up falling in the dips and curves of your body.

When his hands began to caress your sides, you felt as if your heart was beating outside of your body. It drummed manically, alive only to the sensation of his touch. How long had your body craved for this? Imagining what it would feel like to have his hands on you like this? Even his touch above the material of your robe was enough to suffice and have you feeling manic internally. You felt him everywhere, his palms burning their way to the skin. Over your robe his hands cupped your breast, thumbs rubbing over your nipples. They hardened under the motion. Your thighs squeezed around his muscular ones as you moaned. Your arousal was building as you felt your core stirring.

“I’ve thought about this before.”

Something in your stomach flipped. “R-really?” You stuttered as his warm hands kneaded harder. He kept his eyes on you while he kneaded and pinched at your nipples watching your reactions.

He chuckled lightly, “There’s so much I want to do you.”

“I want to touch, kiss every inch and hold all of you and feel you bare against me.” You had never heard lewd words coming from his mouth before.

You wanted that too. You reached up and undid the knot of your robe and let it fall from your shoulders. You held your hands over your chest, what if your chest wasn’t too his liking?

As if he could hear your thoughts, “Your beautiful my little human.”

You flushed at the nickname and pulled your hands away from your chest, trusting him. You allowed the sleeves to completely fall off you, robe forgotten. He went for your waist instead of grabbing at your breast like you expected. It was always what the men at the Inn did. They always groped at them as if they were drowning, but Jin held your waist still so gently. The looked mesmerized as if he had never seen a more beautiful sight and it had your heart skipping a few beats. “Beautiful, Butterfly.” Your eyes met, and you felt no shame, only love.

“Touch me.”

His hands caressed your abdomen with featherlight touches, although the slight callous to his hands were a welcoming friction. His fingers cupped your breast fully spilling into his welcoming hands. He massaged lightly and pinched at your nipples. Light pleasure traveled into your lower half filling the reservoir. His mouth accompanied his hands. His tongue delicately brushed against your right nipple. Your back arched into the feeling. His tongue felt hot as he teased it around the nipple before his lips encompassed it and he suckled. He took his time tasting you as he moved to your other breast when he felt the other had been marked enough and nibbled to tenderness. He looked up to you and his blazing, wild eyes had you moaning, he looked like he wanted to devour you.

It didn’t sound real to his ears the soft sounds of your moans and mewling. It had him wanting it more, and louder. He released your breast with a soft pop and his mouth was lightly glistening with his own saliva. While holding your unfocused gazed in his he trailed one hand down your navel finding your center over your skirt as he cupped you. You gasped, “I want to see all of you.” He had his hands dipping into the waist band of your skirt and tearing it along with your underwear. It ripped like wet paper as he tossed them somewhere in the room. “Jin!”

You whimpered instantly surprised by his strength again. In that moment you were reminded you were with a Guerra. You tried closing your legs but because of your position it didn’t allow you too.

“Don’t care, need you.” He didn’t want to afford having you moving off him. He inhaled taking in the scent of your arousal and his eye color deepened from red to a blood orange. “Gods, you smell divine.” He whined, suddenly pleading with you, “Please, butterfly, let me touch you. Please.”

You couldn’t resist, as much as you felt shy you wanted to feel him. You wanted it too. You nodded. He shook his head, “Say it. I need you to say it.”

“Touch me Jin.” You got out breathily. He groaned, enjoying the sound of it coming from you.

One finger dipped between your legs and ran up and down your slit. His touch was hot and it didn’t take him long to switch to two fingers coating both of his hands in your slick. “So wet for me little human.” You flinched every time he ran his fingers over your clit. He was so Intune with you as he quickly picked up on your reactions and what had you mewling as he swirled his fingers over your clit in a circular motion. His other hand had trialed back up and was groping at one of your breasts in time with his other hand. His mouth latched onto your neglected breast biting softly at the nipple before he suckled it to soothe the ache. You were drowning in euphoria at his simple touches. “So sensitive.” He commented out loud unaware he was even speaking. You moaned as he played with your body expertly.  You had a moment of wonder. How did he know how to touch you so well. How did he know the female body so well when you hadn’t seen or heard of him having any partners? You pushed against his shoulders as your breast made a resounding pop out of his mouth. You combed his hair with your fingers, “Did you?”

He looked up, breathing hot air over your nipple unwilling to part with your body. You resisted the urge to flinch at the tingling feeling. Gulping, embarrassed by your insecure feelings. “Did you…with her, that woman that night?”

He was lost in the furrows of lust it took him a moment to register what you were asking. He laughed sitting up straight finding your eyes level with him. You hated that he was laughing, but he placated you quickly. “No.”

He spoke honestly, “I’ve laid with women before, but I never enjoyed it, not like this. Nothing will ever compare to this, to you. I never loved them. It was to rid myself of my urges for you. I never wanted to hurt you. I only want you.”

Oddly, you didn’t care that he had others, because right now you were here—and going to be forever. You froze in his lap, did he, did he just say he loved you?

Tears pricked at your eyes again, “You love me?”

He smiled, “I do.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself, you were bubbling over with happiness as a stray tear fell. You pressed your lips to his and he returned the gesture eagerly laughing lightly at first at your excitement. Your bare chest pressed together and it felt so good feeling his bare skin. You felt like melting. His head tipped down exposing his thickened neck as he moaned. The veins on his neck looked like rivers of fire and deep canyons in where the shadow veins took place. You wanted to kiss it like he had yours. Your lips pressed gently over his and it had his eyes rolling back. The fire river like veins that trailed adjacent to his jugular were sensitive. His hips twitched rubbing against your bareness and it had you clutching at his shoulders tightly as you moaned louder than you had before. He made a similar nose under his breath. Egged on by the sound you kissed his neck generously until his skin was damp. You were surprised that despite the change his skin tasted like skin. Although there were hints of smokiness to him now along with his natural floral scent.

He allowed your hands to trail around his chest and large shoulders feeling his skin. His skin felt so soft until you reached the inked skin that felt slightly calloused. One thing that always had struck you odd was that Jin never had any tattoos, now you understood why. His bare torso was a sight to behold and the shadow and molt designs were predatorial. You let your hand trail down his chest and settle over his crotch. A strangled noise left him. He let you experiment and run your hands over the bulge. “Let me see you too. I want to see you Jin.” You were curious, you had seen human male client’s nude before on accident, you wondered if Guerrian anatomy were similar. You assumed as much since their non shifted form was human-like. Just from the outline you already had an idea he was large. “Please. I want to make you feel good too Jin.” You were too cute to resist.

From underneath you he used his hands and ripped his pants apart and tossed the flaps around. He wasn’t wearing undergarments. His length was standing erect against his navel. When you finally saw it you felt a mix of emotions thrill, anticipation and fear. The length and thickness was intimidating, but his large size must be normal for a Guerrian. Surely, he was much larger than the males you saw at the Inn, but that may have been down to your inexperience. His cock was just a bit darker than his natural skin color, but at the thick base the inky pigment ombred into his skin color. On the shaft smaller capillaries of fire ran up the shaft to the tip. Two, large, adjacent shadow and molten veins ran on the underside of his cock leading to the bulbous tip and disappearing into the slit. The tip was leaking thick fluid that was almost gelatinous.

Late at night when service was done sometimes the other servant girls would stay up and talk in your room. Some tips and trades were exchanged that weren’t recipes that they had gathered from Anemonas. Pulling from your bank you grabbed the base of his cock and your fingertips barely touched and it already felt heavy in your hands. It swelled slightly growing firmer in your touch.

“Ah-fuck, Butterfly!” You retracted your hand thinking you hurt him. His cock made a resounding slap against his stomach as you let go. He grasped your wrist, “No, don’t stop, it’s okay. It-it feels good.”

You nodded grasping him again and his expression scrunched. Your small hand felt great, even though your grip was loose. It was you touching him and that already had him on edge. He felt like he could cum any moment.  

“Is this good?”

He groaned, nodding, gods, you were so innocent and it made him wan to defile you even more.

You ran your hand up and down the shaft using the precum that had leaked over the tip to coat him in his own esscence. Out of curiosity, you brought up your fingers coated in his precum to your lips and wrapped your lips around his fingers. The salty, bitterness that greeted your taste buds was a harsh contrast to what you had imagined. The girls always in the throes of it had moaned how good they tasted. It wasn’t bad, just unexpected. You are swallowing every little drop of precum from your fingers.

He lost it as if awakening the feral Guerrian part within himself he had been controlling. He grabbed your hand as it reached for his cock again. He grunted, huffing through his teeth, “Next time.” You whined trying to reach for him again, his grip tightened on you. His eyes were blown out wide, “Butterfly. Next time.” He kissed your pouting lips. “Right now, I want to feel you.”  

You shifted over his crotch, but his hand found itself between your legs again. You looked at him questioning. “I need to prepare you to receive me.” You blushed at your eagerness then nodded in understanding. Switching back to one, his finger circling your entrance carefully. You could hear yourself, sticky as you coated the pad of his finger, and you fidgeted, wanting more but still feeling nervous. On cue, he slipped the digit inside you. Your velvet walls squeezed around the intrusion and you winced. His fingers were smaller than his cock, but way bigger than your own fingers. You whined, but he pressed kisses to your lips gently pulling you in a passionate make out. His finger began moving deeper within you and he swallowed each of your noises. “If you can’t take my fingers how are you supposed to take my cock, little human?” You panicked thinking he wasn’t going to put it in you. “No, Jin, I can take it. I can take you.”

He smirked, but underneath he was also a bit concnerned. You were so small compared to his current figure. If he was in his human form there was only a small difference, but he couldn’t shift back now. You grinded against his hand sending a wave of pleasure overriding the pain. The dulcet sound encouraged him, to continue prepping you. This time your walls accepted him sucking his finger in with a desperate need, locking him in placed. He explored you a little, dragging and rubbing inside you, trying to stretch you for what was to come.

“Let me add another finger.” You nodded as you felt him pull his digit out and press another finger up to your twitching entrance. He pressed in and the initial sting hurt as well as the push inside. He rubbed your hip with his other hand in soothing circles. Shifting his hand around he pressed at your clit with his thumb rubbing similar circles. You moaned into the touch as his fingers began to sink into your cunt. He began pumping his fingers into you and the reserve you had been building was soon becoming too much. You had no idea this could be so pleasurable. The woman at the Inn never bragged that sex was this great, always stating it was dull at most.

“Jin? Jin somethings happening, something’s coming.”

He captured your lips increasing the pumping of his fingers and circling around your clit. “Come for me Butterfly, come all over my fingers.”  

Your walls clenched around his fingers and suddenly you were bursting, creaming all over his fingers. He slowed his pace down a bit until you whined. Both of your eyes were blown out and unfocused already despite him still not having his cock in you. The pleasure was already so good. Your scent of arousal had flooded the room and it was making his brain hazy. He pulled his fingers out of you and popping them into his mouth. He groaned at the sweet taste of your essence. It was like junq and cream. It was just as sweet as the rest of you. “My fucking gods Butterfly you taste so good.”

You were panting body still twitching over him. Oddly you didn’t feel exhausted but you wanted more, you wanted more of him. As if he could sense it he captured your lips pressing you for a lasting kiss mixing your tongues. You could taste yourself on his tongue but you didn’t mind it. “Butterfly, I want to lay you down, kiss every inch of you. Taste every inch of you. But for right now, I want you to ride me.”

You nodded and with his help you hovered above his tip, letting him settle against your opening. He moved his cock against your slit collecting your previous cream. “Do you want my cock little human?” He asked still keeping a seductive tone, but he was worried, holding your hips in place.

“Yes, I want this.”

You took his cock from his hand and brought it up to your entrance. You were trembling slighty but you pressed down letting your hips fall. His fingers were definitely smaller than his cock, but you were glad he prepped you. He watched you letting you take him at your pace. The sting burned and you felt like you were going to rip as you kept taking in his tip. With the head in you paused chest heaving at the tight fit. You struggled, feeling a little foolish. He was strong as he was supporting your whole body weight with a single arm while he leaned back on the other to get a better look at you. He groaned at the way he watched your pussy suck in his cock and it disappeared in you. You paused with just the tip of him in. You were so tight holding him in a vice grip. He felt like a young Guerrian again, he felt like he could come at any second but he fought hard against it. With encouraging words to distract himself and to help you slowly you sunk fully onto him to the base. His cock was so hot, hotter than the rest of his body and it was throbbing within you. Unable to resist anymore he pressed his hips upwards sinking further into you until his whole cock was in you. You cried out loud back arching as you could feel him all the way in your stomach.

You felt heavenly. He pulled you closer to by the waist and encouraged you to wrap your arms around him. The slight motion had you whining but he hushed and assured you. His lips found yours, unable to resist, as his tongue and yours moved against one another.

“You don’t belong in anyone else’s arms but mine.”

You squeezed at his shoulders.

“Ready?”

You nodded and with the help of his hands on your hips he dragged you up to the tip of his cock. On the drag down moans tumbled forth from your parted lips, mouth dropped open at the intense pleasure. His grip on your hips tightened as he helped you repeat the action and soon you were riding him. You were fucking him  He moaned your name. Hearing him use it in this context set your body alight. He proved to you just how much he liked what you were doing, no matter how inexperienced you were by being vocal. You hadn’t expected that from him as he was normally quiet and introverted.

“Turn over for me.”

Carefully you twisted in his lap and the noise his cock slipping out of you was sloppy enough with the mix of both of your juice it had a flush rising to your cheeks. You allowed him to move you so that your back was facing him. Gently his fingers moved over your freshly tattooed skin. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the center of your back, one for each butterfly. You were gorgeous in his eyes, nothing could compare to you. “My Butterfly.” He kept moving you until you were on all fours, ass up and bent just right for him. With his other hand he brought his cock back to your entrance and pressed inside you. It had you moaning at the new feeling and it felt he was going deeper inside you. Slowly he maneuvered so you could get used to it before he was pounding into you. You felt encompassed by his large being. Your elbows collapsed under you as your face was on the mattress. You turned around looking over your shoulder. He looked delirious as he pumped himself into you. It had your walls clamping down on his length. He grunted losing himself in the pleasure.

“Gonna cum Butterfly?” You nodded. He reached around your front fingers finding your clit. It had you mewling and squirming. He pressed down onto you nearly laying himself over you as he kissed your shoulder.

“My good little human. Mine. All mine.”

You couldn’t hold it anymore as you came. His cock swelled slightly, molten vein within you brightening as he neared his end. A high pitch whine escaped you as he increased his pace. “Jin! Oh my gods, Jin!” He thrusted harder and deeper inside you. He was lost in the pleasure. His pace was becoming sloppy as he came coating you walls in his thick cum. He twitched above you as he kept cumming, filling you fully with his seed.

You whined as you collapsed underneath him. His cock slipped out of you, but you both didn’t care about the mess. He fell next to you on the mattress, both of you were heaving. Turning you over carefully onto your side so you were face to face with him he brought you into his chest with his hand draped over your waist. You were beyond sweating and overheating, but you didn’t care. You wanted to be in his embrace. Your hands rested on his chest. He dipped his head down and your lips lazily worked against one another.

Pulling away, you blinked sleepily. His eyes were trained on you with a similar soft expression.

“I love you.” In a raspy voice that sounded heavy with sleep, he confessed.

You giggled pecking his lips. “I love you too.”  

You blinked as light shined in from the porch resting the urge to tuck yourself back into the comforter. You turned over onto your side sitting up, pushing the hair back from your face. Inhaling deeply fresh air. You look towards the source of light that ultimately woke you up coming in from the porch. You promised yourself it was only going to be a short nap, but the sky outside was already darkening.

Jin’s wide shoulders were hunched over as you could see one of his arms moving. You crawled over towards him. He had set up station on the porch as the weather had gotten much warmer. When you reached him you wrapped your arms his waist plopping your chin over his shoulder. You peeked his cheek, “Hello.”

He hummed twisting his head around to peck your lips quickly. “I didn’t want to wake you, you were sleeping so good.”

You groaned but it was endearing to him. You planted your chin back on his shoulder. He held your hands tightly still. His black inked hands with the fire veins exposed freely as he worked.

“Something came for you.”

You perked up at that. He let go of one of your hands and dug into his robe coat pulling out a letter. He held it between his fingers. “It’s for you.”

You lit up at the sight of the letter. Had Cherry written you? You wondered if her and Hoseok had finally tied the knot since they moved from the city. You crawled around front and sat yourself in his lap and he wrapped his arms around your waist. You flipped it over a few times, it had your name on it but it was addressed from a place you didn’t recognize. For sure this letter wasn’t from Cherry.

“Who’s it from? Are you sure this is the right Y/n?”

He propped his head on your shoulder like you had earlier. “It’s right.”

You pulled at the side seal and dug your finger in ripping it open. You pulled out a letter and quietly read it over. He tightened his grip around your waist as you were the quietest you’ve ever been. Your eyes grew bleary and tears began to slip down your cheek. You turned around in Jin’s lap, hand shaking, “How? How did you?”

He smiled wiping your tears from your eyes. “I had to do a lot of research, but I found her. I sent her a our wedding picture. She sent her blessings and this letter for you.”

You were ugly sobbing as you pressed your face into his shoulder as you wrapped your arms tightly around him. Your mother hadn’t forgotten about you and was very proud of you as she wrote in her letter. She was proud of all you had done for humans and Guerrian alike. In the letter she said she had tried looking for you but wasn’t allowed into the capital all those years ago. She never stopped thinking about you. With the liberation and breaking of the apartheid after the two-year war a few years ago, she was finally free to come to the capital and she wanted to meet you. Your siblings are doing well. There was nothing about your father. But this letter, that’s more than you could’ve ever asked for.

He held you tightly in his arms. When your tears dried you leaned back and pecked his lips. “I-you’re—I-I love you so much.”

He smiled and captured your lips with his, “I love you too.”

You smiled clutching the letter closer to you. Shyly you pulled back holding out your forearm. “Paint one for me?”

He took your arm and pecked the skin, “Anything for you Butterfly.”

The ink was always cold, but his warm hand was enough to counter it. With a last stroke he painted a butterfly on you. You held your arm up to the sky that was painted in an array of colors welcoming the sunset.

Everything was alright.

Copyright 2020 by magicalsalamander. All rights reserved.

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clans part 7! @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz

Leonardo was extremely hesitant when Bishop had opened a rift and insisted he go through it. His brothers weren’t given such treatment, yet Bishop insisted, and Leonardo promised he’d follow his brothers call. The method Bishop used to teleport the mutant was nothing like the rift travel Leonardo was used to. There was no instant separating one place from the other; instead of a passage, a tunnel between spaces in time, the world changed between blinks. Bright lights and chirping birds changed to cold water and near complete darkness. His feet traced the muddy bottom of... wherever he was, his arms immediately taking to gliding through the water as natural as walking. His eyes searched up until he found a brightness above, and he kicked off of the bottom to soar toward the heavenly light.

The slider burst through the surface of a lake, gasping not for breath but for heat. The air around him felt even colder than the water to his soaked, unprotected skin. He swam in a circle trying to find the best way of escape, but all he saw was endless white banks covered in snow, surrounded by a forest of first-coated trees. There was no warmth in sight and Leonardo felt a knot growing in his throat. He could only keep himself warm for so long before his body would give out and be forced into what Donatello referred to as reptile mode and, not long after, torpor. He knew his core temp was already dropping, and he had to consciously work to raise it so he wouldn’t freeze. He had to get out and he had to get warm, and he had to do it fast.

Scrambling onto the shore took a lot more effort than he would have liked to expend. Several times, the snow caved under him and knocked him back into the icy lake, but finally he managed to claw himself out of the water and scramble to his feet. The only clothes Leonardo had on were his shorts, and they were practically frozen to his body and dripping chill across his exposed legs. He had to find a cave or some place to get shelter, find something dry to start a fire. He took off his pants; it wasn’t like anything could be seen anyway, and they would only trap the cold of the water. He knew better; his camping experience had taught him something worthwhile after all. The best thing he could do currently to stop from freezing was to walk, and so he did.

There was no clear path, so he had to make his own. He pulled the odachi from where it was secured safely on his back and used it to slice through brambles and low-hanging branches, slicing himself a way through the trees. To keep his mind focused, he kept repeating his task over and over again.

“I need the blessing of a ronin’s ronin… I need the blessing of a ronin’s ronin…” He said over and over. He eventually found his way to a footpath and was able to tuck his sword back in its holder so he could wrap his arms around himself to preserve warm.

One second Leonardo was walking and the next he was on the ground, pinned by a greater force with a knife held to his throat. Leonardo’s instincts kicked in before his training did and he had the quick sense to press his forearm against the attacker’s chest and inner arm to force a stalemate while the other creature fought with all his might to bring the knife down upon the turtle.

“Ninja scum!” Spat the creature, his lips pulling back in a snarl to show bucked teeth. His voice was not English, but Leonardo understood the fluent Japanese. “You are not welcome here!”

Leonardo searched for an out. He couldn’t fight the creature forever and he needed to get into a position where he could meet the attacker head-one. His free hand grasped desperately in the snow, searching for anything hard to use for his advantage. Upon finding nothing, Leonardo did the next best thing and grabbed a handful of mud and snow to slam into the rabbit’s face. He only recognized the creature as such when the rabbit gave a furious snarl and stumbled backward to paw at his eye, wiping the brown from his otherwise pure white fur.

Leonardo was up and ready before the rabbit had time to recover, holding his odachi in front of him as a threat display. The anxiety in him hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but the confidence that battled the anxiety told him he could handle himself if it fell to fighting. The rabbit fell into an attack stance, one hand replacing the knife in his belt while the other reached behind his back and pulled out a katana.

“Hey uh.” Leonardo laughed and spun his odachi pointedly. “Mine’s bigger.”

The rabbit didn't seem too amused. He charged forward, bringing his katana down swinging. Leonardo intercepted the blade and deflected it to make the rabbit stumble, then kicked him in the small of his back. The rabbit gave a yelp and fell forward. Leonardo tried to take advantage of the situation to get the rabbit into a pin. Last second, however, the enemy slid between Leonardo’s legs and brought both of his massive feet down upon the back of the mutant's knees. Leonardo feel hard. The rabbit tried to lunge at him spying Leonardo’s weakness, but Leonardo dropped to let the rabbit past him by. The creature fell by the force of his own lunge and Leonardo jumped on top of him as the rabbit spun on his back to try and stand. Leonardo brought his knees to pin the creature by his waist, the rabbit’s arms pinned in the mutant's strong grip.

“No! Don’t hurt him!”

Leonardo’s mind blanked at the new voice-- a child’s voice-- from behind him. Leonardo turned to look, and his eyes found a tiny, fat creature that couldn’t have been more than seven; the fur of his body was a mix of black and brown, but his chest and up was an off-white color. While he didn't have any distinguishable hair, the fur on his head was scruffed up enough to almost be considered a mane. Around his eyes were patterns that could almost resemble the one on Leonardo’s face, except black and trailing down the entire length of his back to the tip of his small tail.

Leonardo looked back to the rabbit with just enough time to witness the oversized feet slamming into his face before everything went black.

***

Raphael took to the hidden city in search of a king. It would help to know where to start, he thought bitterly, and it wasn’t like he could just waltz up to a human king without being shot full of lead. So a yokai king was his only choice, but he wasn’t even sure there were any yokai kings. He had never heard of one in all the time he had spent in the Hidden City. His best bet, he figured, was to wander until he could find something that resembled a king or a crown or anything royalty. How hard could that be?

Several hours later and Raphael was hopelessly lost on the outskirts of the city. He did the only thing he could think to do, which was to keep wandering like he had been the hours before, yet still with no idea of where to go. A sudden calamity caught his attention, but before he could locate the source of it, he was flooded by a swarm of fleeing yokai. None of them were quite as big as Raphael was, but there were enough of them forcing their way past him that he had to exert a great amount of force to walk the opposite direction, toward the event that had frightened so many. For a moment, he forgot his task as his mind focused in on ninja instinct and undeniable curiosity.

Eventually, he made it past the worst of the crowd and was able to run instead of stumble. Through an alley and into a side street. The sounds of a struggle became more apparent the closer he got, and the moment he left the alley he took no pause to take in the scene. While still running, he saw one yokai pinning another and, without thought otherwise, slammed his fist hard into the stomach of the inugami. The dog yokai gave a pained yelp as he was flung from the nekomata and slammed into the bricks of a nearby building with a solid thud.

“Leave her ALONE!”

The cat yokai stumbled to her feet with a furious hiss as she moved close to Raphael’s side. Her fur was spiked up, parts of the white stained red with a small amount of blood, though not enough to keep her from fighting. Her pelt was mostly white, with spots of black and orange throughout that gave the appearance of a calico, except with two tails instead of one lashing behind her. The claws of both her hands and feet were unsheathed and ready for a fight.

The dog yokai of varying sizes and breeds advanced savagely on the duo. Raphael grabbed his tonfa from his belt and, just to show off, gave them a threatening flip.

“Come on pups, let’s see what you got!”

As a single unit of barking fury, the five dogs targeted Raphael. His tonfa swung independent of one another, hitting two separate dogs while the others locked onto his arms or any other part of him they could reach. The cat grabbed one of the smaller dogs and pried them off of Raphael, tossing them to the side and slashing at their eyes with her claws. Raphael grabbed a hold of the remaining two dogs by their scruff, yanked them off his biceps, and cracked their heads together before dropping them. One of the previously tossed dogs tried to sneak up on Raphael but, before she could lunge, the cat Yokai once more tossed herself into the battle and locked her claws around the canine’s neck. Both cat and dog went down in a fury of flashing claws and snapping teeth until the inugami separated and fled down the empty streets with her tail between her legs.

At the sight of their comrade fleeing, that was the sign for the rest of the dogs to follow. Raphael left a few of them with punches to the back to remember him by, not letting his guard down for a second even as he turned to the she-cat.

“Thanks.” The she-cat panted softly, her fur still bristled and her mouth hanging open to suck in sharp gasps of air.

“Yeah.” Raphael said, rubbing the new teeth marks that had just barely managed to break through the toughness of his skin. “You okay?”

“Nothing I won’t heal from.” She swiped her hand over her mouth.

Now Raphael could get a better look at her, the she-cat looked old; some of the fur around her muzzle and eyes was starting to turn gray, though her body was just as glossy and fair as a young cat’s would be. She grabbed a hold of one tail to brush her fingers through the fur once her claws had resheathed, bringing the other to her mouth to groom it flat.

“Why were those goons attacking you anyway?” Raphael asked.

“Ugh. Who knows with inugami? Could be anything that set them off.” She bent down with remarkable flexibility to groom blood from her side. “I’m just not as young as I used to be. You don’t look like you’re from around here…”

Her eyes were slitted as the pupils searched up to watch Raphael curiously, as if she were deciphering the pages of a book.

“Ah, yeah.” Raphael rubbed his neck, “I’m kinda lost.”

“I could point you on your way.” Her sing-song voice purred.

“Thanks! But I’m not really sure what ‘on my way’ is, exactly. I came down this way looking for a king, but I don’t think there’s one here.”

“A king?” She tilted her head, her eyes glinting sharply.

“Yeah. You know, with a crown and stuff.”

“I see.” She nodded her understanding.

“Maybe you could still help me?” He asked hopefully, “I’m really new to the Hidden City. Do you know of anyone who might be considered royalty?”

The nekomata purred in concentration, holding her paws to her lips as she considered. “The oldest yokai I know of are the Council of Heads. Some might consider them royalty? Maybe they can help you?”

Raphael smiled widely. “Yeah— yeah that sounds great! Uh… h-how would I get to them, exactly?”

The she-cat laughed. “I’ll draw you a map.” She held her paw out to him.

It took Raphael a second to understand before he quickly grabbed her hand in his and shook it. “Sorry— manners must have slipped. I’m Raphael.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Raphael. I am Tang Shen.”

[watarigarasu]

Upendi

Pairing: Kíli x Reader

Word count: 2,475

Warnings: None

Synopsis: Kíli's actions may be reckless but you have never regretted following him once.

Author’s note: The story was vaguely inspired by the song Upendi from the Lion King 2!

The path which led to the lake was narrow, covered in soft needles fallen from the nearby trees and an occasional cone there and there. Stepping on the latter was rather painful, especially considering the fact that your feet were bare and in the dim light of the moon you could not see all of them clearly. There were few quiet ouches leaving past your lips before you finally reached your destination, the place you wanted to see since you left your home with Thorin’s Company—the lake.

As you approached it, now walking down the mossy ground, you could not stop staring at the reflections dancing on the waters’ surface, the moon swaying to the sides as if it was dancing rhythmically to the melody only it could hear. High bulrushes were growing at the southern shore, perfectly hiding the shallow waters from the eyes of any curious passersby, if there would only be any. The forest in which The Company decided to rest for tonight was peaceful and welcoming, much different than the magical lands you wandered through, full of dangerous and wild creatures you have never seen before.

Placing your shoes at the sandy coast, you took off the tunic and looked around to make sure that nobody was following you for the last time. You would never suspect any of the loyal and honourable Dwarves of such a thing, however… you had your doubts about Thorin’s nieces. Very reasonable ones. You did not want to have your clothes stolen for the sake of some kind of joke, that is why you decided it would be better to be safe than sorry and hid the tunic in the nearby bushes. If something happened, you would at least have one piece of fabric to cover yourself up.

Turning around, you took few steps forward to check whether the water was cold or not with your toes. Considering the fact that the latest days were unbearably hot, it should be warm and you craved a bath too much to withdraw now. It was your evening, you deserved it after killing few vicious orcs which were chasing The Company. There was still dirt and black blood in your hair and under the nails, you probably smelled of sweat and the grass stains on your clothes certainly did not add anything positive to your overall miserable look. Cold or not, you needed a solid bath.

“It may not be as hot as you, but I can assure you that it’s quite nice.”

You turned your head to the right so suddenly that you almost felt the cramp in the muscles. To your surprise, there was a pair of dark eyes staring at you from above the enormous rock and the familiar smile spreading on the lips of the person you recognized immediately.

Kíli observed you with the amused expression, his elbows resting on the rock as the lower half of his body must have still been in the water. For a moment he reminded you of a mermaids you heard the stories about and the image of him weaving his chubby fish-like tail almost made you lighten up. Almost, for the initial thought which could explain his presence here was nowhere near funny for you, and so, you asked:

“Where is Fíli?”

Kíli pouted.

“Am I not enough company for you?”

“I don’t want any company, I want to take a bath!”

“Well then, that makes two of us.” Even in the dim light you could see him wiggling his eyebrows at you.

“Oh, please…”

Resting your hands on the hips, you looked at him. You would have to be blind to not notice the way he was talking to you, flirting with you, charming you every day in almost every moment. For some reason, the young prince grew fond of you and the thought itself was quite flattering, you had to admit, but it did not change the fact that you were not sure whether his uncle would approve your relationship. Kíli’s feelings were returned, very much so, but no matter how much you adored him, you were still just a human.

The possibility of never truly being with him broke your heart.

“Come on,” he encouraged, his voice suddenly losing the frivolous tone and becoming purely sympathetic instead. “The water is warm, I promise.”

You smiled, seeing the way the moonlight reflected in his eyes. You knew that he observed you, when you took off the rest of your clothes and placed them on the sand, you could feel his gaze ghosting over your body, remembering it and caressing with the delicacy of his loving heart. Eventually, you went in the water, first to the ankles’ level, then calves, thighs, hips and waist. Bending your knees, you sunk into the lake deep enough so only your head was above the surface.

Indeed, the water was warm.

“Now, you ruined the whole show,” Kíli sighed theatrically and shook his head slightly.

“How so?” You approached him so close, that you could rest your arms on the opposite side of the rock and look at him in the eyes. “I thought I was not your type.”

Kíli blinked few times, apparently confused.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve heard exactly what you said during the dinner in Rivendell,” you teased, content that for once you were the reason for the adorable, puzzled expression on his face and not the other way around. “How did it go? I’m not fond of those maids because of their thin figure, creamy skin and what else?”

“I did not mean that!”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Besides,” he frowned, solemn. “You are far more magnificent than even the greatest of Elf maids.”

The way he said those words proved you that he really believed in them. There was no false, no bad intentions, just the overwhelming adoration and sincere truth.

Slowly, Kíli reached to you above the rock which was now irritatingly separating you two, and stroked your cheek. He smiled when you leaned to his hand, responsive for his touch and loving the way his fingers felt against your skin.

“You are perfect to me,” he confessed quietly. “And I love, love your high cheekbones.”

Kissing the inner side of his palm was another way to hide the amusement which painted on your face, the undeniable proof of the effect his words had upon you. It surprised you when he suddenly moved back, taking his hand away from you and diving in the lake, the cheeky expression not fading until his head went completely underwater.

Turning around, you tried to look for him, perfectly aware of whatever kind of shenanigans he was up to, but spotting his dark hair in the equally black water was impossible. You did not move, firmly standing your ground near the rock and ready to either hold it for your life or even immediately jump out of the lake on it if needed. You knew how much he and the other members of The Company enjoyed playing in water, splashing around with a lot of roaring laughs, competitions and challenges, that is why you were expecting the worst already—to get splashed or pulled underwater or tickled with some kind of seaweeds or any other unpleasant, slimy thing. What you did not expect, however, was that Kíli would eventually emerge from the water right in front of you, so close that your chests were almost touching, and do it carefully and slowly, keeping an eye contact with you until he stood straight on the sandy ground below your feet.

Droplets of water were running down his hair, long strands now clinging to his cheeks, forehead, shoulders and back. Some of the beads fell down, back to the lake, trailing the various wet lines on his body, while the others rested in the curly hair on his strong arms and chest, slightly reflecting the pale moonlight just like his eyes were. It was not the first time when you saw him half-naked but definitely the first time when you were so close to each other in such a state.

“Admiring the view, my dear?” he teased, apparently noticing the look in your eyes.

You could only hope that he did not somehow notice how dry did your mouth became all of a sudden.

Before you could think of any proper answer or wit comeback, he gently took your hand and pulled you after him, saying:

“Come with me, there’s something I want to show you.”

You agreed, partly grateful that he did not decide to continue this discussion you had no chance of winning, not after showing such an obvious interest in him. Still, you were curious about his idea, you could not deny that those were often quite dangerous but no less fascinating and always led to something worth remembering. It was impossible to refuse, especially when you remembered what he told you few days ago, when you followed him to one of the apparently abandoned caves to look for the hidden treasures, most likely forgotten by their rightful owners. The place stank of fear and the quick possibility of getting eaten alive by some vicious creatures but before Kíli went down the cave, he looked at you in the eyes and swore:

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t let anything bad to happen to you.”

He kept that promise, as he always did.

This time, you followed him to the eastern shore, walking through the shallow waters and carefully taking every step just in case there would be sharp rocks on the bottom. Either there were none or you managed to dodge all of them, eventually you found yourself standing in front of the enormous pile of rocks, half drowned in the lake, and that was the place where Kíli stopped and turned back to you, still not letting go of your hand.

“Do you trust me?” he asked firmly.

“What kind of question is that?” You frowned at how serious his voice was. “Of course I do, but–“

“No buts! Keep that thought in mind and follow me, alright? Can you hold your breath?”

“It depends on why—Kíli, what do you want to do?” You were growing more and more suspicious but somehow with him by your side it was not anxiety which overwhelmed you, but rather excitement. He would never risk your life, that was for sure, so you had no real reasons to be afraid. Somewhere deep in your heart you knew that if he had to, he would risk his life for your safety without hesitation also.

Mahal, how could you not fall for him?

“You won’t regret it,” he assured you, now cheerful back again, as he knew that you would not turn away now.

“It doesn’t answer my question in the slightest.”

“Just trust me. Look, do you see this very ominous, dark hole under water, right there?” Kíli pointed a finger at the place where the pile of rocks was touching the lake’s surface and drowning deeper.

You nodded, not wholly convinced if you wanted to see it.

“We’ll have to dive in there, swim under the rock and then we’ll reach something absolutely fantastic! You’ve never seen anything like that before, I can assure you.”

His enthusiasm was undoubtedly contagious, because soon you found yourself wondering what could wait for you on the other side. Being a human, you were not overly interested in the undergrounds, small and dark spaces appearing as claustrophobic and not even as closely as stunning as the beauty which could be seen on the earth. However, you have spent enough time with Dwarves to learn that once you would get rid of the prejudices and expectations, you could find the greatest treasures and values in the darkest times and places.

And so, you sighed deeply and asked:

“Ladies first?”

Although you were wary of the time you were supposed to spend underwater, the distance was not even half as long as you thought. Holding your breath and swimming in the darkness while surrounded with nothing but the stones was not the most pleasant experience, you had to admit, but Kíli made sure that you always felt his presence nearby. He helped you to find the surface once you were on the other side and when you caught your breath and blinked, adjusting your sight to the dim light, you realized that you were no longer exposed to the moon—on the contrary, you were inside the cave with roof so high that you wondered if you were still by the same lake. Nevertheless, it was not the mystical passage to that hidden place, nor its size which got you awestruck but the source of the delicate, blue light.

It seemed as if the thousands, millions of tiny lanterns were hanging from the roof and the walls, wet stones reflecting the light and making the whole cave shine as if under a magical spell. Long branches and leaves were reaching down the ground, illuminated reminding you of a colourful jellyfishes, floating in the thin air instead of the water. Or, as you believed for a while, it was you who suddenly learned how to breathe underwater and observed this whole scenery of the world you have never experienced before.

Being to mesmerized by the view in front of you, you could not notice how Kíli’s undivided attention was focused completely on you, on discovering how your features changed when you realized where you were, on how the happiness and surprise changed the way you looked around, on how freely and completely you were yourself in that very moment. He could not even think about the beauty of the surroundings, not when he had you in front of him and the overwhelming love filling his heart.

“How did you know about this place?” you asked, genuinely curious and only then caught his gaze upon you.

“I was roaming.” He shrugged and approached you, the water as bright as the cave’s roof. “It made me think about you.”

“Do you often think about me then?”

“All the time.”

His confession was sincere and to prove that, he placed his hand at the side of your neck, caressing the line of the jaw with his thumb and hungrily eyeing your lips. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to hold you in his arms and never let you go, to stay in this magical place together, where nothing could disturb nor harm you. Instead, he simply leaned to you and rested his cheek at the crook of your neck, feeling how chill and wet your skin was against his.

“I love you,” Kíli whispered and the cave almost swallowed the soft sound of his voice. “You have no idea how much you mean to me, my dear.”

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Too Much || Ariana & Chloe

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @chloeinbetween & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana checks in on Chloe and they have a bit of a disagreement.  CONTENT:  Lydia plot CW, gun use mentions, domestic abuse mentions, sibling death mentioned

More time than she would have liked had come and gone since they got everyone out of Lydia’s home albeit not everyone made it out alive. Ariana had meant to check in sooner, but life had been more hectic than she would have liked and she wasn’t even sure Chloe would stay. Her only memories made here were those in Lydia’s prison of a home which were decidedly not pleasant ones. Since she had decided to stay, Ariana knew she could still help and make sure she gets properly acquainted with the town. She walked up to Chloe’s new place with gingerbread cookies in hand and a little hand drawn map in her bag to give Chloe a good run down of the town and where to avoid. She knocked on the door and waved when it opened. “Hey,” she said with a small smile, “Cookies as pr- expected? Not sure that works any better, but hey, cookies!” 

 Chloe had braided her hair so that it sat over her shoulder, tickling her collar bone. Agatha’s place was nice, and when she was at the office the peace and space it offered was a treasure. Lydia’s home had always been too perfect, their living areas impersonal and without trinkets. Whereas Agatha’s felt like a home should, like Agatha herself. Even the couch was soft and comfortable. It wasn’t permanent, but it felt safe, and after four years of sleeping in the same room with other people, being someplace completely by herself felt… wiggy. Which sucked, Chloe could admit to herself, but it was also true. Her foot bounced as she waited for Ariana to arrive, and still startled at the knock on the door. Her first instinct, still, was to hide to avoid the burning retribution of a fae promise broken, but Chloe forced herself to unlock her knees and stand up, walking over to the door and swinging it open. “Hey. Cookies sounds great. Come on in.” She hoped Ariana couldn’t hear her nervous heart trying to escape her chest. 

 Ariana was coming far too familiar with the fact there was no true fix for grief or trauma. Not only was it so different for everyone, but they were also both things that had to be felt through. Subdued with whatever little scrap of solace or hope you could find. It left her all too lost on how to help Chloe in moving forward. Being out of that horror house was a step in the right direction, but she was not naive enough to think it could all be that simple. She could hear the way Chloe’s heart rattled nervously in her chest as she came inside. “Thanks,” she said with a small smile as she walked in. This place was much cozier than Lydia’s home that felt all too cold in all it’s luxury, or maybe that was just because she knew how cold a woman Lydia was. She set the cookies down on the coffee table and gestured for Chloe to try one before fishing a map out of her bag. “So, I made this for you. It’s a little map of town with big red X’s over all the sketchy places… given like half those sketchy places are mime places.” She cracked a smile toward the end. Somehow the mimes managed to be scary and comical all in one. 

 Chloe stepped back stiltedly, revealed her nerves as she gave Ariana a wide berth to pass her by. There were two pictures of Ariana in her mind. There was the blue haired girl under the trees whose dimples sometimes caught the moonlight, flitting around with bats in her hands. That was the image that Sammy had painted for her. Then, there was the other, the monster with fangs and a horrifying maw, that had bitten awfully into Sammy’s thigh. Had done something so visceral to him that sweet, soft Sammy had become frightening to Lydia. Werewolf. Fundamentally dangerous. Chloe couldn’t quite shake that thought, nor make it align with the tiny, young girl in front of her. “You made-” Chloe cut herself off, clutching the back of a chair with a tight grip before lowering herself into it, taking one of the cookies and nibbling at the edge. “That’s… very thoughtful.” Chloe said. There were so many red lines on the sheet of paper. “Mime places, huh? That’s not a phrase you hear everywhere.”

 The day at Lydia’s, Chloe had said her name in a questioning way. It made Ariana wonder how much Sammy had been able to tell her. What harsh words Lydia had likely said about her. She had the feeling Chloe didn’t hold too much stock in Lydia’s opinion. Or maybe she did. Sammy had before he died. The thought made her stomach turn and she opted out of having one of the cookies for now. “For sure,” she said easily, “There’s been a lot of trial and error on that, but I’m pretty durable.” She laughed a bit at the mime part. Somehow, the mimes managed to be a more chilling aspect of the town, especially since they’d even tainted the town’s soccer ball supply. Or football as Kaden would downright insist. “Didn’t you know? White Crest has the most mime per capita of any town in the world.” Her faux enthusiasm faded and she added, “But trust me, I know. I’ve lived a lot of places and most of them don’t have mime establishments.” She looked around the place. It had that distinctly home-y vibe to it. She could see a coffee mug on the counter that had likely been used earlier that day. She was pretty sure she spotted some games on the shelves, too. “How are you adjusting though? It seems nice here,” she asked more seriously now. 

 Chloe looked over the map, her chest squeezing. Sammy should have had this. Sammy had nearly had this. If he’d crept out and stayed out until he was something Lydia had been forced to respect, maybe. If he’d been more careful, if she’d been less cunning. Chloe looked at Ariana without being able to hide how wary she was, wondering if whatever change he’d been offered would really be better. “I keep hearing about that. People talk about their mime hatred online. If I didn’t know- well, it would be pretty funny, if it really was just regular humans dressed up and doing work as regular mimes. Just not… whatever these mimes are.” Chloe shuddered, imagining mimes as just another type of fae, perhaps even more dangerous in their trickery because they never spoke and only listened, so would hear more of the mistakes she knew they could use. “I’m… adjusting. It’s… it’s hard, remembering that I can make choices. Staying with Agatha has been good while I find my feet a little. She’s very… understanding, and very kind.” She looked around, squeezing her hands into her thighs as if that might hide the trembling. 

 Despite the fact she’d experienced a fair amount of pain, Ariana couldn’t even begin to imagine what Chloe was going through. Just that one instance of her free will being taken from her had been damaging and left her filled with dread. That had to be so much worse for Chloe and she wished she could take it all away. But that wasn’t how pain or trauma worked and she hated how easily she could understand that. Focusing on mimes was easier even if they were frightening in their own way. “It would be much funnier if they were just people who were way too enthusiastic about their craft. Since they’re not, better to avoid them… or anything black and white. The soccer balls at the rec center once turned into a bunch of those mini mime monsters which was a big old yikes.” She leaned into the back of the couch and listened as Chloe spoke. All of this sounded incredibly difficult, but she was glad she had a safe place now. “It must be. If it helps to talk about it you can. I know I go back and forth on whether talking feels helpful, but like-- Here if you ever want to and all. I’m glad Agatha has been good. It definitely seems cozy here.” 

 “The soccer balls did what?” Chloe repeated faintly, sitting down by the kitchen table. She traced her finger over the most dangerous zones on the map, watching her fingers tremble. Today, her joints were painful and stiff, it would hurt to hold a pencil to add anything more. When Ariana spoke, Chloe nodded, but when she answered only spoke about Agatha. How could she tell Ariana that the young werewolf made her as nervous as anything else, that the tremors in her hands were because she kept thinking about the bloody stains on Sammy’s clothes even before Lydia had killed him? “It is cosy. I’ve been looking at a couple places so that I don’t overstay my welcome, and because I currently sleep in her office, and I’ve seen some potential places too. Next step is just working out the income, but turns out the unemployment rate around town is very small. People keep going missing, apparently, so there are a decent number of vacancies,.”

 “There’s a mime monster that hangs outside of Yours, Mime, and Ours. I’ve avoided it, but the soccer balls turned into like, mini versions of that. Melted into the same black goo. Wouldn’t recommend,” Ariana said with a shudder. With Lydia gone, the mimes had returned to their rightful place as the most unnerving thing in town. She noticed the slight tremor in Chloe’s hands and frowned for a moment. She wondered how much Sammy had told Chloe about her. Or if maybe Lydia had painted her to be this frightening thing. She shifted and looked around the room. “It is,” she said easily now, “I kind of lucked out with the pricing on my place, but I’m sure there’s other affordable options with… well, vacancies like the jobs. Were you looking for a certain type of job?” It wasn’t what she really wanted to ask. There were so many questions, but she knew how difficult it was for Sammy. The lighting outage in her building and the conversations they had through Blanche were indication enough of that. She bit her tongue and opted to listen instead. Maybe she’d open the floor for questions or whatever it was normal people did, but she still felt so unsure of how to help Chloe. She couldn’t help but wish Sammy was there with them. His awkward rambles to fill the quiet were much preferred to her own inner turmoil around the way things shook out. 

 “A mime m-” Chloe gulped, trying not to envision the paler version of herself that had wrapped her striped fingers around Chloe’s neck, promising an easier escape than the one she’d been granted. “Um, okay. Avoid the mime zones. I won’t forget!” She said, folding up the map to go into her purse, so that she wouldn’t have to look at it any longer. 

 “Yeah, I think I’ll find somewhere soon enough. I have some savings that did okay after not being touched for several years, which I guess is a plus in the being kidnapped column, I kind of feel like I’m intruding.” Chloe could feel herself rambling a little, talking too fast and too high for her lungs. She forced herself to lean back in her chair and take a deep breath, but could not imagine it made her look more relaxed.

 “I- I don’t know. I used to teach elementary students music, but… that has lost its appeal in pretty much every possible way. Even if it hadn’t…. I’m not exactly a desirable hire for working around kids, even in this town. But there are lots of possible jobs, so just applying as they make sense to apply to.” She wrung her hands, idly tracing over the ridges of her swollen knuckles. “What… What do you do? Are you a college student or something like that?”

 It was only natural for the mime stuff to make Chloe uneasy. Hell, most days it made Ariana uneasy and she had a lot more going her way when it came to self-defense. Even so, they were creepy fuckers and she would rather not deal with them if possible. “Good, glad I don’t have to convince you to stay away from them. Some people think it’s a joke.” She let out a nervous laugh. This all still felt strange and being around Chloe brought up some guilty feelings she wasn’t quite sure how to process, so she shook them off. 

 She made herself a bit more comfortable on the couch and listened as Chloe spoke. The small benefit definitely didn’t outweigh the trauma or what she’d been through, but it was good to know she had that small thing going for her. “That’s a good thing to have. Probably one of very few pluses, but you know, still glad it’s there to help you get back on your feet. And I’m sure Detective Keen wouldn’t have offered if she minded. People can be… surprising like that sometimes. My apartment also has a pull out couch if you ever wanted to crash, too. My girlfriend and Sammy’s ghost are both there a lot so uh, full house and all, but you know.” 

 “That makes sense. I can’t imagine there’s much joy left in the whole music thing… which fucking sucks, but it’s kind of one of those things that is what it is. There’s definitely always a lot of job openings so I’m sure you’ll find something soon enough.” Part of all those openings was how often people went “missing”, but it seemed a little bleak to say considering how bleak both of their lives had been. She found herself holding one of the pillows on the couch a little tighter as she tried to shake away that thought. “Trade school student, actually, but I coach kids’ soccer and I have an Etsy shop for my woodworking so I keep pretty busy. Managed to find a steal of an apartment, too.” 

 Chloe smiled with her lips closed, tugging at the fraying end of her sleeve end. “Detective Keen is a good woman,” Chloe agreed quietly, and opened her mouth to politely refuse the teenager’s offer when Ariana mentioned Sammy. Her mouth clicked shut, stunned, even as Ariana kept talking. Chloe knew better than most that young adults responded terribly to dire circumstances, and that this kind of black humour was to be expected but… Chloe had watched Sammy’s brains spatter the walls like goddamn confetti. His ghost wasn’t here, it was haunting the back of her eyelids every time she blinked. He shared the scope of her nightmares in equal measure with Anneliese and Todd and everyone else who had died in that palace if horrors. 

 She nodded along to whatever Ariana said, barely taking it in. She could barely hear it over the ringing in her ears, the grief rising in her chest like a tidal wave. It was as if the conversation had continued without Ariana waiting for Chloe to laugh at her joke, like she’d just slipped it into her conversation like a quiet barb. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed how much Chloe was revealing. “An etsy shop? That’s cool,” Chloe echoed emptily. She squared her jaw. “You shouldn’t joke about Sammy like that.”

 Ariana could feel Chloe disconnecting from the moment as she spoke. Maybe mentioning Sammy had been a bad idea, but his ghost was still hanging around, a fact she needed to speak to Blanche about. While she had regularly visited him for rooftop chats, it had to still feel isolating that he couldn’t respond with one of his signature rambles. It dawned on her how she’d give just about anything to hear one of them again. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” she said as she fumbled with her hands, not sure how to address the last part of that. “I wasn’t joking,” she stated albeit somewhat nervously, “My best friend and neighbor is a medium. We’re uh… well, we’re trying to help him move on. Find peace and all that. A little easier said than done considering. I know he’s relieved you’re out of there though.” 

 “Don’t,” Chloe insisted, Ariana’s flat suddenly shrinking around her. The softly decorated walls no longer felt inviting but suffocating, like the curtains might themselves wrap themselves around her throught. “Don’t,” Chloe insisted again. “I know you knew him and that he mattered to you, but you don’t just get to assign feelings to him. He’s dead, Ariana, you can’t just pretend he’s hanging around here like this. You don’t-” A lump in her throat promised to choke her, so Chloe stopped talking, looking at her swollen knuckles.  “This isn’t healthy, Ariana. I think you should probably leave for now.”

“Okay,” Ariana said quietly as she decided against pushing this. Part of her felt frustrated, she hoped maybe helping Chloe would help Sammy move on, but ghosts were too hard to believe in a world filled with fae and werewolves. She didn’t have the energy for this fight, the energy to push that this wasn’t just grief. It’s not like she was seeing Todd or Celeste, not that she saw Sammy, but she trusted Blanche did and there was no way she could have known about him otherwise. “That’s not what I’m-” She started to defend herself before slumping her shoulders and simply nodding. “Yeah, I should go. Just- I don’t know, let me know if you need anything.” And she walked away somehow feeling even more lost than when she arrived. Was it too much to hope that for once her efforts to help would actually be helpful?

[bibliocratic]

Soulmate au for jm prompts? Any kind you want

soul-identifying marks, jonmartin, episodes 158-160 spoilers

(this prompt came into my home and beat me over the brain.)(it might not be exactly what you were after, hope it’s ok!)

–

Martin’s waging a passive-aggressive one-man war against an excel spreadsheet when the temperature, risen to bearable by the grunting old radiator in the corner, swan-dives into shivery.

“Peter,” Martin says, not exactly a greeting, as frayingly cordial as he can manage. Not absolving Peter’s intrusion with his attention, triple-pressing the right mouse button and hissing an irate oh come on when the computer refuses to bend to his will and instead freezes again.

Peter will say whatever mysterious bollocks he’s come to imply and hint at and implicate, scattering his bloody breadcrumbs. Martin will be left just as pissed off and in the dark as he was before, so he might as well get it over with so Martin can actually get some work done.

Surprisingly, Peter doesn’t say anything. That’s actually what makes Martin turn round.

Peter’s slate-shingle eyes are observing Martin’s exposed lower arms. Sleeves rolled up haphazard out of his way, folded over in messy and unmatching bunches at his elbow.

He’s studying the designs that blemish the sun-ditched pale of his freckled arm with an interest Martin baulks at. Traces with his eyes the blocky wood-cut patterns in precise and abrupt black lines that start at the line of his watch, sprout up and under his clothes. Idly, he takes his time to let his gaze traverse over the open pages of tomes unfilled with words and unbroken by ink; the landscape of woodland and tree lines and shadowy hollows of roads mysterious or untaken that mar the faint curve of his lower arm. The lantern swinging on the bough of a wintry tree, its candle recently blown out.

The eye, thick and wide, staring out at the crease of his elbow.

Peter flicks a glance up, and Martin reads something like pity there. His face heats.

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly.

Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

–

When Jon wakes up, he charts the changes death has wrought on him. Sitting on the small bed he’s set up in document storage, swaddled in the uncomforting comfort of his archives, he chronicles the new damages done. The rough tissue of scars on his arms, upper legs, chest. Pitted marks from shrapnel and debris and being in the radius blast of an explosion.  He supposes it could be worse.

He thumbs at the faded, almost unrecognisable nazar just below his shoulder, the crossed compass and ruler nearby in the same state. The colour bleeding out of them like they’ve been left too long in the dark. He doesn’t think about his parents much. Not in a long time. His memories sanded down to an uncertain rote recollection that his brain is equally as likely to have invented as not. He doesn’t recall enough to miss them, but there must be something there for him to still bear them on his skin.

There’s a bleary shape splotched on his inner wrist. Forming like the build-up of sediment, the slow grind of tide, and it has been doing so for months, since before he died.

It’s almost fully realised now. He rubs at the shape of it tentatively  as though the colour might run if he’s too rough with it. The delicate fawn-brown of its wings, the beaded black circle of its eyes.

He knows who it represents. Impossible not to, really. It’s his representation after all. The complex understanding of a human being realised as imagery and flowering on his skin.

He stares at the nightingale for the longest time.

–

When Martin was nine, struck by the well-echo hollow in his chest, unable to articulate the shamed and hot tears his mother would scold with a cluck of disappointment, he tried to clean the clock off his right leg. Sitting in the bath with the water gagging with too many bubbles, he scrubbed at the cogs and mechanical intestines of the thing, seeing the lies of his father in how it was wound, not wanting it, because surely if his dad had loved him then he wouldn’t have left, and if he didn’t then why should Martin boast his love so obviously. He held and scrubbed until his skin was pink and scalded and he’d started to wince. But connection doesn’t work like that, and so the clock never disappeared, and Martin tried to ignore it every time he took a shower.

Turns out the Forsaken was good for something after all.

–

“How’s the poetry?” Jon stammers at him, so obviously, earnestly angling to drag out their impromptu meeting. Martin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Jon, I really need to – ”

“Oh. Yeah. I – sorry, I-I know you’ve got… your thing with Peter Lukas.”

“It’s not like that – ”

“I-I know, I know, sorry, I didn’t mean…” Jon stops. His eyes – and were they always so gaunt, so hungry in his face? – have stopped trying to both catch and avoid Martin’s gaze apparently simultaneously, and they’ve snagged instead on Martin’s collar. For a moment, something too thirsty catalogues the pale and vacant skin of his throat, where the purple hooded bells of monkshood usually thronged. Their leaves had grown spikier as he’d aged, stretching out to his Adam’s apple in a bid to form a collar of choking vines.

“Martin…” Jon stares at empty skin, and his expression blooms into something comprehending and distraught.

“I have to go, Jon,” Martin says forcefully.  He doesn’t give Jon much of a chance to reply.

He doesn’t want Jon’s sorries. Doesn’t need his worries or his understanding.

He just wants him to be safe.

–

The nightingale sings entangled by coarse and insidious brambles. Jon’s taken to holding his hand over the pattern, like shielding with a careful hand a wind-tossed, guttering flame, when the hunger starts to gnaw though him like frostbite.

It doesn’t stop there. The emblems grow into iconography, twist into tableau. The pictures grow and spread simply as moss, and Jon doesn’t despair because he doesn’t have the space for it any more.

Jon’s evidence has always been discrete. The stamped shapes for his parents like memorial images were all he held for the longest time. Something started to flourish for his grandmother, when she took him in, and he tried to show her the blotched shape in a childish effort to bring them closer. She hadn’t needed to stay anything. She pursed her lip and strained an apologetic glance and he knew even at that age that there was nothing, would be nothing in kind, decorating her skin for him. That choked the image like weeds, and it faded quickly as the passing of inclement weather.

The space, at his jutting hip-bone, was only later taken up by Georgie’s mark. That one never faded quite like the image for his grandmother or for his parents, but it went sun-stained and overexposed long before they broke up.

Martin’s imagery is not so subtle.

It swallows up his arm, roils over his shoulder-blades, infects the untouched skin over his collar bone.

Jon takes to wearing longer sleeves.

–

Martin’s skin has always taken easily to marking. Some people do, he guesses. Wear their hearts on their sleeves, on their throat, on their stomach. Martin’s a scattered museum of loves that he’s tended to over the years, unrequited affections or spluttered out romances.

He’s pleased, in those early days, that nothing ever bruises on his skin for Jon. He likes Jon, even fancies him, for a long time. And it’s annoying, because Jon can be a real arse, but it’s manageable. Jon doesn’t make him go hot at the nape of his neck or make him stumble over his words. His presence encourages harmless daydreams and flights of fancy, but Martin’s under no illusions.

And then Jon listens to his statement. Sits him down, and believes him, and doesn’t break eye contact the whole time.

And Martin had felt, dazedly, Seen. For the first time in a long time.

The first eye had opened up around then like an unclenching fist under his ribs. He’d seen it a week later. Had thought oh and had quickly dressed to cover it.

It’s not the first mark this love leaves him. In time, it scores him with tooth marks and sailor’s knots of worry, and eyes, always eyes, blinking open over his flesh.

He loses the one on his ankle first. Scratches at the space where it was, touching the crease where his sock has dug a band around his skin, right where the line used to bisect the thick and dark pupil.

Then the one on his lower back. His upper thigh. His left wrist.

It’s for the best, Martin, Peter says when he catches him looking at the undamaged patch of skin these absences leave behind.

Martin doesn’t disagree.

By the time Lukas banishes him to the mercy of Forsaken, thwarted and cheated and feeling something almost human, Martin’s skin has already been entirely washed clean.

–

There’s a nightingale on Jon’s wrist. It’s one of the first things that catches his vision, that refocuses from blurry in this undemanding nothing. The colour is too vivid, lurid in this desaturated landscape.

The bird is nestled, or maybe caught, in a twisting of brambles but its beak is open in song.

“Look at me, and tell me what you See,” Jon asks him, and Martin wonders if maybe Jon’s been carrying around his own heart on his sleeve for a while now.

–

His mother’s flowers don’t grow back when he vacates the Lonely. His father’s clockwork finally cleansed from him. The leaves and keys and umbrellas of the numerous small loves and connections he’s now lost the taste of.

Martin’s skin remains unblemished and clear, and he wonders if the Lonely took this capacity from him.

Jon’s hand is dry in his. And nothing blooms on Martin’s arms but a sensation like prickling, like pins and needles, settles under his skin, and Martin holds on just as tightly.

–

There was a downpour on the way back to the safehouse. The sky splitting with a cascade of rain, sheets moving in waves and quickly transforming dewy grass into boggy swamp-land. Their waterproofs, such as they are, have done a poor job and failed to live up to their name, and Jon is dripping a cloud’s-worth of rainfall from his hair alone as he crosses the threshold. Martin, no different, water draining off him like guttering, tuts. Helps him strip the sucking, soaking outer layers off, frigid fingers fumbling with the pull of the zip. Jon awkwardly gets in the way in his efforts to return the gesture, making a face at the sodden slump of Martin’s waterlogged woollen jumper as it hits the floor. Martin catches his t-shirt on his nose as he tries to pull it over his head, trying to unbutton and kick off his clinging trousers in one motion. 

He doesn’t feel embarrassed. Doesn’t cross his mind to be. It’s hard, when Jon’s snickering as he nearly trips over his own legs in his efforts to shake his legs free, when they’ve been clung to each other like tethered buoys each night, coddled by the unbroken dark.

“I’ll get dry clothes,” Martin says, the first to have divested himself of most of his clothes, and he bounds upstairs, damp feet squeaking and slipping, longing for a hot shower as he trails puddles into the bedroom. He throws on thick pyjama bottoms, is half wrenching on an errant t-shirt before he realises it’s Jon’s and has to rifle around for a spare one of his own before he slips it on. He collects some clothes for Jon and rushes back.

Jon’s managed to get off his own trousers, slopped in a pile of fabric by his feet, the skin goosepimpling and dark hair standing stark from the chill. He’s pulling his sticking vest off over his head as Martin returns.

Martin sucks in a gasp. Jon blinks, confused for a moment before a reddening mark stripes across the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, splotches at the dip of his neckline.

“What…?” Martin starts, staring at the tapestry on his skin, and he can’t help it.

Before, Tim would joke that Jon loved his job more than he loved people. Was probably conservatively decorated in little stylisations of his perpetually present tape-recorders, probably had a library over his heart. It was something he said as a joke at the beginning and hissed as a recrimination by the end, and Martin and Sasha (and later only Martin) would tell him off, tell him to keep it down, that it wasn’t fair, that it wasn’t his business. But if Jon had been marked, they wouldn’t have known. They were hidden under crisp shirt sleeves and well-placed collars even in summer.

The nightingale, wings scratched by thorns, was the first image Martin had ever seen Jon wear. He’d expected that to be it, had hoped such an emblem was meant for him, but it, well, it is dwarfed in comparison to the harmony of colour struck over Jon’s body like a collage.

Every piece of skin that is not torn up and jagged with scars has been brought into the striking shock of deep blues and blacks that slide and ring over dark skin. A choir of imagery that Martin can’t decipher immediately, like a jigsaw he has to step back from, the artworks all wrapped up in each other, each feeding off the other. There are nightingales, some grounded on thin wind-touched branches, some held mid-flight; these become a stylised compass pointing north. There’s the solid structure of a lighthouse taking up most of his gangly upper arm, its lower levels painted in a sea bound mist, or it could be the curling wisps of inviting steam. His stomach, curving concave, is overwhelmed by the imperious crags of icy cliffs, the rocks dashed by high foaming waves, above which hangs the ribboning line of northern lights.  On the sea, a sturdy boat tipping on the water, its spinnaker puffed out and billowing in defiance.

There is so much, so much of Jon taken up, painted in testament, and for a long moment, Martin doesn’t understand.

Jon looks at his feet, and then glances, almost shyly, at Martin’s unpainted throat, his blank arms. Visibly steels himself, moves his gaze up to meet Martin’s.

“It…” he begins, before he breathes in, sets his spine straight. “You. It’s – it’s you. In case, in case you didn’t know.”

“Can – ?” Martin asks, and his fingers are twitching, yearning to trace the lines, to memorise their shapes, and Jon blinks again and then makes a nervy nodding motion.

Martin’s about to reach out before he remembers that Jon’s half-naked and dripping wet in the hallway, that the stone flags will be frozen on his feet, that now is perhaps not the ideal time.

Later. After they warm up, after they shower and the gas boiler grunts and complains and then near-burns them with hot water, after they dress in pyjamas warmed on the radiators, after they go upstairs. Martin runs his hand reverently, shakily over the lighthouse, the compass, the boat, the birds, wonders if this is how Jon sees him, how Jon understands him, wonders why he’s taken up so much space. Looks at all the pictures that are both isolation and sanctuary, song and sorrow and strength, tries to decipher what Jon sees in him.

“There’s so much,” he marvels softly, scarcely believing, hovering the pads of his fingers over the horizon line of a lightening sky, the peaking gleam of a sunrise at Jon’s lower back, the anchor bound in twisting rope around his ankle bone, the up shoots of snow-drops and lily-of-the-valley not far away. Most people get one image, maybe two or three, as proof of meaning to another person, as a tangible reflection of connection. Martin has an entire gallery exhibited across Jon’s body.

“You mean so much,” Jon says softly in response, like that explains it. Maybe for him, it does.

He charts the other bold designs he finds. Realising that for all his earlier pretences, Jon has not, and never has been an island. There’s Daisy’s faintly rusted golden chain caked in mud and blood around his other ankle, Gerard Keay’s thick leather-bound book, its open pages wreathed in fire, the near-vanished marks for his parents, for Georgie, the scant others who came into his life and left their mark.

There might have been an eye, wide and open and unyielding, and it would stare out at the bottom of Jon’s throat if it wasn’t for the rush of wild-flowers also grown there, snow-drops and holly-berries obscuring its vision.

Jon asks him, falteringly, as though unsure of forming the question in his mouth, what Martin had. Before the sea-salt wash of Forsaken cleaned them from him.

And Martin points to where his mum, his dad, his old loves left their remembrances on him. Carefully, honestly, he tells Jon about the tooth marks clamped around limbs like he’d been bitten, because it was not always a kind love Jon made him feel. The eyes that near the end had swarmed like frog-spawn around his middle, slashed across his back like a constellation. The forbidding forest on his arm, the lantern.

Jon strokes the places where he would have seen these things.

“If they don’t come back….” Martin says, and Jon hums.

“They might not,” he says. “That’s… that’s OK.”

“But…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jon says, and he touches at the space where he would have marked Martin ever so kindly. “Something new might show up. In time.”

“Yeah?” Martin croaks, and it’s not a question of if it will or not. Jon’s looking up at him, a smile on his face, his whole body inked with how much he feels, all the words he finds so difficult to express writ large on his body. Martin’s heart feels too big for his chest. And he wonders what meaning they might make of each other together.

[dulcaet]

paint my heart | yoongi

synopsis. you should have known that, over time, paint crumbles, and that time spare no one, not even the colors adorning your heart. 

pairing. yoongi | reader  genre. angst word count. 2,043 warnings. none

initially, there had been only an immensity of white. a simple, but gigantic, empty canvas ready to be offered to those wishing to add to it the most beautiful colors that existed. 

the life you lived was lulled by neutral feelings; your smiles were real but not bright, your eyes lit but not sparkling. the days were passing by, some slowly, others more quickly. they were chaining each other to the rhythm of the clock hands in your kitchen. the work you had managed to get was perfectly supporting you financially and you took great pleasure in learning what the profession of a sound engineer consisted of. everything was fine. but everything could be better. and everything would become soon. unfortunately, you didn’t know that yet.

you'd never consider your life boring, but sometimes monotony could be hard to bear. it, who always stood behind you, like your shadow, to remind you of the lack of laughter, smiles, adventure in an empty, gray life.

weeks, and months passed, that infinity of white still painting your mind. no painter had put his brush on your canvas, not coloring it with pearly, colorful hues, which would form the most beautiful of the artwork: that of a fulfilling life.

then, suddenly, there was an infinite number of colors. a palette covered with paintings all different from each other. blue. green. yellow. red. purple. one had been searched for the most beautiful pigments in the world, carefully making from them colors that all the greatest painters could have envied.

it had started as a normal day, a day tinted in white. you had stopped in the break room to drink your coffee before climbed to the third floor to reach the studio where your superior was waiting for you. the habit having taken over the rest, you had not knocked, judging that your arrival had already been announced a few seconds earlier by a message from your part.

maybe you should have.

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t think this studio would be busy!”

nervousness had taken hold of your heart, dragging it into a frantic waltz. a man sitting on a sofa whose upper body was leaning towards the coffee table had turned to the door squeaking. a pen in the hand, fingers stained with ink, glasses placed on the nose. this face, no, this portrait perfectly drawn by the hand of the most talented painters, you had seen and seen it again. on social media, in advertisements, on youtube. not a day had passed without you noticing this face so beautifully carved.

and he had been standing in front of your astonished face.

he had smiled with all the kindness present in the world and had looked at the time on his watch before apologizing for exceeding the scheduled hour.

“hello.”

“hello.”

this exact moment was your first meeting with min yoongi. the first of dozens of others.

a smile drawn on your two faces, fingers intertwined, the streets of capital had never looked so pretty. the yellow of the streetlights, the orange of the car flashers, the red of the store signs. the moon at its highest point reflected your candid faces, illuminating it in white and pastel blue. she was watching you, smiling at this birth of love.

adoration was a feeling whose aura could almost be seen as powerful as it was. these heartbeats rhythmed in unison, these candid laughs, all these little special touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painting in front of the moon’s eyes.

“yoongi, look!”

one hand holding your straw hat so it wouldn’t fly away, the other pointing to a multi-colored bird on a tree branch whose leaves were colored with a resplendent green hue. the smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only summer could provoke. this feeling of being invincible, encouraged by the rays of the sun whose reflections chase away the patches of shadows, the bad memories. the five silk trees formed a globe as enchanting above the park letting these so-called rays of light pass through. the sweet pale pink flowers lowered themselves and rose to the rhythm of the wind oh so quiet.

summer was your favorite season, it was synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquility. happy to be able to enjoy the good weather, little laughs escaped from your lips without you noticing.

the characteristic noise of a camera caught your attention. turning your head, eyes obstructed by strands of hair, your gaze rested on the man standing a few meters from you. he was smiling at his screen, fiddling with the buttons of the device. curious, it was with a bouncing step that you walked towards him, making your light white and pink dress twirl. arriving at his height, you lean towards him, tiptoeing to see what seemed to hypnotize him. a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to hide the picture.

“delete it! i’m hideous!”

“don’t say things that are impossible.”

the pupils trembling, you watched the surroundings, hoping to see yoongi’s silhouette. you had begun waiting more than three-quarters of an hour ago on the forecourt of the restaurant where you had booked a table two months ago. there was no apparent reason for this event, if not to celebrate your love. it had been several days since you had seen him because of his rehearsals, so, excited to finally spend an evening with him, you had got all dressed up.

however, the soft light of day had darkened, giving way to this vast world called the night. the delight that had hitherto decorated your face, making it up in the prettiest of ways, for joy had this powerful power, had disappeared, dropping that mask on the concrete ground. as the dim light of the streetlamp illuminated you, all the gravity of your face increased, painting a face of sorrow.

one hand was rubbing your upper arm, the wind chilling you, the other furiously tapping on your phone’s keyboard.

me to yoongi ♡

where are you?

helloooo?

please respond! it’s cold out there.

well????

yoongi ♡ to me 

something came up. don’t wait for me. grab yourself something, i’ll pay.

a lump appeared in your throat, as did the pain that pierced your heart. you remained still, however, letting it spread in the hope that this horrible sensation would go away if not interrupted. what you did not know, for love blinded the heart and confused the thoughts, was that a piece of the first one was now laying at your feet.

a drop of grey paint fell on the canvas, staining the blue sky adorned with white clouds.

the clock above the kitchen counter reminded you how pathetic you were, standing until way too late at night in hope of catching sight of the man’s face you had got into the habit of calling your boyfriend. if you could still define him like this. a silence had taken place in the empty apartment, a silence that even seoul’s frenetic life could not break. you were sitting on the couch with your eyes staring at nothing but void. your pupils previously illuminated by the candor of love were no more than two impenetrable walls. you seemed empty, as empty as a hollow shell. your inner state represented the vision your apartment gave. whether it was the pieces of furniture, the frames hanging on the wall or the decorative plants; all were tinged in the same gouache.

nowadays, the colors had worn out. overtime, you supposed. time was, after all, one of the main enemies of love, especially when it became rare.

oh, how much you hated gray. it colored your life with a monotonous color where everything seemed sad, an impression so different from the explosion of colors that your retina had become accustomed to seeing. there was nothing but grey. grey everywhere. in your body, in your eyes, in your heart. the latter seemed to have been impregnated with it. it would not be surprising to see the normally red carmine liquid flowing through your veins turn into a grey color. a plain grey, without any reflection; there wasn’t light anymore.

no more conversations until late at night. no more encouraging little messages on your nightstand. no more signs of affection, whether expressed in the form of a kiss, an embrace or even a smile.

there was nothing left.

nothing more except a weariness that did not seem to want to leave your life. it was now an integral part of your routine. many times, you had wondered if you had become paranoid. yoongi was a busy man. everyone knew this detail about him, you knew about this and for a long time, this detail had been one of the reasons for your reluctance to engage yourself in this relationship. this fear, which was ubiquitous at each moment of your life. this fear was flowing in your veins. the fear of being sidelined.

for more than a year, he had succeeded in proving you wrong. he had shown you that even though his career was a source of significant demands and that his schedule would always be a delicate thing, the love he had for you would overcome that.

he had forgotten to point out that all these wonders would only last a while, the attractive illusion giving way to the harsh reality.

things had changed.

suddenly, as if in slow motion, your face, which had lowered in defeat, rose up when you heard the door open. without you being able to control your body, your eyes began to sparkle, your pupils dilated, your heart racing. overtime, through missed appointments, repeated absences, nights alone, you had learned to hate these physical reactions. how sad it was to achieve such a critical stage that your only possibility was to hate the love you had for him.

he did not undress nor did he take off his coat, merely heading to your room, whose sheets now seemed constantly frozen. not a look. not a word. it was almost as if you were just a mirage, something that didn’t exist or that wasn’t interesting enough to deserve attention.

“don’t wait for me, i’ll be late.”

the door was slammed, silence set in, a silence that was cut off by your sobs. you were crying, more than you had ever done in your life. in your tears came all the frustration, the sadness but also the pain that a lost love could cause to an already weakened heart. your thoughts were black, blacker than the ocean after a hurricane, your mind filled with disarming memories.

two long minutes passed. the grey darken. you swallowed, holding back a trembling sigh that reflected your sorrow. with your eyes focused again on your stress-bit nails, you ignored him when he came out of the room with a bag on his shoulders. this scene was recurrent, so recurrent that it was certain you could play it in your head. knowing this, no ounce of surprise crossed your mind when he uttered that sentence. that damn sentence.

someone once said, “happiness is screamed, sadness is written.”

you had always known how to transcribe your emotions perfectly on the paper. however, today, for the first time in your life, you faced a writer’s block. the page was blank of words, not strong enough to describe what you were feeling. a page that was soon flooded with tears, the revenge of this sadness that had been held back for too long.

min yoongi had never been yours. not even for a second. you should have known this. it had been obvious. you should have known his heart belonged to music.

with each of the tears that wet the notebook, making the black ink drool, it permeated the immensity of paper until there was only one color left to the eyes of everyone.

the canvas had now become black.

[joeyglowy]

Can i request Osamu having a crush on a really short girl

Course you can! I’m pretty short myself so, SHORT GIRLS REPRESENT. I hope you don’t mind, but this crossed over into a boyfriend scenario because, you know, boyfriend Osamu is supreme. 

Miya Osamu x Fem! Short! Reader - 1600+ words

WRAPPED.

Unlike his brother, Osamu was actually a decent person.

Even when he was crushing on you, Osamu was very careful and observant to things that you were particular to and all the other idiosyncrasies you might have.

Being particularly vertically challenged, that was quite unfortunately, a lot.

He found it a particularly visually appealing and rather fucking adorable image to compare you to that of a cat. You hissed a lot, which he always found amusing but he supposed, it was all in fairness as you’d swat away the callous grins of people that tried to use you as an arm rest. You bristled quite a bit too, it reminded him of a cat puffing out their chest or their hairs standing on edge and ready to strike. You’d give people death glares at their incessant and incredibly uncreative puns (which Osamu found was justified as they were all, in fact, quite unoriginal and he could come up with much better if given a chance but refrained for sake of retaining a status where he could be viewed as a candidate for the occupational dream position that is your suitor).

You also spent fifty per cent of your existence puffing your cheeks out because for some reason no one wanted to take you seriously. It was simply ridiculous, just because you were discriminated against in the gene pool concerning the category of height, doesn’t mean you deserve any less respect than anyone else!

As such, in the crushing stage, Osamu was very deliberate to never poke fun of your height, no matter how tempting the urge was but he found himself smiling unconsciously around you anyways because he’s not blind.

You were so incredibly endearing in everything you did, he just couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Which is why when he saw you sending smiles that seemed to be reserved just for him, or the way your eyes would twinkle when you’d see his larger than life stature in the halls, he finally brought himself to just ‘fuckin’ confess already, yer makin’ me sick with all the mush and smush, it’s embarrassin’ to be seen around ya whenever she’s there!’ as so eloquently put by his pickle headed brother.

But just this once, his brother’s advice was not completely useless, he supposed. You returned his feelings in full and Osamu remembered being so ecstatic that he picked you up and had spun you around before encasing you in fervent hug because finally he could just completely wrap himself around you and not be issued a restraining order afterwards. He remembered you getting quite embarrassed but you still had clung onto him with just as much tenderness anyway. Rarely did Osamu ever lose his composure like that but with how charming you were, your gravitational pull was too strong and all he could do was hopelessly collide with you—any battle against gravity is a futile one after all, you’ll just get send pummelling to the ground. Not that he minded since you were the one doing the pummelling.

Time skip to now, with all those formalities out of the way and the careful tiptoeing no longer applying to him since he held immunity as your boyfriend… he became an insufferable shit.

Osamu was an avid cuddler, and a sleepy one at that.

You’ve lost count of all the times Osamu would use your lap, arms, crook of your neck, sometimes just flat out sitting on you to take a nap because apparently, you were ‘perfect pillow size’.

AKA, you were his personal body pillow.

Apparently he liked how small you felt in his arms, he joked that all your pent up anger made you warm and more inviting to cuddle too.

In fact, he was even doing it right fucking now.

You groaned as you almost lurched into the kotatsu to feel what could have easily been the weight of a bear choosing to hibernate on a boulder (or in this case, your rather small frame) in the midst of you trying to do your physics homework. You huffed, irritated down to the bone as you even felt your neck being pushed down, feeling Osamu’s chin digging into your scalp as he took a casual whiff of your hair (which smelt like mangoes… damn, now he was craving mangoes). Your eye twitched.

“Osamu!” you cried out but your retaliation was met with a melodious hum. You felt yourself getting warmer as he chuckled, the rumble reverberating through his chest and onto your back before he left searing tracks of burns on your neck, brushing your sensitive skin with his nose and warming it with his breath. He settled his chin onto your shoulder, humming contently as he slouched. He was no better than a sloth finding the perfect tree to take a three day nap on. You flushed, your grip getting a little too strong for your pen as it creaked in response. “I’m trying to study here, you’re crushing me!”

Osamu, not minding the fact that he had poured his entire weight on you, yawned playfully as he just buried himself deeper into your burning neck. “Nah, I’m good. You’re pretty warm too,” he added scathingly as you pouted, feeling yourself get hotter, not appreciating this abuse of strength and power.

“Must I be harassed by everyone in my life? Woe is me, I’m being bullied for body constraints that I can’t control,” you moaned melodramatically and Osamu blinked in contemplation. He peered over your shoulder and he supposed he was being an obstruction to your studying. He grimaced, well, he did have you face planted into the kotatsu. While he was rather warm in this position and having your frame fit perfectly in his, almost like Russian dolls, he didn’t actually want to disturb you too much, last thing he wanted was for you to get upset at him.

“Fine, I’ll let go–” he had started, attempting to inch back as the shackles that were his well-built arms unlocked their hold on you and were slowly retracting until—

“Keep your goddamn hands around me or I will kick you out.”

Osamu blinked in surprise to find you tightly clasp your hands around his wrists and roughly crossed them over your stomach again, huffing once more. He couldn’t help laughing at that as you kept puffing like a steam engine. “I just wanted you to lay off so I can sit up straight and not parallel to the table! Didn’t say you had to let go,” you argued adamantly although Osamu could see your cheeks were stained a rosy red and he couldn’t help biting his lip, smiling.

“[Name], if you keep that up, I won’t let go at all,” he whispered lowly into your ear, smiling sensually before he was rudely interrupted by the back of your fingers swatting him away.

“I don’t mind that but stop leaning all your weight on me. My friends do that enough and you’re heavy babe.” As if to prove your point, you playfully slapped his inner thigh to express your annoyance. Osamu blinked absentmindedly at the snare drum sound that had resounded, still feeling the stinging impact of your hand that left lingering heat and anticipation crawling over his skin. “You’re literally a solid block of muscle which is heavy Osamu, I don’t need you giving me back problems this early in life, I’m not furniture just cause I’m short you know.”

Even as you were berating him, Osamu found his pout slowly disappearing. Sometimes he forgot how annoyed you get with these sort of things and although one could simply attribute it to you overreacting, he knew that you really were probably sick of it by now. He didn’t want to add to that. Guiltily he pushed himself straighter up, allowing you to have your back perpendicular to the floor again as you sighed in relief but found Osamu hiding his nose into your shoulder.

“M’sorry. Short jokes are overrated. I just like doing this because you’re warm. If you want, you can use me as a chair,” he mumbled out the offer and immediately you found your heart melting and your internal structures crumbling as you became as flexible as water and the expanse of Osamu’s wonderfully sculpted body was your container. Even though Osamu was tall enough to comfortably use your head as a head rest, he much preferred your shoulder since it was ‘closer’ to you in a way, something that you also appreciated.

“Maybe, and while you are quite comfortable and big enough to be a rather suitable chair, I think you’re closer to a backpack… or extra baggage than anything.” Osamu’s brows furrowed, the lines streaking across his forehead in annoyance, miffed by this statement. However, before he could protest, like a cat waiting to prey on the little mouse that finally decided to come out of its hole in the wall, when he finally brought his face into the open air, out of the comforts of your shoulder, you attacked his nose with a quick and swift kiss. He stiffened in surprise as you grinned cheekily at him.

“I don’t think a chair could ever be as cute or as soft as you Osamu.”

Satisfied with his stunned expression and the peaches of pink on his cheeks, you returned back to physics with an amiable smile that obviously meant you weren’t thinking about physics at all. You snorted to feel Osamu digging his face into your shoulder, letting out some sort of muffled, feral growl but you playfully ignored him and continued your work.

Osamu concluded that once you were done with physics, he’ll have to convert this chair into a bed because there’s no way he’s letting you get away with that one scot-free.

You really did have him wrapped around your finger. Or, maybe your whole body in this case, but the metaphor still stands.

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Witcher Wolf

M/M. Teen and Up Audiences. Geralt/Jaskier.  

It’s been two weeks since Geralt shouted Jaskier away from him on that mountain and Jaskier has been handling it like a champ by forlornly wandering alone in the wilderness with his lute. When he (literally) stumbles across an injured white wolf he decides to take a chance and see if he can help it, appreciating the irony of the situation but not quite realizing why it is that the wolf’s golden eyes look exactly like his Witcher’s...

Inspired by @kayivy​ 's lovely art! <3

------

“So tell me love, tell me love...wait...”

Jaskier adjusted his fingering on the lute, pitching it an octave higher and trying again.

“So tell me love, tell me love, how is that ju-" he shifted a finger. “how is that-" another shift. “how is that just.”

There, that was it.

Jaskier smiled dryly to himself as he slung the lute on its strap to rest against his back, leaving his hands free to dig his notebook out of his pocket as he walked down the long long empty road. He sighed as he scratched a note with his stub of a pencil and tucked the notebook back into his pocket, looking around at the looming trees and scrubby brush surrounding him.

The shadows were growing dusky and long, signaling that he probably should have found somewhere to curl up for the night an hour ago, not now when he’d be scrambling to see in the last of daylight as he made camp. But it couldn’t really be helped now could it?

He could practically hear Geralt chastising him for being thoughtless again, especially when traveling alone.

Jaskier went several steps out of his way to stomp his foot through a suitable stick with a satisfying crack. Because it didn’t really matter what Geralt probably thought, did it?

Finally being chased off by Geralt two weeks ago was plenty painful enough to try and avoid thinking about on its own. Jaskier did not need the stupid Witcher getting after him even in his own mind after he’d been cast off like a rock out of a boot.

Jaskier paused, angrily chewing his lip as he gazed into the middle distance. He fished out his notebook again, scrawled cast off like a rock from your shoe and then stashed it away again.

He might be hurting terribly and handling it badly, but he was also a professional. Waste not want not and all that. If he was going to have to pull himself back together after being utterly rejected by the best friend he’d been following for literal decades, having finally been forced to realize that said best friend truly hated him, then he was at least going to get some decent song material from it.

And yes it was out of spite. And righteous anger. Definitely not heartbreak. Not at all. His newest song was a metaphor see, not a heartbroken ballad of unrequited longing and aching, of course not. Shut up.

Jaskier crashed angrily through the brush on the side of the road as he told off his inner critic, no longer having anyone to talk to but still managing to piss off himself in their absence it seemed. Which was perfectly fine! See? He didn’t need anyone anyway, he could even make himself miserable if he had to, no need to drag any Witchers into his mess at all when he was this self sufficient.

By the time he came back to himself and looked around he couldn’t see the road anymore, but also had only a passing idea at which way he’d come from. Excellent. Might as well keep getting lost then, why not, really? Maybe the world would be lucky enough that he’d fall so far down an unseen ditch that he’d just disappear forever, or maybe he’d stumble on some cursed shrine that would vaporize him, freeing humanity of the huge burden he evidently was. Geralt would love that wouldn’t he? Or maybe-

Jaskier didn’t see the animal lying on the ground until he’d just about stepped on it, shifting his foot sideways at the last moment with a yelp. He scrambled to the side as the huge white furred creature lurched up, snarling at him.

“I was just being facetious!” Jaskier yelled to no one, automatically grabbing his lute to his chest as he stumbled backward onto the ground. “I don’t actually want to die, certainly not eaten!”

He nearly screamed for Geralt out of old habit, but paused when nothing lunged at him, when no teeth or claws latched into him.

The creature staring at him from across the clearing was a massive white wolf. It watched him silently with wide golden yellow eyes, as if it were as shocked to see Jaskier as he was to see it. The wolf was holding one front leg awkwardly up against itself, in the quickly dimming light Jaskier could make out what seemed to be the half chewed off shaft of an arrow sticking out of the poor thing’s shoulder.

“Sorry, very terribly sorry to bother you.” Jaskier said weakly, still shaking with adrenaline as he sat in the dirt, clutching his lute like a shield. “I was trying to find someplace to camp and I was wandering and wasn’t looking where I was going and I didn’t mean- Really that arrow business looks like it hurts, how long have you had that nasty thing stuck in you?”

The wolf still had its ears back at him, tail tucked between its legs as it crouched close to the ground, but it wasn’t growling. Weren’t hurt animals supposed to be more aggressive? He was pretty sure he didn’t have that the wrong way around. Either way, he wasn’t about to look a non aggressive gift wolf in the mouth.

Jaskier very very slowly pushed himself to his feet. The wolf’s piercing golden eyes watched him, but it didn’t move, other than tucking its wounded leg closer.

“Say you’re not that bad for a wolf.” Jaskier said, softening his voice as he edged a step closer. Still no aggressive reaction from the wolf.

As Jaskier edged closer he could see the fur on the wolf’s shoulder was all matted down with dried blood. He thought of the medical kit in his pouch, something he’d learned the hard way to keep on him over the years traveling with a Witcher.

“What if I took a look at-" Jaskier paused as the wolf growled at him, ears pinned back with a snarl. Alright, so it had personal space boundaries after all.

Jaskier dropped to a crouch, his voice going even softer and higher pitched. “Hey now, I know that shoulder probably has you miserable, but I’m not so sure you’re much of a man eater if you left me alone after nearly stepping on you.” He snapped his fingers, digging into his pouch. “You know what though, you’re probably starving, not much hunting gets done on that leg I’ll bet.”

He pulled out several long strips of dried rabbit meat, gently tossing them to land in front of the wolf, trying not to startle it.

The animal’s ears were still pinned back, but it barely sniffed at the meat before snagging it, finishing it off in barely a few bites.

Jaskier edged closer to the wolf, swinging his lute back to keep his hands free, fingers open to show he meant no harm.

“That’s it, there’s a good boy.” Jaskier said gently.

He very very carefully set a hand on the wolf’s back, feeling almost giddy with the adrenaline his brain was giving him for being stupid enough to pet an injured wolf. He could practically feel Geralt yanking him back by the collar of his doublet.

The wolf growled, but it was more mixed with a whine now as it pressed itself against the ground. Jaskier now suspected that it was only in pain, not fear.

“You know I’m not sure you’re much of a wolf at all.” Jaskier said, carefully stroking the thick white fur, hoping to calm it. “There’s no way I’d still have both my hands at this point if you were really wild. For which I thank you by the way, playing the lute one-handed isn’t a skill I have much interest in picking up. You act more like some kind of massive dog, did you have a human family that raised you? Have you been abandoned by your person?”

The wolf’s growl continued, shifting neither up or down, looking somehow very judgmental as Jaskier talked.

“You know you remind me very much of a friend of mine.” Jaskier said with a wry smile that quickly dropped away. “Or, acquaintance I suppose, he never did anything but growl either. In fact you’re probably much more in tune with your emotions than he is I’ll bet, although most rocks probably are if I’m being strictly honest. The man’s really a complete imbecile.”

The wolf snarled, probably just because Jaskier’s fingers had reached the matted blood.

“Alright, so here’s my terrible plan.” Jaskier said, ignoring the snarl. Another unconscious habit he’d developed from hanging around Geralt apparently. “I’m going to try and remove this arrow, which is going to hurt terribly, and then I’m going to patch you up. I’d be extremely grateful if you didn’t dismember me in any way while I do, but if you can’t help yourself I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “I’m not in a very self preserving mood at the moment, so I suppose a final act of misguided heroism isn’t the worst way to go. The last white wolf I hung around mauled me emotionally, so actually it would be terribly poetic if you did finish the job physically.”

The wolf quieted at that, staring up at him with golden eyes.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in temperament. Maybe it found this tone of voice most comforting for some reason? Alright he could work with that.

“It’s quite the tragic tale really.” Jaskier said, keeping up his miserable monotone as he quickly opened his medical kit, pouring some water from his flask across the wolf’s fur to loosen the blood. “The story of a young bard who attached himself to a man so emotionally constipated that he couldn’t even tell when the bard was utterly devoted to him. I was stupid enough to hang around him for years if you’d believe it. Even though he bit far more than you do my friend. With words I mean, Witchers don’t really bite people, you can’t believe all those terrible old wives tales.”

The fur underneath the blood soon resurfaced a watery stained pink as jaskier worked. The actual injury wasn’t very big, just the imbedded shaft and some damage where it looked like the wolf had tried worrying at it unsuccessfully to get it out itself. Jaskier put a hand on the wolf’s shoulder, gripping the shaft firmly.

“So anyway he finally decided he hated me enough to- sorry this part’s the hard bit-" he yanked the shaft out before he could talk himself out of it, bracing himself for the bite that was sure to come.

The wolf yelped, a high whining noise as it jerked with pain under him. But no bite.

“That’s a very good boy.” Jaskier said, panting a little as the dizzying spike of fear left him. He inspected the arrow to make sure nothing looked like it had snapped off before setting it aside. “That’s a very very good boy for not ripping my arm off, very good boy.”

He quickly set to work, patting everything dry, dousing it with a quick splash of alcohol and healing salve for luck, (the wolf only growled slightly at that, staring away into the trees) and then wrapping it up tight in a way Jaskier hoped wouldn’t slip off fur.

“There we go.” He said in relief, wiping sweat off his forehead as he tucked his supplies back into his pack. “Nothing like impromptu feral veterinary care to get the old heart pumping, eh?”

The wolf, being a wolf, of course said nothing, still staring off into the trees. Jaskier checked to see if it were actually looking at something, but no.

“You’re sulking.” Jaskier decided, petting the wolf between the ears before the animal shook its head to get his hand off. “Yes you are, I know that look anywhere. Probably terribly embarrassing to be the king of the forest and have to accept help from a lowly human bard eh? Well I suppose wolves aren’t really the king, not if there’s griffins or something about.”

The wolf looked at him with a long stare, and then shifted carefully to be facing away from him.

“That settles it.” Jaskier said with a smile, looking around and starting to collect firewood in the scant minutes he had before the sun’s light vanished entirely. “I’m calling you Geralt Junior. The both of you would get along splendidly in your stubborn grumpiness.”

The wolf looked over at him, ears pricked.

“Geralt Junior? You like that name?” Jaskier asked with a grin at the wolf’s response.

The wolf’s ears flipped back for a moment, as if confused, but then it hauled itself to its feet with a whine. It took a few halting steps toward him before stumbling on its bad leg, continuing to whine urgently.

“Whoa whoa hey, settle.” Jaskier said quickly, dropping his armful of sticks and kneeling by the wolf, carefully pushing its broad shoulders until it settled to the ground with an annoyed growl. “Lay down, stay. You shouldn’t be walking any more tonight, you’ve got to heal alright? Lay down boy, do you know commands?”

There was a low percolating noise in the wolf’s throat but it stayed down, burying its nose between its paws.

“That’s right, you go back to sulking Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, patting the wolf’s head until he was shaken off a second time. “I’m going to see if I can scrape us together a fire for the night. Feel free to stick around if you like, I wouldn’t mind the company.” He sighed as he scraped a clear patch of earth with his boot and started to pile small sticks and tinder together. “If you do head out in the night I promise no hard feelings though. I’ve been reliably informed that I’m miserable company.”

The wolf didn’t look at him but one of its ears twitched toward him.

“Well you’re already an improvement on Geralt Senior.” Jaskier said dryly, striking sparks from his flint. “At least with you I can tell if you’re really listening or not.”

The wolf huffed, flicking its ear.

Jaskier kept an eye on the white wolf as he scraped a place to lie down next to the fire, rolling out his thin sleeping mat. He really expected the wolf to wander off into the woods at any moment, but instead it stayed right where it was at the side of the campfire as Jaskier settled for the night, steadily ignoring him as he chattering away.

“Well unfortunately for you I’m too tired to work on my songs for the night.” Jaskier said, setting another hunk of firewood in the flames before tucking himself under his thin blanket. He rested on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. “I’m famous for my singing you know, one of the most beloved bards on the continent for my music, you’re missing out on a real treat I tell you.”

The wolf huffed and shifted.

“Well, goodnight Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, resting his chin on his arms. “It was nice to meet you, good luck on wherever you wander to next. Thanks again for not eating me.”

He meant to go to sleep immediately, but found himself watching the huge mound of white fur on the other side of the flames. He sighed quietly. Just like fate to send him such a clear ironic mockery like this. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the shadows of the tree branches above as they moved and whispered in the wind.

Well no matter the irony dripping from this whole situation, it had at least been a bit of amusement. Maybe he’d even start writing a song about it after the wolf was gone in the morning.

Jaskier closed his eyes, willing himself into unconsciousness before his mind could wander into its nightly routine of fretfully wondering what a different white wolf was up to.

***

Geralt Junior was not gone in the morning.

“Well hello again.” Jaskier said, his voice muzzy with sleep as he pushed himself up. The wolf was sitting, watching him from the other side of the fire, which judging from the blackened state of the wolf’s paws had already been scratched out for the day, charcoal markings scratched across the ground. “That’s a neat trick with the fire, bit rude to watch people sleep though.”

He hoisted himself to his feet with a groan, cracking his back and then stopping to roll up the sleeping mat. “I suppose you’re hanging around because you’re still hungry, well I-oh, hello.”

He startled as a cold wet nose pushed against his bare wrist. The wolf had padded silently over to him, evidently no longer limping. The bloodied binding on its shoulder was starting to slip off too.

“You weren’t biting at this during the night were you?” Jaskier scolded, pushing the wolf back a bit so it wasn’t practically standing over him and taking the bandages off. “Because if you were I’ll...”

He trailed off as the bandages slipped away, revealing a small wound that had nearly healed over already in the night. It was still angry and red looking, but the skin was already well on its way to being mended, a far cry from the gaping bleeding wound last night.

“Did Geralt slip something into my salve?” Jaskier wondered aloud, scratching the wolf’s head absently. “You’ve healed nearly as fast as he does.”

This time the wolf didn’t shake off his hand, instead whining at him, shoving its nose into Jaskier’s palm.

“Hey, it’s a good thing.” Jaskier assured the animal, “It means you can go without bandages now as long as you don’t bite at it.”

He scratched harder right behind the wolf’s ears, not missing the way its tail gave half a wag before the wolf caught itself and ducked away from his hand with a whine.

“Don’t you give me that,” Jaskier said with a grin. “I saw that tail wag, you like pats, you big grumpy thing, you can’t fool me with that act.”

The wolf shook itself hard with a huff, then trotted off into the trees without so much as a backward glance.

Jaskier felt unreasonably disappointed to see the animal go, but put on a smile as he waved. “Goodbye Geralt Junior!” He called after it. “And good luck!”

***

“Storm, tempest...” Jaskier muttered to himself as he walked, kicking stray pebbles as he came across them on the road. “Red skies in morning. Warning. Red skies in morning bringing a warning. That’s good, I’ll keep that.”

It had been another long and lonely day on the hot road, but he’d nailed down nearly all the lyrics to his new song at least. He hadn’t anticipated just how much lonelier it would feel to travel solo after having met last night’s surprise visitor, but at least it had helped keep his mind off...other things...

Jaskier looked up at the setting sun. Well, better to get a start on finding a place to sleep earlier than later tonight. Tomorrow he’d reach the next town if he wasn’t terribly mistaken. He stepped off the path, starting to make his way through the brush.

He couldn’t wait to get back to playing, being around people again would help him get his mind off things. He could start working to refill his purse, perhaps even save up for a horse. He could finally feel less alone, surrounded by an audience and whatever one night stands he could manage to scrounge up in town.

If only he hadn’t-

Jaskier froze as he caught motion out of the corner of his eye and felt himself choke as something huge rushed toward him.

He turned to look and startled again, laughing out loud in relief when he turned to see a white wolf bounding up to him, two dead rabbits clamped in its bloodstained mouth.

“You’ve got to make more noise than that if you don’t want me to die of a heart attack!” He cried, but was unable to wipe the grin off his face at the return of his new friend. “So you’re not sick of me after all, huh? I’m truly flattered you know.”

The wolf ducked its head, dropping the rabbits on the ground in front of him.

“Well if this is your way of saying thank you, then I heartily accept.” Jaskier said with a smile, reaching out and patting the wolf’s head, which the animal seemed to reluctantly endure. “Let's find a good place for a fire and I’ll get these skinned and roasted for us, alright?”

Jaskier picked the rabbits up by the hind legs and strode into the woods with a much happier spring to his step.

An hour later a fire had been made and both rabbits disposed of. Jaskier sat on a log as he plucked at his lute, watching the wolf idly gnawing on a rabbit bone.

“Normally I’d start writing a song about you right away.” Jaskier assured his companion as he tuned a lute peg. “But I’ll reach town tomorrow and I’ve got to have this new song tavern ready if I’m to have any new material.”

The wolf twitched an ear, shifting its gnawing to the other side to watch him as it chewed the tiny bone.

“That’s right, a new Dandelion tune, you’re the first one to hear it too.” Jaskier smiled, strumming a few chords.

He wasn’t really expecting the wolf to listen but as he picked out the opening chords he was intensely aware of the animal’s golden eyes fixed on him. Well, so much the better for practice, Jaskier had never shied away from an attentive audience, no matter the species.

“The fairer sex they often call it,” Jaskier sang, his smile dropping away as the song pulled him in. “But her love’s as unfair as a crook.”

The notes flowed and so did the lyrics, the newest words clicking neatly into place as he sang. The emotions of the last two weeks pulled through him one more time as he fixed them into the song, hopefully a space apart from his heart. Maybe showing them off to strangers could get them to dull a bit.

He knew it wouldn’t, but it was too good a hope to abandon entirely. Not yet.

His gaze flicked up to the wolf as he sang, and he was mildly surprised to see the animal watching intently, bone forgotten.

“I am weak my love, and I am wanting.” Jaskier sang.

He grimaced as his voice broke a little on the line, too much emotion getting through. Or maybe exactly the right amount. To his amusement he could see the wolf tip its head at that, but he pushed on through the rest of the song, finally finishing with a flourish.

“Her Sweet Kiss, by myself.” Jaskier said with a half bow, setting his lute down beside him. “You’ve been a wonderful audience Geralt Junior. I’ve been working on it for the last month or so. It’s undergone some, ah, heavy revisions in the last two weeks, but I think it’s turned out alright.”

Jaskier heaved a sigh, trying to dispel some of the heavy emotion still in his chest as he wiped at his eyes. “I’ll have to tone down to waterworks a bit when I’m performing in front of people though. Pining gets you far more coin than crying, I’ve learned that performing lesson the hard way. Perks to traveling alone you know, I don’t have to try hide any of that around you.”

Jaskier slid down off the log and propped his arms back on it. The wolf across the fire let out a long whine, still watching him.

“Oh, I’m alright.” Jaskier assured the animal, wiping at his eyes even as the tears keep coming. “It’s just been, um, a rough couple of weeks. Had someone I loved very much get rid of me in a rather terrible and unexpected fashion. I figure if I sing instead of crying about it I’ll get more coin, just more practical that way really. No use pining after a friend that hates you...”

Jaskier tipped his head back against the log with a shaky sigh, closing his eyes against the tears that still came. They’d end eventually if he waited them out, better to get them out now rather than in front of a crowd tomorrow.

He opened his eyes as he felt a heavy weight settle against the side of his leg. He looked down to see the wolf had laid down beside him, tucked up against his leg as the animal stared off into the trees, head rested on its paws.

“There we go, we can sulk together.” Jaskier said with a teary chuckle, gratefully running his fingers through the wolf’s thick white fur. “I promise I’ll be alright...someday. I don’t know.” Jaskier huffed, wiping at his eyes again. “But twenty two years, and you know he never once called me his friend? I mean he was always insulting me, but he never actually tried to make me- okay, well he did try to make me leave several times, but that was mostly at the beginning. But still, twenty two years Geralt Junior. That’s such a long time to be treated like garbage.”

The wolf let out a wine, looking up at him.

“We had good times too though. So many good times.” Jaskier said sadly, scruffing both hands through the wolf’s fur, focusing on that instead of his own words. “We traveled so many places, had so many adventures. He can lighten up you know, especially if you get him alone and well fed. He’s got such a wicked sense of humor and a smile that could melt snow, even if so few people really see it. He’s excellent at Gwent, even if he always gambles too much at it. He’s got such a good heart too, he’s always trying to do the right thing, even if it comes back to cause him more trouble later.”

Jaskier laid his head on the wolf’s broad back, watching his fingers pet the white fur in front of his face as his voice got quieter.

“Honestly it only makes it worse though. To be hated by a good person hurts so much more than being hated by a bad one...”

The wolf whimpered and shifted, making Jaskier think for a moment that he’d leaned against its bad shoulder. But instead the animal shoved its snout into Jaskier’s chest, continuing to whine.

“You’re very sweet.” Jaskier said with a smile, “Even if you don’t understand any of this, I’m very grateful that you’re listening anyway.” He took the wolf’s head in his hands, kissing its forehead. “Whoever your person was must have been very sad to lose you.”

The wolf looked away, then after a long moment settled its head back on its paws.

“Sleep isn’t a terrible idea.” Jaskier yawned, resting his head against the wolf again. He watched the fire for a few more minutes of silence before his eyes drifted shut.

His last absent thought was that he hoped the wolf didn’t mind being used as a pillow without having properly been asked.

***

It was day three and Jaskier now knew for a fact that Geralt had slipped something into his medical kit, because his wolf companion was trotting easily at his side as they neared the village, only a pale scar on its shoulder that was hidden entirely by thick fur.

Why Geralt had never thought to use such a miracle cure on him when he’d managed to get banged up was beyond him. Jaskier had narrowed it down to either further proof that Geralt really didn’t like him all this time, or else quick healing magic only properly worked on wolves, whether metaphorical or literal.

But as much as he hated it Jaskier couldn’t remember a time that Geralt had ever been rough or hateful with him while treating one of his wounds. Exasperated certainly, but always urgent and attentive, making sure Jaskier healed as quickly and cleanly as possible.

Which somehow left the more poetic answer, something that Jaskier couldn’t quit smiling about as he walked down the road. Though perhaps that was more due to the fact that the village, and thus a comfortable real bed, were now in sight in the distance.

Or maybe it was the massive white wolf padding silently by his side, not having left him once since last night.

“We’re nearly there.” Jaskier hummed happily, playing with the strap of his lute. “Then we'll have warm fires and warm food and warm audiences...”

He trailed off as he walked, looking at the enormous animal walking beside him.

“Although I’m not sure the inkeep will be thrilled to let a wolf into their establishment... or the townspeople either.” Jaskier said with a frown.

To be quite honest Jaskier himself didn’t even know how the wolf would act around people, if it would start snapping or biting if it were to be taken through a crowd or into an enclosed space. He’d known some inns to allow well trained hounds to room with their masters, but that was always with the passing over of extra coin.

For all the wolf was sticking to his side today Jaskier still wouldn’t be all that surprised if the animal peeled off once they got close enough to the town.

Well, there was only going to be one way to find out, meaning it was time for a badly thought out spur of the moment plan.

“So, Geralt Junior.” Jaskier said, pulling to a stop and digging through his pack. “We’re about to be around a lot of people when we get to town, and as you’ve seen humans get skittish around creatures like you and I’d rather not have another arrow in your shoulder. I understand if you leave before we get there, but if you do stick with me we’re going to have to make you seem as domesticated as possible.”

The wolf pinned its ears back as Jaskier pulled a wide turquoise belt out of his pack, the dyed leather covered in imprinted flowers.

“I know it’s going to be a hit to your wild beastly pride, but I really think turquoise might suit you.” Jaskier said with a cheeky smile. “Although if you’d rather run off wild you’d better let me know right now, because I’m not going to have you running off with this and leaving me with an incomplete outfit, these things aren’t cheap you know.”

The wolf stared at him with a look that Jaskier could only think of as disgust. But after a verrrrry long minute the wolf sat, looking away with the same disgusted look.

“There’s a good boy.” Jaskier praised, quickly leaning down to secure the makeshift collar around his wolf’s neck. “I think you look rather dashing.” He scruffed the thick fur above the collar. “And with one fell fashion statement you’ve now worn more color than your namesake has in his entire unnaturally long life, so you at least have that going for you.”

The wolf refused to look at Jaskier, instead plodding on ahead without waiting for him.

Jaskier laughed at his sulking wolf, but they both became more serious as they approached the town. The wolf kept scenting the air every few steps and Jaskier found himself smiling uneasily at the people they started passing more and more frequently. Not all of them stared openly, but all of them were definitely at least sneaking looks as they walked by.

“Just stick by me.” Jaskier said quietly, his fingertips finding the edge of the collar and staying there as they approached an inn.

He thought about trying to leave the wolf outside, but the animal pressed close against his leg as he walked into the establishment, as if nervous of being left alone in the middle of town. Well, at least it played well into the pet charade Jaskier was playing.

“That's quite a beast you’ve got yourself there bard.” The innkeeper called from behind his counter. He didn’t sound exactly wary but Jaskier could see the man relax a little when he glanced at the floral colored collar. “Afraid we won’t have no fighting dogs in here, he’ll have to keep to the yard if he’s the kind to pick fights.”

“Not to worry my good man, I’ve had Geralt Junior since he was a pup, though truth be told we had no idea he had so much wolf in him when he was still small.” Jaskier said brightly, lying through his teeth. “He’s big, but he’s a big pushover, I can promise you’ll have no trouble from him.”

He looked down at the wolf, for a moment wondering if he weren’t taking too much of a risk with this one. He didn’t know the wolf, but it had stuck by him so closely and the thought of leaving it outside now made him bite his lip.

The wolf gazed up at him with bright yellow eyes, then at the innkeeper, as if thinking. Jaskier raised an eyebrow as the wolf’s tail started to wag and it started to pant with a very doggish smile, leaning hard against him. For all the world the very picture of a lifelong pet.

Well. Unexpected, but good?

“Well he seems polite.” The innkeeper said, smiling down at the wolf. “I’ll allow it as long as you’re willing to pay extra for a room, but even a hint of trouble and you’re both out.”

“Agreed.” Jaskier said eagerly, “one room and meals for the two of us then please, and I’d like to perform tonight if you’re willing.”

“The place is yours,” the inkeep said with a smile, handing Jaskier a room key in exchange for coin. “Haven’t had a bard through here in a while, it'll do us good to have some song.”

***

Jaskier was used to audiences fawning over his singing or his playing or his good looks, but drawing attention because of a huge white wolf resting peacefully at his feet was an entirely new experience. Word of the new bard and his tame snowy white wolf traveled quickly it seemed, Jaskier spotted people ducking in and then out of the tavern all night, smiling and pointing and even tossing an extra coin to them as the night went on.

And through it all the wolf stayed out at Jaskier’s feet, calmly listening and watching the audience throughout the night, only shifting a bit whenever Jaskier got up to move along to a more rousing ballad.

There was one moment when a young girl pushed through the crowd and fell squarely onto the wolf. Jaskier actually fumbled a chord as he gasped in a breath of startled fear.

But the wolf only huffed in surprise, blinking at the little girl as she recovered herself and hugged him around his great furry neck. A moment later a woman darted forward with a hurried word of apology as she grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her back.

“Not to worry madam, as you can see he’s quite tame.” Jaskier said with a tip of his hat and a brilliant smile that belied the way his heart was pounding in his chest at what could have easily been a disaster.

He finished his song and then bowed to the applauding crowd, gathering up all the coin offered to him as the people dispersed, seeing he was done for the night.

Once the coin was tucked away Jaskier dropped to one knee in front of the wolf, stroking the animal’s head and speaking in a hushed tone. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for being so tame. Gods above, I thought we were finished for a moment there, you’re truly a magnificently patient beast.”

The wolf ducked its head away from the praise, but Jaskier saw its tail wag against the wooden tavern floor.

“Time for supper and then for bed.” Jaskier said, getting to his feet. “I think you’re going to be a great favorite with audiences my friend if you keep this up, I’d be willing to bet half our coin tonight was due to you alone. We make an excellent team.”

The wolf got to its feet, tail still wagging as it followed Jaskier to a table. While Jaskier ate several people came up to ask if they could pet the wolf, offering bits of food in trade which the wolf accepted eagerly enough.

By the time Jaskier made it to his room, wolf trailing behind, he was convinced he must have done something miraculous to have discovered such a perfect traveling companion.

“You perfect thing.” Jaskier said once they were in the room, a yawn breaking through his smile.

He scratched behind the wolf’s ears and then stripping off his doublet for the first time in days. Really he should take a bath, but the bed looked far too inviting. He collapsed onto the sheets, sprawling out in the warmth of the room as he kicked his boots off.

“A room, a warm fire, coin in my pocket, and an agreeable traveling companion. If only Geralt could see me now.” Jaskier said, slinging one arm over his eyes with a chuckle that turned a bit sad at the end. “I hope that bastard’s alright, wherever he is.” He said quietly.

He felt a cold nose against the back of his hand and raised his arm, looking over to see the wolf whining at him.

“No, not you, the Witcher Geralt.” Jaskier said with a fond smile, petting the wolf’s head. “I'm sorry if I talk about him too much, I suppose I’ve thought of him too long, my brain doesn’t know what else there is to think about.”

He patted the mattress and after a moment of hesitation the wolf jumped up, lying down beside him. The wolf rested his head on Jaskier’s chest, a pleasant warm weight, better than any blanket he could have asked for. Jaskier carded his fingers through the thick white fur as he closed his eyes.

“I suppose I should try forgetting about him entirely.” Jaskier said softly. “I don’t want to though. I think there’s always going to be some mad piece of me that’s going to hope he’d come back for me someday, our paths always cross often enough.”

He petted the wolf in silence for a long minute.

“I can’t do it again though.” Jaskier said firmly, his voice even quieter. “Even if I do see him again someday I won’t go along with him, won’t even look at him, I can’t. I’ve set myself up for heartache and failure for too many years, working so hard to make him a hero of the people in all my songs. There’s never going to be a world in which he actually listens to me or cares, he always took me for granted, I have to remember that.”

Normally he would have teared up by now, but the comforting warmth of the wolf seemed to anchor and steady him as he petted it. The wolf even let out a long low whine that matched his sadness.

“You understand though, don’t you Geralt Junior?” Jaskier said with a smile, ruffling the wolf’s ears with a yawn. “I suppose if I’m going to move on I should think of a better name for you then shouldn’t I? Maybe a flower name to match mine, take our performances to a whole new level.”

The wolf sneezed violently, shaking its head.

“Alright alright, I’ll give it some more thought tomorrow.” Jaskier laughed. He sighed deeply, pulling his pillow a bit more firmly under his head.

It was much easier to get to sleep than it had been the nights before.

***

Weeks passed as Jaskier and his wolf passed through town after town, settling into a rhythm that Jaskier couldn’t have improved if he’d tried.

They spent days at a time in each town, Jaskier serenading crowds who came to see the wolf bard play, bringing in coin aplenty with new songs that seemed to write themselves. Some were thinly veiled laments of course, but Jaskier found himself falling into much happier tunes again far faster than he would have predicted. Ones about canine friends and cheerful adventures and sunny days and good company.

He still enjoyed the crowds of course, but now some of his favorite days were the ones between the towns, days like this when it was just him and his wolf together on the open road.

“Geralt if you don’t bring the stick back to me I can’t throw it for you.” Jaskier called, plucking a tune on his lute as he walked under the pleasant sunny afternoon sun.

Ahead of him the great white wolf bounded back and forth across the road in and out of the weeds, a large stick in his mouth as he dashed around, never seeming to tire of smelling everything they passed. Around his neck was a fine thick collar with colorful flower patterns woven into the design, a favorite with the ladies and small children. Jaskier had tried some other names for the wolf over the past few weeks but none of them had stuck as well as Geralt Junior had, even that of course eventually dropping to just Geralt.

Things had somehow gotten especially smoother after Jaskier had snapped one night, about a week in to their companionship when the animal was acting especially moody.

That’s it, new rule. Unless you’re in pain or I’m in danger there’s going to be absolutely no growling or snarling at me. I’ve gotten a lifetime's worth of that from your namesake thank you very much, and I refuse to take any more of it.

He of course hadn’t expected his outburst to change anything, but he almost thought it had, his wolf being more careful around him, as if it actually realized how upset he’d made Jaskier.

As they’d traveled the wolf had slowly loosened up in more ways than that too, his previous frequent growls and silence trading for eager tail wagging and barks as they performed for tavern after tavern of people eager to pet and praise him. He never really became rambunctious per se, always still a bit reserved and aloof. But Jaskier was certain his wolf was becoming far happier of an animal while traveling with him than he had been before, and feeling needed like that made him feel warm inside.

It wasn’t very often now that he thought of the old Geralt. Not forgotten certainly, but this new life was filled with plenty of happiness to focus on, instead of the pain he suspected would have devoured him had he not found his new companion.

The wolf bounded up to him, letting Jaskier wrestle the stick away from him and fling it off into the bushes again, then took off after it like a shot. Jaskier wiped the wolf slobber off his hand on his pants and picked up his strumming again with a smile. The one thing he hadn't seen yet was the animal getting tired, the beast having apparently been blessed with incredible stamina.

Up ahead he could see someone approaching from a distance. A horse merchant judging by the string of horses roped behind his own, a couple other men riding with him to keep them in line.

Jaskier politely made his way to the side of the road, halting his strumming to keep from spooking any of the merchant’s stock.

The merchant tipped his head to Jaskier in appreciation as they approached, but Jaskier jumped as he heard barking. He turned to see his wolf rush up to the horses, yelping and whining. The merchant and his boys shouted as they wrangled the spooking horses as they all tried to shy away from the canine.

“Get your animals under control!” The merchant snapped, swinging off in a rapid dismount to catch at his horse's bridle.

“I am so sorry!” Jaskier cried, dashing forward and grabbing the wolf’s collar, trying to haul him back with little success as the animal kept trying to lunge forward, whining desperately with its tail tucked between its legs. “Geralt, down! This has never happened before, he’s usually so good around horses, I-“

Jaskier’s breath caught as he saw one horse that hadn’t shied away, the animal instead yanking toward the wolf. A glossy chestnut mare with a white stripe down her face.

“...Roach?” Jaskier said, his mouth dry.

The mare tossed her head with an urgent whinny as she tugged against her rope halter. There was the old patch of white above her back left hoof, and the horse was actively fighting to try and get near him. It was really her.

“Where did you get that horse?” Jaskier demanded, a hollow icy feeling curling in his gut as he let go of the wolf, rushing up to the mare instead.

“Hey, get back, she bites!” The merchant barked, but he paused as Jaskier stroked Roach’s cheek. The horse crowded up to him, stomping her hoof and tucking her head close over his shoulder.

At their feet Jaskier’s wolf whined and yelped, dancing around in clear agitated excitement that Roach didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Where did you get this horse?” Jaskier repeated, turning to look at the merchant, who was hovering back now. “She belongs to a Witcher, she’s got no place in your stock herd.”

Some kind of uneasy look passed over the horse merchant’s face. Jaskier knew he didn’t cut a very intimidating figure, but he could feel the dangerous heat in his own glare and could hear the growling coming from his wolf beside him.

“We found her wandering a few weeks back.”  One of the merchant’s boy’s spoke up, looking nervously at the wolf. “She was wandering with a half loose saddle in the middle of nowhere, the camp she was by looked like it had been abandoned for days, clothes scattered about, the place was a wreck, blood all over the place.”

The merchant shot the boy a look, but shook his head, giving up. “If she did belong to a Witcher her rider was long gone by the time we found her, I swear it. Whoever they were certainly wasn’t still alive enough to retrieve his horse when we found her. Must have taken on a contract that was too much for him.”

“You’re lying!” Jaskier snapped, his fingers curling in Roach’s mane. “You stole her, you saw her outside a tavern someplace and thought you could get away with it. Well Geralt’s probably hot on your tail by now and you’re all going to regret it!”

“I swear to you we ain’t no horse thieves.” The merchant said, his expression clouding. “Besides, she’s been nothing but trouble ever since we found her, kicking and biting anyone who gets too close. We’re just about ready to sell her for glue.”

“Give her to me.” Jaskier demanded, fingers already working at the rope tied at her bridle. “She isn’t yours, I’m taking her back to Geralt.”

“Whoa, hey,” the merchant said, advancing on him, only stopping short when the wolf snarled at him. “We’ve been keeping her fed and watered for weeks now, if her Witcher were going to “track us down” it would have happened by now, and as it is we’ve got to at least get the cost of her feed back out of her.”

“Fine, I’ll pay for her food cost.” Jaskier said angrily. “But she’s coming with me now, as well as anything else you stole from where you found her. And believe me, I’ll know if you try to keep any of it back.”

As long as he stayed angry he could keep the fear back. Because Geralt would never never leave Roach abandoned, she was the one thing in the world that Jaskier knew he loved. And if Geralt had been alive enough to walk he would have tracked the horse thieves in a matter of hours.

So where was Geralt?

The merchant must have done some quick calculating in his head of the risk of an angry bard and an angry wolf and an angry horse compared to a quick and easy payout, because he was soon nodding to his boys who scrambled back to the pack horses.

“It’s alright Roach.” Jaskier soothed quietly, taking hold of her rope bridle once he detached it from the lead rope. “It’s alright girl, you’re safe now.”

His wolf was still whining and pressing up against them both. The horse ducked her head down to nuzzle against the wolf, which struck Jaskier as odd, the old mare generally only allowing Geralt himself to touch her. Jaskier had only worked up to being allowed that particular honor after years of sugar cubes and braided manes and pretty compliments.

The boys returns with their arms full, dumping the contents at Jaskier’s feet. Roach’s saddle and tack, saddle bags and camping gear.

Jaskier’s blood ran cold when he stooped to shuffle aside a sleeping roll to uncover a set of all too familiar black studded armor, and two separate long swords. One silver. One steel.

“These were all at his camp?” Jaskier asked, his voice dangerously on edge and brittle as he searched through the pile, finding every single item Geralt regularly traveled with.

“They were, strewn about in a right mess too.” The merchant said, looking very much like he was more than ready to have this whole mess off his hands for good.

Jaskier numbly checked the saddle bags, looking up as his voice cracked.

“The medallion.” He demanded hoarsely. “Where’s the silver wolf medallion?”

The one thing the Witcher never never took off, not even to bathe or sleep. If that at least was still missing then maybe-

One of the boys blushed, quickly pulling a chain from under his shirt and handing it to Jaskier, whose fingers took it in a kind of desperate spasm. His wolf nosed desperately at the medallion, whining and whimpering.

“That’s all of it.” The merchant said hesitantly, clearly disturbed at Jaskier’s reaction.

Jaskier stood, the medallion clutched so hard in his hand that his fingers were bleaching white around it. He pulled out some coin and handed it to the merchant, who barely glanced at the sum before nodding and signaling his boys back in the saddle.

Within a minute of hurried commotion the merchant and his herd were gone, leaving Jaskier standing in the middle of the road with a horse and a wolf. Trembling as he stood over all that remained of Geralt of Rivia, his Witcher medallion clutched in his hand.

Jaskier breath was coming quickly and raggedly as his mind feverishly cast about for any explanation that didn’t end with Geralt being very much gone forever.

His armor looked roughed up and was spattered with dried blood. Had he been eaten out of his own armor? Cursed entirely out of existence? Either way, gone forever. Leaving behind everything.

Leaving behind Jaskier.

Jaskier was trembling so hard that his knees gave out, sending him to the ground on his hands and knees as his rapid shallow breathing gave way to sobs. The edges of the medallion were cutting into his hand, but he didn’t care as tears ran down his face, his mind paralyzed in a loop of denial and panic and grief.

He was gone.

Geralt was gone.

Jaskier felt a heavy warmth press against him and he reflexively wrapped his arms around the wolf as it crowded against his chest. He buried his face in the thick white fur, holding on tightly enough that it must be hurting, but the wolf only draped heavily across his lap, silent as Jaskier sobbed.

He might have cried like that for minutes or an hour before he slowly came back to himself, the wolf nosed at his ear, clearly concerned.

“He’s, he’s gone.” Jaskier hiccuped, opening his hand to look at the medallion, the silver wolf head glinting coldly back at him. Despite having seen it for years, seeing it apart from Geralt made it look unnatural and foreign. “I mean...I k-know I already lost him...b-but not like this.”

His wolf whined quietly, pressing its head against Jaskier's shoulder bracingly. Jaskier buried his face against the white fur.

“Why did that have to be the last time I saw him...” he said quietly, the hollow feeling inside enveloping him completely. “Why did it have to end like that? I really believed I would see him again. What am I going to do now?”

He felt Roach nudge his shoulder and the tears came again as he looked up at her. He unsteadily got to his feet, rubbing her cheek. “Oh Roach, I’m so sorry. You probably saw it actually happen too, you poor thing.”

He eased the rough rope bridle off her head, rubbing her face as his thoughts started to slowly become coherent again. Geralt didn’t really have next of kin, but the other Witchers would want to know what had happened.

“I know he didn’t like me much by the end, but I hope it’s alright if you stick with me.” Jaskier said to Roach. “I promise I’ll keep you brushed and well fed, no monster hunting, but I’ll take good care of you.”

The mare bumped her nose against his chest affectionately.

“I think we ought to find Yennefer.” Jaskier said quietly, sniffling and wiping his eyes as he pulled Roach’s tack from the pile of things on the road. “She’ll know how to track down the other Witchers, to tell them what happened.”

He slipped her real bridle on and saddled her, then started packing all of Geralt’s things into the saddle bags, hanging the two swords at her flanks. He worked slowly, feeling like he would begin sobbing again if he moved too quickly.

The whole time he worked his wolf kept close to his side, staring up at him as it leaned against him comfortingly. Jaskier stopped several times to pet it, reigning his breath back in each time, away from the point of breaking down again.

When everything was ready to go Jaskier had to take a minute to compose himself before he could look at Roach. He’d packed her up exactly like this so many times, but never to ride alone. This isn’t what he wanted at all. He’d perhaps wished that he had something to remember his Witcher by, but not like this.

He pulled the medallion out of his pocket and stared at it. It felt wrong somehow to tuck it away when it had been worn openly for over a century. He looked at his wolf with a sigh, dropping down to one knee.

“I need you to hold onto this for me alright?” He said quietly. “Keep it safe while we travel.”

The wolf sat very still as Jaskier slipped the silver chain over its head.

One moment Jaskier was looking at his wolf, the next moment he was blinded by a blast of white light. He cried out, falling back in shock, letting go of the medallion chain.

He blinked hard, stumbling to his feet as his vision slowly came back to him, leaving his sight hazy and spotty for a long minute as he dizzily tried to balance himself.

Large hands gripped his arms and he yelled in panic, trying to jerk away from whoever had apparently ambushed him with magic. Were they after Geralt’s things? After Roach?

But before he could react further he was pulled into what felt exactly like a tight hug. He tried to struggle as his vision came back to him.

“Unhand me! Let me-"

“I’m sorry Jaskier.” Said a low voice in his ear.

The voice sounded husky, as if it hadn’t been used in a very long time, but Jaskier would recognize that voice no matter what it sounded like.

“G-Geralt?” He asked, his voice cracking.

The hug loosened, only enough for Geralt to pull back and look at him, his beautiful golden eyes bright and happy.

“I promised myself that if I ever got to speak again that’s the first thing I’d say.” Geralt said.

“You’re, you’re not dead?” Jaskier asked, starting to tremble hard, out of overwhelming sudden emotion or simple shock he couldn’t tell.

“I’m not dead.” Geralt said, gently kissing Jaskier’s forehead, sending him another level deeper into staggering shock.

“I’ve gone mad.” Jaskier said weakly, his legs giving out. “I’ve lost it, I’m off my rocker, the full nine yards, hallucinating. Completely batty.”

Geralt caught him with a chuckle, holding him steady. “You’re not mad, I promise. Not about this anyway.”

Jaskier swallowed, looking up at Geralt’s face as he rested his hands on the Witcher’s bare chest, then looked down.

“If you aren’t a dream of mine, then why aren’t you wearing any clothes.” Jaskier challenged flatly.

Geralt grinned. “Haven’t worn any in nearly two months now.”

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the silver medallion around Geralt’s neck, and even more specifically the loose woven collar that Geralt was unlatching and slipping off his neck.

The last two months all slammed into Jaskier at once, blindsiding him hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs completely.

“You’re Geralt!” He wheezed, eyes painfully wide. “The wolf Geralt, you were the wolf, the whole time, of course, of course! What, what happened?”

He didn’t quite know how his hands got on either side of the witcher’s face, but they were there, his face inches from his own as he scanned the familiar sight. Those golden eyes he’d had by his side for weeks now without ever seeing past them to the truth.

“Took a contract for a beast that turned out to be a sorcerer’s pet.” Geralt said, his voice starting to sound like its normal low self. He rested a hand on Jaskier’s wrist, stroking his thumb across the back of his hand. “I killed the beast but its master wasn’t too happy with me, I guess he had a sense of irony so he turned me into a white wolf. He ran me off, I met some hunters, got an arrow through the shoulder, was convinced I was going to die of either infection or hunger or more hunters, and then you nearly tripped over me.”

“It was dark, alright?” Jaskier said breathlessly, his mind skipping over nearly everything Geralt had said to focus instead on the fact that he was here and alive. “So, so you were with me these whole two months? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried, that first night I tried to scrape out a message with the ashes from the fire, but you didn’t notice. Whenever I tried to communicate you didn’t seem to catch on.” Geralt sighed. “After a week or two I gave up, it was pleasant enough traveling with you and I didn’t think there was a cure to the curse. I never would have guessed the medallion, and even if I had I wouldn't have known where to find it. Things were simpler once I gave up.”

Jaskier’s mind replayed the last weeks at super speed, trying to think of any time he’d noticed anything unusual. Perhaps the way the wolf had trusted him so quickly, how it picked up on commands so easily, how when he talked to it it really seemed like it were listening to him.

Jaskier paled, remembering exactly how much he’d talked. “You heard everything I told you? About, about you?” He asked weakly.

“Yes.” Geralt said soberly. “That’s why I decided an apology would be the first thing I’d say if I ever got back to normal.”

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembled, for once at a complete loss for words.

“Are you sure you’re not still cursed?” He finally managed, his hands dropping to Geralt’s chest again. “You’re being very nice to me and using ten times as many words as you usually do.”

“I’ve had two months of wishing I could talk, I have a list actually.” Geralt said, starting to speak a little faster and more earnestly, as if nervous that he’d lose his ability to speak again. “First, I felt terrible the minute you left that mountain, I was angry at so many different things and I took it out on you because you were the closest thing that I knew wouldn’t yell back. I’m sorry, Jaskier, I shouldn’t have.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” Jaskier agreed quietly, mind still spinning a little, but starting to settle as he listened.

“Second, I do not hate you. I’ve never hated you. I hate that you think that, I hate that I made you think that, it’s not true.” Geralt said, almost sounding angry now.

Jaskier swallowed, nodding silently.

“Third you are my friend, my best friend, I’m sorry for taking you for granted. I'll never do it again or else you can run me through with my own sword.”

Jaskier only managed to make a kind of weak noise in response as Geralt gathered him into another tight hug.

“Anything else?” Jaskier asked, trying to make it sound like a joke, but his voice broke as he buried his face against Geralt’s neck.

“Just that I saw you take those apples at the market when you thought no one was looking, and that you really ought to make sure your poor dog is out of the room before you pull someone into bed with you for the night.” Geralt said, his voice sounding amused.

���You were a wolf.” Jaskier sputtered, blushing furiously as he looked up. “How was I supposed to know you were judging me? And really it’s not like you’ve never been to a brothel Geralt, you’re hardly an innocent, don’t try to shame me with that.”

“And your singing is actually quite good.” Geralt said gently, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “Even if some of your recent songs...sting a bit. Being up there with you while you performed every night was...special. I liked it.”

Jaskier swallowed again, unable to keep the dumb grin off his face even as he thought he might start crying again. “So not like a fillingless pie?” He asked, a little facetiously. His eyes widened and he jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest. “What about that time you started howling in the middle of my set? You frightened the entire tavern! I thought we were going to be run out of town for sure!”

Geralt laughed at that, a lovely deep warm sound. “That was because I saw a pickpocket in the crowd, I figured spooking them with a howl would be better than lunging into the crowd growling. It worked too, which was a nice surprise.”

Jaskier laughed too, a real laugh, not the kind of tight ones other people had gotten from him over the past months, the real kind that had only come when he was alone with his traveling companion.

“I think I’m going to miss wolf Geralt.” He said, tilting his head to the side, surprised at how sad he really felt at that realization. “I mean obviously I’m thrilled you’re not dead, or cursed, but the last two months have been so lovely.”

“Well, if you don’t mind Witcher Geralt too much I’d like to keep traveling with you.” Geralt said quietly. He glanced down at the way they were holding each other, then looked back up. “And maybe start a few things over while we’re at it?”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered in his chest, but he chewed his lip. All those nights of telling himself that he’d never go back to traveling with the Witcher coming back to him. All conversations Geralt had actually heard of course, meaning the Witcher knew exactly what he was really asking.

“How do I know it won’t go back to how it was?” Jaskier asked, a bit of fear creeping into his voice. “What happens when talking has lost its novelty and you’re back to growls and grunts, when you’re mad at being slowed down by me and need someone to take it out on?”

“This time I want to follow you. If you’ll let me.” Geralt said, gently resting his forehead against Jaskier’s. “The way we’ve done these past months. You go where you want, and I’ll take whatever contracts I find along the way, that way you don’t have to give up anything anymore to be around me, you can set the pace.” He brushed a thumb across Jaskier’s cheek. “It was nice following you around as a wolf, I think it would still be nice as a Witcher.”

“You use that line on every boy you flirt with?” Jaskier teased, but his smile was real. “I think I’d like that.” His expression grew serious. “But I will take you up on your offer of running you through with your own sword if you start being an imbecile again.”

“Good.” Geralt chuckled, brushing his nose against Jaskier’s. “And I promise no more growling or snapping at you, I’ve done well with that rule these past few weeks haven’t I?”

“You have.” Jaskier nodded tearily. “Although I thought it was just because I kept bribing you with treats.”

“I won’t pretend those didn’t help some.” Geralt teased.

Jaskier’s heart skipped as Geralt took his face in his hands and closed the last inches between them, kissing him softly. He closed his eyes, leaning into it, allowing the dozens of clamoring thoughts and questions inside him to still for at least a moment. A very good, very quiet moment.

As the kiss ended he gazed at Geralt, knowing he was probably a bit starry eyed. Behind them Roach huffed and stamped the ground, breaking the moment.

“I haven’t forgotten you either, girl.” Geralt said fondly, letting go of Jaskier and walking over to her, firmly stroking her nose and kissing her forehead. “I was so worried about you, I thought I’d never see you again.”

Roach swished her tail and nickered, affectionately shoving her head against Geralt’s chest.

Jaskier gasped, his eyes lighting up. “I just realized this is all going to make a brilliant song.” He said, nearly giddy at the thought as he fished his notebook out of his pocket. “The Witcher Wolf, a rousing ballad about transformation and reconciliation.”

“Well be sure to put your apple theft in there somewhere.” Geralt snorted, pulling his clothes out of the saddle bags and starting to shrug them on. He grimaced as he pulled on his pants. “Have clothes always been this claustrophobic?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t mind if you left them off, but I can’t speak for the townspeople.” Jaskier said with a smirk, already scribbling snatches of lyric ideas in his notebook. He looked up, eyebrows raising as he watched Geralt struggle into his boots. “Hang on, that’s why you never licked people like other dogs do, because you were Real Geralt the whole time.”

“I had to keep my dignity somehow.” Geralt said, frowning as his fingers slipped a bit at his shirt buttons. “Darn fingers are going to take some getting used to.”

“Oh, dignity eh?” Jaskier smirked, coming up and doing the witcher’s shirt buttons for him. “So what about that time at the butcher’s last week when you-"

“If you ever mention that aloud I'm tossing you to the very next monster I see and walking away.” Geralt said sternly.

“Oh but now I have so many excellent stories about you!” Jaskier said gleefully. “Wouldn’t Yennifer love to hear about last month, when we were hiking through that forest and you decided to-"

Jaskier yelped as Geralt scooped him up and unceremoniously slung him over Roach’s back like a hunting trophy. Jaskier laughed as he clumsily righted himself in the saddle just as Geralt started moving, pulling Roach to walk with him down the road.

“Better get started on that wolf song, bard.” Geralt said, looking over his shoulder with a smile and handing him the notebook and pencil he’d dropped. “I think that’s a much better use of your breath.”

“Well, if you insist.” Jaskier said, primly taking back his notebook and pencil, but still grinning.

Because he got the feeling that things weren’t going to go back to the way they had been before. He got the feeling that they were going to be much, much better.

---------

Read Geralt’s POV with extra scenes!

[Geralt’s POV Chapter 1]   [Geralt’s POV Chapter 2]     

[auroraemoon]

How to Nurture the Fledgling Aesthetic-Vintage Soul in you:

(** I am continually adding to this list **)

1. Explore secondhand bookstores for old, pretty editions of novels you may or may not have heard of.

2. Light candles in your bedroom/bathroom, and read by candlelight.

3. Write during a thunderstorm, and why not make it extravagant, even a little flowery, and if it is poetry, scribble it on parchment.

4. Dress in turtlenecks, plaid coats, and occasional bright socks (but keep the socks hidden-yes, be a mystery, in real life and on social media).

5. Go on, make yourself tea in pretty teacups (you can find plenty in secondhand stores!)6. Listen to classical and/or mediaeval music (with a lute and possibly a hurdy-gurdy) as you sleep/read/study.

7. Button up shirts are a must (and if they have a high collar, all the better.)

8. Stay late at a university library studying topics that no one else would. Delve into the realm of philosophy, metaphysics, epistemology, aesthetics, poetry—broadening ones mind is never to be frowned upon.

9. Avoid the pretension and arrogance that can often accompany academia — it hurts no one to be kind, gracious, mindful, and humble.

10. Elegance and confidence walk hand-in-hand, and if mingled with the right amount of nonchalance, mystery, and whimsey, then you are halfway to wherever you want to go.

11. Certainly, you can debate metaphysical theories, spiritual oddities, theological conundrums. Be kind though.

12. One day go and pick wild flowers and sketch leaves as the honeyed glow of the sun kisses their tender skin—memorise all the colours of the forest.

13. Watch dawn arrive, tis the colour of a dark purple-red wine, a starless sky, adore her quiet arrival—give thanks.

14. I know you just want to wander a thorn-covered castle by candlelight, write a letter as a storm thunders outside, and drink red wine as you read poetry by a crackling fire. If you can, why not.

15. Sometimes you might need to be coy or charming - it can all add to the mystery.

16. Remember how you craved knowledge when you were young, you once dreamed of adventures, of 'slaying dragons', of mystery, of overcoming mortal peril.

17. Buy an expensive journal and write in it the things that set your soul alight, all those existential suspicions that there is something more waiting out there for you to find it; all those spiritual questions you would dare not ask anyone.

18. Yes, the nights are marvelous. The full moon, with her burning white embers and the gathering of her velvet darkness. This also is to be a place of contemplative beauty.

19. That awkward smile you give your friends, yeah, I know, they don't really understand you, do they. Big libraries, big forest, big ideas, big dreams, big words and messy handwriting that tries to capture some of it alive.

20. "Taking a new step, uttering a new word, is what people fear most." - F. Dostoevsky. You may not have been this way before, have no fear...the angels are cheering you onward.

21. One of the skills you have is called daydreaming. From that psychotic state all good things flow.

22. Read some gothic literature, by candlelight.

23. The sound of wind and rain is calling you to leave your warm and cozy inside, and venture out into the wild and dark—and even there lies a metaphor for a light shining in a dark place.

24. On earth we are briefly gorgeous. Literature, ancient and modern, reveals it so like no other—surround yourself with books and words and poetry, all the fierce passions of the world bound in ink and vellum. They are eternal conversations with anguish and desire.

25. You long for the gentle strokes of your pen hitting the page as imaginations subtle hues rush through your mind. Your heart swells at the library of ideas now outlined in the mists, a bonfire of words, skyward ember fly , flickering thoughts on seraphim wings at the final push - and look at you - you've written a single sentence, you've conquered an Everest.

26. Delicate fairy lights wind their way along your bookshelves, an enchanting bouquet of light to draw your eyes to a thousand ideas.

27. In the morning you're still tying your shoelaces, it is a ritual, an act of faith, you often ask yourself: "Where are you even going?"

29. You like fonts, late nights you are sprawled in front of two monitors researching the aesthetic qualities of the dips and curves in a modified serif. 

30. You are a combination of dark and light, a rain stained window, a poem tapping out some internal crisis—the vintage soul finds solace here among the soul's quieter, more desperate hymns.

31. Reading books in the shade of trees with the melody of a harp in the distance would be exquisite. The keeper of the flame lingers in such moments.

32.  Perhaps you would like to go on little night picnics—bring fairy lights, imaginations, dreams, stories. The moon would love to hear your conversations, and she might just come down and tell you a story or two (Moon is like that).

33. Every day I wonder why I'm not living in a dark castle with secret passageways and rooms filled with books. Finance is one issue, howbeit a small one #sigh 

34. "Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world." - Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden. But you already knew that, didn't you.

35. You're upset, I understand. You cannot go to sleep and wake up fluent in Latin, Elvish, or with an Irish accent.

36. Freshly baked lavender and lemon cake are necessary at times.

37. Folklore, legends, mysteries, secret poetry hidden behind castle stones, quiet on the outside, but filled with enough seismic activity that you might just create a new planet, complex theories about many things that never come out quite right, renaissance murals line the walls of your soul, spilling your deepest secrets to a bird at your windowsill. Sleep deprived, but still conscious. A mix of Clair de Lune and In the Hall of the Mountain King. 

38. Pinpricks of stars on a velvet night, glints of dust floating on a ribbon of sun-streak, droplets of rain weaving down a windowsill. All of this, and you, are the same. Behind your eyes and coffee stained pages lies a whisper and an ache of what you may become.

39. Buying that new special pen.

40. Buying that new special notebook.

41. Trapped inside is a wild inner celt staring over the cliffs of moher, waiting for a ghostly lover to return from the sea.

** This is apparently a work in progress...

Current mood: aesthetic, bookish, nostalgic - LOL  aesbookic (Some were gleaned from various blogs, bust mostly my own)

[ymiwritesstuff]

Hello! Could I please get some Dio angst. Perhaps something where reader rejects him and later he finds out their actually dating Jonathan? Thank you!

Ok I may have had a bit too much fun with this one. The only thing I’m worried about is that I’m not sure if I wrote Dio’s character accurately enough. I tried my best though and I hope you enjoy this. Thank you for requesting!

The Curse of Love

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 1: Phantom Blood

Dio Brando x Reader

Summary: Dio’s irresistible charm was one of the blond’s greatest assets, often being worshipped by many. His charm would woo almost anyone in any situation. But when it wasn’t successful, Dio would’ve never expected the amount of pain that came with one-sided love

Notes: Angst, Dio being angry and sad

Dio was very well known among his peers by his natural charm and intellect. He took great pride in the compliments he received either from his fellow students or professors. He had his followers, people he would never see as friends as trust was something he didn’t believe in, opting to work on his schemes alone. Of course, some one as well-known as him would most definitely have admirers. Women practically threw themselves at him, something Dio cared little to nothing about. He saw them as nothing more as greedy individuals, only after his money, power or looks. No one would ever be worthy of loving him the same way a certain someone had once done. No one could ever make Dio fall victim to the twisted strings of love.

However those strings mercilessly captured him as soon as he looked into a certain pair of (E/C) orbs. The moment he laid his sharp eyes on you he immediately felt something inside him twist. He felt the familiar warmth he had felt with his mother so long ago. Denial was the first thing he felt. There was no way he was feeling genuine care for someone else. His mind denied it all but his actions didn’t lie. He would glance at you from time to time, if your eyes met his he would flash you one of his many charming smiles, leaving a red stain of heat on your cheeks. On the few occasions you had spoken he would almost subconsciously shower you with tiny compliments and occasionally adding a wink to mix things up.

Your lack of reaction to his charm made him somewhat puzzled, making him think that you were simply intimidated by his confident attitude. He didn’t mind this though as he understood his position and preferred to be the one in control anyways. Besides, your flustered side was simply adorable to him. Still, he would have to let you know about his feelings sooner or later as you didn’t seem to notice on your own.

~

The Sun was about to set, coloring the sky with beautiful warm shades as you walked along the narrow path that lead to your home. It had been a fine day of just spending time by yourself, walking around, picking a few flowers and even standing barefooted in the cold water of the stream. You hadn’t had proper time with yourself as the last few days have been very busy lately and filled with other people. It felt relieving to finally be by yourself for a change.

The mixed colors of red and orange hid behind trees as the path led you to the entrance of a small forest. You figured daylight would last for maybe ten minutes, which was more than enough in order to make it home before dark. A sudden noise behind you makes you quickly turn your head towards the direction of the sound. Being too focused on finding a source, you’re quickly startled by a sudden impact in front of you. Before you fall down, the person before you quickly grabs you before you can hit the ground. Looking up you immediately recognize the sharp amber eyes looking back at you.

“Oh my.. What a surprise to see you (Name.)” Dio’s voice was smug as always as he let go of you, allowing you to stand on your own. It was strange to see him here as the path you took was fairly rarely used by others. Perhaps he was just taking a shortcut home as the Joestar manor wasn’t too far away. “Oh, hello Dio.” You offered him a smile which he happily feasted his eyes on. Dio eyed your form carefully, internally noting just how stunning you always looked. “This is actually an excellent timing (Name).” His fiery eyes returned to yours, a mischievous glint apparent in them. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” Your curiosity awakened at his words. Dio rarely spoke to you about a certain topic, it was usually just your average small talk so you were intrigued to know what he had in mind. “Oh? What is it?”

Dio merely smirked and swiftly took your hands in his, catching you by complete surprise. “The moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were something special.” His words caused your cheeks to become red, which only seemed to encourage him. “You are beyond perfection (Name). No one has ever made me feel like this. To think I’d fall victim to love.. Even the thought of it makes me disgusted.” His eyes looked down for a brief second, but quickly returned to you, regaining their confidence. “However (Name), I’ve completely fallen for you. And I want you to become mine to love.” He was serious, you could see it in his eyes that barely let go of their usual arrogance. You just look at him, unsure what to say. Dio notes your silence, his voice quickly coming forth again, his smirk only growing. “Don’t feel discouraged my dear. Surely you can voice your approval with no hesitation. You couldn’t possibly resist-”

“No, Dio.” You quickly shut him down, not wanting him to fill with too much hope. His smirk faded, his eyes widened as he was trying to comprehend your words. “What.. What did you say?” His voice was quiet, yet almost angry in nature which made you feel uneasy. “I.. I’m sorry but... I don’t.. Feel the same way..” You carefully take a few steps back, unsure about his reactions. Dio just looked at you in utter disbelief. He took a step towards you, extending his hand but you quickly deny him by moving back. “(Name).. You can’t.. You can’t do this to me!” The loudness of his voice startled you, making you jump. He was furious but was trying his best to hold himself back. You quickly walked past him, trying to distance yourself from him as his angered state was something you didn’t want to worsen.

“Where are you going?! Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Dio’s hand grabbed yours firmly, his gaze filled with red. Anger was his weakness and he was allowing that weakness to take over. You struggle against his grip, trying your best to get away. “Dio, let go of me!” Looking at him you see an expression that holds nothing more than anger. There was no trace of his usual demeanor. His grip got tighter, eventually causing waves of pain to go through your wrist. With your free hand you try to pry his own open, but it seemed to only worsen Dio’s anger. “Why?! Why are you doing this to me?! How dare you reject-” 

Dio’s voice came to a complete halt as the palm of your hand came in contact with the side of his cheek. The sudden sting caused him to let go of your hand, which in turn caused you to start running as quickly as possible. Dio could only watch as he held his cheek, the impact causing him to snap out of his rage. He wanted to scream, take his anger out on something but all he could do was to fall to his knees as your running form got further and further away from him.

~

It had been a few days and Dio’s inner anger hadn’t faded in the slightest. How could this happen to him? Dio was lost, unsure perhaps for the first time ever. He was frustrated at himself for taking his anger out on you, something he should’ve never allow himself do. He must keep his composure no matter what, or someday it would lead to his doom.

Dio was on his way home just like usual. Despite everything that had happened he still had to focus on his goals. He couldn’t let his feelings weaken him if he would one day acquire the fortune of the Joestars. He had to be strong, filled with power if he ever wanted to be successful. Yet despite trying his hardest to distract himself, he couldn’t get you out of his thoughts.

His gaze was on the ground, hands in his pockets as he walked deep in thought. Perhaps he could convince you or slither his way into your heart some way. No, it was futile. He had to move forward. Falling in love was nothing more than a curse. A curse which weakened him. But why did it hurt him so much? Why did your rejection cause him so much pain? It was as if an important part of him was shot down with your words. Dio hated it all. If only he could rid himself of these thoughts.

And these thoughts only grew bigger when the sound of your laugh reached his ears. He couldn’t resist the urge to follow the sound of your angelic voice. He wondered if you were alone, which would give him a chance to talk to you. He knew he should ignore it all, but it was as if his feelings took over, guiding him to you.

Once you came to view Dio eyed you carefully. You were happy, laughing, your beautiful smile decorating your features. Seeing you like this made all those feelings return. The familiar feeling of love and care he had once felt with his mother hit him like a tidal wave. Dio was now convinced that there was no use to resist them. He couldn’t let you slip away from him, he loved you.

But then, everything came crashing down.

“Jojo, you’re too kind.” When Jonathan put his hands around you, everything came to a halt. Dio’s eyes widened, his hands clenched into fists and he felt the feeling of care and love disappeared, being replaced with the familiar rage. Why was Jonathan holding you like that? That should be him! Dio should be the only one allowed to hold and touch you like that. Dio’s heart broke into million pieces as soon as Jonathan’s lips made contact with your cheek. 

Why? How could this happen to him? Dio hid behind a tree, sitting down and leaning against it, his hands in his hair. The pain was too much. As if someone was stabbing him over and over, each time the knife of rejection digging deeper into him. The curse of love brought such pain, something he would’ve never expected. He was angry. Angry at Jonathan, angry at you and even angry at himself. The simultaneous feelings of anger and sorrow were digging into his soul, tormenting him internally.

He was now more determined than ever to utterly destroy Jonathan’s life. This was the last straw. He wouldn’t be able to escape his fury. He took you from him. The only person Dio ever cared about was taken from him by the worst person possible. Jonathan would pay. He would destroy everything he had. Dio would have his revenge. And afterwards, he would make sure that no one ever made him suffer like this again.

But the curse that love brought would never fade away.

[dailydianakko]

Ink Slinger- I just really need my textbook

Yes the title is a shameless rip from the song (highly reccomend y’all give it a listen) Anyway first chapter of the bookstore au! Next chapter is never. I hope you all enjoy it, it’s my longest work thus far! I wanted to challenge myself, and I think I succeded. A big thank you to all my beta readers who put up with my awful tangled words! Anyway, here is the first chapter. Also on AO3 Here.

Akko gasped as her feet hit the hard concrete of the sidewalk. The crisp air invaded her lungs with each gasping breath, making her throat feel raw and her nose run. Waking up late once again had sent her into a wild crunch for time. She had planned to stop by the bookstore Lotte had recommended she go to before class. The quiet girl had told her that it was really well stocked for a private store, and Lotte frequented enough bookstores to know what was good and what wasn’t. Her expertise was the sole reason to warrant Akko even making a trip like this. Her friend was practically a walking yelp review to most any store in the county, much less state. Lotte’s frequent searches for sold out Nightfall books had only added to her knowledge, and Akko would be forever grateful. After all, Lotte shared the spirit of hope that often accompanied the search for rare or out of stock books.

Akko was still stubbornly clinging to the hope that she might find one of the missing books in her Shiny Chariot collection. That or a replacement “Introduction to English Literature” book that had sadly bitten the dust earlier in the week. The freak coffee incident had really left its mark, both on Akko’s skin and on everyone in the shared school dorm room. Sucy still hadn’t managed to get the coffee stains out of her lab coat and Akko really hoped that she wouldn’t try to get revenge later. She really had no desire to be woken up at four in the morning with another chemical concoction being poured down her throat. Akko gave a hard swallow to try to erase that particular memory. To be honest, Sucy never really needed a reason to use Akko as a resident guinea pig; but Akko didn’t like Sucy having an excuse. Sucy was a master manipulator, and she had no qualms about using guilt to motivate Akko into being a willing participant. Maybe she should just skip town and change her name. Assume a new identity and hope Sucy wouldn’t find her. 

Akko slowed down to a jog as she started to weave around other pedestrians that were filling the streets. It was getting rather crowded now due to the impending lunch hour. Lucky her.

She began to check road signs. Lotte said it would be in this area. Keeping her quick pace, Akko began to scan the nearby buildings for the bookstore she wanted to visit before class. She needed a replacement book today or her professor was seriously going to have her head!

Akko skidded to a halt as she caught sight of the lavender building that had the sign “Quill and Crow” hanging above the entrance; with the emblem of a white crow behind the cursive lettering. The store looked like an old Victorian building, matching the rest of the old era stores on the street. Like many of the cafes and stores of the small town of Blytonbury, it had been a reconverted house with its own quirks and renovations to distinguish it from the others. 

Akko quickly crossed the street after checking and making sure it was devoid of cars. Getting hit now would definitely make her late for class. Stepping up onto the cracked sidewalk, she looked once more at the building. Particularly the porch. There were weathered wicker chairs that had small tables next to them, each with a potted plant. The flowers clearly had been tended with loving care and were blooming beautifully. The seating was scattered in various areas along the white wood of the decking. The seating was far apart enough to be comfortable, giving off the air that one could happily read while in the company of others and avoid the uncomfortable feeling of overcrowding.

It would’ve been nice to sit among the gerbera daisies and catch her breath, but Akko had things to do and a class she could not afford to be late for. She quickly hopped up the creaky steps and passed the chairs. She was proud to say that she only paused a second, glancing at the tempting chairs and the comfort and resting potential that they provided, before turning the brass handle of the door and stepping into the building.

Her first impression was that it was quite clean. The dark floor showed no sign of dust nor dirt and was free of scratches and scuff marks. If Akko didn’t know any better, she would have thought the cream walls had been freshly painted. The missing wet sheen told her that yes, it would be safe to fall into should she lose her balance. Either this store was brand new, which she doubted, or it was very well kept.

The floor plan of the building was fairly open, and had various helpful signs in flowing script directing her where to go. She walked up to a nearby chalkboard sign, stepping around a full umbrella stand, with its own little handwritten sign that said “take but return.” Akko read the board quietly to herself. The first floor was non-fiction, café/gift shop area, and educational books, whereas the second floor was fiction, a sitting area, and a book exchange shelf. Akko knew the first floor was where she should stay, but her adventurous nature made her want to explore the second floor. Perhaps she’d find the Shiny Chariot book in the exchange section. Also, the farther away from coffee she was, the better it was for her. The incident was still all too fresh in her mind.

Akko wandered through the shelves until she found the stairway to the second floor. She slid her hand along the rich dark wood of the thick banister. It was smooth and cool to the touch. She climbed up the slightly creaky steps hesitantly. The store was quiet and she had yet to encounter any workers, maybe it was closed. As she got closer to the second floor, the tantalizing smell of old books hiding among new ones greeted her. She took in a deep breath and let out a happy sigh. Akko always loved the smell of books, be it old or new. She allowed the smell to enchant her and forgot about her worries. Akko stepped lightly through the shelves, there seemed to be no concrete sitting area, save for a large table with comfortable looking chairs suited to gatherings. It seemed the owners had opted for having various spots to sit hidden among the bookcases instead, much to Akko’s approval. As her eyes traced the spines of the books, reading various new titles, her attention was grabbed by the book exchange area. Just what she was looking for! The sign indicating the exchange area was written in the same script as all the other ones that littered the first floor of the store. Underneath the words book exchange was the apparent rules to this area of the store. “Take a book, leave a book,” Akko read aloud slowly “Books that are unexchanged are 50 cents per book. Area is sponsored by Croix Merides, Dean of the Robotics Branch of Luna Nova.”

The books on this particular shelf looked to be old and heavily used. Spines of the paperbacks were bent and the paper was fraying with heavy use. Not only did these books contain tales printed in ink along the pages, but it looked as if they held stories of the lives of the countless people who had read them.  As Akko skimmed the shelf, one particular book stood out to her. She picked up the random title and glanced down at the cover. A dragon, regal and ancient, was illustrated; with the title in gilt lettering above it. “The Tales of Fafnir.” How interesting. She ran her fingers along the dog-eared pages and flipped through it. Some pages were marked with crayon scribbles, and an old library card codex was still lodged on the inner cover. It proudly displayed the names of those who had previously checked out the once library book. Akko felt her excitement bubble within her, and gently stomped her feet excitedly on the floor. She knew she was going to find a treasure here. Perhaps she’d find the missing book in her collection. “Shiny Chariot and the Tree of Life” had been quite elusive. No bookstores carried the titles after the author’s fall from grace, and whatever books that floated around ebay always exceeded the price range of a college student.

 A small beep and a bump against her shoes drew Akko out of her excited thoughts. A little Roomba buzzed against her, stubbornly trying to finish its job. A little medallion signified that it belonged to the store and that its name was Jasper. Akko lifted up her foot and watched the Roomba go along its merry way. Gripped by yet more curiosity, Akko put back the book she held in her hands and followed Jasper as it rolled along, making an occasional boop. She stopped in her tracks when Jasper rolled up to a blonde organizing the shelves. The little robot tapped gently against the blonde’s ankle and she bent down to give it a pat. It let out a contented beep and then the mystery girl gently pushed it on its merry way with a tap of her ankle. Akko swore her heart melted at the action. The girl was so cute, treating Jasper like an errant cat. Akko must have let out a small coo, because the blonde turned towards her with a start. The look of surprise quickly fled from her face as the girl adopted more of a schooled and closed off look. “May I help you?” the girl said with a touch of frost in her voice. Akko could’ve sworn that the temperature in the room went down a few degrees. Maybe this was why the bookstore was empty. As much as Akko wanted to bite back, she figured the girl was probably embarrassed and decided she should kill with kindness.

“I am Atsuko, but you can call me Akko,” Akko bounced slightly on her toes with nervousness. “I was wondering if you had any English textbooks. Mostly Introduction to English Literature? I need it for a class.” Akko looked over the blonde once more. Neat jeans, a crisp button up, and immaculate hair. She was really pretty. Meanwhile Akko was in a stained college hoodie, basketball shorts, and her hair was probably a nightmare from her mad dash to the store. She probably wasn’t going to make a good impression. Akko quickly stood to attention as she realized the blonde was talking. She tried to register whatever the blonde was saying after her sudden mental checkout.

“-Diana, the books you should be looking for are on the first floor. Would you like me to escort you?” Diana’s voice sounded less frosty and more professional. Akko gave a quick nod and stepped to the side, making space for Diana to walk by. Diana shelved the book in her hand and moved the crate that had been hiding behind her closer to the shelf so that nobody would trip over it. As she walked by Akko, the brunette picked up a flowery smell, like a meadow covered in the early morning dew. It was nice. Akko began to follow after Diana, much like a puppy. The blonde was moving quickly, and with a purpose. She was fast, but not so fast that Akko would lose sight of her or have a hard time keeping up. Diana must have been experienced in leading people. Diana led her back out of the book exchange area, past the solitary communal desk, and right back to the stairs. She let out a word of warning to Akko when they began to descend to the first floor. Akko walked down the precarious steps much slower than Diana. After all, she had a track record of falling down and she didn't want to crush Diana. Diana waited, arms crossed, as Akko walked down the last few steps. After Akko had her feet safely on the ground, she turned on her heel and resumed her fast walk. Once again guiding Akko to her much needed textbook.

 As they walked down what Akko deemed to be the textbook section, she marveled at the shelves of old college books that stretched on. Criminal Psychology, Introduction to Biology, Business Law, were all lined up. As Akko quickly read some of the spines, she quickly realized some of these textbooks were fairly old. Some of the editions even stretched back to 2007. It probably contributed to their low price. Without Akko noticing, Diana stopped abruptly having reached their destination. Akko stumbled as she tried to avoid hitting Diana. The blonde looked somewhat amused at Akko’s flailing limbs as she tried to regain balance and not fall over.

“Here is our shelf of older textbooks; I must warn you that older editions are usually outdated in information, and can conflict with current tests. Price tags are on the binding, and we do have editions that are loose and in binders that run cheaper in the back.” Diana ran a hand fondly along the shelf, and picked out a book. “This one is a 2016 edition of Introduction to English Literature, it’s the most recent one we have.” Diana quickly flipped through the book seemingly searching for something. Whatever she was looking for she must’ve not found, because she closed it with a jarring snap that made Akko jump slightly. Diana shoved the book into Akko’s direction, and despite herself Akko took the book in her hands. She figured Diana as a store employee would know which book would be the best one. Granted, Akko might regret her decision at the register, but she really needed an Intro to English Lit., lest her professor actually somehow get her expelled.

“Thank you, Diana.” Akko paused and shifted the book in her grip nervously. “Do you have any books by an author named Chariot, as in the Shiny Chariot series?” Akko probably was treading on dangerous territory now. There was a reason why it was so hard to find books written by Chariot du Nord. She had been blacklisted among the writing communities and fans. Chariot had been an innovator for an entire genre, but when it was revealed she had cheated her way to the top, she had fallen from grace very quickly. The Golden Quill, the competition that had given Chariot her  fame, was somewhat of a lottery where a participant was randomly chosen to have their work carefully reviewed by judges. If the author had been lucky enough to get selected, their book would be published and they practically had their pick of editors and publishers. Most of the lucky winners of the event had gone on to obtain prestigious writing awards. A sudden revelation among the judges years later revealed Chariot had hacked the system to delete all other participants, leaving her work as the sole entry. The media tore her reputation to shreds and her fans quickly abandoned her. Chariot had denied cheating, claiming that she had no idea such a thing occurred. However it was too late and the damage was done. Bookstores had slowly stopped carrying her books and publishers had shut their doors. The critically acclaimed series “Shiny Chariot” had been discontinued and forgotten.

Obviously Diana knew of Chariot’s supposed sin, and the shift in her mood after hearing Akko’s question was very noticeable. She had stood up to her full height while Akko spoke, and then had gone still. She was almost a head taller than the brunette. Akko cringed internally when she noticed that the fondness that had lit Diana’s eyes when she had looked at the books was gone. It had been exchanged for a more hostile look. Yup, Akko had totally made a mistake. “Unfortunately, we do not carry any of Chariot du Nord’s books here;” Diana practically spat the name out with tangible dislike and possible hatred “I am sure you are aware why, if you are looking for her books.”

Akko felt a shiver roll up her spine at Diana’s not so subtle anger. “I am allowed to like Chariot. She shouldn’t have been completely erased like that. I want to one day write as well as she did.” Akko said as she felt her hands clench. Just because Chariot might have done wrong, doesn’t mean she should have been completely blacklisted. She might have been innocent like she had claimed. Akko admired Chariot as a child. The author was genuinely good at writing, putting together stories that had filled Akko with wonder. Even if Chariot had cheated, Akko was always filled with nostalgia whenever she picked up one of the books Chariot had written. They were like magic, and Akko wanted to be a witch casting spells with her words and enchanting her readers, just like her idol. Akko inhaled sharply as she saw Diana’s eyes flash in clear anger. Akko should have stayed quiet, and not go around picking fights. Diana probably wouldn’t get physical since it might cost her a job, but she certainly looked like she would throw hands at any given moment.

The tension in the room grew thicker as Akko stared at Diana, waiting for her to speak. The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours, until a little chirp sounded off behind Akko. She gave a small scream that was also echoed by a strangled yelp of fright from Diana. Probably in response to Akko’s yelling. Akko dropped her book as she whirled around to check the source of the noise. Her legs tangled together from the quick turn and she fell to the ground with a thump. She heard Diana let out a quiet scoff, probably at her lack of grace. Akko let out a small groan and looked to see what had startled her and Diana out of their standoff. It was another Roomba. This one had a little nametag of Shark on it, as well as a little cardboard fin taped to its head. Endearing, if it hadn’t scared years off of Akko’s life. Akko watched as it turned around and rolled away. Jerk.

Akko turned her head back to Diana as she felt the blonde walk up to her. Diana crouched down and picked up the book Akko had dropped in fright. She brushed it off and looked it over for damage. The blonde seemed satisfied that the book was okay and looked at Akko. Of course the bookstore employee would care more about a book than a human. Diana offered her hand, and Akko stared at it confused for a second until she reached out and took it. Diana’s hands were warm, a sharp contrast to her cold eyes. “Thanks.” Akko said awkwardly as Diana helped pull her to her feet. Diana let out a grumpy noncommittal hum in response. Akko blinked as she realized Diana was staring at her. Then she realized that she was still holding Diana’s hand.

“You have really nice hands,” Akko’s words tumbled out of her mouth “they’re really soft. Smooth.” Oh no she was babbling. She still hadn't let go of Diana’s hands. Also she was rubbing her thumb over Diana’s hand. Akko’s gay was showing. She felt her face getting redder, and Diana also seemed to have taken on the hue of a strawberry. Akko dropped Diana’s hands like she had touched a hot stove only after the blonde cleared her throat awkwardly. Akko should really relearn her social skills. Trying  to get rid of the horrible awkward feeling that settled in her chest, Akko scrubbed her hands on her shorts. Yep. Her hands were sweaty. Diana probably thought she was a crazy person. A crazy person who started fights over children’s books and held random girl’s hands tenderly for long periods of time. She could never come here again. 

“Let’s get you get checked out, shall we?” Akko blinked as Diana practically shoved the English book into her hands. Diana was checking her out? Akko gaped at Diana until her brain connected the dots. Oh yes, she was buying a book. A book for a class. A class that she was totally going to be late for. Oh dear.

“Diana,” Akko said in a panicked tone, her voice raising a few octaves, “what time is it, exactly?” Akko felt her foot start tapping as her anxiety rose. If the time was what she thought it would be, then she was screwed.

“One-thirty.” Diana responded as she checked her phone. She was avoiding all eye contact, and had once again crossed her arms as if to avoid touching Akko. Akko honestly couldn’t blame her. She was a particular brand of crazy that most people could only take in small doses, and she had definitely overstayed her welcome. Akko began walking to what she assumed would be checkout. “Diana,” Akko liked the way Diana’s name sounded when she said it “I am about to be incredibly late for an English class that I need this book for. I gotta go. Like the ‘I should have left ten minutes ago’, gotta go.”

Diana rolled her eyes and walked by Akko, the smell of a meadow trailing after her. God Akko liked that smell. “Then I suggest you follow me, you were about to head in the wrong direction.” Though Diana was rude, Akko appreciated Diana’s quick pace as they walked through the store. Once more Diana was leading her through the winding shelves with a purpose. It turned out that the register was near the door. It was hidden from view from those walking in by a strategically placed bookshelf. Diana smoothly slid behind the counter and rattled off a number. Probably the book’s price. Akko didn’t quite hear what she said; she was too panicked, and simply threw four ten dollar bills at Diana’s face. She didn’t even bother waiting for her receipt or change. Akko threw herself forwards, sprinting to the door and fumbling with the knob. She didn’t even want to think about what Diana’s face looked like now, watching Akko flail around like an idiot. She managed to get the door open and resumed her mad dash once more, clipping an old lady with her shoulder on the way out. Both stumbled, but managed to recover. Akko ignored the irate calls after her. Gasping heavily, she began her mad sprint up the street and towards the college. If she took a shortcut through the alley and behind the old pizza parlor, Akko figured she could shave off a few minutes of time.

Covered in sweat, completely disheveled and probably wrinkling the pages of her new book, Akko was proud to say that she ended up only two minutes late. She was only scolded by Professor Finnelan for a total of ten minutes. All in all, a successful adventure.

[vincess-princess]

ex malo bonum

Chapter 5.

Word count: 3391 Warnings: self-harm, suicide attempt Author’s note: it’s been exactly 3 months since i posted the last chapter, and i have nothing to say for myself

Nikki patted Vince’s bare thigh and left with a mocking “sleep tight, angel”. He didn’t even bother to untie him, and Vince didn’t ask for it. He hadn’t fallen so low yet.

He regretted it very soon. Though the bleeding down there had stopped, the blood didn’t go anywhere and soon started to stink. Mixed with the smell of blood from the previous night, it made the room smell like a slaughterhouse. Vince had seen one of those a couple of centuries before, during his last visit on Earth. He wasn’t Vince yet back then. He was something else. Something completely different, but with a name and a purpose. Back then, any sight of violence was revolting to him. He had to turn away to avoid watching poor animals getting killed.

How he envied them now. It seemed so easy. Just one swing of an axe, and everything is over.

No sharp teeth biting into his neck. No long claws tearing apart his flesh. No rough hands ripping off his clothes, pinning him to the bed, leaving bruises on his skin.

Even animals had it easier than him. Even about animals He cared more than about a child of his own, his flesh and blood, his own creation.

More and more of those dark, wrong, rebellious thoughts were flashing through Vince’s brain, flouncing about in his skull, intrusive, erratic, convincing. In the farthest corner of his mind Vince kept waiting for a stern voice in his head to say that it was all for a reason, and the reason was the crime he had committed, and all of this – all of this was his punishment.

But it never did, and the thoughts remained. They leaked deeper and deeper into Vince’s mind, to its most secluded corners, where even Vince never dared to look directly, afraid of seeing something he wasn’t supposed to see. They leaked there, drop by drop, word by word, and filled them to the brim, and mixed with what was already there.

And then came to light.

***

Just as the world started fading to black in front of Vince’s eyes, the door slammed open. Strong hands gripped his wrists and pulled them apart, releasing his throat. Vince tried to hold his breath, he almost did it, after all, but then a familiar, though way weaker, spike of electricity went down his spine, and for a moment his tormented vessel’s intrinsic desire to live overcame Vince’s desire to die. He inhaled hungrily, went into a fit of coughing, inhaled again, and again, and again, and the world started gaining colors back.

The first things to color were the eyes right in front of his. Strikingly, mesmerizingly blue eyes.

“Please, kill me,” Vince whispered hoarsely. The only demon who looked at him with a hint of sympathy was now right in front of him. Maybe he had enough kindness left in him to do Vince the last favor. He grabbed demon’s arms and pulled himself up, closer to Mick’s face, digging his fingers into tattooed skin with desperation strong enough to win over the fear. “Please, please, kill me.”

The demon cast a glance at him, his expression indifferent, and then pushed him back on the bed.

“No fucking way.”

Vince gasped shakily, feeling tears gathering up in his eyes. His last hope vanished. Nobody would let him do it, let alone help him. As much as the demons hated him, they needed him alive.

“Oh, come on, let’s do without all that,” Mick winced at the sight of tears. “Are you a teenage girl or what? Calm down.”

“I won’t,” Vince slurred through gritted teeth. The momentum, the state of turbulent determination was fading away, leaving behind only exhaustion and desperation.

“You will.” Mick frowned, and the air thickened again like it did with Nikki, and Vince suddenly remembered that this demon in front of him could destroy him in a movement of a finger. He must have already pissed him off so much. Vince bit his lip to not let out desperate sobs, stifled them in his chest for later, when he would be alone. “If we wanted you dead, we would simply not come for you.”

“I wish you had done that,” Vince said bitterly. Maybe talking back to such a powerful demon was a bad idea, but hadn’t he tried to kill himself a minute ago?

Mick didn’t answer this time, just looked at Vince, and he wasn’t able to utter a word anymore. He tried, but his tongue felt sluggish and heavy, his lips were as though glued together, not willing to part. All Vince could do was breathe shallowly and look at Mick wide-eyed with fear.

“That’s better,” Mick said after a few seconds of silence, interrupted only by Vince’s heavy breathing. He looked over Vince, his gaze lingering on the blood-stained sheets between Vince’s legs and the wooden crowbar, the one Vince’s bracelets had been attached to, broken out of the bed’s headboard. Vince’s wrists were bloody and raw from where bracelets had been digging into his skin, but they only started to hurt now. “Is that Nikki’s visit that got you so agitated?”

Vince, still not being able to talk, shook his head. Nikki had started the process, of course. But the thoughts were Vince’s, not Nikki’s.

“It is, then,” the demon concluded and moved around the bed to get a better look. Feeling his stare right there again drove blood to Vince’s cheeks for absolutely no reason. He had just realized how awful he must have looked, bloody and beaten, stripped of his last remains of dignity and self-control. No angel could get into a situation like this; He just wouldn’t let it happen.

Vince was, apparently, no longer His child.

“Nikki, unfortunately, isn’t the gentlest partner,” the demon said. “And he still hasn’t learned to clean up after himself.” Mick added calmly, the sort of unnatural calmness with not a single leaf on trees moving that comes right before the storm. “I should make him do it,” Mick cast another examining look at Vince, whose eyes widened with fear. “I really should.”

At the mere thought of Nikki touching him again something broke inside of Vince, spilling cold into his veins, spreading it throughout his whole body. But then Mick stretched out his hand and touched the chain. The metal ring around Vince’s ankle opened. While Vince stared at it in disbelief, the belt restraining his other ankle untied itself and slid to the floor. The bracelets opened with a click a second later.

“Next time.” Mick added. Relief washed over Vince. “Now get up.”

Easier said than done. Vince rolled on the side, trying to lean on his arms to sit up, but all his strength seemed to have left him, and his shaky arms were too weak to lift his body. Mick grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him up on his feet, nodding in response to Vince’s silent “thanks”.

Then Vince took one step and fell on his knees. His legs, having spent more than a day in the same position, couldn’t hold him. The abrupt movement sent spikes of pain throughout the lower part of his body, hurting in all the wrong places, places where it wasn’t supposed to hurt; a drop of blood slid down his inner thigh. Vince thought being hit by a truck should have hurt worse. It did, but only for a second. Here – here Vince had to go through it fully conscious and painfully aware of how it happened.

“I will not carry you,” Mick warned, but reached out to help Vince get up. Vince gripped his hand so hard he almost pulled Mick down onto the floor with him.

“Careful!” Mick hissed, pushing away Vince’s hand and visibly wincing from pain. “I said I’m not carrying you, fucking get up yourself!” His hand rubbed the base of his neck.

Scared of making another mistake, Vince no longer tried to hold onto Mick, leaning onto the wall instead. His every step was followed by a pang of pain between his legs, but he never made a sound and only gritted his teeth. He wasn’t weak. He could handle it. He would handle it, purely out of spite towards Nikki.

His vision blurred by tears, Vince didn’t notice they had arrived at their destination. Only when Mick opened the door in front of him and carefully pulled him inside, Vince managed to concentrate on reality.

He was in a bathroom. Not a very huge one and definitely not clean; but it had a toilet on which Vince could sit and the bath where he could wash off the blood which had already dried up and formed a crust on his skin. Vince limped heavily to the toilet and plopped onto the toilet lid.

“No-no, not here. Get right in the bath.” Mick pointed at it and turned on water. Thank god, Vince thought, and it took him a couple of seconds to realise he wasn’t thinking of Him as reverently as he did before.

Vince clumsily climbed into the bath and sank onto the bottom. He looked at the water filling the bath and on red drops diluting in it with apathy. Hot water burned his skin at first, but once he got used to it, it became almost comforting, like a blanket or a hug of a friend.

“I’m going to fetch some clean clothes for you,” Mick said soon after. “Don’t try to drown yourself, okay? I’ll be back too soon for you to actually drown. Just keep that in mind.”

Vince only nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the water that was slowly reddening. His self-destructive moment of excitation had faded, leaving him empty and exhausted. Even raising his gaze seemed too big of an effort.

Mick should have really returned quickly, because Vince didn’t even notice his absence. The demon held a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt with a weird image on it. Skulls or something. Very demon-like.

“I doubt Tommy’s or Nikki’s pants will fit, so I had to take one of mine. Don’t you dare ruin them, I’ll take them back once we get you some new clothes,” Mick warned. “And the tee is Nikki’s, it’s his fault you’ve got all your things torn and bloody.”

Nikki’s?

Vince caught Mick’s gaze and shook his head, not even afraid of it piercing him through now. He barely handled hearing this name, let alone wearing his clothes. He wouldn’t put it on for the love of God and everything holy.

“What?” Mick frowned, and something as though fell in Vince’s stomach, but he didn’t avert his gaze. “Come on. It’s just a t-shirt.”

I will not, Vince pronounced with his lips, put it on.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Mick rolled his eyes. “You wearing his t-shirt doesn’t change a thing. It’s just because Tommy is even taller than Nikki and I don’t have anything clean right now.”

I will not, Vince repeated, burning a hole in Mick’s skin with his eyes, put it on.

“And I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Mick said, annoyance on his face. Every second Vince spent looking right into his eyes he grew more and more nervous, and some part of him, the one that wanted to crawl away when they first met, insisted panicky, don’t argue, just do what he says, he will get angry, he will punish you for your audacity-

Fuck off, Vince told it and kept looking Mick right in the eyes, as the world around him was losing its colors, and only those strikingly-blue eyes, that unreadable face, were all that mattered now.

Mick sighed. Slowly, wearily.

“Alright,” he said. The tension in the air that their eye contact was producing weakened. Vince inhaled sharply, only now realizing he had been holding his breath the entire time. “Are you okay with Tommy’s tees or do you hold grudges against him as well?”

Vince shook his head.

“Alright then.” Mick disappeared so swiftly even the door didn’t creak and came back with another t-shirt with an even weirder pattern, this time with wings and some letters. Vince caught a glimpse of Mick’s eyes under his black hair, but couldn’t recognize an expression in them.

By that time yellowish water had filled the bath. Vince sank lower into it and closed his eyes, imagining himself being in His arms, the dream that always used to bring him comfort and peace. But it didn’t work that time – instead of calm and reassurance he felt only resentment, resentment so strong he struggled with an intense desire to jump out of the water. A goddamn demon, an evil, low creature did more for him than He did, and Mick didn’t even do that much.

“Hey, don’t sleep,” Mick’s voice was muffled, as though he was talking from another room, although Vince could see him standing next to the bath. “You can actually drown. Your body is now almost as fragile as that of a mortal.”

Why? Vince pronounced silently.

“You have lost the Lord’s support,” Mick said His name with softness, almost… fondness? “and haven’t yet come into your full power. You’re hanging between Heaven and Hell, and neither is ready to accept you so far.”

Wait, so Heaven can take me back? Vince perked up.

“What?” Mick raised his eyebrows. Vince, feeling incredibly stupid for some reason, pointed up at the ceiling, then at himself, and raised his hands up, curling his fingers around an invisible hand in the air. Vince hadn’t realised how vital the ability to speak was to him before, even if it was just to throw curses at Nikki and Tommy. Now he was missing it intensely.

Mick looked at him with confusion for a second before understanding reflected on his face.

“You want Heaven to take you back?” he said, frowning. “You still want it?”

Vince glanced at Mick and then lowered his gaze, staring at the water instead. He wouldn’t have answered even if he could talk, even if the question hadn’t been asked by a powerful demon who expected a very obvious and clear answer.

“You still want it,” Mick concluded with a sigh. Vince couldn’t bring himself to disagree. “Bad.”

He was disappointed, Vince could distinguish it in his tone. And hearing that from Mick was scary. But Vince needed the answer.

“Well, not quite,” Mick said slowly almost a minute of silence. “No one who’s left Heaven can come back.

That was it. No one who’s left Heaven can come back. It rang in Vince’s head, and every other sound was muffled by Mick’s voice repeating the same line in his head. No one who’s let Heaven can come back. No one who’s let Heaven can come back. No one-

“But that’s not a one-way ticket down to Hell,” Mick continued, and his voice, low and clear, easily overlapped Vince’s whirl of voices in his head repeating the same phrase, so easily it would surprise Vince if he wasn’t overcome by emotions. Vince concentrated on his voice, and his panicky thoughts slowly faded to black. “There are… options.”

Vince recalled what he heard from Nikki through the haze of pain and fear, thoroughly separating his actual words from emotions connected with him, locking the emotions down in the farthest corner of his mind, safely contained from other people and creatures with human appearances. Never show anyone your weaknesses, he had come to realise during his short stay on this Earth.

Gesturing “restless spirit” to Mick turned out to be quite a challenge and probably looked very funny, but not to the two of them. Mick smiled a couple of times at Vince’s clumsy gestures, but actually tried to understand him. It would be easier to just give Vince his voice back, of course, but it somehow didn’t occur to the demon. Vince appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Finally flapping his hands and drawing shapes in the air did their job, as Mick frowned in confusion and said unconfidently: “Ghosts?”

Vince nodded energetically.

“Ah, that,” Mick sighed. “I swear, one day I will mute Nikki for good. He talks too much about things he knows too little about.”

So it was all wrong? A little spring of hope perked up in Vince’s chest. No one who’s left Heaven can come back, Vince tramped the spring into the ground mercilessly, but it was harder than he expected. It kept unbending once he moved away his metaphorical shoe.

“Sorry, kid,” Mick interrupted his struggles, and with his words grabbed the spring and pulled out the string in one swift movement, so swift it didn’t even hurt much. “You may not finish your transformation, yes. But it would hurt much more. You will practically doom yourself to eternal suffering. And I know you won’t believe me now, but life as a demon and even as a ghost is not that bad. There is a much worse fate for a fallen angel”.

What fate, Vince wanted to cry out, but could only exhale loudly. Mick turned away from him, obviously not willing to continue the conversation. Oh no, Vince wasn’t going to let him just walk away. Not like that. Not in such a moment.

Vince stretched out his hand and tapped Mick on the side.

“What?” Mick looked at him, and there was a slightly darker shade in his eyes, a slightly grimmer tone in his voice, and Vince’s hand dropped onto the side of the bath and remained there. It wasn’t like when he revolted to wearing Nikki’s t-shirt. That was a trifle, and now – now they reached something way more serious.

Alright. Okay. If Mick didn’t tell him, he’d find it out on his own.

“No more questions?” Mick grinned, but his grin lost its spark of sincerity. “Good. Here’s soap – I suppose you already know what it is? No? Wash your body with it. Put it in water, then roll around in your hands a bit, then apply to other body parts. And this,” – he pointed at a bottle on the edge of the bath, “is shampoo. It’s for hair. Just pour some on it and rub it in for a couple of minutes, then wash it off. You’re going to be stuck within this vessel for a long time, better learn how to take care of it. Got it?”

Vince nodded.

“Good. I’m not going to bathe you myself like some goddamn kid who shit his pants. You’ll do it yourself, and I’ll be outside, and the moment-” he grabbed Vince’s chin and pushed it up, forcing him to look into his eyes, soak up their clear cold blueness, “-do you hear me, the moment I feel you do yourself any harm, even slip in the bath, I will come, and you will regret it. Got it?”

Unable to nod this time, Vince opened and closed his eyes, breaking their eye contact with an incredible effort.

“Good boy,” Mick released his chin and ruffled his hair roughly. Electric charge went through Vince again, but this time he barely noticed it, still trying to break free from the hypnotizing power of Mick’s eyes.

Mick headed to the door, opened it and turned back to Vince.

“By the way,” he said unexpectedly carefully, “have you decided on a name already?”

Vince blinked helplessly for a couple of seconds before Mick with a “shit, I forgot” waved his hand, returning his ability to speak.

“I,” the first words were hoarse and quiet, “I, I’ve been calling myself Vince all this time. I saw it on a on a huge picture not far from… not far from that place. The human there also had blond hair.”

“Vince then,” Mick smiled. “Nice name. I’ll pass it to the boys.”

When he left, a weight was as though was lifted from Vince’s shoulders. He hadn’t realised how much his presence was weighing on him, how much pure tension hung in the air when Mick was in the room. Now that he was gone, it was like a breath of fresh air.

Vince leaned back onto the bath side, sliding down deeper into the water up to his chin, and inhaled slowly. The water was warm and dulled the pain. And Vince finally wasn’t restrained.

It felt good.