#but her soft spot for anything nature-related has always been apparent

[geekgirles]

Ironically, I feel we, as a Phandom, don't talk about Sam's Friend to All Living Things status enough.

[maximoff-pan]

l’amore de ma vie | fred weasley

Summary: When Fred invites you to Bill and Fleur’s wedding, your feelings for your best friend are stronger than ever before. What happens when you realize just how much you love him?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Fluff...i-is that a warning?? Anyway buckle up for some sickly sweet goodness....

A/n: I know, I’m terrible. It’s been a little while longer than I’d intended but I hope this makes up for it! Feedback is very very much appreciated! I love seeing what all of you think of my writing! Without further rambling from me....enjoy!

Sidenote: This is a total AU. It completely deviates from canon, as Bill and Fleur’s wedding goes smoothly in this version. No violence here haha...only happiness! (I guess what I’m trying to say is, in no way shape or form is this an accurate recollection of the books, this is purely from my imagination...)

• • • • •

“Fucking weddings...” you mutter as you walk through the massive white tent that adorns the front lawn of the Weasley residence. Everything is perfectly displayed, tables meticulously set, with delicate flowers littering the venue.

The romance of it all makes you want to throw yourself into Bill and Fleur’s masterfully crafted, six-tier cake. And watching as Molly rushes in and out swiftly with the brightest smile on her face, it all reminds you of how you should be getting ready right now. But you just can’t stomach that.

It’s not that you’re not happy for Bill....you’re ecstatic and you absolutely adore him. He’s been a role model for you almost your entire life. And it’s not like you’re not an absolute romantic, because you are...but weddings always make things complicated. They manage to dig up feelings that you’d rather not confront.

Feelings for a certain Weasley twin...

That’s why when he (said twin) and George invited you to the wedding, you were reluctant to say yes. It’s hard to pin point exactly when you felt your friendship with Fred (at least on your end), morph into something more, but you’ve managed to keep your feelings for him locked away for the better part of four years. And as far as you’re aware, the only person that’s truly caught on is Hermione...because you’re convinced at this point that she just knows damn well everything.

“Something on your mind?” A voice startles you, bringing your attention back to the bustling world surrounding you.

Turning around slowly, you’re greeted with Bill’s towering figure. You huff out a quick, teasing laugh. “You know, it’s not nice to interrupt a lady’s thoughts.”

“Forgive me,” he chimes with a chuckle of his own.

Bill knows your humour, and he knows you well enough to recognize when you’re using it as a defence mechanism.

“It just looks like you’re about ready to make a run for it,” he continues, “and I wanted to make sure my favourite guest doesn’t ditch me on my wedding day.”

“You know I would never ditch you.”

Bill sends you a look, clearly not impressed by your jokes. You can tell he knows something’s wrong, but you don’t want to be the first one to bring it up.

“I’m fine.” You reassure with a soft smile. “I promise.”

He only nods at you, and he’s not quite sure if he’s convinced, but he’s confident things will work out in the end. “You know, I best be getting ready.” He grins wide. You reciprocate his grin with an additional giggle.

“You best be. Or else Fleur might divorce you on the spot.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame.” Bill shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’d have the record for the shortest marriage in wizarding history! Mum would have an absolute shit fit.”

You both burst into a fit of laughter, before you’re nudging him out of the tent and towards his home.

There’s a comfortable pause of silence as Bill thinks to himself. He can see it in your eyes exactly what you’re thinking about. Having been around you for years and Fred even longer, and watching the two of you grow up together, he knows what’s troubling you. Bill Weasley is not a stupid man, and he knows love when he sees it. Better yet, he knows the fear of losing that love that runs rampant in your mind. If Bill has learned anything in his years on this earth, it’s that love allows for the greatest of happiness but it also allows for the greatest manifestation of fear. Unrequited love can be more painful than the relief of returned feelings, but Bill Weasley knows you both well enough to know that these feelings you and his brother share, they’re anything but unrequited.

“I should probably be getting ready too.” You break the silence and remind yourself of the upcoming event as you step through the front door of the Burrow.

You both turn to each other, acknowledging your parting of ways. You hear Arthur shouting for his oldest son from above. “I guess that’s my cue.” Bill simply nods in the direction of the staircase, taking a step towards it. You stand still, just watching him for a moment.

He leans his head over his shoulder for a brief second, already a few steps up the winding stairs. “Oh and (Y/n),” he breathes, “my brother may be an oblivious twat, but to give him some credit, I see the way he looks at you, and I’d be blind to say he isn’t in love with you too.”

In love with you too....

And as soon he’s said it, the cheeky bastard’s disappeared up the stairs, leaving you dumbfounded and completely still.

Fucking hell. Your mind wanders, his words at the forefront....so apparently Bill knows and surely if Bill knows, George must too. Are your feelings for Fred that obvious?

• • • • •

You step through the doorway to Fred and George’s room hoping to find a certain twin. You spot him sitting cross legged on his bed, fiddling with a prototype for the shop that you’re sure you’ve seen him working on before. His ginger hair is messily in his face, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He’s the picture of a working artist....pranking materials being his art. You heave a sigh. Like you, he’s nowhere near ready for the wedding that is going to take place in a few hours.

“Do you know?” His head whips up at the sound of your voice. It’s such a vague question, one in which a normal person would question what it itself is in relation to, but George knows exactly what you’re getting at. But maybe he’ll screw with you a little first....

“I know lots of things love. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

A groan passes your lips. Maybe he doesn’t know....but the way his lips are turned upward, the smirk that seems to be growing on his face tells you otherwise. You’re not blind; you know the games George Weasley likes to play.

“Don’t be coy asshole.” You send him a look that says ‘try me.’ “I know you know. My question is, why haven’t you told me that you know?”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean.” He continues testing the waters of your frustration, seeing just how far he can go before you snap.

“Oh fuck me!” You exclaim, hands thrown up in the air. You point at him, eyes narrowing in his direction. “You’re a prick George.”

His grin only widens. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong twin (Y/n). Last time I checked, Freddie’s the one you want to fuck.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And....Bingo. There it is. The exact confirmation you wanted and feared.

You recoil, eyes widening at him. Your voice goes soft, serious. “Why didn’t you tell me that you knew?”

His warm eyes meet yours, a calmness to them that is surprisingly reassuring. “I’ve made a living out of not taking things seriously and meddling in other people’s lives (Y/n), but what you and Fred have, I won’t meddle in that.” He pauses for a moment, his voice softening. “It’s not my business to push you two together. You’ll realize it at your own pace.”

“Realize what at your own pace?” Fred leans his body against the doorframe. He’s dressed in a suit, his hair done up nicely, and unlike his twin, he looks entirely put together. The irony almost makes you laugh. You’ve always known George to be the prepared one, ready hours before he needed to be. And Fred a scambler, leaving everything to the last second, to be fashionably late was his life motto.

“Just how stupid the two of you are going to look all dressed up with no dates.” George answers for you, keeping the true nature of your conversation a secret. “Even Ginny’s managed to catch the chosen one.”

You huff out a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Ah,” George muses. “But I am an idiot with a date.”

Fred grins at the two of you and your banter. “Angelina’s better off without you as her date.” He jokes.

A laugh passes your throat, Fred joining in with you. “Oh, sod off!” George pipes before shoving the two of you out to get ready.

• • • • •

Hours later you find yourself ready on time, a shocking revelation to you and each of the Weasley’s. And George is too. He sits beside you grinning like a mad man. Fred is on your other side, smiling all the same.

The ceremony is wonderful and quaint. You knew the moment you saw Fleur all those years ago, just how beautiful she was, but you never could have imagined just how much you’d grow to think of her like a sister. And it’s funny because you’re neither a Delacour nor a Weasley, and yet you feel like you belong. It’s different from the love you know Harry and Hermione feel for the Weasley’s, because ultimately, they’ll both marry in and it will be official, and as much as you love Fred, you know that will likely never be the case for you. But that’s the thing you love most about Molly and Arthur and their children: you don’t have to be related by marriage or blood to be a Weasley.

And seeing Fleur and Bill smile, seeing the pure happiness that they exude in this moment, it makes you forget why you ever questioned coming. It makes you hope that one day you can find what they have. You’d spent the last few minutes mesmerized by their first dance as a married couple. You’re so caught in a trance that you don’t hear the clapping when they’ve finished and stepped off the dance floor.

Your eyes snap up at the clearing of a throat beside you. George nudges you and you turn to look at him. He points at Fred who’s gazing at you curiously. You must have looked like a daft idiot, an utter love struck expression on your face.

“I’m sorry.” You laugh. “Did you say something Freddie?”

“Dance with me?” He asks.

Fred’s question lingers as you contemplate whether or not to accept his outstretched arm. But then your eyes drift up to his, and you catch the mischievous glint that rests in them. It’s in that moment that you know there is no turning back.

Groaning, you relent into his touch. “One dance.” You say, but you know that if he asked, you’d dance the night away.

The grin that spreads onto his face is nothing short of beautiful. It’s unmistakably perfect the way the light catches his features, his ginger hair glowing in the overcast moonlight, and an ethereal aura glistens from his skin. Fred looks youthful...and he looks undeniably happy.

Gripping your hand, he leads you to the dance floor. You catch a brief glimpse of Bill whose lips are tugged into an encouraging smile. Fred snaps your attention back to him as he pulls you into his body, bringing your arms to rest around his shoulders. You can hear the faint thrumming of the slow and melodic music drifting towards you, but all you register is the sound of Fred’s heart beating against yours. Wrapping yourself in his embrace, you allow yourself one second to believe that he might feel the same.

Your feet move in sync almost flawlessly, and it’s as if you’re reading each other’s movements without any effort. (Despite being known for your clumsy nature). But if you’re being honest, it’s always been like that with Fred....easy that is. Easy to read each other, easy to be with each other. It’s just natural. 

“You’re quite graceful Freddie.” You nudge him playfully, breaking the silence between you. 

“And you’re quite...” his voice drifts softly, “something.”

The half scoff, half laugh you let out rings in his ears. “Are you implying that I’m not a good dancing partner?”

“You’re a formidable partner love, just a shit dancer.”

Your eyes light up in amusement. “Well we can’t all be as graceful and beautiful as you Fred Weasley.”

He plays along happily. “No.” He agrees. “I guess we can’t. But I reckon everything else about you, your beauty, your wit, your affinity for kindness, makes up for your lack of dancing skills.”

It’s that self assured attitude that draws you to him. Yet he’s not the slightest bit arrogant. He simply believes in himself, knows his strengths and his weaknesses, is completely aware of his self worth, and he won’t let anyone tell him otherwise. It’s addicting to be around, and a quality so desperately you wish you could find in yourself.

And when Fred compliments you, you can believe that he’s telling you the truth. He makes you believe things about yourself that you would never dream to think about on your own. As cheesy as it sounds, he makes you feel seen. He makes you feel special. And it’s so strange because for as long as you can remember, everyone has always thought of you as merely the best friend of the infamous Weasley twins. Hardly to anyone had you been your own person with your own identity. But Fred never made you feel like that. You’ve always been someone to him, not just a product of who you chose to be friends with.

“You shouldn’t say things like that you know.” Your voice goes quiet.

Fred notices the change in your body language as you begin to close yourself off from him. “Why not?” He asks. “It’s the truth isn’t it?”

Your eyes catch his and your breath hitches. This feels like something. It feels like a moment, the moment that you’ve been waiting for. You never believed Fred could ever feel the same for you, but the look he’s giving you feels so so real.

“Fred, do you-“ You start, but he cuts in for you.

“Feel it too?” He finishes.

“Yeah.”

“I do.” He replies.

Your heart races in your chest as he pulls you closer into his embrace. This confession of feelings is nearly wordless, and yet it feels perfect. You’ve never needed to say a lot to Fred for him to understand you.

You’ve always just had that kind of connection.

You barely notice that you’re still dancing, your bodies moving on autopilot. And the people around you fade to nothing. Your focus is solely on the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your movements slow as Fred tilts your chin towards his face. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 11 years old.” He says. It’s nearly impossible for your mind to process it. “I’ve known for so long, I just didn’t want to ruin what we have. But I reckon if there’s ever a time to do it, now seems pretty good.”

A gentle smile rests on your face, your heart warm at his words. “Now is perfect.”

Fred hums softly, his warm brown eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. He sees nothing but adoration staring right back at him.

“Can I kiss you?” This is the first time you’ve seen Fred so timid.

You smile coyly, nodding your head. “Such a gentleman.” You tease, pulling him gently towards you. Your lips meet so softly and briefly that you almost miss it.

But no matter how brief, it’s a feeling you’ll never forget. You both want more of each other, but you also know that standing in front of Fred’s immediate and extended family and friends, you can’t simply put on a show for the world to see, as much as he wants to.

You pull back for a moment only to find yourself wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying to the music. Most people in your situation would say something. Maybe they’d profess their love, or whisper sweet nothings into their lover’s ear, but right here, right now, words don’t need to be used.

You don’t need to say I love you to feel that you are loved. And you know Fred feels the same.

• • • • •

Off to the side, Bill takes a moment to part from his wife, approaching his younger brother with a shit eating grin.

“Bloody hell.” George runs a hand through his hair, spotting Bill striding towards him.

Their eyes lock for a moment and George notices his oldest brother’s lip quirk upward. “You owe me 20 galleons.” Bill states matter-of-factly.

George grumbles, reaching into his pocket to pull out the payment. Handing it to Bill, he smiles. “Get back to your wife you tosser.”

Bill nods, taking a step towards Fleur. He turns to face his brother, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just know, when they get married, I’m telling everyone I won.”

///////////////////

Taglist:

@amourtentiaa

[astaroth1357]

Hello!! Congratulations on your 1,500 followers!!! I was wondering if you could write hc's with the Demon brothers reacting or helping MC with daddy issues(if possible specifically the kinds with an absent father). If possible please make the female MC, but if you would prefer to make it Gender Natural than its awesome as well!! Thank you very much for your awesome work!!💖💖

A F!MC has an Absent Father (Mammon, Beel, Asmo, and Lucifer)

Okay, so this was a pretty tough request (part of the reason why I'm getting to it so late). Having an absent father can lead to a lot of different (very sensitive) issues for their daughters and I always want to try and be as respectful as possible while still producing accurate content… So instead of my usual 7 brothers format, I'll be shortening this to the brothers that I think could best handle the situation at hand. As always, I will try my best to be respectful to those who may be experiencing these struggles, but if anything I say comes across as harmful or triggering please let me know right away. I'll take down/edit the post if need be. Thank you.

Warnings: Absent Fathers, Eating Disorders, Body Image Problems, Depression, Abandonment, Divorce

Mammon

What kind of Dad wants nothing to do with his kids?? From Day One, Mammon just couldn't understand it...

Admittedly, he might have been a little biased. Ever since he watched his baby brothers grow up, he'd always had a little soft spot for anklebiters in general… They made for pretty sweet kids compared to their rude, spitfire-y current selves (even Satan had his moments). Mammon could see that same innocence in a lot of kids, human, angel, or demon.

So when the MC revealed to him that her own father walked out on her mother before she was born, he was just slightly (incredibly) outraged.

Though he'd like to believe the guy had his reasons for leaving, it just didn't sit right with him… Especially after getting to know the MC so well and seeing that she was such a great person! 

Hadn't the guy been curious about her at all? Didn't he care?? What was stopping him now?? (You know, aside from being on a completely different plane of existence and all that. Like that would stop Marlin from finding Nemo… Yeah, he likes Pixar. What of it?)

Some people might have gone as far as to say that Mammon was waaay more upset about it than she was herself, which was nice but well… his heart was in the right place.

It was around the time when he offered to track the guy down, hogtie him, then leave him to drown in the 4th Circle that she had to take him aside and explain that, though she appreciated his anger on her behalf, she didn't need him to crusade for her… 

She ultimately told him that if he really wanted to help, he could love her and be there for her. Words that he not only took it to heart, but he took very seriously.

She’d never had anyone be as reliable or faithful as Mammon was after that point. As far as he was concerned, he could be what her father never was for her: loving, caring, and present for no other reason than because he loved her!

You know, like you're supposed to be for the people you hold dear...

True, he didn’t always say the right things nor did he always manage to solve every problem for her when he tried to help but he never stopped trying to make her feel loved. He'd spend every Grimm he'd ever had if he had to. She deserved it.

Beelzebub

When you love someone, you usually want to get to know more about them. Things like their past… So it wasn’t unusual for Beel to ask the MC about her home back in the human world, especially after he shared his own past with Lilith and his brothers.

Unfortunately (or fortunately he'd suppose, depending on how you look at it), the intricacies of divorce were a little new to him... Sure, he knew what marriage was and that relationships can fail, but to be frank, he grew up in a very different sort of situation than that of humans. 

He didn't even have a mother, much less and traditional father-son relationship. Lucifer filled in that spot for him like he had for everyone else and they left their father of their own accord...

But something about the way the MC talked about how her father left felt… upsetting. She seemed to use different sorts of tones when talking about the whole thing... At first, she spoke it with blank apathy, but then it changed to bitterness, then lastly… sadness. Like she was regretful about something that, for as far as he could tell, was completely out of her control…

He didn't want to pry into her past much more for that reason... Though he could tell something about it had hurt her, probably deeply, he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable so he just waited for her to come to him instead...

And in time, she did.

And ever the patient listener, Beel let her get it all off her chest. He could tell that she felt a lot of different ways about it, and most of them weren’t positive, but he was never one to tell people how to feel about anything. Thinking back on it, he supposed that he’d feel pretty bad too if Lucifer just left the family one day, but even that wasn’t quite the same thing… 

What he knew for certain was that it hurt him to see her so upset and, for once, he wasn’t really sure how to fix it… Can you even “fix” these things? Since he didn’t know the answers he just made a simple promise to himself in order to help make things better...

He probably couldn’t bring her father back, nor could he make his absence hurt any less, but he could be there for her instead. Not like a father, obviously, but as someone who could always love her whether or not she felt she needed it...

And from then on, he let his actions so the talking.

If she was upset and needed comfort, Beel was there. If she was feeling lonely or unloved, he’d be the first to notice and hold her close. Even if she tried to push him away to protect herself from any pain, he wouldn't just abandon her. He'd wait patiently for her to be ready to let him in.

He might not have known all the answers for her, but he wasn't going to let her feel all alone… He made sure of that.

Asmodeus

If he were telling the truth, Asmo was already pretty familiar with this sort of thing. Everybody has "Daddy Issues," himself included, and affects people in a lot of different ways in or outside the bedroom.

Which is why he found it particularly disheartening when he noticed some signs in his beloved MC…

The MC had once confided in him that her relationship with her father was… distant. Though he was physically in the family, she never felt like she could talk to him or get to know him… In a sense, he was never as involved in her life as he probably should have been.

That alone wasn't very uncommon for human families, or so he's heard, heck between his Heavenly-but-Distant Father and his Not-as-Distant-but-Always-Busy Brotherly Surrogate, he could even relate… but it was how she seemed to cope that concerned him…

Something about her self-esteem just wasn't where it needed to be… 

Of course, Asmo's not one to get on a high horse and preach that looks don't actually mean anything (he's a demon, not a hypocrite) but there's a big difference between practicing self-love and falling victim to self-critique… There’s wanting to look your best because it brings you personal joy to do so, then there’s constantly worrying about rejection when you don't look so nice… He's seen it all before.

Truthfully, it was a painful cycle to witness… the eating and then the starving… the hours she’d spend in front of the mirror or her bitter tears after a "bad" selfie… It made his heart ache uncontrollably just to think about it…

So of course he intervened, he simply had to. Not only was it unhealthy for her but it could have brought his darling so much lasting pain in the long run...

When he finally spoke to the MC, he tried to be as gentle as he could while still expressing his concerns… He told her that he noticed the way she had been acting and that he was worried about her…  He genuinely believed that she indeed deserved love with no strings attached. She didn’t need to “prove herself” worthy of it for him or any of his brothers because they would be there for her regardless of what she looked like.

It wasn’t a cure-all. obviously, but never thought it would be. It would take her time to learn how to express love for herself or feel secure that he wouldn’t just start ignoring her one day… but Asmo was nothing if not a caring and patient lover. 

He tracked down places and people who could help her with her struggles and what they couldn’t offer he picked up on himself through perseverance, persistence, and a lot of research. He had his heart set on helping her and that was exactly what he planned to do.

Asmo wasn’t going to stop until she believed that she was honestly, genuinely loved... And that was a promise.

Lucifer

Lucifer picked up that there was something a little different about the human early on, even before he was ever told that her father passed away when she was young. She seemed… particularly fond of him.

He didn’t think much of it at first, but over time it started getting more and more apparent that she gravitated to him for one reason or another… She’d hover around him, bring him things while he worked, or act out like she wanted his attention (not completely unlike Satan or Belphie in that regard).

If he were being honest, it flattered him some, but the more he began to think about it the more… uncomfortable it made him for reasons he couldn’t quite place…

Eventually he gave in and had to run the problem by Barbatos just for a little clarity (he figured the butler could be discreet about it) and that’s when the connection between him and the MC’s deceased father finally came to light. 

There was no real way to sugarcoat it other than to say that she seemed to think of him as… a surrogate Dad of sorts… Which didn’t exactly ease his concerns at all. 

Though he was probably the most “fatherly” person in the House (having more or less become the unofficial father figure to his brothers for centuries), those were still his brothers. He had a large part in actually raising them. The MC was not only a human, but patently not his child. He truly had grown to love her over their time together but that was a very different kind of love…

Something about the situation rubbed him the wrong way… Would he be taking advantage of the MC’s past if he were to try and be with her like he wanted…? Sure, he may be demonic, but he’s not heartless. He only wanted what was best for her and he wasn’t quite sure that was him for once…

While he was still mulling over his feelings, the MC finally jumped the gun and asked him if they could start dating. He knew that it would hurt her (and him) if he said no but he also couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t a problem here…

So he compromised. He agreed to the relationship, but told her that he wanted to take things slow… He was open about his concerns that she may not love him for the reasons she thought she did, which wasn’t the most pleasant conversation to have but it seemed like the one she needed to hear.

It encouraged him that she didn’t appear to reject him outright when he brought it up, nor was she completely broken up about the pace he wanted to set for them, which was a good sign. 

He offered to find her people to talk to about her concerns, particularly around her upbringing, at no cost to her. He thinks humans call them… therapists? Whatever they were, he didn’t doubt that they were better equipped to help than he was.

He tried his best to make it clear that he was only concerned because he loved her so deeply that he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t using her trauma for his own ends... She deserved better than that and he wasn’t afraid to tell her such.

It ended up being a slow process to love for them both, but he’d never regret putting the MC’s wellbeing first. No matter what.

[yeojaa]

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi?  Answer:  Jeon Jungkook.

pairing.  french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating.   hybrid!au set in college.  super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out.  explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself.  oops.

tags / warnings.  honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning.  but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns...  the usual.

wc.  4.4k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as always become, c’mon.  i’m me.  she’s her.  

author note.  this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub​‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii​​).  i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy.  feedback goes a long way!  xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in.  Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant.  (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.)  He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile.  All the girls swoon.  So do the guys.  Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes.  You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur.  His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes.  He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag.  They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him.  You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his.  (You try not to think about it much.)  

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change.  It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air.  Weird. 

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother.  Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does).  “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that.  Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball. 

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there.  Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.  

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible.  But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it. 

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama. 

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something.  Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time.  Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,”  he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes.  His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often.  Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”  

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak.  Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?”  Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,”  you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”  

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever.  But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural.  You wonder why that is. 

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest.  Not bulky by any means, but big.  Strong.  Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind.  It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut.  “Got a problem with me standing here?”  

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point).  “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?”  You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop.  “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.”  You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’.  He’s cute like this, you think.  Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.  

“I do?” 

There’s that cheek thing again.  It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.  

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin.  “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,”  he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright.  They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable.  So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”  

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours.  You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine.  A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.  

“What’s what?”  You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest.  (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.)  “Are you okay?”  He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton.  It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.  

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later.  The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind.  It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid.  True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare. 

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”  Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie.  The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails.  “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell.  He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee.  It’s made up of too many moving parts:  the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth.  You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class.  (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A.  You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,”  he hums, looking down at you.  You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night. 

“It’s not bad.”  Really, it isn’t.  It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another.  But it isn’t unwelcome. 

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar.  It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars.  You can practically taste it.  Him.

“Is that so?”  

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations.  It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting.  Should you?  Shouldn’t you?  You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.  

He beats you to it.  “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”  

You don’t think you could want anything more.  “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch.  The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures.  There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours.  It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air. 

“So—”  You start.

He finishes,  “do you wanna go on a date with me?” 

That’s surprising.  (Or is it?  You’re not really sure.)  You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person.  Something something all or nothing. 

“What?”  

“Do.  You.  Want.  To—”  He’s being insufferable for the hell of it.  You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.  

“Not if you keep that up,”  you retort, though you both know you’re lying.  You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him.  Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning.  Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.  

“Is that a challenge?”  

“You won’t get it in.”  

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief.  How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature? 

“What do I get if I do?”  The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim.  He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.  

“A pat on the back?”  As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms.  A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers.  (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.)  “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.”  He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose.  It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch.  “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you.  Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!  

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.  

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking.  He must be joking.  This is your third date.  

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest.  It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor. 

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?”  It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No.  I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.”  You should say no.  Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news.  Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.  

“Is that a yes?”  He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it.  (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag.  What comes out isn’t what you expect.  “Okay.”

Damn you.  Damn him.  Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over.  (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)  

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din.  It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.  

“Cool,”  he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool.  He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing.  You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.  

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth.  How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream).  How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro!  How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists).  How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch.  How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special?  Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?  

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?”  He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple.  It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in).  You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes. 

“Let’s.”  You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine.  It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place.  He takes the blue gun, you the red.  

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon.  “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,”  you return.  

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen.  Neither of you mind that much though.  He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.  You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.  

“Kook!”  Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.  

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips.  “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over.  Not even your second or third.  You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court.  You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different.  You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.  It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.  

“Are you hungry?”  He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.  

“I’m good.”  You are, really.  You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness.  You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you. 

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack.  Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours.  Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair.  “Are you tired?”  

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.  

“No bed then?”  

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?”  You’re only teasing.  A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets.  (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home.  He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home.  “Can you blame me?”  

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.”  Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders.  He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid.  “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?”  He asks, just to make you laugh. 

“If you don’t shut up—”  

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks.  “Don’t be mad, kitten.”  The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter.  “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again.  Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.   

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”  

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day.  You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage.  He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.  

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them?  Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do.  Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.  

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook.  Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.  

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look.  Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?”  The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.  

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood.  (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.)  “Don’t ignore me,”  he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,”  you retort.  You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest.  You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay.  People don’t tell him no - only you.  Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.  

“Sorry.”  

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves.  How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.  

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go.  Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around.  He’s impossibly big, thick and long.  The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.  

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him.  He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips.  (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,”  you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his.  The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.”  When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine.  He’s demanding and unrelenting.  It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”  

“Not.”  Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder.  “A.”  He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with.  “Wookie.”  Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.  (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.”  It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.  

His rhythm stutters.  The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame.  No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.  

It doesn’t work.  You love it anyway.  Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head.  You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care.  You can’t.  Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.  

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?  

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out.  It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base.  It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it.  It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.  

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​ @codeinebelle​​

[silhouetteofacedar]

Impersonal, Ch. 7

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, Rated E

The game had ended and he wasn’t surprised.

He expected this. He prepared himself all day Saturday by running six miles, jacking off twice, and mopping his entire apartment. He didn’t even own a mop; he actually went out and bought one. By the time Sunday morning rolled around he was ready for the inevitable collapse of their precarious sexual arrangement and greeted Scully with aplomb.

And then she paid for breakfast.

That was unexpected. When the FBI wasn’t footing the bill, they usually split the tab, or threw a “you can get the next one” down on the table alongside crumpled bills.

He had been joking about it being a date, but then she paid. And it meant something. Her big blue eyes pinned him to the booth, had him trapped and squirming like an insect on a card as she laid a hand over the check. “I’ve got it,” she said, and his senses were suddenly ignited. He could feel thick sunshine pouring over them, lighting up Scully’s hair like a smudge of cinnamon. Her lips looked so sweet and soft, and the very idea that he might never feel them again stole his breath. He felt dry and empty, a desiccated housefly body lying on a windowsill.

He thanked her for breakfast, and his throat was lined with dust.

Their parting was weird. Hinting that he was still available to her was an insane risk, and she turned it into a joke about Frohike. Unless she actually thought he was the one joking about Frohike, which he has to admit wouldn’t be out of character for him.

He’s tired of joking, tired of hiding, tired of dancing around his intentions. Tired of wanting and not asking, tired of being in his own damn way.

Scully has given him a graceful exit, a neatly drawn map back to their pre-sex starting point. And not for the first time, Mulder wads up the map and tosses it aside. Scully made her move; it was time for him do the same.

What that move would be, he has no idea.

It takes him eleven days. No wonder Scully took matters into her own hands the first time around. Inspiration strikes him during his drive from Alexandria to D.C. the next Thursday morning, when he crosses the Potomac and gets a glimpse of faraway blossoms.

He waits until 4:47 that afternoon to say anything.

“Hey Scully, you doing anything tonight?” he asks, rifling through a stack of papers as though he’s attending to FBI business and not trying to work up courage like a schoolboy.

Her glossy red head is bent over a file, pen at her lip. “Besides folding an obscenely large pile of laundry, my schedule seems fairly empty,” she replies. She looks up at him suspiciously. “Why, Mulder?”

“No reason, really. There’s just something I wanted to show you, get your opinion on.”

“Is it related to a case?”

He opens a desk drawer, pretending to look for something. “Well it could be a totally natural phenomenon, but who can say for certain without proper investigation?”

Scully sighs. “Fine, I’ll bite. And speaking of bites, I’m starving. If we’re going to work off the clock, can we at least eat?”

“Wanna stop for Chinese? We can take it with us. We’re not going far, the food should still be hot when we get to our secondary location.”

They take Mulder’s car, picking up several cartons of food from a restaurant in Chinatown a few blocks up from the Hoover building before making their way towards the National Mall. Mulder parks in the lot near the Washington Monument.

“You weren’t kidding when you said we weren’t going far,” Scully says, gathering up the bag of takeout. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“That,” he replies, pointing ahead.

Hundreds of cherry trees line the Tidal Basin, their leaves almost entirely obscured by tufts of blossoms. Scully steps onto the path, open-mouthed.

“Oh my god,” she murmurs.

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Pretty fantastic, huh?”

“Mulder,” she says in awe, looking sideways at him, “What are we doing here?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to see them.”

“At night?”

“Daylight’s for tourists, Scully.”

———

They’re sitting on the damp grass, endeavoring to split the last egg roll using only their dueling pairs of chopsticks.

“This is impossible, Scully. I’m going to use my hands.”

“Then I definitely don’t want the other half,” she says.

“Are you implying something about my hygiene?”

“I’ve seen some of the places your hands have been, Mulder.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she rolls her eyes.

“Not what I meant,” she says softly. “But the point still stands.”

Mulder lays back on the lawn, his long coat fanning wide. Scully pulls an edge of it towards her, scoots closer so she can rest her pantyhose-clad calves on it instead of the grass.

“I’ve always preferred the blossoms at night,” he says. “There’s something ghostly about them, all pink and white against the dark sky. Not an ominous kind of ghostly, however; if good spirits exist, I think they’d look like these trees. You know most early European religions feature some sort of reverence for trees or forests, whether as spiritual gathering places or deities themselves-���

“Mulder.”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to eat that egg roll, or can I have it?”

He passes her the carton. “And-”

“Why did you bring me here, Mulder?”

He glances at her and is surprised to see a tenderness in her eyes. His gaze returns to the branches above.

“I just figured I owe you a nice trip to a forest, and this one won’t require any paperwork.”

Scully smiles. “That’s a very considerate choice, Mulder, especially since I’m always the one doing said paperwork.”

“You’re more succinct and readable than I am, apparently. And Skinner clearly likes you better.”

“Didn’t you punch him in the face once?”

“That’s beside the point. I think he has a bit of a crush on you, Scully.”

She rolls her eyes. “What?” Mulder asks.

“I just… it’s nothing, It’s been a long day. And it’s cold out here.”

Mulder sits up and withdraws his arms from the sleeves of his overcoat.

“No- Mulder, don’t, I’m fine.”

“Move your legs,” he instructs, pulling the edge of the coat out from under her. He stands and drapes it around her shoulders before plopping back down on the grass next to her.

“Thanks,” she says. “Still, it’s getting late.”

He glances at his watch. “It’s seven-thirty on a Thursday. You got somewhere to be?” His arm bumps her shoulder companionably. “Come on, just a little longer. Maybe we’ll see something unidentified in the sky.”

He grins at her and the corner of her mouth twitches in reply. “Well, I guess I don’t have a choice,” she sighs. “You drove us here.”

He feels a slight increase of pressure against his arm and realizes that Scully is ever so slightly leaning into him. A gentle warmth glows in his belly, and he glances sidelong at her.

I’m a lucky son of a bitch, he thinks.

“How so?” Scully asks.

Oh. He said it out loud. He clears his throat, tries to steer his thoughts back into safer waters.

“Well, for one thing, I’m not dead,” he says. “Not for lack of trying.”

Scully nods solemnly.

“I’ve seen incredible things, things people spend their whole lives looking for, hoping for, believing in. I’ve tasted proof, held the truth in my hands. And in spite of everything, I’m still here. We’re still here. That’s pretty goddamn lucky.”

“I don’t feel very lucky,” Scully says softly. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve fucked up every good thing I’ve ever had a chance at. My father certainly thought so, at least for a long time.”

They sit silently for a moment. “Without you, I’d be long dead,” Mulder admits.

“I know,” Scully replies. “I’m always awed by your resilience, actually. I can’t take all the credit for your continued survival.”

“Yeah, you can,” he says, getting to his feet and dusting stray blades of grass off his slacks. He holds out a hand and helps her to her feet. Her fingers are cool against his palm, and he wonders if she’d notice if he didn’t let go. Probably.

He wants to pull her in by the lapels of his coat, gather her to his chest, hold her for no reason other than he can. Kiss her brow, smell her hair, feel her small hands sliding under his suit jacket. He wants her just as she is, for exactly who she is.

But he’s a chickenshit, so instead he just walks beside her along the Tidal Basin, under the cherry blossoms, and doesn’t hold her hand.

They spend the five minute drive back to the Bureau in comfortable silence. Scully leans her head against the car window, and Mulder briefly wonders if she’ll fall asleep. He loves when she nods off while he’s driving; it makes him feel safe. She makes him feel safe.

He parks a few spots away from her car in the Bureau parking garage, turns off the engine. Scully gathers up her briefcase, leaving Mulder’s coat draped open on the passenger seat.

“Why are you getting out?” she asks, seeing Mulder unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I need a file from the office,” he lies. He exits the car and goes around to her side. “I’ll walk you to your door, it’s on my way.”

It’s twenty feet from her car to his. “Thank you, Mulder,” Scully says sardonically, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. “If I weren’t armed, that would have been very thoughtful of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. He takes a step forward.

“What are you doing?” Scully asks, one hand on her car door, keys in the other.

“Nothing,” he replies quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” God, she’s so small, this could so easily go wrong-

He pitches forward, bending down, and presses his lips to the fullness of her cheek. His nose brushes the soft skin under her eye and he inhales sharply, drawing back.

They blink at each other. “Bye,” Mulder offers.

Scully nods. “Yes. Goodnight.” She glances to the elevators. “Was there actually a file you needed?”

He just looks at her, and she presses her lips together in understanding. “Right. Well, I’m leaving, so… see you tomorrow then.”

Right. Despite recent events, the earth was still spinning.

Later, when he hangs his overcoat, he notices the faintest scent of her shampoo on the collar.

[curedigiqueen]

This year I spontaneously watched Appmon nearly 2 times, and I have thoughts about it. And what better way to acknowledge it than on its 5th Anniversary. (Or 4th anniversary of Our Singularity). I'm planning on at least covering my thoughts on the main 5 kids this month, in an order based 100% on who I want to talk about first.

It's Astra.

I think Astra is generally the least liked Appmon character, or perhaps more accurately, is the character I see the most disdain for. And, honestly, I can understand where it comes from. But he’s my favorite Appmon character actually. In a cast with a non-conventional protagonist, a blackbelt idol, and a hacker, Astra’s “Apptube” is well, just kind of there. Like a more modern version of Eri’s idol career. His personality is clearly meant to be representative of the target audience, the group whose number one career aspiration is Youtuber. So, he’s kind of cringy and kind of annoying, especially to an adult audience. I get it. But Astra’s a character I found to have a lot of stuff going on.

I admittedly tend to have a soft spot for the babies of any team, especially if they are assertive enough to keep up with their seniors. And Astra does fit the bill. He’s generally seen to be on equal footing with the others, and his rather aggressive way of talking to the other doesn’t exactly make you think baby of the team. He doesn’t use honorifics, and in general Astra’s referred to in the same terms as Haru and Rei. (As near as I can tell, anyway with my nonexistent Japanese skills, correct me if I’m wrong). The fact he’s in elementary school is a bit more incidental than anything.

We learn the most about Astra’s family and upbringing compared to the other characters, and it is central to his arc. We get a lot of information straightforwardly in the show. He had a lot of pressure on him as the heir to the school, and felt pressured to act the part of the perfect heir. Throughout the show we see him struggle with the pressure of being the heir. As a child he was extremely dedicated to following his father's footsteps. He didn’t seem to see himself as anything other than the heir to his father's school. He seemed set apart from other children, seemingly due to the closed-off way he acted. This dedication to being a good heir was to the detriment of his happiness. Until Musimon came into his life allowing him to loosen up and seek his own happiness. Classic stuff. But Astra is a little more at war with himself than may be obvious by his “annoying” attitude.

While we first learn about Astra suppressing his own eccentricities, in his debut episodes, it’s not until later that we learn about his mother, and learn that this side of his personality didn’t come out of nowhere. His mother is very similar to him, which gives us the question of why he ever became so disciplined in the first place if his behavior isn't out of place in his family, and his mother is a strong advocate for him doing his own thing. In fact, Astra seemed initially a bit embarrassed by his mother when he introduced her to the other Appdrivers. Of course this is almost certainly because his mother calling his friend “pretty” and gushing about her husband and how they met is embarrassing, and even if Astra himself acts just as obnoxious. But even so, he's clearly less respectful towards her. The reasons behind why Astra calls his mother by her first name are unclear, though it doesn't seem to stem from a lack of love for his mother.

But regardless, it helps build the idea that more likely, he was trying to win the approval of people outside his immediate family. After all, as shown in episode 7, it was the assumption that Astra would inherit the school by others that prompted Astra’s response to his father. Even if Astra’s father does have a desire for Astra to inherit his position, he also understands that it's first and foremost Astra’s life to live. Astra however does have a lot of respect for his father and seems to value his opinion immensely, he recognizes that not inheriting the school would be disappointing to his father and does not want to disappoint him. So while I think there is something to be said for Astra’s behavior relating to a desire to impress his father, I don’t personally think it's the origin in its entirety.

Astra over the course of the series is very independent and marches to his own beat, Astra, like Eri, had made the first step to change prior to his introduction, but that doesn’t mean he was already completely different from the boy who acted stiff to prove himself to others. Astra’s second episode deals with him succumbing to peer pressure in his new activity, and his final episode is about not succumbing to his uncle's expectations, the old expectations that kept him down for so long. (But it's also a bit about fulfilling Hinarin’s expectations, expectations he agreed to).

Despite Apptubing being the career choice where Astra does as he pleases, his final episode isn’t about him Apptubing because he wants to but as a way to help someone else. Particularly his cousin. While it isn’t explicitly clear if Astra knows it’s his cousin the fact of the matter is that he’s helping his family through his Apptubing, even if it is something he picked up for himself. (A reasoning perhaps parallels Eri’s reasons for being an idol, wanting to bring smiles to her mom, despite it clearly being something she herself enjoys). His care for his family is exactly the reason he continues to train to be the heir, but that doesn’t mean even if he doesn’t uphold expectations that he can’t be a help to his family.

Astra’s arc deals with expectations vs. a desire to help. Astra in large part is assertive about not having to help other people out and doing his own thing, recognizing he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to. But his actions consistently betray his care for others. I think this is most evident in the way Astra acted as if he wasn’t going to help Eri out with her elections, but did so anyway, even if he antagonized her a bit in the process, but ended up being the proudest of her accomplishments. Not to mention the way he continues to train as the heir, albeit on his own terms. Over the course of the series, he becomes more open with his care towards others, culminating in the jailbreak episode, but he’s always been shown to care. He’s finding that balance between living his own life and helping others.

It’s clear that Astra doesn’t hate being heir at least. He’s extremely determined to do both. And personally, I think it’s very possible that he sees Apptubing as a hobby. He after all proposed the half-hour limit himself. Even at the beginning with his most abrasive. He dutifully kept it to a relatively small impact on his life. For all that it’s brought up as an important element in his life, and he is shown breaking his own rule on occasion without consequence. One of the longest times we see him Apptubing is when he’s helping Eri out. Of course on the flip side of that, we have episode 8 where he breaks the rule because his videos aren't doing as well as he likes, but that's definitely tying back to his desire for people's approval. While he is for lack of a better word, tempted into giving up training to be an iemoto to dedicate himself to Apptubing, it isn’t something he seems to seriously consider at all.

The biggest thing Musimon gave him was not the courage to be an Apptuber, but the courage to be himself. Indulging in Apptubing for fun is merely a small part of that. Astra is still the good heir, but he is no longer letting that define his entire life, sometimes forgoing certain parts of training. But that doesn’t mean that tea ceremony is a bad part of his life. There’s also a certain balance in his personality between the abrasive “annoying” boy at the start of the series and the passive boy prior to the show's beginning. I don’t feel that the polite Astra is completely disingenuous. Astra is capable of acting calm and grounded, and this side of himself becomes more apparent as the series goes on, particularly with Eri who, in contrast to him, throws herself into her idol career with more and more genuine passion. When he supports Eri with his videos but asks her to take a break, which tracks with what we know about his fathers working habits. It’s his final focus episode where he is shown to be acting, more in someone else's interest, and even shown to be a bit embarrassed by it. In contrast to an Astra who even in episode 19, was not taking much seriously. I think it’s only fair to say Astra did genuinely inherit some of his father's more grounded and dutiful nature.

And while earlier I did say Astra’s age feels incidental, I don’t think that is to say it has no bearing on his role in the story. It's part of the reason Eri is so dismissive of him at first, Sure, the other’s treat him as equal, and are in no way particularly protective of him, nor do they expect him to be any less capable than him. But this isn’t to say Astra’s relative youthfulness isn’t apparent when with the others at least in the beginning. Astra is definitely on the more immature side of things, he after all is the one who started the rivalry with Eri because his ego was bruised (not that Eri's initial dismissal of him was helping matters any). As I said earlier, Astra mellowed as the show progressed and I think it’s a fair assumption to say he’d continue to do so. Not that he’ll lose his energy, but that he’ll be able to act with more maturity and consideration for others. The most common complaint about him I’ve heard is “annoying”, which is understandable. But that’s not accidental, even in-universe (hah), others seem to find him to be a bit much at first at the beginning of the series. His “annoying” personality is him testing the waters beyond the role of dutiful heir he’s always played. He’s annoying because he’s an 11-year-old boy who does not always know how to act in ways appropriate to his situation. He’s the kid of the group. I do understand if that still makes watching irritating. Watching should be fun after all, but it’s more of a matter of opinion than an objective flaw.

Unlike Gatchmon, Offmon, and Dokamon whose personalities seem to clash a bit with their buddies, Musimon and Astra are consistently on the same page, after episode 8. This is exemplified in episode 29, where Musimon runs away for fun rather than because he wants something from Astra, and Astra is the only partner who seems to have not been worried, recognizing what Musimon was doing. Of course, their fight in episode 8 was about Astra not being true to himself, thus naturally conflicting with the one who is on the same page as his true self. Musimon shares Astra’s high energy but caring nature. I’m not an expert on the Japanese language by any means, but there is something notable about the fact Musimon uses “Boku” to Astra’s usual “Ore”. Musimon and Astra are without a doubt very similar, the only difference in their demeanors being Musimon is perhaps a bit less confrontational. If Musimon being Astra’s buddy says anything about Astra, it’s probably that Astra is by his nature not quite as aggressive as he seems. Which for someone who clearly used to takes people's opinions of him to heart, seems about right.

Astra’s arc is all about expectations, expectations as an Apptuber, and as the heir. Astra living up to, or disregarding expectations based on what he believes is best. Living the life he wants to live.

Some final observations from me in regards to Astra, is that he’s paired with Fakemon for God Grade. While it’s probably in part just how things worked out logistically, it also makes a bit of sense as a foil. Fakemon is constantly being disingenuous, while a huge part of Astra’s arc is being true to himself, while also fulfilling other people's expectations of him. Also of note, Entermon is described as a Digimon who exists wherever you can find culture something that is particularly relevant to Astra.

While being biracial is not directly important to the story, it’s not incidental and clearly is thematically related to him being trapped between the traditional and the modern Japan. While in story Astra’s story is simply about outside expectations of inheritance, It’s possible to read Astra prior to the series as trying to overcompensate for his foreign mother in the eyes of the people at his father’s school. This is something I find notable considering that Appmon’s assistant producer, Akari Yanagawa, went on to become the producer of 2019’s Star Twinkle Precure, a season of Precure notable for the franchise's 2nd biracial cure, whose personal arc more obviously alluded to racism than Astra's, though still very indirectly.

[aka-indulgence]

So. This was a.. detailed dream I had a week or more ago? the one I referenced in an ask... and I feel like writing out that scene because hoo... so many thoughts

--------

It was dark.

Night had fallen. It was late, most people have gone back into their humble homes and gone to sleep.

That wasn’t the case with the castle. Guards stood... well, guarded near the front gates, and near all other entrances on the ground. Not to mention, the ones making regular rounds inside the castle itself. All to keep the royals safe from anyone who wanted to get in for one reason or another. Theft, murder, sabotage....

...kidnapping...

Anyone would have a hard time just attempting to get in.

...

A raven watches from the distance, tilting its head this way and that, surveying the castle.

It flies, with its feathers as black as the night sky, no one sees it. And who would take another glance at a bird flying around?

It perches on the railing of a balcony on the second floor of the castle, looking down at the guards that stood vigilant at their stations. Inside, there was nary a soul passing by.

The raven hops down from its rest- suddenly becoming enveloped in shadows and darkness. Its form warps, and where the raven was now stood a tall imposing figure as the shadow’s creep away from him.

A grin would be first to come to attention if anyone was there to witness it. A cloak covered most of his body, apart from his hands and face, where you could see that this man was a skeleton. His hands weren’t made of flesh but instead finger-like phalanges, with “palm” made entirely of bone that resembled a human’s, with tendon-like shapes connecting the fingers to the base of the hand. His head was not a head as you knew it, but instead a skull. It wasn’t shaped in how you’d expect a skull to be either, more rounded with less edges.

But if you thought that’d make him look less scary, think again. His sockets were empty, empty of emotion. The grin he wore was nothing short of uncanny, as he approached the doors to the inside of the castle.

The door shuts with a quiet “clack” and he looks around. When he doesn’t see any guards he runs quietly from one hall to the other.

He’s silent, his footsteps not making so much as a whisper, a thud, against the floor.

Every time a guard or more comes by he slides into the corners and walls, hidden in the shadow, covered by the darkness. He smiles to himself. He could kill these guards if he wanted to, but that’d be such a mess... when others find the body, more would come, and that would make his little trip so much more difficult than it needs to be.

He bounds across the carpeted floors, where he didn’t have to be so careful about the sounds he’s making. Sliding by hallways like the wind, taking detours into various rooms whenever he needed to; a clear map of the castle in his head, heading towards his destination.

were there always so many guards walking the halls? Sans, the skeleton in black, thought to himself as he sweeps to the right, near a support. then again... i never had to worry about being spotted by them before.

Ah yes... old memories of when he still lived in this place. Even after all these years, he still remembers where everything is, just like he remembers all the little scars that litter his phalanges.

And it’s come especially useful now... as he ascends a flight of stairs, passing by unsuspecting men who were supposed to be protecting something... someone very important... he finally spots a familiar wooden door.

He doesn’t waste time, only making quick looks here and there before he darts to it from the landing, opening the door and quickly making his way inside.

He would’ve closed the door immediately if he didn’t also the one he’s been after for so long now.

The light of the torches outside, coming in through the crack of the door falls almost perfectly on your face, highlighting it. You had your hands under your cheek, your eyes shut, a small smile on your face. You seemed to be in such a peaceful sleep... your eyelids fluttered a little and your brows knitted from the sudden light of the outside.

Sans slowly, brought his hand back to find the door and quietly pushed it close, unwilling to glance away from the fair maiden his eyesockets had fallen on.

“oh... (y/n)...” He sighed lovingly, his grin turning just a little bit warmer, making his way towards your bed; his cloak brushing the floor.

He bends his knees so his chest was to your bedside- to take a closer look at you.

it’s been so long since i’ve seen you, love... He reaches out to touch your face, but thought better of it, his phalanges flinching. He might wake you up with contact... he didn’t want to alarm you.

Instead, he brought his hands down to the thick blankets that covered you. Of course, you were still so... fragile. Unlike him. You couldn’t stand the cold... not as much as him.

His turned his head, seeing how the blankets were draped over your body, he could see just a little bit of how you were shaped. His eyesockets trailed up, and settled on your hair. They reflected a bit of the moonlight that was quietly glowing through the windows. It looked somewhat shiny... like silk.

He looked down to your face. The tips of his phalanges sank a little into the bedcovers, seeing just how soft your skin looked. It’s always looked soft to him, but now? Now it looked almost ethereal under the pale light. Your brows had relaxed and with the little, innocent smile on your face... oh, it’s like he was falling in love all over again. His grin widens dreamily, and his sockets go down to your hands. They were under your head, but one had moved to the pillow, giving him a look. They looked so soft too... so soft and delicate compared to his hands of bone. So small too... he wanted to brush the tips of his fingers against the back of your hand, he wanted to kiss your knuckles, he wanted to-

...

His grin falls.

He’s... always wanted to hold your hands.

Back when he was still a proper member of this castle... when he was still one of the king’s mages, often times advising him in anything magic related. Whenever he thought of the perfect partner to spend the rest of his life with, it had always been you. He wasn’t really sure what started it. Maybe it was seeing you walk around the mezzanine so often as he was discussing with the other mages around the table below. Maybe it’s because of how sweet your smile looked. Maybe it was the way you were always so friendly to everyone, including the servants. He’s not sure. He’s always found himself staring at you whenever he saw you. Watching how your dress flows around you, the little movements your hands made when you were talking, listening to the sound of your laugh. He’s only talked to you once or twice, and he’s sure you’d forget about him...

There were plans. When the mages were looking to be betrothed, some had already known how taken he was with you (though they didn’t know to what extent). The lord had seemed interested too, as having such a powerful magic-user in the main bloodline would be ideal.

And... and then...

“YOU AREN’T WORTHY OF HER!” A voice booms through his skull, echoing from the past.

He found out how to use dark magic, and found himself to be quite skilled in it. He always thought light magic was fleeting... they had this way of slipping away from him whenever he used it. It never felt... powerful enough. But when he used dark magic... it was exhilarating. He’s never felt so much before. He knew it was taboo... he knew it was feared... but what is fear but something people don’t understand?

He saw potential in something everyone has always had an aversion to. Dark magic is dangerous if it’s let out of hand, if the user doesn’t know what to do with it. But he was learning. It came to him easier than it did with light magic. He was trying to use it to the benefit of everyone. And how did they repay him?

“Sans of Snowdin! Is it true you have been dabbling in the arts of dark magic?”

“y... yes... but! i swear to you brother! i only have the kingdom’s best interest in soul! i-i-”

“SILENCE mage! how can you say such a thing when you have been using such vile magic?””

“i... i’ve learnt how to use it, to control it! dark magic has aspects light magic doesn’t h-have, i could use it for good! i wasn’t trying to do anything treasonous!”

“That would sound honorable if we could believe you, Sans. Dark magic cannot be good. It’s in its nature. Normally we would try to purify the being corrupted by it but... you knew what it is, Sans. It is so sad to see the king’s finest mage turn out like this in the end.”

“n... no! you can’t... you can’t exi-!”

“Sans.” The lord stood. “I hereby exile you. Think of it as mercy, you could have been executed.”

The only thing on his mind was you... you were going to be his, he was so so patient... he waited for his bride, he was going to be happy with you, please...

“And to think I thought you worthy to marry my darling (Y/n)...”

“no... no!!”

They denied him your hand. They denied him you. He wasn’t trying to turn against them... he was loyal to the king..! And they cast him aside for using forbidden magic...

Your gentle hands... your warm embrace... your sweet smile...

Everything he was denied.

Tendrils of shadow danced across the ground as Sans bared his teeth to those who betrayed him. People he once called brothers... all turning against him when they found out he used dark magic in his lonesome.

“they could never keep me away from you, love...” He murmured, as he stood to his full height, and reached towards you. A hand took the blanket from his side and brought it under you while the other cupped you from the other side, picking you up, cradling you. He made sure the blanket was tucked around you properly, so you wouldn’t be cold.

“my sweet beloved (y/n)...” His hands shook, as he finally allowed himself to brush your hair away from your face, shivering as he felt your skin under his fingers. “you’ve always belonged to me. always... and i’ll love you with all of me. you’ll be safe with me, love...”

It’s apparent Sans got lost in the way your body settled in his arms, the sleepy sounds you made as you got comfortable. Turning your face to the warmth, cheek against his cloak, one hand gripping onto the cloth.

Because he didn’t notice the approaching footsteps, jolting when he heard the sound of a knock.

“My lady....” came the voice of your maid. “Is there something the matter? I hear voices in your room.”

Sans didn’t know what to expect- but in hindsight he should’ve guessed the maid would open the door without your answer. You’ve always been much more open with the workers in the castle, openly casual and making friends with all of them; though he didn’t know you saw your maid as more of your caretaker, and told her to come in your room if she thought something was wrong.

The door creaked open and light flooded the room, before settling on Sans. She made a gasp and Sans could see the color drain from her face when she saw the monstrous figure cradling you in its arms.

She saw him grin, not saying a word. Nor did she, as the next thing she did was to turn around and all but scream for the guards.

Many came running- but they were too late. When they came back, with the door still ajar, no one was inside. Not a trace of the monster or the lady was left, except for the way the bedsheets were messier than usual and that it lacked blankets. All was almost too quiet, apart from the almost silent wind blowing in through the now open window, the curtains lightly waving in it.

[toasty-coconut]

CHARACTER PROFILE: AYA CAVENDISH

I’ve decided to share the profiles for my two Diakko kiddos that I made a while back. Below is the profile for the oldest of the two, Aya! The full profile can be read beneath the cut.

Basic Information

Full Name: Aya Bernadette Cavendish

Nicknames: None

Gender: Female

Date of Birth: January 9th, 2027

Age: 17

School Team Color: Violet

Aspiration: Head the Cavendish Family

Horoscope: Capricorn

MBTI: ENFJ

Being the oldest child of Diana—the head of the family—Aya is the Cavendish family’s heir apparent. Realizing the importance of her role in the family, Aya always tries her best to carry herself with the decency and manners befitting of a Cavendish. Her hope is to one day uphold the honor of the Cavendish name by heading the family in a way that would make everyone proud. She seeks to satisfy others, which can make her seem to be a bit of a teacher’s pet.

Wanting to live up to her family name, Aya often busies herself with studying and learning about every area of magic that she can. However, magic and learning aren’t things that come easily to her—as a result, she is an exceptionally hard worker who often pushes herself to the point of exhaustion. She is a perfectionist by nature, and won’t settle for anything less. 

She feels as though she has a lot to live up to in terms of her family’s legacy and is frequently filled with anxiety and self-doubt. She gets down on herself easily, especially when she finds herself struggling with things that she thinks should come naturally to a Cavendish. She often feels as though she needs to make up for these shortcomings by working herself to the bone. She is terrified of letting down those who expect great things of her.

By nature, Aya is an incredibly creative person. When she isn’t busying herself with her studies and magic, she can often be found reading and writing. She adores the Night Fall series and spends much of her time reading it and creating fan works for it in secret. She is very private about her work and doesn’t like the people she knows reading it. Whenever people find out about her writing she becomes incredibly embarrassed and tries to insist it’s “just a hobby”.

Aya loves to socialize when she’s able to, and would spend more time doing it if her studies weren’t so demanding. She is a naturally kind, friendly person who loves making friends and talking to others. However, her perfectionism can sometimes result in her neglecting the friendships that she has—even if she doesn’t intend to do so. Over all, she is a kindhearted person who cares deeply about others.

Appearance

Hair Color: Brunette

Hair Texture and Style: Long, thick waves. Typically worn down with a bow at the back.

Eye Color: Crimson

Eye Shape: Sharp

Height: 5’6” (167 cm)

Build: Tall and lean with longer legs. Generally curvy with sharper facial features.

Interests and Hobbies

Likes:

Magic

Reading

The Night Fall series

Writing (especially fiction)

Socializing

Cute things

Sweets/pastries

Learning history and tradition

Languages

Dislikes:

Pressure

Poor manners

Sharing her writing

Wasting time/sitting around

Receiving poor marks

Distractions

Horror movies

Blood/gore

Fears:

Letting others down

Not meeting her own expectations

The dark 

Relationships

Diana Cavendish: Mother. Ever since she was a child, Aya has always been particularly close with Diana. As future head of the Cavendish family, Aya feels as though she has a lot to learn from her and spends a lot of time around her as a result. Becoming someone who can make Diana proud in living up to her family name is Aya’s greatest goal. She typically feels comfortable in going to Diana for advice or guidance when she feels like she needs it. Aya deeply admires Diana and hopes to one day be half as great of a witch as she is. 

Atsuko Kagari: Mother. While close with Diana, Aya is equally close with Akko. Sometimes she finds it easier to confide her stressors and anxieties in Akko, as she relates to her previous struggles with academics and magic. Akko often worries that Aya pushes herself too hard, and usually encourages her to loosen up. She tries to find ways that Aya can have more fun and enjoy herself—activities that Aya deeply appreciates since they usually do help her loosen up.

Emily Cavendish: Younger sister. While the two were much closer when they were young, their relationship has become somewhat distant and strained since they have gotten older. Aya finds Emi’s rebellious behavior to be frustrating and worries about how it looks on their family name. However, at the same time, she is envious of the freedom Emi has since the expectations others have of her are much lower. She also finds it frustrating that Emi seems to have a natural inclination for magic and academics, but doesn’t utilize them to her best ability. However, despite everything Aya deeply loves and cares about her sister. She is far more protective of her than some people are aware, and will be the first to stick up for her if the situation calls for it.

Trivia

- Aya can speak and read Japanese fluently. She has known how to speak it since she was young, but learning how to read it took much longer. She is still learning different kanji.

- The kanji Akko uses to write Aya’s given name is 亜矢.

- She was first introduced to the Night Fall series by Barbara and Lotte whenever either of them would babysit while she was young. They would often read to her from the books, and she fell completely in love with them. Her favorite character is Edgar.

- Aya adores magic, and always wanted to go to as many of Akko’s shows as she could when she was younger. She is often discouraged by the fact that magic doesn’t seem to be something that comes naturally to her. As a result, Akko was usually her biggest cheerleader and did everything she could to help Aya learn.

- Aya was easily frightened as a child, and to this day still does not like horror movies or the dark. She would never let others know that she sleeps with a small nightlight.

- She detests blood and gore, and has no idea how Diana is able to expose herself to it so easily when studying medical textbooks. Just glancing at it makes her feel faint.

- Aya has a soft spot for cute things and owns a small collection of stuffed animals at home.

[thestraggletag]

Three Appointments and a Wedding

AN: Hi, @magicalgiven it is I, your Secret Santa! If I’m not mistaken we are both Argentinians in which case commiserate with me over the fucking hot weather we’ve been having. Because it fucking sucks. It was a pleasure to be your Santa, and I’m sorry this fic didn’t get smutty. I tried to add as much spice at the end as I could. It was challenging but fun because the accidental engagement prompt has been done a lot in the fandom so it was nice to try and put my spin on things. I hope you like it!

Prompt: Accidental engagement and consequences.

Summary: Mr Gold would do anything to help his only son plan his wedding, even if it is getting mistaked for the groom over and over as his crush gets mistaken for the bride. Over and over.

Rating: PG-13

He reminded himself that Bae had been clear about his distaste for a big wedding, and Emma as well. As far as they both were concerned they were better off with a simple civil ceremony and a honeymoon in Florida. But Emma’s parents insisted that their only child, their little princess, marry in style, so something grander was decided upon. He had to admit he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He did not have a lot in common with the Nolans- no matter how much David insisted on treating him like best mates whenever they met- but he did agree with them on the wedding. Bae was his only son and he wished to make a fuss about his wedding as well.

So he couldn’t really say no when Bae called to ask him to please take his place at a catering appointment in Portland. He had been summoned to a surprised meeting with a client that was a rather big to-do at his job. He did something related to web design that he couldn’t for the life of him understand, but it allowed him to work from home most of the time and stay in Storybrooke, so he was glad to be of assistance if he needed it.

He arrived at the catering business with a bit of time to spare, introducing himself and letting the person checking the appointment know he was waiting for someone. Not Miss Swan, because apparently she also had urgent business that could not be delayed- she did work in law enforcement, so there was a small chance she wasn’t lying to get out of “boring wedding stuff” as she kept calling it right in front of her mother and likely to annoy her. He had been told she would send Miss Lucas as a replacement, since she knew her way around a menu. He did not look forward to it, though perhaps he could amuse himself with trying to figure out how to raise the subject of the diner’s rent being due next week over talk of canapes. 

“Mr Gold, you got here before me!”

He turned around, a part of him recognising instantly that charming Australian lilt. He looked slightly down to find Miss Belle French, the town’s librarian as of three years. She was dressed, as always, rather charmingly, and looked less out of place in the city than in their small town. 

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long. The original plan was for Ruby to fill in for Emma, but Granny’s arthritis started acting up so she had to stay and help at the diner. Oh, please don’t tell Granny I told you that or she’ll never forgive me.”

He recalled she was an old friend of Miss Swan’s, from before she came back to Storybrooke, back when she was living in New York as a bit of a rebellion against her parents, doing bounty hunting work of all things. They had been roommates while Miss French went to NYU for her master’s in Library Science and worked at an antique bookstore. He knew only because he knew the bookstore and thought it smart to hold onto that piece of information. Book restoration and re-binding wasn’t his specialty, so it was nice to know of someone he could consult with if the need ever arose.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Miss French. I will even abstain of using the information against Granny the next time she tries to overcharge me for coffee. I hope you understand what a sacrifice that is.”

She laughed and he tried to pretend he didn’t feel overly smug about it, turning instead to open the door for her.

“Oh, Mr Gold, I see your fianceé is here! Lovely to meet the future Mrs Gold.”

He fumbled, his brain too caught up in what had just been said to register the small step on his way. He righted himself just as Miss French stammered a surprised denial.

“Oh, right, I apologise for assuming you would change your name after marriage, Miss Swan. Please, follow me.”

The man, a strongly-accented Frenchman, if his ears did not deceive him, swept past them and deeper into the shop, forcing them both to follow. The back was a rather nice dining area, small but with lots of windows to let in natural light. It was right next to the kitchen, but it still felt private and quiet. They were ushered into a table already prepared for them and served a sample of entrées along with a card detailing the ingredients of each one.

“Well, I suppose it’s an obvious mistake to make, and it would be unkind to correct him, he’d be mortified. I hope you don’t mind playing the would-be groom for a day, Mr Gold. At least we get some nice food out of it.”

“It’ll make a nice change from Granny’s overpriced lasagna.”

She slapped him gently on the arm, trying to conceal her smile, and he was surprised at how nice the gesture felt. Not many people touched him, and less with that sort of uncomplicated ease. He was glad that Miss French felt comfortable around him.

“So, what type of food does Miss Swan enjoy?”

“You should really begin calling her Emma, you know. And me Belle, none of that Miss French nonsense. This is not some nineteenth century pretend engagement, you know. I hope we can consider ourselves a modern pretend couple.” Miss French- Belle- smiled at him over the rim of her water glass before taking a sip. “As for Emma, she likes bar food. If it was up to her we’d serve peanuts and fries for entrées and burgers as the main course. I understand her parents talked her out of it, so perhaps nothing very fancy, but tasteful at the same time.”

He had given up on the day that morning, thinking it would be spent trying to make awkward conversation with a confrontational Miss Lucas, glaring daggers at him from across a rather small table because he dared charge rent for the property her grandmother rented from him. Instead he found himself discussing food and wine with someone he was infinitely more fond of and could not even muster enough grumpiness later in the evening to snark at Bae when he called later at night to thank him for subbing for him.

“It’ll be the last time, pops, I swear.”

.

The week after the catering appointment Bae called him in a panic to beg him to go for him to the florist appointment, also in Portland. He swallowed a few choice words learned in his youth in Glasgow, closed his shop and drove to the address Bae texted him. He was somewhat less surprised than before to find Miss French there, sitting on a bench outside the shop and reading a book. Something niggled at the back of his head but when he greeted her and they got to explain their presence he realised it made a bit more sense. Miss Swan’s job was a bit emergency-heavy and Miss French was the daughter of a florist, so it made sense to send her as a replacement.

She knew her stuff, as he could tell almost as soon as they set foot into the shop, to the delight of the old, red-haired florist that handled their appointment. The librarian engaged her in a rather interesting discussion on the meaning of flowers and the importance of harmonious scents, something he had never considered before. They spent a rather lovely hour touring the greenhouse and browsing through the catalogues, with Miss French- “Honestly, Arran, it’s Belle, you agreed!”- making a game out of it, picking something and having him guess whether it was a choice for Miss Swan’s wedding or a reflection of personal taste. He learned from it that Belle liked blue as much as her outfits had already implied and that she loved hydrangeas, thought them elegant but soft.

“Too soft for Emma. She likes bold colours and is not fond of traditional flowers, so I was thinking perhaps something with bougainvilleas? They have such lovely deep pink colour, almost red. What do you think?”

It was a bit intoxicating, the smell of the flowers, the heat of the shop and Belle French talking about flowers with a passion that stirred something in him that had nothing to do with centerpieces or boutonnieres. It wasn’t until they were out of it, inhaling the crisp evening Portland air, that he realised the florist had mistaken them for the engaged couple as well, and neither of them had made any effort to correct her. Well, that would’ve been rude, he reasoned. No need to put the old woman in the spot.

.

The morning of the cake-tasting appointment he had woken up with the knowledge that he was likely to get a “surprise” call from Bae begging him to “fill in” for him at the cake shop, and he could not even bring himself to feel angry about it. The wedding was, after all, a rather rushed affair, seeing as to how it was not what either the bride or groom had planned for, so allowances had to be made for the couple. That or they both were trying to punish their parents for pushing on them a grander event than the one they had wanted in the first place.

On his way out of town he passed by the library, insisting he would drive Miss French who was, surprisingly, filling in for Miss Swan again. She didn’t seem to mind yet another disruption into her schedule.

“I love Storybrooke, but I don’t mind admitting that it’s nice to go out to a big city every now and then.”

The bakery that would make the cake- one of the few that would accommodate the short notice of the order placement- was located in Bangor, which seemed to merge big-city vibes with small-town charm. The bakery itself was lovely, with a white and beige storefront and a myriad of colourful treats on display. It smelled strongly of vanilla and chocolate inside, and there was a dreamy, romantic sort of quality to the decoration. They were ushered into a warm, cosy room where they spent the next hour and a half tasting different cakes, one better than the next.

“Emma is a bit chocolate obsessed, so I’m leaning towards the chocolate champagne one. It was delicious.”

He tried not to replay in his mind the way she had moaned at the first taste of that one, eyes closing in absolute bliss.

“I still can’t believe that little urchin had me fill in for him again, so I’m not even considering his tastes. My vote is for the strawberry shortcake.”

Belle frowned, idly liking some frosting from her fork. His left hand tightened around the napkin on his lap.

“Isn’t Bae allergic to strawberries?”

“Exactly.”

The librarian laughed, which he was rather surprised by. Very few shared his rather dark sense of humour, most found the content and his delivery of it rather off-putting. He tried not to preen at the idea. 

“Might want to hold on in killing him until after the wedding. After all, we have invested quite a few hours into the preparation already. Feels more like our wedding, in a way.”

He choked on a rather lovely piece of red velvet cheesecake, fumbling for his glass of water to try and wash it down. He realised the danger he was in, all of a sudden, perhaps too late. His crush had been safe when he had not had much of a chance to interact with the librarian and get to know her. But spending entire days with her had changed things, giving his feelings depth that he did not entirely appreciate. His instinct of self-preservation was urging him to do something. Say something mean or cutting, or close himself off. Perhaps invent some business emergency and leave, letting Belle figure out on her own how to get back to town. If she was cross with him, if she hated him, if she decided to keep his distance, he would be safe.

But, surprisingly, he found that he was rather tired of feeling safe, and of pushing people away.

.

“You know, we didn’t do half-bad in the end, all things considered.”

He turned around, tearing his eyes away from his son and his new wife trying to waltz. He was sure someone was filming it, anyway, and he’d get to tease Bae about it later. Belle looked absolutely stunning in a Halston dress, an architectural number in navy blue with a champagne-coloured lining that peeped from the folds of the skirts and a bit of a train in the back, the hem landing above the knee at the front and below it at the back. It was a far cry from what most women were wearing, in particular the friends of the mother of the bride, but it was exactly what he had expected from her: bold, flirty, and the slightest bit of out place in a small town, without really seeming to realise. Her lips were a lovely deep, dark red and smiling wide. At him, of all people.

“Yes. The flowers do look splendid, Miss French. You have quite an eye for it.”

She hooked her arm through his, looking admonishingly up at him.

“It’s Belle. Unless you’ve decided I cannot call you Arran anymore.”

If he were stronger, he would politely insist on calling her Miss French, thus gently reestablishing their more formal dynamic. It would be safer, certainly. But he found himself unable to muster the energy for it. It was a happy day, and he was ecstatic as the father of the groom should be. Seemed like the occasion to do what he wanted and not necessarily what he thought was best. Indulge a bit.

“Belle, then. I rather like how you pronounce my name, seems a shame to make you stop.”

Her eyes widened, and so did her smile. He tried to remember how many glasses of champagne he had drunk, but could not recall. He had indulged there too, but that was only because he had been sitting next to David Nolan for dinner and he had kept trying to talk to him about sports. He had made the mistake of trying to discuss the UEFA Super Cup, but that had only led to ten minutes of David Nolan referring to football as soccer and displaying no understanding of the rules of the game.

“So, how’s the proud father? Was it all you hoped it would be?”

He looked around. The venue was lovely, a manor outside Storybrooke that was used exclusively for events like weddings and such, with extensive gardens and lovely, broad balconies. The Nolans had secured the place, seemed they knew the owner and had been able to pull some strings. It was decorated a bit like an enchanted forest, in shades of silver, gold and bold touches of bright pink and dark blue.

“Well, Bae remembered his lines and didn’t step on Miss Swan’s train at any point so the wedding has exceeded my wildest expectations.”

He glanced again towards his son, dancing something a bit more lively with Emma and looking infinitely more at ease doing so. They truly suited each other, and he was glad of that. Glad that Bae would know, hopefully, nothing but love in his family he meant to build for himself.

“It’s a lovely song. Would you care to dance?”

A tricky question, since the answer was both a resounding no and a desperate yes, but he merely pointed towards his cane as a way out. It seemed he was not the only one emboldened by drink, however, if Belle’s flashing eyes and red cheeks were anything to go by.

“Oh, come on, just some gentle swaying. We could go outside, if you don’t wish others to see. It’s a bit stuffy in here anyway.”

There was no way for him to deny her, nor did he wish to anymore. He let her lead him out, into one of the terrace-like balconies attached to the ballroom, and wrapped her arms around his neck, prompting his own to wrap around her waist. They soon fell into a slow, easy rhythm, lazy and yet strangely exhilarating. He felt loose and tightly-wound at the same time, and could not decide whether he liked the feeling or not.

“It really is a lovely wedding, by the way.”

“Yes, I think we did rather well, all things considered. Certainly more than what Bae deserved, taking into account how little he worked for it.”

She tugged on his hair, he assumed as a way to chastise him. It had rather the opposite result, sending a jolt of fizzy pleasure up and down his spine.

“You rather enjoyed it, admit it. And I did too. In a way it’s sad that the wedding has happened and our outings are at an end.”

She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, teeth worrying her lower lip the slightest bit. He got the feeling that there was something he was not seeing or sensing, some signal he was not quite deciphering. But it was getting rather difficult to think, with the champagne in his veins, and the feel of Belle in his arms and the way she smelt like orange blossom. 

“You look lovely, by the way.” He realised he hadn’t told her, and it seemed like a major oversight. “Stunning, really. Gorgeous. Too good to be wasting your time out on the balcony with me.”

What the fuck was wrong with him? When had he lost complete control of his bleeding mouth?

“Don’t say that. I like spending time with you. A lot.” She bit her lip again and he wondered if his blood pressure could take it. “Actually, I was hoping we could spend more time together, if you wished it.”

There was no mistaking the flirty turn of her lips, or the coyness dancing in her eyes, even to an expert in self-denial such as him. He tried to form words to reply to her, something along the lines of “Yes, please” or “Is it tomorrow night too soon?” but his vocal cords were suddenly useless, and in a sudden panic that she would interpret his stupid silence for a rejection of her advances he leaned down, pressing his lips against hers. He felt her stiffen in his arms for a second, saw her eyes widen in surprise, but the next moment she was pressing back against him, tipping her head back to better capture his mouth with her own. She took absolute control with a quiet, fierce determination that he found incredibly erotic. He was happy to reciprocate, to tighten his arm around her waist and open his mouth to her, his left hand tightening around the handle of his cane with something that felt like petulant frustration at not being able to simply drop the damned thing hold her properly, perhaps delve a hand into her hair, feel if it was as soft as it always looked. 

She seemed to read his mind, for she maneuvered them clumsily towards the rather tall balustrade. He eagerly leaned against it before dropping his cane in the nick of time to catch the librarian’s leg, which sought to wrap itself around his waist. Her obvious, undisguised want was disarming, making him forget himself in a way he had never allowed himself to-

“Papa, what the fuck?”

“Belle!”

Both him and Belle startled, with her regretfully taking a few steps away from him, leaving him to notice the chill in the air. When he glanced at the entrance of the balcony he saw his son and Miss Swan, looking radiant in her Vera Wang dress and also, bizarrely, quite smug.

“Hey, Bae, didn’t see you there.”

His accent barely made the words intelligible, but there was no helping that. He always lost control of his brogue when he was nervous.

“Clearly!” Bae sounded shrill, more child than man. Reminded him of the infamous temper-tantrums the lad had thrown once upon a time. “How could you? At my own wedding?!”

Fuck, he was right. He had been caught fucking making-out and almost doing God-knew-what just a few bloody steps away from his son’s wedding reception. What was the matter with him?

“I mean, why couldn’t you wait? I had almost won the bet!”

What?

“You only had to last until after the wedding! I was so close, pops! And you were doing so well!”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad. Now remember, Bae, you promised at least two dances with Regina’s sister. At least she’s unlikely to hit on you at your own wedding, so there’s that.”

Emma smiled up at her new husband, kissed his cheek, turned him around and directed him back towards the ballroom with a not-so-gentle smack in the ass. She smiled, gave Belle a thumbs up and an “atta girl” and walked out of the balcony, closing the French doors behind her.

“What the fuck was that?”

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 16: Therapy Sessions

And thus, we return to Outside! Starting with this brief interlude like chapter from someone completely new!

Update schedule is gonna be once every two weeks on Monday, just like before. As for Happy Times, that's gonna be on the back burner for a while so I can get this done, but I'll try and pop out another episode at some point.

So enjoy for now, and see ya;ll again later! :D

The puppet laid on the couch, flopped over like a discarded toy, eyes staring unblinking into space. If she didn't already know better, Trina would have assumed it was something one of her patients had left behind .

It, or rather she, wasn't a forgotten toy, however. She was her new patient, and, according to what another patient, Stacy, had told her, she had trust issues. But, she could work with that. And by that, she meant do paperwork until Scout was ready to talk.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was taking a while. Before she knew it the whole hour had passed and the alarm had gone off. When Trina looked up from turning it off, the Puppet was gone, and the door was open. Ah well. She supposed she should prepare for her next patient, then.

------

Once again, Scout was laying on the couch. A different position this time, and staring in a different direction. Trina resigned herself to more paperwork again, like the last few visits. Though she felt like they were making some progress. Sometimes she looked up and Scout was in a different position, or she was in the middle of blinking.

In her mind, that was a good thing. It meant the Puppet was starting to get comfortable with her. Maybe soon, she'd actually start talking.

------

"Did you know Hosts can bleed without getting hurt?"

The question startled Trina, and she fumbled the pen onto her crossword book. "Excuse me?!"

"Yeah they do it naturally into the toilet! And into these weird giant soft band-aids that Stacy didn't want me to mess with." Scout reached down her shirt and pulled out a bright orange square. "Jokes on her, I took one anyways."

"Ah." It made sense, actually, that Scout would have no knowledge of the menstrual cycle. "And... did Stacy explain what they were for?"

"Nope! She just yelled a lot, and turned really red." She pulled the tape holding the wrapper closed off, then stuck it to the couch. "I asked Will why she wouldn't tell me, and he said it's because Stacy's a prude. And then she yelled at him."

"Did Will explain it to you?"

"No. Because he's also a prude. Stacy said so." There was a loud tearing sound as she slowly pulled the backing off of the pad, and Trina realized why Stacy had kicked her out of the bathroom. She also made a note to never let Scout into her bathroom.

And so, Trina spent the remaining forty-five minutes giving a sex-ed lesson to a living hand puppet. Not the weirdest session she'd ever had, of course, but it was certainly up there.

She just wished Scout hadn't stuck the pad to her keyboard.

------

The next few sessions were spent answering whatever questions Scout had that for whatever reason, she couldn't ask Stacy. Whether it was about biology("But why is it brown?"), a question about porn("I just don't see the appeal of watching Hosts fucking."), or about movies("He was the best character! Why the fuck would they kill the best character!"). Most of the time, Trina would google it with her. But sometimes she would ask why she couldn't ask Stacy. Usually she'd get one of what felt like stock answers, but occasionally she'd go really quiet and only say:

"I just wanted to know what you thought about it. That's all."

And Trina would, outwardly, accept that. But she always made note of which questions were related to that answer to try and understand her better. She also started on a timeline, to try and get the two into a session together. It probably wouldn't happen soon, she wanted to try and get Scout talking about herself first. But once she'd made some progress there, they could try a joint session.

------

It took another several weeks before Scout told her anything about herself. Although it wasn't what she expected.

"And then he gave me ice cream! And I ate it, because it was solid and delicious! But it fucking melts! And it's fucking gross!" She was raging, but in a way that almost made her look adorable. Not that Trina would tell her so, of course.

"And, why is it so bad that it melts?"

"Because it soaks in! Duh!" She looked thoroughly annoyed, and Trina felt a little bad for asking.

"What happened next?" She asked instead.

"Stacy and Will yelled at each other a lot, and then Stacy went to sleep on the couch. And then the next morning they locked themselves in the bedroom and wouldn't let me in while they made weird noises."

"Ah." Stacy had told her about that. It wasn't always the healthiest thing she could do, but Stacy genuinely thought it helped so Trina wasn't able to do much to dissuade her. "Did they come out at some point during the day?"

"Yeah, eventually! But it was boring as hell until then." A pause. "They banned me from Netflix, too, cause Stacy said what I was watching was a bad influence on me."

"Well that's too bad." She kept her tone sympathetic. "What else do you do during the day?"

"Watch TV."

"Besides that."

"Oh." Scout sat up, thinking. "Nothing- Well, I do hang out with Stacy a lot."

"Hmmm." Trina wrote that down in her notes. "Have you tried to find something other than TV? A hobby of some sort, or even a game to play?"

"I do play this game called Kirby sometimes." She admitted. "It's... kinda fun."

"Have you beaten it yet?"

"I mean... no..." She looked away, playing with the edge of her shirt.

"Maybe you should try and do that. Could be more fun than just watching Netflix all day." She kept her voice upbeat, and tried to figure out something else the Puppet could do besides TV.

"Maybe..." She looked around the room, eyes never stopping on one spot for too long.   Trina waited patiently, pen tapping lightly against her notebook. "... Something happened last night. Something... kinda bad."

"Oh?"

Scout nodded. "Sometimes, when Stacy wakes up and doesn't know where I am, she'll... take over my body. Not to do bad stuff though!" She was quick to assure when she Trina's face. "It's just to, y'know, see where I am. She gets worried when she can't find me."

Stacy had mentioned that. Apparently she now brought Scout everywhere with her, including to her programming job. "What made last night so different then."

"Well, normally I just sort of... float? I guess? When she does that. But, last night, I... woke up in her body."

Trina blinked. "Well, I suppose it makes sense that would happen-"

"No it fucking doesn't!" Scout shouted, cutting her off. "It's a bad thing! Very fucking bad!"

"Well, why do you say that?"

"Because it means that our fucked up link is evolving!" Scout told her in a 'duh' tone of voice. "Who knows how it could change from here!"

"Is it possible that you've always been able to do that, but just never did before now?" Trina asked.

That gave her pause, and seemed to calm her down a bit. "... I don't know. Maybe." She shrugged. "I... never really wanted to try before..."

Trina nodded, adding another note to her paper. "What happened next after you... woke up in Stacy's body."

"Well, we both flipped our shit, which woke Will up and then he flipped his shit. And then he and Stacy yelled for a while before he left and we managed to, uh, swap back." Scout scratched the side of her head, thinking. "And then Will came back with something, and he and Stacy fought some more."

"What did they fight about?"

"The thing Will brought back. It's some sort of a toy, like a psychic test." She scowled. "He made us sit there and do it, right then."

"The Waygetter one?" At Scout's confused look, she waved the question away. "Never mind. What were the results?"

------

"100 percent psychically linked." Stacy said, arms folded and stoic look on her face. "Not that I didn't already suspect, but I'd prefer a real test to a Waygetter "toy"."

"Of course you would, considering your past." Trina said, jotting down notes. "Did anything happen after that?"

The young woman shrugged. "Not a lot, mostly just went back to bed. I thought about banishing Will to the couch for his betrayal, but decided against it."

"Good." She nodded. "Banishing him over something so small, and when he was just trying to help, could lead to resentment building up later on."

"Yeah yeah." She kept her arms crossed, eyes trained on the floor. "Scout was pretty upset about it, though. But she's upset about a lot of stuff cause she feels guilty."

"Really now?" Trina jotted that down. "How do you know about that?"

"Psychic link." Stacy raised a single eyebrow. "Duh."

Trina sighed. "Has anything else happened lately? Made any friends at your job?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "This one woman, Chell, talks to me sometimes. She knows sign language, which is kinda cool I guess. But, I wouldn't say we're friends."

"Maybe you should focus on making friends with her. It seems like you two already have something in common already."

"Mm." Stacy looked away, tapping the fingers of her prosthetic against her flesh arm. It was pretty scary to look at, but it didn't stop her from wearing a spaghetti strap, leaving the limb on full display. Trina had also taken note of that, attributing it more to the woman's anti-social behavior than confidence or a strong body image.

"You can't rely on Will's friends forever, Stacy." She told her. "You need a life outside of him. It's not healthy to center everything around him."

"Easy not to lose everything if you don't have anything." She retorted. "I have Will, and I have Scout. They're all I need for now."

"What about your brother?" She looked away. "Or your father? Have you talked to either of them recently?" Silence was the answer, and Trina only sighed, used to it by now. "Your homework this week is to call your family for once. You need to repair your connections to them."

"I need to convince Scout to drop her guilt."

"That's my job." Trina gave a small smile that went ignored. "I'm serious about talking to your family though. Especially if you plan on getting into more... situations like this one. How would Danny feel if you died, and nobody would tell him anything about it?"

Stacy shrugged, and Trina sighed again. "Call your father. Text your brother. Make a new friend. Do one of these three things before our next appointment, okay?" She ordered as the timer dinged, signalling the end.

"Fine." The woman ground out, standing up and straightening her top. She accepted the offered prescription, then left the room. She stopped just briefly to grab her bag from Molly, the receptionist, and then went out to her truck. Scout popped out of the bag as she exited the building, and Trina sighed as she watched them.

They truly were an odd pair, and Trina hoped things worked out for them. She certainly couldn't imagine it could get any worse, anyways.

[phyripo]

33 with EstLiet? 👀

33. “You’re cute with glasses.”

Yeee! I’m so sorry that this took an actual century! What happened is: I wrote three separate stories for this prompt pretty quickly, didn’t like two of them and accidentally turned the third into a different pairing (but I did like it so I will post it in the near future), got discouraged, read the entirety of Return of the King in procrastination, and then I wrote this high fantasy... Thing. Honestly, I’m still not sure I’m satisfied and it’s very Out There considering the prompt but yeaH,, I hope you like it anyway :V

uhh so names are pretty straightforward but y’know, Tolys is Liet, Eduard is Est, Raivis is Lat, Erzsébet is Hun and Nadzeya is Bela c:

--

Finally, they have arrived in the southern Elven kingdom, and Tolys’s Elvish traveling companions have been whisked away by their kin immediately, expectedly. This has left him with only Raivis, who is sitting on a high table and looking around in wonder at the Elven building. His small legs swing out as he leans back on his hands.

“I knew we were traveling with an Elven Queen,” he says, “but this is all so incredible!”

Tolys nods. He could never have predicted that his search for his family’s long-lost heirlooms might lead him to find company in not only Raivis, who is most likely the first of his kind to travel so far south, but also in a party of three northern Elves seeking to join their kin in the newly reclaimed southern kingdom. Let alone could he have foreseen, of course, that one of them would actually be the Queen-in-exile.

“Everyone will be so jealous back home,” Raivis is now saying, as he inspects the fine, light clothes the Elves have gifted them. Although the lands remain yet war-torn, the Elves of the south have been more than generous to the Halfling and the Man. Tolys wagers that Erzsébet has been exaggerating their involvement in overcoming the obstacles on the way here. She acted as the Queen’s guard and became fond of Raivis in particular, having hardly met his kind before.

It's also difficult not to be fond of Raivis in general, Tolys thinks.

As approachable as Erzsébet was, with none of the expected Eleven superiority or contempt, so closed off and cool were Queen Nadzeya and the Elven clerk, Eduard. At least, when first they met. Both of them looked like northern Elves, tall and pale with hair of starlight and eyes like the lakes in their kingdom, and Tolys had been starstruck by their otherworldliness, thinking at first that Eduard must be a prince himself. However, he was merely a scribe, traveling along to record the Queen’s journey south, and he was, in fact, Erzsébet’s cousin.

“Do you think we’re allowed to leave?” Raivis asks, jumping the considerable height off the table so that his bare feet thud on the wooden floor. The buildings here have been rigged up by some ingenious engineering, or perhaps magic, between the jagged mountains and the unnaturally tall trees.

Many of the trees were felled over the past centuries, since the Elves were driven away far before Tolys was born, and more yet torn down in the battle to reclaim the land. It hadn’t been difficult to feel his companions’ sorrow as they entered their kingdom. Erzsébet had appeared particularly upset at the jagged wood, and Eduard had sung softly to the earth itself. New sprouts were already coming up.

Tolys imagines Raivis wants to take a look at the young trees himself—Halflings, that much he has learned, have a fondness for all growing things.

“We weren’t told to stay here, were we?”

Raivis shrugs, standing on his tiptoes to peer out of the window. His blond curls barely reach the edge. He gasps.

“Tolys, Nadzeya is coming over here!”

Raivis never quite warmed up to the Queen, which, in all honesty, Tolys doesn’t blame him for. She is so intimidatingly beautiful that it’s difficult to see past. It took him many weeks, and he attributes it to his upbringing more than anything.

Now, he stands and opens the door at her knock.

Unsure what the proper Elven greeting for a monarch is, he bows.

“Welcome, Your Majesty.”

Raivis follows his example, albeit with a stutter and clasping his hands together in what must be the way of the Halflings.

Nadzeya blinks, silent. Her eyelids are painted dark as ever—apparently a sign of mourning in the north, for family she lost in the battle for the south. Erzsébet had marked her body with intricate ink patterns in the southern way. Eduard had cut his hair short. He had, he told Tolys, lost his younger brother in the fight led by the southern Prince.

It’s still difficult to believe that he is related to Erzsébet. They look so little alike.

All of a sudden, Nadzeya laughs, just for a second as if startled into it. It definitely startles Tolys and Raivis in turn.

“Your—” Tolys starts. She shakes her head sharply.

“Oh, please, I’ve had enough of that for a few centuries. Eduard is looking for you, I think you’ll find he has important news.” She rolls her eyes. “The idiot.”

Tolys bristles a little on Eduard’s behalf, and Nadzeya snorts in the most un-royal manner. She isn’t wearing any kind of crown now, not even the silver circlet she wore to travel. Her hair is, in fact, completely unbound. He knows that is unusual for Elves. Maybe, it’s part of some sort of ceremony or ritual.

“Where can I find Eduard…” He bites his lip. It feels strange not to add an honorific. “My Lady?”

“You know what, even that’s too much.” Nadzeya’s expression is unreadable, as usual. “As for Eduard; he is, of course, in the library. We have some extensive genealogies preserved of important families of Men.”

“Ah,” Tolys breathes, now recognizing the amused spark in her eyes. “Yes, of course. Where…”

Gesturing, Nadzeya says, “That way, the building says library. I know you read Elvish.”

“Shall I come?” Raivis asks nervously, glancing up at the Queen. Tolys shakes his head.

“I’ll return shortly.”

As he leaves, he hears Nadzeya say something dry to the Halfling, and hopes he will be all right.

It seems odd for the Queen to be out like this, but then again, what does he really know about Elvish traditions? Let alone courtly ones? Perhaps, this is just how it goes around here.

It is a short walk to the library, and he meets no one on his way there. More Elves are expected to arrive over the coming year, to help restore the kingdom and make it the thriving realm it once was, but as of yet, very few are here.

Eduard is easy to spot. The Elf sits by a window, pale hair shimmering in the golden sunlight. He’s shielding a scroll from the sun, long fingers skimming over the parchment. With his other hand, he adjusts—

“I have never seen an Elf wear eyeglasses before,” Tolys finds himself saying.

Eduard starts, looking up at him through the round spectacles, pinched on his nose with golden a golden frame.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

At that, he smiles and shakes his head. He carefully rolls the scroll and slides it back into its casing.

“I don’t mind at all.” He adjusts the frames, smiling faintly. “It’s good to have them back. My handwriting is much better when I can see what I’m writing.”

Tolys takes a seat at the high desk across from his Elven friend, glancing down at the scroll’s tube. He bites down on a wry smile.

“That’s good. They look nice. You’re—you’re cute with glasses.”

“That…” Eduard is stunned silent, which is endearing, and obviously not thinking about the scroll at all, which is good. “Cute?”

“Hm.” Tolys bites his lip and leans his chin in his hand. “Like a young Halfling would be, I imagine.”

“I’ve never—do you know how old I am?”

Interested, Tolys leans forward. He actually does not know. It was enough to understand that he was the youngest in their little company. Raivis, despite appearances, is almost forty years old, a few years older than Tolys. Halflings age slowly. Elves, of course, hardly age at all.

“Two thousand two hundred and twenty-two years old, and you call me cute.” He sounds more amused than indignant. It’s quite a pleasant sound.

“That’s a nice number,” Tolys says absently, much more interested in the sparkle that has entered Eduard’s light eyes than the glasses itself.

“I suppose it is.” He glances away. Sighs, and laces his long, elegant fingers together in front of his chest. “I was injured during the first battle. It damaged my sight.”

“I apologize.”

“No need. Most Elves use charms to see when such injuries occur, but we passed through a human kingdom on the way north, where I was introduced to eyeglasses like these. I find that they’re much less straining.”

Tolys know the story of the Elven refugees well.

“The kingdom of Vilnius,” he whispers. He cannot help but look at the scroll again, the familiar crest on the case. If his father had known the Elves kept all those histories here, protected for centuries…

“Indeed.”

They study each other for a long while. Tolys knows he doesn’t look like much to an Elf, even after being given the opportunity to bathe in a natural hotspring and festooned with an outfit far too fine for the likes of him. He isn’t terribly tall, and his brown hair is always a mess, curling when he doesn’t want it to and getting in his face despite his best efforts. Eduard is… Well, he’s an Elf. While they were on the road, it was easy to imagine that they were friends, and perhaps they are, still. But Tolys has no illusions that it will be the same. That he will ever get the chance to address the profound trust he has in Eduard, the appreciation for his almost Mannish groundedness but Elven whims at the same time.

Especially not when Eduard, who’s possibly the smartest being Tolys has ever met, clearly know that Tolys has lied to him, if just by omission.

“I met Queen Saulė, as we fled north,” Eduard eventually says, voice soft. “They said she had eyes like the plains of her kingdom, but they reminded me of the forest I left behind.”

Tolys lowers his own eyes. He studies the elegant woodgrain of this desk, that had stood here for all that time. It must have been protected somehow, and it wouldn’t surprise him if Eduard himself had placed the guarding charms.

“I know you looked familiar.”

With a sigh, he meets Eduard’s eye.

“I am the first in a long time, my father has told me, to have her eyes.” He tucks his hair away. “He saw it as a sign, especially after the Elves went south. It’s an age for reclaiming, he said.”

“Maybe, he was right,” Eduard says, looking thoughtful. “When Vilnius fell and your people were exiled like mine, the north came to their aid. We weren’t many and couldn’t fight for the realm, but we have since preserved the symbols of Queen Saulė’s power. Your family’s power.”

“What?” Tolys blurts. In his shock, he nearly topples of his stool, and Eduard grasps his arm, fingers cool through his fine green tunic. He smiles.

“That is what your father wants you to find, isn’t it?”

Tolys nods, wide-eyed.

“My people will bring the Sunstaff south. You may take it, and we would send Elves with you to take Vilnius, if you wish.”

“That—no—but.” Tolys takes a very deep breath. “I’ve lied to you. I lied to the Queen. Will Nadzeya even—”

Eduard ducks his head, clearing his throat. The pointed tips of his ears flush.

“I lied,” Tolys repeats faintly. Raivis knew, because just wanted to help, but…

“Yes, you did, but it’s no matter.” Again, Eduard clears his throat, and he finally removes his hand from Tolys’s arm to adjust his eyeglasses. “Not when your lie was no greater than any of ours.”

“What do you mean?”

He keeps fiddling with his glasses. The gesture is endearing, strangely.

“I hope… I hope you can forgive us—me. It would be a terrible loss to lose your…” He meets Tolys’s gaze, his eyes like sea-glass, strong yet brittle and colored like a quiet tide. “Companionship.”

“Nadzeya isn’t the Queen, is she?”

“Nadzeya is a northern noble. Her brother and sister followed my brother as he rode out.”

“Your brother.”

“I tried to stop him, but he was so young, barely an adult when we left the south. I always knew he would be the one to lead the quest, and I think I always knew I would lose him for it.”

“Your brother led the Elves?” Tolys feels quite heavy as the understanding of what this means dawns on him. “Your brother was the Prince-in-exile.”

“He was.” He sighs. “And a stubborn fool, too.”

“But that means you…” He bites his lip. “Erzsébet is the Queen.”

“Indeed. We decided to travel incognito.”

There had been some skirmishes on the road, nasty traveling beasts and Men who always went for Nadzeya on her horse, attracted to her gown and jewels even if they weren’t aware she was the supposed Queen. Tolys had thought it seemed inadvisable to travel with such a small party, at least at first. Erzsébet, who not only had mourning inks but also warrior’s lines and scars across her body, could probably have fought all the enemies off by herself, especially because they never paid attention to her, but Tolys was glad to help, and Nadzeya defended herself admirably with an innate magic that hurt Tolys’s eyes and head whenever he tried to look at the crackling darkness.

More than before, he feels for Nadzeya, because her position in this was one where she could be killed, and she had evidently taken that risk willingly.

Eduard wasn’t much of a fighter, but he held his own, and so did Raivis, much to the Elves’ surprise. Tolys already knew Halflings were a hardy folk.

“But… Why put any of you in danger like that?” he asks. “Why not travel with the larger caravan, or pretend none of you were royalty?”

Eduard smiles wryly, pushing his short hair away from his handsome face.

“It was known the Queen would travel south—rumors have wings—and the larger caravan will also have an Elf pretend to be her. It was mainly Erzsébet’s idea to go swiftly, before the enemies gather larger groups.” He sighs. “I am sorry I couldn’t tell you. I don’t wish to lose your trust.”

Tolys reaches across the desk, although he refrains from touching the Elven clerk.

“You haven’t.”

And, really, it is easy to see how this was the best decision given the circumstances, similar to how he hid the nature of his own quest from the Elves. Eduard looks at his hand, the rough fingers so different to his own slender ones. With a curious frown, he touches them quickly.

“Then, I thank you, Tolys of Vilnius.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in return, gaze flicking to the scroll again.

“I would be honored to come with you, of course,” Eduard continues, adjusting his glasses again. “If you would have me.”

Tolys wasn’t lying, earlier. He looks younger with the spectacles. A little less ethereal, more like someone warm and trustworthy, as he truly is.

“I would be honored to share it with you, Eduard.” He curls his fingers, grazing Eduard’s warm palm.

For a while, they are both silent, gently touching across the desk. Eduard is smiling absently, those light eyes shimmering in the sunlight as it dims ever so slightly. Tolys cannot wait to show him his home; even though it will be next to nothing compared to this place, even in disrepair as the kingdom is, he will be proud to share it with the Elf.

“Oh!” Eduard says. “I had nearly forgotten. I promised Erzsébet to take you and Raivis to her. She would like to extend the official friendship of the Elves to both of your people.”

“I left Raivis with Nadzeya.” He blinks. “So she isn’t royalty at all?”

An amused little smirk crosses Eduard’s lips, and Tolys breathes out slowly, curling his fingers a little more.

“What is it?”

“If Erzsébet has any say in it, she will be.” Suddenly, he frowns, peering over his glasses. “You left Raivis with Nadzeya?”

“I’m certain he’ll be fine. He’s tough.”

Eduard looks dubious, but he stands and gestures for Tolys to follow him to the grand door of the library. It has turned dusky, and the light filters through leaves to tinge his pale hair gold and his eyes almost translucent as he stands in the arch of the doorway. There, he turns to Tolys, bowing a little to bring their faces level.

“Thank you,” he says, voice soft and Elven accent giving the words a musical lilt.

“For what?”

“Being here.” He touches Tolys’s upper arm, letting his long fingers linger. “Letting me know you.”

“Of course.”

The fingers slowly trail up to his shoulder, sliding across the smooth green fabric until the tips touch his clavicle. Tolys reaches his own hand up and covers Eduard’s with it. The Elf rests their foreheads together for a moment that feels like a promise.

Just then, they both hear Erzsébet’s distinctive laugh, echoing merrily over the carved walkways. Both of them straighten to see her coming their way, her face bright and an intricate crown of golden leaves resting on her dark hair.

“My friends!” she says, and is hauling Tolys into a hug before he can even greet her, let alone think of bowing. “I’m so glad to see our secret has not put a strain on your friendship.”

There is an emphasis on friendship that Tolys doesn’t imagine for a second is the product of her accent.

“It couldn’t have, when my own secrets are similar, Your…”

“Just call me Erzsébet. Eduard was right, then? We will be equals before long.” She smiles. “And I’m certain my cousin will be glad to help you, should you so desire.”

“Erzsébet,” Eduard says, sounding long-suffering and not at all like a Crown Prince, which he is and Tolys will be soon enough. His cheeks are getting red. Tolys didn’t know Elves blushed, but finds that he would like to see it more often. It is mesmerizing.

“There you are,” come Nadzeya’s dry tones from the direction of Tolys’s temporary home. He hears the distinctive tread of Raivis’s bare feet approaching behind her nearly inaudible footsteps, and when they come into view, the Halfling bow slightly towards Erzsébet.

“Your Majesty.”

“I tried to tell him Erzsébet would be fine,” Nadzeya informs the Queen, and Erzsébet laughs again.

“Come, we have much to talk about. Much to plan.” She gestures all of them along. Eduard touches Tolys’s wrist. Raivis catches his gaze, quirks his eyebrows and grins.

Tolys smiles back and runs his fingers along the back of Eduard’s hand. It appears the journey was worth it.

[dreaming-of-assclass]

Meet The Girls

This is an introduction fic to the OC “female virtuosos” that @fumiko-matsubara​ and I made here. I have no self-control and just had to write these girls. Senritsu and Setsuna belong to Fumiko UwU. Satomi and Shiori are mine. And Sachiko is canon!

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

“Will you stop that already?!” Senritsu Harukawa snapped, closing her compact mirror shut and glaring at the girl right next to her. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

Sachiko Ookura raised an eyebrow, pausing her feet-tapping. She leaned back into her seat, crossing her arms. “Oh, my bad. Sorry to stop you from concentrating on your lip-glossing. Yeah, that’s so important. I should’ve known better,” She sighed sarcastically.

Senritsu glared at her as she tossed the lip gloss tube back into her bag. “Maybe if you decided to wear it once in a while...”

“Oh, no. We’ve been through this, Sen. I’m perfectly fine with colored chapstick, or lipstick if I’m dressing up.”

Senritsu pouted, earning an eye-roll from Sachiko. 

The two girls couldn’t be anymore different from each other, despite being such close friends. 

Sachiko was the embodiment of “girl crush,” her natural coolness far surpassing even Hiroto Maehara. She carried herself effortlessly, and was the star ace of the renowned Girl’s Soccer Team at Kunugigaoka. She had a mouth that moved even faster than her feet, witty and able to charm everyone.

She also had one of the highest numbers of past dates and boyfriends at their school. 

Senritsu, on the other hand, was spoiled, girly and prissy. Her long dark hair was curled perfectly everyday and cascaded down her back like a princess from storybooks. Her eyes were wide and watery, contrasting her hot-headed temper and attitude.

She never shut up about all the fancy, luscious, advantages she got in life. Her dad was the founder of a popular tea company, and she loved bragging about that as well.

Their friendship was an atypical one, for sure. But honestly, the entire friend group of the five of them was...unconventional.

The door suddenly flew open, slamming against the wall and alarming both of them. Shiori Kanemoto skipped inside, carrying a thick stack of papers under one arm. “I’m here!”

“Jeez, Shiori, what the hell?” Sachiko grumbled. “That scared me.”

Shiori paused, looking at it with newfound confusion as if she had never considered that. “Oh, oops. Guess I don’t know my own strength.” She shrugged, taking a seat besides them.

 Sachiko rolled her eyes. Girl, I know you’ve never worked out a day in your life. Strength, my ass.

“You almost broke the door!” Senritsu added.

Shiori smirked. “I’m sure you and your dad could pay to repair it if I did.”

Sachiko snorted while Senritsu dropped her head down onto her desk, muttering under her breath, “I give up.”

Shiori hummed to herself as she nonchalantly flipped through her papers. She was quite the anomaly. At first glance, she looked harmless with her pink hair, petite figure, and doll-like face. 

She was not harmless though. 

She was apart of the School Newspaper, and made it her mission in life to get information on everyone. She was involved in blackmailing, caught the most popular boys cheating on their girlfriends, exposed liars, bullies...

Nothing went on in Kunugigaoka without Shiori knowing.

“God, can you be anymore obnoxious?” A haughty voice voice chimed in, and the girls looked up to see an unimpressed Setsuna Kurokawa walking in.

She flipped her hair and scowled at Shiori. “No one else but you would enter a room so annoyingly and not even apologize.”

Shiori looked unfazed. “Sorry,” She said, not sounding like it at all.

Setsuna’s eyes narrowed, but she let it go, choosing to sit beside Sachiko. 

She was quite the imposing figure, with her top-notch grades and role as the President of the Gardening Club. Setsuna was a major perfectionist who could be a good leader, if it weren’t for her proud exterior. 

She was bossy, looked down on most people, and really would only listen to one student at their school. The same person all four girls would follow without a question-

“Where the hell is Satomi?” Sachiko sighed, tilting her head back tiredly. “These meetings are always her ideas!”

Senritsu shoved her, but it hardly hurt. She wasn’t exactly an athlete. “They’re our ideas! We’ve been doing these since First Year.”

“Yeah, but she did come up with them,” Sachiko argued.

Setsuna huffed. “We’re both late since Mr Council President wanted a meeting with all of Class A after lessons. And now Satomi is meeting with the other drama students.”

“Oh?” Shiori asked, raising an eyebrow. “What was it about?”

Setsuna crossed her legs with a grimace. “You know, the usual ‘Let’s work hard, succeed, and be elites.’ That spiel.”

“Hmm...” Of course.

“Hey, Shiori?” Sachiko suddenly questioned. “Watcha got there?” She frowned slightly at the stack of papers in front of the girl.

“Oh, just some articles I’ve gotta proofread,” She replied absentmindedly.

Senritsu wrinkled her nose. “Did you downgrade or something? Since when do you proofread other’s works?”

Shiori scoffed. “No way. I’m just doing this to bide my time before I start something new. I found some pretty interesting stuff.”

There was a pause as the others stared at her. “Well?” Senritsu demanded, her eyes lighting up. “Spill!”

Shiori smirked, resting her chin on her palms. “So...there’s something sketchy going on at the mountain...”

“The Class E Mountain?”

“Yep. Apparently, some students caught people in suits walking up with a bunch of massive briefcases. And they supposedly looked like government agents.”

Sachiko raised her hands. “Woah, hold up. I’m sorry, but that sounds totally made up.”

“But I heard it from four different students!” Shiori retorted.

“Yes, but why would something go on with 3-E?” Disgust was heavy in Setsuna’s tone.

“Who knows!” Shiori admitted, a smile tugging on her lips. “But it won’t hurt to try and find out, right?”

The girls looked wary. “I don’t know, Shiori. It sounds like it’ll just be a waste of time,” Sachiko said.

“Yeah, no need to spend a single breath of air worrying about something related to 3-E, of all things,” Senritsu added scathingly.

Shiori groaned. “You’re right, but I don’t know. Call it a sixth sense or whatever, but I just feel like I should go.”

“Don’t.” The girls snapped up at the sound of a new voice joining their conversation. It was light, airy, and husky, and belonged to the last person they’d been waiting on.

Satomi Miyake strolled in, an unimpressed look on her face. Her dark curls and makeup still looked perfect, despite it now being the end of the day. She held her head up high, distaste in her eyes as she approached her friends.

“Don’t even give a thought about 3-E. They’re probably just sitting and playing in the dirt,” she said carelessly. “They’re supposed to be putting extra effort into their studies...why would anything exciting happen with them?”

The girls laughed in agreement. Shiori looked down, deciding to just give up. “Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted with a crooked smile.

Satomi dropped her bag down on a desk. “Of course I am.”

She stood tall already at 168 cm, but was even taller with her expensive designer heels. Even without that height, Satomi Miyake looked down on almost everyone, from her spot at the top of the food chain.

She was the star actress of the drama club, having gotten a lead role several different times. Most of the boys at Kunugigaoka would do anything for her. She was popular for her beauty, fashion, good grades, charisma...

And her cutthroat attitude. Anyone who tried to get in the way of her position at the top...well, their junior high experience got ruined. Satomi always found a way to keep people in place. And it was with the help of the four other girls she called friends.

“Hm, ‘don’t worry about 3-E’ you say?” Setsuna asked with a smirk. “I’d like to hear you repeat that next time I catch you staring at Sugino at an assembly.”

Satomi scowled, tossing a pencil at her, while the other girls “oohed” in interest. “I was not, but whatever. Believe what you want.”

“Okamoto said you were.”

“Why are you listening to him?!”

Senritsu cackled. “You’re getting off-subject! You were staring at Sugino!”

“I thought that whole thing was done and over with,” Shiori asked slyly, edging closer to the growing-flustered Satomi.

“It was never a thing!” She argued. “We were just...friends.” The last word was a soft mumble that was barely heard.

“Sorry, say that again?” Sachiko asked in mock seriousness, placing her hand near her ear as she scooted closer. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Me neither,” Setsuna chimed in innocently.

Satomi cleared her throat and jumped up, standing before the girls. “Anyways, we’re meeting here partly for fun, but mostly so I can remind you of some important things.”

The other four sat up straighter, watching her with mixed curiosity and apprehension.

“We’re in the 3rd year now. This is the last time we have together before our graduation and high school starts.”

She began pacing the room while the girls looked down slightly. “I know none of us want the next months to be filled with stress, exams, worry, any of that. We can handle academics on top of establishing our place at the highest spot in this school,” she spoke confidently, flashing them a smile.

She stopped, standing closer to their desks. “This is our year, dammit,” she declared. “It has to be the best. And nothing is gonna take it away from us.”

“Yeah!” The girls cheered, exchanging looks of triumph with each other.

“We should make a bucket list and everything,” Sachiko suggested.

“Yes!” Senritsu agreed, twirling her curls. “We should go skiing again.”

“And that beach resort we wanted to go to last year!” Shiori chimed in.

Satomi smiled casually, tucking her hair back in before she picked up her bag. “We can do whatever we want,” she stated decisively. “Now who wants to get manicures and bubble tea?”

This was going to be the best year of their Junior High experience.

Everything was going to be perfect.

[pechoraflow]

Promptober Masterlist

So that I don’t spam everyone 😅 I will be updating this as I post the other stories, so check back in from time to time! For now, there’s just a few clues and teasers as to what you can expect... 👀

PROMPT ONE: Dragged - MCU Speaking Isn’t Easy 1933. Tony Stark is one of New York’s crime bosses, but when he develops a soft spot for local newsie, Peter Parker, the teenager suddenly finds himself the center of unwanted attention. Tony takes Peter in for his own safety, but when their casual friendship turns into something more familial, is Peter actually safer than he was before? (Mafia AU) Related works: With A Vengeance (see prompt 8)

PROMPT TWO: Injured - Overwatch The Sacrifice of Trust When Reinhardt and Brigitte find themselves pinned down and outnumbered in Numbani, Reinhardt is forced to confront everything he has to lose, and Brigitte gets a taste of what life is like for a hero of Overwatch. Honor, glory, sacrifice. Related works: none.

PROMPT THREE: Cruel - MCU & Venom A Simple “Thank You” Eddie and Peter escape from weeks of torture, only to find that something is wrong with Peter. It’s up to Eddie to take care of the teenage superhero while they wait for Stark to show up. Related works: none.

PROMPT FOUR: Water/Fire - Avatar: The Last Airbender Pilot Zumo has lived his whole life in secret, training with Azula for the day they would be required to join the war effort with their father. He expected an eventual coronation and a lifetime spent on the battlefield; he didn’t expect to stumble upon an untrained Avatar. Now, it’s up to him and Azula to get Aang to a water bending teacher. But are there any good waterbenders left in the world? (Reverse AU) Related works: (see prompt 27)

PROMPT FIVE: Dark - Original Work Dungeons Audeen has finally found Theo, but the real culprit behind his kidnapping takes her by surprise... Related works: Loss of Wings (see prompt 17), (see prompt 26), and The Lionheart: Honor

PROMPT SIX: Formal - Detroit: Become Human Medal of Honor Hank is awarded the Medal of Honor, and Connor couldn’t be prouder. The night goes as smoothly as can be expected. That is, until the lights go out. When Connor wakes, a few questions instantly come to mind: How could he have been kidnapped from a hall full of officers? What did these apparent low-level criminals want with a state-of-the-art prototype like him? How long was he unconscious for? Why hadn’t he been rescued yet? Related works: Scars of Valor (see prompt 13)

PROMPT SEVEN: Hands - Detroit: Become Human & Alita: Battle Angel Bleed and Break RK800 is the racer for illegal fights, RK900 is the racer for the legal ones. That’s just how it is - it’s how it’s always been. However, when RK800 is bester by the new racer, North, he discovers that might not be the case. Who is “Hank”? Who is “Markus”? Does he even know who he really is? Related works: Breaking Free (see prompt 11)

PROMPT EIGHT: Frail - MCU With A Vengeance Tony is on a manhunt, searching for whoever took Peter. Thinking Steve Rogers and his gang in Brooklyn are to blame, he set out on a warpath only to find that Rogers doesn’t have anything to do with it. Tony is left with nothing. No leads, no theories, no clues...nothing, and Peter is running out of time. (Mafia AU) Related works: Speaking Isn’t Easy (see prompt 1)

PROMPT NINE: Garden - Detroit: Become Human Overheating When Connor wakes with a fever, Hank takes it upon himself to try and take care of a sick android.  Of course, he has no idea how to do that, and Connor is no ordinary android. Is there something more serious going on? Related works: none.

PROMPT TEN: Fall - My Hero Academia Natural Opposites ??????? (Murphy’s Law) Related works: none.

PROMPT ELEVEN: Family - Detroit: Become Human Breaking Free Connor sets out to rescue Nines from Zlatko and finally reunite their whole family, but Zlatko is more sinister than they gave him credit for. Connor could still lose everything, more easily than he realizes. Related works: Bleed and Break (see prompt 7)

PROMPT TWELVE: Treasure - Detroit: Become Human Fallen in a Forest Hank was sad to see Connor move out of his home and into an apartment with his girlfriend, but they had four years together. And besides, Connor insists that he’ll visit all the time. He never does, and when he starts acting strangely, Hank takes it upon himself to try and figure out what’s going on. But maybe he’s imagining things - after all, Connor says that he’s fine, and Wendy seems nice enough... Something in his gut tells him to not let it go, and he didn’t become the youngest Lieutenant in Detroit history by ignoring his gut instinct. Related works: none.

PROMPT THIRTEEN: Loss/Reunion - Detroit: Become Human Scars of Valor Connor’s been missing for five days, but finally, the DPD manage to locate him. Hank demands to be allowed on the rescue mission, but he can’t shake the feeling Connor might be broken beyond repair. He just hopes he isn’t too late. Related works: Medal of Honor (see prompt 6)

PROMPT FOURTEEN: Red - Detroit: Become Human New Son Gavin Reed used to like Hank. Used to understand him. But then, Hank went and adopted a plastic. He’s not the same guy that recruited Reed way back when. But when Gavin is kidnapped while on a stakeout with the plastic, he finds himself wondering if Hank’s change of heart wasn’t so crazy after all... Related works: New Brother (see prompt 18) and (see prompt 29)

PROMPT FIFTEEN: Feral - MCU Keep Me Safe; I Dare You ??????? (Monster AU) Related works: none.

PROMPT SIXTEEN: Sweet - Detroit: Become Human Disconnect Hank is sick, and it’s up to Connor to take care of him. The only problem? Hank is very irritable when he’s feverish, and their relationship is still delicate. Connor finds himself navigating an emotional minefield, but what else is new? Related works: (see prompt 20)

PROMPT SEVENTEEN: Wings - Original Work Loss of Wings Clover is captured by bandits. Unfortunately, sprite wings make popular accessories for the nobles... Related works: Dungeons (see prompt 5), (see prompt 26), and The Lionheart: Honor

PROMPT EIGHTEEN: Bruises - Detroit: Become Human New Brother When Gavin and Connor are kidnapped by a new drug ting and taken to the middle of nowhere in Michigan winter, Gavin finds himself having to rely on Connor. Gavin isn’t happy about it, but they’re in it together. They’ll get out of this together. Connor has different priorities. Related works: New Son (see prompt 14) and (see prompt 29)

PROMPT NINETEEN: Horns - Detroit: Become Human Lies and Illusions ??????? (DnD AU) Related works: (see prompt 22) and (see prompt 28)

PROMPT TWENTY: Tears/Fracture - Detroit: Become Human Recalculating ??????? Related works: (see prompt 16)

PROMPT TWENTY-ONE: Forgotten/Stars - MCU A Hundred Times Before ??????? Related works: none.

PROMPT TWENTY-TWO: “You deserve this...” - Detroit: Become Human Oaths and Truths ??????? (DnD AU) Related works: (see prompt 19) and (see prompt 28)

PROMPT TWENTY-THREE: Protect - MCU Red and Blue Blood ??????? (DBH AU) Related works: none.

PROMPT TWENTY-FOUR: Sweater - Detroit: Become Human Blue Christmas ??????? Related works: I Trust Myself to be Deadly

PROMPT TWENTY-FIVE: Sunflower - Detroit: Become Human Runway Run Away ??????? Related works: none.

PROMPT TWENTY-SIX: Leaving - Original Work The Logical Conclusion ??????? Related works: Dungeons (see prompt 5), Loss of Wings (see prompt 17), and The Lionheart: Honor

PROMPT TWENTY-SEVEN: Scars - Avatar: The Last Airbender The Storm ??????? (Reverse AU) Related works: Pilot (see prompt 4)

PROMPT TWENTY-EIGHT: Run - Detroit: Become Human Past and Present ??????? (DnD AU) Related works: (see prompt 19) and (see prompt 22)

PROMPT TWENTY-NINE: ???? - Detroit: Become Human New Father ??????? Related works: New Son (see prompt 14) and New Brother (see prompt 18)

[hihoneyimdead]

a dissection of anime nathaniel hawthorne in relation to the scarlet letter

In Which I’m Bored and Want to Talk About Anime Nathaniel Hawthorne and Why He’s More Interesting Than the Fandom Wants to Admit, and Also About Arthur Dimmesdale And Shit

This is going to be long. Fuck. 

(spoilers through the manga, which i have not read all the way through, so take everything i say with a grain of salt. same goes for the scarlet letter, which i haven’t read in nearly four years. ripperoni bro)

Above is the topic of today’s procrastination, Anime Nathaniel Hawthorne from Bungo Stray Dogs. He is a member of an American organization called the Guild, he’s a preacher, and he has a superpower/ability called The Scarlet Letter that allows him to manipulate his own blood into scripture that can either harm or defend via spears and shit and then shields and shit. 

He’s also a simp for Anime Margaret Mitchell, but I’ll be getting into that in a moment. 

Anyway, here’s a better picture of our lovely reverend, this time with his ability:

Funny, right? But that’s what I’m gonna talk about today simply because I’m bored and I should be writing but I’m currently not and I really have a soft spot for this bitch of a preacher. Hawthorne here has a lot more to his character than a lot of people give him credit for, which makes sense because he is a relatively-minor character and all he’s been doing recently is getting cucked by Anime Fyodor Dostoevsky, and while he may currently be Comrade Assassin, he’s still a complex character if you look past what our favorite Russian pimp has been up to. 

So a bit more about Hawthorne before I crack open my copy of his most famous book:

He is a preacher, not a priest, as shown by his choice in clothing. Priests don’t wear that, take it from a former Catholic. His clothes resemble the robes worn by classic Puritan preachers (such as the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, but we’ll get to him in a minute.) Whether that was on purpose or not I don’t know, but I’m aiming for a yes because Margaret Mitchell, his partner, wears a Southern belle-style outfit that Scarlett O’Hara (the main character of Mitchell’s most famous work, Gone With the Wind) wears, and John Steinbeck wears clothes reminiscent of Tom Joad (the main character of Steinbeck’s most famous work, The Grapes of Wrath.) It’s kind of a thing with the Guild. Edgar Allan Poe wears clothes that a goth around the time of Poe’s life would’ve worn. Same goes for Louisa May Alcott, Mark Twain, and H. P. Lovecraft. Meanwhile characters such as Lucy Maud Montgomery, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Herman Melville wear clothes that their characters (Anne from Anne of Green Gables, Jay Gatsby from The Great Gatsby, and whoever the fuck was in Moby Dick, respectively.) Hawthorne fits in with that last set of characters, which is funny considering the real life Hawthorne’s works.

In reality, Nathaniel Hawthorne was an American author in the early-to-mid-1800s who wrote many short stories, novels, and poems and shit, usually Romantic in nature. He started off, though, as a big member of the Transcendentalist movement. Transcendentalism, if you don’t know, is kind of like the 1800s equivalent of hippies. They were pretty anti-government and anti-religion, usually specifically anti-Christianity. These institutions corrupted the basis of mankind. Hawthorne himself helped form a utopian commune up in New England (it didn’t last long, don’t worry.) As he grew older, he grew out of that kind of writing and lifestyle and into the works we know him for today, such as his most famous novel, The Scarlet Letter. It, like many of his other works, contains allusions to religion and exists as a sort of criticism on it. 

The Scarlet Letter is set in the middle of the 1600s in Puritan New England. The Puritans were known for being Super Christian. They did not pass the vibe check. The main character is Hester Prynne, a young woman convicted of adultery with an unknown father. After being “released” from prison after the birth of her daughter, Pearl, Hester is allowed to move around outside of prison. But to signify her “evilness”, she must have a red letter ‘A’ on the front of her dress at all times (the eponymous and extremely metaphoric scarlet letter.) Besides Hester and Peal, main characters include Roger Chillingsworth, a doctor and Hester’s ex-husband from England who has vowed to track down the father and have him punished as well, and the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale, who is sick All of the Time For No Apparent reason. By the end of the novel it’s revealed that Dimmesdale’s illness is actually a manifestation of his guilt because he was Pearl’s father despite him being a reverend and all and Hester being an unmarried woman. He ends up dying in the end after professing his guilt and showing the town the red letter ‘A’ that God supposedly engraved upon the skin on his chest. 

So let’s start here with a brief summary of Dimmesdale’s actions in the book as recalled by someone who hasn’t read it in four years but who is looking at the Wikipedia article right now. 

We first meet him when he and another minister, John Wilson, question Hester as to who the father of her child was. She doesn’t answer. The next time we see him in person is when Hester goes to the governor to ask if she can keep Pearl. She pleads with Dimmesdale and Wilson (who is there too for some reason), and he manages to persuade the governor to let her keep her child. At some point soon after, his health really begins to decline, and Chillingsworth moves in as a physician. Chillingsworth discovers a weird symbol of guilt on Dimmesdale’s chest while the poor guy sleeps after suspecting that the preacher’s illness is a manifestation of an unknown guilt. Dimmesdale, filled with guilt, goes to the town square in the middle of the night one day and screams his guilt to the heavens, but he can’t make himself do it during the day. Hester, shocked by the poor guy’s whole deal, decides to break her vow of silence. She calls Dimmesdale outside of town and tells him that they’re going to move to Europe together and start a new life with Pearl. He agrees and seems reinvigorated. They go back to town, and all’s fine until he gives a really good sermon on Election Day. After that, he professes his guilt and dies in Hester’s arms. People there claim to see a “stigma” in the shape of a letter ‘A’ on his chest, though others say there’s nothing there. 

Dimmesdale is a man consumed by his guilt. He physically and mentally declines because of his guilt and his unwillingness to expose himself for the sinner he really is, though, through it all, he supports Hester and Pearl as best he can considering his station as the town minister. He’s supposed to be the beacon of mortality, the person everyone should look up to and respect and learn from. And here he is, an adulterer, and a liar. And when he finally grows past his guilt and decides to let it out in favor of leaving and starting life anew, he dies, consumed, supposedly, by the wrath of God. He “falls” as a sinner, struck down by the very flames of Hell themselves. Or, more likely, a regular heart attack. He died of shock, poor guy. 

Compare that to Anime Nathaniel Hawthorne. He starts out as a member of a secret association who, according to its leader, Fitzgerald, doesn’t do good, but does what needs to be done. That’s probably why Hawthorne joined it in the first place. While his main goal has always been eradicating sinners from the face of the Earth, he probably started out as a regular old minister. Eradicating doesn’t always mean killing, and this is shown as he only attacks those who threaten his work, his partner (wink), and himself. This changes after the woman he loves throws herself in the way of an attack and nearly gets herself killed saving him. In canon, she’s still in a coma. In canon, he gave himself completely into sin because of his guilt and love for her. And that’s where the similarities between Hawthorne and Dimmesdale really start.

Let’s start with the obvious guilt complex. This goes along with what I believe Dostoevsky’s ability, Crime and Punishment, does. I believe it feeds off of an individual’s guilt, manipulating it and their mind in the process. We see this with Karma, a young man Dostoevsky kills. Karma, in his last moments, goes through all he went wrong with in his life (you know, or as much as a manga page or two can have) and dies knowing that he’ll never achieve his dream. That’s a more extreme example, I think, and not one I should really be using as evidence for anything considering it’s the only example of this really happening. Every other person that Dostoevsky kills with his ability just drops dead without the audience seeing into their thoughts. He’s got an insta-kill ability, but my theory builds off the idea that he can control living or dying. Hawthorne came to Dostoevsky to work for Dostoevsky’s organization, the Rats in the House of the Dead, in exchange for Mitchell getting “revived”. He might look cool on the outside, but he left the Guild, his friends, because Mitchell got hurt. He loves her, and he says as much in the manga (the anime didn’t say so, but left it unsaid and obvious to those looking.) The next time we see Hawthorne, he’s a mindless assassin who really only remembers Mitchell from his past, and the assassin who nearly killed her. His guilt twisted him into someone completely different from how he was before, even looking physically leaner and as different a brief appearance in a manga and anime can make someone look. He’s even lost his glasses, and any normal look in his eye. It’s kinda like the main character of Crime and Punishment from what I can tell, but I also haven’t read that book so take what I say on that with a gain of salt.) He’s consumed by his guilt (thanks, Fyodor.) Guilt is a big part of his character (as much of a character as he has currently, anyway.) The same can be said for Dimmesdale, who, as I’ve said before was consumed by his own guilt and sin until his death. 

I hope that Hawthorne doesn’t end up as dead as Dimmesdale did when he reunites with his supposed love interest (love interests aren’t really a thing in this series, which makes Hawthorne and Mitchell even more interesting to me.) I hope he gets a happy ending, but... that probably won’t happen unless Dostoevsky dies, which seems like an end-game thing to me. He’s a bad dude with slight plot armor. 

Anyway, past the guilt, their relationship with the respective women in their lives is another important and interesting parallel. Dimmesdale, even through Hester’s punishment, more or less treats her as he would’ve before Pearl. I believe that he did truly love her in his own pitiful way, though not as much as he loved his relationship with God, as seen by his continued guilt and shit. But it’s important to note that he seemed to admit his own love for Hester by agreeing to run away to Europe with her, and he did so in little ways throughout the story by helping her keep Pearl and by really just giving her a lighter sentence than a lot of women would’ve gotten. Puritan ministers were up there with government officials in the law (look at the witch trials, for example), so he would’ve definitely had input on her punishment. Most women would’ve been stoned or banished from the town or colony. Hester, notably, was let off relatively easy with just the emblem and the vague banishment to living in a house outside of town alone with her daughter. Hawthorne’s partner was Margaret Mitchell, and from the very beginning until the assassin skewered them, the two of them argued. Honestly, they bickered a lot like an old married couple. It was kinda cute in a weird way. Neither of them would obviously admit their feelings for each other. Both are proud people, Mitchell coming from a disgraced rich family and Hawthorne being a man of God. But his concern for her becomes evident the moment she gets stabbed clean through and impaled a dozen feet above the ground. That’s when he really gets on the offensive, and when she’s destroyed (image below), he calls her by her first name for the first, and only, time, looking completely destroyed (image also below.) He nearly manages to kill the assassin. And when he wakes up and sees that she isn’t going to wake up, he leaves those he cares about to fix his mistake of letting her get this hurt.

When we see Hawthorne next, he is willing to do anything to redeem himself for his mistake. When we meet him as an assassin for the first time, in the manga he says something along the lines of “I, for the revival of the one I love, will fulfill the contract of death”. Which is... not normal, I’ll admit. Poor guy. In the anime, he says something different that I don’t remember, but that was similar if not slightly different (again, the anime isn’t as explicit with their relationship as the manga.) Meanwhile she’s in a coma and is likely not to be revived by those Hawthorne pledged his allegiance to, but those he left behind. 

The two ministers here follow generally the same path of sin. They start out as the badass ministers they really are, men of God. Then, one way or another, they fall deeper and deeper into sin as they go. For Dimmesdale, that was boning Hester Prynne and hiding it from the town and corrupting himself with his guilt. For Hawthorne, that was ‘allowing’ his partner to ‘die’ and surrendering himself to a higher power to try and get her back, losing himself in the process. In the end, both men are shells of their former selves. Dimmesdale dies sick. Hawthorne is a brainwashed assassin. Dimmesdale’s higher power, God, is ultimately what killed him, and his devotion is what really did him in. Hawthorne is probably gonna die or get otherwise written out, I have a feeling (several villains in this show have, just look at Pushkin and Mark Twain and even Mitchell herself.) If he is, it’ll be Dostoevsky or one of his weird Russian friends doing him in or taking him out of the picture. He’ll likely never see Mitchell again and he will die due to his newfound devotion to a “god” who is willing to punish him for going to far. 

And guys, Hawthorne’s ability is literally the titular scarlet letter. What else can I say?

Honestly, I’m not sure what this post was, only that I killed a good three hours writing it and that it gave me yet again a newfound appreciation for something I used to hate. It was Anime Hawthorne, but before that it was IRL Hawthorne and The Scarlet Letter. Thank you American public school system. 

[xacesxofxheartsx]

Wrapping Paper

Name: Wrapping Paper Fandom: Epic Seven Category: M/M Words: 3077 Pairing: Kayron/Vildred 

Kayron eyed the Yule tree, which was currently strapped down in the wagon, trying to process the sheer size of it. Would it even fit in Vildred’s home? He had thought the other man was a little more...moderate in his choice of trees, but apparently not. Then again it was the butler’s decision, which made Kayron wonder why Vildred would even let the aging man pick out the tree. Truth be told, as much as he may have wondered, he really did not care. Frankly, what they did was no concern of his. He was only there because well, Vildred was. He likes observing his enemy turned ally; it lets him learn more about him. See what he can use against him. (Plus he likes being able to enter the other’s home and a tree that size…well he held doubts they could fit it through the door).  

He’s learned that the man is steadfast, that he did what he thought was right and damn the consequences. That he was a talented swordsman, gaining the rank of general rather quickly and at young age too. That he had a teacher from the East, whom had gifted him the sword he wields. That even though he does not see him often, Vildred holds a soft spot for the tiny prince of Ezera. These things, and many more, Kayron’s learned through observation and through conversations. The acolyte was able to use the first two to his advantage in turning the man against the Heir of the Covenant through the truth Ras Elclare has concealed.  

He does not care for what reasons the stubborn thorn might have for doing so; only that he was able to use it to his advantage.  

“I do think this spruce will make for a lovely tree,” the Butler was saying, drawing the acolyte’s attention again. “Will you be using the heirloom ornaments or the ones gifted to you by Her Royal Majesty?”

“Hmm.” Vildred’s face took on a thoughtful expression. “Why not both this time?”

“Both?”

“Both. I think both will look good on the tree.”

“And does your friend think? He should have some input as well.” the Butler turned to Kayron, who was somewhat startled for a moment at being addressed, even indirectly, before remembering that he was there among the two, disguised, having shifted his form hours ago so as to not raise neither alarm nor suspicion. The Butler though he was a friend of his master’s from another country, visiting for the holidays. Only Vildred knew the truth and he’d like to keep it that way.

Otherwise blood might have to be spilled.

Pushing the sunglasses further upon his nose—an odd choice of wear considering that though it was midday, it wasn’t very sunny, but they were necessary to hide his eyes—Kayron said, “I think both would look gaudy. The simplistic design of the gifted ornaments would clash with the more…decorated heirloom ornaments.” By the Archdemon, he was going to be sick with this pretense, especially when referring to Diene with a respect she does not deserve, but he reminded himself that he had a role to play right now. The look Vildred gave him made it worth it.  

“I disagree,” the swordsman responded, turning towards him fully, hands on his hips. “The more complicated design would be balanced by the simplistic one.”

Kayron made a disagreeing noise and the Butler looked as though he regretted getting him involved. Good, the acolyte thought. Maybe next time he’ll think before asking for my opinion. He didn’t give a damn about the ornaments, knew nothing about design and balance himself, but oh was it great to have the general’s focus on him. It made him feel something like warmth in this body that felt very little. Plus, irritating the other man was fun. That and…other things. Finding which buttons to push to garner what reactions was something he found fascinating.

Now? The reaction was of narrowed eyes and lips pressed thin but before he could say anything the Butler interrupted with “Sirs, perhaps you can continue this back home? It is rather chilly and I’d like to get back before this afternoon’s tea.” Vildred snapped his head to look at his Butler and nodded. He turned on his heal and walked off, though he gave the acolyte one last look before he did so.

Covering his mouth with a gloved hand—unnecessary as acolytes do not get cold, but again he had a role to play—to cover a chuckle, Kayron followed after.

  It turns out that the tree was capable of fitting in Vildred’s home. It just took being further cut down to fit through the door, the one at the very back of the house leading to the parlor room, and all three of them pushing. Currently it laid in front of the fireplace, which was unlit. Kayron’s eyes drifted towards to ceiling. It honestly probably helped that the swordsman had a spacious home, complete with very high ceilings. Shrugging off his coat and other outerwear meant to protect from cold and snow, Vildred gestures towards the corner between the door and the fireplace, a good distance between both, muttering, “It’ll look nice here, on that white and red rug.”

It took a while, it wasn’t exactly light, but they managed to get it upright in the pot eventually. “Master Vildred,” the Butler inquired, leaning against the wall, wiping the sweat from his brow, “I love trips to town as much as you, but next year, perhaps, we get a smaller tree? I suggest small enough to place on a table.” The journey to and fro and setting up the tree has taken a lot out of him. The acolyte filed that information away. Perhaps it will be useful later.  

In Kayron’s honest opinion, they should really stop this tree tradition because, at the end of the day, he finds Yuletide is a pointless celebration. Hell, put an end to the entire holiday. He does not see the appeal; after all it means nothing when you die and what’s so great about a holiday that’s celebrated the end of the year? To remind themselves of what? Of surviving to see another year end? Of all the blessings received? What utter nonsense, he thought directing his gaze back towards the tree. Out loud he remarked, slipping back into his play-pretend, “I agree. A tree of this magnitude, it is back-breaking work and it is a surprise that we could even get it through the door. To get it to even stand up right.”

Vildred frowned. “That tree is only eight and a half feet tall. My ceilings are eleven feet in height. It’s not that surprising.”

Kayron shot a look at him, one that was equal parts mild disbelief and mild irritation. Only eight and a half feet? That came after they had cut it down again; if they hadn’t then, yes, it likely would not have been able to stand as it did now inside the house.  Lifting it hadn’t been entirely easy, since he had to watch his footing. Weight-wise, though, it posed no issue for him, but he had had to use a fraction of his actual strength so as to not rouse suspicion. Otherwise lifting that tree would have been effortless.  He was honestly looking forward to the end of this holiday so he can go back to being his self again. Pretending to be human made his skin crawl. It always has. How Tenebria could do it, changing her form to that of another’s, so freely, so casually, so willing was something he could never fathom. Maybe it related to her goal of ‘fun’.  

He is drawn from his thoughts by Vildred grabbing one of his arms. He raised an eyebrow. The swordsman didn’t even look his way as he said, “I know it’s early, but I’m going to show ___ where in my room I keep the presents. Then he’ll help me wrap them.”

The Butler looked up sharply, pausing in his fluffing of the branches. “I could—“

Vildred held up a hand to forestall him. “I know you could.” He smiled gently. “But if you did, then you’d know what your present was.”

The aging man looked away, embarrassment and fondness covering his features in equal measure. Evidently, this was another tradition in the general’s home. Where the man would offer to help his employer wrap the presents for Yuletide, but Vildred would always refuse, never wanting to ruin the surprise. It made Kayron want to roll his eyes witnessing it. It made him a little sick too, all this positivity. As an acolyte, a being born of negativity, one could sway that he was perhaps allergic to such things. Perhaps or perhaps his soul was just so dark that positive emotion naturally just repulsed him.  

“Come along.” Vildred turned and started shoving the shadow king in the direction of his bedroom. “The good news for you is that you don't have a gift because I forgot to buy you one. So look all you want.” That whole sentence was a gods-damn lie. Then again this whole situation was a lie. Kayron made no mention of it though; he did smirk a little, however.

Once he and Vildred were in the privacy of the latter’s bedroom, door shut and locked, he pulled off the sunglasses and gloves, tossing them, on the bed before dropping the disguise. “That was the worst spent two hours of my life,” he said after several minutes of silence passed. Vildred shrugged as though to say it wasn’t his issue and to be fair, it really wasn’t, but still the man felt a wave of irritation rush over him.  

“I don’t like,” he continued, slowly and enunciating each word clearly, “feeling as though I’ve wasted my time.”

Vildred tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards just a little bit. “Was it though? Was it really?” He folded his arms against his chest with an almost exaggerated movement. “The way I see it those two hours got you out of the house and to socialize with someone other than me.”

“Ah. Yes. Socialization,” drawled Kayron, rolling his eyes. Something he didn’t care for but only did when necessary. Only actually wanted to do when it was Vildred. He would have preferred to follow at a distance, engaging with the swordsman on an occasional basis when the aging butler was out of earshot. “I’m not really a—what do you humans call it?”

“A social butterfly,” replied Vildred, dryly, as he crossed his arms. “Do I really need to remind you that this was an idea of yours? I was content to leave you here.” Though that in itself was risky because the younger man literally admitted to him a few days ago that the thought of leaving him alone in his house as terrifying because the acolyte could, if he truly wanted to, destroy his home completely. Kayron wouldn’t do that, however, not unless he had what he felt was a valid reason to do so. He wasn’t Tenebria, destroying things and killing people out of boredom. He didn’t tell this to the younger man, though. Preferring to keep all his cards up his sleeve until it was time to show them. Also, he didn’t want Vildred getting too comfortable with having him as a housemate. Still though, between taking him along somewhere and leaving him here, he knows Vildred would sooner pick the latter.  

And that reminder had him scowling. “When I suggested it, I hadn’t meant pretending to be a human for two hours.” He really hadn’t, but it wasn’t as though he had protested against it. It had been more of a compromise, really. As mentioned previously, he would have personally preferred to follow at distance, hiding in the literal shadows most of the time, but Vildred hadn’t been comfortable with the thought; in his words it was rather “creepy” and that was fair. As much as he might not care, Vildred was still his partner, his tool, and so the man’s comfort had to be somewhat of a priority. So, they had come up with a compromise: Kayron would disguise himself for a short amount of time and help them with what they need.  

Ah. What he’s willing to do not to be bored.  

“Anyway,” he said, bringing his focus back to the other man and whatever the real reason it was that Vildred wanted him in here for because he was certain it wasn’t for gifts, "would you care to tell me why I’m here?” He blinked then, seeing Vildred dig around in his closet. It seems that while his thoughts were drifting, he had not noticed the younger man moving over to his closet. He crossed his arms, watching with a curious gaze.

“I’m looking for it,” was the reply he received. “It’s taking a bit because I need to do some donating and spring cleaning.” That comment would have had Kayron rolling his eyes for the second time that day were himself not guilty of doing spring cleaning. It isn’t easy thoroughly cleaning one’s resting domain, what with all the blood, rotting corpses, and crumbling skeletons but it has to be done. Otherwise, the place would be unlivable and the stench unbearable. Vildred mentioned something about wanting to see what it looks like, but Kayron...Kayron hadn’t been having any of that and just told him no. While he may not care about many things, that...that is the one thing he does care about. That was place where no human can go to or even leave with their mind intact should they even, somehow, succeed in entering in the first place and Vildred does not need nor should he even consider wanting to be in such a place.

Telling the swordsman no wasn’t easy. Sometimes though, he had to steel his already iron will and just refuse.

maybe he cares more than he thought.

With a little ah-ha! Vildred pulled whatever it was that he had been looking for in his closet. Kayron’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of it. It was wrapping paper and he half wanted to ask “Are you planning to wrap me up?" purely as some kind of joke but he didn't have a funny bone in him and it sounded more than a bit ridiculous. Plus, there was an implication there, that he was some kind of gift, would have had him red-cheeked had he a single ounce of true blood in his body. He cleared his throat and asked, in a deadpan tone, “You brought me up here to show me gift wrapping paper?”

Vildred shook his head. “I brought you up here to show you how to gift wrap.”  

Say what now? Learn how to gift wrap? As he doesn’t like Yuletide, and made his feelings about it quite clear many of times, it’s not a skill he actually needs. Perhaps Vildred just got tired of him doing nothing but bothering him? That’s not true, though. He stays out of the younger’s way, for the most part. Keeping to the library to read the many books there—though he’s read many of them multiple times already—or to tend to business in other places. Planning for the archdemon’s advent is not easy task after all and they have to hurry so that it all falls into place at the right moment because Ras would be waking up soon, a year or so. But he sees Vildred’s hesitation still and he knows that what will make him put everything into this plan is dependent on Ras’s answer.

he knows Ras, though. knows already that the Heir of the Covenant will not give Vildred the answer he wants to hear.  

As important as that was, the more concerning matter was Vildred wanting to teach him how to wrap presents. It’s just another instance that leaves him wondering if Vildred forgets sometimes that he’s not human. Then again maybe Vildred doesn’t forget; maybe he just thinks he needs to have fun or learn some new things. “And why is it imperative that I learn how to do such a thing?”  

“Because I need some help,” the younger replied bluntly, pulling out another roll from his closet, along with a small box, likely containing ribbons, “and I can’t ask my butler for help because I don’t want him know what I got him before Yuletide.” He turned back to the acolyte and set the items on his bed. He undid his hair and shook it out, running his fingers through it to get some of the tangles out before tying it up into a bun. Kayron had looked away, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. Damn this man for making him feel things like desire.  

“So, you’re turning to me,” the acolyte finished for him. He turned back towards the general. “Which is odd. Don’t you have others to help you?”

“I’m expected to be at the castle for the Winter festival in two days, Yuletide is the second day of the festival. If I ask for help from them, I’m not entirely sure I can expect them to keep their mouths shut.” Especially around Aither, went unsaid. He doesn’t know the boy and he frankly isn’t interested in meeting Diene’s brat, but Vildred talks about the tiny prince enough to know that when the child is curious the boy won’t stop until he gets an answer and the people around him tend to cave quickly to his demands. With few exceptions, Diene and Vildred among them.  

Kayron opens his mouth, ready to argue, to insist that there’s no need, and Vildred cuts him off with, “Think of it this way: it’s just another way to deal with Tenebria and Nilgal.” The acolyte snorted at that, though there is some appeal and humor to be found in the thought of wrapping those two up and throwing them into a chaos gate.  

“Fine,” he acquiesced, preparing to remove his gauntlets, “but only for that reason.”  

Vildred grinned a that, a genuine one reaching his eyes for the first time in years, and Kayron felt like his undead heart skipped a beat at the site. A feeling he quickly wrote off some weird distortion in how he was summoned.  

After all he was an acolyte godsdammit.

[turingtestr]

mobile post of all my information for the anon who wanted a mobile rules / bio. i could make a google docs but i’m burnt out. please also note, i haven’t even GLANCED at my bio i wrote for elijah since 2018, so uh... i should probably do that. sorry if it’s bad.

ONE. due to the nature of my roleplaying style, there will absolutely be mature themes here and there on this blog. all and any mature themes that involve sexual topics of the nsfw variety will only be written with muses that are 18+. as for those people that are 18+ that follow me, i fully understand if you do not want to write any nsfw content, and if any threads lead to that we can fade to black. just ask me, i’m fairly easy going and more than happy to make people feel welcome. it is not a requirement to rp nsfw content with me and i will never force anyone to do that. !

TWO. this is a selective/private blog. i really only roleplay with mutuals, however you’re more than welcome to reply to any of my open starters if i specify that you can but just know i might not reply because i (1) don’t know your muse, (2) have zero muse for the reply and will get to it later, (3) have no interest in the thread, or (4) am uncomfortable with something on your blog. roleplaying is also a HOBBY for me. i work full time and sometimes i genuinely cannot reply fast. if you hassle me to reply to things, i will not want to roleplay with you and it will turn me off from roleplaying with you completely. in fact, if you harrass me to reply to threads, i will automatically unfollow you because i’m not about that life of being pushed to reply to things. if you spam my follow button to try and get my attention, that will result in a soft block on your behalf. please don’t test my patience. if you do not have your ooc name on your page i will not follow you, due to me thinking hiding your ooc alias is shady and sketchy af.

THREE. i love shipping and i love roleplaying so much. this is not a single ship blog and none of the ships i portray are at the same time (unless further discussed with muns, of course).MY PRIMARY CHLOE SHIPPING PARTNER IS @TURINGTESTEE, which means that if kamski mentions chloe in a verse, he's most likely talking about this chloe. if there are any verses that kamski is going to have one single ship, i will make sure to let people know that in the verse description section once i make it. otherwise, my muse is a free for all. if i do have mains, which will be listed, they are just the people i will reply to the most, however, i won't actually limit myself to only roleplaying with them and i hope my mains respect and are comfortable with that.

FOUR. tagging triggers is something that means a lot to me as i am not comfortable with NEEDLES OR PUPPETS on my dashboard so i blacklist needles tw and puppets tw. i know it’s weird but hey, we all have our things. please let me know if you need anything tagged- even if i don’t personally follow you. you deserve a clean and safe dashboard to roleplay in. WARNING.

FIVE.anon hate will be deleted on the spot. no exceptions. i don’t care about your petty feelings and i won’t tolerate them in the slightest. i’m not here to entertain horrible people’s opinions of myself. constructive criticisms are allowed, but at the respect of myself reblogging a meme asking for it specifically.

SIX. mutuals are allowed to ask for my wire or discord, since i use both and would love to rp on both. i also play dead by daylight on ps4, so if you’d be down to game as well, feel free to hit me up there too! overwatch on ps4 is ITSGEOFFREY so you can add me there too.

SEVEN. i very rarely will send in passwords, as i do not require it and i should not have to be tested on your blog to be allowed to roleplay with someone. usually if you have a password, i genuinely just didn’t think to look for it and i apologize if this upsets you but you probably won’t see any from me.

EIGHT. please take into consideration while dealing with kamski that he has high signs of NPD & a huge god complex.

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BIOGRAPHY

NAME: Elijah Dean Kamski ALIASES: Eli, Lij, Boss, Kamski GENDER: Male AFFILIATION: Cyberlife Technologies, currently retired AGE: 36

THE START

there's many days where the kamski family would have a bit of struggles, as elijah grew up. he never knew much about his father, seeing as his father passed when he was a very young boy — no more than six. he'd never grown to know too much about him, and his mother didn't overly want to share about him, so it was safe to say the woman had a reason for not telling elijah and that was that.

growing up with a single mother who had severe epilepsy, elijah tried his very hardest to make his mother's life as easy as possible. school days would be very short considering he'd go straight home from school in order to watch after his mother. some days with his mother, depending on the medication the doctors had recommended her, would be better than others. she always appreciated her son's committment to being with her and he was determined to make life easy on the two of them. using the money she got from the state, she'd try to urge her son go into extra cirricular activiies he wanted to do, however he only dismissed the ideas, claiming that he'd rather be home. he'd use the money to spend on textbooks, wanting to develop his own version of a Vagus nerve stimulation device. one that would make sure to surge with electrical pulses before his mother even remotely had to move herself to activate the device. computer engineering was his goal, and he'd stop at nothing to get through that.

as life continued on, elijah continued to shove his head into books and continuously study. he pushed through high school faster than anyone had expected, at age ELEVEN he had shown his studies to multipile colleges, showing his theories on how to better create medical devices.

THE CHANGE

the university of colbridge had been a struggle for elijah, being the youngest student there. studying medical engineering was easy, and he had decided to double major in computer engineering as well, to perhaps attempt to integrate the two. though school was difficult, the hardest part was being away from his mother. the school had refused to let him travel back and forth, saying that freshmen had to stay on campus as apart of regulations and requirements from the state. when he started college, his mother had decidded upon asking the state for a caregiver- on the off chance that something did happen. with the VNS that was already implanted in her, she was able to have a job during the day, but the caretaker was supposed to just oversee her during the nights. it settled eli's anxiety about his mother a little bit. four months into his freshman year, eli had woken up to a call from the san antonio police, letting him know that his mother had been rushed to the hospital after having a grand mal seizure and hitting her head on their marble counters. apparently the caretaker assigned to look after his mother hadn't even shown up that night. he quickly rushed home, terrified what had happened.

something, however that night had turned elijah into a bitter person. into someone against humanity. though his mother had survived the seizure, things weren't the same for either of them. after knowing his mother's caretaker had ABANDONED her, elijah had fully decided to go more into engineering to create a way for humans to be more reliable. what was more reliable than humanity? MACHINES. something that would always obey. obedient machines that had a purpose and a task and would see it through. dropping fully out of medical engineering, elijah settled for computer science and engeineering instead. the utter drive to create a better human than humans themselves was so strong that by the age sixteen, elijah had worked together with a team of classmates to create the first medical assistant androids. REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER model 100, or RK for short. RK100 was born and tested on his mother, who seeemed quite uneasy, but only wanted to support her son.

ENTER CYBERLIFE

though it wasn't perfect, the ark series took off. mainly piquing interest in san diego, california. the backbones of the mega-billion dollar company that would be founded by elijah kamski and his cohorts suddenly had at least three hundred backers trying to support the small business after seeing what a success the RK100 was at being not only a companion for his mother, but also how helpful the RK was at it's job. the medical caretakers were able to do so much, and suddenly with the money that was being thrown at the group, elijah became more than enthused with power. hungry for it, almost.

making more medical related androids were being highly requested, and the team set out to create diffrent functions for androids, trying to perfect everything.

taking into consideration his mother — his finest mentor and most trusted support, and what she thought of the androids, he sought out to consult with his old AI professor, Amanda Stern, on how to make the androids a bit more lifelike. It was hard, at least for what his mother admitted, for a human to trust a machine that looked like a machine to help themselves out through life. upon her advice, eli threw himself into work, the team of cyberlife growing into a business, and then a wide scale company alongside elijah's work. no matter what, the man was the front of the company, having done the majority of the coding and research in what brought the androids to life. the company sought after targeting the cheapest land developments in the united states in order to make their headquarters and warehouses, bringing CYBERLIFE to DETROIT, MICHIGAN where it currently resides.

it takes kamski four years after founding cyberlife to come out with a brand new appearance for his androids. something human like after struggling and struggling to engineer the perfect components to theorize biological functions. this equiptment created became biocompotenents, but it still wasn't enough to make thes he was creating look HUMAN. but after all the struggles and finally figuring out a way to regulate something akin to blood into the android's system, elijah kamski in the year 2022 releases the RT REVOLUTIONARY TURING model; a personal assistant to elijah kamski that uses the alias ' CHLOE '. Cyberlife has been thurst into the spotlight and once again Elijah Kamski realizes that these advancements in the world have honestly made people envious. the public demands the rights to these androids and while he still is bitter over humanity and the lack of reliabilty that humans provide for the world, he obliges. Cyberlife goes public with their androids and the public are now able to put a price tag on androids.

THE REVOLUTION

the world that assumes elijah kamski is nothing but a greedy, power-hungry boss of a CEO for cyberlife overlooks one important fact: he still wants revenge on the world. his mother passes on at the age 43, a few years before his greatest mentor amanda stern passes. the loss of both role models awakens a vengeful force in elijah kamski. one that wants to remind the world that mortality is relevant for all. cyberlife has created over thousands of models, all for different functions and he looks upon his kingdom with hopeful eyes as well as bitterness. humanity has become less reliant. they've become lazier. androids have become the working force, for the most part, and while elijah sees that as a positive note because it is moving forward away from the laziness and unreliability of humanity — the CEO is fully aware that his androids are becoming more and more human like the more and more they develop. the deviant base code is never once touched. always overlooked by cyberlife developers who dare not touch the work of the first working android made by elijah kamski himself. while he's aware he, himself, is mortal just like the rest of humanity, seeing his creations become sentient, to rise up against the laziness and unreliable humanity that he lives among has been his goal. he just awaits the REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER 200 to actually get pushed to the brink of going through his code.

now it's just a game of waiting to see who pushes who, and who comes up on top. it's always a delight to play god.

THE SIBLING ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

i'm not going to be writing a brand new biography for the gavin / elijah brothers universe, but i need to work out how they can be related with my current bio, or i might just go off of a gavin's biography. shrug emote.