#but keep framing it in the language of debt

[micamicster]

My favorite thing in the untamed is how at their core all of the relationship conflicts are about fighting for the right to care about each other

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 9 || The Professor and His Student

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3.9k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——WITHIN THRITY MINUTES, you're back in Gojo's company. Shoko wasn't home when you got to your apartment so there was no one for you to rant to and you were left still pissed off because of Gojo.

Actually, even if Shoko was home, it's not like she knows anything about the list. And you're not sure if you even want her to know anything about the list. It'd be too embarrassing to explain to her how you got yourself in this position so, you really have no plans on doing so.

The most your roommate knows is that last night you went out on a date. She doesn't know that it's Geto you went on a date with, or that you've slept with both of her friends and you'd like to keep it that way for the time being. There's way too much to explain for you to talk to her.

So ultimately, that leaves you alone in your situation. You have no one to talk to about this, no one to cry to about how Gojo is nothing more than a manipulative dickhead, and no one to release the buildup of emotions he's just given you.

The worst part of it all is that you were starting to put the blackmailing aside. You were starting to even like the idea of playing this little game with Gojo where you have to sleep with some hot guys and get paid for it. But when Gojo reminds you that you don't have the luxury of being comfortable in your situation, you just go right back to disliking him.

When the man showed up at your door to take you with him to his class, you barely exchanged any words. Gojo carefully explained the things his professor was attracted to, saying how he seemed like the kinda guy to be into a woman who looks like she needs help but is actually smart.

You asked Gojo what kinda clothes you should wear, resulting in you wearing a short skirt with stockings that hugged your thighs nicely. You felt a little uncomfortable in it, especially with Gojo's eyes all over you as if he you and him didn't just argue with one another minutes ago.

"Stop staring, you don't have that privilege anymore." You spat out to him as you adjusted the buttons on the shirt you wore.

Gojo's at your room door, leaning against the frame like always. "Come stop me from staring." He blurts out.

He's so used to flirting with you that he couldn't even help himself.

You send him a glare, "You're making things worse, y'know."

He knows. But he doesn't know how to fix it and still get what he wants at the same time. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't." You say simply.

Gojo falls quiet, watching as you move away from the mirror and over to your dresser to spray perfume on yourself. The scent makes its way into his nose and he has to bite back the compliment he nearly gives you.

After that, you put some shoes on and walked over to Gojo, looking up at the man with distaste in your eyes. For a minute, he simply peers down at you.

"...Can you please move?" You sigh tiredly.

Gojo doesn't budge. "Can you hear me out for a minute?"

You can't even believe the audacity of this man. "No."

"Please?"

"What is there to hear out? If I don't do this, you'll expose me. What else is there for you to say?" You ask.

He doesn't even know the answer to that question himself. "It's not what you think it is," Gojo says in the softest voice he can manage.

"Yeah?" You scoff, moving to fold your arms at him. "So what is it then, Gojo?"

"I just..." He trails off for a long moment.

You watch as he glances back and forth between your eyes, clearly having no words for you. You can see the clear regret in his eyes but you ignore it completely-- refusing to let yourself be manipulated by any of his looks.

Slowly, you lean closer to him. "You just what? Spit it out." You urge.

He swallows but remains silent, which leads you to roll your eyes at him. You then shake your head and move him to the side, stepping past him and exiting your bedroom.

"That's what the hell I thought. Now let's go." You say with a sigh.

Gojo's behind you cursing at himself for being unable to tell you the truth.

He's so scared that you'll never help him without the blackmail and, well, he has every right to be because you're pretty sure that if it weren't for those videos he has over your head, you wouldn't be doing any of this.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The walk to his class isn't long once the two of you get onto campus. It was on the third floor, in a section of the school you don't typically go down. You're not sure if you imagine it but you swear that every person you pass in the halls is insanely attractive.

The men, the women, literally all of them. For a moment you wonder if you're in the fashion department of your school based on the looks of those around you. It makes you wonder what Gojo's major is for a second, realizing you never actually asked him.

Your lips part to do so but... what's the point? You no longer care about getting to know the man anymore. Knowing his major won't help you complete this list any faster so, you end up closing your mouth and keeping quiet as you follow him.

When you get to the class, you notice that most of the room is full and Gojo is within the last group of people to arrive.

You're behind the white-haired man so, his professor lays eyes on him before you. You try to appear as inconspicuous as possible and thanks to the department of attractive and well-put-together people surrounding you, you don't stand out much.

Gojo makes a left to head up the stairs toward, what you assume to be, his seat, and you make sudden and direct eye contact with a tall, overly muscular man you swear isn't the professor.

Oh, there's no way in hell that this dark-haired man with a scar on the right corner of his lips is teaching this class. You refuse to believe that the man standing not too far away from you in a button up shirt that looks like it's seconds away from popping off him, is the damn professor.

Surely, you'd expected the blond man you saw in those pictures Gojo showed you to be a teacher. Definitely not this guy.

Those brown, maybe green, eyes of his skim over your entire body in one quick motion, an eyebrow raising the very second he realizes he's never seen you in his class before. In your hands are a binder and a book that you keep pressed against your chest, slightly fidgeting where you stand with the male's eyes all over you.

You wonder if you should say anything but when the large man looks back down at the papers scattered on his desk in front of him, you get the idea that he doesn't care too much about you being there.

With a sigh, you turn and follow after Gojo, quickly arriving at his seat and sitting beside him. Luckily for you, he's in the very back of the room so you get to sit in the corner with him.

You hadn't planned on learning anything today but, here you are, having no idea what you're getting yourself into.

"Gojo," You whisper and he turns to you. "What subject even is this...?"

"Uh, economics." He hums.

You freeze. "You're joking right?"

"I'm not."

"How the hell am I supposed to explain why I'm here?!" You whisper shout at him.

He shrugs casually, "I dunno."

You scowl. "Of course you don't."

Gojo grimaces at himself for his words, "Okay, well maybe-"

"Nope, save it. I'll figure it out myself." You cut off as you organize the few items you brought with you.

He sighs heavily beside you but you ignore the sound.

The class is steady to begin and your heart increases tenfold in nervousness when the deep baritone voice of the professor hits your ears. It was nothing but a lazy 'afternoon everyone' to greet his students as he went to shut the door but for some reason, it made your nerves spike.

As the professor, whose name you end up figuring out is Mr. Fushiguro, began his lecture, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The room was filled with students who so obviously belonged there. You, a psychology major, genuinely have no excuse to be here right now.

Okay, sure, you may have taken an economics class in high school but, that was high school and it was a required course for you at the time. Now, it'll be a bit difficult to explain why you're there.

Luckily for you, you've been in a similar position before. Except, the last time you were in a situation like this, there were real reasons behind it. You had slipped into one of Shoko's classes and attended that class with her for about three weeks straight-- having needed to use the interactions of her class for a report you were working on.

So in this case, you hope you'll be able to do the same thing and pull this off.

With that in mind, you made sure to actually pay attention to the lecture to ensure that you had something to talk about if or when Mr. Fushiguro questions you.

As you did that, Gojo sat beside you unable to pay attention to anything aside from the woman attentively taking notes beside him. He couldn't help but stare at you with his cheek resting against his knuckles, watching the way you were taking real notes on the class.

He gazed at the side of your face, getting lost in his mind as he tried to think of ways to fix things. He wondered if the two of you could just brush over the argument. It's not like he didn't blackmail you before and you guys didn't move on from that.

Or maybe it was just him who'd moved on. Perhaps you're still worried about the situation you were in. It'd only been a few days since it started, not even a full week yet.

Gojo's so busy thinking that he hasn't realized he's still staring at you. When he does realize it though, he doesn't stop. Instead, the male goes on to admire you. This is probably one of the only times he'll get to be near you going forward.

I hate you, the words still echo in his mind. He's so pissed at himself for it. He should've never even done this. Maybe he could've found someone else to go and seduce these people for him, not you-- Gojo likes you.

Wait, he... likes you? Gojo blinks at his own thoughts, wondering if that's what's wrong with him. Maybe that's why he felt these urges to kiss you or be around you or even make you smile and laugh...

He finds himself replaying the events of that morning over and over. It was perfect. To wake up to you kissing him so softly, to have you in his arms all night, and to even bond a little with you without it being about the list.

It was-

"Gojo," You hummed, breaking him out of his mind entirely. Your gaze was down on the paper in front of you as you spoke, "Do you like your eyes?"

His brows pinch together and you hear him scoff a little bit, "Yeah...?"

"Wanna keep 'em?" You question sarcastically.

He blinks, "Uh, yes...?"

You turn your head to him and your voice is low and an agitated whisper, "Then stop fucking staring at me."

Gojo doesn't even look away yet. His eyes remain on yours and the eye contact is intense for a second. He hates to think about it but, you're rather hot when you're mad, as toxic as it is to think about...

The way you're eyes are all narrow and the tenseness of your face is oddly attractive to the man. Under different circumstances, Gojo would've teased you about it like he normally does but, right now, you look like you might stab his eyes out with the pencil in your hands.

Instead of taking the warning you have him seriously, Gojo only grins at you, "Make me." He whispers back, voice teasing.

You glare for a moment, and then you start shaking your head in utter disbelief. "You're an ass."

"An ass?" Gojo chuckles quietly, "What happened to asshole?"

"I might change it to a piece of shit." You say with a shrug as you turn your head away and multi-focus on both him and the lecture.

Gojo tilts his head, "Doesn't that take too long to say?"

"Dickhead." You say simply.

He frowns, "Ehh, doesn't have a nice ring to it."

With a sigh, you glance at him through the corner of your eye, "I'm not gonna play this little game with you."

"Nono, keep going," Gojo pleads, now smiling at you as if he isn't aware that he's only annoying you even more. "I like hearing all the mean names you can come up with."

You roll your eyes at him, "I hope you fail this class."

"Woahh, I need this class to graduate, sweets." He argues, pouting a little bit at your sudden words.

"Enough with the pet names," You sigh. "Hearing anything affectionate coming from you is revolting."

"You liked it this morning."

"That was before you pissed me off."

Gojo smirks, "I do that quite often though, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do."

He hums and inches a little closer to you, "And yet you still hung around me."

"I was forced to." You reply, trying to take notes on the subject ahead at the same time.

"Were you forced to kiss me this morning too?" Gojo says.

That question made you scoff. He definitely pushed all the right buttons with that one, "Were you forced to be born as an insufferable asshole who likes manipulating women into clearing your debt for you?" You question, anger embedded into your tone.

He pauses. The worst part of what you said was that you weren't even looking at him. You said that without batting an eyelash. And it came out your mouth faster than he expected.

Gojo opens his mouth slowly, almost carefully, "I-"

Before he gets the chance to say anything, the abrupt sound of his professor speaking louder is heard. "Gojo Satoru," The professor calls out with an annoyed sigh.

You think you see the hairs on the back of Gojo's neck stand up and you watch as he grits his teeth and turns his head to face his teacher.

"Plan on talkin' through my whole class?" Mr. Fushiguro questions.

Gojo looks immediately annoyed as he shakes his head, the sight of him shut up so quickly almost satisfying to you.

That earns a nod from his professor, "That's what I thought." He hummed, his eyes snapping over to you right afterward.

You swear you were shrinking under the man's gaze, even though he was on the other side of the damn room. It was so intimidating that you just knew he was about to say something to you.

But, he doesn't. It was nothing more than a quick glance, maybe even a warning glance.

You sigh and then peek over to Gojo beside you, noticing how he looks upset now. A smile graces your face as you see the man in distress, it was quite the satisfying sight to behold-- especially given the hell he's putting you through.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

The lecture was a full three hours long, something you surprisingly were able to stay awake for and focus on the entire time.

You have a feeling it was the way Mr. Fushiguro taught the class or maybe it was the way he looks. With a face and body like that, you think you could stay awake and stare for hours unprovoked. That has to be the only plus side to the list you're going through-- the fact that everyone is stupidly hot.

As the class finished, you grabbed all the notes you'd taken and wondered if you should just approach the professor yourself. Gojo waited for you to get your stuff together and then you followed behind him to leave the class.

The halls seemed to be pretty busy with how long it took for students to actually leave the classroom and you ended up waiting for people to walk out. This placed you in the back of the group of people, being one of the last to actually exit.

"You," A deep voice suddenly called from behind.

Your head turns back and you meet the professor's stern eyes. He raises two fingers and beckons you to come to him. With a swallow, you nudged Gojo on the back of his arm, silently letting him know that you were staying behind before you turned and made your way over to the teacher.

As you approached the desk, the man stool on the other side of it, eyes daunting and presence overwhelming. He was far too attractive to be a professor.

"Sir," You greeted calmly, "You called me...?"

His eyes scan all of you in front of his desk. Not in a way that seemed like he was checking you out but, more in the sense that he was confirming he's never seen you before.

He nodded toward a nearby seat, "Sit."

You don't know why your spine goes rigid at his sudden command. Perhaps it was the authority in his voice? Or the deep undeniably attractive tone of it?

Slowly, you move to sit down in the seat he's told you to. After that, you quietly watch as he awaits all the students to leave. Once the classroom is clear, the professor takes a seat at his desk and all of his tension-filled focus goes to you.

You were nervous. Ridiculously so.

And it wasn't even because of the situation itself but because of the sexy-ass man staring at you. Okay, maybe this list isn't that bad... especially if you get to interact with people you normally wouldn't.

The man leans forward, moving to rest his arms on the desk in front of him and clasping his hands together. "Well?" He asks, clearly expecting you to just explain yourself.

You instantly look down to your lap, "Uh..."

When you take too long, in his eyes, to answer, you hear the man sigh heavily. "You gonna tell me why you're in my class?" He questions.

You look up at him and take a deep breath, "Yeah, sorry. I'm a uh, psychology major and I have this project coming up soon where I have to analyze large groups of people, preferably in different classrooms, to see how different goals and aspirations differ the actions of people."

That was by far the best and cleanest lie you think you've ever given in your entire life. It's usually not hard to explain just a little bit of your major to people, the explanation alone always brings confusion.

The man blinks slowly, kinda like he didn't understand what the hell you just said. "Okay." He sighs, "Two things. One, what does that have to do with you being here without permission, and two, can you explain that in simpler terms?"

A light smile grows on your face, "Well, I meant to come here before the class started and ask if I could sit through a couple of your lectures to study everyone but uh, I forgot... A-And, in simpler terms, I'm just here to see how certain subjects affect certain people."

Mr. Fushiguro nods his head, pausing to think about what you just told him. He has no reason not to believe you, he's actually had plenty of students do this in the past.

"Psych major, huh?" He asks.

"Yes sir."

"That's uh," He clicks his tongue, "Surprising."

"How so?" You scoff, quick to take a bit of offense.

The man shrugs, "I don't usually get Psych majors in my class, you're the first."

"Oh." You chuckle, "Well, I was also curious about how the economy specifically would alter people's way of thinking."

"Yeah?" You think you see him grinning at you. He appears to be intrigued, "Why?"

"I mean, when you're talking about the economy, you're talking about money and, well," You shrug, "Who doesn't like money? I just wanted to see if that made any difference in the way people think and act in terms of education."

"Right," He nods again, "And what class is this for?"

Shit. "Uhm, sociology." You manage to say.

The male opens his mouth to comment something but he's cut off by a light knock on his open classroom door, prompting both of you to turn your head. Your eyes go wide at the man you see standing there.

Blond, tall, neutral facial expression, and, above all, mouth-wateringly sexy. Good god, where the hell does Gojo find these men? The male at the door is someone you recognize from the pictures.

"Mr. Fushiguro," The blond calls, voice stoic.

"Nanami." The professor in front of you replies, "How can I help ya?"

The man at the door takes a few steps into the classroom, "I had a few questions on the assignment from last week."

Your mind is all over the place at this point. Is this who Gojo was talking about when he said there are two people on the list in the class?

"I might have a few answers," Mr. Fushiguro, whose first name you notice is Toji based on the nearby nameplate sitting on his desk, responds playfully.

You then watch as he stands and walks over to Nanami, your heart spiraling out of control. Spotting two people from the list in one day? It's nerve-wracking.

The two stand not too far away from you and quietly go over something. You pick up on tidbits of their conversation but it's all about an assignment you know nothing about so, there's not much you can do with the information you hear.

Nanami's glance strays over to you for only a second, long enough for you two to make eye contact, and long enough for him to look away. It was a glance of simply acknowledging the fact that you're there-- not even the kinda glance where he's checking you out.

The look he gave you and the one you initially received from Toji are similar, it's like neither of them was even interested in you-

Holy shit.

You think you know why too. The way they look at you is nothing compared to Geto's first glances at you, even though the situation and setting are much different.

That's when you realize...

That asshole Gojo never told you what level of difficulty these men are considered to be.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ☐

NANAMI KENTO ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[mangoshorthand]

A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch. 1

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

Chapter One (Rated G-T, 3.4k words)

Marley's Ghost

Luther was annoying to begin with, there was no doubt whatsoever about that. Despite this, you developed a grudging friendship with him over the years, based mainly on the fact he was impossible to spurn. 

He was a regular in your little bar, and his good moods were completely unflappable. No matter how surly and taciturn you might be with him on a bad day, he always greeted you like his best friend the next time you saw him. In this fashion, his company became gradually bearable to you over the years you knew him, and you learned to welcome his bright-eyed, towering figure with no bad grace.

“Hey!” he said, cheerfully, as he bounced through the door early on Christmas Eve, bringing with him a blast of cold air from the slush-filled streets outside. 

You looked up at him and nodded, suppressing a roll of your eyes at his appearance. He was wearing a luxuriant velvet Santa hat and an obnoxious Christmas sweater depicting gingerbread houses, elves, and snowflakes in lurid colors particularly offensive to the eye.

Long ago, you’d concluded that the holidays were for idiots, and, although you liked him, Luther more than qualified. 

Yes, you’d decorated the bar, but as sparsely as it was possible to get away with: few coloured lights here and there and some limp tinsel around the window frames, but that was it. When your employee Robbie tried timidly to introduce a Christmas tree, that bullshit was in the dumpster out back before a half hour had passed.

“Merry Christmas,” Luther said, beaming, “happy holidays, and happy New Year!”

“Merry Christmas, Luther.” Robbie replied, looking up from serving another customer to give him a wave, which Luther returned gleefully. 

“Enough with that bullshit already,” you grumbled, filling him a glass of his usual beer/

“Christmas?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief, “Bullshit? Surely you don’t mean that?”

“Sure I do,” you said, setting his beer down on the bar in front of him and holding out your hand expectantly, “I don’t see what’s particularly ‘merry’ about it. It’s just some commercialised holiday. Idiots going into debt just to buy their kid the latest trash.”

Luther frowned and pulled out a bill.

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be merry.” he said, though sounding a little disquieted, “You own this place, right? You must see people coming in to celebrate all the time. That sort of happiness is infectious. It must at least make you happy to see other people happy?”

You just scoffed and turned away, busying yourself about the bar taps. 

“Come on,” Luther called after you, in a conciliatory tone, “are you annoyed with me?”

You were, but when you turned back to him, you tried to keep your tone light. 

“Do you have any idea how shit it is working a bar at Christmas? The only thing that makes it worth it is the extra money. People make a mess, they make a lot of noise, they get drunk and they sing. They fuck you up the ass with a candy cane, shove a holly jolly dick in your mouth and expect you to just smile through it.”

There was a moment of silence while Luther absorbed this colorful language, and then he spoke again. 

“I guess you got a point. Customer service at Christmas has gotta be hard. But the day itself is fun, right? It’s a time for family. It’s a time to show people that you care about them”

You let out a loud “pfft.”

“If I’m anywhere on Christmas day, it’s as far away from my family as it’s possible to be. I’ll be at home alone, thank god.”

Luther looked at you, and you found yourself even more irritated by the expression of sympathy in his blue eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, genuinely, “everyone should be with someone they care about on Christmas, even if they don’t celebrate.”

You let out another sound of derision, and Luther looked briefly down at the bar.

“Christmas can make people kinder,” he said, quietly, “and I know they should be kind all year round, but it reminds people to be more open hearted. Peace and goodwill to all men, y'know? And so, yeah, Christmas is commercialised and stuff, but it’s a reminder to love one another and appreciate the people around us. And in this world, I think that’s important.”

As he gave this speech, his voice became more confident, and by the end he was sitting up straighter on his bar stool, looking at you with earnestness that did nothing to improve your mood. 

“Well said Luther,” piped up Robbie, enthusiastically, giving him a little round of applause. 

You shot him a look, and he quickly stopped and went back to cleaning the bar. 

“Bullshit,” you said again, dismissing his sickly speech.

But Luther was undeterred.

“Listen,” he continued, gently, “I’m spending Christmas with my family. It’s low key, and we all bring guests. I’m cooking, and there’s enough to feed twenty. The way I see it, the more the merrier.”

Your nostrils flared. Was he really doing what you thought he was doing?

“I like you,” he said, “you remind me of Five. You remember Five, right?”

You nodded tightly. You more than remembered Five. Over the years he visited the bar with Luther and occasionally alone. You had to admit you found him…intriguing. You’d decided some time ago that you were done with men, but that didn’t mean you didn’t occasionally stop to enjoy the view. 

You and he shared the same cynical sense of humor, and though he wasn’t exactly friendly, he was polite, tipped well, flirted like a pro, and was easy enough on the eye that his occasional acerbic comments were interesting rather than irritating. 

“Five’s a grumpy asshole too,” Luther continued, “but he and I both know what it’s like to be alone. It can break you, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. Why don’t you drop in on us tomorrow?”

He paused here, smiling winningly and giving you time to answer. He looked so much like a gleeful puppy that you half expected him to let his tongue loll out and start panting with excitement. 

But your just-restrained anger had broken its bounds; your face felt flushed, and his canine expression did nothing but prod the angry hound inside of you, raising your hackles.

“Come over,” he said, cajolingly, a hopeful expression starting on his face, “We won’t sing until we get really drunk, and I promise nobody will threaten to sodomise you with a candy cane.” 

He paused and then amended his last statement:

“I can almost promise you nobody will threaten to sodomise you with a candy cane. But come anyway.”

Your lips tightened. You weren’t some charity case. When you finally got the words out, you spoke with low, dangerous emphasis. 

“I think I’d rather see you in hell than see you for Christmas.”

Luther looked hurt, but you didn’t care. Who was he to come into your bar, and lecture you about family and kindness and all that sentimental bullshit. He had no idea. You felt your fists clenching at your sides, and when you continued, your shaking voice got louder with every word:

“What makes you think I want to spend time with you and your weird-ass family?”

“I was just trying to be a friend to you.” Luther said, crestfallen.

“I don’t need friends!” you cried, furious now, “You seriously have to grow up, Luther. Grown-ups don’t believe in Santa Claus, and grown-ups don’t think one day playing nice around a Christmas tree means jack shit. So why not keep all your Christmas shit to yourself and mind your own goddamn business?”

Luther blinked, cut to the quick, and you began to polish the bar in a determined sort of way. 

“Why are you pushing me away?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, so Luther stood, leaving half his beer on the bar.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said, wounded, but dignified, “I can see now that Christmas doesn’t mean to you what it means to me. But still, I hope you have a good day, whether you celebrate or not.”

You didn’t answer him, pretending to be intent on your work, and his hulking figure retreated, leaving the bar with a quick, sad wave to Robbie. 

You ignored Robbie’s reproachful looks and continued about your business, counting down the hours to closing time when you could get home and get away from all the idiot revellers. 

Meanwhile, the snow thickened outside, and the sky darkened rapidly. It was already a cold day, with thick, portentous clouds, but the evening was bitter, and the night even more so; harsh and biting. 

The Christmas eve party goers were wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing, but even the most stout of them thinned out as the night wore on, scared off by the wind and snowstorm, no doubt fearful of getting stranded in the city if the bad weather persisted.

By the time you closed up, there was nobody there to throw out. All was quiet and still but for the wilting tinsel shifting minutely in the tiny draft at the window frame. The bar was deserted - as dead as a doornail, you might say.

Robbie left as soon as you gave him the nod, head bowed, holding onto his scarf for dear life as it whirled and bucked in the wind that threatened at every moment to tear it from his neck. 

When the door blew closed behind him with an abrupt, wall-shaking slam, you were totally alone. 

The bar was part of an old city block, and thus odd noises were audible in your apartment above at the best of times. As bad as the weather was that night, you could hear strange grindings and creakings as soon as you mounted the stairs. 

The back of your neck prickled, warning you of who knew what, even as you told yourself firmly not to be so ridiculous. 

You shivered, wishing very much that you’d gotten around to changing the light bulb in the windowless stairwell, meaning that you were in full dark as you made your way haltingly up the stairs. 

The stairs were old too: wooden, uneven and whining in protest with every step. Though you weren’t usually one for superstition or hyperbole, your mind couldn’t help but dwell upon the sounds: they sounded increasingly like the wails of desperate, neglected children as you progressed higher and higher towards the top landing. 

At that moment, with your hand at last on the doorknob, there was a strange frisson in the air, something that was half sound and half sensation. 

And your blood ran cold.

This sound was unlike any that could be the result of bad weather on an old building. It was a zap and a crack, and it made all the hairs on your arms stand on end, like the few seconds of eerie anticipation before a lightning strike. 

You froze, suddenly wary of what might be inside. Very slowly, you pressed your ear to the door and listened, yet heard nothing but the wind’s ambient noise.

“Pull yourself together,” you chided yourself under your breath. 

You unlocked and opened the door quietly and hurriedly, not daring to flick on lights in case it alerted an intruder to your presence. Indeed, you found the living space within quiet and empty to the eye, lit slightly by the street lamps outside.

You even checked behind the door, just to reassure yourself that there was nobody lurking behind it.There was nobody there, of course: no sound but for the rushing wind whistling down the street, and no sign that anything might be amiss. 

No sign but that creeping sensation on the back of your neck, of course. 

You sighed, frustrated with your own silliness. 

Still, unable to shake that feeling, you carefully, soundlessly picked up the baseball bat you kept behind your coat stand and crept from living room, to bathroom, to bedroom, just to prove to yourself that you were just being foolish. You even looked behind the couch, behind the shower curtain and under the bed, just for good measure. 

At one point, you gave a violent start at what sounded like an electric whoosh as you stood in front of the wardrobe, but when you opened the door with the bat raised, there was nothing inside that shouldn’t be there.

But there was a smell, you thought. A whiff of something vaguely familiar, and then it was gone. The smell of mint or eucalyptus lingering in the air. 

Again, there was that creeping sensation at the back of your neck, flesh needling, as if you were being…

As if you were being watched.

You whirled around, but again the room and doorway were perfectly empty, and no sound suggested the presence of anybody but yourself and the ceaseless wind outside. 

“It’s nothing but the smell of bullshit,” you muttered to yourself, dismissively. 

When you were finally satisfied that your apartment was indeed quiet and still, you double locked the front door, even putting it on the chain, a precaution you didn’t usually take.

Slightly comforted by this, you moved into the living room to unwind before bed, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV, reaching likewise to turn on a lamp beside you. 

And then, in the glow from the TV, you saw him.

As large as life, there was a man sitting in the darkest corner of your living room. 

He was well dressed, wearing a three piece suit and a grim expression. But for his very solid appearance, you might have believed he was a ghost, lit as he was in an unearthly hue by the TV’s blue light, throwing his face into a strange distortion of light and shadow. 

You opened your mouth to scream, but before sound could come out, he vanished and reappeared above you, clapping one hand over your mouth with one hand and grabbing your wrists with the other, looking down at you from beneath heavy brows, his strong jaw working with the effort of keeping your flailing hands contained. 

It was then that you recognised him. 

“Fiph?” you cried, muffled from behind his hand, “whadafu?”

It was Five himself. 

He raised his eyebrows, handsome jaw angled upwards. It was an unspoken question: can you be quiet?”

You nodded, and he took his hand away from your mouth. 

“What the fuck, Five?”

And there it was: a waft of mint and eucalyptus that at once explained why it smelled familiar, as well as the noise from your wardrobe. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” you shrieked, panicked again, and he quickly clamped his hand back over your mouth.

“I’m here to talk. Keep your goddamn voice down and turn on that lamp. I can’t see for shit.”

Your whole arm trembling, you turned on the lamp beside you, and Five’s face was lit in a more natural glow.

As always when confronted with Five, you couldn’t help but notice his appearance: his clear, smooth skin; his noble, expressive brow; his intelligent green eyes, shaded by hair and reflecting the lamplight. His long fingers were hooked around your jaw, and you could feel the warmth of his palm against your lips. 

It was this that made you stop trembling.

Sensing this, he removed his hand again, and when you didn’t scream, he sat down on the other end of the couch. Before he settled, he reached back to the armchair he’d just vacated to pull a briefcase across the carpet so that it rested against his feet. 

“What do you want with me?” you asked, half anger, half fear.

“Much,” Five said, simply. 

You stared at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, surveying you with those eyes, holding yours with quiet authority. 

“You might say I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” he said, “You’ve fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, half angry, half afraid.

“Well,” he said, settling his hands on his top leg, “I never told you this, but I work for an organization that handles the timeline, and its raison d'être is to make sure that everything happens as it’s supposed to. That’s why I have this briefcase,” he said, tapping it with his foot, “it allows me to travel back and forth in time, and fix fuck ups like yours. 

“I thought you could already travel in time,” you said, “isn’t that, like, your whole thing?”

There was a flicker of annoyance on his face then, and you were glad to see it: it was evidence that you’d pricked his ego, and it was enough to make him seem a little less intimidating.

“I do have natural time travel ability,” he said, carefully, struggling to maintain the almost professional air he’d adopted, “but the briefcase allows me to be precise.”

“So, basically, you suck at time travel without your security blanket?” you said, pressing your advantage. 

Nobody broke into your home and got away without being taken down a peg or two. 

Five scowled, and you felt a brief sense of triumph as he continued. 

“Oh, because you’re so good at time travel?” he snapped, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“No,” you said, causticly, “I own a bar. It’s not exactly in the job description. But if I couldn't make you decent Manhattan without clinging to a recipe book, you might start to think I’m under-qualified.”

Five’s scowl deepened, and even though this should theoretically make him more frightening, it didn’t: it further levelled the playing field.

“As pleasant as this little back and forth is,” he said with a hint of his old flirtation, we’re getting off the point. Little actions can have far-reaching consequences. For example, you spoil one manchild’s Christmas spirit, and then boom, we could have nuclear armageddon on our hands.”

“What?” you asked, taken aback.

“Yep,” he said, seriously, “you’d be amazed how even the most insignificant events can fuck the future beyond all recognition. And, that’s exactly what happened with your angry little diatribe to my brother.”

As you took a couple of seconds to absorb this, Five leaned towards you fractionally, his eyes regaining more of that lost authority.  

You looked back at him, and the air grew heavy at the moment your eyes connected. You felt like a fish on a hook in the pull of his gaze, the sound of wind outside coming into greater prominence in that single, suspended moment. 

There was another bolt of electricity, another raising of the hairs on the back of your neck. Though this time it wasn’t caused by you sensing Five’s power. 

Well, not his superpower, at least. 

Five glanced away and cleared his throat, and the spell was broken. Your mind became a fraction less cloudy and, in doing so, butted against a roadblock in his credibility.

“This is bullshit!” you cried, incredulously “Seriously, an armageddon?”

 Five shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Actions have consequences, and they snowball. Time is chaos, and one wrong move can fuck up everything.”

You shook your head in denial.

“Do you really expect me to believe that not playing at some sickly, cloying, Christmas with your clown car of a family causes nuclear armageddon?”

Five sighed exasperatedly. 

“Why is it so hard for you to just play nice?” he said, voice betraying annoyance for the first time, “why the hell have you got your panties in such a bunch around Christmas, anyway?”

And then his mouth twitched, and he let out a little chuckle.

“Though I admit that ‘clown car’ is a good description.”

You ignored this, as well as his prying questions and folded your arms defiantly. 

“Fine,” he said, with a hint of smugness, “you don’t have to tell me.”

He reached down to the floor and fiddled with his briefcase, and then grabbed your elbow before you could protest.

 “I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

His hand tightened on your arm and, in a fizz of static, you were both gone, leaving no trace but the echo of your scream in the empty apartment.

Read Chapter Two >> I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

Marley's Ghost (left) and The Ghosts of Departed Usurers, or, The Phantoms. (right) Both by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced. If you haven't guessed, 'bullshit' is this Scrooge!Reader's 'bah humbug'.😊 Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage, @kaybreezy3000 (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

[hellyeahsickaf]

You know how you look back at past shitty connections, friends, family dynamics, and relationships and you're like "I can't believe I let them treat me that way"? I think it hits differently with disability because when you're disabled you don't always even know that you're being mistreated and/or abused in regards to it.

I know statistically disabled people are more likely to be abused but sometimes there's an additional type of abuse that's hard to identify even in hindsight because no one tells you how abusive it is.

But ableist abuse relating to your disability can look like:

Pushing you to do things beyond your limitations despite their awareness of them.

Blaming you for the "inconveniences" brought on by things beyond your control (ex: missing a movie because you had to wait for your pain meds to kick in).

Not allowing you to take breaks or antagonizing you when you do.

Bullying or making fun of things you can't help like gait, a lisp, an embarrassing symptom.

Trying to "cure" or "fix" you, often framing it as "helping" you. Sometimes they look similar and you might be able to tell by their reaction towards lack of improvement.

Holding over you the things they have to do for you (cooking, cleaning, driving, working, etc).

Giving ultimatums that demand things of you that you can't do (getting a job, keeping up with multiple chores).

Using insulting terms, language, and/or slurs that you have not permitted them to or in a context where there is intent to harm you.

Interrogating you about your disability or trying to find discrepancies between your experiences and what they've heard/read/seen about it.

Implying or saying anything along the lines of you faking, being lazy, or exaggerating. Reducing you to a hypochondriac, saying you enjoy being disabled because you seem to like having things done for you, or that you're lazy or abusing them by depending on them for things.

Asking you about it not to learn more, but to use it against you in some way.

Having a martyr complex, acting as if they're a hero for giving you the support you deserve.

Calling you a burden, implying you to be one, or treating you like one.

Acting like you owe them a debt, sometimes even demanding some kind of repayment. Keeping track of money they spend on you that you won't be able to pay back, feeling entitled to things like control, sex, a portion of government benefits, etc.

Self victimizing. They act like you being disabled causes more suffering to themselves than you.

Accusing you of being addicted to your medication. If you genuinely develop an addiction a normal response is concern not rage, finger pointing, etc. if you don't have one baseless claims are very harmful

Trying to force you to stop "depending" on things you need like medication and disability aids

Comparing you to others that are doing "better" than you. Maybe showing you inspiration porn of someone with no legs for example doing incredible things- which is great for them but the "I don't let my disability stop me so you can do anything" shit is harmful. Some of us will get very unwell if we try, and some just can't.

Trying to make others also see you as dramatic, faking, or lazy. Often embarrassing and mocking you as well.

Withholding things you need like medication or disability aids as a punishment

Saying your disability is karma or something inflicted by a divine entity/religious figure. Maybe as punishment for not praying, being queer, or something else they disagree with.

Saying that it's a result of being "promiscuous"/LGBT. For instance if you have HIV or ME/CFS that was a result of something like mononucleosis ("kissing disease").

Shaming you for things related to your disability beyond your control or expressing embarrassment over these things. including but not limited to: appearance (general but also things like say a lupus butterfly rash or weight gain/loss), having to lay down in public (ex: with POTS), inability to keep up with hygiene, etc.

Lacking boundaries and acting as if they are entitled to information or intrusion of your space/belongings due to the power they hold over you and assistance they may provide.

Implying/saying you're living an extended vacation. Maybe one they say they wish they had because they have to do x y z while you "sit around"

Abandoning you solely for your disability (ex: because you can't hang out, they don't want a disabled partner, think you're faking, etc)

Note that someone doing one or two of these things a few times doesn't always mean they're abusing you (also depends on which). It's about the patterns and frequency of this behavior as well as refusal to improve once aware that they're hurting you. People who care about you don't want to hurt you and the normal response is to do their best not to repeat the action that negatively affected you

There are more examples and you can feel free to list some

✨This is about physical illnesses and disabilities, please don't derail✨

[nectardaddy]

BITTER . . . kyotani “mad dog” kentaro + f! reader

                     𖥔    CHAPTER THREE : ROTTEN DOGS    𖥔

warnings : 17+ to read, language, crime, blood + violence, manipulation

a/n : a little short and might be a little boring but let me world build, it picks up after this trust

Kyotani runs a business through fear and dogged loyalty.

A business of bruised knuckles and broken bones, bloody noses and cracked lips. A fight club. In a dingy basement and a hushed reputation; nobodies and somebodies alike came there, and all for one thing - debt. 

Shady deals are always made under the table.

They came to him in debt, he fixed the problem - for a price. He put a leash on them, made them fight; if they won, he got a cut. “No strings attached” at first glance, but someone was quick to rat out anyone who ran. Now, people look at him in disgust, in a stirring anger that festers until they're a shell of the person they once were - a dog on a chain. Pawns. Nothing more. 

The “business” grew around him at a speed he couldn't comprehend. He remembered it used to be just guys beating the hell out of each other for no other reason than boredom. Now they beat the hell out of each other for cold, hard cash. Strangers, friends, and so called found family now intertwined themselves in a seedy business practice that would land them in prison - again. 

Now he uses it to his advantage.

He lies, cheats, steals, and manipulates. Finds people's darkest secrets and deepest fears, and pins it above them as a warning. He ruins their lives and doesn't lose a single moment of sleep over it. 

Kyotani is one felony away from his third strike; after that, he'll be put away for god knows how long. 

His first was arson. After a handful of misdemeanors and recklessness, he found himself lighting a car ablaze to prove a point. The only point he found was covering his tracks better.

He thought he learned his lesson, but then came the second: armed robbery. Did it for a friend who later ratted on him the second the police got him alone. But now the felon walks the guy like a dog because of a gambling addiction and a foreclosed house - karma was a bitch. Kyotani finds it funny to see him choke on his own spit and tears when he fights, laughs when he's kicked to the ground and pleads for the fight to stop. 

The guy hasn't won a single fight since he started, and won't. He'll forever be choking on the collar placed on him because the only thing rats do best is rot. 

He was close to getting his third when he got arrested the last time - the time that landed him in anger management. He likes to dabble in the fights himself, but more often than not he takes it too far. He starts seeing red when they taunt and tease him, and he loses himself completely amidst the blood and sweat.

Almost got nailed with attempted murder. But he talked his way out of it at the station (in all reality, he framed someone else for it who had run too far off leash). His only misstep was trying to punch a cop when the arrest took place - oink too much and he lands in jail again - so now he takes anger management because his crooked lawyer has a silver tongue. 

He's more cautious now with deals, doesn't hang around Iwa and the others now that police have sniffed them out, and keeps his own nose clean. 

He makes his dogs do the dirty work for him.

They only say yes because they're scared of him, terrified of what he'd do if they dared say no. They've seen the extent of his anger, a lack of words and a plethora of pain, so they grin and bear it when given a filthy order. Even coined the name “Mad Dog” for the sole fact they thought he was fucking crazy.

But the few that aren't scared of him, the ones that bark and scratch and bite right back, he keeps. He likes those types, reminds him of himself, and he keeps them close to the fold. Yahaba was one. Knew him from high school, used to hang around Iwa's group, but wound up in a load of debt from drugs and gambling. He was a lanky guy, selfish, arrogant, and a mouth that would one day get him killed. Kyotani likes that about him. Likes that he fights back and gnashes his teeth. Likes that he can't be controlled. 

But he's loyal nonetheless. 

Yahaba was a one man army. He knows a bit of everything about everyone - he's the whisper in Mad Dog's ear. From liars, to thieves, and snitches, Yahaba would always find out. And would always tell Kyotani. 

It's cold outside when Kyotani leaves his shitty apartment. He's got on layers, a worn out sweatshirt and an old leather jacket, but the cold eats right through them. But he doesn't have a far walk, so he sucks it up and keeps walking. 

It's almost seven, and at eight he starts his nightly ritual of watching others nearly kill themselves for money. He watches the cash jar slowly fill until it spills over with bets, watches nobodies and somebodies all gather for the same ruthless thing - a good old fashioned fight.

He never understood the appeal of watching fights. It was bloody and gruesome, but he found his target audience and leaned in further when money started flooding in. It all started just so he could let his anger out. To pour out his rage onto others who willingly wanted it to begin with. Though he imagined they never expected to be beaten to a pulp - but he did it regardless. It was fun to him, a game almost. Watching other's eyes dilate with fear once he landed the first punch was like a drug. 

And he simply couldn't get enough of it.

He leaves his apartment early, most days, to get to the abandoned warehouse down the street before anyone else. Despite his forthcomings, he enjoys the quiet before the storm. Likes the festering feeling in his gut before a good fight. Today isn't any different. 

He takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter, and lights the first one he can get his hands on. The nicotine makes his shoulders drop and he sighs. 

Anger management was killing him. 

It was boring and stupid, he doesn't need some therapist telling him shit he already knows. He's well aware of his anger, and doesn't care in the slightest. He has an outlet for it, the only downside is that it's not legal. But he stays despite the feelings because truly anything is better than being locked up for twenty plus years.

There's a woman there that pisses him off, his “accountability partner,” who sits there and taps her foot until he wants to throw the very chair he sits in. Who snaps back at him without a care despite a look that could kill; and there's a disgusting voice in his head that claims he likes it. Likes how she fires back with venom, likes how he can tell she's holding herself back, and likes the fact that she absolutely hates him. 

He burnt his cigarette all the way down on his walk, and he flicks it to the ground when he goes to open the door. It stays unlocked, abandoned, empty, until it hits eight and then things start to pick up.

But it's seven and he only knows of one other person that would be here this early. And he's proven right once he makes his way towards the basement. 

His loyal little lap dog Yahaba. 

“Yaku's off the fucking rails.” The man's voice echoes in the empty room, wide and only filled with a makeshift ring in the middle. There's dried blood on the floor, some in specks and some in puddles. Looks like a crime scene in places, and probably is.

“Good for him.” The apathy in his words makes Yabaha roll his eyes. But still the other shoots him a look like he's lost his mind; Yahaba is almost certain that he has.

“No, not good for him.” He argues, “We're losing money.” 

Yaku wasn't a stranger to the brawls, nor was he a stranger to a leash. A year ago he was a dog on a chain, locked down by debt from drugs and liquor. But he was ruthless, blood thirsty, and itched to sink his teeth into others despite his stature. It paid off. Now the man is owned by no one, but comes to let off steam from a failed relationship and the need to draw blood. He beats others within an inch of their lives for fun, not for debt. 

There's a pause before Kyotani turns to get a good look at him, and he watches as the other keeps his gaze. He's sitting in a chair across the room with his phone in his hands, but closes it when Mad Dog finally looks at it. Yahaba was never one to back down - it would get him killed one day. “We?” The tone shift is palpable, and his eyes narrow at the man across from him. Once a dog, always a dog - and the other man knows it all too well.

He changes the subject. “He's talking to Kuroo.” 

Kuroo Tetsuro, a flashy guy in a suit with a devious backdoor business of selling drugs. A lot of the people under Mad Dog are here because of him, got too caught in his suave and finesse to realize they were being swindled. A pipeline from drugs to fighting. 

The blonde takes a chair opposite to Yahaba, and flips it so he straddles it. The screech of it echoes off the concrete walls, and neither of the men flinch at it. Leaning his arms against the back of it, he lets out a huff. ��What's he stirring up?” 

“Kuroo wants his money.” The statement hangs in the air with a weight, both men can see it.

There's a peak in his lips at the words, like he wants to laugh. To giggle and chuckle at the sinking sentence in the room - but he doesn't. He only keeps the small smirk, and the other knows all too well what it means. Kyotani would fight today, and Yaku should start getting his will together. “I'll handle it.” 

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Caution in the man's voice makes Kyotani's smirk only peak a bit more. 

“The rat dug his grave, the least I can do is put him in it.” 

taglist (open, reply to the masterlist or send an ask)

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[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 32

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

Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: The Burning Of The Flame

Notes: Yeah... pretty nervous for this one.

Special Chapter Warnings: !!!! Spice/smut. Grinding. Scent-kink (lol). Foreplay(?) Manual stimulation F/recieving. Consensual. !!!

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  32/47

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

Kaze led the three of you to a door at the far end of the castle, she took the key off of the lock and gave a stern look while letting you and Lancelot inside. It was just a normal, albeit large, bedroom. This was a small mercy they showed, they could have send you to the the dungeons.

“Forgive Arthur for his reaction.” Gawain said by the door frame. “They were lovers, him and Nimue. We are all grieving our Fey queen.”

“His skepticism is justified.” Lancelot said. “Only a fool would be so quick to trust.”

“Thank you.” Gawain deadpanned.

“I did not mean-” Lancelot sighed, realizing his blunder.

Gawain send an amused smile between you and Lancelot. “Fear not. This fool is a forgiving one.”

Lancelot was grateful for that. “Will you watch over Percival?”

Gawain chuckled. “You believe anyone is capable of keeping that boy out of trouble?” After seeing the concerned look in Lancelot’s eyes, he told him, “He will be safe. I will watch him. I promise.”

“Thank you.” you told the knight.

“Try to get some sleep.” Gawain said to the both of you, then directed himself to Lancelot, “And think of what you will say to them tomorrow. Your future here and among the Fey depends on it. I will come to collect you at dawn. Do not cause any trouble.”

Lancelot gave a respectful inclination of the head. “Thank you, Green Knight.”

Gawain gave a small tilt of the head too. Kaze moved past him to close the door. You heard the lock turn.

Lancelot had surrendered himself to the idea of spending his time locked inside a room. He walked to the chair, near a washbasin that stood on a small table, and put his cloak down on it. You could hear him breathe in relief of taking it off after having it on for an entire day again. He looked at you briefly, then at the washbasin, then back at you.

You didn’t realize how quiet you had been whilst thinking about all the things Arthur had summed up that Lancelot had done. It was his past and his greatest source of guilt. If you wanted to truly know him, you could not refuse to face the parts of him that carried the darkness.

He sensed something was off. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“It was not done recently.” you tried to breach the subject.

“This is about what the Manblood said.” It was a statement, he had seen the change in your eyes when Arthur spoke of his crimes against the Fey.

“I am sorry.” you felt awful to bring it up after how much effort he was showing to leave his past behind him. But you couldn’t just pretend that the past did not happen, it would not be healthy to live like that.

His eyes did not leave the floor anymore, he folded his hands behind his back to get a more confident posture again. “You have questions.”

The fear of upsetting him, of shattering what had grown, had set it’s claws in you. You went to sit on the bed, hating how close you were to crying just because you would have to speak of this to him. He’d know if you held back your thoughts and opinions, and in time that would cause a rift.

You spoke slowly, weighing every word before speaking it. “I want to start by telling you that I can see, and am proud, of the effort you have made to move away from your past as the Weeping monk.”

He breathed out sharply through his nose. “Do not feel like you have to spare me. I want you to speak your mind.”

Your throat felt too tight, by now he must have seen that your eyes threatened to spill your struggles out. “How could you torture someone like that?”

He pressed his eyes shut, the question had indeed hurt to hear. A heavy silence made it’s unwelcome entrance into the room. You felt nauseous from the stress it caused.

When he spoke, you could hear the pain laced in his voice, “I was taught that cleansing them would end their suffering from the influence of the Hidden, I never resorted to torture or cruelty when it was not needed. It was not in the way that Brother Salt acted, I found no pleasure in it. I did many things I abhorrent, blinded by fear of damnation and the dream of being the son Father wanted me to be. What I did was repulsive…” He shook his head and took a few paces towards the wall, his back facing you, his voice shook as he began to speak again, “I understand the conflict this causes in you.”

You tried to deny it, “It’s not-”

He would not hear the lie, “I can feel it in you.” he turned to face you again, “I cannot undo what I have done, neither will I deny it, I carry it all on my conscience. All I can do is atone for the pain I have caused. And if the heavens have mercy on me, I hope I will live long enough to see the day where I can look the Fey in the eyes and no longer see their hatred for me.” A whisper, “I fear I will not.”

“I shouldn’t have spoke of this… you’re not who you were then. I’m sorry… Gods, I’m sorry…” You covered your mouth, feeling it quiver. A tear escaped it’s cage and rolled down your cheek.

He knelt down at your side, stealing one of your hands for his own. “I value your honesty. Your conflict comes from your conscience, I will not blame you for feeling what any wise person would in these circumstances.”

It didn’t make you feel much better. You just wished things could be simpler.

“Look at me.” he said so quietly. “Look into my eyes and tell me that you can see that I am not who Father tried to make me be.”

It sounded like a plea, he was begging for you to see past the darkness and into the light he still held into his eyes. And you could not deny him that request, he was desperately trying to read your own as you were reading into his.

“You were always terrible at being who he wanted you to be.” your small smile accompanied the risky jest.

He scoffed and smiled, eyes falling away just for a second but they were quick to return to yours. “I made my peace with it.”

That look… that drifting gaze that had tried not to glance at your lips… that self-restraint when his attention faltered and his thoughts suddenly seemed to wander. It happened right before your very eyes, you didn’t have to guess what he was daydreaming about in those few seconds, the look he had right after he snapped himself out of it was enough to figure it out. He looked almost embarrassed about it. He was going to rise up from the floor, you could sense it and erased that thought in him just in time by touching his cheek. He had barely lifted an inch up from the floor before his knee touched the carpet again.

Your thumb traced the markings over his cheek and near his nose. “I see you grow beyond the chains they had put on you. You are doing so well.”

He held your hand in place against his cheek, leaning his head into the touch. “I do not wish to be without your faith in me. It is the only faith I cannot be without.”

To hear him openly denouncing the religion he had served for years was another sign that his loyalty had shifted away from it.

You let him keep hold of your hand. “You have my faith. Always.”

He turned your hand until your wrist faced him, his nose touched your inner wrist briefly and not two seconds later he kissed it. You had barely felt it and still it was enough for you to fear that he could hear your heart beat after it. He rose from the ground, released your hand, and returned to the washbasin to splash some water up into his face to refresh himself.

Not a word had been said between you about the kiss you had shared the previous night, as if it had been a common thing between you. And oddly enough it did not cause an awkward tension either, that was the part that confused you the most, how natural and normal it had felt for it to happen. You took off your satchel and jacket and put them over the foot of the bed. He had not shown an ounce of regret over last night. Was it wrong to act on the attraction felt towards him? Is that perhaps what he desired too? Having him voice that out loud would be as simple as turning water into wine. But maybe you could test it…

You began to open the top of your bodice to take it off, glancing back over your shoulder at him with the most innocent look you could muster. Water was dripping down from his nose, his eyes snapped back to the washbasin. He had been watching you. You only opened the bodice enough to see if the small red spot that you had seen on your chest at the healer’s house was still there. An insect bite from traveling through the forest, nothing more, the healer had said. Yet now it proved an excellent excuse to call for someone’s help.

“I have a red mark on my chest.” You feigned worry, “I think it’s infected.”

His attention was on you immediately, “Does it hurt?”

It didn’t. “It feels warm.”

He dried his hands on the towel, put it down next to the basin again, and approached.

You were curious to see just how strong of will he still was to keep to the vow. “Could you look at it and tell me if it’s something I should worry about?”

He failed to answer, suddenly realizing what that would include.

“Please?” A hint of pride filled you when you were able to keep an innocent expression and tone.

He regained his composure and got closer to you whilst you stood up from the bed. “Where?”

You got even closer and pulled the neck of the shirt down a little to show him the red spot. “Here.” You tapped a finger right beside it.

It was that one step closer that you had taken that made him understand the web he had willingly walked himself into. This was not truly meant to be an innocent request, were you seducing him?

“Can you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think it is infected?”

“No.”

Holding back a cheeky smile took all your effort, he had not even blinked since he started looking at the insect bite.

Thank the gods short simple answers were enough, because he doubted he could say much more now that he was allowed to set his gaze at your bosom.

Your tone got playful, you couldn’t resist. “Are you certain?” You got brave. “Do you need a better look?”

His eyes snapped up to yours and narrowed a bit. “Why are you asking this of me?”

With an innocent pout you answered, “Because I know you’ll help.”

The pout was impressive. But your dilated pupils betrayed your true thoughts.

He touched one of the corners of the bodice that were opened, tip of his finger grazing over it. “You know I have been a monk all my life until the day I fought the Trinity Guard. Then why do you consider it proper to present yourself to me this way?”

The change in his voice made your heart race. “I am presenting myself to Lancelot, not to the Weeping Monk.”

His fingers stroked along your chin and jaw, and when that got a positive reaction he cupped the side of your neck and let his thumb tickle the skin just below your ear.

Love? Lust? You dared not name it. About one thing you were certain and that was that it felt right.

You leaned your head into his touch. “Will you sleep in the bed with me tonight?”

The question had silenced him, you could see how nervous he got even though he truly did his best to hide it. The self-consciousness radiated off of him, as if he was imagining all the scenarios of doom that could present themselves.

“Like we did when we moved our cots together.” you softly kneaded at his arm. “I will understand if you do not want to, I just want you to know that I have no objection to it.”

He took a moment to think, placing a hand on your hip whilst doing so. You let him pull you closer into something that easily resembled an embrace with his arm hooked around you, his nose touched the side of your head. “I could sleep next to the bed…”

“You could.” you said.

After a pause, he swallowed hard. “But I wish to hold you, much like this, as we sleep.”

That sounded like the perfect plan, and you voiced that opinion in a whisper, “I would love that.”

For a second it felt like he was going to kiss your temple, but he restrained himself at the last moment. You turned your head, accidentally brushing your nose against his, then kept still when realizing how close his mouth truly was. First he did nothing, as if to assess the situation, then his hand returned to your neck, cupping your head at the back in a firm but not painful way. The display of control did not frighten you in the least, quite the opposite, it was thrilling. His gaze was solely on your lips, he leaned in and kissed them. With your head cupped in his hand he easily had control, still he reacted very appreciative when you stole that control right back. You had to hold on to his arm when he deepened the kiss. He was the sea that pulled you into it’s unpredictable waves, gentle, unyielding. Being at their mercy thrilled you to no end.

He halted only to whisper against your lips. “Is this alright?”

“Uhu.” you nodded and crashed your mouth to his again.

He felt so similar to the fire that ran into your veins, so equally strong and unpredictable. Your lips were worshiped by his own, his breaths like whispered prayers gracing over them. What was there to teach him? Why bother when the way he learned by himself was with such eagerness? A quiet curse slipped past your lips at the sensations spreading itself through you. It was the incentive for him to dig the pads of his fingers into the back of your head and put you completely at his mercy. He was all consuming, never yielding, and as fierce as he was in battle. The complete opposite you would have thought him to be after a life of chastity. By gripping a firm hold on his collar and pushing him a little, he freed your lips.

“Gods…” your voice shook.

He had not stopped looking at your mouth, hypnotized by every small movement it made.

You felt your limbs shake. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” His gaze followed the curve of your bottom lip.

A nervous chuckle fell. “You don’t know what you’ll start.”

His fingers were lightly scratching at the back of your neck, sliding up and down over your skin and you felt a chill run down your spine.

“Then I shall see where it ends.” he said matter-of-factually and stole the freedom of your lips again with his own.

Under that stoic mask he wore was a searing passion that slipped out, inch by inch, it enveloped you in it’s tempting allure. You had to turn your head to the side to catch your breath, your racing heart proved an enemy. The more you had of him, the more you wanted. He smiled and took it as an excellent opportunity to kiss the side of your cheek just next to your ear. While you tried to regain your senses, he slowly continued moving his mouth over your cheek and jaw until you took hold of his chin.

The question you feared asking tumbled out, “Why did you kiss me in the inn?”

“I cannot resist.” His mouth hovered over yours. “You are constantly in my thoughts.” He locked eyes with you, a hint of concern. “Do you not want the same?”

“I do want this.” You had hoped he’d admit to a deeper reason for it, but you weren’t going to drag it out of him either, he would tell you when he was ready to do so.

Hearing your answer brought a smile to his face and you knew right then and there that the sight of a beautiful sunset could never compare to it. He tried to lock it on your lips again but you leaned back and saw a brief flash of disappointment in his eyes that was rather endearing to witness.

You tried not to look at his lips and be tempted. “You’re so eager.”

He read your eyes and knew you were not complaining, a boyish smile curved his lips. “Is that a problem?”

There was a hint of sincerity under that question that he hid under a jesting tone. “Not at all. I appreciate your efforts. But might I suggest we prepare to sleep? If you continue like this, I won’t be able to put my mind to rest.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he let go of you. “Why would you not be able to put your mind to rest?”

You stepped away from him and walked to the furthest side of the bed, undoing the rest of your bodice to sleep comfortably. “I would be thinking about all the other things we could be doing instead of sleeping.”

He watched you for a few seconds, distracted, then began to dress down to his shirt as well. He cleared his throat and tried to sound casual to hide how timid he was about asking, “Other things?”

You looked at him, unlacing the bodice in a quick manner. It took a few seconds before you chose how to say it and jested with a playful grin, “Like performing our marital duties.”

It was the truth laced with a jest, for you feared how he’d respond if you were bolder about the truth of it. He reacted as well to it as you had imagined, by accidentally letting his sword belt drop to the floor. He snatched it up from the floor not a second later, wincing at the sound it had made.

He put the sword belt down on the withered chair that stood against the wall, composing himself and finding back the courage he often relied on. A very quiet, “Not tonight.”

You nearly dropped the bodice from your hands. That was not the response you had expected to the jest. ‘Not tonight’? Did that mean he was actually considering it?

He let that hang in the air between you, doing his best not to look in your direction. Had this been too bold to say? Had you just been jesting to him without actually meaning it?

You didn’t really know what to say to that revelation, but could sense that he was hoping for a reaction. You placed the bodice neatly over the foot of the bed to prevent it creasing more than it already had.

The air was loaded by unspoken words between you, he could feel it weigh his courage down. The words got stuck in his throat, “I did not mean to… I do not expect-…”

After some more silence passed, you quietly asked, “Have you been thinking about renouncing the vow?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking some of the sheet in his fist to release some of the tension in his muscles, and spoke so quietly you could barely hear, “I have reoccurring thoughts that complicate the vow I took.”

You approached the other side of the bed and climbed in, sitting upright against the pillows. “What sort of thoughts?”

He didn’t turn to look at you, as if he was ashamed and afraid he wouldn’t be able to admit to them. “You will consider me a degenerate.”

“Tell me.”

“I cannot.”

Your hand touched his shoulder blade. “Remember how we agreed that it felt good to speak openly to each other?”

He was quiet for a while again, his hand holding on to the edge of the mattress betraying his inner turmoil. Then he turned his head just enough so that he could see you from the corner of his eyes. “When you had me inspect that bite on your chest, I could not stop myself from thinking how it would feel to-”

You saw him take a deep breath, his nose tinting. “To what?”

He pressed his eyes shut, as if to shield them from a physical hit to come. “To touch you,” it came out in a shaking breath, “Indecently.”

“Indecently?” You bit back a smirk.

He heard the change in your tone and finally dared to look at you. “You are not insulted?”

Seeing him so worried made you all the more eager to help him be more confident with those matters. “Why would I be insulted to hear you say you that? It only makes me curious to know what you would do if I would allow you to act on those thoughts.”

His brow arched, as if the admission had taken him by surprise, he had seen the way your interest was genuinely piqued by his spoken secret.

Your fingers took a light hold on his sleeve, tugging at it to tempt him into coming closer. “I may have similar thoughts about you. I may seek to sate the same ache that you do.”

He needed a few seconds to process that confession. His voice was very quiet, “Do you?”

You gave a timid smile and nodded. “I was afraid of telling you. I know it is not a simple decision for you to make and I want you to take your time in doing so.”

That hold on the edge of the mattress disappeared as he let himself be drawn closer, he tried to be comfortable by just turning his body more, but ended up just taking place on the bed beside you. His shoulder leaned against the headboard as he faced you. “I do not known how to handle this.” he confessed. “It is maddening how it overtakes my mind.”

“Is it?” Your curiosity grew more and more. The more he spoke of it, the warmer you got. Just hearing him admit it was already titillating.

He kept his eyes on the sheets as he struggled to speak of it openly. “I thought I could dampen the frustration it gives me by kissing you, but it worsens.”

Your gaze swept over his face, memorizing every detail about it. “Is it an ache?”

His brows lifted a little as he nodded. “I have never had this problem before.”

It was saddening to see how he struggled with something so natural. Even talking about it was difficult, perhaps because it only increased the ache in him.

You touched a stray hair that hung in his eyes and brushed it out of the way. “There are other ways to take that ache away. And besides those, there is also nothing wrong with taking care of this need yourself, you do not have to fear that I would be upset about it.”

He knew what you were trying to say. He could put a hand around himself and free himself from the pent up frustration. But…

Second of silence passed before he spoke a secret he never thought he’d share, “I tried. But become too abashed to continue.”

You hoped to understand. “Because of what the scriptures said?”

“That is one reason.” He stretched his leg a bit more.

“What is the other, if I may ask?” your voice was calm.

He struggled to say it, “I do not feel worthy of it.”

It was heartbreaking to hear. “Lancelot.”

“How can I bring myself, allow myself,…” He shook his head a little, disappointed in himself. “Pathetic…”

“It is not pathetic, Lancelot.” your voice was firm. “And you are not unworthy of pleasure, that is the scriptures poisoning your mind.”

He found it difficult to speak of it, there was such much shame in him that he was taught to carry. “You must find me a fool for how I vowed to forsake it. And now I have to face the repercussions.”

It was shocking to hear that he thought so low of himself just because he was loyal to a promise he made. “Don’t say that. It’s not true. You are not a fool for wanting to keep a vow.”

“I do not want to keep it.” he said resolute. “It has put me in a cage that I do not know how to free myself from, in here…” he put a finger to the side of his head, his voice quieter and pained, “I do not want to remain chained to the Church.”

You brushed a hand along his arm, soothing him. “In time, your life as a monk will be nothing more than a past life. Take small steps away from it, it doesn’t matter how long it takes, as long as you keep going on the path that you want to take.”

He was grateful to hear it and reached out to move you closer to him. His fingers toyed with the fabric of your shirt at the waist. “Show me…”

He never had to speak such things out loud before, it felt like a bridge he still had to cross in his mind, if only he knew how. All he knew was what he had overheard from the conversations of others, mostly from the paladins. And it never sounded like a woman received much out of an intimate encounter. They spoke of it like it was nothing more than an itch to be scratched and nothing else mattered but the relief it would bring them. If you spoke of it so unashamedly and openly, there had to be more to it. He had seen not a hint of fear in your eyes at the possibility of it happening, only interest, and why would one be interested if it was not rewarding? Until now he had never understood the appeal to seek out and fulfill this carnal need, until now… until you.

“Huh?” you frowned, confused what he meant.

“Those other ways.” he hoped his tone would be enough explanation.

That was a request you didn’t want to deny him. “Are you sure?”

“I am.” he said quite calm.

A speck of uncertainty was on your mind. You suddenly felt really nervous at the idea that he, someone you truly cared for, was asking you to explore this with him. What if you went too fast? Or upset him? What if he wouldn’t speak to you afterwards anymore? What if it went so bad that you couldn’t face him?

You fidgeted with the pillow. “I don’t want to ruin things between us.”

He placed his hand over your fidgeting one. “There is nothing you could do that I would not forgive you for.” Another confession came, “After our unfortunate encounter in the forest where you fled from me, I told Father I wanted you with me. And I always will. If I were to lose you I would seek you in everyone I would meet for the rest of my life.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You actually told Father Carden that you wanted me with you?”

He looked down at your hand. “Yes. I could not even feel the wounds after I went to the scourge, because all I could think of was that had I lost you. No pain compared to it.” His brows drew together. “Do you understand what you mean to me? Know how much I trust you?”

You knew he cared about you, but this… this ran deeper than you had ever hoped for. To be that important to someone… for the first time in your life… You took hold of his hand to settle down your emotions. For a while, all you did was absentmindedly play with his fingers and admire the beauty of his hand.

He spoke quietly, “Do you not feel this attraction between us?”

“I feel it.” You had felt it for quite some time.

You let your index finger touch his cheek, ran it over his stubble, and traced it over his lips. “You have a very nice mouth.”

He arched a brow, and that mouth curved into a cheeky smile at the unexpected compliment. “Do I?”

“Shut up.” You felt the teasing coming.

He stayed quiet and let your fingers continue their exploration over his features. You couldn’t help but look at his markings, how they were more defined compared to your own, they fitted him so well. The markings made his eyes stand out like the moon above the sea on a clear night. You could not deny this man, not with the way he was looking at you and those eyes filled with silent awe. After a few seconds, you took one of his hands and slowly placed it on your collarbone.

“You thought of touching me ‘Indecently’, you said?” you wondered out loud while guiding the hand down to a breast, “Like this?”

He blinked a few times rapidly, like he wasn’t sure if this was truly happening or if he was stuck in on of his daydreams.

When no response came, you teased it out of him, “Or did you imagine it without my shirt in the way?”

He took a breath through his mouth, already feeling too overwhelmed to speak.

His heart was going so fast he feared it would be the end of him if that shirt came off. And still, he felt himself on the verge of saying ‘yes’, the shirt was ‘in the way’ and if he was braver he’d help you take it off if you were inclined to do so. Instead he kept quiet, fighting the urge to close his hand over the soft curve that radiated warmth.

The long delay in response worried you. “Too much?”

He shook his head a little, daring to let his thumb circle over you. “Let me-…”

You waited for him to finish what he was about to say but it seemed that even he didn’t know anymore, it made you chuckle a little. It was that reaction that made him let out a breath of relief, it had broken through the nervousness inside of him, he smiled content. Those smiling lips locked on your own and you began to caress his chest.

Showing and receiving affection, through touch and reassurance, exhilarated him more than battle ever had. He heard your quiet noises in his ear when he latched his mouth to the bottom of your jaw. All the stories he had heard being shared among the paladins, and none had ever mentioned how blessing it was to just touch and explore what was pleasant for all involved.

Your hand moved to rest on his, and you gave him a clear signal by making him close his hand over the curve of your breast. “You’re allowed.”

He moved his body closer and almost politely kissed your throat just below your jaw. Every touch of his was a calculated one, he went about it with caution, like he feared you’d suddenly slap him. To get that fear out of his head you snaked your fingers into his hair to massage his scalp, humming content. His hot breath against your neck was heavenly and sending shivers down your spine.

The way you bit your lip, how you tried to hold back those enthusiastic sounds… The smile that curved your lips… He loved this. His hand curved around what had been offered so generously, feeling the warmth of your body through the fabric.

You rubbed at his chest feeling him through his shirt, letting him set the pace. There was no haste in him as he slowly indulged in these carnal desires that had build up in him. Sometimes you felt ticklish when his stubble moved against your throat and your quiet giggling only seemed to motivate him. It was a slight risk you took when you slipped a hand under his shirt and grazed it over his abdomen. A small gasp fled him, but he muffled it by kissing your neck.

This continued for a little while, and you were careful not to come across as hasty. Your hand skimmed to where his heart was, feeling it beat under your palm in a quickened pace. Your head tilted to kiss him, surprising him by sucking on his top lip, then lightly tugging at his bottom one with your teeth. He let out an appreciative sound. His hand wandered down and your breathing quickened when feeling it slip under your shirt. It was not long before he began to copy what you were doing, as your hand grazed over his chest and abdomen, he did the same to you. But he did it so shyly, so very careful not to frighten or cross a boundary, and that just made you want him more.

You moved a little, to be able to hook your leg over his hip, sliding closer against him. It was then that you felt how his body was responding, his hardness was near your groin. His mouth broke away from yours at the sudden intimate contact. He clearly felt self-conscious, perhaps even ashamed or embarrassed. To calm his nerves, you kissed along his neck, gently sucking the skin at some spots.

He had closed his eyes, feeling every single one of his senses being overwhelmed. Somehow your scent had gotten even better than it already was, and you were around him like a cloak. He never wanted this to end, never wanted to leave this room again. By hooking your leg around him, you had trapped him in your web and he was a willing prey. His hardness was against you and you showed not a single discomfort, on the contrary, it was as if you enjoyed to feel what your affections did to him.

He got a little bolder, touching you a little firmer, moving his hips a little closer. There was a pause then, one needed for both to catch some air. He shuddered.

“We have so much to catch up on…” you said between breaths for air.

He nodded in a quick manner, then locked his lips to yours again with a certain urgency. He kissed differently now, deeper, harder, claiming your mouth for himself.

You arched into him to show your willingness to frolic in the bed with him. “I am going to show you just how worthy I think you are.”

He sought an answer in your eyes for a question he did not dare to ask aloud. His answer was given when you sat upright all of a sudden, and as you had anticipated he did the same. With your hands on his shoulders, you pushed him back until he laid down. With a hand on his chest you made him remain so, so that you could straddle and sit down in his lap. His hands were trembling when you took hold of them and placed them on your hips.

“Don’t be afraid to touch me.” You saw his widened eyes gaze up into yours. “So many things can bring relief. It does not have to include taking one’s clothes off. It could be as simple as this.”

“What should I do?” he sought your guidance.

“You lay back.” You brushed a hand over his chest. “And tell me that you are willing to follow my ‘orders’.”

His eyes darkened with interest instantly. He gave a slow nod.

You hadn’t thought that he would so willingly let you be the one in control. “If I do something you do not want or are not ready for, tell me to stop or push me off.”

“I will not push you off.” he said sternly. “We speak openly, as we agreed to.”

You leaned down to peck his lips and put a hand on his chest to stop him when he tried to claim your mouth for himself again. Gingerly you caressed his chest, then his arms, his neck…

And when he placed a hand on your waist you knew he was inviting you to continue. It was a bold choice to let your fingers hook under the hem of the shirt he wore, craving the skin to skin contact you had not felt in so long. He knew what you were trying not to ask of him, to drown out his own nerves he brought his lips to yours. A slow and tender kiss filled the millions of questions and wishes shared between you. Bravely your hand skimmed under the shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. Lightly you tapped your fingertips on his lower abdomen, it bordered on being in a ticklish manner.

“Can I take your shirt off?” you asked politely.

“I thought clothes could remain on?” The wit came out of him and he smirked up at you.

You were tongue-tied for a moment and wished you could escape from his view.

He loved to see you flustered, even though you had so bravely crawled into his lap. “Why do you want to take my shirt off?”

It was the truth that you told him, unable to hide the hint of sadness in your voice. “I miss feeling warm skin against me. I miss the intimacy.”

Three seconds passed before he moved to sit upright and took off his shirt, he threw it next to the bed. It filled your heart to witness it, you cupped his face and kissed him. His chest was so warm you could feel the heat of him through your shirt. You parted from his lips and pushed him down again in a more demanding manner, he did not seem to mind in the slightest, a smile curved his lips the second his head hit the pillow.

“You are incredibly attractive.” your gaze swept over him “It should be a sin to withhold your beauty from the world.”

He looked down at his chest and could not see past the scars and bandages. “You do not have to say this. I know the damage that has been done to my body.”

You would not hear him bring himself down, not here and now, not like this. “These scars take nothing away of your beauty.” Your touch grew unmistakably lascivious as your palm glided downwards over his chest. “I’m glad to sit in the lap of someone so handsome.”

He tried to move up to kiss you, you held him down and it made him chuckle. “Why are you in my lap? Not that I am complaining.”

You made yourself comfortable, putting a hand on his chest to support yourself a little more. “For this.”

At a slow and steady pace you began to move on him, rolling your hips, gently grinding into him. After doing it three times, he understood your intention. His hands were restless and decided on holding your waist, his lips parted. Not a single sign of discomfort came from him, on the contrary, you could feel him relax under you.

“Alright?” you kept a close watch on his reaction.

His slowly nodded a few times, watching you move on top of him. He looked like he could not fully believe it. There was nothing smug or arrogant in his eyes now, instead they were filled with undeniable wonder that you were doing with him.

“You are are going to sleep so well tonight after this. I promise you that.” You held back on saying too much, yet to learn what he’d like to hear and what would encourage him further.

You teased his lower abdomen, brushing your hand over it but stopping before it got too close to his groin, you kept repeating it to build up the desire in him. His nose and cheeks flushed, the pink hue even overtook some of his neck. It was worth every second of effort. You tried your best to roll yourself into him in a seductive manner, and he needed little convincing.

You felt him hard against your inner thigh and decided to make a lighthearted comment, “That is not the hilt of a dagger you’ve hidden there, or is it?”

The poor man was visibly embarrassed by the natural response you had been drawing out of him. “Forgive me.” He blurted out, “I cannot help it.”

“Flattering.” A cheeky smile curved your lips. His reactions proved that he was sensitive to friction. “I’ve heard that denying your urges can make you more sensitive.”

He agreed on that with a knowing look, admitting to it. You teased his abdomen with the tips of your fingers playfully and started to move on him again.

He had feared embarrassing himself, but when you just gently seemed to enjoy moving into his lap shame was quick to settle down.

“Oh…hm…” he said so very quietly and tried to keep his own hips still. Almost did his eyes roll back into his skull.

It was lovely to see him slowly grow more comfortable. “Not so frightening, is it?”

He held on to your hips, fingers dipping into them a little. “It-” A sound caught in his throat. “Feels good.”

“Good.” You rubbed his chest with both hands a bit greedy. “May I try to make it even better?”

His widened pupils looked up at you with inquiry, a small nod. You positioned your legs a little differently, sitting more firmly into his lap, his hardness against your groin. For a few seconds you just sat still, trying to tame your own lust at feeling him against you so intimately. His grip on your hips had changed, he had tried to sit a little upright at feeling the difference in contact and when that failed he just got a firmer hold on your hips to keep you there. His signal could not have been more clear.

“Tell me when it’s too much.” You saw his mouth tremble when he exhaled.

The request tumbled out of him, “Do what you did before.”

You rocked your hips again, a slow roll of them, “This, you mean?”

His shoulders sank into the pillow, his hips moved just a little upward. “Yes.”

At a steady pace, you enjoyed letting him feel the pleasure he had been forbidden to have for so long. And seeing him slowly lose his composure was something you reveled in. One slight shift of his hips and he had changed the angle just enough so he could sit upright and pull you close against him, chest to chest. With his guiding hand on your hip, you continued your lascivious behavior.

Your fingers curled into his hair while praising him. “I love to do this with you, I love the sounds you make.”

He began to trail his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, until they found the spot beneath your ear that carried your scent so strongly.

The pressure in his groin was coming to a height. His body was begging for it.

He took hold of your hips firmer, holding you so that his movements met your own well. Carnal instinct was kicking in at the pleasure it brought.

You were going to cause him to ruin his trousers. And he would have begged you for it if you would have stopped.

When he began to instinctively move his hips into you, you did not expect the friction to stimulate you too. By breathing calmly, you tried to keep the feeling under control. But he seemed to learn that having a matching rhythm was even more pleasurable, and not even you could hide your body’s reaction when your back arched as he moved his groin against you. To feel him so eager, so willing and attentive… it made you feel desired. He tried to see your eyes but you were quick to place your head unto his shoulder, suddenly self-conscious. Moving became instinctual, he was chasing what he so desired. And that knowledge, along with the friction, caused your breath to hitch.

He did not expect his ears to be blessed by a sound that he hoped he would never forget again, it kicked into his core and spread his warm blood all throughout himself quicker.

“Lancelot…” you breathed into his ear just as he grounded into your harder.

His response was not a surprise. He came undone hard, jolting a bit under you while emitting a moan that betrayed how desperate he had been to feel such a release. Holding your hips down so he could move against you as he twitched.

You scratched at the back of his scalp as he calmed down, he held you close but his hold was loose from the exertion. You held him in your embrace, head resting on his shoulder, and that lasted for minutes. Then he began to brush his hand over your back when his heart and head started to return to the world around him. Your embrace tightened a little. It put him at an advantage, and with one swift move he had you with your back down on the bed instead of him.

He took in a deep breath, stared down into your eyes, then wordlessly began to kiss your neck. His hand came to your thighs, wasting little time to slip between them. From surprise you clenched them shut. His mouth parted from yours but did not stray further than and inch. The unspoken request hanged in the air and you answered by kissing him again and relaxing your legs. He felt up your inner thigh lightly, but was quick to cup you through the fabric of your trousers. A breath got stuck in your throat as he gingerly brushed over it once very slowly before withdrawing his hand.

Then you felt his fingers under the hem of your shirt, moving it up to touch your bare abdomen. His intention got clear when he gingerly went for the waistband of your trousers.

You didn’t know how to respond to his forwardness. “Lancelot?”

He recalled what you had told him. “You feel the same ache. I can learn.”

Wide wide eyes you stared up at him, he brought his lips to your own. The way his mouth moved with yours was different now, there was no haste in him when he kissed you deeply. His hand slipped under your waistband, you slipped your tongue briefly past his lips and he took that as a clear invitation to try the same. His hand snaked between your thighs, reaching it’s destination without delay or distraction. You gasped when he was bold enough to cup your warmth into his hand without warning.

“You’re wet…” he uttered more to himself.

You realized he might needed this explained to him. “I-…. it’s normal. It happens when uhm…”

“I know.” He brushed the bottom of his palm against you. “You are aching. As I was.”

He only had a vague idea of how to tend to that ache. He had heard descriptions, but the actual act was often very different.

“Let me aid you.” he asked with a certain determination

“Wait.” you said.

He stilled instantly, having heard the confusion in your tone. The way he was so quick to… had he truly not done anything of the sort before or was that a white lie?

“Have you done such a thing before?” you asked.

The initiative he displayed had confused you. It must have seemed to you like he had not been truthful about his lack of experience regarding this.

“I have not.” he admitted with a timid small smile. “Only heard others speak of it.”

You understood that he was just trying to advance his skill. “By ‘others’ you mean paladins?”

He got quiet and you touched his lower arm. His hand was still in your trousers and caressing your inner thigh, it was only adding to the desire that you tried to keep within bounds to be able to think clearly.

You gave him the opportunity to rethink this. “It is not obligated to do this for me-”

He stopped you there. “I want to.”

You worried he was pushing past his boundaries too fast, just to please you, just to feel worthy. “It’s not necessary. I know this has been a lot for you already to experience-”

He cupped you again and you couldn’t help but close your legs at the feeling it send through you. There was no hiding your response, your eyes had fallen shut and the grip on his arm got stronger, the noise in your throat was barely contained.

“I believe it is necessary.” It was a cheeky statement after seeing your reaction. He nearly whispered, “Let me help.”

Your hand glided down over his arm to let it join the one that was stroking over your thigh, to show him how to do what he wished to do for you. “Hold your fingers over mine, feel what I do.”

With the pads of his fingers he felt how yours moved against yourself. His nose picked up on the scent of your arousal and his throat went dry.

Of course it made you feel self-conscious, but that faded when he showed the patience to learn. It was interesting to him, you could tell, and you didn’t mind being studied under those heavenly eyes. He kissed your forehead, brushed his nose against yours affectionately, took over from your fingers when he felt confident enough to try for himself. You did appreciate that he let you guide him, that he listened when you gave some useful instructions on how to please you. He began to kiss you slow and deep whilst his fingers massaged intimately.

It had been so long since you had that ache met. And you were sensitive much like he had been. “Gods, I love your hands.”

He smirked into the kiss, feeling you move your hips into his touch. “I can tell.”

You swatted his shoulder playfully for the wit he was giving. He touched you with more confidence, the playful tone had been set and it drowned out the nervousness in both that caused restraint.

“Just keep going.” you feigned bossiness.

“Like this, you mean?” He did enjoy to see you try and act this way. “Or perhaps like this?” He changed the pace of his fingers and the angle.

By reflex you grabbed hold on his arm, taken off-guard by how good that change felt. You felt the tightening in your core begin. “Keep doing that. Just…” you swallowed hard, moaning in the back of your throat, “Just like that.”

He got as close as he could, seeing the change in you. “You enjoy feeling my hand between your legs?”

If it was his intention to arouse you further, it was working. And those eyes filled with fascination worked wonders too.

“I do.” You moved against his hand, following the rhythm.

He couldn’t help but fantasize about it not being his hand but his…

“Yes?” A hint of arrogance under his smile. “Would you allow it more often?”

If this is how good he could make it feel, you’d undoubtedly crave for it. “You would do this again with me?”

He hummed in approval. “Every time you wish for it.” His affections were causing you to start breathing heavily. “Breathe, Little Ember.”

It would have been easier to breathe if he wasn’t massaging you to your release, and you could feel you were close to coming undone.

He saw your breathing change and knew you were on the edge. He spoke into your ear in that warm timbre he only reserved for you because he knew you liked it. “Just breathe…”

Your grasp on his arm got so strong you wondered how it didn’t seem to hurt him, and it didn’t stop him either.

“Lancelot… I…” You couldn’t take much more, everything you wished to say came out as a moan.

He couldn’t stop watching you gasp and moan. “You made me ruin my trousers, I will grant you that same favor.”

He moved until his leg was between your legs, to make you keep yours open for his manual stimulations. You felt a change in his confidence and actions, he moved his fingers with a clear goal in mind. But it was the determined and focused expression in his eyes that pushed you to your height. You cupped his neck and drew him in close, he rested his forehead against yours and you whimpered not an inch away from his lips. Your gaze wove together with his, fueling your arousal further.

To have your eyes on him, while you writhed under him from the pleasure he brought you, was so delicately intimate to him. The quiet praise you whispered into his ear mended a part of him inside that had once been broken. He was ‘doing so good’ and his scent was apparently ‘incredible’ according to your praise. The sweet things kept spilling from your lips.

Another whimper fled your lips. “Lance-”

He kissed your forehead. “Breathe. Let it come…”

The gentle encouragement was all that was needed. You came undone, trying to clench your legs shut but his hand stayed where it was. You muffled your cries and whimpers of pleasure against his shoulder, not expecting that the scent of him only made the the feeling stronger. His pace slowed down, but he did not stop his stimulation until the last moan left your lips.

Seeking relief for carnal needs had many different solutions, this was the lesson he had learned. He couldn’t stop brushing his lips to your temple, your neck, your lips… as you laid so beautifully sated, your eyes were closed as your breathing slowly calmed down again. He moved his hand out of your trousers and grazed over your abdomen in a soothing manner. It did not feel real, he had fallen into a dream he never wished to wake from again.

Slowly your eyes opened, but you could feel how tired you had gotten, he could read it from your eyes and brought the sheets over your form.

“Rest.” He kissed your forehead. “I need to handle a matter first, I’ll come to bed then.”

You tried to pull him back into the bed, but he chuckled and broke free. He brushed a hand through his hair and walked to the washbasin. You understood what he needed to do and turned over in the bed to grant him the privacy to do so should he so need it. There was the rustling of his trousers, and when he let out a quiet sigh you began to titter quietly.

He still heard it, and as he wettened one of the rags he spoke to you, “Does it amuse you to have ruined my trousers?”

“Yes.” you bluntly answered without shame.

“I hope I get them clean, I do not wish to-” he paused, then said something to himself that you couldn’t hear.

“Do you need a hand?” You knew exactly what you were teasing him with and wondered if he would catch on.

A pause. “No. It is washing out.” Another pause. Nervous rustling. “Did you think I would not understand what a provocative question that was?”

More tittering you tried to muffle with the sheet. “I am trying to make you feel at ease.”

“I am at ease.” He discarded the wet rag. “I am reminiscing about what we have just done.”

“Did you like it?” You resisted the desire to look over your shoulder at him.

He wettened a fresh rag and approached the bed again, sitting down on the edge but moving his knee on the mattress to get closer to you.

“How can you question that?” he said quietly, a hint of worry in his voice.

You couldn’t think of an answer before he reached out and began to pet your head, stroking his thumb over your cheek. The way he looked at you now, it had you quiet as a mouse. In the dim candlelight his skin had a sort of glow that just made you think of the warmth of sunlight.

“Come here.” he said, moving the sheets off of you a little.

You saw the damp cloth in his hand. “Is that for me?” he nodded and you reached for it, but he didn’t let you take it.

“Let me tend to you.” To him it was only logical to take care of the mess he had started and caused. “Please.”

“Alright, if you wish to.” Your answer was just spoken, and he lifted the waistband of your trousers with his free hand to give access to his other.

It was done so respectful towards your modesty, he never showed intent to bare you for his eyes. With the damp rag he freshened you up, folded it and used it again to be meticulous. Then he withdrew his hand from your trousers and even tied the knot in the cords again for you.

That willingness to serve, a remainder of his past. A serene act of devotion that you never thought you’d experience. “No one ever did that for me.”

His eyes lifted up to yours. “I respect you, and you deserve to be treated as such.”

You stared at him for a moment, smiled warmly. “Kiss me. And come sleep next to me.”

That rag was simply dropped next to the bed, and as he moved to lay beside you he did not waste those few seconds and kissed you. His mouth did not part from yours until he was already laying next to you for a bit. With your nose mere inches from his, you slowly drifted off into sleep.

He did not care if he was damned, if his soul would burn. One kiss was worth burning for, but this? He had found his heaven in life and it was worth hell in the next. Every lick of the flames would be soothed by the memory of your lips on him. And he prayed he could make more of those memories before his time on this world would come to an end.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten ​​  @the-great-adventures-of-me   @linkpk88   @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks ​​  @slytherlight   @beananacake ​​     @crystallizedtime ​​ @moonlightaura03 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart   @5am-cigarette   @arcanenature @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream  

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[world-in-a-nook]

"Where your Goddess can't reach..."

characters : Aventurine x Sunday relationship : Sunday's pining for Aventurine art : @willdrest and @nai_pizx (edited) synopsis : Sunday's thoughts about Aventurine and how his eyes may relate to the Order from his meeting to Penacony's departure warnings : religious theme, suggestive, ooc ?, alcohol mentioned, saviour complex, wc : 2k071 nda : I added some details during their first meetings for more internal thoughts. Hope you like it ! Had fun writing this ! @alicerosejane (since you liked my previous sunturine post, I take the liberty of taging you on this one).

People had warned Sunday about this situation; he was prepared for the IPC but not prepared for him. He had prepared everything to create the perfect dream, a true haven, as it was in the beginning and ever would. His nightingales perused through the Reverie, watching each soul to be saved from the damned. Meanwhile he kept talking to his sister. He cared for her, so much so that he had to keep them in this nest, away from harm.

His conversation was interrupted by his nightingales signalling conflict, a chaos in this perfectly organized melody. So, he arranged with his sister to go at the lobby to calm down any conflict. That’s when he saw the Astral Express, from the red-headed navigator to the grey-headed troublemaker but his attention was diverted by a suave tone complimenting his appearance. He frowned as he saw the gilded coat, the ostentatious jewellery and the bright colours. He had known the invite to the IPC had been sent to the Stonehearts, but he didn’t expect such a character. From the sly compliments to the playful tone, paired with the controlled body language, it was clear that this man would be a troublemaker, a serpent in his garden.

As the blond man followed him into the elevator, Sunday could catch a hint of his cologne but also his facial features: golden flowing locks, skin shimmering like gold, thin lips. The debt collector hadn’t had the courtesy of yet taking off his glasses nor his hat. Though impolite, Sunday didn’t say a thing as it wouldn’t be the best move to start the conversation. He was about to do so when the gambler asked:

“Mr. Sunday, is it?”

“Yes, sir. May I have your name?”

“I am Aventurine, one of the Stonehearts sent by Diamond. Would it be possible to transfer my room somewhere else and give it to the Nameless?”

Sunday hesitated as it would possibly cause a havoc in the staff, the man’s belonging had to be moved, reservation transferred. He was interrupted by the gambler’s suave tone, and a closing of the distance:

“Mr. Sunday, it isn’t for my own sake but for the Nameless to be together. So, they could feel their own little family as united on the same floor.”

The head of the Oak Family didn’t miss the pun and nodded:

“I shall do as such then. Thank you for thinking of the Nameless.”

“Oh no need to thank me, I am just accustoming myself to the Family’s beliefs.”

He couldn’t quite catch if there was any sarcasm in that tone. The gambler’s words weren’t as honest as his, they were veiled in the lustrous fabric of half-truths. Someone as him, so skilled in the art of deceit and haughty, would only bring conflict in his dream. It made sense for the Stonehearts to send someone like that, to distract him with the honeyed words, the sweet cologne and the skin framed in gold. His eyes went the opposition direction, and his focus on stopping any pink appearing on his cheeks.

The elevator dinged as it opened to another floor, welcoming the two gentlemen into one of the top floors. As Sunday opened the door to Aventurine, he couldn’t refrain themselves from following the gambler’s silhouette, the graceful movement of his legs to the gentle sway of his hips. His guest went to look at the view outside as one hand finally took off the pink-tinted sunglasses and hat, finally being polite. One member of the Family, a bartender asked:

“Dear guest, what would you like to drink?”

“A whiskey on the rocks, friend. What about you Mr Sunday?”

At that moment, the blond finally revealed his eyes to the dreamer and what a sight. He couldn’t help his from widening in recognition. The same shade of blue and purples, but brighter as if not dimmed by humanity’s pride. It was an exact copy of THEIR gaze. He shook his head and quickly answered:

“I’m sorry Mr. Aventurine but I don’t drink any alcohol.”

“Is that so? A shame then… Drinking alone…Would you not want to join me as a welcome gift?”

“No, no. I’m sorry sir.”

Sunday couldn’t contain the slight chuckle at the teasing as he sat down. Though his thoughts were always in perfect order and calculated, it wasn’t the case anymore. He couldn’t understand how someone with THEIR gaze seemed such an agent of chaos and strife, someone who could tempt so easily into depravity. He quickly grabbed the glass of sparkling water he was served, taking a gulp before finally being able to cross those eyes.

He had to initiate the conversation, the formal greetings and orchestrated symphony yet his mind was in a capriccio. He seemed to lose his thoughts in the heady cologne and for a moment he stared at the man’s lip.

“I’ve been told that Penacony was a land of dreams, but I didn’t expect even its leader to dream in reality. Is it some kind of advanced technology?” Quipped the gambler.

Sunday shook his head yet again and mumbled a half-truth:

“I apologize, Mr. Aventurine. The charmony festival has been quite the daunting task and you are far from the first guest I’ve welcomed.”

“Is that so?” Aventurine hummed playfully, raising his eyebrows.

Sunday bit his lip as he knew the look on the gambler’s face: he couldn’t lie to the one because it was the Stoneheart’s native tongue. As if a child caught, his eyes looked away but landed on the soft skin of Aventurine’s chest. Maybe it would be as soft as it looked, like some kind of silk. He wondered if his body was as symmetrical as those hypnotising eyes. Sunday scolded himself for lying and now thinking of his guest’s skin. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat, trying to put any form of distance for the conversation’s sake, and his own. He wasn’t the one drinking yet felt as if intoxicated by the dream syrup.

The conversation followed the scrupulous music sheet until the blond would add here and there his own notes, small transgressions into the greater plan Sunday had created. And yet it felt so liberating, to peer behind the curtain, kiss the forbidden and swallow the once hated fruit. When the gambler added his quips and tricks, Sunday couldn’t help himself but fall. It wasn’t disorderly but something real, as if his eyes opened to a new possibility. He was tempted to go further into the depths of this new blessed land, to feel the tender embrace, the locks of blonde hair in his grasp and the soft skin onto his.

Yet THEIR path was created for him to follow. His teachings had been an armour to face the tempting schemes. So, he swallowed his desired, focusing on the plan of a blessed land afar. Of course, he could tolerate the blond in the menagerie. All would be welcomed in his land, all to entertain this peaceful dream. He had been invited after all, yet Sunday didn’t know Aventurine was crafty than all his guests.

And when the parting came, the head of the Oak Family couldn’t help but feel some kind of void. The gentle hum of warmth had disappeared from the room. Only the blend of the cologne remained with the hint of musk, citrus, pepper and the whiskey he had nearly finished. Sunday took the cool glass and swirled gently the amber liquid. What if he took a sip? To only discover its taste? What did this man like in this so dangerous drink? His lips brushed off the cool glass, as if expecting the gambler’s. Yet pulled away and shook in head in disbelief of his own actions.

Sunday gave the drink away and moved towards his office in a hasty pace. Now wasn’t the time to be tempted by the sensuous words. The gambler was only sent by the serpent to make him fall in the dangerous sin of chaos.

And he stopped in his walk, now realizing why THEY had put THEIR reflections in the gambler’s gaze: he had to save the poor soul who grieved for his world. Those tender eyes weren’t meant to deceive him but a star to guide towards the greatest Salvation. The gambler was only lost where THEY couldn’t reach.  

And yet he quickly realized how the sacred relics, these precious eyes, had made him hope. He had been too late to realize how he had been led astray, and it was only when his sister had been killed that his eyes had been open. If only the blessed angel hadn’t been the martyr for his epiphany, then would he manage to forgive.

And he couldn’t. His eyes met the tempter once more and he wanted him only to repent for his crime. Confessing wouldn’t be enough; he had to bend the knee so that Sunday could truly see THEIR gaze into the sinner. Kneeling wouldn’t be enough; he had to taste the divine seed to truly find salvation. And if it meant purging his blessed land from any form of temptation, so be it. As he ensnared the tempter, he could only see what truly lied behind the truth behind those sensuous words: a poor soul in need for Salvation. He would offer it to see the Evil fall against THEM, to adorn the once-sinner into a saint with blessed pearls around his neck.

Though what he hadn’t expect was how he had been deceived. He had hoped that THEIR power would overcome the sinful words, yet he had been truly led not by THEIR music but by the siren’s call, the sin of anger and pride. Only did he continue to delve into deeper and truly show that the dream had to endure.

But he couldn’t, his quest had been rooted into the selfish desires of power unfit to him. He had fallen into the hands of benefactors so low that he had been chained facing the Devil itself. Yet he was not the one paying the price but his sister. The one he had so desperately tried to protect from harm had given him freedom btu they felt so wrong in the glossy lips of another serpent. Until he heard

“Life is too short to miss onto golden opportunities.”

He immediately knew those weren’t words of his sister, nor from the patient reaper but from that man. Sunday let those echo in his mind, he could picture them from Aventine’s lips with the sly smile. Had he been saying this while drinking some whiskey or another Soulglad? It wasn’t important but those words were another temptation. And now that he was given new wings, ones enabling him to finally taste the world, he accepted the man’s words.

He would embark starward, tread the man’s word not as fearful as taking an interest in temptation but a way to regain his light. His eyes had been open not by following the distant light nor listening to the sacred choir but by his failure and giving into temptation. So, he would follow this piece of advice, not to advert away from his mission, nor to follow the sinner’s will but to understand what led astray souls, to recover from his fall and once again become radiant.

As he embarked on the train, looked at the planets and cosmos afar, he could only ask if he would meet him again and what would he do. Would he stay the meticulous maestro? The saviour that pitied onto the glimpse of corrupted soul? Or would he shed his armour and open his soul to Life and all it had to offer? He had followed other words in hope to save others without questioning his teachings and yet Aventurine did start this fall. He had beckoned him to fall so that his sister would gently help him change and grow new wings. He was scared, confused but also fascinated.

So, he hopes that the next time he would meet him, either be it a clash or an embrace, that he would truly see behind the veil, behind what he had considered once sinful. So, he delved in and took a sip of whiskey in the Astral Express, wanting to understand the burn from the alcohol but also the one melting his soul and burning in his heart.

[seriouslycalamitous]

Hi! It’s the writing anon again, thank you for your advice, it was very much appreciated!

Um, I was wondering how you make sure scenes don’t pass too quickly, or that nothing comes across as very confusing for the reader? I usually write very rushed, so everything gets jumbled up really easily. That’s one of the main things I’m worried about. Sorry if you aren’t wanting questions like this! Feel free to ignore it.

-✨

Great question! And don’t worry, I love answering writing-based questions. Gotta be one of my favorite topics! For future reference, you and anyone else with questions can send them my way at any time!

(If you couldn’t tell, i tend to get carried away. Please enjoy the next several paragraphs of me explaining.)

First things first, keeping things within the range of understandable for your reader.

What you immediately need to know is that your reader isn’t dumb. They can figure stuff out better than you might assume. Mentioning a magic crystal in passing will help them put the pieces together in their head that ‘oh, this is a world with magic replacing electricity’ or something of the sort.

Sometimes, you do have to explain topics more, especially if they’re relevant for your POV character to understand. Use simpler language, don’t overwhelm the character or the audience with terms and world elements that they might not already know.

If you want to make a callback to something a character already knows, to give both them and the audience some anchoring and understanding, have them remember a piece of dialogue or a memory from an earlier piece of the story. You can frame it like a very very very brief flashback where they hear the words echo in their head, or summarize it, like “he remembered the time this guy told him not to go to this place. now he knew why.”

Try not to do this often. Thoughts and memories are fine, but if you do it too often, the audience will feel like you don’t trust them to recall these details.

Most importantly, take it slow. Don’t over-explain things or try to fit every single detail of world-building at once. Spacing things out so they come up in relation to the scene or conversation topic can help with this.

Foreshadowing is a great element to help readers get accustomed to themes as well. It doesn’t necessarily need to be some big plot-altering detail to be worthy of foreshadowing. It can absolutely apply to personality traits, magic, world-building, and stuff of that nature.

Dropping hints here and there, like certain details that you sprinkle in but mostly gloss over can make information easier to deliver later, and can give your story good re-read value!

Unfortunately, something quite a few writers, including myself, struggle with is where the cut off of relevant information begins. If your character is a guy rebuilding an abandoned temple to fulfill a debt, we probably don’t need to spend a lot of time — or any, actually — discussing the different forms of currency in this world, or the gender roles of a household, or the supremely different fashion choices around town.

You can spend a little time on each if necessary, but a character like this might rather notice the types of architecture around them over anything else. Even then, those are details you should keep short and use when necessary, since your character might like architecture, but it’s admittedly a little boring if you spend longer than a paragraph or two on it.

As for scenes not passing too quickly, there’s some quick, simple tricks to make that work while also keeping your flow natural.

Dialogue is great, but people in real life don’t tend to ramble as much as they do in readings. If you need to, have your characters stop speaking every now and again to breathe, think over certain topics, perform an action, etc. It makes the scene go on longer, and gives readers more time to process what’s happening.

Thoughts are, perhaps, the easiest things to help a scene go on longer. Have a character think about the way someone’s acting, the way they look, the way the world around them is reacting to their situation, or the tone within which another character is speaking. Try to make life easier on yourself by avoiding action words like “thought” or “thinks” and their synonyms

Too much “he thought about the time she did this” will also feel like spoon-feeding your reader. “She had done stuff like this before” can be enough. It implies a memory without outwardly reminding us that these memories don’t actually exist beyond what is being told to us on the page.

I know this is a lot and I may not have touched on everything in the most helpful way, but i hope this makes at least a little sense!

[pillarboxed]

One of Those Days When Hemme Dies (2024) Review

Director: Murat Fıratoğlu

Runtime: 82 minutes

Language(s): Turkish audio; English subtitles

Certification: PG13 (Singapore; some coarse language)

One of Those Days When Hemme Dies feels very much like an adaptation of Abbas Kiarostami’s Where is the Friend’s House?

In Kiarostami’s film, young Ahmad goes on a mission to return a misplaced school notebook to his friend. If this friend doesn’t present his completed homework in the notebook tomorrow, he’ll be expelled. Other than the village, Ahmad doesn’t know where his friend lives. So, he runs around asking others, mostly adults, for help. Nobody manages to provide much of it. Even if they do give some clues as to where his friend might be, Ahmad still ends up wandering through long, winding paths and up and down inclines and slopes. Most frustratingly, the adults barely seem to be listening to him.

In Fıratoğlu’s film, Eyüp (played by Fıratoğlu himself) sets off to shoot his eponymous supervisor, Hemme. Despite repeatedly reminding Hemme about wages, it’s been fifteen days since Eyüp and his fellow tomato harvest workers have received any. One of the workers reminds Eyüp that Hemme is just an employee too, so the wages aren’t in his control, but Eyüp is desperate. He has one last day to repay a debt. I get the sense that unlike Ahmad, Eyüp knows where to go. The issue is about actually getting there.

Eyüp’s motorbike is the first obstacle in getting to Hemme. It keeps dying. So, Eyüp is forced to dismount every so often and run with the bike. He eventually gives up on it, leaving it by the side of a road as the adhan, the Islamic call to prayer, sounds from a distance.

The adhan is a repeating motif throughout the film. In Islam, there are five obligatory daily prayers, and the start of each prayer period is announced with the adhan. These prayers act as reminders of God; as reminders to obey Him. Which entails not taking a life unjustly.

The first time we hear the adhan is during the scene in which he leaves his bike by the side of the road. But before doing this, he pauses, just standing there on barren land, framed in an extreme wide shot. (This is one of the film’s many long takes.) Though we never see Eyüp pray, I like to think that hearing the adhan still gave him pause.

The people that Eyüp meets along his journey is the second obstacle in getting to Hemme. However, Eyüp’s situation is almost the opposite to Ahmad’s in Friend’s House. While Ahmad is usually treated coldly or harshly—especially by adults he knows—Eyüp is often smothered with hospitality, not only by acquaintances but strangers too.

Over and over again, Eyüp is invited to join others: for a meal, for a snack, for some conversation. Over and over again, he insists that he’s “late for work” (is he actually?) but somewhat gives in to their hospitable demands in the end. When an elderly man sitting in an alley asks for help with carrying a watermelon back home, Eyüp keeps walking on at first—then returns, unable to ignore the request. The two then shuffle on to the old man’s house with the heavy fruit and linked arms. At the house, the old man insists that Eyüp have some watermelon.

The sequence with the old man strikes me as the most reminiscent of Friend’s House, which also contains a sequence featuring an old man winding through alleys with the protagonist.

With respect to mise en scène, both sequences use wide shots containing leading lines formed by the sandy-hued walls of the winding alleys. With respect to narrative technique, both use the event of accompanying the old man to build tension. Naturally, he can’t walk fast, so the protagonist must slow down despite the urge to race ahead.

And sure enough, Semih Yıldız mentions Kiarostami in IndieWire’s survey of cinematographers with films screening at the Venice Film Festival 2024: “When I first read Murat Fıratoğlu’s script […], the world in which the story takes place reminded me of the minimal cinematic language of Abbas Kiarostami”.

However, the tension that builds in One of Those Days feels more comedic than in Friend’s House. For someone who seems quite determined to shoot a person, it’s ironic that Eyüp can’t bring himself to be impolite to others. It’s somewhat absurd. So, the tension in Fıratoğlu’s film was enjoyable while it was frustrating in Kiarostami’s.

One of Those Days When Hemme Dies feels very much like an adaptation of Abbas Kiarostami’s Where is the Friend’s House?: a Turkish, more adult, and more entertaining adaptation. 

Rating: 4/5

Thank you to SGIFF for the Cinephile Pass and for the screening of One of Those Days When Hemme Dies.

[pluppsauthor]

Character Profile Tag

Thanks to @finickyfelix for the open tag :) (this took a while, but I really wanted to do another one of these when I saw your post.)

For this one, I'm going to do my second favourite character, Jesse Graves from my WIP 534ft.

-----

Full name: Jesse Graves

Age: 19

Gender: Transgender Male

Type of Being: Human

Appearance: Jesse stands at 165cm (or 5'5") and has a generally small frame that he covers up with layers of loose cloth draped over him.

His face is soft, though it shows restlessness. He has subtle bags under his brown coloured eyes. His hair, a similar shade of brown as his eyes, is short and unkempt, hidden by his hat. And he has a light, mostly unkempt, beard over most of his chin.

He wears a cowboy hat to cover his eyes from the suns, basic leather and cloth travelling clothes, layers of cloth draped over his shoulders to mask his frame, plain leather boots, fingerless marksmen gloves, a backpack, and a holstered silver revolver on the right side of his hip.

Way of speaking: Jesse speaks slowly, seriously, and with thought behind every word he uses. He goes as deep as his voice allows and shows as little emotion as possible. His natural voice/cadence is something he very rarely shows to other people unless he feels safe around them.

Physical characteristics: Jesse's body language is purposefully reserved, presenting himself as someone serious and not to be messed with. In truth, he just doesn't want to be bothered.

What he cannot hide, however, is his gloomy disposition. He is filled with guilt and regret, and this is evident in how he walks, talks, and acts. No matter how reserved his actions and words are, this part of him still seeps through.

He also doesn't show nervousness, fear, or other strong emotions. He bottles it up and stuffs it down under this mask of unflinching seriousness. When alone, these bottled emotions burst forth in fits of anger, crying, and self-loathing.

Occupation: N/A

Family: Jesse has no surviving family.

Best friend: At the beginning of the story, Jesse is more or less alone. However, during the story he becomes friends with a changeling woman named Claire. The two of them eventually become best friends who would die for each other if needed.

Pets: His horse, Biscuit. Though, he doesn't consider her a pet, but rather a companion.

Relationships: Jesse, mostly due to fear and past trauma, struggles to make lasting relationships. As a result, he only ever has three throughout the story. The rest evaporate as soon as he and them stop interacting.

Claire: Best friends, struggle through similar issues and lift each other up because of it.

Nolan: Is wary of him because of his use of alchemy and infusions of magic, but is on generally friendly terms.

Death: Due to his past, Jesse has a close relationship to Death. He is one of the few who can see Death, outside of their dying moments. Death took pity on Jesse and the two of them have a somewhat friendly relationship. Death wants to see Jesse forgive himself, only helping him because of a "debt".

Describe their room: Jesse never tends to stay in one place longer than a few nights. When he does need to stay in a place overnight, he keeps all of his stuff together directly next to where he sleeps.

Items in their bag/purse: Jesse carries the same few items on him at all times.

A stack of bounties who have the faces of people he's looking for (those connected to his past)

A small bit of mire (name of currency)

Preserved food and water for biscuit (and sometimes himself)

A notebook with the names of everyone he has killed/buried (accidentally or otherwise)

Spare revolver parts, ammunition, and cleaning/polishing supplies

And a fire starter

Hobbies: Tending to Biscuit, carving, polishing his revolver.

Favourite sport: Jesse doesn't really have a favourite sport, but if he did it would be horse-racing, as a racer.

Abilities/talents/powers: Jesse, innately, has no special qualities about him. However, he was given a boon from Death.

This boon grants him endless vitality, or stamina, and prevents him from dying from a few common deaths. This includes dehydration, starvation, exhaustion, heat stroke, and blood loss depending on where the wound is.

He also has the ability to give this boon to someone, at the cost of taking on their vitality instead. He typically does this exclusively with his horse Biscuit so she can ride at full speed near-endlessly.

Fears: Forming relationships, getting close to people, magic, people recognising him (from his past).

Faults: Thinks little of himself, guilt stricken, unsure of himself and his identity, has trouble expressing himself.

Good points: Strong-willed, dead-set determination, friendly.

What they want more than anything else: To be forgiven for his sins.

------

That's Jesse for ya! He's my favourite trans cowboy... by default since he's the only one I have. But he is my seconds favourite character I've ever made so...

Np tagging @creatrackers, @paeliae-occasionally, @sm-writes-chaos, and open tag :)

---copy/past questions---

Full name: Age: Gender: Type of Being: Appearance: Way of speaking: Physical characteristics: Occupation: Family: Best friend: Pets: Relationships: Describe their room: Items in their bag/purse: Hobbies: Favourite sport: Abilities/talents/powers: Fears: Faults: Good points: What they want more than anything else:

[saberdramon]

I'm currently working on a full re-localization for the main story of Gaiden but that's about all I know is going on, though I'm not super in touch with things. Not to say the older localizations are perfect (mine also suffers from "localization debt" to mistakes made in the past and will have its own imperfections besides that), but the overall accuracy and quality has definitely gone down since they started doing simultaneous releases, among other things. — @0nsyu-archive

that is a real shame to hear about the localization quality, especially when there is a certain level of art when it comes to translations in terms of finding adequate parallels and even creating new characterization moments when the target language allows for it (mostly thinking of the fun pronoun and cultural things deltarune did with its japanese localization bless you toby fox). i guess this is another case of Videos Games Industry being the way it is which blows, even if stuff like modding projects can build community around. well. fixing things that shouldn't need to be fixed in the first place

it is super cool to hear that you're working on gaiden tho! i have no frame of reference for how huge of an undertaking that is but im definitely keeping that in mind for when you finish it hell yeah

[stardeer-valley]

Winter 15, Year 1

After getting the dwarf translation guide, and meeting the dwarf in the Mines, Beep was informed there was a cave leading to the desert (or as the dwarves called it; the Sunlands) that had been blocked off overtime. For the 'low' cost of 20 diamonds, the dwarf would unblock it. With a third explosion in the night since Beep's arrival, this time only waking him up, the shortcut was opened. It took almost all morning to find, since it was tucked out of the way, and Beep had walked past it several times. Unfortunately, since the blanket covered him pretty closely, and was too bulky for the straps, Beep had to bring a sack he had found to carry back any spoils. Thankfully, he was only collecting coconuts and cactus fruit. He didn't want to risk ruining this lovely garment in Skull Cavern after the Marnie had been so generous.

Shortly after he left, Marnie and Robin snuck onto Avalon Farm. Mostly sneaking because they didn't want to frighten the poor deer and give a negative association with what they were carrying. Since both women worked in physically intensive jobs, carrying it from Robin's wasn't that hard. Thankfully Robin had the doors measurements from when she fixed up the farm house, so they were able to bring it inside without much trouble.

Based on the circular design of Beep's nest, and assuming it followed a similar purpose as a birds nest, Robin and Marnie set the circular bed frame against the wall for a moment. They cleared the old nest away (it was pitifully thin and dusty) and slowly lowered the bed into the centre of the room. Robin finally had a use for those warped wooden planks, carefully bent and nailed into a round, bottom-heavy bowl. It was only as tall as their knees, set low on purpose, and the round interior had been lined with any scrap of cloth too small for projects all sewn around every bundle of wool too poor for sale, and then topped with fresh hay (just in case that was a specific nesting material). Robin nailed the support legs (so it didn't tilt or rotate) into the bed now that it was in place of the old nest. Marnie then ran back to her farm to grab the wooden crates of miscellaneous cured meats Caroline had found for wholesale. They were intended for cheap rations during camping, so hopefully they lasted the deer the winter. They had no idea how much he ate, but from Maru's estimation on what Demetrius threw out, they hoped this was enough, or that he'd be able to make it the rest of the way.

All in all, this barely cost them anything but their time and effort. Robin already had the materials, Marnie had the nesting material stored in her shed and barn, so Caroline only needed to find the replacement foodstuff. Emily added her own fabric scraps for the 'bed' part around the rubbish wool Marnie had. Plus Leah carved deer and antler motifs on the outside, on the off chance Beep could appreciate it. And as far as Marnie was concerned, this was a debt repaid for helping Jas and keeping her safe when she got lost that spring.

With the better nest in place, and food stores replenished, Marnie and Robin quickly left on the off chance this was a boundary crossed. Beep had never been aggressive towards anyone, but they still didn't want to risk anything with an unknown wild animal.

"That house is a cluttered, but well taken care of like you said." Robin noted. "I'll get someone from the Adventurer's Guild to keep an eye out, but it shouldn't be too difficult to add onto my previous work. I already have the blueprints." The specific organisational system they had seen in the second room was definitely a sign of higher intelligence. "What kind of deer knows how to read and write? And what kind of language is that?"

———

Things different from canon; (AU???) Gramps never had an heir, or they never show/ed up. Special new farm map; Frontier Farm! Stardew Valley Expanded; new maps, new NPCs, new events, a LOT of new stuff. The new “Farmer” is just a Weird Ass Deer. NPCs will respond/react accordingly.

This is my first time playing Stardew Valley Expanded, so I’m learning as I go. (Please no spoilers if you play SVE)

[chinalawyerxu]

Navigating International Arbitration in China for Debt Recovery: Insights and Success

In today's interconnected global business environment, trade with Chinese enterprises is a common practice for many foreign companies. However, debt recovery issues can arise, posing significant challenges. With 16 years of extensive practical experience in assisting foreign clients with debt collection in China under a "No Win, No Pay" fee structure, we are well - positioned to share valuable insights on effectively handling international arbitration in China for debt recovery.

The process of international arbitration in China for debt recovery involves several key stages. It begins with the initiation of arbitration by submitting a written application to a recognized arbitration institution in China. The application should clearly outline the facts of the case, the amount in dispute, and the legal basis for the claim. Choosing a reputable arbitration institution, such as the China International Economic and Trade Arbitration Commission (CIETAC), is crucial as it has extensive experience in handling international commercial disputes.

Following the initiation, both parties are given the opportunity to appoint arbitrators. If they fail to do so within the specified time frame, the arbitration institution will make the appointment on their behalf. The arbitration tribunal typically consists of three arbitrators, unless both parties agree to a sole arbitrator.

The arbitration hearing is a pivotal stage where both parties present their evidence, arguments, and witness testimonies. Having well - prepared documentation, including contracts, delivery notes, payment records, and correspondence related to the dispute, is essential. The hearing is conducted in a manner similar to court proceedings but offers more flexibility in terms of procedure and evidence submission.

After carefully considering all the evidence and arguments presented, the arbitration tribunal will issue a final and binding award. The winning party can then seek enforcement of the award through the Chinese court system. Chinese courts generally recognize and enforce arbitration awards in accordance with the Arbitration Law of China and relevant international conventions, such as the New York Convention on the Recognition and Enforcement of Foreign Arbitral Awards.

However, there are practical challenges that foreign businesses may encounter when engaging in international arbitration in China. Cultural and language barriers can be significant. Understanding Chinese business culture and language is crucial for effective communication during the arbitration process. Misinterpretations can arise due to differences in cultural norms and language nuances. Engaging bilingual legal professionals who are familiar with both Chinese and Western business practices can help bridge this gap.

Collecting sufficient and credible evidence to support your claim can also be challenging, especially when dealing with Chinese enterprises. Chinese companies may have different documentation practices and record - keeping systems. It may require extensive investigation, including obtaining evidence from third - party sources such as suppliers, customers, and banking institutions.

Moreover, there might be divergent legal interpretations. Chinese law has its unique legal principles and interpretations. Foreign businesses may find it difficult to comprehend how Chinese laws apply to their specific case. There might be differences in the interpretation of contract terms, liability allocation, and remedies available compared to their home jurisdiction.

Despite these challenges, our team has achieved remarkable success in helping foreign clients recover debts through international arbitration in China. One notable case involved a medium - sized manufacturing company from the United States that had supplied goods to a Chinese importer valued at over5 $00,000. Despite repeated requests, the Chinese company failed to make payment. We initiated arbitration proceedings against the Chinese party. Through meticulous evidence collection, including detailed shipping documents, quality inspection reports, and communication records demonstrating the Chinese company's acknowledgment of the debt, we were able to present a compelling case. The arbitration tribunal ruled in favor of our client, and we successfully enforced the award through the Chinese court, enabling our client to recover the full amount of the debt plus interest and legal costs.

In conclusion, if you are a foreign business encountering legal issues in China, particularly regarding debt recovery, our team is here to assist you. With our extensive experience and expertise in handling international arbitration in China, we can help you navigate the complexities and achieve favorable outcomes. If you need professional and efficient legal assistance, please don't hesitate to contact Michael Xu. You can reach us at xbtlawyer@outlook.com or michaelxu@jinkunlawyer.com. We are committed to helping you resolve your China - related legal problems and safeguard your business interests.

[abboudlawfirm-tucson]

What are the collection rules in Arizona?

Dealing with debt can be overwhelming, especially when you're unsure about debt collectors' rules. In Arizona, both state and federal laws are in place to protect consumers from unfair debt collection practices. This article breaks down these regulations to help you understand your rights and navigate the debt collection process more confidently.

Arizona's Debt Collection Laws

In Arizona, debt collection practices are governed by federal Fair Debt Collection Practices Act (FDCPA) and state-specific laws. The FDCPA sets nationwide standards to prevent abusive, deceptive, and unfair debt collection practices. Arizona's laws complement these federal regulations, offering additional protections to consumers.

Key Protections Under the FDCPA

The FDCPA provides several safeguards for consumers:

Communication Restrictions: Debt collectors cannot contact you before 8:00 AM or after 9:00 PM. They are also prohibited from contacting you at work if they know your employer disapproves.

Prohibition of Harassment: Collectors must not engage in harassment, including using threats, obscene language, or repeated calls intended to annoy or abuse.

Truthful Representation: Debt collectors must accurately represent the amount owed and cannot falsely claim to be attorneys or government representatives.

Validation Notice: Within five days of initial contact, collectors must send a written notice detailing the debt amount, the creditor's name, and instructions on how to dispute the debt if you believe it's incorrect.

Arizona's Specific Debt Collection Regulations

Arizona law aligns closely with the FDCPA but includes additional provisions:

Licensing Requirements: Most collection agencies operating in Arizona must be licensed and bonded, ensuring they adhere to state regulations.

Prohibited Practices: Collectors cannot use deceptive means, such as posing as law enforcement or legal officials, and are forbidden from threatening actions they cannot legally take.

Statute of Limitations: The time frame a debt collector can sue to collect varies by debt type. For instance, Arizona's statute of limitations for credit card debt is three years, while it's six years for medical debt.

Your Rights When Dealing with Debt Collectors

Understanding your rights can empower you in interactions with debt collectors:

Right to Dispute: If you believe a debt is incorrect, you can dispute it. Upon receiving your dispute, the collector must cease collection efforts until they verify the debt.

Cease Communication Request: You can request in writing that a debt collector stop contacting you. Once they receive your request, they can only contact you to confirm no further contact or to inform you of specific actions, like filing a lawsuit.

Protection Against Unfair Practices: If a collector violates your rights, you can report them to the Arizona Attorney General's Office or the Federal Trade Commission. In some cases, you may have the right to sue for damages.

Steps to Take If A Debt Collector Contacts You

Stay Calm and Gather Information: Request the collector's name, the agency they represent, and details about the debt.

Verify the Debt: Ask for a written validation notice to confirm the debt's legitimacy.

Know Your Rights: Familiarize yourself with federal and Arizona-specific debt collection laws.

Keep Records: Document all communications with debt collectors, including dates, times, and the nature of the contact.

Seek Legal Advice if Necessary: If you feel your rights have been violated or are unsure about the debt, consult an attorney experienced in Arizona's debt collection laws.

Conclusion

Navigating debt collection can be challenging, but understanding the rules in Arizona equips you to handle interactions with collectors more effectively. Remember, you have rights designed to protect you from unfair practices. If you need assistance or believe a debt collector has violated your rights, consider consulting with our attorneys to explore your options and safeguard your interests.

[mosmorem]

Blondie and the Toad (part 1)

The damage was worse this time. Not in a, the fire spread to the whole neighborhood, sense. As usual, the work was precise, kept to one building. But this time, this one... burnt to the ground, down to the foundations, traces of melted glass from the windows... The fire was raising in temperature. This was not technology. I was clearly magic.

The man, tall, dark, really fitting with the style of, well, arson in the city, had been standing in the cold for at least fifteen minutes, which he would have considered a short time if it wasn't for that crippling mid-January cold. He hated winter. His breath was fucking visible.

He wasn't even supposed to be coming here to inspect the damage, but—the one ought to was busy puking his guts out (again, fucking winter), and he had sent all of the others to deal with that cargo thief from last week. So... his fault really.

"Uh, excuse me..."

Surprised, he lifted his eyes. A boy, in his twenties, blond, eyes blue like a damn angel and framed with equally blond lashes, which he really wouldn't have been able to see if said eyes weren't so big and round and looking really lost. The boy's arms were folded against him, clutching a phone and a crumbled piece of paper. No gun, non-aggressive body language.

He wore blue jeans and a violently orange shirt. Too visible, and also, why the fuck wasn't he dying from the frost?? He wasn't even shivering.

But that wasn't the weirdest thing. These streets were empty for a reason—few people came here by choice, with all the fires lately. Arson, newspapers said, but who knew for sure. So, a lost boy, no doubt.

"Yes?" he answered, admittedly a bit curious, trying to keep his annoyance out of his tone because, well. The boy was cute.

In fact, he matched his type so well he might also totally be a spy. Damn.

"I'm looking for a, uh..."

Why the fuck was he blushing now.

"...Pickled Toad?"

Oh. That stupid name. Only one person really calls his that, and still it's been a while since he heard it last. Mostly because he thought that person was dead. Who was this boy ? His curiosity grew. Actually yes doubt, because he wasn't so lost after all.

"What do you want with the Toad?", he said, in a totally normal voice like this was a normal name. Normal conversation. Normal fires.

"My sister gave me this for him." And he unclutched his hand to show the crumbled paper, which turned out to be a crumbled envelope. "I'm supposed to give him directly".

He got this little fierce look like you'd have to kill him to get the thing, and the man smiled. Cute. Too bad his sister was a damn fucking witch, and a psychopath. She had a brother like this? No wonder she hid him all this time.

"I'm who you're looking for, blondie, that's me."

The boy hesitated.

"How can I know for sure?"

He snickered and threw him a look. "Cause Betty Greenland's the only fucker to call me The Pickled Toad."

He spit the 'name' like the insult i was, and that made the boy blush like a tomato and give him the envelope without a word. Inside was a slightly less crumbled message.

Hi pickled toad, I'm calling out your life debt. This is my brother, he needs :

And the bitch made a fucking list:

...shelter, food, to learn how to get his magic under control, protection, ideally a new phone, really anything he asks.

Okay this was definitely from Betty; he could recognize that mix of weird and shameless. He lifted his eyes without moving. The boy—the brother—was looking around, eyes wandering amongst the ashes and remains of a burned building...

Was that... guilt in them? Oh, he did not like the picture that was coming to mind.

Don't worry, I didn't teach him to bite. Actually yes, you should worry, because he wouldn't need teeth to hurt you. Don't hurt him. See you when I can (which could be in some time, won't lie), Betty. P.S.: don't ask question but don't make dumb assumptions either.

That... was actually a little reassuring. Still. What the fuck.

"Blondie do you know what this says?"

"I actually don't, but I know I'm supposed to go live with this uh, toad, so you I guess. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. And, well, sorry to be the bad news itself... I guess. Sorry."

His voice had gradually gotten lower and lower, until his last sorry was mumbled. The man softened against his will. Whoever this guy was, his sister's horrible personality definitely hadn't rubbed off on him. He sighted, folded the whole thing together and put it in a pocked inside his jacket, containing the wrecking shivers that threatened to get him before he closed it again. Then he lifted his hand in front of him. The boy, a bit late, shook it hesitantly. That's when he noticed markings on his forearms and hands; very light, lighter than his skin, and just lines and curves following each other.

"Well I guess you're coming with me then. What's your name?"

"I'ts Sael... but what do I call you then? The Toad?"

Cheeky. He started walking away and he followed him.

"Call me, uh, Teddy. It's similar enough."

Sael seemed to gather that it wasn't his really name, either, and made a face but dropped it.

"Where are we going?"

"Well Sal-"

"Sael..."

"-your sister put me in a pretty bad predicament. See, I deal in dangerous business, but I am now obligated to keep you safe and happy. The two won't go hand in hand I fear."

"Do you work for dangerous people?" Sael asked, before tripping on a stone and catching himself last second.

He laughed. "No, blondie. I am the dangerous people. Now come on, we're going home."

[dhampiravidi]

modern royalty - Naela

BASIC DESCRIPTION

Legal Name - Naela Asinia Vesune Antaryos, Princess of Braavos (Heir Apparent) Age - (plot-dependent) 15 to 30 Gender - Cisgender Woman Sexuality - Bisexual (Biromantic) Ethnicity - Arab, Berber, French, Italian Religion - Fuck Around & Find Out :) Family - Ferrego Cogite Saevin Antaryos (father; Lord of Braavos), Ashara Antaryos née Djabou (mother; Lady of Braavos) Languages - Standard Italian, (Moroccan/Darija) Arabic, Braavosi, some (British) English, some (European) French

APPEARANCE (FC is Tristin Mays)

Naela stands at 5'5" (1.65 m). Like the typical celebrity forced into the public frame, she has a healthy build, which is somewhat toned thanks to her athletics. Visually, Naela takes after her mother, inheriting her near-lavender irises, light brown skin tone, & facial features. She wears her dark, slightly wavy hair in a braided updo for formal occasions but prefers to wear it free, resting just below her shoulders.

PERSONALITY

It’s rare that she’s ever truly still or sad. The exceptions to this are when she’s learning history (which keeps her still) or longing for an adventure. Otherwise, she's playing sports (horseback riding or fencing), attending state events, or hanging out with her friends. She’s a hopeless romantic at heart, partly due to the fact that her parents fell in love at first sight. This quality ties into her main weakness–her naivety. Though admirably loyal, optimistic & true, Naela is often warned that her heart will be her undoing if someone with ill intentions tries to lead her astray. Naela likes reasonably spicy or tart foods, horses, furry animals, daydreaming, reading, making people laugh & playing with kids.

COUNTRY

Braavos is a Mediterranean country located between Algeria & Tunisia in North Africa. It overlooks Italy, which it has participated in several cultural & demographic exchanges with over the centuries. It was founded during the High Middle Ages, just after the fall of the Western Roman Empire, by people fleeing Western Europe, chiefly among them, escaped slaves. As such, the country has a long history of having civil rights protections. Braavos is wealthy because of its status as an important European port (which exports oil, electronics & fish) & because it commonly lends money to foreign nations (this always leads to a debt that accrues interest over time). Its national language, Braavosi, is similar to Latin; it is only spoken by 6% of the population, while 97% is fluent in Italian or Arabic. Unlike most countries, Braavos has a monarch who actively participates in politics. Theirs, the Lord of Braavos, has partial legislative & full executive powers. There is no official state religion. Still, there are a decent number of Judeo-Christian Gnosticists (who believe that the goal is to transcend our flawed material existence by reaching enlightenment & reconnecting with the benevolent god who opposes evil) in Braavos. There is also a large group of Sunni Muslims living there. Because Naela's father has not converted to Islam, his marriage to Naela's mother is not legally recognized in Morocco. The flag of Braavos features five small silver stars in a v-shape, all sitting on a navy blue background.