#creases should be lessened and more subtle

[redlight--greenlight]

posting some older art that i forgot to post months ago! up first is this dbh au castiel!! my cousin suggested the concept of angels as androids and i haven't been the same since! so!

[tugoslovenka]

Warding Bond - Chapter 6

Agony

A/N:

I did have a lot of fun writing this one purely because my own headcanon of Mephistopheles is Kratos with magical powers lmao. Yes, I got the hots for my own headcanon. Good stuff.

Also posting on AO3!

Althea’s hand fell to her side and she bent over slightly, cautious not to disturb the altar of Cazador as she moved past. Astarion’s stare followed, though it was no longer that of a hunter. Puzzled, she kept a safe distance, though the vampire made no attempt to attack her. He appeared defeated. Exhausted, even.

“Are you really going to drag this out?” he asked, and in spite of his apprehension, the gruff in his voice made obvious its attempt to assert some form of control, however minor.

“What?”

Brow furrowing, she reached through the laces of her belt, grabbing hold of the dagger that lay in wait. Scraping against the metal embroideries prompted Astarion’s ears to perk up. The silver tip, dipped in the rivers of the Hells and enchanted by Mephistopheles himself, found its balance underneath the vampire’s chin.

Once again, he did not move.

This was a moment she had fantasized about for years. The same elf who wrought upon her suffering unfit for the greatest evils in any of the Realms, now knelt at her feet, cowering in failure.

“Why do you not fight?”

“Because I choose to no longer.”

“Why?”

“Are you daft and proud?” he scoffed, slightly rearing his head and hissing when the point of magical silver sliced at the delicate skin of his throat.

Althea took a step to the side, allowing the vampire view of his former, rotting master.

“The ritual should have destroyed him.” She twisted the dagger, its edge now pressed against his chin. “Yet his body is wilting.”

“How observant. Next you’re going to tell me I fucked it up.”

It was true, then. The Rite of Profane Ascension was not completed, not in full. Subtle creasing on her forehead showed her confusion turning into realization, something he immediately caught wind of.

“You can’t be serious.” He burst out in laughter. A maniacal laughter, comically loud, and long. Her attention was drawn to a drop of blood that slowly leaked from the tiny puncture in his throat, disappearing in the collar of his shirt. Althea licked her lips at the sight. Her stomach growled again, though this time it was the vampire who heard it—and stopped his howling.

Sensing the opportunity to do before he mocked, she kneeled, pushing him into the wall with the blade still at his neck.

“Speak,” she ordered, clenching her teeth in her best attempt to mimic intimidation.

To this, Astarion only tittered.

“I don’t fancy jests any more than you do. Speak!” she repeated.

“What kind of assassin doesn’t know the details of the job they’ve agreed to?” he sneered, relaxing his body in a display of defeat. His hands slid down onto his thighs, palms up. The creases around his mouth were more pronounced from this distance, as was the smell of blood that lodged itself in her nostrils.

The control she had was lessening—starting with her grip. Signs of bloodlust typically progressed from shaking limbs, the inability to clearly think, followed by a complete and utter loss of control unless the hunger was satiated. She quietly cursed her weak-willed nature, something she could never outgrow. It would have been a splendid affair, gutting the lordling in front of his lord.

“This theater performance is as bad as it is irritating,” he exhaled. “Your employer should know that—would have known it.”

Althea would have had time to think, were it not for the itch in her teeth, which threatened her concentration on the cantrip that kept up the ruse. She smacked her lips again, struggling to tear her eyes from the continual dripping of the vigor that called to her—demanded her—to drink. Drink. Feed. Sustain.

“I work alone,” she snarled, willing every muscle in her body to yield. Never did it occur to her to test her spellcasting on her own mind, yet she was now debating whether to Command herself into obedience.

The answer seemed to surprise him. He cocked an eyebrow, scanning her face for deceit.

“Then why is it you are so fascinated in my affairs? Surely a capable woman like yourself has better things to do than deal with an old vampire whose power has been waning for decades,” he mused. “If you’re not interested in gaining any authority in the Council, why are you risking life and limb?”

“Because you—” A sharp burst of pain interrupted her. A throbbing had begun in the fangs she illuded into human canines. “—Because you have fucked me beyond repair, Astarion.”

“Oh?” he grinned. “I’m not surprised. Tales of my lovemaking are far reaching. Although, I would remember a pretty thing like you. You don’t look ancient, unless you’re one of those wretched hags in disguise, in which case I protest this in thorough fashion and—”

“—I am the missing soul.”

Cania was not what Vara envisioned. Raphael told her about his father’s frozen empire, mostly through disappointed grunts. And though she was never allowed to see it for herself, the mirrors inside the devil’s teleportation chamber offered a glimpse into whatever Plane they led to. Sometimes, and only if she had been very good, she was allowed to push her hand through and sense worlds that mystified her, albeit only for a moment.

Raphael would not allow her to think for too long, after all.

He had told her it was a dump, a barren land filled with his father’s intimidating stare, anthropomorphizing the very land. Most of the creatures were therefore cruel, unwilling to enjoy life’s pleasures and—most importantly—were utterly dull.

Varra didn’t have expectations, she couldn’t have any, really. Yet even so, she was astonished at the icicle-like candles bathed in a blue light that hung from chandeliers in a palace carved from glaciers. Strangely enough, she didn’t slip on the smooth mass beneath her feet. Mephistopheles levitated through the halls , not once bothering to turn around, trusting his son’s little lamb would follow.

She did, loyally so.

There were no decorations where they walked. No furniture to match the color palette of the home like Raphael told her was proper, no servants to mindlessly trail behind. Two horned creatures, tall, with craggy, ice-like spikes adorning their backs, stood at attention. Had it not been for their blinking, she would have mistaken them for parts of the wall. They exchanged a few words in Infernal, before the Lord of the Eighth conjured a portal out of thin air. He ushered Varra inside before gliding through himself.

The immediate difference in temperature was striking, though she noted the chilly air indicated autumn. Somehow she knew this meant winter would come, which also meant hunting season was already underway. She stood in the center of an open patch of land, surrounded by woods with little to no light, save for a crackling closeby—a rabbit roasting over a campfire.

“Varra!” 

A hoarse, masculine voice called to her. She turned to see a man, a darker skin tone than hers, with jade green eyes, happily hastening his way to her. Only, he didn’t halt when he reached her. He stopped once he reached the campfire, where she spotted a woman appear from the shadows like a ghost, returning his smile.

Varra studied this woman with great attention and curiosity. The distance was too far for her to be certain, but she did appear her height, though with more muscle than she recognized. Her hair was shorter, shaved down on one side to reveal a tattoo—a tree branch, beginning at the nape of her neck and continuing up her temple. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Madevik.” She met him with a friendly hug. “Any luck?”

“Yes! A herd of migrating elk, with at least a hundred in numbers. The others are waiting, we have to catch them before the direwolves do.”

The woman—‘Varra’—nodded, spitting on her fingers and making a fist before flicking her fingers three times at the flames. “May Bhalla bless us, then.”

A flash of color. A woman, the Earthmother. She remembered. Shiny white hair that gathered neatly in a braid, wrapped around her head like escargot pastries in the Lower City. A deity. Her deity. Someone she used to pray to—for successful hunts, for rich bounties, for happiness.

A sudden chill brought her back to the forest she was standing in, though Varra and Madevik were long gone, and the fire was extinguished. Mephistopheles’ grunt caught her attention.

“I can help you remember, child of Gur.”

“Gur?” she wondered out loud, mostly to herself.

“A people in Faerûn. Children of Selûne. Not well liked, I might add.”

“I am… a Gur?”

“Much more than that. You are the leader of a small group, making things terribly annoying for the Flaming Fists that just can’t seem to catch you,” he chuckled, apparently impressed.

“A thief?” She finally looked up at the archdevil that was curiously eyeing her.

“A robber. Bandit. Cut-throat. You didn’t stray too far from the stereotypes. Although, considering how much this world likes assigning morality to bad deeds, I suppose you’re doing it for the “right reasons”. You are trying—were trying, to be a vigilante. Unfortunately, it will never come to be.”

“Astarion...” she answered her own question, nodding absentmindedly.

“Correct,” he approved. “You are a curious thing, girl. Over 200 years and that name still seems to elicit rage from you.”

“He… took… them from me.” She blinked, a surge of memories rushing through her head. The ball. His hand. The screams of her people when the Flaming Fists attacked their camp. Being held close to the chest of a woman with dusky skin similar to hers, as she soothed her crying. The smell of mead and the playing of instruments while a creature made of flames danced around a group of women.

“You are capable of remembering. Good.” 

Mephistopheles’ fingers swirled a pattern into the air, and in an instant they were transported back to the freezing landscape of Cania. Wobbling over a cliff, Varra gasped, overlooking the expansive, desolate wasteland engulfed by a roaring storm in the distance. The fall would have undeniably killed her.

“Varra D’allrnir of Cloakwood. I, Mephistopheles, Lord of the Eighth, Archduke of Cania, Baron of Hellfire, known to those who see me in true as Thra'axfyl the Ambitious, offer to reveal the past you so desperately wish to unravel. Not only shall I grant you full access to every lost memory up until your untimely death—undeath—but I will arm you with the necessary tools to rid yourself of the very elf who caused it in the first place.” 

“Astarion…” she repeated.

“Correct. Should you consider this proposal, expect to find me in Mephistar at the end of this trek.” He gestured towards the distant, beckoning darkness, just as a bolt of lightning illuminated the vast nothingness of Cania. “An experienced adventurer with a fool’s head and a bear’s bravery needs ten winters to find it. I will grant you five. If you survive, introduce yourself as Althea of Cania to my servants.”

The fine lines had smoothed when Astarion stopped his blabbering at her revelation. The red rubies in his skull lost their color, blackening by the second. No more could she hear ragged breathing, as if he had stilled completely. She could feel tension in the air, cut it like a knife through butter.

“You...” he growled. “You utter—How? How is this possible? You should be burning to cinders in his—in my presence!”

“As should you, spawn, yet here you are!” She readied her free hand in case he felt brave enough to attempt something foolish again. The contract only gave her limited access to a set number of spells per day, so she had to be cautious. Quickly rummaging through her mind, she searched for the enchanting ones, had he felt particularly confident.

Astarion did not take kindly to that title. 

“I am not his spawn!” he screamed, hands glowing a familiar red color, reaching for her neck. At that precise moment, Althea called on the weave, quickly stopping the vampire—spawn—from clawing her face. He was weak, much weaker than she had anticipated. While outwardly, he might have looked impressive, he was either out of practice, or utterly incapable of stopping spells from affecting him.

“You are not his master either.”

The veins on his neck were bulging from fury. Not even excruciating pain did seem to enrage him as much as this confrontation. His breathing had quickened to the point that had he still owned a beating heart, it would have burst out of his chest. His stare was one of hatred, as though cursing her very soul—and it might have worked, were it not for the thousands of fragments it had been broken into over the years.

“Cazador no longer controls me. Never again. I am his superior—I control his pathetic existence!” 

A spiral into madness. The last bastion of sanity before pure instincts kicked in. She had seen it in others, self-proclaimed rulers and warriors who had too much belief in themselves before the stroke of death. It was a wonder he wasn’t foaming at the mouth with how wrathfully he spat at her.

“He’s not even dead, not like he should be—”

“—I ended him! A thousand cuts. To his eyes, to his neck, to his chest, to his—to his—to his—” He swallowed a sob, momentarily crunching his face in aching remembrance. “—I witnessed the last, pitiful breath leave his body and drop at my feet. It was me who did it. By myself!”

If it weren't for the magic holding the vampire, she would have been shredded into pieces by now; seeing him growl at her like a dying animal, attempting to free himself from the constraints through force of will alone. Frozen, she remained kneeling, looking at the pale elf who should have been dead by now. By her hand.

No.

This was not madness.

This was… pain. The kind of pain that only came with an unfinished story. She had spent years trying to unravel her own, repeating mistakes she could never forgive—from others, from herself. Numbing the pain, she had learned, only made it hurt that much more when it finally resurfaced. The years had been kind to Astarion’s story, though they seemed to slowly eat away at the only semblance of hope he had—to be freed.

“Agony is exquisite...” Raphael would say. “You wish it killed you. But it won’t. You’ll just keep living with it, as it drowns the hopes you carry, over and over again.”

His little lamb. Forever trapped between the walls of the House of Hope.

For, if she had no destination, she could never make her way there—anywhere.

The madness surely clouding Astarion’s mind could not materialize, thanks to the spell that kept his body in stasis. Within the bared fangs and crazed eyes, she recognized a familiar intention staring back at her—imagining her body snapped in two, drinking the blood out of her, right before tossing her into the pile of sacrificed souls. The rite that would make him what he imagined himself to be.

Astarion, hero of Baldur’s Gate, owner of the Ancunín Estate.

Cazador Szarr’s spawn, still.

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 03 | Local Networking | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 12.9K

Last time on SR02: Drinking games are fun but you probably went a little overboard last night when you let your feelings of animosity towards Jungkook get the better of you. The experience has at least allowed you to work through some of your anger. Then he surprised you by helping get you to bed when you started feeling sick… so he’s not all bad. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to patch things up?

Tags: Fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, jealousy, sexual tension, sloppy makeout sessions, Joonie is Y/N’s best boi, girls helping girls, friendship feels

CW: drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, mentions of negative body image

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (3/?- Ongoing)

AN: I was inspired to write this next instead so please enjoy! Do not repost. masterlist // previous chapter // next chapter

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook awakens to Seokjin’s bony fingers poking his side. He attempts to roll over with a grumble, forgetting where he willingly chose to spend the night before a collision with the floor reminds him. Seokjin cackles out a squeaky sound as his friend groans and reaches for the couch cushion to bring him to his feet.

“How did you get in here?” He murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “Ugh… what time is it?”

“Is that any way to greet a guest? Didn’t I say I’d be back to make breakfast for Y/N?” Seokjin is already picking up the hoodie partially hidden beneath the blanket nearby. “Hmm what’s this?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen and he tries to snatch it back from him, but Seokjin has already turned away and draped it around his back. He quickly feeds his arms through the sleeves and contentedly sighs.

“Oh, little Jungkookie…” he begins in a teasing voice, “don’t tell me you’re stealing her clothes now and wearing them like some creepy pervert.”

“Tch. No. She left it on the couch.” Jungkook flares his nostrils and scoffs. “Take it off. You’re going to stretch it out.”

“It’s oversized. It’s fine,” Seokjin fires back, holding up a floppy sleeve and waving it in his friend’s face.

Jungkook crinkles his nose in disgust, catching the subtle scent of his friend already diluting yours. “God. Stop wearing so much cologne.”

Seokjin forcefully blinks, briefly scrunching his features as he holds back what he really wants to say. “Cologne? I’m not wearing any. You must be smelling my natural irresistible scent. Intoxicating, isn’t it?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna make it stink like you.”

“Hmm? Do you think she’s going to get this back and feel compelled to… ” The older man zips the hoodie and lifts the fabric to his face to take a deep inhale. “Smell!?”

When Jungkook groans at his laughter Seokjin quirks a brow at him. “You were sleeping with this over your face so I thought you might suffocate in such a delicate scent. Really my balancing aroma means I’m your savior. You should be bowing down to me.”

“Whatever. You gonna cook or what?” Jungkook asks, waving a dismissive arm as he crosses the room.

Seokjin recognizes the path his friend takes as the one leading to his bedroom. “What? Are you going back to bed? Don’t expect me to bring a plate to you in there.”

“Don’t worry,” he sighs as he passes the bathroom, hearing the water from the shower beating against the tile floor. He’s never had to pee so badly in his life. “I’m just going to awaken the princess.”

He pauses to press his ear against the door to his room. He can’t hear anything. With a careful, quiet turn of the knob, he cracks the door open just enough to listen for movement. It’s not until he’s sure of the sound of your soft snoring that he opens the door further to peek inside.

Your body is turned so you’re facing the empty side of the bed and at some point you’ve swung your leg over his comforter to trap it between your thighs. You almost look content with your nose buried in his pillow. It’s easy to forget that a scowl isn’t a permanent expression branded on your face when you look so peaceful and sweet.

The carpet muffles his footsteps as he crosses the room, sinking to his knees as he approaches the side of the bed. He places an elbow on the mattress and rests his chin in his palm as he reaches out to touch your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers, a soothing tone coating the word.

His fingers trace a gentle path up your arm but you don’t stir. Still knocked out? He knows he shouldn’t be surprised. You really did have a lot last night. He’s just glad you didn’t throw up, especially not on his favorite set of polyester sheets. They’re far too expensive to be covered in puke. If he had known you’d be sleeping here he would have changed the sheets like he normally does for company. He’s not exactly used to sharing his personal belongings. It’s much easier to keep everything separate. Compartmentalize. But here you are fucking all that up, like you do.

Before he can even register all of the reasons he should not have his hand in your hair, his fingers move of their own accord, gliding through it like they belong there.

“Mmm… That feels good,” you murmur, leaning into the touch.

Your eyes open, the thick fog of sleep slowly lifting with your eyelids. You’re not sure you’re seeing the person before you properly so you rub your eye with your knuckles and groan.

“Please tell me you’re not who I think you are.”

“Who do you think I am?” he whispers teasingly, failing to keep the laughter from his question.

“Jungkook,” you groan in warning, turning your face into the soft pillow to hide. “Go away.”

“Hmm,” he hums, carefully massaging his fingers along your scalp. “I thought you said it felt good.”

Blood rushes to your ears as you fight to not melt straight into the mattress. You definitely said that out loud. That was a thing you said to Jungkook. Out loud. Fuck. It does feel good, too good.

“Yeah, well…” Your strangled, frustrated sigh cloaks the delight in your tone as you force yourself to look back at his face. “That was before I knew it was you.”

His focused expression morphs into a cheesy smile. “Now that you know it’s me, it really goes from being good to being great, huh?”

You attempt to smack his hand from your hair but his fingers get caught in a massive tangle of knots. You immediately yelp a pathetic sound, sitting up and yanking your head back, which only ensnares him further.

“Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait!” he warns, volume of his tone rising as he climbs up on the bed to lessen the strain on your scalp. “I think my ring…!”

“Ah….! Ah!”

He can’t help the devilish smile that curls his lips at the sound. The labored breaths you offer so freely begin to lodge themselves into his brain for later recollection. For now he suppresses the laughter bubbling in his throat and places his other hand around your head.

“Hold still, princess,” he whispers.

He leans over you to get a better view of the strands trapped in the fine metalwork looped around his middle finger.

“Fucking hurry up,” you hiss, trying to ignore the heat building in your face.

He sighs a loud, frustrated sound at you. “Gimme a sec.”

It’s not like he’s taking his time. He’s not. So what if you’re laying in his bed? So what if you’re cute when you whimper? So what if the scent of your shampoo is making his stomach do somersaults? He pauses to quietly inhale, hoping it’s enough to satisfy the tingling desire in his chest.

You turn your head to the side and do your best to focus your eyes anywhere but the heavy creases lining his obliques. Luckily the ink on his skin steals the entirety of your attention. Your eyes follow a trail of grey brush strokes along his side that seem to grow purple in hue as they wrap around his shoulder and encircle an image you can’t quite make out from your current position. You turn your head, angling yourself slightly to attempt to see more. A sharp tug quickly pulls you back to reality.

“Ow! Jungkook! Fucking pull it out!” you bark, frustration seeping through your tone.

Every time you think you’ve successfully suppressed your feelings of infatuation, they resurface and leave you feeling like a moron. You know better yet you still fall victim to your mind’s own blind spot. Why does having crushes on people have to make you feel so oblivious?

“I’m trying!” His tone is defensive and pouty. “It’s hard to concentrate when you’re yelling at me, you know.”

“Hey!” Seokjin’s call causes you both to jump. “What is it that I’m hearing right now?”

Jungkook laughs, “I’m being a gentleman and pulling it out.”

Seokjin snorts. “That was fast. The least you could do is close the door. Come out for breakfast when you’re done.”

“Seokjin…No! That’s not…!”

There’s a lump in your throat and you realize you can’t form words to continue the rest of your objection to his assumption. You pound a fist against the muscular chest hovering over you. Jungkook coughs as though the air has been knocked from his lungs, quickly following it with a laugh as he pulls his fingers from your hair. The ring remains caught within your locks.

“I want that back,” he says, climbing off the bed and focusing his attention on the dresser nearby.

He digs through until he pulls out a t-shirt, pulling it over his head. You’re working the ring from your hair, carefully pulling it free. A flannel shirt smacks your face and lands in your lap just as you sit up.

“I want that back too.”

“Why would I need your shirt?” you sneer, balling the flannel up and tossing it back at him. “Mine’s perfectly fine.”

He catches it in one hand and throws it back at you quicker than your brain can register the action. You fail to miss the way his eyes rake over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

He shrugs with an air of nonchalance. “Thought you might be cold.”

As he exits the room, he shuts the door. It’s after you hear the click of the mechanism that you see the bra you’ve obviously discarded at some point during the night splayed out on the floor just beyond the foot of the bed. You turn the ring around in your fingers a few times and drop your gaze to two very hard nipples threatening to cut holes in the fabric of your shirt. You drop your forehead into your lap and gather the fabric of the flannel around your face.

“Fucking hate you,” you whine into the flannel.

Moreover, you hate the way your heart beats faster every time he teases you. You hate the way you’ve started thinking about him again. You hate the attention and love it all in the same breath. You hate the way you’ve begun to crave it and you’re afraid he knows it. You sigh and rise, looking around for your phone. You vaguely remember kind of maybe possibly setting up a potential date with Jason. It’s better to focus on that than whatever nonsensical feelings are stirring on your Jungkook radar.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

It’s not until you’re sitting at your desk three days later that you second guess your profile pictures on tinder being the most up-to-date. Do you still look the same as a year ago? Two years? You don’t even feel like the you that you were a month ago. How are you supposed to show your most genuine self when you’re so worried that someone is going to accuse you of being insincere about your appearance?

Pushing down your insecurities and trying to get your mind off of things, you sift through personal emails on your second monitor. Checking for bills due before heading into the lab is a good way to clear your mind of unnecessary noise. Focus on here. Focus on now. But even staring at the screen for the electric company’s login page can’t save you from wandering back down the road of worry.

Jason’s been nice. He was patient with your social anxiety when you said you didn’t want to meet right away without getting a sense for him first. After a few weeks, you forced yourself past the discomfort because you started to like who he presented himself as. But pictures and long texts at the end of a busy day can only tell you so much about him. It’s time. You’ve been hinting at it for a while and now it’s finally going to happen. Who knows? Maybe he’s just as scared as you are. He said he can relate to the anxiety so maybe you can bond over being awkward together. But what if he sees you and doesn’t like what he sees? What if you’re nothing like what he thought?

You take a deep breath as the bill payment goes through and you close the tab, moving to the next cluster of emails to clear from your inbox. They’re mostly newsletters you don’t have the motivation to unsubscribe from and the daily recipe emails you swear you’re going to try out when you have more time to learn to properly cook a meal. It just seems like so much effort right now to your stressed out brain. You don’t even bother looking at any of them.

Delete.

Just as you’re about to close the tab, a new promotion notification pops up.

[IRON KINGDOM IS LOOKING FOR HEROES]

Despite every fiber of your being telling you not to, you open the email. You scan the corny greeting and find an offer for a free month of personal training for new clients who sign up for a membership. You’re relieved to see the email is signed by trainer Hwasa and accompanied by cute animated doodles of an arm flexing with 8-bit plus symbols, sparkles, and a big “LVL UP!” sticker.

Their marketing tactics sure seem geared towards gamers. No wonder Jungkook works there. It’s a bit cheesy, but you can’t help but find it endearing. Maybe a gym will give you the confidence you need to stop worrying about your appearance entirely. Fat chance. But it’s still a chance. You star the email and close the tab, heading back into the lab to work on today’s repairs.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“Late night?”

You rub your eyes and yawn at the cafe table, thankful when Namjoon slides an iced-coffee towards you. You’re grateful you haven’t put on makeup today because it would have smeared all over your hands. When did 11am become too early for a Saturday?

“Thanks, Joonie.” You smack your lips before trying to hide your smile by sipping through the straw. “I stayed up playing games with Jason.”

“Oh?” He seems genuinely surprised. “Have you guys met in person yet?”

You shake your head. “Next week. We’re supposed to… go to an arcade bar. But we played some co-op games on Steam last night.”

Namjoon offers a blank stare. “I have no idea what that means.”

“We chatted over headsets and played some stuff together. It was fun.” You smile down at the cap on your drink as you take another sip.

“Did he sound like a nerd?” Jennie teases as she sits down beside you with her own cup of piping hot coffee.

“He had a deep voice actually. I was surprised,” you admit, an air of infatuation dressing your tone.

“Deep like Namjoon’s?” Jennie asks, elbowing you playfully. “Or Taehyung’s? What if it’s one of them and they’re just fucking with you? Totally cat-fishing.”

Namjoon squirms in his seat across from you, not wanting to admit his once moronic idea to give you some hope by making a fake profile to build you up and deleting the whole thing as soon as it was made. He laughs into his cup. “Like I could do that.”

You laugh and wave her off. “Namjoon’s is like rocky deep and Taehyung’s is like breathy deep. This is more like…”

“…Yes?” Jennie rolls her hand towards you repeatedly. “Words?”

“Rocky deep?” Namjoon frowns and pouts quietly. “What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s got grit, but it’s pleasant. You’re fine, Joon,” Jennie explains, dismissing his concerns with a wave of her hand.

“…Buttery?”

“Oh.” Jennie quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued as she sips her coffee. “Smooth and silky hmm?”

“Uh….” you purse your lips. “I mean… more like N…Nasal butter.”

Coffee spurts from your companions’ mouths and noses. They both quickly gather napkins to deal with the mess.

“Hot! Hot! Ow! Fuck. Wow. Never say that phrase again in your life, Y/N!” Jennie coughs. “Just say. Deep voiced nerd. That’s all you gotta say!”

Namjoon is cackling like a madman, despite the fact that he’s still wiping at his nose and mouth.

You purse your lips and shyly tap your fingers together. “I thought it was a good description.”

“Which is exactly the reason why I re-did your profile in the first place,” Jennie huffs, wiping down the table.

“Okay so….” Namjoon struggles to contain his laughter. “Are you excited to meet Jay-Jay in person now? Or should I call him Nay-Bae now?”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “Guys, look. I’m super fucking scared to meet this guy. What if he doesn’t like me?”

They both answer at the same time. “He’ll like you.”

“You guys are biased because you’re my friends. But like. You know not everyone is attracted to everyone else. Everyone likes something different. So like… what if he’s not attracted to me in person?”

“He’s seen pictures of you. He shouldn’t have swiped right if he didn’t find you hot,” Jennie says matter-of-factly. It almost makes you believe her.

“But those are mostly selfies. Good angles, y’know? The body shots are older, like a year or two?” you try to reason.

“Y/N. Your Zelda pic is from Halloween, which was months ago, not years. He’s going to like the way you look and if he doesn’t he’s a moron,” she fires back.

“I just… Don’t feel like the person shown in those pictures. I don’t want him to think I’m lying to him.”

Jennie bites her lip, knowing how insecure you are about your body image, how sensitive you are about it. Years of being bullied tend to have that effect on people.

“Honey, if he thinks you lied in your photos then he’s not the guy for you,” she says, hugging an arm around your shoulder.

Namjoon nods empathically. “Besides, he may not be right for you either. It’s a test to see if you’re compatible.” His eyes widen and he sits up straight. “Oh. Treat it like a test! You did well on exams, right? Well, this is just a kind of exam that you get to grade. Think of yourself like a… professor.” His face splits into a goofy dimpled grin.

Jennie smacks her hand to her forehead. “Namjoon…”

Just treat it like an exam in prerequisite courses. What did you do for those? Truth be told you soaked in lectures and relied on cramming for exams an hour before taking a test. The weird part is that you would walk in nervous, but you’d sit down and take a deep breath and you’d tell yourself something. What was it?

I know it or I don’t.

No amount of stressing ever changed that phrase. By the time you got the exam in front of you, you could admit if you were lacking in knowledge somewhere and that would be your own fault. The essays were easy enough to bullshit if you knew the general premise of the question. Either way you figured out what needed more studying and you fixed the problem for the next test. Convert that to dating?

Your brows are furrowed and you’re staring at the table with your lips slightly parted when you answer. “We like each other or we don’t. Either way it’s okay because I can always try again with someone new.”

Jennie raises her eyebrows, shocked at your response. “Yes.”

“Exactly,” Namjoon says, offering a soft smile.

From behind the counter a few feet away Yoongi glances up at the three of you, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His hands are already working to pour a perfect heart shape into the milk of another customer’s latte, but his eyes remain fixed to your table. Namjoon’s wave pulls him back to reality and he focuses on the task at hand before milk can spill over the side of the cup. You turn in sync with Jennie, just in time to see Yoongi delicately setting out the cup on a plate and calling for its recipient. He offers a cocked smile and subtle nod in your direction before focusing on his next order.

“That boy is a workaholic,” you say, picking up your cup and tonguing the straw to your iced coffee before taking a sip.

“Workaholic? I guess you’d know all about that, huh?” Jennie teases, facing you again.

“I take breaks,” you say defensively. “I do.”

Namjoon takes a long slurp of his coffee and focuses on the bland painting nestled in the corner of the cafe.

“When’s the last time you took a lunch break, like, away from your job?” she prods.

“I… don’t have time for that… But I do pay my bills at work, which totally counts as a break.”

“Wild.”

Namjoon chuckles, covering his grin behind his hands. “Oh, that reminds me. Geeksquad, you cancel your free week before it charges you?”

You pout, working your straw in and out of the lid with restless fingers before rolling your eyes with a huff. You tap your phone to wake it up, knowing if you don’t do it now you’ll forget. “Thanks, mom.”

You’re greeted with the email you’ve been staring at all week, tormenting yourself over a response. “Hey, uh, so… remember how I was talking about being worried about the way I look?”

Namjoon sighs like he’s about to die on a battlefield over this. “Geeksquad. You’re gorgeous and smart and funny. You need to stop stressing over this.”

You blink a few times in surprise, feeling the heat rising in your face and hoping it’s an invisible involuntary response. “Oh. I, um…” A nervous laugh escapes your lips. “I wasn’t asking you to talk me up again.”

He clears his throat loudly, clearly embarrassed for overstepping. “Ah no, I wasn’t. I was just saying… in general. You know? You sell yourself short.” He’s quick to down the liquid in his cup and dart his eyes elsewhere. Is there a hole he can go crawl in?

“Now I’ve got enough from the both of you to trick my brain into producing dopamine for the day. Thank you.” You laugh. “But… I was just thinking… maybe a good way to boost my confidence on a larger scale would be to maybe join a gym?”

“What gym?” Jennie asks, raising her eyebrows with a knowing smile.

“Well…” you focus on canceling the trial at your fingertips while you talk. “Iron Kingdom is running a special where if you sign up for a membership you get a month of personal training for free. I was thinking of signing up with one of the coaches there… Not Jungkook,” you clarify.

She nods. “I mean they’re pretty popular and cheap. Exercise is a natural mood booster. Just know you’ll probably see him from time to time.”

“How often could I possibly see him if I’m going before work?”

“Bold of you to assume you’re gonna be getting up before you absolutely have to,” Namjoon jokes with a laugh. “I’ve seen you pre-coffee at six am on a weekday. I think you’d rather die than be up earlier than that.”

He’s not wrong. You click your tongue and give a slow half-nod, half-shake of your head. “I have an iron will, Joonie. I can condition myself.”

He scoffs. “Riiight.”

“Besides, I’ll be more accountable if both of you are going with me.” You bat your eyelashes at him.

“Hey don’t drag me into this. I’m content waking up at six thirty every day. Don’t ask me for more. I could maybe do after work.”

Your sweet smile turns into a sour pout before turning to Jennie. “You said you’d sign up with me before we knew Jungkook worked there.”

“Workouts before I’m awake were not part of that discussion. I will gladly do weekends with you,” she agrees.

“What is this, split-custody?” you whine.

She sighs. “Fine, I will sign up for classes with you too… if you stick with it. We’ll get Namjoon to sign up for one too.”

“What?” Namjoon shakes his head. “Hold up. I never agreed—”

“We’ll make a thing of it. Get a meal after,” she says with an aggressive smile as she kicks his shin under the table. “My treat.”

I’m bribing you to do this for her, Namjoon. That’s what she’s really saying, but you appreciate the sentiment anyway.

“We’ll let you pick what we can sign up for together,” you offer as your consoling statement.

He finishes his coffee with a heavy sigh. “Alright. Alright.”

He’ll have to ask Jungkook what the most low-effort class at his gym is and hopefully he won’t poke too much into the reasoning for his sudden interest. Knowing his friend, though… It’s a matter of time.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Since Yoongi is thinking of applying for a bartending job at a new place that just opened up, Hoseok insisted on having the weekly Saturday night hangout there. Something you instantly like is that the space is divided into a louder dance scene and a muted lounge atmosphere separated by a wall of glass that mutes just enough sound to dull the loudest out basslines in the next room. The high energy of the club heavily contrasts the laid back scene in the lounge. Ups and downs. Seesaw is a fitting name.

You’re more of a lounge kind of girl, enjoying a noticeable lack of vibrations rattling your skull as you settle down with a new drink. Jennie and the others may favor the other side and you’ll no doubt be dragged back in, but a moment of respite is all you really need right now. You run your fingers through your hair as you tie it up, staring down at your phone. Jason sent you a selfie and he’s every bit as cute as the photos you keep going back to look at. Sweat lines your brow as you attempt to make yourself presentable enough for a photo of your own.

Taking a look around the room self-consciously, you lift the phone and don a plastic grin. You snap a pic that you spend ten seconds internally tearing apart before sending. You tip the glass towards you, the orange juice and tequila going down all too easy and leaving a tangy taste on your tongue. When you wait for the dots on the screen to stop moving, your stomach drops.

JASON: lmao looks like someone photobombed you. You look good though.

Good. You look good. Not cute. Not hot or sexy. Good. Why does that feel so mediocre? Maybe it’s because he’s never actually said “you’re beautiful” or anything to that effect. It’s not like you need to hear it all the time, but every once in a while would do wonders for your confidence.

You’re not even worried about the first part of the text until you scroll back up to scrutinize your features once again and see a familiar dark haired figure in the background with two middle fingers raised. You zoom in on the figure and grit your teeth when you realize he’s sticking his long tongue out with a knowing grin.

“Getting a better look?” Jungkook asks, chin digging into your shoulder as he leans over you and plants a hand on the table. “Don’t worry, I don’t blame you.”

“Jungkook,” you warn, fire flaring up in your gut. “Go back to the noisy side where you belong.”

“What, you think I don’t like it quiet sometimes too?” He almost sounds offended as he hops into the chair beside you. His tight-lipped smile and quirked brow fill you with feelings of mistrust. “Keeping quiet can be a challenge. And I always like a challenge.”

“Is that why you’re still bothering me?”

He takes the orange off the rim of your glass and pops it into his mouth with a shrug.

“Stop trying to ruin my chances with Jason and stop stealing my fruit.”

When he smiles at you the orange rind peeks out from the space between his lips and you sigh in frustration.

“I left your cherry.” He points to the fruit half buried in ice as he places the empty rind on the table.

He laughs when you crinkle your nose at the mess he’s made, wiping the table down with a napkin.

“Jason,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “It’s been like a month hasn’t it? Has he even eaten you out?”

Your eyes widen and you flounder to formulate a response.”Ah–I–You–Uh–K-Kook!”

“I mean– taken you out?” he laughs hard at the way you trip over your words. “No, no, wait. The first one. I meant the first one.”

“Does this work for you?” you question after taking a long sip from your drink. “The dirty jokes. The crass humor. The douchebag behavior…”

He raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “I thought we had something special, Princess. You were in my bed and everything just last week.”

“Okay you’re–That’s–Totally out of context.” You take another sip, reaching the red syrup at the bottom before digging your finger past the ice to reach the fallen cherry. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

His smile falters for a fraction of a second. “Depends on the girl. You’d be surprised by how many say they don’t want an asshole and they roll their eyes at the jokes, the crass humor… Just like you do.” His voice gets low and breathy, shifting in his seat so his shoulder touches yours. “But that douchebag behavior, as you put it…”

Steady fingers reach for the nervous pair tapping the table beside your phone and you tense. His hand is warm and soft as it curls around your cold, clammy ones. Your breath hitches in your throat as you fix your eyes on his thumb kneading soft, comforting circles into the back of your hand. Your eyes rise slowly up to the owner, never moving past his jaw, too afraid to meet his eyes. Why couldn’t these stupid crush feelings just go away when you started talking to Jason?

“It’s a tactic. It’s a game to me. And it works…” he chuckles a subtle sound, watching the way your gaze lingers on his lips. “It’s flirting, Princess. Do you want me to stop?”

“I…” The truth is that you don’t know. Your body aches for him to continue but when it’s over and he’s done playing games with you, you’ll feel like a fool again. Is it really worth it?

Dark eyes bore into yours, a look of longing in them that almost makes you forget they’re attached to the face of a fuckboy. You blink slowly, caught in the trap of featherlight touches you know you could leave in an instant. So why don’t you? It feels so fucking good to be touched, to feel wanted, even for a moment. You find yourself leaning into it, leaning into him. Even as he feigns a shy smile and chuckles, you hate yourself so much for not breaking away from him. A strangled noise escapes you that sounds like a laugh that is alien to your own ears.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he whispers, followed by a whimsical laugh.

Fuck. Why did he have to be the one to say it? Friends don’t count. Jennie and Namjoon don’t count. But Jungkook? He’s not exactly the same classification of friend as either of them. Are you even friends? Last week he made a point of calling you everyone else’s friend, but never called you his. Is it because he wants something more or because he sees you as something not worth calling more? Your lungs are burning. Are you holding your breath? It feels like you’re holding your breath. Your chest rises and falls in rapid succession.

You take a deep inhale and try to calm yourself enough to rip the band-aid off. Maybe he’ll get the hint. Maybe he’ll stop hurting you. You swallow, not knowing if you can play his game but knowing that you have to try.

“I’ll admit… When I met you I felt attracted to you.” In an attempt to seal the emotion from your voice, the tone sounds deeper, almost sultry.

He smiles like he knows he’s won you over and closes his eyes, leaning in further. He opens them promptly when you place your fingers to his lips and push him back.

“But then I met the real you. Pompous. Arrogant. Shallow. Narcissistic. You think you’re God’s gift to women, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You play with people just because you can, like a boy who never grew up. So, let me be clear. I know what I want and it’s not you. I will never want someone like you. Go back to the noisy side and you might find someone who does.”

He doesn’t make a sound as he pulls away, hands sliding off you entirely until they’re hanging over his own thighs. You can feel your lip quivering but if he sees it he doesn’t mention it as he leans back in his seat and pokes his tongue into his cheek. There’s too many emotions coursing through your own brain to properly read his expression. Any guess you might make would be tainted by your hopes and subsequent disappointment. It’s gone as soon as you blink.

“The noisy side is fun too. Thanks for the orange,” he says, flashing you a toothy grin that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle as he casually strolls away.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Twenty minutes have passed and the sting of your words remain. He tilts his head back and downs another shot, setting the empty glass down the bar counter before disappearing into the crowd. For twenty minutes he’s been telling himself he’s unbothered by your comments whilst thinking of nothing else.

I will never want someone like you.

Not the first time he’s heard that one, but it has been a while since he’s elicited such a negative response from someone. How could you say that with such malice? It’s not like you have any reason to sing his praises, but he wonders how low he’s become in your eyes.

You think you know me so well, he thinks as he tightens his jaw, trying to focus on any of the warm bodies darting in and out of his periphery.

The more he thinks about it, the more annoyance becomes a prominent figure in the forefront of his mind. He’s bothered by the fact that he’s bothered, but maybe that’s because he realizes now that you’re not hanging around Namjoon to try and get closer to any one of them with malicious intent. So what do you want? Do you really just want friends? It’s hard to believe his assumptions were the ones that were wrong, but it seems pretty clear now; you’re not using his friends at all. You just stumbled into this family like a graceless clutz with your jokes, your wit, your kindness, your… nerdiness.

It’s infuriating just how likeable you are. How was he supposed to know that you weren’t putting on a front? It’s hard to find genuine people in this fucked up world and he’s done his best to barricade himself within the ones he’s found. Skepticism has been his guardian; it’s protected his friends from those who would use them and it’s kept the rest of the world a safe distance away. But here you are again making him question himself. It’s annoying.

Navigating past writhing, sweaty bodies, Jungkook dons a scowl and looks around for his friends as he tries to push down his feelings of irritation. He’s hoping to find Namjoon on the outskirts of the dancefloor when he spots Seokjin and Taehyung laughing across the way. He feels his body relax a little and he breathes a sigh of relief, knowing a distraction for his mind is imminent. Just as he’s about to be free of the crowd, there’s a body colliding with his. Lean, tattooed fingers reach out to steady the girl around the waist. She’s already apologizing for her partner’s lack of skill as she turns around.

Agitation dissipates in an instant as he comes face to face with your now wide-eyed friend, Jennie. Maybe she’s exactly what he needs right now.

“You don’t have to throw yourself at me like this you know.” He grins, already moving his hips to the music. “Wanna dance?”

She closes her eyes for just a second, letting her hips sway beneath his palms to the beat. It’s then she catches herself and slaps his hands from her hips. “I’m already dancing with someone else, thanks.”

Jungkook’s expression sours as she turns away from him to look for her dance partner, grumbling how Jungkook scared him off. Am I just completely off my game tonight? What is wrong with me?

He sighs and makes his way towards his friends, hoping sharing some drinks with them will lead to a lift in his mood. He spares a glance up to the glass separating the lounge from the club. You’re fixated on your phone, leg bouncing anxiously back and forth and he finds himself wondering what could possibly be so enthralling, so nerve-wracking that you’ve already downed most of your next drink. He rolls his eyes. You’ve consumed enough of his thoughts for the evening. Whatever the cause, he can’t be the solution. You’ve made that much clear.

Jungkook drapes his arms around both of his friends, interrupting whatever conversation they’re in the middle of. “I’m bored!”

Seokjin blinks rapidly in disbelief. “What’s this? You’re alive?”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, reaching his palm down to tweak Seokjin’s nipple through his shirt, causing him to shriek and shy away from him.

“What? You disappeared so suddenly I assumed you must have been lured to your death by a pretty face!” he argues, rubbing his palm over the tender spot on his chest and maintaining a fair distance from his friend.

Jungkook scoffs, poking a finger in his ear and blocking out his elder’s words before turning to Taehyung. “Tae, you up for a game? First to five?”

Taehyung sucks his teeth and gives the room a once over. “Dances? Kisses?”

“Numbers.” Jungkook declares. “She has to text you first and you have to show proof.”

He raises his eyebrows and laughs. Deciding he could use the confidence boost, he nods. “Yeah, I think I could do that.” He turns his gaze on Seokjin. “You in?”

Seokjin’s sour expression morphs into a wicked grin. “I’ve got nothing better to do. Should I see if anyone else is game?”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and laughs. “You think you can keep up, old man?”

Seokjin moves in to pinch Jungkook’s arm and quickly backs away before he can retaliate. “I’ll show you how a real man woos a woman.”

“Let’s get a round first,” Taehyung suggests, already making his way to the bar.

Jungkook takes out his phone with a grin, sending a group text announcing the start of tonight’s shenanigans. He makes sure to include you.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Namjoon thrusts the water towards you. “Drink.”

You know you should. That last Tequila Sunrise went down way too easy and you’re starting to sweat just sitting here. You attempt to shimmy your hoodie off while maintaining a death grip on your phone. It doesn’t go well.

“Joonie,” you pout.

He pries your phone from your sweaty hands, allowing you to free yourself from your sweaty confines.

“You get this back when you drink some of that,” he argues, pointing to the glass of water. He grabs a french fry off the plate he ordered for you both to share. “Eat some of these, too.”

He talks while sucking in air between his teeth, as if to cool the hot potato scalding his mouth. “Hot! sssch-Hot!” He promptly spits half of the fry back into his hand. “Uhhh, maybe wait a sec though.”

“What? Is it like, hot?” you ask in the most valley girl voice you can muster. You offer him a napkin with a giggle. “You’re a mess, Professor Kim.”

He sheepishly takes it from you, disposing of his half-chewed food before grumbling, “Geeksquad, I swear—”

You simply take a fry from the plate and nibble at it with a smug grin, quickly moving onto the water he provided you. The pair of you sit together in silence for a minute, carefully picking at the plate of fries. Once you’ve sucked down more than half the glass of water you reach your hand out in a grabbing motion.

“You shouldn’t have to try so hard,” he says, handing over your phone

“But I like him,” you counter, mouth full and licking the salt from your fingers.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I wanna know why this guy keeps putting off meeting up.”

“Maybe he’s nervous, too.” You shrug, scrolling through your missed messages.

It’s a painfully short catch-up session and your heart sinks at the realization that he’s not doing anything to keep the conversation alive. You place the half-eaten fry currently in your hand back on the plate, appetite completely dissolved along with your hopes.

“I want another drink,” you mumble, staring down at the screen.

“What did he say?” Namjoon asks, scooting his seat closer to yours so he can read the conversation and you let him.

“Nothing… Nothing and that’s the problem,” you admit, feeling a sting at your eyes.

Nononono not my makeup. You dab at the inside corners of your eyes and swipe your fingertips along the edge to clear the tears before they fall.

“How am I supposed to go on a date with him if he won’t talk to me? I feel like I always have to initiate and keep it going and compliment him. It’s exhausting. Does he even like me? Why did he swipe on me?”

“I think he likes you… But it does seem like you’re carrying the conversation,” he admits, scrolling through the messages. “He might be more introverted than you… Or he’s keeping his options open.”

There. He said it so you don’t have to. You’re not sure if you hate him or love him for it. You lean back against your seat and look forlornly at the plate of fries. Most people your age don’t have reservations about seeing more than one person at a time, so why is it so hard for you to do? Jason is your only prospect and it’s exhausting even trying to manage that much. You can’t imagine having several other conversations happening simultaneously.

“So what do I do?”

“Put Jason on the backburner.” He presses the power button on your phone, the screen going black before he taps on your glass. “You finish your water, eat some more fries, and come dance with me.”

“I dance like a fool,” you remind him. “You really wanna be embarrassed?”

“We’ll both dance like fools then,” he says while filling his mouth with fries. “Come on. Don’t just watch me eat.”

You oblige him with a grin, matching the amount he’s stuffed his face with and laughing at each other’s puffed cheeks. Both of your phones buzz against the tabletop in unison and you exchange a curious look before checking your messages.

JUNGKOOK: numbers game JUNKGOOK: first to collect five wins JUNGKOOK: person has to text you as proof

You cringe and fire back a text to let everyone know you were included on a group text you definitely wish you weren’t.

YOU: ew JUNGKOOK: oh sorry princess must have included you by accident 🥴🥴🥴  JIN: You can play if you want! I can be your wingman. Together we will take down the maknae JUNGKOOK: lol JUNGKOOK: i guess you can practice flirting 😏 TAEHYUNG: Buying a round first JIMIN: 😱Coming!!\ HOBI: 😈 JUNGKOOK: Joon Yoongi in or out

You quirk an eyebrow at Namjoon. “Do this often?”

He shifts uncomfortably, visibly wilting under your gaze. “I mean, sometimes it’s fun to get drunk and flirt.” He grabs his beer and polishes off the last of it while texting back a response. “Judging me, Geeksquad?”

BUZZ. BUZZ.

NAMJOON: Gimme a minute.

You roll your eyes and grin. “No more than you judge me.”

“So a lot then. Got it.” He laughs.

You hum in contemplation as your fingers tap against the screen.

YOU: im in if you buy me a shot

The texts come through all at once, filling you with regret.

HOBI: COME GET IT JIMIN: Okay!! 🥰 TAEHYUNG: Coming up YOU: I was talking to the party leader YOU: please don’t buy me multiple shots JUNGKOOK: wooooooooow okaaaay JIMIN: Don’t worry I will drink what you can’t 😂

Namjoon is already laughing. “You did that to yourself.”

“I just want to beat him at his own game,” you grumble. “I think I’m just addicted to wiping that stupid smug ass grin off his face.”

“You know what I think?” He points a fry at you accusingly, waving it in your face before it breaks half, the errant piece falling into your lap. “I think you guys should date. You would make a cute couple.”

Your nose crinkles in response and you glare at him.

“Kidding, kidding….” He laughs when you lightly smack his arm. “At least you guys are talking again.”

You grimace, remembering your earlier conversation with Jungkook. The more you think about it, the more a sense of dread grows deep within your chest. You feel terrible about the things you said. You meant them at the time but now you just feel guilty because replaying them in your head sounds cruel. It’s not that you don’t want to fix things— you do. 

Last week showed you he’s capable of some semblance of kindness. You thought maybe you could press the reset button on your whole friendship if he ever nutted up and apologized, but he’s only dug himself into a deeper hole since then. Every time you think you’re about to move past it, he does something that causes that anger to flare within you.

You sigh. “He gets under my skin, Joon. I don’t think I’ve ever been so mean to someone before. Ever. I wanna knock his teeth out of his skull.”

He chuckles. “I know… And I know it’s hard to believe but he’s a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

“Must be buried deep down,” you snort, finishing off your water, “if ‘sorry’ is too hard of a word for him to say.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows and nods. “That’s fair. I’m not going to make excuses for him or tell you to forgive him. He can be an ass. He has been an ass to you. All I’m gonna say is that we all have flaws. We all have defence mechanisms that seem logical to our own brains based on our experiences… our feelings… our trauma. We all got issues. Say what you want, but you’re not exactly an open book, Geeksquad.”

When you look like you’re about to object to that statement, he cuts you off. “Just listen.” He lines up the salt and pepper shakers on either side of the vertical menu standing in the middle of the table. “You got two closed off people like this. They complement each other pretty well but there’s this wall between them, right?”

“Tch. Namjoon…” you scoff. It takes everything you have to hold back the smile curling the corners of your mouth. “Are you calling me… salty?”

He rolls his eyes and cringes with a grumble. “Like talking to Jin sometimes, I swear… Look. There’s a door on the side right over here. And here.” He points to both sides of the menu with a fork and a spoon. “But they’re both too busy yelling over this wall, mishearing every other word. They’re forming assumptions about the other without ever having a conversation like civilized people face to face. But if either one walked a little bit, they might see something more than they previously imagined.”

“Hmm,” is all you manage to answer, biting your tongue to prevent you from speaking any further on the subject. “I finished my water, mom. Are you done playing with the table’s accoutrements?”

He snorts, dropping the utensils. After stuffing one last fry in his mouth he wipes his hands on his jeans. “Alright you know what I gave you my hot take. Do what you want.”

“What I want is to show this guy how it’s done,” you huff.

“How? We’ve all seen you dirty talk your cup like you’ve never seen porn in your life,” he jokes.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have to win. I just have to beat Jungkook. That is my only goal. Besides, I can be charming in my own way Joonie,” you argue, grabbing a handful of french fries. “I have… finesse.”

In fate’s comical stroke of irony you fumble some of the fries on the way to your mouth, like one does when inebriated. You shamelessly fish one from your cleavage, moving your breasts around and inspecting the space between to ensure nothing is trapped in your bra. You look back up at him with a sheepish grin and pop the fry into your mouth.

He drops his forehead into his hands. “Yeah, sure. Finesse.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Something you’ve learned about yourself in the last forty minutes is that you are terrible at this. It sounded like a great idea to enter this competition but you should have known better. You don’t even talk to people you like. Why did you volunteer to talk to absolute strangers? Anxiety swells inside your belly like a balloon, mixing with the alcohol you’ve continued to consume within this time and creating a sloshy mess that makes you contemplate your existence.

For the first ten minutes you struggled with the internal conflict that is approaching a human being. What if they are absolutely out of your league and smite you on the spot with rejection? Mortification seems a fate worse than death far too often. You wish the ground would do you a solid and dissolve into liquid. Then you could just dive in and majestically doggie-paddle away from your problems.

Once you gathered enough courage to engage someone in conversation you were so nervous that you lost your balance, accidentally knocked his drink from his hand, and he promptly excused himself. You haven’t seen him since. The next one didn’t go much better. Stammering and stuttering over your words is about the least sexy thing you could do while trying to be smooth. You excused yourself from that one.

The last one you came down with a case of the hiccups mid-introduction, appearing far more inebriated than you are– at least more than you think you are. That guy raised his eyebrows at you and laughed. He fucking laughed in your face. What little confidence you had at the start of this event has quickly shattered into a thousand shards of self-loathing, each one picking a different part of your body to critique and pin to your brain like a bulletin board of shame.

You lean your elbows on the bar and spread your fingers out against your forehead, looking down at your cup. You wish Jennie was here to get the numbers for you. She would excel at what seems a hopeless task for you. A check-in text revealed she is safe and still having fun with some guy who is apparently “awesome.”

You haven’t seen her all night and you don’t feel like interrupting whatever fun she’s having with Mr. Awesome just to settle your petty squabble with Jungkook. At some point you have to take care of your problems on your own. Maybe you just need to face the fact that he’s going to completely destroy you in this pointless competition.

Have some humility, you tell yourself. It’s okay to suck at things.

It seems far from okay, even though you know it absolutely does not matter. The tears are already building behind your eyes and you’re not quite sure why, but it probably has something to do with the bubble of anxiety slowly creeping up your throat. You swallow, feeling it form a knot and clog the passage at the acknowledgement of its existence.

The guilt over your conversation with Jungkook remains a steady source of the anxiety that gnaws at the corners of your mind, telling you that you should apologize for your harsh words. He hasn’t said anything about it or given any indication that he’s bothered. After all, it was the truth wasn’t it? But the words sit in your mind, heavy in their cruelty. Have you become the person who says hurtful things in the face of adversity, who lets their emotions twist them into someone they never wanted to become? All of the embarrassment and rejection are extra layers that inflate the bubble in your throat.

You push the remainder of your drink away from you as you stand, looking around with a tearful pout. There’s enough light to scan the vicinity for the faces of your friends but you come up empty. It dawns on you for the first time how badly you have to pee so you make your way to the bathroom, relieved that there doesn’t seem to be a line of women holding the door open for one another.

As soon as you’ve passed the threshold of the heavy door the tears freely stream down your face. Your vision blurs with the rising heat in your cheeks. There are a group of women huddled around the sinks and mirrors and they all look up to watch you stumble towards one of the stalls with your hands out for balance. You can’t see their faces through your tears but you know they turn their attention towards you, voices falling into a hushed whisper.

Some of their outfits cast an ill-defined shimmer in the light of the restroom and your gut sinks, knowing they’re probably dressed in beautiful clothes you could never have the confidence to wear yourself. You quickly cast your gaze to the shiny tiles at your feet, the silver glitter embedded in the swirled white marble giving you something to focus on as you pray they’ll be gone by the time you come out.

When you emerge from the stall you stand at the sink, vigorously washing your hands and wiping your eyes with your wet knuckles before bringing your face down low enough to splash and clean.

“Hey…” A soft voice makes you look up from the sink, water dripping from your hair, down your forehead and into your red, puffy eyes. “Are you okay?”

You sniffle and blink a few times as one of them hands you a couple paper towels. Embarrassed, you wipe your face and slowly let yourself focus on the group. There are four of them and, as you suspected, they are all fucking gorgeous. Two of them have long black hair that dances over the skin of their shoulders with each swaying movement. One is wearing a blinding red-sequined dress and reaching down to adjust the strap of her heel. The other dons a flowing white dress that exposes her shoulders, the modest look complemented with knee high boots that could captivate anyone’s attention.

The third girl has her brown hair tied up in a tight ponytail away from her face, playful bangs just barely hiding her eyebrows. She looks so sophisticated in her simplistic black wrap dress. You wish you could look as half as beautiful as she does. The one closest to you has long blonde hair styled in waves that frames her face perfectly. Her makeup is absolutely flawless. She must have just touched it up. Looking at the white crop top and matching white jeans, you’re astonished to find she hasn’t spilled or wiped anything off on herself.

Are they as drunk as you are? You surmise they might be as you look from their outfits to their expressions. The way they frown and attempt to comfort you with misty, compassionate eyes has fresh tears spilling down the contours of your face.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you choke out, wiping at your cheeks.

“That’s okay!” the one in red says, stumbling towards the blonde as she attempts to remove the shoe strapped to her foot. The other two catch her before she smacks against her backside. She wears a sheepish grin and takes off the other shoe through hissed teeth. “Ah! Better! Nobody knows anything for sure, if you think about it!”

She waves her strappy heels in her hands as if that proves some deep wisdom she’s trying to demonstrate.

“What’s wrong?” the blonde asks, ignoring her friend as she cocks her head to the side.

“I tried to get back at him. He made me think he was one way and then he wasn’t. He’s a jerk!” You hiccup, as though these women already know your history with the person consuming your thoughts. “I want to get over it but he never even— he didn’t even— not once— he-he didn’t say sorry.”

The four girls huddle against each other, nodding as they listen to your rambling as though it’s a sermon worth extracting a lesson from.

“So then tonight I blew up and I was like, hey you’re a dick and I liked you but that’s over because who could love you? And I was like, oh no I was too mean! And I was about to apologize. But then-but then he wanted to play a game with his friends and he sent it to me too. Collecting numbers. And I was like, no! You know what? I’m gonna play and beat you because fuck you, Jungkook. And now I feel so… stupid be-because… I can’t do it! And he knew it. He’s right.”

You start to sob and the girls begin to make a fuss, all talking over each other to try and quell your tears.

“No no no! Honey, you can do it!”

“What is it?”

“Don’t cry!”

“Fuck Jungkook!”

“Look. There’s no man on this earth ruining your makeup over,” the blonde says, grabbing another paper towel and running it under the water.

“Unless it’s a really good blowjob.” The woman in red grins from ear-to-ear, unashamed of her boldness.

“Oh my god, Joy.”

“Sounds like some fuckboy shit.” The woman in the black dress crosses her arms, tapping her fingers on her elbow as she stands up straight. “Okay, how do we beat him?”

Brow furrowed, you look at her as though she’s grown another head. “I can’t. I tried to get numbers and I just made a fool of myself.” You hiccup. “I swear I’m not even that drunk. I’m just horrible at talking to people and I get so nervous that I–” Your lip quivers and you grimace, knowing your face is scrunched up into ugly-cry mode. “I freeze. And that’s probably why… why…”

“Hey, no more of that, babe,” the blond says, dabbing at your smudged eyeshadow and seeing if she can salvage any of the liner you had been wearing. “We’re gonna get you back out there and help you win. You gotta be your most fabulous self when you get to throw it in his face.”

“Getting numbers…” The woman with the heels in her hands leans on the others. “Any ideas?”

“What if we just give you ours?” The woman in the white dress smiles at you and comfort floods your senses. “Is he really gonna check to see if we’re men? Does that even matter?”

You struggle to blink and look at them all through the blonde’s constant dabbing above and around your eyes. “I need to have five numbers text me first. That’s all they said when they were going over the rules.”

You give the one in black your number first and she smiles. “I’m gonna text someone to help if they end up calling any one of us. My brother is here with his friends. He’s a shit, but he’ll help me out if I ask with minimal questions. Oh, I’m Seulgi by the way. You can put me down as any name you like.”

You feel your phone buzz twice. Great. Think of fake guy names. I can’t even think of a story how I might have charmed these ‘guys.’

As if reading your mind, she continues on, “Or you can just use the names of his friends. This is Joy, Irene, and Chungha.”

The two of them wave at you and the blonde smiles. “He sounds like he’s the worst. He’s gonna be so pissed you got numbers faster than him. It’ll be great.”

The contact Seulgi pulls up next makes you stare at the label as the Chungha wipes lines down your nose and chin. It reads: [DAMN BROTHER].

“Th-Thank you…” You sigh in disbelief. “You guys are the nicest people I know. I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t.” Chungha laughs. “I just fixed your makeup. How much time do you have? We wanna make this believable.”

You fish the mobile device out of your back pocket and scan through your group chat. “Looks like most of them are still at two or less.”

“Still got a shot then,” Seulgi comments with a grin. She’s clearly the most sober in the group. “We’ll space it out every ten to fifteen minutes or so. Seem reasonable?”

How do you thank these strangers? You are truly at a loss for words. A small nod and a wide grin is all you can manage.

“Do you wanna dance to kill some time?” Joy asks with a giggle.

“You should sit down and drink some water,” Irene chides. “Or someone will step on your toes.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

After drinking water and conversing with your newfound friends for some amount of time, you’ve almost forgotten about the game. Seulgi’s brother and his friends have joined your booth and you have to admit that although strangely cozy it’s socially draining. It’s not until Chungha nudges you to check your phone that you find more than a few of your competitors have reached their fourth achievement. You quickly text that you have the number you need and that you can keep going if they really want you to. The responses start pouring in, a mixture of confused and surprised. In Jungkook’s case, he calls bullshit and asks everyone to meet back up where they started: the bar.

Although you rise from the booth on steadier legs and hold a clearer mind, suddenly you’re feeling nervous. Your new friends assure you that no matter what they have your back. They all toss their cellphones on the table in a circle.

Chungha starts writing down names on napkins and matching them up with the devices. “If any of them ring we will make sure someone answers.”

After exchanging hugs with all of the girls, you make your slow descent down the stairs. Namjoon and Seokjin are already waiting for you at the bar.

“Oh! Y/N, my friend! You had me fooled!” Seokjin slaps his hand around your back, squeezing you towards the broad expanse of his chest. You take a few seconds to yourself, trying to remember how to breathe.

“How the hell…?” Namjoon asks the open-ended question with a big smile and you respond with a goofy one of your own.

“Uh-ehhehehh. Well…” You scratch your cheek and sheepishly present your phone. “I was told my failure to communicate effectively was charming in its own way.”

Namjoon quirks a brow at you and snorts. “Eloquent. Been drinking water, huh?” He drapes your hoodie around your shoulder. “Here. You forgot this earlier.”

You’re about to thank him when the rest of the group huddles in around you.

“Where’s Yoongi?” you ask, avoiding the glare Jungkook is throwing your way.

Hoseok is scrolling through his phone. “Hmm… Oh, he texted me. He’s…” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Busy.”

You raise a brow at the tone of his statement but don’t get a chance to ask what he means because Jungkook is already tapping your shoulder.

“I want to see your numbers,” he whines. “I don’t believe this.”

You’re annoyed but it’s not like you can fault the skepticism in his tone. While you didn’t burst into panic mode tonight, you’re pretty sure it’s because you were too drunk to spiral into a pit of despair over your embarrassment. Maybe you can find comfort in that while Jungkook scrutinizes your messages.

You can see his jaw tighten and shift from side to side. As his tongue pokes harder into his cheek with each new message he opens, you bite down on your lip to keep yourself from laughing. He forces a smile as Taehyung, Jimin, and Hoseok all crowd around him to peer down at the screen. He looks up and blinks hard. It’s hard to miss the fluttering of his lashes when he blatantly rolls his eyes.

You tilt your head to one side and smile at him sweetly. “Yes, Jungkook?”

“Looks like you won.” His tone lacks malice but even with his face partially obscured by the long hair falling across his face you can tell he’s annoyed. He sighs and raises his eyebrows, using his pinky to swipe the hair from his face. “You know, actually now that I think about it, I feel like it’s kind of unfair.”

“Here we go,” Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. “Don’t mind him. He’s just a sore loser,” he leans in to whisper. “He does this every time someone else wins.”

“I’m just saying I feel like it might be an easier game for girls,” Jungkook says defensively.

“What? Are you kidding me?” You nearly lunge for him in your fury. “Why is it easier? Because guys prey on girls all the time? Especially the ones who are drunk and vulnerable?”

Jungkook looks taken aback that you would jump to such an assumption. “Ah, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t know how many times I messed up. It was really hard for me,” you snap, poking a finger against his chest. “I bet you didn’t have someone laugh in your face, did you?”

Nonononono don’t you fucking cry, you tell yourself, trying to hold it together.

Jungkook’s brow furrows, passing you a look that you swear is almost sympathetic. “No. I didn’t.”

You don’t need his pity. Tearing your gaze away from him, you look over your other companions. They wear uncomfortable grimaces and concerned frowns. The air between your group is heavy, charged with a palpable tension. You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling embarrassed by your admission of one of tonight’s failed attempts.

A laugh escapes with your held breath and you shake your head. “It’s fine. Don’t look so sad for me. It went well after. It takes more than that to make me cry, you know.”

Oh no. They know. They know I lied about everything. I have to say something. I have to come clean. I’m guilty.

The cheerful pep in your tone seems to break the tension because Seokjin claps his hand around Jungkook’s shoulder and smiles. “That’s our girl!”

Maybe you’re better at lying than you give yourself credit for.

“She won fair and square. So I think she gets the prize.” Taehyung displays both sets of teeth with his charming, boxy smile.

You cock your head to one side. “Prize?”

“Winner gets dinner!” Hoseok sings as he takes your hands in his and wiggles them back and forth.

“Your choice, bought by the one who started the competition,” Namjoon chimes in.

“Why wasn’t this said at the start? I feel like I didn’t know all the rules. Maybe I don’t want that. I don’t have to eat with you right?” you ask, frowning at Jungkook.

Even when you win, you lose. You take your phone back and shove it into your back pocket.

Jungkook breaks into a cheesy grin that causes creases to form on either side of his nose. “If you want to. I know it’s tempting.”

“I make him get me something really, really good when I win,” Taehyung says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “And then I eat it in front of him.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “But then I get a burger of my own, so does it matter?”

“Wait, what would have happened if Jungkook won?” you ask, wondering if you should have just stayed on your path of failure.

“Then the person in last place buys the winner food,” Namjoon responds simply, leaning across the bar to order another drink.

Oh. That’s worse.

“Congratulations, Y/N! You won your first game!” Jimin throws his arms around you and presses you tightly against his chest.

“Blipp! Achievement unlocked!” Taehyung laughs from behind him.

Jimin leans against your ear and whispers, “Oh, you smell good.”

It sends a shiver vibrating down your spine that he no doubt feels. When he pulls back to look at you, an innocent smile plays at his lips. Your mouth hangs agape as you stand there blinking stupidly at him, trying to decide if you want to look at his soft lips or enticing eyes. Who does he think he is, smiling like he hasn’t caused a short circuit in your brain? It’s like he gets off on it.

“Let’s dance to celebrate,” Hoseok suggests, rolling his hips dangerously close to you.

It’s then you remember there are more people in the immediate vicinity besides Jimin and yourself. Inhaling deeply through your nose, you purse your lips and compose yourself as one by one the group starts to split in two directions. Taehyung, Hoseok and Jimin make their way towards the crowd of dancers. Jungkook stands there looking at you as Seokjin and Namjoon turn their attention to the bartender.

“I think I’m gonna hang here instead,” you call, eyes falling back to the muscular figure before you.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he reluctantly shuffles towards you. You think he might be sulking until the soft tips of his fingers brush across your shoulder. “You did good. Congrats.”

He mumbles something else but you’re sure you didn’t hear him correctly. There’s no way he apologized, even in passing.

You look at Jungkook’s back as he walks away, trying your best to divert your traitorous eyes from wandering down towards his ass. You sigh and rub at your temple with your fingers. It felt okay. Why didn’t it feel great? As you turn your attention towards the bar your eyes pause on a familiar face staring back at you. Long blond hair frames her amused features as she leans back in her seat, sipping on a cosmo.

“Boys are dumb.” Chungha laughs, placing her drink back on the bar just as the bartender places a glass of water next to it. She drops her lime wedge into the water and offers it to you. “Wanna drink, babe?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You’re glad you made the switch to water hours ago. Seesaw is only a few blocks from your apartment so you might actually be able to save money and walk home tonight. Chungha has been talking your ear off about her stressful job but it’s not like you mind letting her dominate the conversation. It’s kind of nice to listen, especially when your energy is dipping. You smile at the bartender when he takes both your empty glasses away and a flash catches your eye from across the bar. There’s a girl posing for selfies with someone.

She must not have liked the first photo because her hand goes up and there’s another flash that distracts you from the way Chungha excuses herself and promises to come right back. You rest your chin on your palm and watch another pair of hands wrap around her waist. They slowly travel across her hips and as they travel lower you can see the tattooed expanse of his meaty biceps. She starts giggling and reaching back to pull her companion forward and your stomach sinks like someone’s tossed a heavy boulder in it. Jungkook’s long hair brushes against her cheek as he nuzzles into her neck.

Your jaw tightens as you watch, eyes refusing to leave the sight of him kissing up her neck. She turns towards him and pulls him to her lips as his hand flies up to cradle her jaw. Why does the sight make you feel so sick? Why can’t you look away? Maybe he can feel you staring or maybe it’s just coincidence, but fate is cruel. His eyelids flutter open and meet yours across the bar even as his companion is shoving her tongue into his mouth. Your mouth goes dry and the stone in your stomach breaks into a thousand shards that poke holes into your chest. Pins and needles threaten to pop your lungs like balloons as anxiety inflates your chest.

His brows are furrowed, concentrated as he keeps his gaze on you and continues kissing her. Those eyes staring back at you are dark and hungry, something you’re not quite used to seeing even through his fuckboy antics. They’re taunting, goading you to say something, to do something. You can’t help but think for a moment that maybe he’s looking at you because he wants it to be you. He wants you to see what you’re missing. It’s like he’s pleading for you to take her place.

Or maybe your delusional brain is creating a fantasy based on lack of romantic interaction.

Chungha scrapes her chair across the floor, causing you to jump and force your eyes away, but she’s smart. She follows where your eyes had been, watching Jungkook switch to pretending to be invested in his partner and occasionally darting his eyes back to you.

“Hey, isn’t that… Douche guy over there?”

“What? Is it? Psshft.” Your attempts at nonchalance are pathetic and you both know it, but you still continue on anyway. “Wow he’s just… making out. Over there. At the bar. Huh. Wow. That’s a lot of… tongue. Don’t you think he should like… move it back somewhere private?”

“He keeps looking at you.” She scoffs. “You know what? I think he’s trying to make you jealous.”

“What? Why? He doesn’t even like me,” you try to reason, not wanting to let hope bubble in your belly.

“Well, you told him off earlier, right? He definitely seems like the kind of guy that wants what he can’t have as soon as he hears he can’t have it. It’s a game to him.” She laughs as she watches you watch him. “It’s working isn’t it?”

“I wish I knew how to beat him at this game,” you say, catching his eyes and noting the satisfied smirk on his lips as he brings them back to his girl.

“I have an idea.” Chungha wears an impish smile as she cradles your jaw with delicate fingers, bringing your gaze back to her. “But only if you’re okay with it. ”

Your heart skips a beat as she carefully watches your expression. You nod, blinking a few times in surprise. “Y-Yes.”

“Is he looking?” she asks, brushing her fingers through your hair.

You’re so focused on her flawless makeup application and how good it feels to have someone’s fingers roaming through your hair that you almost forget to look. “Mmm-uhhh…… Yeah. Yeah, yup. He is.”

She laughs, sliding her hand over the back of your neck and closing the distance between you. Her lips are soft and instinctually you close your eyes, losing yourself in the kiss for a moment. It’s been a long time and it feels just as good to kiss someone as you remember. Your eyes snap open and you look across the bar to find Jungkook’s jaw completely slack. His eyes are wide with the image of the pair of you burned into the backs of his retinas. His arms have fallen limp against his companion and she takes the time to drunkenly nip at his lip and do all the work herself.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity to taunt him back, you deepen the kiss and grab the sides of her head, sliding your fingers through her silky blond locks. You ensure your tongues visibly slide against one another for the show you now know he’s watching. When you pull back you gently suck her bottom lip through your teeth, hoping Jungkook feels the exact same way you felt watching him.

“Did we get him?” she asks with a shy smile and embarrassed giggle.

You savor the look of blatant amazement on Jungkook’s face. You completely forget how embarrassed you would normally be in such a circumstance and you laugh. “Oh yeah. We got him good. Wow, thank you so much. The look on his face is priceless.”

“What the fuck.”

The familiar breathless whisper has you looking past Chungha at Namjoon. He’s holding a handful of nachos loaded with toppings at the halfway point between the plate and his mouth, which is hanging agape. All of the toppings on his chip fall to the bar with a splat.

Seokjin pokes his head from around Namjoon’s hulking form. “Wow, I love this bar. Let’s come back often.”

[shioririn]

A World Through Your Eyes | XingQiu

Delicately smoothing out the creases of the folded paper, the hydro vision wielder’s golden amber orbs scanned through each neatly written sentence as if they held the answers to the world’s questions, a soft smile gracing his features. While it wasn’t uncommon for him to receive private letters, the one in hand carried more value than all others combined, for it was from a faraway land, sent by the purest of heart, and foretells the journey of a dearest friend.

My dearest Xingqiu,

Travelling without you has always been lonely, but somehow, this time around, I couldn’t help but feel as if I’m more alone than I’ve ever been. And for some reason, falling asleep at night felt harder than it should, but knowing that you’re staring up at the same stars as I am puts me at ease, for even if the distance between us is far, I’m assured that you aren’t. At least, it doesn’t feel that way to me.

Ah, how he’d finally mastered the art of weaving plain words into that which conveyed one’s deepest feelings. The young exorcist had came a long way in terms of expressing his emotions - and for that reason alone, Xingqiu let out a quiet chuckle, knowing how hard it must’ve been for his blue haired friend to confess to them when he wrote the letter - but unlike the stoic self from his teen years, had grown to be more open and relaxed around him, where he’d lessened the responsibility placed on himself, accepting that it’s alright to let go once in a while.

Xingqiu could tell that he missed Liyue - missed his home - but it was inevitable that work required him to travel afar, often having to leave for months at a time. He understood better than anyone else how difficult it is to live a life they could call their own when they were bound by duties since birth, unable to venture beyond familial traditions. Chongyun had always been the more reserved one out of the both of them, accepting the duties as they are, but Xingqiu desired the opposite, seeking to venture into the vast Teyvat lands as his spirit seeked to soar outside the cage they called duties.

It has been a while since we were able to explore Teyvat as promised all those years ago, but I understand that current circumstances allow no such feat. Your duties will, of course, be of utmost importance, and I would dare not distract you from them, but I also couldn’t help but be worried for your well-being. Are you eating well? Resting enough?

As for myself, all is well. I arrived safely at Inazuma around dawn, and I speculate that you would have enjoyed the sunrise as much as I did. You’ve always been the one who dreamt larger between the both of us, so please allow me to show you through written words.

There was once a time where Xingqiu struggled to understand what truly goes on in Chongyun’s mind, for they differed from each other, personalities contrasting greatly, but he’d eventually came to accept that there was no need to do so, knowing that they are, in the end, more similar than they’d come to admit. Chongyun, too, once had a dream - to travel the world with his best friend - but alas, the real world is much smaller than he’d imagined, and childish dreams could only remain as such. Nonetheless, the promise to see the world together had remained strong even after time had nullified it, and while Xingqiu might not be able to experience it in person, he would do so through him. He’d once been the one to show him a world filled with vibrant colours, and it’s now his turn to do the same.

Inazuma, as far as I could tell, is much similar to that of Liyue, but knowing you, you’d argue that there must be regional specialties that differ from our hometown. And you’re right. I happened to come across this plant that the locals here call sea ganoderma - a genus of mushroom akin wood ear mushrooms - as I walked along the shores, their appearance immediately reminding me of you. Much like how I remember you to be, these plants are soft and blue in appearance, and even if I dare not taste it myself, I’m almost certain that they should taste exquisite if paired with the cold noodles that you love, even if they’re closer to the sea than the mountains that we are familiar with. Should time allow, I will do my best to bring back some fresh ganodermas for you to sample, and perhaps you’d find them as interesting as I do.

The air here is much cooler than that of Liyue’s, for the land is surrounded by the ocean, its breeze carrying subtle hints of saltiness, yet refreshing enough that’ll make you want to close your eyes and lose yourself to time. Decorated by exotic and brightly coloured sea creatures by the shore, and at dawn, the faint glow of fireflies that surround the terrain, the view here truly reminds me of a fantasy world from the books that you often read about. If only I was able to capture everything in a bottle to share with you, I would have done so. But alas, I can only relinquish such ideas.

He could see it. The same world that he’d always dreamed of.

With dainty hands reaching out to nothing and amber eyes fluttering shut as he recited the written words, Xingqiu could feel everything that had been described. From the soft and squishy texture of the sea ganodermas to the salty breeze, for one brief moment, brought him to a land where he could be true to himself. Not as Xingqiu, second son of the Feiyun Commerce Guild, but as Xingqiu, a boy who dared to dream beyond the limits, even if it was only for a fleeting second.

As I write this letter, I can’t help but look forward to when we’ll be united again. Perhaps when qingxin flowers blossom is when I’ll be able to return, but until then, do take care - not just for me, but also for yourself.

Folding the letter, Xingqiu slipped the parchment between the pages of his novel, where it rests atop the highest shelf in the room, next to the window of glaze lilies. Like the memories embedded in ink, his dreams too, would fluorescent into celestial fragrances that remind him that some dreams are worth waiting for.

With love, Chongyun.

[half-bakedboy]

i'm not bullet proof (when it comes to you) (read on ao3)

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rated: Teen Summary: Every instinct inside of him told him he needed to protect Buck. He was on the other side of the truck, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth proudly from heel to toe. Eddie had gotten out to go see him. Buck had complimented him, made Eddie blush until he had to walk away before he said something dumb. Buck was—

Where was Buck? Even though it was broad daylight in the middle of the city, not in the darkest hours of the Middle East, there was another gunshot, and he thought he heard Buck scream.

“Get down! Everyone down! Firefighter down!” A voice had shouted, but it wasn’t Buck. Where was Buck?

Speculation for Season 4 Episode 13: Suspicion (contains spoilers from the promo)

Eddie’s ears were ringing. He could hear the distant sounds of sirens but he didn’t remember turning them on when he had left the truck. He didn’t need to turn the sirens on because they had saved the little boy and the emergency was no longer that. They had done their job and everyone was safe and—

Gunshot. He thought he heard a gunshot, barely, too far away for it to fully register in his mind. He wasn’t sure at first if that was what the soft pop was because he was in L.A. He wasn’t overseas and he wasn’t in the line of enemy fire. He had rescued his team, dead and alive, and they had been flown to safety. They were back with their families and he was back with Christopher. He didn’t need to protect anyone in L.A.

Buck. Every instinct inside of him told him he needed to protect Buck. He was on the other side of the truck, hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth proudly from heel to toe. Eddie had gotten out to go see him. Buck had complimented him, made Eddie blush until he had to walk away before he said something dumb. Buck was—

Where was Buck? Even though it was broad daylight in the middle of the city, not in the darkest hours of the Middle East, there was another gunshot, and he thought he heard Buck scream.

“Get down! Everyone down! Firefighter down!” A voice had shouted, but it wasn’t Buck. Where was Buck?

Eddie tried to move, but his body was on fire and there was a heavy weight pressed against his chest. He reached to push it away, but his hand only swatted through the air. What was holding him down? He ran his fingers up his chest and along his neck, knowing before he could even pull them into view that they were covered in blood. His mind was fuzzy, his vision foggier than he remembered it to be, and when he tried to call out for help, no pleas left his scratchy throat.

Gunshot. Buck. Firefighter down.

He turned his head away from where the sun was glaring down at him, focusing on the familiar redness of the firetruck and hoping it would calm his rapidly beating heart. His eyes drifted from the window, shattered from what he could only assume was a missed bullet, down to the silver metal that spanned across the front of the truck. His mind clouded while he stared at the bumper and he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to the cement that was covered in blood. His blood, if he had to guess.

Underneath the truck, he could see Buck. He was lying on his stomach, a hand covering the back of his head while he reached out frantically, clawing at the clean cement in front of him. Eddie could see his lips moving, the way his eyebrows creased in panic and his eyes widened in fear, the redness of his face mixed with the splatter of blood on his neck.

Buck was hurt and Eddie had to get to him. He tried to move but he couldn’t. How could he protect Buck if he couldn’t move?  

Then Buck was crawling toward him and Eddie held his hand out, fingers reaching for solace in his best friend’s. Buck was getting closer, dragging himself across the pavement, underneath the truck like a shield. A bullet clanged above Eddie’s head, destroying the perfectly polished metal and sending shards of it flying in every direction. Buck was covering his head again and that was good. That meant he could be safe. He had stopped moving which meant he wouldn’t be in the line of fire.

Eddie had to protect Buck, save Buck, make sure that Buck was okay. That was his only priority.

“Back,” Eddie choked out as Buck tried to move toward him again. “Stay back!” Eddie yelled as best he could. The intensity of his words caused his mouth to sour with the taste of blood and he knew that wasn’t a good sign. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the pesky liquid that stopped him from warning Buck away and spat on the pavement beside him.

“Let me help you!” Buck screamed. The terror was clear in his voice and it did nothing to lessen the worry that continued to flood through Eddie.

He wasn’t sure if he could feel his legs. He could see his toes wiggling and his fingers trembled from where they stretched out for Buck again, but he had gone numb. Numb wasn’t good. Numb was far from what he should be.

He vaguely registered the hand around his wrist before he was being pulled underneath the truck and tucked firmly against Buck. The move jerked him out of the black hole his mind had pulled him into for protection against the worst pain he had ever felt that blasted through his core. He screamed in agony and he was sure the wetness of his face was from tears of misery. He thrashed and tried to sit up until he realized that only made it worse and Buck slid an arm across his chest to keep him steady. The solid weight was welcome and when focused enough, he could feel the warmth of Buck surrounding him.

He was safe so he let his eyes drift close, the noise around him deafening until everything went silent.

__________________________

“Stay with me, Eds, stay with me. Hey, that’s it. Open your eyes for me.” He awoke to Buck’s voice.

He wasn’t sure when he had fallen asleep or why his head was pounding or why he couldn’t move his body. He was strapped down to what he assumed was a backboard with Buck straddling his waist, his hands pressed to Eddie’s chest, their placement instantly recognizable. That and the way Buck huffed above him meant that Buck had just given him CPR - which meant that Buck had probably started his heart again.

He also realized that the pain surging through his abdomen was from the broken ribs Buck would have inevitably given him. He blinked rapidly, trying to take in his surroundings, his mind trying to puzzle the pieces of the last few minutes together. They were still outside the same building, the firetruck glowing brightly beside them. There was still blood on the pavement in more spots than he remembered, but people in uniforms of all kinds were stomping through it.

“Buck,” Eddie tried to say through the burn in his throat, gathering the strength he could muster to grip Buck’s bicep weakly.

“Hey, don’t talk,” Buck instructed. He must have seen Eddie’s confusion and panic because he moved his hands to cup Eddie’s face, leaning a little closer so they could focus on each other. “We almost lost you there for a minute. Don’t scare me like that, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You got shot, but I’m sure you’ve already figured that out. We don’t know what happened. One second things were fine and the next—”

Buck was babbling, a symptom of his fear, Eddie guess, so he choked out, “You okay?” He rested his hand on the blood dripping down Buck’s neck, lamely attempting to check him for injury through his own anguish.

“What did I tell you about talking. We just got your neck all bandaged up, okay? So you have to stop talking,” Buck pleaded. “Now I know how you feel around me, huh?” Buck teased but the joke was lost in the fear so prominent in Buck’s eyes as he leaned into Eddie’s touch. Eddie’s arm dropped down again because he couldn’t hold it up any longer.

“I—“ Eddie began but then he felt like he was drowning.

Why was he so weak? How bad was it? How could he make Buck look less destroyed at that moment? Was Buck going to be okay? Would he be okay?

His mind reeled with questions, all of them thwarted by the hot liquid filling his throat. He ignored the fact it was probably blood, turning his head abruptly to spit onto the already bloodstained pavement beside him. He could feel his heart slow from where Buck’s pressed against it and his lungs didn’t seem to want to take in the air he inhaled.

“Eddie, please, just stay still. Stop talking, stop moving, stop— No, no, no!” Buck shouted, “You’ve gotta stay awake, okay? You have to stay alive, Eddie. You just saved that little boy and Christopher is going to be so proud of you, just like we are.”

Eddie was safe with Buck above him, so he allowed his eyes to start drifting closed again.

Buck begged and pleaded, but Eddie couldn’t take the pain anymore. His mind hazed even as Buck pressed his lips to his forehead and whispered, “Stay alive for me.”

Eddie wasn’t sure that he could, but for Buck, he would try.

__________________________

There were flashes of bright lights. The sounds of electricity crackling above him. The smell of blood and iodine. The metallic taste he wasn’t sure would ever leave his mouth. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his body still numb, but his awareness of his other senses comforted him. He was hurt, that much he could feel, and if he had to guess, he would open his eyes and be in a hospital room.

Where was Buck?  

He couldn’t get the question out of his mind. He had asked it too many times to count. Where was Buck? Was he okay? He had blood on his neck from what Eddie could briefly recall. Was he hurt? Did he get help or did he just help Eddie? Was anyone else hurt? What the hell happened?  

“Hey, you gotta calm down, Mr. Diaz. Your heart rate shouldn’t be this elevated so soon after surgery,” a soft voice comforted. Eddie took a deep breath, ignoring the way his entire body burned at the subtle movement of his chest, and finally focused on the nurse beside him.

“Buck—”

“Mr. Buckley is fine. He’s been asking about you every 15 minutes since you got here and annoying most of my coworkers, but he’s okay. We told him the same thing of you, but neither of you are good listeners, are you?” She said and Eddie knew he didn’t have to answer. “You two are quite the talk of the hospital,” she noted conversationally as she checked Eddie’s vitals. He gulped dryly, thankful when she gave him a small cup of water.

“What happened?” Eddie asked. He had more questions, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy to ask them let alone wait for their answer.

“We don’t know, honey. You were shot, that’s all the information I have. I’m sure that intimidating sergeant out there will have more for you when she comes in,” the nurse explained, patting the back of Eddie’s hand softly. He knew she must have been referring to Athena and he instantly felt better that Buck had someone out there with him.

“Can he—?” He couldn’t even finish his question, suddenly hit with an onslaught of fatigue from whatever the nurse had given him for the pain. She patted his uninjured shoulder and nodded.

“He’ll be in here when you wake up,” she said and the prospect of opening his eyes to Buck was enough reassurance for him to drift off again.

__________________________

“Yeah, Bobby, he’s already been up once… Christopher’s with Pepa. I let him know what was going on and he wanted to be here, but I convinced him to wait another day… I know, I know. He’s okay, I know.”

Eddie could hear Buck’s voice as he slowly pushed himself out of the cloud surrounding his mind.

“He almost wasn’t, Bobby, and I—” A long sigh left Buck’s lips and he brought Eddie’s hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of it as it was the most normal thing in the world. Eddie cleared his throat to speak and Buck whispered, “He’s up, I gotta— Yeah, I’ll tell him. You, too, Cap.”

“Bu—“ He couldn’t even get the name out before Buck made a noise somewhere between a laugh and sob that had panic arising in Eddie. “You’re okay?” Eddie asked because even staring at the man beside him wasn’t enough for him to believe it. He tried to pull his hand away to inspect Buck’s bandages on, but he couldn’t even try to remove his hand from Buck’s grip.

“I’m okay, but only because you’re okay,” Buck explained, kissing Eddie’s skin once more. “You know, I’ve decided that the only thing worse than almost dying is thinking you are dead,” Buck began, holding Eddie’s hand to his chest as tightly as he could. “This is the second time I’ve thought you were dead and honestly, one time was too many.”

“I’m good,” Eddie choked out. He was still struggling to speak, his vocal cords much weaker than he had ever remembered them being. He used his unoccupied hand to reach up to his shoulder where he had felt blood back when he was laying on the street, but Buck swatted it away as if protecting him.

“Bullet went through your shoulder. Sent a chip of your collarbone into your neck. It just missed your carotid but did a number on your vocal cords. The sniper must have thought they were shooting me,” Buck teased and Eddie shot him a look that he hoped warned Buck away from any ridiculous notion that he should’ve been the one to get hurt.

It already pained Eddie to know Buck had to be the one to keep him alive.

“Idiot,” he said with affection before he added, “thank you.”

“For nothing,” Buck responded quickly. “I would have thrown myself in front of you if it meant saving you, Eddie, you know that,” Buck noted and Eddie knew just how true that was. Eddie remembered Buck crawling toward him, putting himself in the crossfire of still flying bullets even after Eddie warned him away.

“Stop doing that,” Eddie pleaded, but Buck shook his head in response.

“If one thing became abundantly clear to me today, Eds, it’s that I will never stop putting you first. Seeing you lying there--” Buck shook his head and Eddie squeezed his hand to urge him to continue, “--it��s like you’ve always been just out of my reach and I don’t want that anymore. I can’t do that anymore.”

The implication of the words wasn’t lost on Eddie. They had been dancing around each other for weeks, months, maybe even years if Eddie thought about it. It was obvious to everyone around them, including themselves, that their relationship wasn’t as simple as coworkers, best friends, or partners. There had been an unwritten line between them that neither was willing to cross, both too scared for the future and what it could mean, what it could damage.  

The admission shocked Eddie more than the bullet had. He had always thought that Buck would never be the one to fully cross over, always allowing Eddie to be the one to control the ease and direction of their relationship, so to hear him erase the last of that nearly invisible line had his heart soaring.

“I don’t—“ Eddie coughed, burning pain rising through his entire body as he struggled for air. He could hear Buck calling for a nurse and felt their hands separating but he wouldn’t allow it. He pulled Buck back because he couldn’t allow him to move away again and risk him backpedaling his words. “I don’t want that either,” Eddie said through bated breaths as the same nurse from before pumped him with new medications. He sent her a grateful smile and her eyes shined back as she watched the two of them. Everyone always looked at them like that and for the first time, Eddie knew what they saw.

“Well, good. I’m glad we’ve, uh, cleared that up?” Buck squinted, his eyebrows furrowing as if he was still confused, and Eddie reached up to stroke the side of his face where the skin around his eyes had crinkled.

“We’ll talk,” Eddie promised, his hand falling only to be caught by Buck who entwined their fingers and brought them to his mouth again. He nodded before resting his head on Eddie’s lap, cradling Eddie’s hand against his chest as he let his own eyes fall shut. It couldn’t have been comfortable but he figured he wouldn’t be able to send Buck home even if he tried, and he wasn’t about to try. Instead, Eddie rested his other hand in Buck’s hair and gazed down at him until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

Buck was there. He was mostly uninjured and holding onto Eddie as if nothing would ever make him let go.

Buck was safe, so Eddie was, too.

[onceinabluehanguangjun]

moon in my window

Summary: for the @mdzsnet Lan Wangji birthday celebration, have some chronically depressed Lan Zhan and how his family (main focus on his husband) helps support him

Word Count: ~4k

Tags: depression, post-canon

ao3

“Ah, Er-gege, you’re too kind.”

Lan Wangji sat on the edge of the bed, a cup of tea in his hand which he held out to Wei Wuxian. He smiled in thanks, but couldn’t hide the wince. Mo Xuanyu’s body was admittedly very good at putting up with Wei Wuxian’s spirit, but it was still much less accustomed to him than Wei Wuxian’s previous body and therefore was much more susceptible to silly things. Like runny noses and never-ending headaches. Apparently Mo Xuanyu didn’t overwork his brain in the same way Wei Wuxian did. Who would’ve guessed?

With the wave of Lan Wangji’s hand, the little bit of light that shined through the paper windows was gone and they were engulfed in darkness. It lessened the pressure on his temples just enough to be thankful even more.

“Is this medicinal?” Wei Wuxian asked softly. Lan Wangji hummed his confirmation. “Ah, we should talk to Wen Ning and see if he remembered the tea Wen Qing would make me whenever I wouldn’t let her stick me with needles. It always worked for whatever was messing with me.”

“I will,” Lan Wangji said softly, voice low and careful as to not make it worse.

Wei Wuxian drank the tea as fast as his body would allow before he put the cup back in Lan Wangji’s hands and tipped forward. His head rested against the soft, expensive fabric that all the Lans wore and it just made him want to pull him into bed and trap him there for hours. Well, most things about him made him want to do that.

“Can Er-gege stay in today? Sleep sounds so nice.”

“I cannot,” Lan Wangji said softly, his arm wrapping around him and his warm hand pressing to his lower back. Wei Wuxian whined quietly, as much as his headache would allow.

“You’re Chief Cultivator, no one can tell you what to do,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Zhan hummed, holding him carefully and closely.

“Senior Wei is the one who has a class to teach,” he said. Wei Wuxian blinked a few times as his thoughts shifted back into focus. Sometimes it was too easy to forget how good things had become. He had a husband, he had a garden, he got to teach cute little Lans about using their heads instead of just reciting rules.

All of which he loved, but a whine still found its way out into the world as he thought about having to teach when even the shielded sun of the Cloud Recesses hurt him.

“Lan Zhan, who let me have responsibilities?”

Lan Wangji breathed in slowly, head bowing to rest against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He sat there for a moment and, truthfully, for a moment he thought he might’ve convinced him to spend all day in bed.

“Er-gege,” Wei Wuxian breathed, sliding his hand beneath his hair to touch the nape of his neck. Lan Wangji seemed to rest a little more weight on Wei Wuxian which was admittedly out of character. He turned his head a bit to look at him, squinting in the darkness to get a better look at his face, headache be damned. He looked fine, if only just laying against Wei Wuxian. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I see. You do want to stay in bed.”

There was a long stretch of silence before a low grunt of agreement. Wei Wuxian smiled and scratched at where his hair met his neck.

“I can’t, you see,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Lan Wangji’s clothed shoulder, “This humble one has a class to teach.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said. He slowly pulled himself into a sitting position and Wei Wuxian felt warmed at how much he’d been able to wear him down even if they did have to get up.

Still, they sat long enough for Lan Wangji to pass him some spiritual energy to help him power through his headache and then he was pulled to his feet.

-

“Ready, Wei-qianbei?”

“As ever. Give it a try.”

Wei Wuxian leaned back on his palms as he watched Lan Jingyi focus very hard to activate the talisman he’d invented. Their assignment for the week was to create a new spell or talisman of some sort inspired by the word ‘alarm’. He shouldn’t have been surprised when a piercing noise wailed through the room in one short burst before the talisman disintegrated. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh at the hoard of Lans all covering their ears with wide, annoyed eyes turned to Jingyi who sat with red cheeks as if that wasn’t what he intended. They all knew it was.

“Perfect! That’ll startle anything,” Wei Wuxian praised, leaning forward to scribble notes for grading later. Jingyi smiled, any embarrassment gone away to make room for pride as he went to sit back beside Sizhui.

It’d taken awhile to get Lan Qiren to let him teach for real. Weeks of having him shadow every single thing Wei Wuxian did around the littlest juniors, constant grunts of disapproval, a whole separate sheet for grading Wei Wuxian that he would bring to his attention over tea every evening. But, honestly, he didn’t mind it too much. After everything, it felt somewhat normal. Besides, he was sure Lan Qiren liked him a bit more by the time he willingly handed over a few classes.

Convincing him of this class specifically, though, was a bit tougher and had to be discussed with all of the Lan Elders in a very formal meeting that required Wei Wuxian to break out his single set of white robes. They’d waited until Lan Wangji was off on a night hunt, getting rid of his unrelentingly protective gaze before bringing Wei Wuxian in to discuss giving the older disciples lessons on creating new things so they’d be better equipped to come up with something if they ever got stuck‒or at least that’s how he sold it. The minimum age they’d agreed on was the group that were done with all other sit-down classes and tended to be the main ones going on night hunts which was fair enough. It meant he got to spend more time with Lan Sizhui and he’d never complain about that.

“Alright, who’s next?”

Before anyone could even respond, the doors to the lanshi burst open. Lan Wangji stood in the doorway, tall and regal and intimidating and every bit Hanguang-Jun. Wei Wuxian felt his heart flutter childishly in his chest as if that wasn’t his husband. Husband. Ah, wasn’t that incredible?

The juniors’ eyes followed Lan Wangji as he basically glided down the walkway. Wei Wuxian smiled as he came near despite the rigid set to his features. He knew he had some important‒which typically translated to annoying‒business today. 

“Have you come to learn on your break, Hanguang-Jun?” Wei Wuxian teased. Somehow, though, the crease between his eyebrows deepened and worry pricked at Wei Wuxian. Was he angry with him for some reason?

Lan Wangji walked up to the teacher’s platform and to the side of his desk before kneeling on the ground. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as Lan Wangji bowed his head into his lap before adjusting himself. And there he was, the great Hanguang-Jun, laying on the floor with his face buried in his husband’s stomach and his arms wrapped around his torso. Wei Wuxian wondered if Lan Wangji could feel how hard his heart was beating.

Considering this was rather unprecedented, Wei Wuxian dumbly looked up at the juniors to guard their reactions. All of them with one exception were looking anywhere in the room other than the scene on the platform. Wei Wuxian locked eyes with Lan Sizhui‒who, for once, didn’t seem too flustered by such a bold display‒and watched as he gave a curt little nod. He wasn’t sure what he was nodding about, but he assumed it was a subtle way of saying to just let it happen. As if he needed approval to do that.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said softly, resting his hand on his husband’s cheek. He used his thumb to smooth out his already perfect eyebrows and couldn’t help his smile as Lan Wangji visibly relaxed a little. His eyes stayed closed and he looked every bit like the jade everyone said he was. “Alright. Sleep well.”

Wei Wuxian looked back up, his hands sliding to cradle the back of Lan Wangji’s head against his stomach. 

“Anyone got a quieter one to try next?”

-

Lan Wangji stayed put for the entire length of his break before silently getting up and walking back out.

His class was nearly over at this point, but it was clear everyone had questions that he couldn’t answer. Their Hanguang-Jun had definitely changed and gotten more bold since Wei Wuxian came to live in the Cloud Recesses, but not like that. That was… Well, there was something wrong, to say the least. Even if it was sweet to just have him lay there for at least four incense sticks worth of time. He would have to ask him once they got back to the jingshi.

“You all did great today. For next week, how about something inspired by the word ‘heat’,” Wei Wuxian said. 

“Wei-qianbei, don’t we already have at least a few different existing talismans for that?” Lan Huizhong asked. He grinned as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Looks like you’ll have to think quite hard to come up with something, hm?” he said. Lan Huizhong smiled just a little bit‒no excessive smiling and all‒and bowed.

Wei Wuxian gathered his things and started to walk out of the lanshi. He was going to drop these off at the jingshi and then he planned to slip in on one of Lan Xichen’s sword forms classes. He did that relatively often and could feel the way that was slowly but surely helping to build Mo Xuanyu’s core. If he played it off like he was just there because he was bored, no one needed to call him out on it.

“Wei-qianbei, may this disciple speak with you for a moment?” Lan Sizhui called. Wei Wuxian grinned as he spun to see him, though stopped himself from teasing him about the formal way he called him when he saw the serious set of his features. It seemed everyone was very serious today.

“You don’t even need to ask,” he said. Lan Sizhui looked around to make sure they were alone and still took a step closer. He was breaking some rule, Wei Wuxian thought‒impropriety, personal space, secrecy, something. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Hanguang-Jun,” he said softly. Wei Wuxian was very interested at this point and stepped even closer. “He is… melancholy.”

Wei Wuxian searched his face as he slowly repeated, “Melancholy?”

That didn’t sound right. Lan Wangji had made him tea this morning and shared his spiritual energy. Lan Wangji had smiled when Wei Wuxian had braided his hair the night before and had smiled before he bedded him. Lan Wangji had shared a bath with him, had washed his hair, had done many, many things for him as he did every day. That didn’t seem melancholy.

“Forgive this disciple’s forwardness,” Sizhui said, though he didn’t sound like he was sorry. He sounded, Wei Wuxian thought with untimely fondness, like the man who raised him. “This humble one does not mean to insinuate that Wei-qianbei does not know his husband well. Wei-qianbei is attentive and thoughtful, that is obvious. But… Xian-gege, for all that you may know him and see him and spend time with him, I know him better than anyone.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t even be hurt by that statement. It was the truth that Lan Sizhui had probably spent more time with Lan Wangji than anyone else in the world, perhaps even rivalling Zewu-Jun at this point. Lan Wangji had admitted in the dark of one night that he’d spent many years paranoid that people would find out his A-Yuan was a Wen and that they’d go after him, so he kept him out of the dormitories until he was nearly fourteen and even then made a point to watch over him as often as he could just in case. Of course he knew him well.

“He’s always been… sad, I suppose, but some days are worse than others. Sometimes he can seem happy and other days it’s…” Lan Sizhui trailed off, looking to the side and swallowing. Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted in his gut. “He’s been very well since you got back, but today is one of those… other days. Zewu-Jun and I handled it in the past, but now it’s sort of your duty as his husband, isn’t it?”

“Yes, A-Yuan, I think it is,” Wei Wuxian agreed. Sizhui’s shoulders relaxed a bit and that familiar smile found his lips.

“If you need help, just ask. It isn’t something you can fix completely, it’s more of making sure he doesn’t feel worse and alone. I think he’d appreciate your company. He did come to you,” Lan Sizhui said. Wei Wuxian nodded and tried to smile through the guilt in his stomach. How blind he’d been to his husband’s feelings.

“He did. I’ll do my best, thank you,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Xian-gege,” Sizhui said before he could walk too far away, reaching out to grab his arm, “It really isn’t your fault, it’s no one’s fault. It just… is.”

“It is a bit my fault,” Wei Wuxian suggested, laughing softly to try to make the guilt sound less, well, guilty, “I didn’t see it before.”

“How could you see something you weren’t looking for, though?” Lan Sizhui said, “And, really, he has been much happier since you came back.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, trying his best to get rid of the guilt. There was no place for that when he needed to just take care of his husband in the way he took care of him. “We’ll have tea tomorrow, all three of us.”

Lan Sizhui smiled and nodded, “I’d like that.”

-

Wei Wuxian had to convince himself to not skip Zewu-Jun’s sword forms class. Lan Wangji still had meetings and Wei Wuxian would be helping no one by pacing around the jingshi for hours. Besides, he would still need his strength, wouldn’t he?

His mind, however, wasn’t all there as he thought about Lan Wangji and started dissecting every moment to see what he’d missed. This morning when it took him longer than usual to get out of bed, was that a sign and something he would need to look for? That distraction, however, led to a small, eight year old Lan accidentally nicking Wei Wuxian’s cheek with his sword. It wasn’t even enough to bleed, but Young Lans crying in guilt was not a part of the agenda and class ended early.

That left Wei Wuxian to go back to the jingshi and wait for Lan Wangji to be done for the day so he could do his best to make up for all the times he’d had Lan Wangji coddle him when he was the one who needed to be coddled. He prepared a bath, talismans on it to keep it warm, and stripped to nothing but his underrobe. After letting his hair down entirely, Wei Wuxian decided to meditate. He hated it, but it passed the time while also helping his core, so he settled in.

It was easy to slip out of it the moment Lan Wangji walked in, eyes visibly tired and shoulders rigid. Wei Wuxian rose to his feet and met him near the door, conjuring an easy grin.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said softly, reaching up to hold his face in his hands. Wei Wuxian didn’t even need to pull him down, Lan Wangji’s body moved towards him as he wrapped him up into a hug. He had to stand on his toes, but he didn’t mind. “Your husband already drew you a bath. Come, let me bathe you, hm?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed. Wei Wuxian smiled and left a kiss on his shoulder before beginning to tug him behind the privacy screen.

Wei Wuxian reached up to remove his forehead ribbon first and folded it neatly to get it out of the way. His hands worked to strip him of his layers and it was hard not to see how much he was putting in to seem like he wasn’t struggling. That crease between his brow, the way his entire body was full of tension, the way he looked exhausted. How hadn’t he noticed before?

“My Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathed, leaving a soft kiss to his chest as he rid him of his last layer, “My love.”

He got rid of his own last layer and got in the bath first before ushering him in. Lan Wangji got in without even one playful look and laid against Wei Wuxian’s chest without any convincing. He sunk into the water up to his chin, his knees poking above the surface in response. Wei Wuxian didn’t know what else to do other than wrap his arms around him and bathe him slowly.

He thought of Sizhui’s words, how there wasn’t anything to actually do. Just make sure he didn’t feel worse or alone. Though Wei Wuxian could remember‒albeit faintly‒times when he’d felt very lonely despite being surrounded by people. He wasn’t sure his presence alone would be helpful.

“Let me hold you tonight,” Wei Wuxian told him, rubbing his hands over his chest, “Is that something you would like?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed. Not even a ‘whatever Wei Ying likes’. Wei Wuxian raked his fingers through his hair. 

Wei Wuxian worked at his body slowly. He didn’t have much spiritual energy to give him, but he tried his best to make up for it in rubbing at all the tense spots and paying extra attention to places Wei Wuxian knew he liked to be touched. The back of his neck, his arms, his hands, things that felt present.

They eventually decided to get out of the bath and move to bed. Lan Wangji seemed to be moving in slow motion as he got out of the bath. Wei Wuxian didn’t bother with drying him off with a cloth, instead making a talisman to dry them both.

“Did you eat anything, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked as they both got dressed in night robes. Lan Wangji made a noise that translated to no. “Should I go get something from the kitchens?” Another ‘no’ noise. “Lan Wangji, you have to eat something.”

Then there were no noises.

Wei Wuxian looked over to his husband to see him staring at him, all that tension he’d tried to get out of his body filling him right back up like it’d never left. It seemed he’d done something wrong. Or, perhaps he’d always been doing something wrong if simply being an attentive husband set off alarm bells in Lan Wangji’s mind.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, what are you staring at?” Wei Wuxian asked, hoping to play it off as he sat in bed, “Am I not allowed to be responsible for once?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said and maybe Wei Wuxian was being a little bit more obvious than he thought.

With a sigh, Wei Wuxian patted the bed and Lan Wangji climbed in beside him. Wei Wuxian led his head to his chest and held him there for a moment while he thought of a way to say what he was thinking and not be insulting.

“Sizhui and I had a talk today,” Wei Wuxian told him, running his fingers through his hair slowly, “And he said that you were sad. He said that you were always sad. What kind of husband have I been if I haven’t noticed, ah?”

Lan Wangji had gone tense again, but he didn’t try to pull away. His fingers slipped over Wei Wuxian’s collarbone, careful as silk.

“Does it bother you?” Lan Wangji asked carefully. Wei Wuxian made a hurt noise, trying to keep the situation as light as he could.

“Aiya, Hanguang-Jun, how could you accuse me of such a thing? As if anything about you could bother me!” Wei Wuxian said, reaching out with his other arm to grab his thigh. He pulled Lan Wangji until he was all but cradled in his lap like a baby, regardless of how much bigger than Wei Wuxian he actually was.

“Wei Ying…”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, sighing as he allowed himself to be a little serious. He rubbed his thumb in small circles against his husband’s thigh, still keeping him in his arms, “No, it doesn’t bother me. I… Obviously it isn’t the same, but I do understand the constant of it, I guess. Shijie was, for as long as I can remember, nearly always ill, some days worse than others. The way Sizhui explained it made it seem like that’s how it is for you, only… melancholy.”

“There is nothing left to mourn that is more powerful than Wei Ying breathing,” Lan Wangji said slowly, hesitantly, “And yet I still… It seems I forgot it was this way since the beginning.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t let that make you worse, alright? I understand, I do! There is nothing worse than feeling bad when you have every reason to be happy, I understand,” Wei Ying said, trying his damnedest not to crawl out of his skin while saying that aloud. But Lan Zhan needed it. He was meant to make him feel less lonely, wasn’t he? “I do apologize for being so needy this morning. I didn’t realize.”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “No apologies.”

“Yes, but‒”

“Wei Ying will have whatever he desires.”

 “Ah, Lan Zhan, don’t say things like that, I might take advantage,” Wei Wuxian said warmly, nuzzling his nose into the top of his head, “But, truly, it’s alright. I’m here and I plan to annoy you for the rest of this life and probably a few more, so of course it doesn’t bother me. You may have to tell me sometimes if I don’t notice right away, but I will never mind it. I get to cuddle you during class and everything. Do you know what I would’ve done in my first life if you cuddled me in class? I would’ve fainted!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji hummed. But his eyes had closed and he let his body relax a bit more in Wei Wuxian’s grip. 

Wei Wuxian smiled and traced his jaw with his thumb, pulling his legs a bit closer so he could cover him up with a blanket. If this is how bad days ended for the rest of their life, he wouldn’t mind.

“My cute little Hanguang-Jun, so small,” Wei Wuxian cooed, kissing the side of his face as he tucked the blanket around him. A smile pulled at Lan Wangji’s lips and although it didn’t stay, it still was worth everything. “Ah, you like that? Should I baby you more, my love? My A-Zhan, hm?”

It was easy to just hold him and cover him in kisses and cuddles without any expectation for him to say anything back or even smle if he didn’t want to. Wei Wuxian held him until he fell asleep and then held him a bit longer before he eventually had to slowly get up and find something to eat. There were some loquats in a bowl that were there for any late night snacking on Wei Wuxian’s part or just if he forgot to eat in the first place, so he sat and ate a few while staring where Lan Wangji laid the entire time. It wasn’t until he crawled back into bed that Wei Wuxian realized he no longer felt guilty.

It simply was and would be and Wei Wuxian was more than willing to take it in stride.

[wyrdsistersofthedas]

Gaiety - A Solavellan Oneshot

 by Artemis, a Wyrd Sister of Thedas.  

Posted in honor of Dragon 4ge Day.  

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

The memories curling at the edge of the Fade were strong in the Emprise du Lion. 

Remnants of a time forgotten haunted the shadows of crumbling fortresses while the children of the villages played under the watchful eyes of relics devoted to gods whose names they did not know. Where once the lost elven nation thrived now occupied spires of crackling scarlet crystals thrumming with sinister power, taking root in the cold earth and in the hearts of men, turning them to crazed zealots mad with the song of corruption whispering promises of power.

The snow crunched beneath Solas’ feet as he followed the Inquisitor past ice-covered towers and looming, barren trees. The chill in the air turned the breath from the entourage to clouds and tinged the tips of their ears a rosy hue rivaling that of a sunburned nug. Glistening specks of crystalline latticework danced throughout the grey sky before falling silently to the ground, pulling an earlier memory of Kialla’s surprised remark of the quiet in the mountains of the Emprise to flit across Solas’ mind, and a fleeting smile crossed his features. 

Despite the deceptively serene landscape of the area, it was anything but. Solas could feel the energy of dark forces at work, simmering beneath the quiet facade presented by the abandoned elven fortresses. Memories tugged at the surface of the Fade throughout the ruins of his people, while the lonely howling of wolves in the distance was rivaled only by the howling of the wind past his ears.

He would rather not linger here.

As the group trekked through the near pristine powder toward their destination, Solas’ mind wandered further. He pondered Kialla, unwittingly thrust into a position of power and influence over a magnitude of frightened and desperate people. The name of “Herald” carried significant weight in Thedas as of late, and garnered her a great amount of attention that she seemed indifferent to at best on some days.

And there was the Anchor. In his days keeping watch over her while she lay unconscious closely following the catastrophic events at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, he had contemplated the drastic turn of events. Initially, he had been perplexed, and wondered at how the seemingly ordinary Dalish woman could have possibly survived receiving the Anchor at all, accident or no.

And then she woke up, fought by his side, effectively putting the Anchor to use, and tirelessly asked him question after question plucked from an endless flood of curiosity. For a moment that dissipated rather quickly, Solas was hesitant to reveal anything about himself to her, but he saw that sparkle of wonderment in her eyes as he spoke of the Fade, and soon he was speaking of the grace with which she moved in battle before he hardly had the thought to consider the gravity of the words that tumbled from his lips.

Never before, in all his many years, had he ever felt —

A shock of startlingly cold struck him mid-thought, just behind his ear. 

It was all the man could do to blink and sputter as the snow fell from his head to creep beneath his cloak and slither down his neck. Through his surprise, Solas heard a soft giggle emanate from somewhere nearby, and he scanned the trees for the source while doing his best not to squirm as he wiped the icy water picking up speed down his neck. 

A pair of impishly gleaming blue eyes caught his, and Solas glimpsed a coy smirk on Kialla’s lips before the Dalish woman ducked back behind her tree trunk. She dipped down to scoop up another handful of snow, quickly shaping it in her gloved hands before sending it soaring in his direction.

This time, however, he had the mind to sidestep the attack, so that the tightly packed snowball barely grazed the tip of his ear as it flew past and landed some short distance away from his feet with a quiet  Plat!

Ah.

Pieces falling together swiftly in his mind, Solas leapt into action, gathering his own projectile from the blanket of snow. He waited for just the right moment, when she popped out from behind her tree once more with a new pile of snow in hand, and then let it fly.

The problem with his plan, however, was that Kialla was a skilled rogue, and her reflexes were sharp. As soon as she saw his arm wind back to throw, she disappeared from the line of fire. Solas’s own snowball whizzed right past its intended target, flying through the trees to hit none other than the group’s resident Seeker, landing dead center on the back of her head.

Cassandra whirled around, hand already at the hilt of her blade, brown eyes darting wildly around in search of her attacker. Her dark brows creased when she found none. 

“What—”

A sputter of laughter burst from Varric, just a few yards away, drawing her attention, and the woman frowned deeply. The dwarf guffawed heartily, clutching at his belly.

“You — you should have seen that, Seeker!” Varric cackled out when he finally had to stop for air, bending over his knees. “Your face!”

In the midst of his enjoyment at her expense, Varric missed the scowl Cassandra wore, and the tightly packed snowball she sent sailing toward his hunched frame until it nailed him on the crown of his head.

Oh, there was no turning back now.

In a matter of moments, the friendly snowball fight escalated into utter chaos. All manner of dignity was shed and abandoned as it rapidly became every man for himself, taking cover behind trees, snowballs flying left and right, and delighted, near-childlike laughter ringing out like bells through the frozen air.

While Cassandra and Varric were preoccupied in their own battle, Solas took the opportunity to hunt down his sly beloved. Shielding himself behind the trunk of a rather thick pine, he waited, eyes carefully scanning the area for any trace of her familiar evergreen cloak, or her pale blonde hair, or the tip of her treasured longbow.

However, the Dalish-trained hunter was, evidently, exceptionally elusive.

A small and subtle movement in his line of sight caused a light dusting of powder to stir from the snow covered branches, and Solas could feel himself tense, senses honing with anticipation. Another miniscule rustle in the tree kept his eyes glued forward, snowball ready and waiting in his hand while his arm hovered on standby to throw as soon as the time was right. 

Then once more, a flash of movement in the branches that disturbed the snow, and his arm jerked back to wind up his throw...

...and a squirrel emerged from the branches, scurrying down the long tree trunk.

Brow creasing, the mage paused, and in his confusion almost missed the quiet rustling of fabric and quick footsteps approaching from close behind him. A pair of hands enclosed over his eyes and pulled him backward as he grunted in surprise, snowball dropping to the ground where his feet had been seconds before, quickly forgotten. 

A few awkward and fumbling steps backward, and the hands vanished from his eyes to spin the mage around, meeting Solas with those same impishly smiling blue eyes that he so adored, dizzying him in a very real sense.

He only had time to sputter out a dazed, “Vhenan, what are—” as Kialla pinned him against the nearest tree and captured his lips with her own. 

Her mouth was hot, a direct contrast to the bitterly cold nip in the air. The kiss sparked a flame to life between them, and it didn’t take long for Solas to catch up after his unfinished question, reaching up to take her jaw in his hands while simultaneously lessening the distance between them. They explored each other’s mouths for what seemed like hours, until their heads were spinning and they were forced to come up for air, locking eyes as their breaths mingled.

Not a minute later, a burst of cold quite literally smacked them in the face, effectively and abruptly pulling them back to reality as a high-pitched cackle rang out from somewhere behind the trees.

It seemed being taken by surprise was becoming the theme of the day, Solas noted in equal parts mild amusement and indignation as he, yet again, wiped his neck dry of snow with his sleeve, working to repress a scowl. 

“Was that...?”

“Sera?” Kialla finished his thought.

“I wasn’t aware she was accompanying us,” Solas remarked, brow raised.

“Neither was I.”

Kialla, at least, looked just as bewildered as he did, this time. As she shook her head with a quiet laugh, Solas felt his own features soften from annoyance into an affectionate smile. His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, to brush back a stray blonde curl from her cheek, tucking the strand behind her long, pointed ear. 

The simple gesture was so unexpected and gentle that a light tinge of pink dusted Kialla’s cheeks. She smiled, lashes fluttering as the woman looked down bashfully. 

“We should... probably keep moving.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed, running his thumb along her cheek. “Of course, Vhenan.”

As their eyes returned to one another, he couldn’t help but capture her lips once more before setting out, this time in a sweet and chaste kiss that was interrupted only by the grins that neither one of them cared to smother.

[kokkoro]

i’ll make my way to you

love tends to find its way home, or at least that’s what clarke has learned over the years.

read here on AO3

The first arrow lodges itself deep and Clarke watches it happen. It sinks into Lexa’s left shoulder with enough impact to unsettle the stance of her feet. Lodges just under the strap that keeps her guard in place, through the layers of clothes and buckles and the only sign of pain is the grimace that creases Lexa’s brow.

Clarke feels like it hits her instead.

“Lex--” and it's a breath, incomplete as a body crashes into her side amidst the chaos and sends her sprawling. She catches herself, barely. Half over her knees and her hair in her face, hands scraped raw by the dirt and rocks. It takes her a second to find Lexa again among the growing smoke and the sounds that rise until it's nothing but a low buzz in her ears.

The second arrow finds Lexa’s hip, followed by another in quick succession just below her ribs, and makes itself at home, but Lexa gives it as much thought as the first. Merely a wrinkle of her nose as she bares her teeth, switches her grip, and bashes an incoming enemy with the pommel of her sword.

He crumples to the ground, clutching his face. Another charges, roaring, only there’s a sudden and swift change in direction, the downward slash of her sword. The body follows with a thud and a plume of dust.

What happens next is slow, the catch of eyes as Lexa turns and Clarke knows Lexa’s looking for her. Maybe it’s the asdf in her eyes, urgent and open, before falling to the arrow lodged in her hip. Her sword drops, half embedded in the dirt before the weight of the hilt causes it to topple, the now empty hand gently gripping the shaft as if to pull it out--

“Lexa!”

Green eyes finally settle and for a moment things quiet. The cries and shouts grow soft, this far off white noise that fills her ears like cotton, but Clarke sees it; the softness with which Lexa’s lips form her name. She’s seen it more times than she can count.

The first step Lexa takes towards her wavers. A tenuous balance that in the end doesn’t hold and Clarke finally finds the wherewithal to move the moment Lexa sinks to a knee, heavy. Clarke scrambles upwards, using her hands, dirt wedging under her nails. Her eyes sting from the dirt and smoke, but the tears don’t come until she’s close.

Clarke grabs whatever she can. The strap across Lexa’s chest, the lapel of her jacket, and the weight drags her down, but she manages to lessen the impact, tugging Lexa into her to dampen the force. Lexa’s breath comes in long, drawn inhales, her skin blotched and sweaty, blood coating the hair near her temple. Clarke’s stomach twists and she pushes the clumped strands from Lexa’s face.

“You don’t--” Clarke starts, clenching her teeth, fingers trembling. Lexa’s eyes are listless but they focus on her. Or try to. “You don’t get to do this, Lexa, you don’t--”

An explosion sounds and Clarke ducks, hunching over Lexa’s body as bits of rubble fling past and she doesn’t waste time. When things settle, Clarke hooks her arms underneath Lexa’s and drags. Clarke curses at the weight, all the extra bulk Lexa wears, and she fumbles with the pauldron until it unhitches and falls away.

The next twenty or so feet towards relative safety are long, and she all but collapses, scrambling to drag Lexa behind the makeshift cover of some dilapidated market stall and out of the way. The arrows stick out, buried deep into the outer jacket and the shirt underneath, and Clarke places her palm flat over Lexa’s chest and holds it there.

They don’t stop shaking.

“Clarke,” Lexa says, attempting to clear her throat of the dirt and smoke.

“Shut up,” Clarke growls, but it's weak, half buried by the panic that claims her throat.

She’s been trained for this, been prepared for this, and yet out here nothing really matters. Far off shouts echo off the crumbled buildings, structures tumbling under the pressure of a deteriorating infrastructure, and her mind is dragged ten different ways at once. But she hears it.

Her hand immediately reaches for the knife tucked in her boot, slipping it free with surprising ease, and whirls. She sees red, wrath curling like a fire in the pit of her gut, and she wants to see blood in exchange for what Lexa has lost.

But at the last moment she stops, her mother’s dirt smeared face visible just a few feet away, worried and afraid. Abby pulls her hands back, palms out in evident surrender, and Clarke’s resolve crumbles in an instant.

The knife drops, sinks somewhere in the dirt.

“Mom--” Clarke chokes out, and the tears come unbidden, nose suddenly running, and she turns back to Lexa, pulling her up more securely into her lap. “Mom... please.”

Abby moves closer. “Clarke--”

“You have to--”

“Clarke.”

Her hands hurt and her eyes sting, throat dry from the dirt, and all she can smell is the ash and smoke of Polis burning, but in the following seconds, Clarke breathes.

--

Everything goes back to normal faster than Clarke thinks should be possible. Like a wound, she’s grown accustomed to the scab. The slow heal and the itch that makes the aftermath far worse than it is. But that time is essential and its absence Clarke feels somewhere in the pit of her gut. It doesn’t feel right, this peace, and it’s like she’s left waiting for the dam to break, for the other shoe to fall, because what’s life without a little bit more misery.

But it doesn’t. Life goes on as it is wont to do. People get back up, dust themselves off and move on, and to be honest it kind of makes her want to scream. Just a little bit. At the very least maybe just at Lexa, who sits reclined on her throne as if a mere twenty hours ago she wasn’t riddled with arrows on her mother’s medical table.

There’s this permanent grimace to her face hidden behind a carefully composed and yet subtle scowl. A pinch to her brows Clarke would find utterly endearing had it not been for the circumstances in which it arrived. Gone is the heavy leather, the buckles and straps. The pauldron and sash are left draped over the back of the throne. All Lexa wears is this thin slip of a white shirt, long sleeves and loose neckline, and fitted riding trousers and boots. Bandages, dirty and starting to seep red, stand out under the sheerness of her clothes.

Lexa doesn’t see it as a weakness. The bruises and the still healing wounds are a testament to her victory, but if it were up to Clarke, Lexa would still be in bed, healing as she should.

“You’re glaring,” Lexa states, and it’s so out of the blue it momentarily draws Clarke from her temporary glowering. The room has cleared, but it won’t last long. Lexa shifts on her throne, propping her elbow along the bone of the armrest, hand lax.

Clarke snorts. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

Clarke rolls her eyes.

“I’m fine, Clarke.”

“You’re not,” Clarke replies, avoiding eye contact, and she knows how childish that must seem.

Clarke hears a sigh followed by a soft grunt of pain as Lexa stands from her throne and then closes the distance. Lexa steps into her space, close, and Clarke inhales.

“Go see to the seconds, Clarke,” Lexa says, fingers gentle as she brushes the hair from Clarke’s face and Clarke lets the breath escape from her lungs.

“You’re trying to get rid of me.”

Lexa’s lips quirk, this small little curl, and it takes everything Clarke has not to kiss it. Not here and certainly not now. “Am I?”

“I swear to god, Lexa, if you don’t treat this properly--”

“I will.”

Clarke clicks her mouth shut, jaw clenched, and for a second she catches the exhaustion as it finds its way into the line of Lexa’s neck, her posture breaking. The shirt slips low with the motion, exposing the bandages wrapped around her shoulder and the swath of bruised skin near her neck and it’s hard not to stare. Clarke doesn’t think before angling her head upward, brushing the tip of her nose against Lexa’s, her hands finding the flair of Lexa’s waist.

Lexa’s lips part subtly, but she doesn’t move. Her breathing steadies, and Clarke’s hands splay over the soft fabric and the flair of Lexa’s ribs. Her thumb counts them one by one--to make sure of the things she isn’t.

The door creaks and Clarke pulls back, her hand lingering until the last possible moment when the guardsman appears just beyond the threshold. Lexa straightens.

“Heda,” he starts, folding into a bow. “The southern delegation is ready for you.”

“Send them in,” Lexa says, face suddenly impassive, and with resolute tap of his spear against the stone floor, the guardsman exits.

There’s a moment of silence, and a hand finds the small of Clarke’s back, nudges her towards the doors.

“I will find you.” Lexa words come out soft, a whisper as the noise beyond the door grows by the second, and Clarke trusts the sincerity in them. She nods in reluctant understanding, watching as Lexa gives a subtle inclination of her head before pulling away completely, retracing her steps back to her throne.

The southern leaders file in, and among them Clarke slips quietly out into the hall.

--

“We’ve been through this, honey, she’ll be fine,” Abby says, sterilizing and inspecting the medical equipment before filing them away into their proper compartments. “So long as she doesn’t aggravate her wounds and keeps them clean, she’ll be back in shape before you know it.” Abby casts her a glance. “Might as well make the most of the time while you have it.”

Clarke’s cheeks heat at the vague and yet blatant accusation and she swivels on the stool, peering out past the open curtain to glimpse the main area of the medical pavilion. Chaos, however controlled, is a certain kind of frenzy as healers rush to and fro between patients, all with a varying array of injuries. With the worse already gone, however, all that remains are the cuts and scrapes and broken bones. All easily fixable.

“And how are you? Really?”

Clarke starts, turning back to find her mother watching knowingly. Abby drags a towel over her hands, maneuvering around the exam table and resting against it. Clarke doesn’t know how to answer. She lifts her hands from her lap, studies the slight tremor through them, and it's not nearly as bad as it has been but at this point it never goes away.

She shrugs, clenching her hands into fists.

Abby smiles sympathetically, putting aside the towel. She makes her way carefully over, crouching in front of Clarke, a calm and gentle hand on her knee. “It’s a lot. Isn’t it?”

Clarke doesn’t say anything, not trusting her voice, and it’s the thought that one time, when they need it most, whatever they have won’t be enough.

“That’s just how life is down here, Clarke. It’s hard, it’s...dangerous. But we survive,” Abby says, and Clarke bites back a scoff. As if she hadn’t been privy to the ground’s particular brand of cruelness the moment she landed.

“By now shouldn’t we have better?” Clarke whispers.

She remembers it. That unnerving coolness of autumn and the sudden onset of war, but also the warmth of Lexa’s lips and the safety and hope she found there. It seems so long ago and yet sometimes it feels like nothing has changed. Peace has never been so fragile.

“Oh, Clarke.”

Clarke shakes her head, willing away the sudden rush of helplessness that settles in her stomach.

“Honey, you’re doing such a good job,” Abby says, scooting closer, placing a comforting hand on Clarke’s knee. “But progress is, and will always be, slow.” She pauses, cracks a smile. ”Definitely slower than we would like.”

Abby waits, watching but silent, and then stands and meanders again, cleaning up the last of the materials left out over the table and the makeshift counters.

“Do you love her?”

The question startles her and Clarke’s head snaps up. Things take a while to focus, and it’s like every thought turns to sludge and stretches. She had always struggled with that word, ever since the beginning, and it never got any easier. “Mom--”

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you.” Abby trails off, lets the statement sink in. “The way you look at her.”

“It wasn’t...”

“And now it is?” Abby finishes tentatively.

Clarke gives another small shake of her head. “No, that’s not…”

Clarke stops. There never was a ‘wasn’t’. No pinpoint moment. Merely a realization after the fall of Nia and the years that followed that even in spite of everything she had never stopped. Loving Lexa, that is. A part of her is glad, but the other, well, it understands life is precious and easy to take.

It’s not the right time. It may never be the right time.

“Do we deserve it?” Clarke forces the words out, purposefully vague and still afraid. She curls her fingers together until her knuckles go white from the strain and Clarke has to force herself to relax, watching the color rush back into her skin.

“Deserve what, honey?” Abby says, full of tender exasperation. “Love?”

Clarke hesitates--nods.

“Of course you do.”

--

The sun begins to set before Clarke manages to leave, but she can see the last bit of orange and red rays as they filter through the atrium. It's the first bits of quiet the medical pavilion has seen since before the attack and with it comes those first few deep breaths Clarke welcomes like a drug. She feels the air rest somewhere in the pit of lungs, a comfortable weight.

The heat stays, however, hung low over the earth and the dust that kicks up from the lack of rain. It doesn’t feel far off though. The humidity gathers in the crook of her elbow, the back of her neck, lies like a thin sheet over her skin. It’s easy to ignore.

A dull knock catches her attention and she glances back. She’s not all that surprised to find Lexa just by the entrance.

“I’m sorry.” Lexa stops, bumps her hand against her thigh in an uncharacteristic show of restlessness and Clarke turns away. “Have you eaten?”

“Have you?” Clarke shoots back, accusing, the last remnants of her anger. But it simmers, then cools, and Clarke peers back over her shoulder.

“Briefly,” Lexa says before falling quiet, holding her stare. She stands regal, proud even in her exhaustion, waiting patiently, and Clarke is defenseless against it. It’s the look of her, the entirety of her, and right now there’s nothing Clarke wants more than to test reality with her own two hands.

“Did you figure anything out?”

“Azgeda defectors,” Lexa says. “Allies of the old north following in Nia’s footsteps. They were apparently biding time over the last few years with a rebel group in the east.”

“How are you?”

Lexa blinks, and it’s like the words need time to sink in. “It’s nothing,” and she says it so surely that Clarke thinks Lexa truly believes it.

“Can I see?”

Lexa hesitates, but after a moment pulls herself from the threshold, pushing aside the bit of curtain. She positions herself in front of Clarke and Clarke reaches out without thinking, taking the hem of Lexa’s shirt. It’s a simple thing to remove it, a precursory tug and Lexa raises her arms. The garment slips off in one motion and all that’s left is strips of cloth and tan skin.

Clarke tests the tenderness, fingers careful along Lexa’s hip and the composite bandages plastered around her abdomen. There’s blood in splotches, dark and dried, but the worst is situated near her shoulder where the wound continues to weep. Continuous stress and movement is undoubtedly the cause and Clarke shoots a glare that goes unacknowledged. Clarke makes sure she’s gentle.

Lexa’s skin is warm. It always has been and hopefully always will be.

“Sit please.”

Lexa does as she’s told. She takes a seat on one of the stools, the farthest one from the examination table, and Clarke sighs as she steals her mother’s chair, the one with the wheels, and rolls herself closer.

The cloth whispers as Clarke unwraps it, careful. That almost hush as the bandages slide against her fingers and then to the floor. Underneath the skin is red and angry, the stitches strained, and Clarke reaches for the closest bottle of antiseptic alcohol and a clean rag and gets to work.

“You’re an idiot, Lexa,” Clarke mutters, but there’s no reaction besides the stiffening of Lexa’s posture.

Despite her refusal for proper rest, Lexa is more than an adequate patient. She keeps her gaze forward and slightly to the right, over Clarke’s shoulder, and at a glance she looks bored. Disinterested. Clarke knows Lexa is no stranger to pain, but it’s the extent of her tolerance that always takes Clarke aback. Lexa feels. Perhaps more than most.

“What if I hadn’t seen you,” Clarke starts, and it feels like the tipping point. Her hand stills and Lexa turns to watch her and Clarke’s mind keeps going and doesn’t stop. “What if you had--”

“I will always find my way here,” Lexa says softly. “To you.”

Clarke swallows, her eyes watering. She drops her hand, curling inward until her head hits Lexa’s right shoulder, clenching the rag in her fist. Lexa smells like the earth and bits of sun, and Clarke tucks into the curve of her embrace.

--

The heat breaks sometime during the night. It starts with a drizzle against the doors to the balcony, but it’s not long before the droplets turn thick and heavy, pattering relentless against the glass. The room is dark and empty around her besides the few flickering candles placed on the side table near the couch. Thunder rumbles somewhere far off, a warning, and Clarke glances over at the shape of Lexa lain in bed.

Call it self inflicted punishment, maybe, or perhaps her lingering stubbornness, but she’s fooling no one. She pulls herself from the couch, putting aside her sketchbook and pencils, and snuffs the candles. The sounds are masked by the constant fall of rain and it makes sneaking easy as her feet carry her to the bed.

The mattress dips as Clarke crawls over and Lexa stirs awake almost instantly, turning towards the disturbance. She stands out among the pale sheets twisted around her legs, all tan skin and dark hair.

“Go back to sleep,” Clarke shushes before Lexa has a chance to speak.

“It’s too late for that,” Lexa murmurs. She blinks a couple times and there’s that telltale sign of discomfort laced between her brows as she shifts, pushes herself up.

“And I’m already regretting it,” Clarke teases.

“Are you just coming to bed?”

“I had some things on my mind.”

“Do you want to--”

Clarke shakes her head. “No.”

The wind changes direction, followed by a low rumble of thunder, and then a gentle flicker of lightning. Lexa props herself against the headboard and once she’s comfortable, she reaches out for Clarke’s hand, coaxing it from the bedsheets and into her own. She tugs lightly, pulling Clarke atop her.

“Lexa,” Clarke chides but complies, and Lexa exhales a short chuckle.

“Clarke,” and it sounds like a sigh.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I will be fine,” Lexa says with this small self-assured smile, her hands on Clarke’s waist, fingers toying with the hemline of Clarke’s shirt. “And if I'm not, I'm sure you will tell me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and sits back, legs straddling Lexa’s lap. Her hands seek out soft skin, the gentleness buried under years of war and she watches as Lexa relaxes under the touch.

“I love you,” Clarke says, whispered as if the walls have ears. She feels the declaration take root in the pit of her gut, and for a moment she feels sick. Scared at what it could mean in the long run with the odds stacked against them, but she watches Lexa’s eyes go wide, feels the grip on her waist tighten.

Lexa pushes herself up from her recline, and there’s a subtle wince Clarke catches, but she doesn’t say anything of it. Merely exhales at the contact of skin as Lexa presses her front flush against her, urgent. Lexa takes her lips in a kiss that, for a moment, leaves Clarke’s mind pleasantly blank and Clarke sinks into the safety she’s come to associate with warm skin and green eyes and wild hair.

“Say it again.” The edges of Lexa’s voice cracks, and Clarke’s throat tightens at the sound. “Please.”

“Lexa.”

“Please.”

"I love you."

Lexa tilts her head, stealing a kiss that lingers just long enough to be missed before pulling back and making quick work of the shirt hung loosely over Clarke’s frame. Clarke is quick to close the distance again.

“I love you,” Clarke murmurs against Lexa’s lips, falling easily back into the rhythm Lexa’s sets and this soft desperate whine escapes Lexa’s throat.

Her right arm wraps securely around Clarke’s waist while the other tosses aside the sheets still clumped around her legs. She flips them, presses Clarke back into the mattress and Clarke revels in the solid weight above her, the lips that find her neck and the underside of her jaw.

It’s the soft whispered things between kisses that make Clarke’s skin prickle, unable to hear clearly because of the hushed and reverent tone in which Lexa speaks, muffled against her skin.

I love you.

[shimmerjjang]

Drugstore Dupes for High-end Makeup

I’m the kind of girl who loves exploring makeup products regardless of the brand. I may have this unyielding fondness to Korean brands but my stash is also comprised of local, Western, indie, brands. While I believe quality tops the criteria in terms of choosing the best makeup products, top quality doesn’t always equate to luxury. I personally love beauty brands you can easily get from the drugstore and so here are some drugstore dupes you may want to try in place of your high-end fantasies.

Foundation: Covergirl + Olay Simply Ageless 3-in-1 Liquid Foundation

Products that beautify and nourish the face in one go are a boon to the busy lady of today. Not only do they save space in your makeup bag, but they also give you big savings since you no longer need to buy separate products. For instance, this Covergirl foundation also serves as a moisturizer and anti-wrinkle cream. Simply apply on the center of the face and blend outwards to even out your complexion’s tone. Its liquid formulation makes it less prone to caking, and more ideal for oily skin.

Eye Liner: BLK Long-Lasting Liquid Eyeliner

Nothing ruins a look more easily than eye makeup that has gotten smudged thanks to sweat and weather. BLK’s hard wearing liquid eyeliner is designed to set you up for all day glamour, without the hassle of frequent touch-ups. This eyeliner can withstand most activities and will not easily run or flake even in harsh conditions. The fine tip applicator allows for more control of the line’s thickness, allowing you to contour, outline, or create other effects with a flick of your wrist.

Eye Shadow: Revlon ColorStay 16 Hour Shadow

Complete the all-day look for your eye makeup by swiping on any of Revlon’s long wearing eyeshadow powders. These quartets help banish unsightly creasing and smudging, making it perfect for going from office to party. Revlon’s palettes come in different variations ranging from subtle nudes and browns to downright dramatic metallics and mattes. The possibilities are endless!

Setting Spray: NICHIDO Make Up Setting Spray

Keep your makeup from falling flat and off your face with a quick application of this lightweight spray! This oil free product helps keep that fresh look up for hours, thus lessening the time and effort needed for do-overs. Its easy to stash size also makes it a great addition to your travel kit, making it perfect for business trips, conferences, or other out of town ventures.

Lip Balm: Burts Bees Moisturizing Lip Balm

Give your lips the TLC they deserve with regular swipes of this nourishing lip balm. Burts Bees has different lines of lip balm ranging from plain to tinted, but this colorless lip balm makes a great base for other lip products. The moisturizing lip balm also comes in a range of flavors such as wild cherry and cucumber mint that will help make daily hydration less of a chore and much more fun.

Lip Stick: Happy Skin Shut up and Kiss Me Moisturizing Lippie

The name says it all: Happy Skin is a brand that is here to help you be stunning while having fun. The Shut Up and Kiss Me lipstick is only one in a wide variety of tints and lippie sets designed for maximum versatility with your everyday looks. Happy Skin prides itself on featuring colors that are compatible with fairer and darker complexions alike, thus making it a very inclusive brand. The moisturizing lippie is also made for wear and tear, thus minimizing the need to reapply even after hearty meals. Since lipstick is the easiest way to jazz up your look, this is one beauty essential you should not go without!

Staying polished and glamorous on a daily basis need not come at the expense of your wallet or life savings. These drug store finds are only a few selections from the plethora of affordable beauty products out there. No matter the cost or name of the brand, what is more important is that the makeup is compatible for your skin type and brings out the best of your natural features. Now that sort of match is priceless!

[percivaltheknight]

Catalyst: Chapter 1

Summary: All is peaceful in the mindscape until Virgil goes missing. When Logan helps look for him, he finds himself in more danger than he would have ever predicted.

Genre: Angst, Suspense, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: tense scenes, some violence, a panic attack, and unconsciousness.

No pairings, no cursing, and I promise a heaping of fluff spread sporadically throughout the story. I may be a villain, but I’m a villain with a heart. 😉

—————————

For a brief moment, relief had flooded the mindscape.

Deceit had been unmasked, Patton was back, and the world was right-side up again. Lying is, and always had been, bad. Immoral. Wrong. And things were back to the way they were.

Except, they weren’t.

Logan knew this. Everyone knew this; it was clearer than day. Deceit had lost the advantage of Thomas being ignorant to him. Yes, he’d had to be subtle to ensure it stayed that way, but he couldn’t go back now. There was no undoing knowledge.

So, even though there was a heaping of relief and happiness at having their beloved friend (Dad, in Patton’s mind) back, the underlying tone of unease was still there.

Because now, Logan mused as he scanned his computer distractedly, Deceit doesn’t have to be subtle anymore.

It worried him, of course. He knew there would almost definitely be future conflict with the snake-faced antagonist, but the presence of the other sides was reassuring. They were a group, after all, and they outnumbered Deceit in both numbers and ability. Quantity and quality. It was a fact he had told his three fellow sides, to help reassure their worries. He told it to himself now, to quell the faulty logic that would sometimes trickle into his mind at the most inopportune times. Like now.

Logan frowned at his computer screen, only remembering what he had been doing when he glanced through the dates and schedules for the next month. He sighed. It seemed that concentration wouldn’t be with him, today.

He quickly saved his work and stood, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a yawn. A glance at his watch told him that it wasn’t too late; maybe an hour before dinner. He smiled; perhaps he could join Roman and Virgil in the video game they were playing earlier. It hadn’t looked entirely ridiculous, he thought as he grabbed for the door handle, and he could use something stimulating to get his concentration levels back-

His hand grasped nothing.

His eyes glanced down at his hand, intending to guide it more accurately towards the handle, but he paused, his eyes widening in surprise. The door handle was gone, it wasn’t there-

He blinked. No, yes it was. It was right in front of him. He deliberately took hold of it, feeling the metallic solidity under his palm.

Logan frowned and opened his door quickly, marching down the hall and away from his room. Perhaps the work had affected him a bit too much. The logical aspect decided to not give it any more thought and shoved the incident aside.

The next day was much better, in the logical side’s opinion. The embarrassing slump had been quelled, and he’d been at the peak of productivity throughout the entire morning. A quick glance at his vocabulary cards told him that the slang term would be that he was, “on fire”. Or was it, “on a roll”? The two definitions were ridiculously similar; he couldn’t tell the difference.

Oh well, he supposed, it doesn’t really matter.

At the moment, he was completely emerged in the book that was laid open on the table in front of him. His lunch had been shoved to the side, forgotten, in favor of the thick, hardback novel. He was vaguely aware of Roman talking next to him, and he assumed that the blur that was rushing around above the surface of his book was not Virgil.

‘The rain broiled his skin as much as the air burned his lungs. He slowed, and slowed, until the ground was unmoving under his feet. Each drop and torrent washed away the hope of his only lead. As well as the evidence.

For once, the thought of running blood made him cringe-

“Hey, Earth to Specs!” Logan jumped, the movement almost yanking the book from his hands. He glanced up at Roman, an unimpressed frown adorning his face.

“Is there a reason for interrupting me, Roman?” He questioned. The addressed prince raised an eyebrow.

“Patton and I have been trying to get your attention.” Logan glanced up, and sure enough, Patton was staring at him expectantly. His expression looked slightly worried, and the sight made his lips quirk downwards. He looked back at Roman. There was a similar expression on his face, though he was masking it well.

“Is… there something wrong?” He asked warily, placing his bookmark in the folds of paper and setting it down.

“It’s just, have you seen Virgil at all today?” It almost sounded like Patton was begging him to say, ‘yes’. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an answer he could give.

“No, I haven’t.” the logical aspect admitted. “Did you check his room?”

“Yes! His door was cracked open when I went to check on him, and I didn’t see him inside, so I assumed that he was with one of you.” Patton bit his lip, twiddling his thumbs restlessly. “I think we should split up and look for him.”

“Of course!” Roman immediately jumped to his feet, a hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword and his face set into one of determination. “We’ll find that Virgilante in no time!”

“I additionally agree,” Logan stated, also getting to his feet. “We can’t risk not having the knowledge of each other’s whereabouts with Deceit growing more bold in his actions.”

The atmosphere immediately grew more dreadful, and a foreboding pit settled into their stomachs. They all set off in different directions, Patton taking the mind palace, Roman checking the common area and the kitchen, and Logan traversing upstairs to check his room again, as well as the other rooms.

All of their faces were set in grim determination. They would find their friend.

Logan quickly made his way up the stairs and down the hall, eyebrows creased. He was absentmindedly sorting through different scenarios as to what could be happening, and how to deal with it. Was it another bout of panic, was he in his room, but hadn��t been seen? What if he was looking for us, and we kept missing each other? What situation would he be presented with if he encountered him?

As Logan neared Virgil’s door, he noticed that it was, in fact, open. But, as he got closer, he heard the faint sounds of muffled sobs. His eyes widened, and he quickened his steps. As soon as he came within range of sight, sure enough, Virgil was in his room, but it was obvious that he was not okay. He sat on the ground against the side of his bed, with his knees pulled tightly up against his chest and his face buried in his arms. He was shaking, and Logan could hear his frantic breathing and sobbing.

He immediately made his way into the room, keeping the door open.

“Virgil?” There was no response. Logan moved forward, kneeling next to the anxious side and placing a hand carefully on his shoulder to let him know that he was there.

“Come on, Virgil. Deep breaths.” He instructed calmly, rubbing his back in calming circles. It wasn’t the first time he’d helped him through a panic attack, and though the others have done so before, it was usually Logan who would notice first, being in the room closest to his.

Thankfully, Virgil’s breathing gradually started to slow and become more steady, and his shaking was lessening as well. Logan let out a small breath, relieved that his friend would be okay.

His suspicions were unfounded, it seemed. The snake-faced trickster hadn’t been behind Virgil’s absence. He briefly wondered if Virgil’s paranoia was rubbing off on him, but he shook his head of the thought. He wasn’t one to let emotions rule his crucial reasoning.

He was Logic, after all. He had to be the level head in the group.

Click!

His head swiveled towards the sound. The door had swung shut.

“Is that a common occurrence for your door, Virgil?” He squinted through the dark room. Something seemed off with it.

And then a sound that chilled his spine made its way to his ears. A low chuckle. Someone was laughing.

And he knew with every fiber of his being that it was not Virgil.

He whipped his head around, yanking his hands away from the Not-Virgil. Gone was the shaking, and gone was the ragged breathing. He was calm, and he was smirking.

“Who knew?” The being who looked like Virgil mused. Logan shot to his feet and backed away from him, towards the door, his eyes narrowed and his body tense. The one who wore Virgil’s face just looked amused. It was an unnatural expression that didn’t match. “I thought this would be much harder, but as soon as one of your friends was in trouble, you didn’t even think for a second. That was very illogical of you, Logan.”

“Where is Virgil?” Logan questioned carefully, keeping his voice and face stoic, impenetrable. The fraud got to his feet, slowly, deliberately, and Logan took another step back, a hard edge making its way into his glare.

“I don’t know,” Not-Virgil drawled. “Is he missing? Goodness, what an unfortunate thing!” He places his hand on his chest in fake sympathy, but his face was that of criminal glee.

“Why are you posing as Virgil?” Logan demanded. He didn’t answer. There was only tense silence, where they stared at each other and Logan wondered why this imposter was here, why he was posing as Virgil, and why he wasn’t doing anything.

Surely, he would have done something pertaining to his motive now? He was just found out-

No, he did that on purpose, Logan thought. He wanted me to know that it wasn’t Virgil, but then why didn’t he reveal it sooner? He only played his part until…

With wide eyes, he quickly spun on his heel and grabbed for the door handle.

His hand grasped air.

There was no door handle. Only smooth wood.

He had planned this. Every event; he had practiced beforehand.

“What’s wrong, Logan?” He jumped at the sounds of the words being closer, and he spun around to the sight of the fake being but a few feet away from him, his face contorting wickedly. “You look a little anxious.”

Logan’s eyes widened. That’s what he was planning, the cruel snake.

Suddenly, the imposter’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, drawing it towards him. The logical trait hadn’t noticed that his fist was clenched. “Virgil” placed two fingers on his vein to check his pulse, but Logan yanked his hand away, backing up as far as he could before his back hit the door.

“Let me out.” It wasn’t a request, demand, or plead. It was a statement. A very tense statement that held no effect to the fraud in eyeshadow.

He frowned, pretending to contemplate. “Hmmm,” he shook his head. “Yes, I think I will. You won’t be kept here forever, because I have absolutely no use for you. At. All.” He smirked, creeping forward, and for a second, he swore that he saw the glint of a yellow eye.

The sight spurred him into action, and he immediately spun around and started to bang and kick the door.

“Help!!” He yelled. “Deceit is here, Roman, Virgil, Pat-mmfph!” A yellow gloved hand clamped onto his mouth and another latched around his waist, dragging him away from the door. Logan struggled, trying to yank himself away, but Deceit had an iron grip when he wanted to.

“Now, Logan,” The Snake hissed in his ear, “You’re not allowed to leave yet. I still need something from you.” The hand removed itself from his face, and he was about to inhale to let out a loud yell, but before he could, the same hand lightly touched his temple. He gasped when the world immediately tilted, the edges of his vision growing fuzzy. His limbs were suddenly weak, and he was vaguely aware of Deceit dragging him off somewhere, his feet trailing behind. He felt himself unceremoniously dropped, and he couldn’t tell if the surface he was on was soft or not. Two fingers pressed into his wrist, he heard Deceit tutting about how he wasn’t even close.

Close? Close to what? He couldn’t think straight; everything was too blurry and spinny. Is spinny even a word?

“Goodnight, Logic.” Deceit mused. Then, Logan’s eyes rolled back into his head, and everything finally stopped spinning as it was replaced with black.

———————

To be continued...

[kpop-wetdreams]

Parallel Lines

[one shot; time traveler!AU]

Author: Kpop-Wetdreams

Pairing: Hyungwon x OC

Rating: Angst [SFW]

Warning: Violence

Author’s Note: I’ve taken some creative liberties with my interpretation of time traveling but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! This piece was inspired by Monsta X’s comeback, Dramarama, and the song,  Parallel Lines, by DVBBS & CMC$ featuring Happy Sometimes. Enjoy!

Word Count: 3,238

An afterimage is known as an image that continues to appear in one’s vision after the exposure to the original image has ceased. That’s exactly what I’ve been chasing. No matter what I do it never seems like I can catch up to him, but then again I never wanted to catch him. We were created to moderate and police the time streams, a step in the evolutionary line and advancement of man. He was created first. The successful result of many years and millions of dollars in research. A time traveler. His genes had been compatible with the serum that they had created. He was able to travel through time with the watch without repercussion and without conditions. He was created to help minimize the wait between uses of the watch. The watch had been created to allow government agents to jump between timelines and alter events as necessary and as directed. However, with every jump, it took a toll on the human body and the watch needed time to recharge for the next use. But that was never the case; not with him. He jumped seemingly without any toll on his body and he didn’t need any downtime before he was able to jump again.

At first, he had been obedient. Followed orders and directions as given but the longer he was under the employment of the government, the more time he spent doing their bidding, the more he felt that time travel shouldn’t be restricted. It was something he believed that should be shared and it would be helpful to a large populous of people and not something that should be kept in the shadows though he had to acknowledge that there would also be great dangers if it was made available to the masses; so reluctantly, he stayed hoping to achieve something that one day, could be used responsibly and available to everyone. He swallowed his opinions as they continued to experiment on the serum and finally created me. They had learned their lesson from him and corrected their mistakes with me (not that they’d admit to making any mistakes, to begin with). Unbeknownst to him, they had created me with a limited number of jumps that would ultimately lead to my expiration, a way to keep me under control.

It was interesting. To know who you are and how you operate all your life to suddenly have things become altered and abruptly have a whole other avenue of life open to you. My alterations had manifested itself in a different form than his. At first, they had thought I was to be categorized as a failed experiment since the jumping still took a toll on my body as well as the not being able to jump through multiple timelines, one after the other. I was assigned to assist him in his everyday life. As much as he was watching over me and observing for developments in me, I was observing and watching and learning from him. It was in these moments that we had to ourselves that I had fallen in love with him. The way his eyebrows creased when he was studying a particularly different scenario or the shape of his lips. At first, I had found them to be a very particular shape. Shaped like a shallow M, I wondered how he managed to keep liquids from accidentally dribbling out to one day wondering what they would feel like pressed against my own.

Despite the turmoil and the state of the world and the tension in the political arena, we managed to fall in love with one another. It was easy really. We understood each other better than anyone else ever could. We learned about what we each were before becoming who we were now. We learned about why we had entered this project. We had both lost someone and felt that somehow, by being this, doing this, we could prevent that pain for someone else. I wasn’t naive enough to believe that I could save this pain for everyone but still, the stubbornness in me made me try. In him, I found my salvation. In him, I found that I could be more than I was. He didn’t complete me. That would imply that I was incomplete prior to meeting him. He made me more. Gave me more than I thought I was capable of receiving. He came to me so unassumingly that I was able to accept from him something I had been terrified to receive from anyone before him. Unconditional love. Someone that was able to accept me for who I was no matter what I did before, no matter what mistakes I would make after.

One of my favourite memories between the two of us will always be the night he finally kissed me. I felt like there had been a sexual tension growing between us for weeks though neither one of us was ready to admit it. Working together in close quarters became both a burden and a guilty pleasure. I could distinctly remember on more than one occasion I had ‘accidentally’ brushed my body up against his or just positioned myself in a manner that would give him the most subtle peek of my flesh. I loved the way his breath would hitch in his chest, the way he would grow rigid and move like he was made out of tin. It would always make me giggle. There had been one particular night where we had been going over some research and I genuinely had accidentally knocked over some papers. I immediately apologized and started to gather the papers back for him when he tugged my upwards by my wrist. His voice low as he asked me if he was supposed to believe this was an accident too before he kissed me and left me breathless. The way his lips molded against my own lit a fire of desire between us that had been smoldering for weeks. Once he finally managed to untangle himself from my arms, he kissed my nose and told me that that was no accident.

Another afternoon when we were together looking over some other research papers, that I remember lamenting about why I was less ‘special’ than he was when we were created the same way and he had reminded me that we weren’t. The serums that had been used to create he and I were different. I had pouted playfully, sitting on his lap turned towards him and flopped against his chest. I knew it was silly to think that I was less than him but he had never once hesitated to remind me that I was the way I was for a reason. I never told him but I knew I was different from him. Where he had been able to create a more powerful version of the watch, I was able to see the various timelines overlapping and it was something that was gaining traction within me; I could feel it. My alteration wasn’t as obvious as his but eventually he did notice. We both knew that as soon as he noted the change, the success, things would change. We most likely wouldn’t be able to have as much time to ourselves anymore if any… the flight risk would be too high for them to risk. But as the days went on, the change in me and my abilities that had seemingly thought to be nonexistent began to manifest and cause changes not only to me but our environment.

The first time my alteration actually affected me well, it was rather odd. My mind was drifting off and I wasn’t focused on anything in particular when I started to see multiples of the scientists walking about us. They were all seemingly the same people but they were all doing different tasks. It was like looking at a photo that had prolonged exposure. Images overlapping. When I had concentrated, I was able to pick out a particular timeline and found myself there instead of where I was. It had been such an easy slip that I hadn’t even noticed. He was very concerned when I had come back to him. He was startled when I disappeared without a trace.

After that day I was injected with a tracker that I couldn’t remove on pain of death. He had adamantly opposed the injection of the tracker but they silenced him on the promise that something worse than death would await me if he tampered with the tracker and I was tagged.

Strange things started to happen more frequently around us. When he and I were in the same room for too long, things started to warp. Gravity would waver and we would create a large magnetic field onto ourselves. It was then that it was discovered that we were two of the same anomalies. We were never meant to exist in the same timeline but because of the tampering of man trying to play the creator, here we were warping the very fabric of time. Twisting, stretching, scrunching the fabric until it was almost unrecognizable. But we were magnets. We wanted to be close to each other. Out of the entire population, we were the only two alike and akin to one another. Altered from our original states, we had become something more yet those that had altered us believed our humanity to be lessened somehow. Somewhere along the line of the experimentation, we had strayed from humans to possessions. Possessions that belonged to the State to serve a purpose; we were mere tools in their eyes. Expensive tools but tools nonetheless.

The day that the rift was created my heart broke. We had seen evidence of it before when we were left alone for too long together. The shifts had been small but now it was undeniable. No matter how much we wanted to stay together, it wasn’t meant to be. If we were to stay together like this we would bring everything we had hoped to achieve for humanity crashing down. So he left. His form faded before my eyes. Screaming and crying I ran towards him but only ended up running straight through his afterimage and crashed through to the other side and hit the cabinets. I didn’t know how long I sat there before someone hauled me up and locked me away. It was a special cell that had been created for he and I, separate of course. These cells had been created so we couldn’t jump through them and we were contained. Sirens and lights blared, screaming, alerting our supervisors that an asset had gone missing. Not only had a time traveler escaped, but one with substantial knowledge of the project and one that would be able to recreate the watch.

I had tried many times to help him recreate the watch but with his alteration and came the explicit knowledge of how to create the watches and how the jump truly worked. His watches were unique. There was a little bit of him in every watch that he created. His blood. Somehow, it was stronger than the normal battery inside which is why they had watched him so closely.

I sat staring at nothing in my cell. There were no images here. There was only me and my current timeline, one where he didn’t exist in anymore and I didn’t want to be there either. For the first time, I found myself wanting to jump but unable to so I closed my eyes and did what other normal people had to do. Recall a memory and bring it forth. Hoping that the memory was strong enough to dull the ache in my chest where my heart was. I was forced back to my reality with him when a manila folder hit the surface of my desk in my cell. I knew what was inside. It was his picture and the orders to bring him back, dead or alive. I was an extremely effective asset, one that had never failed them before and they expected no different this time.

Once I was given my orders, I was released back into the world. I knew what he felt like. I was able to find his signature… his unique frequency and lock onto it to find where he was. The thing was that this frequency would lead me to where he was but not tell me which timeline he was in. The timelines were always interacting. Shifting, blending, merging and diverging and he was able to slip through these moments seamlessly. I prolonged my search for him, buying time while trying to come up with a way to free both myself and him from being kept from each other and what we wanted to do. There were days where we were both standing in the rain. In the same place, able to sense each other but separated by time, space, and something intangible.

I knew he could sense me like I could sense him but unlike me, he couldn’t see me. It was like I was drinking the world’s most bittersweet coffee over and over again. Sweet in the way I could see him, almost reach out and touch him. Commit his face and features to memory again for the millionth time. His dark eyes, the way his hair fell into them when he had been walking at his usual brisk pace. The lips I wanted to kiss again and again. Then the bitterness came when my hand reached out to cup his cheek, to feel his warmth, only to be met with the nothingness that the current timeline offered and broke my heart a little further. I could see him but I could never be with him. But still, I stood in the rain watching him. He stood there, eyes trained to where I was standing but I knew for him, he was only looking out into the darkness. My tears rolled down faster and harder than the rain that soaked through my clothes but I stood rooted to the same spot. It wasn’t until he moved and walked through me that I fell to my knees; now staring out into the darkness.

The supervisors had been lenient with my slow pace with respect to the retrieval mission but their patience was growing thin. They were starting to send in other agents. Men in suits that weren’t subtle at all. I did my best to keep him out of harm’s way, always out of the path of those men. I saw first hand what he had done for those that he had deemed worthy of receiving the watches. He had helped friends reconnect, the prolongment of a lifelong battle for self-betterment, and even help provide closure but it seemed like no matter how far he ran, the men in suits were always on his heels. I knew if I could track him, they could too.

It was starting to happen one by one, as the men in suits repossessed the watches. They were bringing an end to an immortal rivalry of a friendship that had transcended time. Separated friends that just wanted a few more moments together and sent them back to their own respective timelines and closed the door in which they had used to see each other. Out of the three scenarios my love had tried to help, only one was given a new ending. I didn’t know if it was a happier ending but it offered the soul that had been caught in limbo, closure, and a second chance at life for the one that had been lost before.

It was after I saw an ending to these scenarios did I finally appear behind him. It was raining just like those many nights I had spent watching him. He turned around smiling at me and held out his umbrella.

“It’s finally time that you showed yourself.”

I couldn’t bear to hold myself back any longer as I ran towards him, crashing into him. His umbrella fell with a clatter to the ground as his arms wrapped around me and hugged me to him just as fiercely like I might slip away from him this time.

He’s lost weight. I find myself realizing with my arms wrapped tightly around him. We are able to stand like this for a moment before I hear them coming. The sounds of footsteps descending on us were more than I had ever heard before and I realized, I had been a fool. Just as they had been watching him, they had also been watching me. I led them right to him and now they came in numbers greater than I ever thought possible. Our eyes darted around and it was unmistakable. In the dark night, there were men dressed in darker suits ready to take him back into the custody of the government. As much as I tried to deny it, I always knew it would end like this.

We were made different, he and I. I had chased him for too long, jumped too many times… my time was coming soon. My expiration date loomed and I knew there was only one way for him to leave, to escape, and that was without me.

The men ran towards us and I forced myself to concentrate, to see the different timelines. The sirens that blared overhead meant nothing compared to my determination to see to his safety.

“Put your hands where we can see them. Do not attempt to jump. If you attempt to jump we will open fire.”

I felt his arms tighten around me and his lips brushed my own. A sob tore through my chest. He kissed me fiercely and I almost lost my resolve but as the men got closer, I pushed. A startled sound escapes his lips as he fell backward and away from me. His arms flailed, desperately reaching out to me as if to pull me through with him but I had taken a step back, shaking my head, out of his reach. If I went with him like I so desperately wanted to, they would always be able to track me, to find him and he would be put in danger over and over again.

“No! ______!” He screamed as the sound of gunfire opened around us.

“We’re parallel lines Hyungwon. We were never meant to intersect but I am thankful that we were given a chance to. I love you. I love you Hyungwon. Live well for the both of us!” I screamed out to him as he fell through.

I didn’t feel the first bullet that pierced through my shoulder and shot out cleanly. It wouldn’t be much longer until I was crumpled on the ground, a warmth bloomed throughout my body only to have the cold chase it as fiercely as I had loved the man that had gotten away.

In the end we were just parallel lines, he and I. We were never meant to intersect and though we had managed to force the lines together through sheer force of will, we diverged in the end so that one of us could continue on. As everything fades to black I stare at an afterimage of two parallel lines that had managed to intertwine… the final image of his arms around me as my time runs out.

[ptriky-grandmaster]

Childhood Crush - Cordelia and Chrom

An attendant approaches the retired knight in-waiting, gesturing to the door that lead to the library with a formal sitting area where tea and refreshments would be served. She had been through these paces before, but never once for her own personal business.

“The Exalt will see you now,” the attendant states, giving the woman a polite bow. The attendant opens the doors for the former knight to pass through, and then enters, closing the door behind them.

The redhead glances around at all of the books lining the shelves, smirking to herself with the knowledge that the current Exalt most definitely had not read the bulk of these tomes let alone a few of them. Footsteps draw her attention to the staircase behind her where the blue haired leader of their nation sauntered down with a glowing smile upon his face.

“Cordelia!” He greets, with his arms open wide. “What a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you for meeting me like this, Chrom, I’m sure you have many more pressing matters to attend to,” she returns, curtsying politely.

“Anything for one of the finest of our Realm’s knights,” he replies. “Besides, Lucina has been learning the ropes quickly, especially with Frederick guiding her so well. What brings you to the castle? I can only assume that it’s important.”

“Important to me, yes; to the halidom, likely not,” she muses.

“Shall we sit then?” He invites, gesturing to the table and chairs, with a platter of baked goods, porcelain saucers and tea cups, and a pot of tea being precisely placed by the attendant.

The two take their seats, the chairs grazing the marble floors with padded feet to avoid scuffing. While the attendant pours each a cupful, Chrom asks, “How are P’trik and the girls? Lucina speaks fondly of missing Severa’s presence, and I don't think I've seen head nor tail of P’trik since Solstice.”

“They're all doing well and keeping busy. We both know our daughters are capable on their own these days, and P’trik has been hoisted with babysitting our granddaughter today.”

“So you're taking advantage of the situation,” Chrom chuckles, knowing full well how far in advance a personal meeting needed to be planned for his agenda. Responsibility wasn't something he ever wanted, but it was what he had. Sometimes, however, he could ensure that he made time for those whom he loved and trusted.

After exchanging their platitudes and catching up briefly, Chom motions for the attendant to take their leave so that his guest may get to the heart of the matter. Cordelia had been practising and rehearsing this for days in her head and the words still made her stomach flutter, but her heart was calm and her mind was clear. As the heavy oaken doors close shut with an audible thud, Chrom confirms, “Surely you didn't travel all the way from the country side just to exchange platitudes when letters could do, and you had requested to meet with me, rather than Sumia, so it must be something only I can do for you. What do you need from me, Cordelia?”

“My, you definitely weren't so perceptive in your youth,” Cordelia teases.

“Too many diplomatic meetings without my trusted tactician has forced me to sharpen my mind,” he answers, a low laugh escaping with his breath.

Cordelia takes a look into the Exalt’s calm blue eyes. His face had become grizzled like her husband's, only neater kempt. His hair, like hers, had begun to silver and wrinkles lined his eyes and were beginning to crease his brow. How she had dreamt of a younger face each night so many years ago. A moment passes by in silence like this before the Exalt cracks with a chuckle. “So, is there something you need or are you just here to admire my fine features?”

Cordelia takes a deep breath before saying what she has waited literally decades to say aloud: “I’m in love with you, Chrom. Ever since I was a little girl.”

Chrom blushes at the words, dumb founded by the admission. She expected this. At the end of the day both her husband and her best friend’s were nothing but foolish boys running around in grown beards.

“But it's not the kind of love that we share with our loved ones,” she continues. “It's naive, and it’s superficial. It's child-like and quiet, and shy. There's no passion, there’s no trust, and there’s no bond. Only that of a small girl’s dream of being a princess and finding a happy ever after.”

Each word of hers seems to calm down the Exalt sitting across from her as he slowly realizes the depth and purpose of her confession.

“When I was a girl, all I could think of was marrying the prince and being whisked away to live in the castle. I never thought or knew of anything or any life after that would happen.

As a knight and woman, all I could think about was serving loyally by your side. The dream persisted, but I pushed it down and put it away. It was a dream I knew that was not meant to be, I’d keep reminding myself. That you were always just a bit further out of reach. It used to be painfully lonely to be in love with a man I could not have. I even dreamt of death…”

The woman's eyes gaze down towards her cup, still half full of tea and cooled off to the point of gulping without consequence. A deep sigh. Her eyes close, and another moment passes by before she takes a deep breath, and looks back up to the man she had loved for so long, looking him once again right in the eyes, her own filled with knowing and conviction.

“But I found another man who sustains me and several daughters I can be proud of. They lit the darkness of my life and helped me to pull through on my own two feet. My duty to you became simply my duty to the throne. The sense of longing no longer haunted me. I had been so afraid as a young woman. Afraid of being rejected; afraid of being pitied; afraid of having my happiness turned away; of being given only because they felt sorry, not because they loved me. But I'm not afraid anymore because I know that the happiness I've found has been duly earned, and well deserved, and the love freely given.

If I have any regrets in this life they are words left unspoken and feelings left unexpressed. I know in my heart of hearts that there will always be a young girl who’s still in love with you in the way that only a child can know such love. But as a woman my love belongs to a man who loves me for who I am.”

Her words trail off and the two once again sit in silence as eyes, red and blue, gaze at each other and seek nothing but the peace currently between them.

Chrom once again breaks off first, his gaze now staring out the window to the horizon of a past that may have been should words have been said and hearts expressed.

“Perhaps back then, I could have too. But now’s not the time for speculation.” Who knows. Would he? It's hard to say right now, he thinks. But he too, like the woman across from him, had a wife and family he could not imagine a life without. Would he have handled her feelings well? Respectably? He had turned down many a suitor in his youth, all of which he knew were fleeting or boring or seeking something or someone that wasn't actually him. It was a big responsibility, to be tasked with someone else’s emotions. What you say and do, and how you do it, has a lasting impact on their lives. So all he could do now, was handle her’s responsibly.

“Thank you for your kind words,” he replies. “It warms my heart to know that someone of such accomplishment saw in this foolish man, a man worth living for. But I too have a woman whom I love more than any other in the Realm, and with her my heart belongs.”

“Thank you also for listening to the words of a woman long matured, from a heart that was once naive. It does my heart well to be relieved of such and old burden.”

“As Exalt, the people's burden are my own,” he recites. “And yours are no exception.” He arises from the table, chair making an irritated noise as it rubs along the floor. “Shall we take our leave of each other now?”

“Yes. I believe I have taken up enough of your time as is, m’lord. Thank you for granting a kind and open ear.”

“I would have it bent by none other,” he muses. The two share a brief embrace, and when they release, years of tension slide off the shoulders of one, and ease the brief tension of the other. Two hearts would be better for this this day.

As Cordelia takes her leave, Chrom goes off in search for his own beloved, who stood waiting for him not nearby, watching as her beloved friend departed on pegasus. “Did you have a wholesome chat?” She asks.

“Yes, it was quite fulfilling,” he notes. “Did you always know?”

“Oh, she tried to hide her feelings but it always showed,” Sumia replied. “I always felt guilty, like I had stolen you away from under her, until she and P’trik had started to get along and I saw her heal gradually each day. Her gaze would lessen on you, and she’d sigh less deeply whenever you passed by; eventually those sighs of longing turned into sighs of relief, and eventually to none at all.”

“And I never noticed at all,” Chrom realizes.

“You never were one to notice subtle things, Captain,” she teases. “It took crashing into you and a room full of pies to finally get you to notice me.”

“A swift punch as well,” he chuckles. Taking her about the waist he pulls her in close and kisses her forehead, which she lovingly returns upon his lips, and the couple watches the sun dip below the horizon.

[dezembergirl]

Good Morning

the third part of my series, part one and two

Fandom: Skam

Pairing: Noorhelm

Type: one shot/series

originally posted to ao3

Thank you all for all the love for this series, I really enjoy writing it and I’m glad people like it. (This part has a bit of a different tone, but don’t worry there is definitely more to come!)

- as always this is dedicated to @nonibanoni <3

Noora normally hated dreams, they were filled with voices and faces of people she would rather burn from her memory. But she didn’t care about them this night. Her mind was filled with vivid images of lush forests filled with high swaying fir trees and endless beaches with crashing waves. The breeze mussed her dancing hair and her lungs reveled in every deep and salty breath. Her footprints twirled in circles and the sand crunched between her bare toes.

«Noora» and again «Noora»

She was spinning and spinning faster with ever turn while the blues and yellows mixed into an indistinguishable stream of colours before her eyes. Her body lost balance but instead of hitting the sand, she slumped into a soft mattress and bundles of sheets.

«Morning» a mumble against her ear followed by a light kiss on her forehead.

She narrowed her eyes to lessen the sudden flood of light numbing her brain. A groan fell from her lips and she stretched the muscles in her neck to relieve the tension. The white turned to shapes and morphed into the subtle shades of creams and greys that were William’s bedroom.

The realization sent her mind tumbling but before her body could follow the onset of panic cooking in her head, strong arms pulled her close. She recognized William’s hoodie and the dark bits of his hair sprawled on the pillow next to her.

«You slept well?» the softness of his words stole a sigh from her.

Wiping the sleep from her eyes, her hands brushed away the left over sand and tangled strands of blond hair from her face. Beside her William studied every of her sleep drunken movements and his lips spread into an impossibly wide grin when her gaze found his face. The messy pieces of hair falling onto the pillow and his warm eyes suited him better than they should, Noora acknowledged.

Completely disregarding his question she lost herself in the little features in his face she hadn’t bothered to notice before and missed in their dark kisses last night. He was handsome, not that that accounted for anything but she questioned how she hadn’t seen it before now. She had been so dead set on hating William and making him fit into the cut out version of the asshole she had needed him to be, to bother with any even slightly redeeming quality.

Of course, his sweet smiles and charming words didn’t detract from the inexcusable things he had said to Vilde, but they certainly made it harder to despise him for it. Following William home may have been a mistake but there was no way to make undo it now and a bigger portion of her than she would like to admit, didn’t want to. The kisses still made her stomach flutter at the thought of his soft touches last night. She envied her carefree self from yesterday and blood heated her cheeks when her attention fell from his attentive eyes to the curve of his cheekbone and landed on the grin spreading his lips.

Noora was too aware of the fact that she should get up, check the time, which was bound to be later than usual for her Saturday mornings, and get dressed in her own clothes. She definitely shouldn’t nuzzle her face deeper into the feathery pillow and give William the reveling smile she did. Certainly shouldn’t have allowed him to kiss her than either.

«I should go.» she half heartedly mumbled the words against the hot skin of his neck.

«Stay» he offered and pressed a trail of kisses along her jawline.

She didn’t refuse. Instead her fingers trailed down his chest and played with the cords of his sweater.

«How long have you been awake.» Noora pursed her lips.

He was fully dressed, in casual clothes, and he rested on top of the duvet. His fingers combed through her messy hair and placed on last kiss to her cheek before pulling her into a sitting position.

«I still owe you breakfast, you left too quickly last time.» William threw her a content grin and Noora barely had time to raise her eyebrows before he hopped off the bed and disappeared into the kitchen.

She had been right last time in thinking he wouldn’t let her leave without a fight - or in this case eggs and bacon - if she hadn’t slipped out of his bed in the early hours of dawn. The smells spreading through the apartment were in fact heavenly and the grumble in her belly confirmed her dire need for something edible.

Discovering her dead phone from the night stand, she forced her reluctant body out of William’s dangerously comfy bed and tied the very big pare of sweatpants around her waist to keep them from slipping down her bare legs.

William greeted her with an overly joyous smile and nodded towards the set plates on the kitchen table.

«You really weren’t kidding.» she bit the grin spreading on her lips.

«You don’t have a lot of faith in me.» William elegantly slipped the eggs onto their plates and took the seat across from her.

«Well, a guy like you doesn’t exactly inspire trust.» she watched him poor them each a glass of orange juice.

«What kind of guy is that?» he shook his head slightly, flicking his hair away from his eyes and gave her the most innocent smile.

Fuck, the way he looked at her made it increasingly harder to argue her formerly bullet proof case.

«The kind that has slept with half the school.»

«Ouch» William faked outrage and popped a bit of egg in his mouth, clearly contemplating his answer. «We didn’t sleep together though.» The banter thrown across the table morphed into something more serious and the small crease in his brows made her swallow.

«And we never will.» she stated and sensed her mouth go dry as Williams eyes studied every hint in her eyes proofing the jest behind her words. But she did mean them.

«Okay»

«This here» Noora gestured with the fork between them «us, it doesn’t exist.»

«Okay» his half hearted replies certainly didn’t make it easier to find the right words to convey the confusion running ramped inside her head.

«You think a few charming smiles and breakfast will make me change my mind about you.» he almost laughed at that but bit it back in favor of not irritating her any further.

It had been foolish to stay the night and the way he had slightly turned his head to the side waiting for another insult to come his way only proofed the false impression she had given him. Kissing him felt good - better than good - but that meant nothing. People their age hooked up all the time and it never equaled a deeper relationship.

«I thought this was the phase were we lie in bed and laugh and eat breakfast together.» he tried to suggest with a casual tone, that wasn’t a hundred percent honest. «Not fight» William added.

«But there is no we, no us.» the desperation forced her voice up an octave.

He studied her and she could see the disappointment seeping though the cracks of his faltering smile. It wasn’t honest, all an act on his part. She repeated it over and over in her mind. Her fingertips traced along the rim of her juice glass to preoccupy her mind with something else than his firm gaze.

«I like you.» he had put his cutlery down and reached one hand out across the table. The weight behind his words made them echo in her ears and drew a shiver across her arms. She refused to listen.

«That changes nothing.» she carefully crossed er arms and rose her chin to give point to her statement.

He had most likely said the same words to countless girls before her. None of this meant anything and she wasn’t stupid enough to fall for this shit. To her own dismal, she felt the tears growing heavier with every passing second of silence.

Noora was being ridiculous, and part of her knew it. But it was easier to refuse that last night had meant anything at all, than to acknowledge the hoard of contradictory feelings and voices buzzing like fireworks in her head.

«And you like me.» he carefully continued and Noora found herself staring back, completely dumbfounded.

The denial already rested on the tip of her tongue but before she could spit the words out, she felt Williams hand curl around her own and her mind combusted into a thousand sparks.

«I don’t want to hurt you.» his thumb drew circles across the pale skin on the back of hand. «You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to say anything, but please don’t tell me that all of that yesterday meant nothing.»

She shook her head, not exactly sure what part of his statement it was directed at.

«No, I just» she bit her lip «this is too much, I need some time to think and …» her voice faltered again.

Not thinking was what had gotten her into this situation in the first place. There was much to sort through, and she couldn't do that here, in William’s apartment with his eyes that saw far beyond the uncertainty of her slumped shoulders.

There was no way she could remove the stray tear without it catching William’s attention, so she half turned her face from his and wiped it away with the seam of the borrowed sweater.

«You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?» his lips curled into a smile and she felt her hand relax in his. «I didn’t mean to pressure you.»

«I know» she squeezed his hand. «I’m sorry.»

«I can drive you home, if you want. And you can text me whenever you feel like it. Okay?»

«Okay» the smile on her lips grew and so did the warmth in her chest when William reached across the table to place a kiss on her lips.

«I’ll text you.» Noora loosened her seatbelt and pushed the car door open.

«Good» William hummed against her lips.

If this was what it took to be with her, he gladly settled for a promised text message; and he would make sure to always keep some pre-made chocolate milk in the fridge.

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Dwarven Warden

Arc of Dwarven Warden

The spring sunshine was dappled as they rode under the young canopy, the leaves and tender buds bright green in the sunshine. Three days of travel through the woods, the Child Who Shines was kind and much loved in the forest. Spring blossoms were a riot of color through the woods, dark iris, golden forsythia, and fat lilac gave vibrancy to the already flushed green foliage. Hayden was their silent guide, riding astride a white mule. The forest path they followed was broad enough for the wagon and thus two riders to ride abreast.

Darin noticed Donar riding alone, his brow creased as he watched Xavier riding ahead of him with Zaire next to him. They were far enough ahead that Darin hoped they would not overhear.

“So what do you think of him?” Darin asked lowly.

“Many things,” Donar answered as he looked at Darin with a raised eyebrow. “Are you looking for anything specific?”

“Well he is Eileen reborn,” Darin said. “Even I can see that. But does he seem like her? You’re the only one to have met her.”

“You might have as well, you just wouldn’t remember,” Donar answered. “And to answer your question, I only met her twice so I cannot say either way if there is a resemblance.”

“Did you like Eileen when you met her then?” Darin asked.

“Well enough for an elf,” Donar said with a shrug. “We dwarves don’t care much for the more flighty elves and nymphs of the forest, Eileen seemed more grounded probably because she is an Elder Phay, the first child Mab dreamed.”

“Then it won’t be dangerous for him to recall his past lives,” Darin said and Donar looked to him.

“That is what this is about then?” Donar said shaking his head. “I’m afraid it will be very hard and painful Darin. Eileen shed a lot of her spirit to become mortal, that experience alone was hard enough the first time I dread seeing him relive it. Maybe we won’t have to though, what we seek is probably in his later lives.”

“Which we know nothing about,” Darin said realizing where Donar was going with this.

“Correct, this could be a challenge,” Donar said. “One thing we chiefs have always struggled with is regaining our memories, mainly because there is one type of memory that resonates through every life we live, the death of that life. Reliving a death can be just as traumatic as experiencing it in reality, especially a violent one. Bjorn helped me walk my lives in meditation, carefully avoiding those powerful memories.”

“But you remembered one,” Darin said and Donar’s eyes grew sad.

“Djorn’s hatred was bitter,” Donar said. “I went to Bjorn to try and learn the truth but he would not tell me, now I know it is because Bronir did it to hide his shame. Bjorn told me this though: ‘It is not about Djorn, or even about Donar, it is about Emir. You are your people’s chief, Emir himself, and that is the only life within you that really matters follow his guidance not the petty emotions of the lesser ghosts.’”

“He was trying to get you to move on from your hatred,” Darin said and Donar nodded.

“What he said made sense so I bottled it away,” Donar said. “And carried it every time I looked at her. I feared that hatred Darin, I feared it taking me without knowing. So I never even let myself love her, for fear that one morning I would wake to find I had killed her in my sleep as she slept next to me.”

Darin kept his eyes on the sky unable to face Donar’s pain.

“You did a far better job as my captain than Bjorn,” Donar said at last. “I love Bjorn and he guided me well, but he failed to see my feelings for Runi and Djorn’s hatred festering in me. You saw the love; you forced me to face it, and forced Djorn to face his hatred.”

“I knew something held you back but I had no idea to what depths,” Darin said. “I just knew the air had to be cleared of the past.”

“Exactly,” Donar said. “And it is that insight I want you to keep. I may not be able to guide Xavier through this as well as I hope.”

“So you want me to be his captain?” Darin asked doubtfully and Donar shook his head.

“No, you are not close enough to him,” Donar said. “But you are close to one who is.”

“Zaire.”

“If you guide her, she can guide him,” Donar said. “I only hope she is not too close to him.”

“What do you mean?” Darin asked worried.

“Eileen had a lover Darin,” Donar said. “The one who sired the child that made her have to choose between life as a mortal or life as an Elder Phay. I never met him, I don’t even know his name, but Zaire could be him reborn.”

Darin went over what Zaire had told him of Xavier, how they had been almost drawn to each other. She had said they had shared an empathy, but maybe it had been more than that.

“If so why do you fear she is too close?” Darin asked.

“Because a love like that spans lives Darin,” Donar answered. “I believe they have been tied together in more than one life, in multiple lives. If so, he will begin to struggle not only with his own identity, but hers and his feelings towards her.”

“We don’t know this for sure,” Darin said.

“No,” Donar said. “If it is as deep as I fear, it might be best Zaire is not at his side until he has time to cope with all he learns.”

“She wouldn’t like that,” Darin said, he himself disliking the idea. At the mention of Pepper as well he felt his heart hammer in his chest which he quickly calmed. It would be some time before they reached Alma, he had time to prepare for the meeting. Still knowing they were close, and seeing Zaire reunited with Xavier, had sparked the desire to see her again.

They rode through the forest, the Griffins their silent shadows to spare the horses and oxen. A Griffin occasionally appeared with a prize from hunting, a deer or rabbit for the pot, they seemed to enjoy hunting in the woods. The mage children seemed the most at home, Martel saying they spent most of their lives in a forest like this. Hayden kept apart from them, watching the group with hooded eyes and mistrust. The only words she gave were of guidance, and how far they were from their destination.

“Only two more days now,” Hayden said as they broke camp in the morning. It had been eight since they entered the woods, without any sign of other inhabitants.

“If that is true we should be coming across farms or villages today,” Xavier said and Hayden glared at him. Of all their party he was the one she was most cold to.

“You know nothing of Alda,” she hissed. “You have no claim to kindship here.”

“And you know nothing of the life he has led!” Martel shouted hotly and Hayden turned on her. “Your people abandoned him.”

“And did yours treat him any better?” Hayden asked with a sneer and Martel flushed with shame. “I share a border with your people mage; I’ve seen the slaves that try to escape your cruelty.”

“And you turn them away don’t you?” Martel sneered and Hayden reached for her bow. Then Zaire stood between them, hands out and face calm.

“There is enough pain in this world without you two throwing more wood to the fire,” Zaire said scolding. “Both our peoples have their faults, as I’m sure Xavier can testify to.”

They turned to Xavier who was watching with his face set in a mask.

“You are right Hayden,” Xavier said. “I know nothing of my father’s people, so please tell me.”

His voice sounded almost desperate and Hayden’s anger lessened.

“After the wars Alda’s population was low, and still is,” Hayden said. “Queen Alora ordered the lesser villages abandoned those that lived there made to move to the larger towns. With the people gathered together her hopes are that we will restore the population.”

Darin listened and thought of something at her words.

“The Phay will be marching,” Darin said and eyes swung to him. “Room will be needed for them, I do not mean it is a good thing that Alda’s population is decimated but soon her people with thrive again with the return of her kin.”

Hayden stared at him as if seeing him for the first time, realizing he was indeed kin to her. She nodded her thoughts obviously now turned to this possibility.

“Come, we should get moving,” Donar said. They went to mount their ponies and horses, Donar nodding to Darin in approval.

Now as they rode Darin saw the subtle signs of abandonment through the forest. Overgrown paths, fallow fields, and the occasional house hidden in the trees. He felt sad at the silent sorrow of abandonment in the forest, and hope that the Phay would fill that void. They camped that night near an abandoned village, the next day they would arrive in Odell.

Darin heard rustling and nearly jumped out of his skin when one of the Griffins leapt out from the bushes, twigs and leaves in his fur and feathers. He shook himself and sat down looking at Darin.

“No luck hunting Kavi?” Darin asked and the young Griffin laid his ears back.

“I am a sky hunter not a ground hunter,” Kavi complained. “All these trees spoil things.”

“Odell is on the lake I heard,” Darin said. “Are you good at fishing?”

“The best!” Kavi said his ears perking up.

“Well then that’ll be your chance,” Darin said, liking the young Griffin which was hard not to do. Kavi nodded and they joined the others at the fireside, some of the Griffins had gathered there with a deer from their hunt. After a lively meal around the fire in which Ronin livened up with a tune and the tale about the shepherdess and dwarves, they went to their pallets.

Darin hunkered down at the edge of camp to keep watch, though it was hardly necessary as Shankar and Durai were both awake as well, their eyes like lamps in the forest night. Darin was just starting to drift off when Xavier came to relieve him of his watch.

“Anything?” Xavier asked softly and Darin shook his head. Before he could stumble over to his bedroll, Xavier stopped him. “Zaire told me about how you helped her.”

“I did little,” Darin answered as he shrugged.

“I just wanted to thank you even for the little you feel you did,” Xavier said. “She means everything to me.”

Darin looked up at him, Donar’s words still with him.

“Why do you love her so much?” Darin asked, looking for hints of a connection.

“We’ve been through a lot together,” Xavier answered. “I’ve come to rely on her and she on me. It doesn’t seem like a long time but the hardships made it seem long.”

Darin nodded, still unsure. It wasn’t like their love was anything lesser because they were drawn together by their past lives, but Darin knew it could cause them both pain when it came to light. He sighed about to turn away to go to his bed when Shankar hissed in warning. Both men turned to the dark woods just in time to see two shadows approaching. Before either of them had to act however, the Griffins struck first.

All Darin could see were two lithe shapes, Durai easier to see than Shankar, run towards the two shadows. An arrow flew and the two people fled, retreating back towards the road. Darin drew his sword about to pursue when another shadow dropped down from the trees right before them.

Darin only managed a startled grunt as he raised his sword and hastily blocked the other’s blades. It was a quick succession of blows before Darin gathered himself enough to counter, the flat of his blade catching his attacker in the side and winding him. He stumbled back enough for Darin to get some space and look to Xavier.

He was engaged as well, his attacker had a sword, and Darin saw Xavier draw something in the air before him. The attacker’s blade met the sigil with sparks, cutting through it and dissipating the magic. But it was enough for Xavier to draw his own sword and attack as well. Darin kicked out at his winded opponent, felling him as his boot connected with his jaw, before he turned and raced towards the dueling pair.

He lashed out at their crossed blades, dancing between them and forcing them apart. Xavier and his attacker stumbled back avoiding Darin’s sword and Darin turned to the attacker.

“Pepper!” Darin shouted and saw eyes behind a mask and cowl widen.

“Darin?” Pepper said startled. Relieved Darin lowered his sword as she lowered Melanthios, only to receive a punch to the nose from Pepper. “Ye fat head what ye be doin steppin twixt us like that! Ye could have been killed ye egit.”

“Glad to see your affections haven’t waned Pepper,” Darin said past his hand over his nose. She hadn’t punched him hard, little better than a love tap compared to the last time she had punched him in the nose.

“I’ll show ye waned,” Pepper said crossly. Pulling down her mask she stepped forward, grabbed his wrist, and pulled it away from his face so she could kiss him. Darin responded, wrapping his free arm around her waist pulling her closer. They parted breathlessly, Darin looking up and barely seeing the dark indigo of her eyes. Xavier cleared his throat and Darin turned to him, feeling a blush creeping up on him.

“I take it you two know each other,” Xavier said mildly.

“Yes, I believe introductions are in order,” Darin said. “This is Pepper of the Orna, Green Witch of the moors.”

“N he be Eileen reborn,” Pepper said staring at Xavier. “Ye ken ye be a princess o the Phay fancy pants?”

“Yes, my name is Xavier,” Xavier answered with a slight grin. “Shankar! Durai! Come back, these people are friends.”

The two Griffins stopped stalking the attackers who had retreated up a tree. They padded over and sat at Xavier’s side like two kittens with their master. Slowly Pepper’s companions climbed down from their tree, a third appearing to help the man Darin had knocked out.

“These be my comrades,” Pepper said. “Kaelynn, Dacre, Fulk, n Jude.”

Fulk had been the one Darin had knocked out, Jude helping him while the other two stood by protectively. Dacre was the one with the bow, a recurve bow, and Kaelynn bore a sword and staff. They like Pepper were dressed in dark molted gray leathers with hoods and cowls, though unlike Pepper the lighter skinned Aldan had used soot to darken the skin around their eyes.

“We can have someone look at that,” Xavier said to Jude bent over Fulk.

“He’ll be around in a minute,” Jude answered.

“A little prettier with a broken jaw I hope,” Dacre said with a grin.

“I heard that,” Fulk muttered. “Nothing broken, sorry to disappoint.”

“Enough o the banter,” Pepper growled. “May we join yer camp?”

“Of course,” Xavier said. “Shankar, Durai, can you keep watch?”

“Always,” Shankar answered, the Aldan jumping a bit to hear him speak. Xavier turned and led the way back to the camp, Pepper and the others following, leaving Shankar and Durai to keep watch as requested. Back in the camp Donar, Hakk, and Bgrim stood ready for battle. When they saw nothing was amiss they sheathed their weapons.

Introductions took a time with so many in their party, before they gathered around the fire. Most of the mage children stayed asleep in the wagon but for Martel and Lycus. Darin sat next to Pepper, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her hips as he knew she would shake him off in front of all these people.

“So what are ye doin here?” Pepper said to Darin her eyes narrow. “What o the war?”

“Some new things came to light,” Darin answered. “After Arnor’s death…”

He launched into his tale, Donar occasionally adding things. Then Xavier gave his, about the Griffins and his journeys. Pepper and the other Aldan listened with solid silence, still as the trees around them. Darin watched Pepper, noticing the change in her. She was more contained, but he sensed a sadness in her that ran deeper than before. At the mention of Hors Pepper winced, but did not interrupt as he hand gripped the dragon blade.

“Melanthios baint be too happy bout Hors goin ta battle,” Pepper said when Darin finished.

“He has little choice in the matter,” Donar said. “And he should listen to his king.”

“He is no longer the dragon king,” Melanthios said through Pepper. “His power is gone with his rebirth, he is alone against the Orcs now without anyone with the Elder Magic at his side. I should be there to protect him, I have the power of spirit he needs.”

“Melanthios, were you to join in such a way with Hors the consequences would be dire,” Donar said sadly. “Very likely one would over power the other, warping both your spirits. You would become something like the Crippled One.”

Pepper shuddered and let go of Melanthios, looking sickened.

“He baint want ta talk fer now,” Pepper said heavily.

           “Have you found anything about the song yet?” Donar asked leaning forward.

“Aye but nowt the song itself,” Pepper answered sounding frustrated. “We found Ioram’s journal, n that be a tale o its own. He found the song n then went huntin fer Eileen, but never found her.”

“What did he do with the song then?” Xavier asked.

“He lost it on his travels,” Pepper answered. “That be what be hard cause he baint even ken where it went.”

“He lost it!” Xavier said angrily. “Where?”

“Xin sos he said,” Pepper answered and Xavier groaned.

“Anywhere in particular or did he just lose it in the desert?” Xavier asked.

“The desert, he baint kenned where he was,” Pepper answered. “But Ioram be un o the early kings, been o’er four hundred years ago.”

“And if he lost it in the desert it could be just as long until we find it,” Xavier said frustrated. “Will there be any point in me reaching for my past lives?”

“Yes, because your lives might be the only way for us to find it now,” Donar said. “We’ve probably exhausted all the resources of history, so your memories are the only place we can look. You will be drawn to the song, in a past life you probably found it in the desert. So now we are looking to you Xavier.”

The look on his face told Darin that Xavier didn’t much like the idea that the fate of the world rested on him.

“We’ll take a closer look at Ioram’s journal,” Darin said. “Maybe we can find something more.”

“Aye, I baint read Aldan very well,” Pepper said. “The only reason I can is cause the dragon blood. So I might have o’er looked somewhat.”

“Do you have it on you?” Xavier asked. “What were you doing even attacking us?”

“We were patrollin,” Pepper answered. “N nowt I baint carried the journal with me. It be in Odell.”

“What about Alma?” Darin asked. “Why are you in Odell?”

Pepper looked away from him, guilt on her face.

“It be a long story,” Pepper said evasively.

“Where is your sister?” Darin asked afraid that was what she was hiding. If something had happened to her sister Darin knew it would have destroyed her.

“She be in Alma,” Pepper answered. “It be a bit o a story, but she be safe there fer now. We’ll talk when we get to Odell. Let’s get some rest.”

No one objected though Darin wanted to. He could tell she was hiding something about her sister, and it caused her pain, but he knew very well she would tell him in her own time. So everyone returned to their beds, the Aldan making their own alongside them. Darin felt his heart sink as Pepper set her bed roll away from his.

“She is hiding something,” Darin said to Donar softly.

“I know, but you have to let her tell you,” Donar said.

“She kissed me,” Darin said. “Shouldn’t that mean she still has feelings for me?”

“I don’t know Darin,” Donar answered. Darin only nodded as they hunkered down and he fell asleep. When he woke it was early dawn, a mist curling around the trees. There was little talk as they broke camp and started on their way again. Pepper and the Aldan had traveled on foot so they joined the mage children in the wagon. Pepper still seemed to be avoiding him, so Darin let her be.

They arrived in Odell in the middle of the day, just as the sun burned away the spring mist. Odell was a large village, resting on the edge of the Verde Sea. Docks and ship masts had their own forest upon the green glass of the lake. The village itself was hidden in the foliage, pod like homes clustered in the trees. Standing out on its own isle on the lake joined with a long bridge was Odell’s manor.

The manor looked to be a well defended house, a stone wall around the island. The house itself rivaled the foliage of trees around it, a greater version of the smaller pod homes. Darin had to admit it looked well-fortified and was relieved that the Aldan were not as lax as the Daunish about their defense.

The Aldan lake ships were wide bellied with a single mast and great triangle shaped sails. Darin knew nothing of water travel other than what he had learned from the Nyrgarders who were. All he could tell were the Aldan vessels were smaller than Nyrgarder’s and lacked the oars.

They rode through the village, Hayden still leading the way. The Aldan watched them pass in awe, many staring openly at the Griffins. There was a hushed silence as they rode through the village, the Aldan as silent as the trees. They crossed the bridge, a great stone structure of arches and carved granite. The gates of the manor were open and the guards let them through without word.

In the great courtyard a beech tree stood in the center, youthful leaves catching the sunlight. Grooms appeared and servants swarming over them, Darin dismounting and letting a groom take his pony. He looked around for Pepper, but the courtyard was far too chaotic. Darin slipped away to the side of the courtyard, trying to stay out of the way and catch a glimpse of Pepper.

As he watched Ronan came up to him with his horse in tow and bags packed.

“I believe it be time I took my leave,” Ronan said to Darin’s astonishment.

“You’re leaving, why?” Darin asked.

“I cannot guide you beyond these lands anymore I have not traveled them,” Ronan answered. “And you have magic now to act as your translator, and coin to travel with.”

“We may still need you if we travel west again,” Darin said.

“But you will be staying here for sometime I guess,” Ronan said. “It not be my nature to linger in one place. So, I take my leave.”

“Very well,” Darin said sad to see him go. “May your path be smooth and the wind at your back.”

“And may you find what you seek,” Ronan said with a bow before he led his horse off out into the gate again. Darin watched him go feeling that slight sadness at seeing the back of a retreating friend.

Suddenly there was someone at his side. Darin turned to see an Aldan man had stepped up to stand next to him, his eyes on the crowd but Darin sensed his attention on him. He was a typical fair Aldan man, willowy looks and sleepy eyes. His clothes though well-made were wrinkled and bore colorful stains from paints.

“I followed a thread and low there are a few here,” the Aldan said as if musing. “The Dwarven Warden I presume.”

“What?” Darin asked puzzled and the Aldan looked down at him with a raised eye brow.

“You are one of Arke’s chosen,” he said and Darin frowned at him.

“Arke? She is one of the Phay, a daughter of the rainbow,” Darin said puzzled.

“She is also now the keeper at Astolat, and the weaver that works to aid the Phay in marching,” he answered. “I see the Bastard Mage is here as well, many threads coming together.”

There was a power about him, a sleepiness that inspired laconic dreams.

“And who are you?” Darin asked.

“The Painted Lord,” he answered. “Though you can call me Kaden Odell, the Duke’s grandson.”

“Darin, captain to Donar chief of the Emir Clan, though I suppose you already knew that.”

“No, I knew who you were not what you were called,” Kaden answered. “Pleased to meet one of Arke’s chosen. Four in one place is interesting though.”

“Four?” Darin asked.

“The Errant Knight is already here,” Kaden said pointing and Darin turned to see he meant Pepper.

“What exactly does that mean to be one of Arke’s Chosen?” Darin asked.

“She influences our luck,” Kaden answered. “We are her agents so to speak in this world working to find the song and Eileen reborn.”

“Xavier is Eileen reborn,” Darin said.

“Yes, I’ve gathered that,” Kaden answered nodding. “Arke did say I didn’t have to worry about finding her, she would find me. The song is the harder task.”

“You’ve read Ioram’s journal haven’t you?” Darin said.

“I suppose Pepper informed you about it,” Kaden said. “It is a dead end I know. I’ve read it and there doesn’t seem to be much there. The only thing I can think to do is travel to Xin and hope we could find something in Evalon. Only I’ve heard that Evalon is at siege right now from the Pridesmen.”

“The chiefs of the dwarf clans know how to retrieve their memories from their past lives,” Darin said and Kaden looked at him surprised. “Donar is going to teach Xavier how to get those memories back.”

“Where he might have encountered the song and where it lays now,” Kaden said nodding. “So that was why Arke controlled your luck.”

“Why not Donar’s?” Darin asked puzzled.

“Because his spirit is too powerful for her to influence,” Kaden answered. “So she chose his captain who would go everywhere he went.”

“Yet Eileen’s isn’t?” Darin asked and Kaden shrugged.

“She is mortal now,” Kaden answered. “Or maybe she consented. I don’t know Arke’s purposes most of the time but I do trust her judgement. After all it seems to be working. The only thing she doesn’t seem to know is where the song is.”

“Why not?” Darin asked.

“You’d have to ask her that,” Kaden answered.

Their conversation came to an end when the great doors of the house were opened and an Aldan man walked out. He was aged only slightly, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, but of noble stature. He walked down the steps and looked around at the Griffins and mages, looking for those of authority. Darin hurried forward to stand next to Donar as he stepped forward to greet the Aldan lord. Xavier did the same, as well as Kalyani. They bowed to him, Kalyani extending a wing which seemed to show respect.

“I received word of your arrival,” the Duke said mildly, his eyes on Xavier. “I did not believe Wyatt’s letter until now. It is like Terrian has risen from the grave.”

Xavier nodded at this, his face set in a calm mask that Darin suspected hid a lot of pain.

“And of course I cannot forget our kin,” the Duke said looking to Donar and Kalyani.

“I am Donar Chief of the Emir Clan,” Donar said with a dip of his head. “This is my captain Darin.”

“And I am Kalyani Elect of the Wild Braves,” Kalyani said, Darin seeing the Duke understand her words.

“You speak Aldan?” the Duke said astonished.

“I speak and you understand for we are kin,” Kalyani answered.

“Yes of course,” the Duke said pleased. “I am Duke Terrial Odell, welcome to my home. Come, you must be weary. You may rest, and then we will share a meal. No doubt much must be said.”

Darin followed Donar as the duke led them into the great house. He still had lost track of Pepper somewhere and wondered where she had wandered off to. They were given rooms, the dwarves given a room with four beds. The room was luxurious, rivaling the mage inn they had stayed in before. The Aldan preferred wooden furniture, a few wicker items thrown in as well.

“What do you think of the duke?” Donar asked after they had washed the dust of the road from their beards and changed tunics.

“Shaken,” Darin answered. “Strangely though his grandson was prepared for us.”

“Grandson?” Donar asked.

“We spoke,” Darin said and filled Donar in on what Kaden had said. “Bgrim what do you know of Arke?” Darin asked when he finished.

“No more than you,” Bgrim said. “I don’t know everything.”

“Then don’t act like you do,” Hakk growled.

“Donar?” Darin asked.

“I met her as Emir,” Donar said with a shrug. “Again I can’t add much other than she was beautiful and smiling.”

“What is the point of your past memories of all the Phay if all you can say is she smiles?” Hakk asked frowning.

“I know more about the kings and queens than the rest of the Phay,” Donar said frowning. “I interacted with them more than others, that and the other dwarf chiefs.”

“Alright,” Hakk said and Donar just sighed.

“Let’s go,” Donar said leading the way out into the hall. A servant awaited there and led them to the great hall. It was a large round room, one set of windows looking out over the lake and Odell, the other set out into a garden. The others had come, but the duke had yet to arrive. Darin spotted Pepper, she was dressed still in her forest garb seeming unconcerned about it. Darin went over to her and slipped his hand into hers, Pepper leaning closer to him.

She seemed about to say something when her eyes looked over Darin’s head and changed. Darin turned to see Kaden standing behind them, staring at Pepper with a mild look of surprise. Then Kaden smiled, much like a brother might to a sister. He walked over and stood next to Darin, still smiling.

“I guess my powers are still young,” Kaden said. “I did not sense the knot between your threads.”

“Ye wipe that grin off yer face Kaden afore I smack it off,” Pepper said, but Darin detected a hint of pleasure in her tone, along with the slight smile on her lips. Only then did Darin wonder how they knew each other, but he was afraid to ask.

“I apologize Pepper,” Kaden said. “He is a fine match I am sure. Better than I could ever be. I will leave you two alone; do not think I will stand between you.”

Kaden walked away then Darin frowning after him.

“Pepper…” Darin said softly, his throat tight. “Who is he?”

“He be mine husband,” Pepper answered and Darin felt his heart clench, unable to look up at her. “We baint be lovers at all though Darin. He be a friend n only a friend, he never be interested in anything else.”

Carefully he looked up at her to see her looking down at him almost afraid. Darin knew then what she had hid, and why: she was afraid he would reject her then. He turned to her and reached up to pull her down for a kiss. He felt her relief that he did instantly, tension leaving her body like ice melting.

“After this diner you and I are going to spend some time alone,” Darin said after they parted. “No talking.”

She grinned and rested her arms on his shoulders, running her hands through his hair like she always did.

“Deal,” she said softly, kissing him in return. Donar cleared his throat and they parted, Darin turning to see Donar grinning. He said nothing though as they joined the rest at the table. Xavier and Zaire sat with the two eldest of the mage children along one side of the table. Darin, Donar, Hakk and Bgrim sat on the other side near the head where the Duke, Kaden, Pepper, and a few other Aldan sat. The Griffins proved the hardest to cater towards; Kalyani, Raja, Shankar, and Nagendra took the other end of the table. They had no chairs but sat on the floor, their great wings neatly folded on their backs.

“Greetings and welcome to our guests,” Terrial said once everyone was settled. “I must say this is probably the most unusual gathering I have ever had at my table, and that includes the time Lauren’s pet chipmunk got loose at dinner.”

There was mild laughter from the Aldan at that, the youngest there a young woman blushing.

“Introductions are in order,” Terrial said. “I will start with my family. This is my son Layne and his wife Adelyn, and their children Lauren and Kaden. Next to Kaden is Pepper Alvar, his wife.”

“What?” Hakk said shocked and Darin kicked him under the table. Hakk muttered a few choice swears in dwarvish, unfortunately telling by Lauren’s blush and Terrial’s glare they understood them.

“We are already acquainted with Pepper,” Donar said mildly. “She traveled to the dwarven lands seeking answers. Sadly we had none to give her.”

“I see,” Terrial said. “Very well, let us move on then.”

Introductions went around the table then, Darin glad that the younger mage children had been excluded from this meeting. As it was Martel and Lycus seemed bored with the proceedings so far.

“Pepper has already informed us of her hunt and the results so far,” Terrial said when introductions were finished. “We know the Phay intend to march but we see no way of aiding them. The Aldan have withdrawn from the world as well, Alora has ordered us to look to our defense and we have gathered to the eastern border to guard against the army that masses there. So far an attack has yet to come. I fear however when it does we will not prevail.”

A heavy silence lasted from his words, one that Xavier finally braved.

“I cannot offer anything towards this coming war,” Xavier said. “We came seeking the song, which might be the only salvation we can find for the Phay could aid us in the battles to come.”

“That be ignorant,” Pepper said leaning forward. “We cannot count upon em, and the Crippled Un plans ta strike at em as they march when vulnerable upon the lines.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Xavier asked glaring at her.

“War, but we need ta gather armies,” Pepper answered. “The Aldan cannot stand alone.”

“But from where Pepper?” Donar asked. “To the north there is another army. Daun prepares with Nyrgard and our kin, and as Xavier has told us he sent the Griffins to muster there as well. If they arrive in time it could be a long war to the north.”

“The armies of men will not gather,” Terrial said. “Not to aid the Aldan at least, the new High King Elrik lacks the foresight to unite with us. I suspect he will let the Orcs destroy us before he lifts a finger to aid the Aldan.”

“That would be unwise,” Kalyani said ruffling her feathers. “Does he not know the danger this army poses?”

“All too well,” Terrial answered. “His father died at the border by an assassin’s hand. He is angry about that I am sure, but he hates Alda and lacks his father’s efficiency. While Adrian hated us as well he was wise enough to see strategy and put that over personal feelings.”

“What of Sherah?” Layne said. “Surely she will keep Elrik in line.”

“Maybe,” Terrial said but sighed heavily. “Elrik will be king however, and have more power than her. I will not put my faith in the Regarian throne coming to our aid, least wise not until it is far too late.”

“There are nine kingdoms of men,” Donar said. “Daun and Nyrgard are at war to the north, what of the others then?”

“Lir is now entirely in Loe’s hands,” Terrial said. “Xin I hear is in chaos with the Pridesmen holding Evalon at siege. Hyria sides with the highest bidder and right now that is Regis. The Mark is withdrawn into itself like a badger in a hole. Dridia…”

“Will not muster,” Xavier said sadly. “King Nicola is dead, Ilya now has the throne and he has been working with Kal Ba’el.”

Terrial and the other Aldan turned to him shocked; obviously this was news to them. Xavier told them about the assassination, and briefly his knowledge of Ilya’s plans of making an immortal body for the Crippled One.

“I had little hope from the Dridians,” Terrial said, fists clenched before him. “They have always been disdainful of our kind. This however I had not expected. Do you think they will attack us?”

“I cannot say but I doubt it,” Xavier said. “The mages dislike risking their own lives and Ilya will not be commanded by the Crippled One. They work together for now because their interests are aligned, but this alliance does not mean Ilya is going to take orders.”

“All the same it seems the Aldan will stand alone,” Terrial said. “The Crippled One did a good job in isolating us. Even if the army to the north fails the one to the east will not for men already stand divided before it.”

Darin saw Pepper was angry at this, but she obviously had no answer to the problem at hand.

“You cannot just give up,” Darin said and heads turned to him. “Send messengers at least to the neighboring kingdoms and to the High King.”

“I would but I do not hold the authority to do so,” Terrial said. “Only Alora does and I doubt she will. It is not hatred that makes her refuse to turn to the other kingdoms but fear. It will mean letting the other kingdoms into our borders which she is afraid to do.”

“She may nowt I but will,” Pepper said.

“You have no more authority to do so than I Pepper,” Terrial said.

“I be an Alvar,” Pepper argued.

“Yet you are not Queen,” Terrial said shaking his head. “Only Alora has that authority, and for you to take it from her means you must kill her. I know you hold animosity towards your aunt Pepper, but could you become a kin slayer?”

Pepper frowned and looked away, her fists clenched before her. Darin looked at Xavier to see if he felt as Pepper did, but he seemed uninterested in the bid for power.

“What then will ye do?” Pepper asked softly. “Ye believe the Phay cannot aid ye, nor any kingdoms o man. What then is it ye hope ta do?”

Darin saw the answer in Terrial’s eyes, a look he had seen in many warrior’s faces when the end was near.

“You seek death in battle,” Darin said. “You believe this is the end of the Aldan.”

“It is a far better fate than the one we thought was to be ours,” Terrial said softly. “To see our kin wither and die, fewer born each year. We believed we would wither away, until the forest was once more silent from even our breaths. Now it seems we are to end in blood and battle, peace is far easier to come by when it is quick rather than slow.”

“You forget all your kin,” Kalyani said, her bright eyes lit with a fire not held by the Aldan. “There are still Phay in Miread, and Phay meaning to march from Tir Aesclinn. Do you believe it is the end of us all then?”

Terrial did not meet her eyes, nor did the other Aldan but Kaden.

“Forgive my grandfather,” Kaden said. “Many of the Aldan feel this is our end and seek it for that is the mortal way. Many, the young mostly, do not seek this end like Pepper and I wish to fight. There are answers to be found and time yet to prepare for the coming war. I believe we need to return to Alma, there we can talk with the Queen and convince her to seek aid from the Mark, who can still be roused from its withdrawal.”

“And the song?” Xavier asked. “That is still something that we need to find.”

“That is up to you now,” Kaden said. “Darin told me about Donar planning to teach you to seek the song in your past lives. I believe this is the answer to that path. However I do not think you can begin it until you face the heritage you have in this life.”

“My father,” Xavier said softly and looked to Terrial.

“I knew Terrian well,” Terrial said. “But even I was not aware he had a bastard. I can see it plain as day, but why he would not accept you is beyond me. Certainly the circumstances of your conceiving must have had something to do with it. He loved his wife very much, so much I am surprised he would have even looked at another woman. The only person he would have confided in would have been Iscah, I hope she is still alive. She is in Alma at the moment.”

“So it seems we are going to Alma,” Darin said.

“Not all of us,” Xavier said looking to Martel and Lycus who both looked at him surprised. “You and the other children should stay here in Odell. You’ll be safe here.”

“No,” Martel gasped. “We want to go with you, you need us.”

“Perhaps we should save this discussion for later,” Zaire said softly as Xavier matched wills with Martel in glares. Xavier was the first to look away, but as an adult refusing to argue with a child. Zaire took his hand; Darin sensing a long conversation would come between them.

“We will discuss paths later,” Terrial said. “For now all of you are weary and hungry. Let us eat.”

He nodded to a servant and doors were opened. Servants hurried in carrying trays and dishes, setting the table before retreating. Darin saw a vegetable soup set before him and picked up his spoon to eat. He noticed the Griffin’s eye their meal with contempt and didn’t touch it. When they finished the soup, another course was set before them. Darin noticed the Aldan eat with a delicate grace, one that Xavier seemed to have but Pepper did not. Terrian seemed to notice the Griffin’s dislike of the salad and dainty pastries and signaled to the servants.

The next course saw a fish grilled with lemons and rice, and the Griffin’s each received a large raw fillet each. Darin was relieved when they ate with the delicate work of a beak tearing off strips and swallowing them. With the Griffins fed the meal went on with a lighter mood, conversation dwelling mostly on softer subjects. Eventually the last dish was taken away, Darin feeling like he hadn’t eaten much in the way of filling food. The Aldan seemed to like lighter foods, unlike the dwarves who preferred a heartier affair.

“I believe now you should rest,” Terrial said as he stood and everyone followed suit. “You have had a long and weary journey.”

“Wait,” Xavier said. “I know you cannot tell me why my father abandoned me, but could you at least tell me about him? I know nothing other than what histories can tell and this is no source for me to draw on. I’d like to hear about him from someone who knew him well.”

Terrial stared at Xavier, his face an unreadable calm.

“Very well, come with me and we will talk alone,” Terrial said. He turned to lead Xavier away but stopped when Zaire stepped forward.

“I’d like to come as well if that’s not too much trouble,” Zaire said softly. Xavier took her hand, a look of gratitude on his face.

“No, come along,” Terrial said a slight smile as well. He led them away leaving the rest of them in the dining hall.

“Come on you two,” Kalyani said to the two mage children. “I expect the other children are missing you.”

“I expect Kavi has managed to get his head caught in something while we were gone,” Shankar said and Martel laughed. The continued to jest and laugh together as they walked out, Darin marveling at the ease between them.

“They get along well,” Pepper observed dryly. Darin turned to see her and Kaden standing next to the dwarves. The other Aldan had left, leaving them alone in the dining hall.

“It is a good thing, one that we should not be surprised by,” Donar said.

“And yet we are,” Darin said.

“And we will always be surprised by the turns of life,” Kaden said. “I for one am surprised by the turn of fate, though I can sense its lines occasionally.”

“What does that mean?” Darin asked. “You said something before about threads.”

“I have always had a touch of the Elder Magic,” Kaden answered. “I could walk the lines in my dreams since I was young. After I met Arke and volunteered to being one of her chosen I’ve started to feel the threads around me. I don’t think I can change them like Arke or another weaver, but I can sense their paths and when things are about to happen.”

“Sos that be why ye told me ta go out n patrol,” Pepper said crossing her arms.

“That and you were driving me mad,” Kaden answered. “I needed to get some painting done without you bouncing around me.”

“Cause ye be a lazy toad,” Pepper grumbled. “I’ve said afore that we should go out with the ships ta patrol the sea, maybe even join the guards.”

“You mean you wish to,” Kaden said. “And now you see why I advised against it.”

“Aye well ye could o told me Darin were comin,” Pepper said.

“I didn’t know the details,” Kaden answered.

“So you two really are married,” Donar said.

“Nowt!” Pepper said hotly, a blush spreading over her cheeks. “He be a wimp.”

“Glad to see you think so highly of me,” Kaden muttered.

“Relax Pepper, I was only having a joke,” Donar said. “You two were just bickering like an old married couple is all.”

Darin had to acknowledge that fact, and that he was worried by how familiar they were with each other. However he knew what Pepper was like as a lover, and knew that she was more playful rather than brash. At least he hoped that was the case.

“I expect you are looking for an explanation to this situation,” Kaden said to Darin as if sensing his thoughts.

“I am not mad about it,” Darin answered feeling Pepper’s eyes on him, but he kept his gaze on Kaden. “Though I would like to know how you convinced her.”

“I didn’t,” Kaden answered. “Alora did, she guessed that Eileen hadn’t been reborn and said that only Bailey and Pepper could birth her. This convinced them both, though Alora insisted on marriage for her two grandnieces.”

Darin finally looked at Pepper to see her fuming at the recollection.

“But the song wouldn’t have been sung if Eileen hadn’t been reborn,” Darin said looking back at Kaden.

“A fact I didn’t realize until after we had taken our vows and wedding beds,” Kaden answered. “Though me and Pepper did not consummate our marriage, her sister and husband did.”

Pepper was trembling now and Darin read a lot in the way she held back her tears.

“I’m confused,” Darin said. “You said your sister married so you wouldn’t have to, a year ago. You left because she was having a child by him, Ian was his name right?”

“Aye, n all that be true,” Pepper answered softly. “We were separated from him n un o the twins she gave birth ta. He be alive sos we ken, but we lost him. She baint be legally married ta him by the laws o the kingdoms, so Alora had her marry again. Again she tried ta save me, n this time it hurt her more cause she loves Ian.”

“And where is Bailey?” Darin asked and Pepper flinched.

“In Alma, preparing for the birth of her child by her new husband,” Kaden answered.

“Nowt, by Ian,” Pepper said through clenched teeth. Darin was confused by this but Kaden seemed more shocked than him.

“If she is carrying Ian’s child why didn’t you tell her?” Kaden asked. “You know the guilt of her betrayal to him is tearing her up.”

“Cause it baint be his, er even hers anymore,” Pepper said darkly. “It be a changeling, Aoife be in Bailey now.”

Darin knew that was possible, wondering how it came to be, but Kaden seemed even more shocked than him.

“Why did you not tell me this?” Kaden asked in a bare whisper.

“Cause I thought ye kenned,” Pepper said frowning. “Ye be so good with the Elder Magic I thought ye saw it. N Melanthios said we have ta keep it secret like.”

Kaden reached out and snatched Melanthios from the scabbard on Pepper’s hip. He gripped the sword hard as he glared at it, looking much like a man that never handled a blade before. Darin guessed a silent conversation between the two, the air so intense no one else dared to speak. Kaden’s face was livid, growing more and more intense until at last he threw down the blade which clattered on the fine wood floor.

Kaden whirled and left, marching away without another word.

“What was that all about?” Donar asked looking to Pepper. She retrieved Melanthios and silently consulted the dragon spirit within the sword.

“They argued o’er what we should do,” Pepper answered. “Kaden wanted ta hurry ta Alma, but Melanthios advised caution. I baint sure he listened. Baint worry though, there baint be much he could do anyways n he kens it.”

“In that case we’ll leave him be,” Donar answered. “And you two as well, good night.”

Darin felt his face flush as Donar winked at him and led Hakk and Bgrim away to their rooms. He glanced up at Pepper who was also blushing as well, suddenly shy.

“Would Kaden be in your rooms?” Darin asked.

“Doubt it,” Pepper said resting one hand on her sword. She looked down at the dragon blade with a sudden frown. “Ye miserable piece o iron.”

“What?” Darin asked.

“He be laughin,” Pepper said and Darin laughed, the tension easing.

“I seem to remember you left him out in the hall last time,” Darin said grinning which Pepper answered with her own.

“He stopped laughin,” Pepper said and took Darin’s hand. They left the hall hand in hand, and sure enough Pepper left Melanthios out in the hall like a forgotten object.

[lykegenia]

The Things We Hide Ch. 5

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3

Words: 3048 Pairing: Zuko x Katara Chapter Summary: In the aftermath of the attack on the harbour, Zuko tries to find answers to who the mysterious waterbender is, and what she wants.

Read it on AO3

Scrolls littered the long table in the royal library where Zuko had sat researching since even before the palace servants were awake. Every scrap of parchment on the Water Tribes the Fire Nation had archived lay in front of him in haphazard piles, from treatises on waterbending to collections of scholarly notes, but all they told him was how woefully ignorant his people were about those that lived at the ends of the world. Most of the accounts were second-hand or hearsay, and those that weren’t tended towards the sensational, and were so old that they offered nothing useful anyway.

Blearily, his rubbed his eyes and pulled yet another yellowed scroll towards him. This one was a military report written by a Lieutenant Sangon. It was about thirty years old, stained by saltwater, and told of the capture of a Southern Water Tribe ship.

Liuyue Twenty-sixth Day

In the night we came upon a bank of dense fog incongruent with the weather fifteen leagues off the shore of Whaletail Island, and knew our enemy lay within its depths, though not how many ships ranged against us. Captain Mei-Lin ordered a return to the commonly sailed patrol route, but by dawn the fog overtook us. General quarters were called, but as visibility lessened the captain decided to proceed with engines cut and fires doused so we would not give away our presence. It is well known the water vessels run on the wind and the currents they themselves manipulate, so I think her hope was we would run on the current before them.

The captain bid me consult our charts against compass and last known position in case they planned to sink us on shoals, but, reassured we were in deep waters still, she surmised their tactics would be more traditional icebergs and overwhelming waves. Our elite Cormorant Squadron stood ready to defend our sides and blast away ice attacks, while the ammunition for the prototype pivot trebuchets were readied with pitch and spark powder.

The Water Tribe attack came estimated an hour before sunrise. Our only warning was the crack of ‘lightning ice’ that froze the propellers solid, before two Southern Tribe ships breached the fog off our port stern.

Zuko found his fingers creasing the edges of the paper as he read on, only too able to imagine the fear those firebenders faced against enemies who could encase them in ice or send water whips out of the sea to pluck them to their doom. Only the unexpected power of the then-new deck mounted trebuchets had kept the ship from being totally lost, as the shot loaded into them had been designed to shatter and spread explosive flame on impact – more than a match for the flammable wooden hulls of the Water Tribe.

In the end, one of the enemy ships had sunk with a gaping hole in the starboard keel, and the other had suffered a lucky shot that brought down the mast and all but snapped the vessel in two. Lieutenant Sangon described the aftermath with unprofessionally graphic detail, but Zuko hardly noticed.

Under my orders the hands followed procedure in taking account of the casualties and clearing the deck of the debris from the forward trebuchet. The fog around us cleared enough to allow the sun to filter through, and it roused heartiness in us all. The light let us spot a figure among the flotsam of the destroyed ship, a young woman in the garb and war paint of a waterbender, though through my glass I saw her bleeding heavily from a wound on the scalp.

Thinking to create some return for the tragedy of Captain Mei-Lin’s death, I ordered the boat out, and the girl was brought back in chains, to many jeers from the men in the crew. Their display left a sour taste in my mouth, for all she had tried her best to kill us all not moments before.

I conclude my report with a note on the waterbender’s condition. It is lucky we picked her up in such an incoherent state, otherwise it is certain she would have followed the example of her captured brethren before we could begin to question her. Her wounds have been treated, but for her own safety and ours we are keeping her drugged with wortroot, which has the added bonus of supressing qi should she manage to shake off sleep.

We estimate Gaolong Harbour in three days, and will submit our guest to the port authorities at that time.

In my own hand

Acting Captain Sangon Zushin

Rubbing the back of his neck to ease the ache, Zuko sat back, tapping his fingers against the table. The report mentioned the Southern waterbender had her face painted, and that in the attack some of the crew were killed by strands of water rising from the ocean like the tentacles of a giant squid-topus. Although this was the best corroboration he had found so far, it was still a tenuous link to what he had observed two nights before at the docks.

Rumours had already begun to gust around the capital. Witnesses to the disaster swore it was the work of angry spirits; Officials scoffed and said it was an act of sabotage, committed by a group of rebel benders intent on destroying the lives of helpless Fire Nation citizens. Only time would tell which story the people would take as truth, but already the harbour swam with offerings of flowers and rice thrown down to try and appease whatever god was powerful enough to destroy three ten-deck troop carriers single-handed.

As for Zuko, he knew with certainty the woman the Blue Spirit confronted that night was human. This raised more questions than it answered, however. Was the saboteur alone or did she have a network of hidden waterbenders helping her? And if she did, why attack at night? Such power as she demonstrated would have made short work of any soldiers sent to stop her, so was it merely convenience that she had waited until the docks were quiet, or was it conscience? Considering the scale of the disaster, very few of the ships’ skeleton crews had been killed in the attack, and more than one report mentioned feeling the waves push them onto the breakwater, heavy armour and all.

Zuko groaned and buried his face in his hands.

“Prince Zuko?”

“Yes?”

The elderly librarian shuffled forward, a new stack of papers in his arms. “You wanted the tactical reports from the Southern Conquest.”

“Ah, thank you.” He pushed out of his chair so he could relieve the old man of his burden. “You know you could get one of your assistants to help me.”

“No, I could not,” the librarian replied, waving his prince’s concerns away. “It would dishonour you to have one of those bumbling children getting in the way of your research. Besides, it does these old bones some good to get about a bit.” He wheezed a laugh and cracked the stiffness out of his knuckles. “Might I ask what all of this is in aid of, Prince Zuko? I haven’t seen you this studious in years.”

“I’ve had other things to think about,” Zuko replied testily. “Do I need a reason?”

“Of course not, of course not.” The librarian held up his hands in good-natured surrender. “Just tell me if you require anything further.” He shuffled off again, leaving Zuko to his alcove and his privacy.

The biggest problem, the prince observed wryly to himself as he flitted through the newest stack of documents, was that nobody had any real clue about the capabilities of waterbenders. Every naval report spoke about them with a sort of reverent fear, and it had taken the power of Sozin’s Comet to finally bring their society to its knees, but there was no empirical value set on their abilities, either the range or the volume of water an individual could manipulate at any one time. He supposed that reflected the subtle nature of their element, but the Fire Nation’s lack of knowledge had more to do with lack of subjects – captured waterbenders never lived for very long.

Still, he found it difficult to believe one person could be powerful enough to cause so much destruction - apart from the avatar, of course. His uncle would have known. Once, before everything went wrong, Iroh had encouraged Zuko’s curiosity about the other nations. He had said understanding other cultures was the true key to bringing peace after conquest, but then Lu Ten had died at the siege of Ba Sing Se, and the once revered Dragon of the West had betrayed his own men, ordering a retreat when they could have pressed on and assured victory. When the soldiers rebelled, their general had been caught in the blast of the Avatar’s power, his body torn apart by the elements.

Official records left out the true circumstances of Crown Prince Iroh’s death, but afterwards Ozai made it clear to his son that an open-minded attitude towards the other cultures of the world would no longer be tolerated. Iroh’s weakness in the face of the cursed avatar became a lesson in the perils of mercy.

But the avatar was far away in the Earth Kingdom, the last of the Air Nomads alive and well, busy stirring up rebellion against Fire Nation colonisers. The bender he encountered at the harbour was definitely not an Air Nomad, and there was no mistaking her shape underneath her clothes. He felt his cheeks warm at the memory and fisted his hands on the table to try and regain control of his fire. Royal princes did not become flustered at the mere thought of beautiful women, especially ones who were such a threat to shipping.

Was she beautiful, though? Under the war paint, did she have dark skin like that of others of the Water Tribe? Was it smooth and soft, or chafed by sea winds? What shape were her lips? He hadn’t been able to see the colour of her eyes in the darkness, but they were fierce.

He groaned again and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

--

The lattices of Katara’s private chambers were all open, but no breeze could be tempted in from the baking garden. If anything, the scorching heat of the sun had only increased since the day before, as if trying to squeeze the last moisture from the earth before the arrival of the winter rains. The still, dry air made Katara fidget under her sweat-drenched sheets, her fever slow to cool.

The influence of the full moon and the rush of her own daring had allowed her to destroy not one but all three of the ships moored in the harbour. Even in her delirium she remembered the savagery of her joy at being able to unleash her full power and strike at the heart of her enemy. She felt again and again the scream of tearing metal as she smashed the Ryujo against the breakwater, only now the tremors lanced through her body instead.

At the time she hadn’t realised how much energy she was using, too busy focussed on the flow of water in her hands. Afterwards, though, when she dragged herself back through the dimming streets, she had felt the tug of fatigue slowing every step as if stones pulled at her feet.

She woke sometime the next afternoon to the caress of healing water on her forehead. Linara sat over her, the healer’s smooth face scrunched in concern as she tried to map the splintered lines of qi through Katara’s body. Hama stood at the foot of the bed, her hands framed into rigid lines as she froze the air into powdery ice over her charge’s wrists and ankles. That was how she remembered the hours, in snatches of consciousness as shadows from the window trailed across the room, with her guardians working in seamless, unending tandem to bring her back from the dark.

Now, Katara sat in a pile of cushions with the vile taste of some reviving tonic lingering at the back of her throat. She focussed on separating the dank flavours to work out what they forced down her throat, because the alternative was having to look Hama in the eye.

She had never seen the old woman so angry.

“What were you thinking?” the old general demanded. “It’s a blessing you weren’t seen – or captured! What do you think would happen to our people, to all our well-laid plans, if they find out it was you who destroyed those ships in the harbour?”

“I couldn’t sit by and do nothing! Those ships were going to take soldiers to the Earth Kingdom, and now they can’t,” Katara retorted. She glanced down at where her hands lay in her lap. “And nobody caught me,” she added sullenly. “So they aren’t going to find out it was me.”

Ham sniffed. “And how will you explain your current state when the guard comes to interrogate us?” She threw up her hands. “You never think things through! Always impetuous, always taking on more than you can handle. They’ll be looking for waterbenders, girl.”

“General, please,” interrupted Linara. “This can be saved for another time. Katara needs rest.”

“She needs sense knocked into her. Where’s a glacier when you need one.”

“I’m sorry, Sifu,” Katara mumbled as Hama turned to stomp out.

The general hesitated in the doorway. “No you’re not,” she grunted. “You’re pleased with yourself. I hope you still are when all of our sacrifices come to nothing.”

Katara watched her teacher cross the garden and round a corner towards the kitchens, the blue-clad form shimmering under the intensity of the sun. She bit her lip. Everyone had risked so much for her, and Hama was right: the lives of too many people depended on her staying in the good graces of the Fire Lord as a political hostage, too demure to be a threat and too important to be thrown away. To be found out as a waterbender…

Tomorrow, she would make a proper apology, when exhaustion no longer clawed at her bones and made her head swim.

Linara tactfully chose that moment to replace her healing water, running her fingers along the rim of the turtleshell bowl she had received when she attained the rank of Master Healer. At twenty-five, she was one of the most gifted students in the school, hand-chosen to be part of Katara’s entourage, to protect the young princess in the polar bear-dog’s den, and to keep the skills and talents of the Southern Water Tribe safe, hidden in plain sight in case Hama’s plan failed. The bone beads threaded into the locks at her temples clicked as she kneeled once more at Katara’s bedside.

“All that bluster is just worry for you,” she said kindly. “The general’s actually quite impressed. We all are.”

She lay her hands against Katara’s fevered skin, one on her abdomen while the other smoothed a healing glow along her legs and down over her feet. Tension eased out of the Water Tribe princess, resignation settling in its place.

“Dad’s going to be so angry when he finds out.”

“He may be angry that you put yourself in danger,” the healer calmly replied. “But nobody can deny how far this will set back the Fire Nation war effort. Each of those ships was worth two thousand soldiers at least, and now it’s unlikely they’ll get to the Earth Kingdom in time to relieve the soldiers already there. Mark my words, it’s a gap that’ll be exploited. If there’s anyone who can make the most of this, it’s -”

“Don’t remind me,” Katara interrupted, burying her head in her hands. “That’s another person who’s going to be mad at me.”

The healer grinned. “Not looking forward to Mimi’s next letter?”

“No.”

“It might not be so bad. The Fire Navy will be short three of its biggest assets until they can replace them. That’s at least six months of unchecked piracy. The Third Fleet will be busy.”

Katara pushed herself out of her pile of cushions, gnawed by an unexpected concern. “And how many people will be worked to death to get new ships ready in six months?”

Linara’s hands paused against Katara’s skin, her smile hardened into a frown as she brought her fingers up to touch the carved pendant at her throat. The once-beautiful image carved in the mother-of-pearl was marred by a deep, deliberate scratch.

“That’s not our problem.”

“Isn’t it? It’ll be my fault.”

“There’s more suffering in this place than any one person could hope to change,” Linara snorted. “Don’t make yourself responsible for a society where the nobility break the backs of peasants to avoid stepping in the mud.”

“But -”

“If you want to help them, see this through. Care if you must, but remember you’re the only one who will.”

They lapsed into silence, Linara’s thoughts her own and Katara’s wandering back to the moonlit pier and the man with the twin swords who had confronted her there. At the time, she had been too surprised to notice much more than the glint of moonlight on steel and the gruesome mask leering through the darkness, but when the guards stole his attention and allowed her to get away, she had looked back. He moved through them with perfect control, chaos poised by discipline. Her father’s troops were well trained, but she had never seen anyone fight like that. His black clothes were loose, made of material that wouldn’t rustle as he moved, but Katara could imagine the lithe muscles beneath. He would not be bulky, like Water Tribe men used to hauling fishing lines, fed a steady diet of fish and meat. Was he a native of the capital, or somewhere else? What colour were his eyes? Most importantly, what had he been doing at the harbour that night?

“Katara?”

She blinked and found Linara watching her.

“Are you alright?”

“I was just wondering…” Katara paused, finding the right smokescreen for her interest. “I heard some of the Fire Nation soldiers talking. You’ve been to the market. What are people saying about a man in a blue mask?”

likes, reblogs, comments - all welcome!

[funkzpiel]

And The Tag Read Simply: ‘Pretty’ - Ch1

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again. But one look, and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not 'please say he’s not here.' It was 'please say he’s coming home soon.'

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

FANTASTIC BEASTS KINK MEME FILL Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves' mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he's Grindelwald's pet.

Includes: Gellert Grindelwald x Graves, Newt x Graves, Non-Con, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Pet Play, Forced Pet Play, Collars, Non-Con Body Modification, Animal Ears, Animal Behaviors/Qualities, Mind!Fuck, Memory Loss/Alteration, Master/Pet, Dubious Consent, Angst, Literally Graves Believes He’s A Dog, I AM TRASH

CHAPTER 1

Newt wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be on an ocean charter halfway across the Atlantic by now. But yet, somehow he still found himself in New York – well, not somehow. He knew exactly how. Because Tina had asked him, that’s how. Painfully worried and nearly frantic and wholly desperate, she had come to him just as he was about to board the boat; and what should have been a wistful goodbye between newfound friends turned into a sad affair indeed. Just sad in a nature wholly different than what he had been anticipating.

It was raining, but Tina had an umbrella. So when he noticed that her face was wet, his stomach had lurched with the understanding that something was wrong – and he could tell from her expression that it was not because she would miss him, although she would.

“Newt,” she gasped, out of breath from trying to catch him before he boarded. “I need your help.”

“Oh- o-of course,” he stammered, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep up with this sudden twist in reality. “What do you need?”

“It’s Graves,” she had said, and when she looked up at him, Newt felt his stomach sink even further. “We found him. He’s… he’s not well.”

“I imagine not,” Newt had said before he could catch himself, and flinched when he saw the way it hurt Tina. “I apologize… How can I help?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, “but I can’t think of anyone else who can.”

That was how he found himself at the doorstep of one Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and former prisoner of the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. It was a nice building that Graves lived in. His neighbors seemed kind enough, although completely oblivious to the dark happenings that had been occurring in his flat for these many months. Which was sad in its own right, Newt imagined. He shuddered to think of a world in which he could be replaced and no one would notice. His heart stung fiercely when he wondered if his creatures would know the difference. He hoped they would.

But he promptly closed the door on that thought before it could overwhelm him. There was a task to be done. What it was, he wasn’t sure… but he would try and help all the same.

“It took a lot longer than we would’ve liked to track him down,” Tina said, staring at the door leading to Graves’ flat with a distant, hurt look to her eyes. Guilt, Newt realized. Guilt hung like a heavy blanket over the usual sparkle he had become accustomed to seeing from Tina. Dark and smothering.

“Whatever happened… it was not your fault. You know that, right?”

Tina took a deep, shaky breath and looked at him with wet eyes. “I know. It’s just… If we had just…”

If we had just noticed, maybe things would be different.

Whatever had happened, whatever was holding Tina back from opening the door... It was bad. Very bad.

“Tina,” he said gently, grabbing her gaze without actually holding it himself. “What happened to Mr. Graves?”

Tina swallowed with a dry, audible click before finally reaching for the door knob and twirling her wand with a deft little spell to unlock it. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself.”

The moment the door opened, Newt felt it. A thick aura of magic both past and present, hanging thick on the air like a heady gout of smelly perfume. It was thick and dark and pungent in a way that made it hard to think, and even as a man not extremely skilled in the art of magic of the mind, he knew instantly what would cause such a vivid and overwhelming mark. Dark magic. Old magic. Grindelwald.

He gagged and raised his sleeve to his nose and mouth to mask himself from some of it. His eyes stung. A quick glance to Tina confirmed that she was not fairing much better. Her hands were trembling.

“This way,” she said after a moment.

Newt followed her through the quaint flat. It was a nice flat. Sparsely decorated, but richly and deliberately so. It matched Graves, or at least, the image of Graves that Grindelwald had stolen. He followed her down a hallway to a door that had a rather cold looking Auror standing guard before it. He seemed tired down to his very bones, face creased in places no man his age had a right to be creasing in already. Whatever had happened to Mr. Graves, his team was taking it very hardly.

“Some did notice,” she said finally, startling Newt.

“Excuse me?”

“Some of us did notice. A clerk. Two of the senior Aurors. His secretary… Grindelwald manipulated their memories once he found out. Our medical staff found scarring in their minds. Nothing too severe. Just enough to dissuade them from noticing anything else,” she said, stopping. “I know it may not look it, based off your experience from the past few days, but… Director Graves was – is a good man. He was well respected on the team. Now that Grindelwald is gone and the team is back to themselves, well…”

“President Picquery should have fucking murdered that demented bastard,” the Auror outside the door suddenly spat, his mouth twisted with hate – all teeth and fury.

Tina looked at him with strange eyes and said, “Justice must be upheld. That’s what Director Graves would want.”

“Justice ain’t going to fix him.”

That drew Newt’s attention. He looked at the door and noticed for the first time the small sigil that had been carved into its wood, old and powerful. A locking charm, long since dead. Newt frowned and pointed at it.

“Grindelwald?”

The Auror looked over his shoulder and scowled when he noticed what Newt was pointing at.

“Yeah,” he said, turning away. “Best as we can tell, he used it before,” he swallowed, “Before he changed him. The Director must’ve been one surly prisoner, it’s a powerful charm.” The little nod he gave at that was a proud one. “Must’ve gave Grindelwald hell.”

“I’m sure he did,” Newt said softly, his mind on other things – namely, what he’d find behind the door. A thick, cold dread was beginning to slide down his spine. He had a bad feeling. A familiar feeling. “May I?”

The Auror gave him an assessing look, but Tina stepped forward.

“I think he can help,” she said. Newt was beginning to think that his presence wasn’t strictly sanctioned. But whatever was wrong must have outweighed that, because the Auror gave him a small nod and moved to open the door for them.

“Just… be careful.”

Newt blinked, but walked in all the same.

The aura was worse here, thick and clingy and greasy like slime. He could feel it on his skin, pressing in on him; overbearing and disgusting and sick. He shuddered.

The room, however, was a normal bedroom. It contained nice, plush carpets and bookshelves and a night stand. There were trinkets and a mirror. A painting charmed with subtle movement; wolves stalking beautifully through snowy woods. A closet of immaculate clothing, and finally, a lush four poster bed – and at its end on the floor, a large pillow oddly reminiscent of a dog’s bed beside two upturned gold bowl. A puddle was slowly leaking from beneath it. Water.

Newt almost thought the room to be empty and nearly looked at Tina to ask why they were there when a rattle and a soft whine emitted from the closet. There he saw the clothing sway.

He took a step forward, but stopped when that whine turned into a rumbling growl. Tina’s fingers brushed his forearm.

“He... He’s frightened. Nothing we say helps. He… He bit the last Auror that tried to grab him. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, he just… He’s confused,” she trailed off, but Newt suddenly understood why Tina had thought of him.

“I see,” Newt said, then reached for a confident smile – if only to comfort her. “I understand. Let me see what I can do.”

She nodded.

“Stay here.”

A pause and she nodded again, her eyes drawn to the closet once more. “Ok.”

“Ok.”

Silently and slowly, he placed his suitcase by the door and turned to address the closet. He took another step closer, his body automatically hunching and folding in on himself in order to appear smaller and less threatening. He held out his hands, but even so, another growl emerged angrily from the closet.

A simple warning if Newt had ever heard one. I’m afraid. I’m confused. Back the fuck off.

“Mr. Graves,” he said softly, soothingly, “We’ve never met but my name is Newt. I’m here to help.”

When Newt finally found Graves’ dark eyes within the shadows of the closet, he averted his gaze – instead watching the concealed figure of the man out of his peripherals – and squatted lower to the floor. But he stopped there, giving the man his space. The growling lessened, but didn’t stop. It did, however, intermittently fall into a whimper. Newt’s lips twitched into a frown, concerned.

“Mr. Graves? Can you hear me?” He asked as he slowly extended one hand out, giving the man the choice to meet him halfway. As he did, he gently extended out a wordless spell. Soothing and gentle, it emitted slowly from his hand and crept across the room until finally – after a minute of silent waiting – Graves shifted in the closet.

Newt saw a glimpse of pale skin and smiled.

“There we are,” he praised softly. Behind him, he heard more than saw the way the Auror at the door clearly disliked how he was treating Graves. But Newt was not the only one to catch onto the man’s agitation, and Graves pale face peeked out hesitantly for no more than a second before he caught the man’s body language and huddled back into the closet once more, snarling.

Newt sighed.

“Tina, could you?” He asked and nodded in the Auror’s direction.

“This is ridiculous,” the Auror spat, eyes flicking to Tina even as she made her way toward him.

“Nothing else has worked,” she said, clearly cross as she guided him from the room.

“You too, Tina,” Newt said, making her stop in the doorway. He clenched down on the guilty feeling that arose when she sent him a hurt look. “He’s afraid. The less people in the room to overwhelm him, the better. Please.”

She glanced to the closet, clearly unwilling to leave.

“But what if he-?”

“I can handle it, Tina,” Newt said gently, giving her a look that said ‘do you remember what I have in my suitcase?’. “Just keep an eye on the case for me while I help Mr. Graves calm down, if you don’t mind.”

Tina took a deep breath, but finally nodded, grabbed the case, and moved to close the door.

“Don’t,” Newt said, catching her off guard. “He’ll just feel trapped. Leave it open.”

And so she did, and disappeared down the hallway with his case.

“Better?” He asked the closet.

And those curious eyes were back, watching him. Growling, but softly.

“I’m sorry if they scared you,” Newt said. “They’re just worried. They’ve missed you.”

A whine.

“It’s alright,” he said and began to extend his spell again, gently trying to soothe the man. “I won’t hurt you.”

The clothing shifted and out peeked a familiar face – clean shaven, surprisingly. A messy yet silky fringe of hair trembling in front of dark, simple eyes. Graves looked from Newt to the door and back again, as if assessing an escape. He looked younger than the man Newt had fought in the subway tunnels mere days ago. He wondered if it was the eyes.

“Where?” Graves asked, startling Newt.

“We’re in your flat,” he said.

Graves shook his head and furrowed his brow, searching for the words.

“Master didn’t come home. Where?”

Newt felt his stomach twist. He opened his mouth, but didn’t really know what to say. He was suddenly fiercely glad Tina had left the room.

“You mean Grindelwald?”

Graves narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Did he not recognize the name?

Words of comfort and affirmation bubbled to his tongue – He’s caught, we have him. Don’t worry. He’s at MACUSA, he’ll never hurt you again.

But one look and Newt realized that the context of Graves’ question was not please say he’s not here. It was please say he’s coming home soon.

“He’s… away,” Newt said lamely, eyes flickering to glance at Graves now that the man felt confident enough to speak with him. Graves was leaning far enough forward now that his shoulders were visible, pale and naked. Newt felt his cheeks begin to burn at the implication, and even more so when he caught sight of the thick leather collar that hung snuggly around Graves’ throat – Grindelwald’s symbol hanging delicately next to a small gold tag that read simply: ‘Pretty’.

Newt grimaced, but quickly shoved the negative body language down.

“Away,” Graves said, eyes distant as he looked at the door. His face crumbled slowly and he began to back himself into the closet again.

“No,” Newt said a little too quickly, making Graves flinch. He instantly smoothed out his voice into a calm, hushed tone and said, “It’s okay. Grindel—your master asked for me to watch over you while he’s gone. Would you like that?”

Graves narrowed his eyes, but clearly didn’t know what to do with that information. He whined, at war with himself about something, before finally looking at Newt with large brown eyes. So strange on a face that had sentenced him to execution mere days ago.

“You’ll touch?”

Touch? Newt tried to link the implication to whatever Graves was really asking for, but shuddered at the thought of… certain avenues.

“I… I can,” he said, reaching his hand out again. “If you come out.”

When Graves finally came out, it was on all fours – his hands curled up like paws as he hesitantly crawled out of the closet, revealing more and more of his lithe and very naked form. He was hairless, although Newt couldn’t tell if that was from magic or grooming. His skin was milk white from lack of sunlight, and it contrasted so prettily against the raven’s black of his hair. With a twist of disgust for having thought it himself, Newt suddenly understood why the tag on his neck read ‘Pretty’. Regardless, Newt remained completely still, one hand extended, while Graves approached him like a wary dog.

When the man actually reached out to sniff his fingers, Newt felt the gravity of what Grindelwald had done fall down on him. A feeling he did not think could be outdone until a spark of shock exploded into life inside his chest at the sight of two large, wolfish ears suddenly perking up from where they had been laying flat against Graves’ head. Black as they were, Newt had not even noticed them, nor did he think the other Aurors had. But there they were, perked and curious atop Graves’ head and most certainly not adorable.

But the unnatural ears atop his head were not the only things Newt noticed. Graves was in fact flushed in the cheeks, eyes glassy – feverish. Now that he was so close, Newt could practically feel the heat burning off the man like a furnace.

Graves stopped just a hair’s breadth from Newt’s hand and looked up at him.

“You’ll touch?” He asked again.

“Do you want me to?” Newt asked.

“Yes,” Graves said with a whine, but did not move.

And so, Newt slowly reached out – eyes wary of Graves’ body language until finally his was cradling the man’s jaw. He blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding with Graves suddenly pressed into his palm and keened, his arse slightly swaying in what Newt realized would have been a wagging tail, were the man the dog that Grindelwald had made him believe himself to be.

Oh Tina, he thought, I’m so sorry.

The tears made sense, now. Asking Newt of all people for help made sense now.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he noticed that those large, brown eyes – once closed from bliss – were staring at him hopefully. Graves took one step forward, then another and whined.

“Oh!” Newt said, catching on and promptly, but slowly, eased himself into a cross-legged position. No sooner than he did he found himself with a tentative lap-full of eager Graves. Newt was torn between the normal ecstatic feeling he always got from charming a scared creature into trusting him and a sick wrench of dread as he slowly began to understand exactly what Grindelwald had done.

Now that he had hands on the man, he could feel the fever burning beneath his skin. It worried him, but even as Newt touched him, he could feel it slowly begin to cool. Something he took note of. He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, with Graves curled into his lap, but it was long enough that he didn’t notice they weren’t alone anymore until Graves suddenly stiffened and began to growl.

Newt looked up to see Tina in the doorway, eyes wide.

And what a sight they must make, Newt realized.

“Y-you,” Tina stuttered, then visibly composed herself with a dry swallow. “You coaxed him out.”

Newt nodded before gently stroking Graves again, compelling magic into the motion to soothe him; warmth and safety and a little bit of compulsion to help him begin to doze. He watched as Graves’ eyelids began to grow heavy, dark lashes fluttering.

“This is Tina,” Newt said, voice thick as he realized his next words would hurt Tina all the more. “She’s also a friend of your Master’s.”

Tina jerked, but didn't correct him.

Graves looked at her, his growling long since ceased, but there was no light of recognition within his sleepy gaze.

“Tina,” he repeated.

“Y-yes, Director,” she said, hopeful at the sound of her own name from his lips. “Do you remember me?”

Graves frowned and looked to Newt.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Graves shook his head, then sought out Newt’s hand once more. Newt kept his gaze pointedly on Graves, unwilling to watch Tina’s face fall.

“That’s okay,” she said. Newt flinched. It was not okay. “Newt, is there… is there anything I can do to help?”

“Perhaps bring my case?”

Tina promptly turned to retrieve it, no doubt left in the other room. Newt had a moment of anger flare at the thought that Tina might have left it unsupervised, if only for a second, but reminded himself of the situation Tina was in. He couldn’t hold a momentary lapse like this against her. Not when he had her very well respected boss curled naked in his lap and falling asleep.

“Oh Mr. Graves,” Newt sighed, his hands deep into Graves’ hair as he pet the man in his lap. “What did he do to you?”

Graves merely burrowed deeper into Newt’s lap and asked, “Who is Mr. Graves?”

KINK MEME PROMPT: Grindelwald is captured, they track down Graves, but instead of finding a locked up and tortured Graves they find Graves naked and in a collar, napping on a soft bed without a hint of recognition in his eyes when they awaken him. Turns out Grindelwald messed with Graves's mind, removed all his memories and made him believe that he's Grindelwald's pet, utterly devoted to him and his cock, without any cure due to his extensive talent. Grindelwald is smug and Graves gets all whimpery and pleading when he realizes they aren't taking him to his Master and no one knows what to do. Bonus if Graves no longer knows how to handle himself like a proper human, eating out of hands or a bowl, sleeping curled up at the foot of the bed, responding to 'pet' or similar rather than his own name, etc. Praise and toys and the like would be appreciated.

+Grindelwald charmed Graves somehow so that he starts to get a fever or something if Grindelwald isn't close to him or doesn't fuck him somehow once a day and they have to give in eventually and listen to how happy or loud Graves gets ++Grindelwald thinking about how pretty Credence or Newt would be, learning how to be a good pet at Graves's side +++Grindelwald escapes, and takes his pretty little pet with him