#doesn't seem to do the numbers here anyway so not a big deal

[slothquisitor]

What Moves in the Dark: Chapter Nine

A post-campaign Baldur's Gate 3 eldritch horror AU.

Chapter Summary: In a search for answers, Liv and Astarion do a little breaking and entering.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

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The Guildhall is the last place Astarion really wants to be this evening, and that was before Liv had received a message from Kharis about this blood disease or creature of whatever the hells it is they’re dealing with not being of this fucking plane. Amongst the rather uncomfortable flashbacks to nautiloids and mind flayers, Liv had asked a rather haunting question: if whatever this is isn’t from this plane, did it find its way here or was it summoned?

He was already having a rather bad day before that news, and now he has to put up with Percy being insufferable for however many hours this is going to take. 

When he arrives at the Guildhall, Percy is near the entrance to the hall itself, leaning against the wooden railing. He looks like a good portrait: the bored noble surveying the den of thieves and criminals. As Astarion approaches, he tosses him a dark woolen cloak.

He runs his hands over the rough fabric. “Not really my color.”

“I assume you can be discreet, even though you often choose not to be,” Percy replies, pulling on his own cloak. 

“We’re going somewhere,” Astarion guesses though he’s not sure where Percy could possibly be taking him. 

“Yes.”

He clenches his jaw. “Where?”

“Elsewhere,” Percy replies and then strides past him to the stairs back out to Heapside. 

Astarion quickly dons his own cloak and then follows him back up to the moonlit streets. He’s in no mood for this sort of thing. He had expected that he would spend the evening like he had the last with Percy, slowly making his rounds around the hall, quietly observing conversation and largely being ignored beyond the questioning looks his presence solicited. He would have rather stayed with Liv for longer this evening though. Her presence doesn’t grate the way Percy’s does.

“Did the Caldwell connection turn up anything?” Astarion asks after they’ve walked several blocks in relative silence. He hadn’t wanted to be the first one to speak, as if walking in brooding silence is a competition he could win with Percy, but his curiosity had won out. 

“I’m hoping that this stop tonight might shed some light on that,” Percy replies without looking at him. 

“You’re being awfully vague.”

“Am I?” Percy responds with a rather insufferable grin. He hates him a little.

They traverse the streets like ghosts, drawing little notice. It doesn’t take long for Astarion to realize they’re headed towards the Wide. He’s just not sure why. At this hour, the market will all be closed, the stalls broken down for the evening, not set to return until morning. 

“Ah, an empty marketplace,” Astarion comments as they arrive. “This seems like it will provide us with plenty of information.”

Percy doesn’t reply, instead ducks down a side alley and knocks on a door that is barely visible through the surrounding dirt and grim. A small porthole opens in the door, and a voice asks, “What's your business?” In a metal-tinged rasp. 

“Got a meeting with The Fetcher,” Percy gives him a significant look as if the name is supposed to mean something to him. 

It doesn’t. Though he supposes that it might for a typical Baldurian. Astarion had stopped paying attention to much of anything during his centuries of captivity. Politics and gossip didn’t serve him, besides in the seachange of the city, it was impossible to keep up anyway. He had only marked the passage of time through the change of fashion, the shifting vernacular, the taverns he frequented changing names and owners. Nothing else had mattered.

He hadn’t considered that he might be missing anything until he’d arrived back at the city and found himself rather out of his depth in conversations with his companions. Some part of him wondered if it had always been that way. But then, he’s fairly positive he didn’t end up as a magistrate because of any particular talent for the law so at one point he must have known this city, the people, the power dynamics at play. Perhaps he had been good at navigating them once. Or not, he had wound up beaten to death in an alley after all.  

A moment passes, and then the door opens on near-silent hinges. Astarion follows Percy inside and immediately down a set of shadowy stairs. He never sees the individual at the door; he assumes that is quite on purpose. 

Astarion is fairly certain that Percy doesn’t mean him any harm, but he’s not loving being led down into an unfamiliar place. Though if Percy does turn out to be a shit, he wouldn’t feel bad about ripping his throat out. So, either they find out information or he kills him. A victory either way.  “Where are we going exactly?”

Percy pauses looking back at him in confusion. “Come now, you’re telling me that you’ve never been to the Undercellar? I thought you’d lived in this city longer than I’ve been alive.”

He hasn’t, but he has heard of it. A series of connected storage cellars that were rumored to house a tavern and rest hall full of criminals. Honestly, he assumed it wasn’t real, simply a folk tale or the general populace getting the facts wrong about the Guildhall. He might have stalked Baldur’s Gate for nearly two centuries, but he only knows parts of the city…there were plenty that were far, far from his reach. 

“Can’t say it’s on the list of places I’ve been interested in frequenting.”

“The Fetcher’s a Kingpin. Moira and Alfran worked out of here, so I thought we should stop by to see if anyone is infected. If anyone has info on the Caldwells it’ll be him, so two birds, one stone.”

“And I suppose you want me to remain obediently silent beside you once again?”

Percy grins and laughs. “Like a good little bloodhound.”

Astarion’s reaction is violent and instinctive. Lightning quick, he has Percy shoved up against the stone wall of the narrow hallway. “Do not call me that.” The words are snarled, his fangs bared. 

For his part, Percy looks genuinely surprised by the outburst but doesn’t look afraid. His words are measured, careful; he doesn’t make any attempt to move. “My apologies. I didn’t realize.”

Astarion releases him, stepping away. “Realize what?” he spits the words out, regretting them the moment they leave his lips.

“That someone had called you that before. Or something like it, anyway. I’m truly sorry, I had no idea.” Percy’s words are quiet, grim even, as if he’s seen something he wishes he hadn’t. 

“You’re right; you don’t have any idea. I certainly wouldn’t expect a pampered noble from the Upper City to understand anyway.” 

Percy readjusts his tunic and shakes his head. “Do you truly believe that you have a monopoly on suffering just because you’re a creature of the night? Wealth and power obscure plenty of sins; I think you know that.”

He does, but he’s not about to agree with Percy on anything right now. “Says the noble working with the Guild. It seems to me that you simply didn’t know how to use them.” He’s being nasty, and he knows it. He just doesn’t care. 

Percy doesn’t take the bait. “No, but my father certainly did.”

The words hang heavy in the air as Astarion and Percy stare each other down. Astarion thinks he can guess Percy’s tale: rich, abusive father who forced him into whatever the ‘family business’ might be. The rebellious son allying himself with the criminal underworld to get back at him. Frankly, it’s rather boring and Percy is an insufferable prick, so Astarion has a hard time summoning an ounce of sympathy. And as much as he’d like to tell Percy just how little he cares, it wouldn’t exactly serve this particular alliance.  

“Congratulations, we’ve both suffered immensely. Let’s just call this a bonding moment in our unlikely alliance and move on, yes?”

Percy’s jaw tightens a bit, but otherwise, he remains infuriatingly aloof. “Suits me.”

The hallway twists and turns for a few hundred more feet, and as they walk, Astarion is aware of the din of voices rising in the distance. The hallway brightens considerably as the sound of people grows louder and then they turn a corner and find themselves in the middle of a large, low-ceilinged space. It might be the most unconventional tavern he’s ever been to, but he’s spent enough evenings in taverns to recognize one on sight. It seems a busy night, not an empty table to be seen. It’s exactly what he’d expect a criminal tavern in the Undercellar to look like, right down to the boisterous and dirty bodies that occupy it. Gods, he really doesn’t want to be here. 

“I always get brought along to the nicest places,” Astarion says with as much of a bored affect as he can manage. 

Percy shrugs. “It’s no Garden of Whispers, but certainly isn’t the worst Guild spot in the city.”

Astarion doesn’t know what the Garden of Whispers is or if it is in fact nicer than here, but he sidesteps the sticky stains of beer and worse on the stone floors as they weave through the crowd. He’d rather not breathe in this cramped and poorly ventilated space, but he is here for precisely that reason, so he keeps alert for any shift or change in the air that would indicate someone here is infected. Disappointingly, he gets nothing.

Percy expertly weaves through the crowd until they arrive at the far end of the room, where a dwarven man stands guard outside a simple wooden door. The dwarf has a warpick and a perpetual frown even when Percy greets him. 

“Derfir, wonderful to see you!” 

Derfir grunts in reply. 

Percy’s smile never fades. “The Fetcher is expecting me.”

“Wasn’t told you’d be bringing a friend,” Derfir says nodding to Astarion, his voice is gravelly and deep. The warpick he holds glints a little in the low light. Astarion can only assume it’s on purpose.  

Percy casts a glance at Astarion. “Must have slipped my mind when I sent over the request. Not to worry, my friend has been cleared by Nine-Fingers herself.”

Derfir glares at Percy, but it’s a testament to just how much power he must hold in Nine-Fingers’ court that Derfir steps aside and allows them both to pass. 

For all that the tavern was exactly what Astarion expected to find in the Undercellar, The Fetcher’s suite is nothing like he pictured. For one, it looks like it was decorated by someone’s grandmother who has gone partially blind. For another, he counts at least fifteen cats watching or sleeping or skittering up the many carpeted beams that cover the walls. 

The color scheme of the room seems to be a focus on pink and green, though there does seem to be quite a bit of love for gaudy floral patterns. It’s at least cleaner than the tavern just outside…but it is awfully quiet. The Fetcher must have paid the good money for an enchanter to block out the noise. 

“Percy!” A booming voice calls from an alcove up a handful of stairs. 

He follows a step behind Percy as they enter the proper office of The Fetcher. The Fetcher is a portly, older man whose gray hair lays haphazardly and in uneven clumps along his skull. He’s dressed in comfortable robes of deep blue and lounging at a desk, a fat, orange cat curled up in his lap. 

“As always, it’s very good to see you, Osgur,” Percy says with a slight bow. “This is my colleague, Astarion.” 

Osgur gestures at two chairs across from him at the desk. They were probably fine once, but the corners have been scratched to hells. “I wasn’t told to expect anyone other than you.”

Percy sits down comfortably. “I know, but I thought you’d want someone to corroborate my information firsthand.”

“Yes, you did say you had something very important to share,” Osgur says without interest or enthusiasm. But he’s barely looking at him or Percy, instead seems quite distracted by the cat he’s gently petting behind the ears. Even from here, Astarion can hear the cat purring.

Percy is undeterred. “It seems that the Caldwells have aligned themselves with what’s left of the Bhaalist cult.”

Osgur glances up, eyes narrowing. “That seems rather ridiculous. What would they stand to gain?”

Percy leans forward. “So now you understand my insistence on paying a visit.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, Astarion here is one of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. He’s been fulfilling a contract to the Fist, tracking down what’s left of the Bhaalists. Imagine the surprise he felt when one wouldn’t shut up about paying a visit to the Caldwells’.”

It’s neat, the lie. Laced with just enough truth and omitting only what they must. Osgur looks at Astarion. “That true?”

“It is,” Astarion replies smoothly. Osgur already trusts Percy, trusts the information, so his being here is more to parade the fact that Nine-Fingers has a hero of Baldur’s Gate at her beck and call, but not just hers, her inner circle. Percy might be helping him and Liv, but he’s also making a power play here. The realization annoys him. 

Osgur laughs then. “How very odd of the Caldwells. It seems that they’re harboring many enemies of the Guild these days.”

Percy’s friendly demeanor never falters, but something changes in his posture and shifts toward danger. “Who else are they harboring?”

Osgur grins. “The Zhentarim, of course.”

***

Astarion arrives the following evening practically bouncing with excitement. He’s in his armor and wondering if Liv knows which of the beautiful estates in the Upper City is the Caldwells. She does, and he suggests that they take a moonlit stroll in that direction. Before grabbing her cloak, she slips a vial of blood into her bag, just in case.

All of Astarion’s broody pensiveness from the previous evening seems to be banished. Liv is more than a little gratified that he’s the one dragging her out somewhere in the city in search of answers instead of the other way around.  

“So my contact with the Guild took me to the Undercellar to meet with The Fetcher, you heard of him?” Astarion explains as they walk the near-empty streets toward the Upper City. 

“I’ve heard the name.”

“Well, he owns about a million cats and told us that he doesn’t know anything about the Bhaalists, but apparently the Caldwells have been harboring what’s left of the Zhentarim.”

“The Black Network? I didn’t even realize they operated in Baldur’s Gate.” 

Astarion laughs. “Well, they barely do anymore. They allied themselves with the forces of the Absolute, and we decimated their group in the city when they tried to take over the Guild.”

Sometimes Astarion tells her the things he and the other heroes of Baldur’s Gate did with such casualness that it’s hard to believe that it happened at all. “You and your friends destroyed the Zhentarim cell in Baldur’s Gate…is that how you know Nine-Fingers?”

Astarion shrugs like it’s nothing, but his smug grin tells her he’s pleased she sounds appropriately impressed. “Yes. Well, Jaheira seemed to know here better than the rest of us, and even without the Zhentarim issue we probably would have ended up allied with them for the final battle with the Absolute.”

Right. Because he’d also traveled with Jaheira, yet another hero of the city. It still feels unbelievable. “Because Nine-Fingers is so well known for her generosity.”

“She’s actually a bit sentimental, at least when it comes to protecting the city.”

Sentimental was not the word she’d use for the woman who oversees most of the crime within Baldur’s Gate. “If you say so. What exactly are you hoping we find when we arrive at the Caldwells?” 

Astarion considers her question as if he hasn’t quite thought that far ahead. “I’m not entirely sure. If you were illegally harboring Bhaalists and Zhentarim members, how would you do it? What’s the connection between them? And…how does it connect to our blood problem?”

“First thing, I wouldn’t run a single thing out of a house in the Upper City.”

Astarion glances at her with interest. “And why not?” 

“Because servants talk. And you’ve also got the Watch to contend with, always enforcing a curfew.”

Astarion considers her words for a moment. “Perhaps the servants have been bought off or they have some other motivation. Cazador always had an endless supply of witless idiots who wanted nothing more than to serve him for the merest hope that he might turn them.”

“Some families have enough power to inspire loyalty out of love or fear, but that doesn’t mean people don’t see things and that they don’t talk. What happened to the servants…afterward?”

“A group of Gur monster hunters came along behind us to ensure that Cazador was defeated. I assume they killed the servants because we certainly didn’t, but they were dead when we left. Don’t go feeling bad for them, they were fanatics and they got what they deserved.”

The words are bitter, sharp things. Astarion’s voice is somehow unyielding and fragile all at once. She can tell that he doesn’t like this topic of conversation and is merely tolerating her questions about his former master. She tries not to think too much about why. “I believe you,” she says simply. 

The look he gives her is a complex one, but some of the hardness in his eyes has softened a bit. “So you think the Caldwells’ servants might be our best bet?”

“Perhaps. No one we’re interested in is coming in the front door at least, but they’ll have a servant’s entrance around the back. If I was smuggling people in and out, I’d do it with all of the other deliveries.”

The two of them skirt a Watch patrol that ambles slowly down the empty street. The Upper City has a strict curfew, though its denizens enjoy plenty of movement between homes and restaurants. The Watch is always there to helpfully escort the patriars around and also to ensure that no one who doesn’t look like they belong is quickly escorted elsewhere. 

This is the first time she’s been back in the Upper City since she left home, and there’s something oddly disquietening about seeing it now, after everything. She doesn’t tell Astarion that she’s been avoiding coming back here for so many reasons, but more because she’s afraid of somehow slipping back into old habits, into somehow missing what her life used to be. She doesn’t tell him any of that, but she wants to. 

“That’s the Caldwells’,” Liv says, pointing at the estate to their right. The land itself has been in the Caldwell family holdings for generations, but the gigantic estate that sits upon it is new. Well, as new as anything is in this part of town anyway. Lord Wyllyck had expanded on the estate after being passed over for the Council of the Four. Perhaps he hoped that a new entryway and wing of the house would distract everyone from the fact he did not become a duke. 

“For being one of the older families, I rather thought their estate would be more…tasteful.”

Even in the darkness, the gaudiness of the tower is hard to miss. The house looks like a sad imitation of a castle. “Well, the Caldwells always did have more wealth than sense. The ivy is new though, perhaps they’re hoping it will give it a rustic look.”

Astarion’s eyes light up with glee. “Oh, you’re secretly quite snobby, aren’t you? I wondered when those Upper City sensibilities might show themselves.”

Liv can’t help smiling back at him. “I just think if you build a massive tower onto your estate, you are probably inviting commentary on it, don’t you think?”

“Oh, most certainly. I just didn’t think you had it in you to be so disdainful toward anyone.”

She shrugs. “Most of the patriars are rich, insufferable assholes. It’s not mean if it’s honest.”

“Sounds rather personal.”

“It is. I was a rich, insufferable asshole too.” It’s the closest she’s come to telling him who she is, and now it’s not so much that she’s keeping it from him, and more that this isn’t the time or the place for that particular story. For a while, it was that she liked him not knowing, and she liked that he didn’t know, didn’t pass judgment. But now? She thinks it might be nice to be known, to be understood. 

“And look at you now, cavorting with vampires and sneaking around the Upper City.”

They take one of the wide side streets that leads around the back of the estate. Like many families in the Upper City, the Caldwells’ estate boasts large gardens and a smallish park (though smaller than ever due to the house expansion). Her own family home is surrounded by lush and perfectly manicured gardens. It might be the only thing she misses about that place. 

There’s a gate on this side of the estate, unpatrolled, because why would it be when the Watch are so very good at what they do? The Caldwells employ their own security like many of the families, but those guards stick closer to the estate itself.

Astarion silently inspects the lock and then picks it in a matter of seconds. Flashing her a smug smile, he quickly opens the gate for them to slip through. They duck into a copse of trees, the estate looming just up the gravel path. “So, I think we ought to sneak up toward the house and see what’s going on. Thoughts?”

“I can make us invisible,” she offers. 

“I thought you didn’t know that spell,” Astarion says with surprise. 

“And no wizard ever learned a new spell.”

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises this evening?”

She ignores him. “Do you want to break into their home or not?”

“Wait, how will we keep track of each other if we’re both invisible?” 

It’s a good point, but one easily solved. She extends the hand she doesn’t need for casting, holding it out to him. “Hold my hand. I’ll need to touch you to cast the spell anyway.”

He stares at her hand for a moment, as if he might be unsure what to do with it. “Alright then,” he manages. And then he places his hand in hers, locking their fingers together. His skin is cool against hers, the hold itself gentle. 

She offers him a slight smile as she whispers the incantation and moves the fingers of her free hand through the forms. They both disappear from sight. 

“Ready?” she asks. 

“Silently now,” Astarion whispers, and together, they creep up to the estate. 

Astarion’s hand in hers is a necessary and steady tether to reality; it’s rather off-putting to be moving but unable to see oneself. She watches the ground as she walks, trying to be purposeful in her steps, but it’s hard to gauge exactly where the next step will be without being able to see her own feet. She cannot see Astarion, but she knows he moves much more gracefully than she does, and far more silently. There might well be judgment in his eyes, but if he’s ever annoyed with her, he doesn’t say and his fingers stay securely entwined with hers.

The servants’ entrance is busy enough tonight. Families like the Caldwells like to pretend that maintaining an estate such as theirs is utterly effortless, and it may look that way on the outside, and that’s just because the main work is hidden, taken care of under cover of night. Linens are laundered, windows are washed, and even much of the gardening happens by lamplight so that the garden always looks pristine in the light of day. The quiet bustle is good for her and Astarion, it means it’s easy to slip in through the open door to the kitchen and silently watch the comings and goings. 

But there’s nothing out of the ordinary, no Bhaalists or Zhentarim about unless they are also washing and scrubbing and cleaning. 

Astarion gives her hand a slight squeeze, and then she can feel him lean in toward her ear. “Shall we continue inside?”

She nods before realizing he can’t see her. “Yes.”

The hallway outside the kitchen is well-lit and wide. Crates and boxes filled with fruits and vegetables and other foodstuffs sit pristine and waiting to be carted into the larder. As they turn one corner, they overhear a poor servant being told off by their superior for not folding the fresh linens properly. The kitchen and this area of the house is a maze of rooms and hallways and doors, and Liv is reminded that no great household exists without this: the invisible labor of so many people.

She’d grown up in a household much like this, attended to more often by servants, nannies, and tutors than her own parents. For so long, she hadn’t known any different. Had believed that the way her life was must be how it was for everyone. Until she didn’t. And ever since she’s never been comfortable with the utter excess. There are families in this same city who can barely afford to feed their children, but no matter, the Caldwells and the Vires and every other fucking family in the Upper City has a fully stocked larder so that they can have any food they could ever dream of asking for. 

She’s caught up enough in her anger and her rage that she barely notices the half-orc carrying a large crate turn down the hallway and only manages to get pressed up against the wall and out of the way because Astarion pulls on her hand. They stand there silently for a moment afterward, her pulse rushing in her ears. Then Astarion gives a slight tug on her hand and they keep moving. 

A few more turns and an open door leads them into a narrowing hallway that should lead to the house proper. It’s empty for now, but if anyone were to come down the hallway, it would be almost impossible for them to avoid bumping into Astarion and Liv. They move quickly, sacrificing silence for the chance to get out of there as quickly as possible. 

The door at the other end is closed, and they have no choice but to simply open it and slip through, hoping that they go unnoticed. Astarion lets the door creak open very slowly as if it has simply opened on its own after not being latched properly, and then they step into the house proper. 

This door has led them into a large, high-ceilinged hallway that she’s been in before. Art hangs on the walls and there are ornate end tables placed intermittently throughout the space. 

“Who’s there?” a voice calls, and she and Astarion immediately freeze. 

Behind them, the door hangs wide open and empty, and off to their right stands a young man, no older than fifteen or sixteen carrying a mop and bucket. Liv immediately wants to run, but knows that won’t serve them very well. 

Astarion tugs her hand in the opposite direction of the boy. The boy glares at the door for a moment, as if getting up the courage to go over to it. 

“You are not paid to stand around boy,” a voice calls. It is shrill and filled with condemnation and comes from further up the hallway. 

“The door…it just opened, sir.”

“You probably didn’t latch it properly, get back to work.”

Astarion pulls her toward an open doorway, the room beyond shrouded in darkness. She’s trying to be quick and quiet, but she hits the edge of the nearest end table with her hip, causing whatever priceless antique was situated on it to topple and fall with a loud thud. 

A heavy and uncomfortable silence falls in the hall. And then there’s the sound of footfalls approaching. Astarion pulls her deeper into the room, which appears to be some sort of study. They move to the far side of the room, backing up into the bookshelves and standing stock still. 

In the hall, she can hear someone putting the end table to rights. And then they’re at the door to the room, glancing inside. The man at the door is tall, all dark hair and sharp features. He steps into the room, throwing a sweeping glance around the space. 

Liv holds her breath. 

The man’s gaze catches on something, and he strides more fully into the room. Liv is sure he’s coming over to them, that somehow the spell has failed or her concentration has lapsed, but the man merely picks up a glass and plate that has been left behind on the desk near the window with a look of annoyance. 

She’s only aware of how tightly she’s holding to Astarion’s hand when the man leaves the room and she finally relaxes enough to breathe. 

Astarion lets out a quiet huff of laughter. “Gods, you’re terrible at this.”

“I’m so sorry,” she manages around her own silent laughter. Her cheeks warm, and part of her wishes she could dissolve directly into the floorboards. Perhaps there’s a spell for that. This is so ridiculous. What was she thinking? That they’d sneak around this house like some sort of spies and crack the case? How idiotic.

“We really should go before you get us caught,” he whispers. She expected more annoyance from Astarion, but he sounds amused if anything. 

He’s not wrong, but they’ve come all this way and they’ve absolutely nothing to show for it. “Hang on, I wanted to try something. I’ll need to drop invisibility for it though.”

“Not here then, in case our friend returns. Let’s find another room with a better window for us to duck out of after.”

Because they are not sneaking back through the house now. Which is fine, she’s not sure her heart could take it. “Lead on.”

They move more carefully now and they don’t see another soul. Astarion settles on a lavishly appointed morning room. Once inside, he drops her hand and locks the door behind them. She tries not to miss the contact. 

“We should be undisturbed in here. What did you want to try?”

“I have some blood in my bag; I want to see if it responds to anything.”

“Do it.”

The spell drops, and they are visible again in the darkness. Liv reaches into her bag, drawing out a vial. The blood within branches and moves as usual, but immediately bunches against the side, as if it is desperate to escape to connect to something…else. 

“Look,” she breathes. She takes a few steps around the room, watches as the blood shifts in response. “There’s definitely something in this house.”

The blood in the vial is the worst sort of compass, and it’s leading them deeper to the house. There’s no way that they can reasonably walk around this place following the blood without being caught. Perhaps it would be worthwhile if it meant answering some of their questions. She stares at the blood as if she might divine some answer from it, and then she watches as it pulses. 

The whole world around her seems to shift and sway, not unlike those earthquakes the city was plagued with during the crisis of the Absolute. 

“Oh hells, what was that?” Astarion hisses. “Did we just wake something up?”

They stand listening, but if whatever has happened has affected anyone else in the house at all, there’s no sign or sound of it. She wants to look around more, to get to the bottom of this, but they really ought to go before they get caught. 

Astarion seems like he’s read the conflict on her face. “You’ve been here before. Can you get us in legitimately?” 

It will mean leveraging her contacts and probably calling in a few favors, but the Caldwells have parties often. She thinks she could make it happen. “Yes.”

“We’ve got confirmation of at least one thing then,” Astarion says, stepping close. “Someone here is infected. Now, let’s get out of this atrociously decorated house.” 

She puts the blood back in her bag and begins recasting invisibility. As she does, Astarion softly and tentatively slips his hand back in hers. The moment before they both blink out of existence, she thinks she sees him looking at their entwined fingers with a sort of stunned fascination. 

But then they’re both gone.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Tip Your Driver

Week #15 Prompt: Modern AU | Word Count: 4115 | Rating: T | POV: Steve | Characters: Steve, Eddie, Wayne, Robin | Relationships: Steddie, Platonic Stobin | CW: Language, Non-Explicit Mentions of Sex | Tags: Modern Setting AU, Delivery Driver Steve, Rock Star Eddie, Meet Cute, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

Of all the shitty service jobs Steve's had, this one is definitely among the worst.

And he's been stuck working some pretty shitty jobs over the years, both before and after they moved out here. If he hadn't hated the one at the shoe store so much, because ew feet, he wouldn't be doing this in the first place. At least that was in one location, a steady paycheck, and not that far from their apartment. But, he didn't know that feet draw in some weirdos, so here he is, lugging other people's shit around, because he needs the money.

He just sighs as he pulls up in front of the address on the app. He double checks the posted numbers over the garage, and it seems to be the right place. Everything matches enough for him to call it good.

The house is really nice.

It's not in The Hills or anything, so he hadn't expected something so nice.

Now, Steve doesn't mind delivering groceries, not really, but this guy, Eddie it says, ordered a bunch of heavy shit, and the tip was only the mediocre bare minimum. Which, he wasn't that mad about, until right now, after he's seen the house this guy lives in. 

No, now he's pretty annoyed.

Whatever. Par for the fucking course from Fancy Pants Rich McGee over here. How the hell you spell chauffeur? Chauffeur. Indeed. Maybe he should make tiktoks about situations just like this. Robin keeps hounding him, saying if he'd just do it, that he could rake in a little extra cash. 

He's skeptical. 

Steve looks back at the house. 

Oh well. He left his money behind for a reason, the only thing he kept was his car because his parents were dumb enough to put it in his name. And honestly? It does him no good to be jealous or whatever the fuck he's feeling right now.

At least this guy had been responsive, and pretty nice, when answering Steve's messages about substitutions and out of stock items. Not everybody is, unfortunately, acting as if Steve is the one stocking the store himself.

Steve opens the back hatch of his car, and leans in to grab the first items to be left at the door, as requested. If they don't see you, they feel less bad about the shitty tip, Steve's learned.

But it's fine. Steve doesn't want to deal with anyone face-to-face today, anyway. Because he needs to hurry. He and Robin are already a couple days late on rent, and he's gotta try to make up the difference today. If not, they're gonna be fucking screwed. Why is this city so goddamn expensive to live in? It's bullshit.

"Let me help," comes the voice right next to him, and Steve jumps, hitting his head on the open hatch door.

Now, he's skipped over annoyed and has been vaulted straight into pissed off. 

Partly at himself for being so far in his own head that he didn't even hear this guy approaching, but mainly at this asshole for even being in his personal space in the first place. He needs to take about three big steps back.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!" the guy shouts, and Steve hasn't even seen this asshole yet, but he knows he hates him. 

"Most people don't help unload the car," Steve snaps, turning to look at him, and the guy is looking back at him with big, big brown eyes. Robin would call them doe eyes, without a doubt. Well, fuck. Fine. Steve softens his tone, "It's okay. I just wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," Eddie says again, still too close. "I'm Eddie. I ordered the groceries. Can I help? Please?"

Steve nods, and lets him reach in and grab his own case of water, while Steve picks up a few of the sacks. It's the least the guy can do, now that he's given him a headache. Literally.

Steve carries the sacks towards the porch, and leans over to put them down.

"Just come on in," Eddie says, and the door swings open, banging against the rubber doorstop on the wall.

"Don't bang the door!" comes the yell from the other room, and Steve peers into the house and sees an older guy sitting in a lift chair, with a walker in front of him.

"It's my door, old man, I'll bang it if I want to!" Eddie yells back, but there's no heat there. Steve can hear the teasing affection in his voice, and Steve can't help but smile.

"Don't come crying to me when there's a hole in your wall. Can you patch drywall? Because I can't right now," the guy, probably Eddie's dad the way they're bickering, snaps.

Eddie ignores the question from his dad.

"C'mon, this way," Eddie says, looking over his shoulder at Steve, as Steve lingers on the step. 

Well, no. That's not. You don't go in stranger's houses. It's, like, rule one. And just good common sense. Which apparently Steve has none of, because he does follow Eddie into the house. 

Robin will kill him, if this Eddie dude doesn't kill him first. 

Steve puts the bags down on the counter, and heads back out to make another trip, Eddie following, "That's my uncle. He's just crotchety that he had to have his broken hip replaced, and now he's dependent on me for the near future."

Steve laughs, "Well, maybe don't bang the door and he won't be crotchety."

"You heard me. It's my door," Eddie says, smiling wide. He's pretty, very pretty. Long, dark hair tied up on top of his head, and heavy tattoos all along his arms, creeping up onto his neck.

He's honestly gorgeous. 

Steve wonders if he's famous. He doesn't look familiar, but he looks like he could be famous. And his house is pretty fucking nice. This is L.A. Everybody is somehow famous in L.A. Except for Steve and Robin. They are definitely not famous.

Unless he's a tech bro? But he doesn't really look the type.

Either way, famous or not, Steve smiles back, can't not, not when he looks like that, then asks, teasing him, "Well do you know how to patch drywall?" 

"Fuck no. But I could hire someone to fix it if the door knob somehow gets through the stopper."

"Well, at least you have a plan," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

"He just hates the city. Hates my house. Hates everything. Except me. He loves me," Eddie says, as he grabs a case of Gatorade in one hand and the case of pork and beans in the other.

That's a lot of beans. 

"That's a lot of beans," Steve says aloud, even if he doesn't mean to, even if he knows better than to comment on other people's groceries. 

But Eddie laughs. "Tell me about it. Man likes what he likes, though. There's no changing him now." 

Steve nods, grabbing another handful himself. It's nice that Eddie is taking care of his uncle.

"I'm not usually home much, hence all the groceries being ordered at once. Sorry about that. The cabinets were pretty bare, and I just didn't want to leave him home alone. He's still a fall risk, even if he keeps insisting he's not."

"That's okay, I understand. Big orders are more common than you'd think," Steve says, stepping back into the house that he's probably not going to get murdered in, thankfully.

Big orders are common, he's not lying about that, and more often than not, the tips offered for shopping hundreds of items, are less than you'd think. So, this order wasn't even out of the ordinary. Not really. That's why Steve took it. Some pay was better than none, especially today, that's for sure.

"Still. I'm grateful. You saved my ass today, man," Eddie answers. 

"Well, it's my job," Steve says, and Eddie laughs.

They finish bringing everything in, and Steve nods at Eddie, "Okay. I think that does it."

"Here," Eddie says, and plucks an envelope off the counter, "I always worry that your tips in the app will get eaten up by the corporate assholes taking their cut off the top. So. Cash is king."

Steve takes the envelope. A tip he doesn't have to report? Why thank you, Eddie. 

"Thank you. You didn't have to do this, or help bring it in, you know? But I appreciate both."

Eddie smiles, "Thank you for getting all that shit for us. We both appreciate it. Don't we Wayne?"

Wayne grumbles, but Steve's pretty sure he doesn't appreciate anything right now. He knows he wouldn't either, if he had broken his hip.

They say their goodbyes, and that's that. Steve will never see Eddie with the pretty eyes ever again.

At the next red light, Steve opens the envelope, expecting an extra ten or twenty bucks, maybe, but is shocked to see that there are three, insanely crisp one hundred dollar bills inside. 

Holy shit. 

That's way more than he usually makes in a single day. Two days, even. Just by delivering one order that he didn't think was gonna pay well at all.

And he got to look at a hot dude for a minute or two. 

It's enough to cover what they were short on the rent, even. It might not have felt like a lot of money to Eddie, if he handed it over so readily, but it feels life-changing to Steve, right now. He remembers when three hundred bucks wasn't anything to him either, back when he had access to all his parents' money and all their unhappiness.

Now, it's different. 

Robin's gonna shit.

Hot damn.

Thank you, Eddie.

"Booyah," Steve says, slapping the envelope on the counter. 

Robin picks it up, and thumbs through it. It has Eddie's tip, and the few extra bucks he picked up during the rest of the day. 

"Oh my god, no way! Where did you get this much cash, dingus? Are you turning tricks on the side now?" Robin asks, and Steve laughs. 

"Yes. I thought I'd see what I could get for this ass," Steve says, turning and pushing his ass outwards in her direction. 

She doesn't even look, but says, "Honestly, you might be worth more than this, as much as I hate to admit it," she comments dryly, and he smiles. 

"No, some rich dude that ordered a bunch of heavy shit gave me a big tip," Steve explains.

"That's what she said," Robin teases, and her eyes are still wide as she looks at the bills in her hand, "Seriously, though. Thank you, rich, old dude," Robin says. 

"Rich, but not old. I think he might have been famous in some way. YouTuber? Musician? I don't know. Nice house." 

"Well. Describe him. Let's Google him," Robin says, wiggling her fingers in the air like she's stretching before this big task she's about to undertake.

Steve isn't sure searching for him is gonna work, but he lets her try, "Eddie. Probably a little older than us. Lots of tattoos." 

"Was it Eddie Vedder? Please tell me you know who Eddie Vedder is, dingus?" 

He knows who Eddie Vedder is, Jesus. 

He gives her a look, "Not that old. And he was heavily tattooed. Is Eddie Vedder tattooed? Plus, this guy had dark eyes. Really dark. And no flannel." 

She keeps looking on her phone, showing him options, "Him?" 

No. 

"Him?" 

No. 

"Him?" 

"No. Not him." None of them are. Nobody she shows him is the same guy. So, he thinks of all the famous Eddies he knows of. 

"Was it Eddie Van Halen?" Steve asks. 

"Since he's dead, probably not," Robin says. 

"Oh," Steve says. He didn't remember that. And he'd be too old, anyway. "We're looking for someone that looks kinda like young Eddie Van Halen. But with tattoos."

"You're obsessed with the tattoos. Was it Ed Sheeran? He has lots of tattoos," Robin asks, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Robin. I think I know what Ed Sheeran looks like. This man was not ginger. Dark hair, dark eyes. And he was American. Maybe this guy is just rich? Not famous at all. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway. We'll just thank him from afar for saving our asses today." 

Robin sighs heavily, and puts her phone down, "If you'd got yourself a rich boyfriend we'd have it made all the time." 

"Well, I'll work on that," he says sarcastically. 

At least for now, they can pay another month's rent. That's a big win. Huge.

Maybe they can keep their heads above water, now.

And they do, by some sort of miracle. It was only three hundred bucks, but that was enough of a windfall to get them back in the black. And somehow they've stayed ahead since, for nearly two whole months. They haven't been this stable financially since they arrived in town.

Today, Steve flips through the different apps he drives for, trying to decide what order to take, when he sees a huge pizza order. The order is absurdly big, but the tip is decent, and picking up a stack of pizzas is infinitely easier than shopping a whole-ass grocery list. Steve's just seriously questioning if it'll all fit in his car.

He's gonna risk it.

Luckily, it does, but there are pizza boxes piled high in every seat and the rear. He definitely doesn't have hot bags for all of them. Hopefully he doesn't get caught in traffic.

The area seems familiar, but when Steve pulls up in front of the house, he knows why. Eddie. Only, the last time it was groceries, not food, that he delivered here. 

There are vehicles everywhere. Clearly some sort of party, Steve thinks, to require this amount of pizza. And as soon as Steve steps out of the car, Eddie is out of the house, being trailed by three other, mostly leather-clad, guys. It'd look threatening, if Eddie wasn't smiling so big.

"Steve! When I saw Steve was my driver, I was like, maybe? But Steve's a common name, and there was no picture, so I didn't get my hopes up, but hey! It is you!" Eddie shouts, moving to the back of the car, "Watch your head this time, sweetheart," Eddie adds, and Steve is sure he's blushing. 

He just stands there kind of dumbly, watching as Eddie commandeers his order right out of Steve's vehicle. Eddie's definitely unusual. 

Eddie hands stack after stack of pizzas to the waiting guys, making them carry the bulk of it. And Steve watches as they ferry them off towards the house, Steve not having to even lift a finger this time. 

Now, it's just him and Eddie standing on the curb. 

Eddie holds out an envelope, and Steve looks at it.

"Man, thank you, but you tipped so well last time, you really don't have to again."

"I want to. You provide a service, I want to pay for that service," Eddie says, shaking the envelope, and Steve reluctantly takes it. Whatever is inside, will really help him and Robin stay ahead. It did last time. He's not really in a position to say no, even as well as they are doing at the moment.

"Thank you, truly," Steve says, tucking it into his pocket, "How's your Uncle Wayne's hip?"

Eddie smiles, so fucking wide, "You remembered! He's good. Great. Headed home soon, which I'm certain he's thrilled about. He's definitely never coming here again. I'll have to go home when I want to see him."

Steve laughs, "Glad to hear he's better, if annoyed."

"Do you want to stay?" Eddie asks, "We're having a little going away party for him. The more the merrier. Or, is your shift not over? You could come back?"

Steve doesn't have a shift, he can clock in and out to take orders as he pleases, and right now he'd really like to accept Eddie's offer. Even if it's probably just Eddie being polite. A pity ask, if you will.

"You don't have to invite your delivery driver into your house, you know? I could be a murderer."

"Unlikely," Eddie says, "and I'm not inviting my delivery driver. I'm inviting you, Steve."

Steve thinks over the options, and then nods. He can go in for a bit. If he's uncomfortable, he can get right back on the clock, no harm, no foul.

"Okay, let me park," Steve says, and he does just that. Putting the envelope of cash into the glove box without opening it. He doesn't want Eddie to see him scrounging through it. That feels tacky.

The pizza boxes are already open on every available flat surface in the kitchen and living room, and Eddie shoves a paper plate into Steve's hands, "Eat. Drink. Be merry."

Steve nods, and grabs a slice from the nearest box. He's not picky.

The house is full of people, and a lot of them seem vaguely famous. Like this is an industry thing, instead of a going away party for an old man with a newly not-broken hip.

Steve's worked enough of these events. They tried the catering thing for a while, and it was fine, for Steve anyway. Robin was just a little too clumsy to carry trays of dainty hors d'oeuvres around rooms filled with beautiful women in expensive dresses.

This isn't any of that though. This is cases of beer being chilled in kiddie pools, and dozens of pizzas. Fancy house, but not a fancy party. Steve spots Eddie's uncle sitting by himself on a couch, a beer resting on his knee and a paper plate of pizza on the arm rest.

Nobody else is sitting by him, so Steve goes over, "Can I sit?"

Wayne grumbles something that could be yes, could be no, Steve's not wholly sure, but he chooses to go ahead and sit down beside him.

"How's your hip?" Steve asks.

"Who are you?" Wayne asks, looking at him, suspicious.

"Steve. Uh, a delivery driver? I've brought a couple orders to you guys now. And Eddie invited me to stay."

Wayne nods, and goes back to his plate, "Hip's fine. Ready to go home."

"Where's home?" Steve asks, and he's not sure why. Clearly this man has no interest in making small talk with him.

"Indiana," Wayne says. 

"Hey! For me, too. Small world."

"What're you doing in California, then?" Wayne asks. "Trying to get into show biz?"

"No. No way," Steve laughs, "Not for me. Uh, my best friend? Robin? She wanted to move out here. Wanted an adventure. And I wanted her to be happy. So. Here we are."

Wayne nods.

"Did you break your hip in Indiana and Eddie dragged you all the way out here?" Steve asks.

"No," Wayne answers, "I came to visit him and broke my hip before I got out of the airport. This is why I don't take vacations."

Steve smiles, "That's bad luck. Sorry."

Wayne nods his head, and Steve assumes that's the end of this conversation, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

"You're Steve? The one that brought the groceries a few weeks ago?" Wayne asks.

"That's me," Steve confirms.

"He's been talking about you non-stop. I was like, just order more groceries. So, he tried. It was never you. Now we have more food than he'll ever eat. Probably need to take it to the food pantry."

Steve grins, looking down at his plate. He isn't sure what Eddie would want to see him for. They definitely aren't on the same level.

Eddie is across the room, talking wildly with his hands.

"He's a good kid," Wayne says, quietly, "All this? Not him. Not all of him, anyway."

Steve looks back at Wayne, "What do you mean?"

"All this fancy shit. I'm proud of him that their music has done so well. But he's a good kid. And he just wants to be happy."

"Don't we all," Steve says.

"People take advantage. If you're here for the money, for the fame. Just. Move on. Eddie would give it to you. But he wants something more. Needs it, I think."

Steve thinks he could be something more. But he doesn't really have anything to offer Eddie in return, and maybe heeding Wayne's warning wouldn't be such a bad idea. What business does he have getting involved with a famous musician? None. 

"Got it," Steve says. "Well, I'm glad your hip healed."

Wayne grumbles at that, and it makes Steve smile.

Steve puts his trash in the can, and looks around. The hallways are lined with platinum records, news articles, and he leans close to read the name. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin. He's never heard of them. He'll have to look them up on Spotify. 

He doesn't belong here. 

He takes one last look at Eddie. 

Eddie Munson of Corroded Coffin.

He tries to memorize his name, his band, so he can tell Robin later, solving their little mystery.

And then he ducks out of the front door, walking down the long driveway towards his car. 

"Hey, Steve! Wait!" Eddie yells from behind him, and Steve slows. 

"Hey, man. Thanks for having me," Steve says, turning to look at him.

"You're leaving already?"

Steve nods, "Work, you know."

Eddie nods, "Okay. Well. Come back. Anytime."

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, because he's pretty sure Eddie means that, "Enjoy your party. I'm glad Wayne's hip is good as new."

Steve turns to keep walking.

"Steve. Uh," Eddie says, and Steve considers pretending he didn't hear him. It'd be easy. The music is loud, probably pissing off the neighbors, but Eddie keeps talking. "Listen. I like you. Yeah, I know. I barely know you. But. We got good vibes, man. Can you not feel that?" Eddie asks, and when Steve turns to look back at him, he sees that Eddie's hands are shoved deep into his pockets. 

He looks nervous.

He's famous, clearly rich, and beautiful. He could have anyone he wants. But he looks nervous talking to Steve. Who delivered the pizza. Make it make sense. Goddamn. 

"Eddie," Steve says.

"Do you not feel it? If you don't, I'll leave you alone. I swear. But if you do…"

Steve nods, "I do. But I'm a delivery driver. I live in a tiny apartment that I share with my best friend. We barely make ends meet. You could have anyone. Why would you want me?"

"Because I like you," Eddie says, "and I want to get to know you. I didn't grow up with anything either. I'm not old money. I'm new money. Brand new. So. I'm not that out of touch yet."

Steve smiles. He's old money, he just doesn't have access to it anymore. Eddie's new money, and doesn't know how to handle it. They'd be quite the pair.

Eddie keeps talking, trying to wheedle a date out of him, "Just. Let me take you out. Just us. Let's see if there's anything here," he says, motioning his hand between the two of them.

Steve wants to, he really does. 

"Okay," Steve finally says, "nothing fancy. A normal date."

"We can definitely do that," Eddie says, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. "Let me give you my number."

Steve rattles off his number, Eddie texts him, and it buzzes against Steve's thigh. Already coming through, showing he's serious.

"Dinner? Movie? Bar? You name it," Eddie offers, eyes never leaving Steve's.

"Dinner's good. Nowhere fancy, though," Steve warns. 

"Do I look like I like fancy places?" Eddie asks, looking down at his own clothes.

And Steve's eyes cut back to the gorgeous house.

Eddie laughs, "Fair enough. But I don't."

"Can you go out in public? Or are you too famous?" Steve asks. "I'm not familiar with your band, sorry."

Eddie laughs, "I think I like that you aren't, sweetheart. That means that maybe you like me, just for me. And I can go out. Nobody cares about me all that much."

Steve nods. Alright. They can go on one date, and see how it goes. 

Well. That's how it goes.

Very, very well.

So well, that Steve's now satisfied and loose in Eddie's bed, when Eddie laughs, rolling into Steve's shoulder, face pressed to his skin. Lips kissing his shoulder, biting at him gently. Playing with him.

"What?" Steve asks, smiling as Eddie slides his hand into his, squeezing. "What's so funny."

"I tipped my driver," Eddie chokes out, laughing around each word, pressing his crotch into Steve's thigh.

Steve laughs, looking down at this ridiculous man clinging to him, "That you did. And damn well."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[scivors]

My genuine head canons about Eddie Gluskin that I wrote in my notes app:

I'd like to add a little disclaimer: these head canons involve some heavy topics, so, if you're not comfortable, you aren't obligated to stay.

Also, I do not support any of Eddie's actions..just to make it clear..

ANYWAYS I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO THIS SO HERE WE GO

Like the idea of him being a tailor (if you don't know what that means it basically means a person whose occupation is making or altering suits, jackets, and dresses typically to fit a particular person.) He's so creative and almost patient enough to work with materials. I also like to think that's something he shares in common with his mother who must've taught him a good few things about creating and measurements..

He'll hum a little tune to himself as he's working, makes him concentrate more..

It's not always, though, sometimes he loses his patience if the sewing machine isn't cooperating like it should be..

Although his whole character is based on "love" and wanting to find a special bride who loves him just as much as he loves his bride, it's sad to say that his needs will never be fulfilled..

What I mean by this is that not only are his delusions serving him zero purpose but not only that, hurting anyone that comes across him cause he's so desperate to be loved. However, these delusions could be a result of a coping mechanism from all the trauma he went through.

It's like trying to break the generational trauma but instead making it far worse than you could imagine..

So, being severely damaged as he already is, he takes it upon himself to somehow create this little world where he has a family of his own, a beautiful wife and children.

I also like to think of him being trapped in his little cell where he has nothing but a bed and his own little imagination.., staring off into either the ceiling or some random thing and just sits there..,maybe even talking to himself or laughing..

- His mother's lack of acknowledgement for what had happened to him when he was small made him develop some sense of protective nature as a fully grown adult especially when he mentions the topic about having his own children..

- "He appears so charming and friendly" is what he wants some to believe, he cares about how he presents himself time to time..

He wants you to believe he can be good, a perfect groom, a perfect father he never had. He will show you this people pleasing, gentle, kind and loving personality before he completely switches up and becomes the opposite..

- So, about the love part. Some describe him as overly obsessive, which don't get me wrong, he is. Though, it might seem like this isn't much of a big deal to him cause he will show you every ounce of love he has and shower you with it, if you plan on giving yourself to him that is. You'd be his number one priority, you'll never feel like a choice, you are his everything.. It's always like living the dream from the very start, it'll feel like a movie in Hollywood but slowly yet surely this doesn't last how it should...

Imagine being taken care of by someone as charming and loving as he is, imagine him calling you loving words in his English accent and no I'm not just talking about "darling" , I'm talking about :

"Are you alright, my love?"

"Your virtues have so strangely taken up my thoughts.."

"I think you're stunning.."

"You look as pretty as always.."

He is old fashioned, so he will eventually take it upon himself to act like a gentleman around you, he will make the first move, gets you flowers, he plans everything since he would love spend time with you.. It's all about getting to know eachother..

You'd never have to do such work, stay at home and he will do all the providing. 50/50 chance he comes back home with some nice flowers or small gifts..,like I said, old fashioned..

His thoughts would only be you. His number one priorit would always be you. But,... it's not you?..

You're you but also you're not?..

His mind creates this character of you, it's what he's expecting from you, how you act, how you talk, how you dress, how you walk..it's what he expects from you rather accepting you for who you are. This results to a lot of guilt tripping..

And I know, it sucks, but should've thought about it that before going for a psychopathic maniac that's in an asylum for a reason..

- It's quite easy to spot this one, but one of his most common triggers is when someone makes him think they're going to abandon him.

"I can't be alone!.."

By the way, his height and his strength is actually so scary that if you do eventually try to abandon him by walking away, he'll break the door down, he'll find you, he'll do unspeakable things to either you or the furniture that's in his way of trying to get close to you

(Speaking of which: I've noticed a lot of people using the term "Yandere" for an individual with mental illness. Please, stop that..)

Outside of the asylum I like to think his sense of fashion is probably top tier old money, just casual and nice..

Probably likes taking night walks with his nice coat on. That'll keep anyone from expecting him to be a psychopath..

Originally, the man ((((COULD)))) be from England, however, his parents decided to move countries from Europe to America cause they probably liked it more that way..

Eddie is definitely those kinds of people who have that one parent that's always been treating them like shit their entire childhood but still hold a special place in their heart for them cause they don't have anyone else.. That's Eddie towards his mother, I mean, he was her son...all he had was her and deep down he believes that, there was a point she wanted to help..(Even though her absence permanently damaged him)..

But somehow..that caring nature, that charming side of him, that right there, that came from her..

[1d1195]

Dolcezza II

Read the first part here: Dolcezza

Glad we liked the first part so much! More tooth-rotting cuteness, sweetness, fluff, and the tiniest bit of angst.

This part (as is tradition with my second parts) doesn't really make a whole lot of cohesive sense, but the next parts should be a little more put together as a whole.

~6.7k words

“I think I would let her break m’heart,” he told Niall while they cleaned the kitchen at the end of the night about a month after she had moved in. His infatuation never wavered. But he admired her from afar. “I’d thank her,” he smiled to himself as he pretended the gravity of such a statement was a joke. Not nearly as big a deal as Niall knew it to be.

He knew he was staring. From the second he laid eyes on her, the staring started. There was no other way to describe what had happened. Harry was overwhelmed with how pretty she looked. She emanated beauty and kindness like perfume. Harry was sick with how much he adored it. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was her sole purpose in life just to look so beautiful and make him, specifically, speechless. Principessa rolled off his tongue the moment he saw her. Even though she was stunned and uttering a sad little sound of injury that he regrettably caused when she tumbled to the ground. It was instinctive. She was a princess. It was obvious.

But after only a few moments of time spent together... Maybe it was only obvious to everyone but her.

Or maybe Harry was just so overwhelmed it was just one of those things. He wasn’t kidding when he told her. Compulsive. It seemed wrong to call her anything but Principessa.

In the time that she moved in, to the present, Harry was the butt of most jokes when it came to his infatuation with her. “Is that our Principessa?” Niall teased Harry frequently. Especially when he looked longingly out the front window. The restaurant was set up so there was an opening from the kitchen peering over the main room. It wasn’t the biggest restaurant in the world, but people lined up on the sidewalk in any weather every Thursday, Friday, Saturday night without fail. The other nights were comfortably busy, and Harry was so grateful to work in a place as nice as this. Antonio was the best boss and Niall was one of his best friends.

Even more of a reason Niall teased Harry when the pretty girl got in and out of her car parked out front of the building with her phone pressed to her ear or something on her hip carrying it up the steps to her place. It took every ounce of Harry’s self-control not to run out there and take her stuff from her in the middle of cooking something every time he saw her so that he could help her.

Harry knew Niall was kidding but he didn’t like the way he said it. The teasing didn’t feel nice, and she deserved—no needed—everything that had to do with her be the nicest and sweetest thing in the world. “Ni, she’s so pretty and sweet,” he reminded him as they chopped the veggies for the day. Niall smirked at his friend who was staring at carrots and onions like they were the features of her face.

“She is pretty,” he nodded knowingly, toning down the sound of teasing in his voice. It was nice to hear Harry talk about someone like that. It had been a long while since he cared for someone the way he seemed to care for her already. Niall saw how captivated Harry was by her the second he saw her. He knew his friend was totally done for; but it was nice.

For a number of years (and after several bad bouts of heartache) Harry claimed he didn’t have time to fall in love. He worked six nights a week. On his day off, he often found himself at the restaurant anyway because his best friends were there. Work didn’t feel like work for Harry. So, dating would have been a distraction, a complication. Something Harry couldn’t fathom because of how busy his work kept him.

But Niall knew it was really that Harry thought it was too much to bear another heartbreak. Heartbreak that may not even happen, as Niall liked to point out. But Harry couldn’t see it that way.

Not until she was there, knocking Harry off his feet literally and figuratively.

“I think I would let her break m’heart,” he told Niall while they cleaned the kitchen at the end of the night about a month after she had moved in. His infatuation never wavered. But he admired her from afar. “I’d thank her,” he smiled to himself as he pretended the gravity of such a statement was a joke. Not nearly as big a deal as Niall knew it to be.

Harry thought it was fate he always managed to catch sight of her whenever she was outside the restaurant; usually at her car grabbing something or putting it away. Other times, when she entered the restaurant, he was always able to see her kindly holding the door for an older couple or waving to a small child. Harry thought it was some unknown power that drew him to her and made him catch her eye every time she was within vision and distance.

She gave a wave to the host and sauntered through the main room to get to the bar just on the other side of the opening to the kitchen. A perfect view for him to admire her while he peeled veggies for Niall to chop throughout the night.

“Hi Principessa,” he smiled at her through the opening from the kitchen, just as he did every time that she situated herself in his view. Maybe Harry was reading into it. He knew he was a little lovesick with the idea of her. He tried to dial it back as much as possible so as not to scare her. But there were some things he simply couldn’t help.

On Wednesdays, she sat at the bar, ordered a drink, and ate some food. She always asked for a side of extra garlic bread and always asked if she could have a bigger portion (the angel she was, she promised she would of course pay more; she just wanted some for lunch the next day). Harry loved Wednesdays so he could gaze at her extensively from that opening to the kitchen. She usually read a book or chatted with whoever was bartending. Every so often, she would strike up a conversation with someone near her making them fall hopelessly in love with her as well. It was usually a sweet older woman who wanted to set her up with her son who was much too young for her.

Harry couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that wracked his body when someone else flirted with her. There was a bit of possessiveness to his infatuation, but he was good at separating himself from it. She wasn’t his and it was okay. If she wanted to date someone, it had nothing to do with him. He would continue to admire her from afar.

But then she would make eye contact with him. He was already looking at her and her eyelids would droop a little and she would look up at him shyly through the prettiest eyelashes he had ever seen, and he hadn’t once thought about eyelashes in his entire life. “Hi Harry,” she smiled so prettily, it made his stomach flip. He felt like a child, the way his cheeks warmed to hear his name on her lips. He busied himself with another task—stirring the tomato sauce to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pot while it simmered. If he could, he would have stared through that opening and watched her the whole time.

Harry was considering quitting his kitchen job so he could be a bartender on Wednesdays just to be another ten feet closer to her. If it weren’t for her kind smile and her sweet voice, Harry would think he was being a bit of an overwhelming presence. But other than making sure all her furniture was properly anchored, he tried to maintain a normal distance from her and only asked her how she was doing each time he saw her. The last thing Harry wanted was to worry her about his presence in her life. Yes, he was effectively in love with her just at first glance. But he wasn’t so enveloped in the feeling that he couldn’t separate himself from it. He would much rather be friends with her than scare her with unwanted attention.

“Go talk to her, it’s slow,” Niall encouraged.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice and hurried to behind the bar and made small talk with her. It took a half hour, and her smile made his stomach churn in the best way. He hadn’t felt this way in so long and he was so glad she was there.

It was unbelievably easy to talk to her. They talked about the restaurant and how her job was going. It was nice she didn’t have to commute far and got to work from home most of the week. She inquired about the coffee shop up the road and if he had any good recommendations for shopping. Harry leaned against the bar and handed over the food from Niall from the window. She asked him if this is what he always wanted to do. He wasn’t sure but he liked it a lot and for now couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He attended culinary school and Antonio was one of the guest chefs in one of his classes. Harry took to him immediately and wanted to work for him and help however he could. He took over the old Italian bakery that was here before him, from his parents and turned it into Dolcezza and while he kept a lot of recipes it was nice to make it a place of his own.

Harry wanted to spend the rest of his life at the bar gazing at the pretty girl while she ate her eggplant parmesan and garlic bread. He wanted to ask her more about herself. Because Harry got the feeling that people didn’t really check on her. There was also an uncomfortable look in her eye when he asked about her job and her life. It was more evident by the moving herself in nearly alone.

“D’you need help with anything, kitten?” He asked.

The furrow between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth the wrinkle there. Harry seemed distraught. But the idea that he was asking if she needed anything made her uncomfortable in a way that was hard to explain. Her parents relied on her a lot—the oldest of three. Her younger siblings relied on her a lot too. Her sister was always sending her essays to read. Her brother asked her for help on his math assignments at least once a week.

They lived more than an hour away from her and the only time she saw them was when she was the one going to visit them. While there, it made her anxious to see her sister leave their parents’ house, a mess from all of her belongings spread on every available surface. Visiting her brother made her anxious for a multitude of other reasons. She thought he was on the fast track to a drinking problem and was constantly reminding him of such to the point he would say things like “don’t worry, Mom.”

She loved her family. There was no question about it. But it was nice to have space between them. It was hard to move away during college and watch them struggle for a few months without her presence to essentially keep everyone in line. Her mother called her the project coordinator of the family. Stuff didn’t get done without her. It felt like she had to tell her mom and dad how to parent her younger siblings a lot of the time. It was exhausting.

So, space was good, regardless of how much she worried about them and their ability to take care of themselves.

As for her friends, Eleanor moving away was worse than any heartbreak she had ever experienced. It was fresh still and she felt really alone without her there to paint her toes or read trashy romance novels while they had spa nights where Louis would bring them pizza. Other than Eleanor, her friends walked all over her. Eleanor watched it firsthand and was happy to tell her it was happening.

She had to separate herself from the group as well—especially once they finished school because if she didn’t, she would probably be cooking dinner for some of them each week or doing their grocery shopping because they were too lazy.

She had done everything on her own for most of her life. She rarely even asked Eleanor for anything. Eleanor usually forced her help onto her which was a necessity in Eleanor’s eyes.

So no. She didn’t need Harry’s help with anything.

But she sort of wished she did, just so he would chat with her for longer.

“Hey Harry,” Niall called through the window. Harry took a quick glance around the restaurant seeing the dinner rush filling in quickly. Unfortunately, he had to get back to Niall’s side and leave her.

He enjoyed talking to her so much, enjoying her gentle laughter. He wanted to give her a kiss good night.

For as long as he could remember, Harry’s favorite color was always orange or blue. But now his favorite color was pink—the color of her cheeks whenever he flirted with her. “Have a good night, Principessa,” he smiled. A wink to replace a kiss he so desperately wanted caused the color to flood her cheeks and he was so grateful that he got to see that pretty, favorite color of his.

“Night, Harry,” she looked so utterly pretty it made him feel like he was melting.

*

Leonardo was Antonio’s four-year-old little boy. He was full of energy and life and made the restaurant a mess when he was around. His skin was olive-toned and with dark wavy hair. He looked like the prince of Italy and acted like it when he arrived.

It was all hands-on deck when he was around. One second without supervision he would be under a table in the main room or sneaking a meatball from the sauce in the kitchen on a plate ready to be served. At least, that’s how it usually was. Today, Leo was situated at the bar coloring in an activity book with the help of the sweet angel that Harry didn’t think he could possibly love more. But somehow here she was, a delight with kids and another piece of Harry was completely captured by her lovely persona.

“Hey Leo, who’s y’pretty date?” Harry asked ruffling his hair as he passed into the kitchen. Leo held up the book, a few of the markers he was using fell to the floor. He winked at the sweet girl as she hopped down from her seat to grab them. Her face turned that gorgeous pink he dreamed about at his sweet words and the little gesture he made toward her. She grinned back at him with a little eye roll at his kind compliment.

Leo giggled sweetly as he showed off his coloring book. “We’re coloring.”

“Oh? S’lovely. Can y’color something for me t’hang in the kitchen?” Harry asked. He nodded excitedly and went to work on the next page. “Y’on Leo duty?”

“M’babysitting,” Leo explained before she could get a word out.

“Excusa,” Harry chuckled. “You’re babysitting, Leo?” Harry repeated, while she put the markers back in front of Leo and got back into her seat.

“He is,” she smirked. “Mumma and Dadda came in to eat with Leo. Their sitter cancelled and they mentioned they haven’t been on a date since they found out about the baby almost four months ago,” she explained. “So, I asked if Leo would want to keep me company tonight.”

Harry’s heart warmed as it always did because of her kindness. Selflessness. It was overwhelming. “S’nice, Principessa.”

“Prin-pessa?” Leo asked, his little lisp messing up the nickname. He turned his attention back to the girl beside him with wide eyes. She shook her head at Harry.

“Oh yeah, Leo,” Harry nodded affirmatively ignoring her little brush off—noticing that her cheeks were once more warming at his nickname for her. “Don’t y’think she looks like a princess?”

He nodded in agreement. She rolled her eyes again, but the smile and pink of her cheeks remained on her face, which made Harry feel like he had won the lottery. “I’m hungry,” Leo told her.

“Yeah? Want some spaghetti?” She asked.

He nodded. “Can I help make it?”

She glanced behind her at the rush of people coming in and knew that a little one in the kitchen would not be ideal. “Hmm...I think we better let Harry take care of dinner. But after you eat, we can head upstairs and make something yummy for dessert. How’s that sound?”

He nodded. “So, we can keep coloring?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry didn’t want to cook. He didn’t want to move from that window and move his gaze away from the angel sitting at the bar. She was too good and Harry was too in love. It seemed impossible that he would get anything done for the rest of his life if she was going to be around.

But he wouldn’t want her anywhere else.

*

Leo was getting cranky toward the end of the night. He wanted to see his mom and dad and she was struggling to maintain a bit of control. He was in a t-shirt she had from a 5k she and Eleanor had walked for charity. He was missing his mom and dad, and she knew it wasn’t going to be easy to keep him calm until they came to pick him up. By then, he would be sound asleep.

Hopefully.

“Do you want to watch a movie, honey?” She asked as he got more teary and grumpier by the second.

He shook his head. She could see the frustration in his little body. She frowned at his response. “Hey, Leo?” She said softly. “I know you’re upset and you’re missing Mommy and Daddy. We gotta pass the time a little bit so they’ll be back faster. Can you think of something you’d like to do while we wait?”

“Can we color more?”

She had left the coloring supplies at the restaurant. Leo had his own little cubby out back in the staff room behind the kitchen. Harry had brought it back there for her after they left to make their cupcakes. It didn’t seem like something she needed when she moved in because she hadn’t necessarily planned on babysitting. But now she was already considering her Target run tomorrow to get activities the next time she offered to watch Leo.

She was quick on her feet though. “Yeah, let me just...see if Harry can bring it up.”

As she dialed on her phone to call the restaurant, she wondered who would answer. By now she had lived above the Italian oasis for nearly three months. They all knew her name and she was surprised they didn’t have her number saved. “Dolcezza Ristorante, how can I help you?”

“Hi...uh...can I talk to Harry?”

“Harry?” The voice asked curiously. She didn’t know who it was unfortunately. She was hoping it would be one of Antonio’s nephews but alas. She could tell the girl at the other end of the line didn’t like that she was requesting Harry’s attention.

She felt a wave of awkwardness wash over her. “Err...yeah.”

There was a bit of silence, some chatter as whoever answered walked toward the kitchen. She could hear the clanging of dishes and pans, the dishwasher humming as she got closer. There was a muffled exchange of words. “Me?” Her face warmed at the sound of the voice that she was certain she could pick out of a crowd. It made her feel ridiculous that she recognized Harry’s voice.

Even more ridiculous that her heart skipped a beat at the sound of it as well.

“Hello?” He sounded confused as he answered. But his voice sounded so warm. Like someone reading a bedtime story to her. Even though he only spoke one word.

“Hi Harry,” she smiled into the phone.

There was a loud clang from his end as something clearly toppled to the floor. There was an uproar of voices shouting and a few curse words. She had to pull the phone away from her ear at the noise and she glanced at Leo briefly. She was grateful he was feigning calmness as he waited utterly patiently—especially for a for a four-year-old, close to bed time, and missing his mom and dad. “Uh...sorry... Hi, Principessa,” he murmured. “Y’okay? Something wrong?” He asked nervously.

There was a pang of adoration for someone that cared about her well-being. No one ever really worried about her. Except for Eleanor. It wasn’t her fault but there was only so much Eleanor could worry about from a plane ride away. “No, no... we’re fine,” she promised. “Just...I hate to bother you, but if you have a minute, could you bring the coloring book up here? Leo’s missing Mommy and Daddy and wants to color some more to pass the time till they get here,” she explained.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Course,” the sound of the kitchen dissipated as he walked toward that back room to get Leo’s book. “I’ll be right up,” the phone call ended and shortly after she heard his footsteps coming up the steps and a gentle knock on the door.

She hurried to open it, Leo following behind her and peering from behind her legs. There Harry was, leaning against the door frame. Looking like a model even though he was holding a children’s coloring book. “Hi Principessa,” he smiled brightly.

“Hi Harry,” she grinned and knelt beside Leo. “Can you say thank you to Harry?” She asked.

He looked up at Harry. “Thanks, Harry,” his lower lip stuck out and he sniffled rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“No problem, lad... y’okay? Y’miss Mummy and Daddy?” He nodded, looking at the floor and turned into her embrace to hide the tears as he sniveled. She rubbed her hand along her back. Harry crouched in front of them as well. She frowned and Harry reached out to smooth his hair down. “I know y’miss them, but y’get t’hang out with this pretty Principessa and color. And when y’go t’sleep Mummy and Daddy will be back,” he reminded him.

He sniffled and rubbed his eye, turning back to Harry. “Can you color with us?” He asked.

“Aw, Leo, honey. Harry’s working right now,” she whispered rubbing his back and kissed the top of his head.

His lower lip wiggled with a threat of tears exploding from him again. “I can stay a minute,” he smiled gently. Leo turned again and reached out for Harry who grabbed him up and cautiously stepped inside the homey little place of the girl he liked so much. “S’different huh, lad? From how Mommy and Daddy decorated.”

He nodded. “Prin-pessa lives here now,” he told Harry with another little sniffle.

“She does, that must mean this is a castle,” he winked in her direction as he settled himself on the sofa and put the book in Leo’s lap. She handed him some colored pencils and let him color in the book on his lap. His little sniffles subsided, and he showed Harry the picture frequently. “Nice job, Leo,” he said encouragingly. She sat in front of Harry, helping Leo color. She tried not to touch Harry, but it was nearly futile with the closeness. She couldn’t get close to Leo without getting close to Harry. She sat on her coffee table facing the pair of boys. Her knees slotted on either side of one of his. She wondered if Harry felt the heat of her body waving off her just by their thighs touching.

Harry was lucky he had to focus on keeping Leo company and making sure he was okay. He can’t imagine a scenario in which they would be in this position, but if it weren’t for Leo, Harry would have focused solely on the way her jeans were pressed to either side of his leg. He watched her color like she was an artist from the Renaissance. Her smile was gentle while she spoke quietly to Leo praising his skills.

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes, but she stopped coloring almost abruptly. She put all the items beside her on the coffee table. Harry looked at her curiously and she smirked, putting a finger to her lips. She stood, removing the warmth of her leg around Harry’s, making him feel like it was the dead of winter without a coat. He wanted her body back near his.

She slid her hands around Leo’s small frame and her hands brushed Harry’s fingers. He had to restrain the moan that was bubbling in his throat from how much he liked the feel of her skin against his. He thought the warmth from her would make his heart explode. She pulled Leo into her embrace and carried her to the bedroom. Harry followed her quietly and quickly. He stood in the doorway and watched her lay the little one on the bed. She left the door cracked so light could get in and she smiled kindly. “Thank you, Harry,” her voice dripped with gratitude.

Harry didn’t know restraint was an emotion, but he felt it all throughout his body. Every bit of self-control was used to not kiss her over and over until his lips hurt. “M’pleasure, Principessa.”

Harry’s favorite color appeared on her cheeks. “Do...you want something to drink or anything? Before you head back to work—oh my, are you okay?” She asked grabbing his hand and turned it over between his.

Harry had an angry burn on the back of his hand. When he heard her voice on the phone he had a visceral reaction—the adoration for her causing him to spill some hot soup on his hand as he carried it toward the counter ready to be taken to the main room. Harry didn’t even feel it. Working in a kitchen, it was likely you would get burned. Harry wasn’t sure he had any nerve endings in his fingertips anymore.

At least, not until she was holding his hand.

“Oh...yeah. M’fine. Spilled hot soup.”

“I’ll have to remember how hot it is when I order it,” she looked at it nervously. “Can...do you need a bandage?”

“Oh, we have gloves in the kitchen,” he shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal to him. The only thing he could think about was how nice her hand felt holding his.

She frowned which made him sad. “Can... Can I wrap it or something for you? It looks painful and the glove will probably rub it raw or something,” she was already tugging him toward the kitchen, so he had no choice but to agree. Not that he wanted to argue. A few extra minutes with the pretty girl was well worth it. Harry had spent a good chunk of time in this apartment but somehow it was completely new. She released his hand, making him fraught with emotion. He nearly wanted to order her to hold it again. In the kindest of ways of course.

It seemed like this was something she really needed to do. Like it was hard for her to ask Harry for something without doing something for him in return. She gathered the supplies she needed and carefully slathered some ointment on his burn, holding his hand again making him forget all coherent thought. She was so gentle and careful. The burn was no big deal but it was so nice the way she tended to it. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.

But Harry was undeniably in love with her.

“Thank you, Principessa.”

She smiled looking at his hand in hers. “You’re welcome, Harry. Thank you for helping with Leo. Sorry I bothered you.”

“Not at all, kitten. Y’don’t bother me at all,” he murmured as she smoothed the bandage on his hand.

It was cold again when she released him.

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“’Course. Always,” he promised. She smiled and put the supplies away. She wished she could have asked Harry to stay, but she knew he had to get back. He started for the door and flexed his hand a bit with the bandage wrapped around it. There were a lot of kitchen injuries he had suffered over the years and somehow this was his favorite because she tended so sweetly to it.

“I’ll...see you tomorrow,” she said softly.

“Yeah?” He smirked. “S’not Wednesday.”

She looked at her feet. “I know...but...I like seeing you,” she admitted glancing back at him with those pretty eyelashes and the pink cheeks he loved so much.

Harry was certain this was what winning the lottery felt like. He leaned down toward her and pecked her cheek so quickly, he barely even felt it on his lips—even though there was electricity pulsing through him as he did it. “I like seeing you too,” he whispered in her ear and headed down the stairs before he did something crazy like proposed to her. “Good night, Principessa,” he called over his shoulder.

*

“Eleanor Jane!”

Harry would recognize her voice in the dead of sleep, in a coma, halfway across the world.

Her voice was muffled by the door. As well as the thudding of someone knocking on the door. It was a few hours until they opened and if it weren’t for Harry hearing her sweet voice, he might have missed it or ignored it.

Harry hurried through the main room, unlocked the door, and looked at the three people in front of him. “Oh, you’re definitely Harry,” Eleanor smirked as she pushed past him.

“Jesus,” she sighed and put a hand on her forehead. “Louis, she’s insane,” she said to the guy who sauntered in after her.

“That’s my girl,” he said proudly and nodded to Harry as he brushed by him.

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled softly.

His heart softened. Harry loved the way his name sounded on her lips and in her voice. “Hi, Principessa.”

“Eleanor is in town,” she explained. She twisted her fingers together awkwardly.

“I see,” he chuckled as he glanced behind him to see her friend checking out all the artwork on the walls.

“We have a very busy couple of days. We’re getting a chunk of Louis’ stuff packed up and such. But...she really wants pasta and it’s,” she sighed looking a little ill as she spoke. “It’s the only time we really have...and you can say no. I told her we would just order takeout later—”

Harry understood. She didn’t want to bother him of course. Despite how hard he had tried to explain that she could never bother him. “Course, kitten,” he stood against the door to let her in finally. “Niall and I would be happy to,” he smiled.

“You really don’t mind? Antonio won’t mind?”

“Not at all, Principessa,” he promised pressing a hand on her lower back as he guided her further inside to join her friend.

“I told you he wouldn’t care.”

She rolled her eyes at Eleanor as the three sat at the bar.

Harry helped her onto her stool in the most chivalrous and gentlemanly fashion, Eleanor was grinning ear to ear as he did. He squeezed the top of her arm and winked as he headed back into the kitchen. “D’you want eggplant?” He asked through the window, and she blushed, then nodded. It made her feel warm that Harry knew what she wanted. Even though she had ordered it once a week since she moved in. “Eleanor, Louis? What can I make?”

“Cacio e pepe sounds good to me,” Louis smirked looking over the menu.

“Oh, I’ll take anything you want to make Harry. I’m not picky.”

He nodded and started preparing the dishes. Niall glanced through the window at the sight of the pretty girl and her friends. “You’re a mess,” Niall laughed.

Harry shrugged but there was a smile plastered on his lips.

“So, Harry, I hear you’ve really taken my best friend’s interest.”

“Eleanor, shut up,” she hissed, covering her pretty face with both hands.

Harry smiled, his cheeks warming. “Yeah? S’good. Can’t get her off m’mind either,” he winked at her through the window. Eleanor giggled and Louis rolled his eyes at her forwardness.

But Harry saw the splash of her pretty irises peek through the space between her fingers as she registered what Harry said. “You can’t steal her from me,” Eleanor said knowingly. “She’s my best friend.”

“Would never take her from you, Eleanor,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.

While Eleanor and Harry chatted like they had known each other their whole lives as well, she tried not to think about how Harry said he couldn’t get her out of her mind.

Tried.

She very much failed and thought that maybe she wouldn’t mind falling harder for Harry.

*

Harry was organizing the bar while the three of them ate. She was used to the pasta—of course it was delicious, but it was easier for her to pace herself knowing if she wanted, she could have more at any hour of the day.

She nibbled on her garlic bread—the extra portion that Harry had placed in front of her with a wink.

Eleanor was picking at Louis’ and hers at the same time. “Aye! Eat your own,” he said protectively and pulled his plate toward him so Eleanor couldn’t reach. She frowned and turned her attention back to her best friend, stealing some of her pasta and snagged a piece of garlic bread. She passed a piece to Louis and finally tried her own meal. “There’s been no sign of your stalker, right?” Eleanor asked as she put the first bite in her mouth. “Oh, this is delicious,” she moaned. She didn’t get to remark on how good the pasta really was because her comment was overshadowed by Harry’s head snapping to attention at the words coming out of the best friend of his Principessa.

She tilted her head back to avoid Harry’s eye contact. She hated bringing up this topic. Especially in front of other people. Even if Harry was slowly becoming her favorite person now that Eleanor wasn’t around, Harry was going to get worried. That was the last thing she wanted. “I could strangle you,” she murmured to her friend.

“What?” Eleanor frowned.

“M’sorry t’eavesdrop,” Harry said apologetically holding two bottles of wine in each hand as he restocked the wine cooler. “Did...did y’say stalker?”

Her cheeks turned pink. Eleanor frowned and turned back to her best friend. “You didn’t tell them?”

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she shrugged.

Harry’s eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead. He begrudgingly turned his attention to Eleanor assuming that she would give him the details for such a worrisome topic. Eleanor sighed. “Maybe you can convince her. There’s this guy who follows her.”

“Not now,” she grumbled. “He doesn’t do anything. He just... follows me.”

Harry felt utterly uncomfortable with such a statement and how neutral she seemed to feel about it. His heart started to beat erratically at the thought of something happening to her. He wanted to handcuff her to the bar just so he could keep an eye on her. Harry put the bottles into the cooler while Eleanor filled in the full details. He listened with rapt attention. She ate her garlic bread and pasta as if this was a normal situation. Truly, nothing to worry about.

Louis added in a few details as well. “There haven’t really been any events that were... scary,” Louis added for her benefit. Eleanor glared at him viciously. “But it makes El and I pretty uncomfortable. Really worried,” he told Harry with a smirk to Eleanor as her glare softened at his words.

Harry, on the other hand, was nearly shutting down with the influx of information. His pretty Principessa. It wasn’t fair. It was scary. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t lead with that. “Principessa, s’not okay.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “He hasn’t followed me since I’ve moved,” she put her forehead on the bar.

Harry frowned and made eye contact with Eleanor. “Hmm...”

Eleanor patted her back. “You’re fine. We all just care about you,” she rolled her eyes. “I know that’s a hard thing for you to consider,” she smirked with a shake of her head.

“Jeez, El. Why don’t you just stab her,” Louis chuckled.

“I like Louis more than you,” she murmured into the bar.

She flicked the back of her head and looked at Harry.

“Harry,” Eleanor smiled sweetly.

“Oh boy,” Louis chuckled sipping his drink.

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed looking up at Eleanor and tried to put a hand over her mouth to keep her from talking to Harry.

Harry thought it was funny, even if his heart was racing with worry. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her?” She fluttered her lashes sweetly as her best friend turned bright red with embarrassment. Harry smiled softly.

He didn’t want to upset the poor thing when she already seemed so distraught. Harry knew a bit about her but didn’t know everything, obviously. It was abundantly clear that she would rather die than inconvenience someone on her behalf.

“Of... of course,” Harry nodded at Eleanor. “But... m’sure she’s... sounds like she has it under control,” it tasted like sour milk to say those words. He wanted to say something along the lines of he would sleep outside her door and walk her to and from the grocery store. But Harry wasn’t her boyfriend—even if he was already, completely, and obviously in love with her.

Even if she wasn’t ready to notice just yet.

“Ugh, you have him fooled too,” Eleanor frowned.

She smirked patting Eleanor’s back. She turned to Harry for a moment and met his gentle gaze. It made her feel soft. When he pecked her cheek, or held her hands, each time he touched her lower back, or when he was coloring with her and Leo. Harry made her feel so completely warm with the smallest of touches and now he wasn’t even touching her. She was frustrated Eleanor brought it up. Even more frustrated Harry was worried about her. He had plenty of more important tasks to deal with than worry about her.

But she didn’t want anyone to worry about her. So, if asking Harry for help every now and again appeased Eleanor...

“Harry,” her voice was so soft and gentle. He was captured immediately by her voice and gaze. “Even though you’ve already done about a million ridiculous things for me,” and he very much had not. The little tasks he did to help her move in weren’t anything. Chatting with her, making food for her, and even coloring with Leo were all easy and nothing special. They weren’t even the bare minimum because they were so easy and simple. He wanted to do more for her. “If... if it’s not too much trouble,” it looked like she was struggling to say whatever words were in her head. It seemed ridiculous that she was going to ask Harry for help solely to make Eleanor feel better. Not even herself.

But he wasn’t going to make her say it when it clearly frustrated her to worry about herself.

Maybe he could help her understand that it wasn’t a big deal to worry about her, eventually.

“I’ll keep an eye on y’Principessa. S’pretty easy when I can’t stop staring at how pretty y’look anyway,” he winked and headed to the kitchen hoping to leave Eleanor to gossip about something other than the guy following her best friend.

He caught a glimpse of his favorite color painting her face while Eleanor was giggling and hitting her arm with excitement through the window.

But most importantly, he saw the faintest smile on her lips. Like she was happy that Harry cared for her even a little bit. Hopefully with every little baby step, Harry would convince her she wasn’t a bother.

In fact, he hoped to convince her that she really was a princess in his eyes.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @youdontcaredoyou @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown

Dolcezza: @matildasatellite @crossyourpeter @st-ev-ie

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

[cheesus-doodles]

Hi hi I wanted to request some kakucho. Poor kaku he’s so sweet but also secretly deranged. Imagine like petting his hair and then turning around and suddenly this man is dagger glaring at everyone like mine! People telling you he’s scary and you’re like kaku? No I think you’re mistaken..like you could do anything to him like put bows in his hair and he’s like :D but the moment you leave he’s like :l

awww yes I support this! Kaku needs love on this blog as well imo, hashed out an entire BFF Kakucho here by accident so hope you enjoy anon!

also mini update, going home will be out next week! cross my heart

Masterlist

‎‎‎

I would say to me Kakucho comes off as someone who needs to be given a reason in order to function in life. In canon, this purpose would be given to him by Izana, which would be to serve him as a king, but when Izana leaves the orphanage to go with Shinichiro and then to run the Black Dragons, Kakucho is once more left without a purpose.

It wouldn't seem like a big deal at first, but slowly as the months drag on, this boy would find himself simply drifting through life, pretty much detached from the ongoings around him - there's nothing for him to really focus on besides physical training now that Izana was busy without him, and Kakucho himself doesn't have any particular goals that he is chasing except to server Izana. Of course, this all changes when he meets you.

You are no doubt a very headstrong person, someone who has no qualms doing whatever you like whenever you like, and would not back down on things that you believe in. And you also treated this boy to a lunch after he helped you beat up a bunch of bullies even though you didn't need the help, because you appreciated it anyway. Kakucho isn't a very trusting person to begin with because of his difficult childhood, but you definitely managed to sway his first opinion of you with that simple act of asking for nothing more.

Very selective with how much information he shares about himself, and you were the same, though you did manage to dig out that Kakucho didn't really have anyone else to spend time with, and so you invited him to hang out with you if he was up for it, saying that he was welcome to join your friend group for study sessions. On the other side of being so stubborn, what Kakucho saw was that you were also just an average student with an average number of friends, and leading a very normal life. You were kind yet stubborn, loved your friends and loved hanging out, and when Kakucho did hesitantly take up your offer for the first time, he fell head over heel for the chance at leading a very normal life, a chance to forget the harsh past he came from.

It helps that the more time he spent with you, the more he felt that he had a new purpose, a new person to serve, especially given how stubborn you were, and there he started his slip into yandere tendencies - you were, after all, the one that gave him another chance at life, a chance to be normal. And Kakucho would cling to that with the same vigour with which he would later cling to Izana. Extremely, extremely loyal, you can always count on this boy being there for whatever you need no matter the time of day. Starts slowly with offering to run and grab coffee for you "on his way" to a study session, and then would turn up outside your house to walk you to school, which would quickly turn into Kakucho offering to do any of your house chores.

All the while he slowly increases the pressure on your friend group to leave you alone, increasingly isolating you from everyone else so that he could keep you to himself. You only needed him after all, you didn't need anyone else - and you needed to focus on him so that he could serve you wholeheartedly. Would absolutely allow you to do anything to him without complaint, and yes, that includes putting bows even though he barely keeps any hair. You wanna hold his hand, sure! You want to dance with him in public, say no more. Want him to run to the other side of town to buy you a slice of cake at the break of dawn because it always runs out? Do you even need to ask?

Once he starts actively trying to keep you and your friends apart is when he starts to dagger glare everyone else around you, but that is as much as he would do when you are present. Because a servant deals with his royalty's issues silently and out of sight. Still a sweet boy at heart, he wouldn't throw hands except when he deems it absolutely necessary - in his mind, he doesn't want to keep you from your friends, no way. He craves the normality that you lent him with your presence and your way of life, but these people aren't your friends. All they do is sabotage you, drag you down, keep you from shining.

He would find you better friends.

Pleases Kakucho greatly that when Izana finally returned to him, and he found that you were indeed compatible and could exist side by side with his king with little conflict. He could serve two royals at the same time of course, but it would be so much easier if the two of you didn't overlap and cross each other - he didn't want to have to pick sides. Would introduce you to the rest of Tenjiku the moment he thinks its safe enough because these people are much better friends than those so-called scum from your school.

No lie, the day you first introduce him as your BFF, I think Kakucho would just melt away from happiness. Izana would be extremely amused.

[thelunarfairy]

Heya!!!

So about chapter 120 that shattered all of us...

I couldn't help but wonder that when Nene called out for Hanako to help her and it snapped him out of what he was doing, do you think that means somewhere deep down Amane remembers? I'd like to think he does, but then when they were just talking before shit went down Amane's memories weren't jogged when Nene was first talking to him and calling him Hanako-kun. It didn't jog his memory when Nene was crying.

But it did when he almost killed her.

I don't know what to think honestly. And I'm forcing myself to focus on something else besides kou dying.

Oh, and also, why are people so mad when people are comparing teru & kou's situation to amane and Tsukasa's? Like AidaIro was clearly drawing a parallel here. And I'm fed up with the Fandom attacking itself yk?

Anyway happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate, and have a great day/night !!

Yes, Amane seems to be lost in his own memories, even when he was still Hanako, but it doesn't seem to be something definitive.

You can see that he remembers that something happened but doesn't know exactly what or why, so yes, it's as if his memory is on a threshold.

You know when you have that dream and when you wake up you forget what you dreamed but know that you dreamed about something? It's similar.

Hanako will probably need something very strong to make him remember, and of course, it will be problematic, after all, the entity will get in the way of the process.

Oh, don't worry about Kou, he'll come back.

It's like that with most of the JSHK arcs, it starts off happy, then comes the big drama, then a tragedy, then the resolution and in the end everything goes back to the way it was before.

It was like that with PP arc and the number six arc. Aidairo still needs Kou for a lot of things, not even Mitsuba who collects deaths has gone away, he always comes back.

It's a character development arc. So, it's going to take a while for Aidairo to start creating definitive deaths. This is the number one arc, so I would be worried if it was the twins arc, but that hasn't started and we don't know when it will.

Remember, at the end of this arc, number one will lose his Yorishiro, this arc is about him. We're seeing all this now because Aidairo wants to convince us that this reality is bad (and she's succeeding).

So don't worry about Kou now, he himself said he'll come back.

About the fandom, the Minamoto brothers and the Yugi brothers, well, yes, it's a kind of parallel.

Hanako killed Tsukasa because he became a supernatural (theoretically).

Teru exorcised Kou because he became a supernatural.

One thing we have to keep in mind is that Aidairo likes to work by making the characters deal with traumatic but necessary experiences for them to develop.

Teru is closed off, he hates supernaturals, even those he knows are not that dangerous or not completely supernatural. He even treats Akane with a certain contempt.

This is rooted in him for reasons we do not know yet. Teru's development follows a path that Kou himself decreed from the beginning, "if Teru could deal with the fact that someone he loves could become a supernatural".

He did not like the idea.

But this is where the good things are born.

This is the point of Teru's development, he is dealing with it firsthand. Feeling what it is like to have someone he loves as a supernatural and how his instincts made him exorcise Kou without thinking twice.

He is dealing with the pain of having exorcised his younger brother.

Just like Hanako had to deal with the murder he committed, he has not accepted it yet.

So, here's where Teru can develop in two ways: either he becomes more flexible about supernatural beings (like Kou wanted) or he will get more hatred for them.

No matter which side he chooses, it will still be a development.

How will Teru deal with his actions?

That's the question.

Seeing that Teru judged Hanako so much and did something similar, the parallel that Aidairo created so that Teru could understand Hanako a little, because he would never understand if he didn't go through it.

So we shouldn't create a war about this, it's just a necessary phase for Teru's development (and Kou's too).

For the character to develop, he needs to suffer, he needs to make mistakes, he needs to feel pain. The two brothers are dealing with this dilemma, while the older one hates supernaturals and says that the younger one is weak, Kou deals with the desire to become a supernatural because he got too attached to one of them and realized that not everything Teru says is true.

Still, Kou is really weak and he will probably realize that Teru was right in this, even though Kou's lack of training happened because Teru wanted to protect him.

An older brother who hates supernaturals And a younger brother who likes them to the point of wanting to become one.

Teru is dealing with this possibility in this reality Just like Kou is too. He is discovering that being a supernatural is dangerous, as Hanako said.

And maybe this is the fuel for Kou to have the courage to exorcise Mitsuba, when he understands that it is the best for him and he is suffering because Kou does not want to let him go - Just like Hanako does not want to allow Tsukasa to be freed.

The parallel here again?

See the importance of this moment, of Teru having exorcised Kou, see how many paths this action can take both of them.

Because one day Hanako said he was anxious for Kou to exorcise him, when he was ready.

And he probably will one day.

Kou needs to be strong to understand that there is no salvation for Mitsuba other than freeing him.

JSHK talks about this, about how love is giving freedom, and suffering for it.

So, everything that happened is for their development. Just like Teru almost died to protect Kou, and Kou had enough willpower to face and defeat number six, now it's Teru's turn to deal with it.

But in the end, they'll be fine.

That's how it ends.

At least for now.

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I wish the same for you!!!

[mostlyihyperfixate]

WrightWorth Fic Recs

Okay, so @moongasux told me to give some fic recommendations on last night's post, and I thought it would be easier for me to put together a list in a separate post. And then I can update as I go along.

Please note that these aren't all the fics I've read or even the only good ones, just my favorites so far--the ones I've gone back and reread multiple times since discovering them. I've got several explicit ones to recommed but I literally just started reading smut so I can't actually comment on how good the sex scenes are.

A Long Way to Fall by prospectkiss

Rating: Explicit; Content Warning for stalking and torture; set pre-AA4; finished

Words cannot express how much I love this fic. It was the second one I ever read, and it's still my all-time favorite. It sounds really dark, but the subject matter is treated with the reality and seriousness it deserves. The author also simultaneously knows where and when to stop with the angst so it never gets overbearing. I especially love that both Miles and Phoenix seem like 100% equal partners and adults. The character voices are *chef's kiss*. This is, hands down, the best Franziska I have come across. Be warned that there are explicit sex scenes!

A Night You'll Never Regret by MaudMoon

Rating: Explicit; Content Warning for drinking in excess; set post-AA6; finished

This is another excellent fic, a sort of pure-fluff alternative to A Long Way to Fall. It's just good times from start to finish. The character work here is also very good. The author deals with a pretty large cast masterfully. Larry is amazing in this. This is the story that introduced me to my NOTP, but I'm coming to realize that it's a fairly common ship in this fandom, and who am I to rain on a collective parade? This story is too good to ignore just because of that. Again, there are explicit sex scenes.

Turnabout: Bloodline by LeFlayART

Rating: Explicit; Canon Divergence post-AA6; Spirit Medium!Miles AU; finished (the first two of the three stories, anyway)

You have got to read this. I started reading the first story in this series yesterday, and I've hardly been able to put it down. I am crushed to see that the final story never got finished--but a look at the number of comments on the second part shows that the number of comments this received at the time was a travesty. This is a masterpiece. They say the mark of a good story is that you keep saying to yourself, "Just one more chapter. Just one more chapter," and I have been saying that since, like, 9:00 in the morning yesterday. There is explicit sex. There is a lot of explicit sex. Please go shower this fic with the praise it deserves.

pressed beneath the burden of proof by harmony

Rating: Mature; Content Warning for amnesia fic; one shot

I effing love an amnesia fic, okay? I know it's not for everyone, but it's one of my favorite fic tropes. (Seriously, if you know of any other Wrightworth or Klapollo amnesia fics please send them my way). This is a nice lengthy one that doesn't overstay its welcome by making you wonder where the heck the plot got to. There's no big, overarching legal mystery to solve, but watching Miles put things together is plot enough. The interactions between Miles and Phoenix are wonderful.

res ipsa loquitur (the thing itself speaks) by griffonage

Rating: Teen and Up; finished

This is a fun miscommunication fic that isn't going to leave you wanting to rage at the couple for not just communicating. It's fun miscommunication. Another great "It's about the pining" fic, but without all the angst that usually comes with all that pining--and it's only five chapters, so you can read it in a snap! The author wrote another similar story from Phoenix's point of view later, but of the two, this is my preferred one.

Guilty as Charged by JustNerdyThings

Rating: General Audiences; finished

Do you like seeing Apollo tortured in the fun sense? Then this is the fic for you! It's got some additional Klapollo which finally made me go, "Oh, yeah, this ship is cute," and while shipping (and fumbled matchmaking) is the plot of the story, the place it really shines is just watching Apollo deal with the rest of the cast as the only sane man. It's all cute enough to give you cavities.

Epoch by citsiurtlanu

Rating: Teen and Up; Content Warning for Soulmate AU; set through the series; in the process of being posted

I feel like an elephant is sitting on my chest when I open this up and read it--every single damn time. It hurts. I mean that in a good way. I don't typically read soulmate AUs because I always have more questions than what is addressed, but this one's sort of (at least thus far) a deconstruction of the concept. I am genuinely upset that I have to wait for weekly updates on this when I just want to unhinge my jaw and swallow it whole. Every week's update leaves me wanting more. Also, the author is terribly nice.

[wttcsms]

10:57pm +++ Mr rin itoshi !!!

— 10:57 pm

when you peer through the peephole of your apartment's door, you don't expect to be transported directly back to the past.

but there he is, looking more familiar to your memories than you would like him to. messier hair, maybe, and a slouch that's a bit unbecoming of him, but it's him. no amount of time could help you forget about him; you could recognize his shadow in a dark room.

rin itoshi is banging on your apartment door. it's almost eleven at night, and you know that he prefers an earlier bedtime than most, but he's not in bed. he's right here. at your doorstep.

and it shouldn't make your stomach do that excited churn that always happens when rin acknowledges you. it's the same excited feeling that you got early on in your relationship with him; you felt it every time you saw his name pop up on your notifications, and every time he took your hand into his on those first few dates. the exhilarating rush of being wanted — but most importantly, being wanted by someone who you want, too.

you're only opening the door so he doesn't end up being mocked on everyone's twitter feeds in the morning. that's the excuse you use, anyway. chances are, no one is ever going to know that professional football star, rin itoshi, ended up at some nondescript apartment complex after a celebratory night out. however, it's easier to say that than to admit that you're always going to jump at the chance to let rin in.

when you open the door to allow your ex(?) (can he even be an ex if the two of you were never truly a couple?) in, you don't expect him to point an accusatory, albeit shaky, finger at you and boldly ask you,

"why are you ghosting me?"

it's too late at night and you're too tired to keep your guard up, so you just gape at him, mouth open, eyebrows raised in an almost cartoon-like, comical shocked way. you have your hair bunched up around your head haphazardly and your designated pajama tee has an ice cream stain on it and you've got your loosest pants on. you might regret not playing it cool when you look back on this interaction in the future, but the fact of the matter is, you lost all opportunity at nonchalance the moment you unlocked your door.

everything else that is embarrassing is just the icing on this trainwreck of a cake.

only rin itoshi, you suppose, is the right combination of bold, drunken idiot, and just socially inept enough to confront the ghoster about behind ghosted. because who in their right mind asks that?

everyone knows that the minute you get ghosted, you have to either move on or pretend to. you hop to the next person who is going to be your fixation for the month and the topic of your groupchat's conversations, and you pretend that you don't hope every notification that appears on your screen is him texting you (and you also must pretend that the sick waves of disappointment when it turns out it isn't him aren't absolutely soul-crushing). you don't make a big deal out of deleting his contact (even though you have never saved any other situationship's number in your phone before), and you're just so fucking unbothered that you even went out of your way to blacklist any articles or tweets that contain his name, his team, or even his jersey number.

"nobody asks that question." you tell him, instead of answering him. "nobody with some self-respect and social awareness, at least."

it's a jab at him, but rin doesn't seem to care. that's the thing about rin — he's really good at that. either not caring or pretending not to care, you're not so certain. you just know that the impassive expression on his face hurts all the same.

"i'm drunk." he says, and before you can give him a yeah, i can tell, he's continuing. "and i miss you."

"maybe you miss me because you're drunk. if you wake up tomorrow feeling the same way, maybe we can talk."

you're trying to put your foot down and maintain a strong image, but you know yourself too well to be fooled by your own lies. there's no maybe about it. he could wake up and hate your guts tomorrow, and you'd still want him to tell you it because it at least means he's speaking to you.

"i wake up missing you all the time. does that count?"

your mom told you once that men are like food — anything that looks that good cannot be good for your health. and looking at rin, all lean limbs and long lashes; high cheekbones and that pretty boy pout, is absolutely detrimental to your wellbeing. you should kick him out and slam the door and put a chair underneath the locked doorknob for good measure, but your heart sings with that drunken confession of his, and you know you're a goner.

"don't joke around like that." but there's no conviction in your voice, just a sort of desperate longing that changes the meaning of your words to please don't say those sort of things if you don't mean it.

"is that why you're ignoring me? because you think i was joking about everything?"

"i didn't— i wasn't— ugh. you ghosted me first!" admitting it out loud somehow brings back all the hurt from when it actually happened. maybe that's why you had enough sense to never admit it, but rin itoshi does something to you. he makes your brain shut down. all sense of self-preservation evaporates when he's in your vicinity.

confusion flickers across his face. his stupidly cute face with his stupid blue eyes and his stupid strands of hair that hang in his face no matter how many times he aggressively pushes it back. your heart breaks with every second of silence that passes by, and then hope that it can be pieced back together again appears when he looks at you, all sincere seriousness and more soberingly alert than he's looked all night, as he asks,

"i did?"

[monstercampus]

Harpy Professor - First Meeting

(cws: slight alcohol mention, brief lewd references)

wc: 3.5k

Last night was a mess. Priam had been out all night partying with his friends, while Antón had been rage-cleaning the apartment in a frenzy in order to have everything spotless before the first day of term. The two of them you've gotten used to, of course, but their habits still tick you off when you're not in the mood to deal with them. Priam's drunken stumble back into the dorm at 4 AM didn't help either, as your vampiric roommate got into an argument with him over leaving the living room a mess. Exams have been over for weeks, and yet the two of them still find stupid things to fight about in the heat of the moment.

And you were left to endure it as best you could, your pillow clamped over your ears for half the night and your blanket pulled down over your feet by your shadow friend–who also seemed to be quite frustrated by your other tenants and their noise, trying vainly to block out the light and seal your door in his mist to try and muffle the ruckus. Either way you weren't going to sleep, not well, so now you've stepped into your first class of the new semester with bags under your eyes and half your school supplies forgotten. Just get through it today. Tomorrow will be better.

First on the roster this morning is Monster-Human Relations–a class you knew would be small, but not this small, with barely ten or so seats filled so far in the mid-sized lecture room. There's only about five rows of staggered desks on a slope anyways, with a curved, connected desk to separate the section from the front of the class and the podium. And you're a few minutes early, so you anticipate there'll be more students filing in as they wake up from their respective hangovers or hangovers-by-association, like yourself. Being an advanced class, though, it's not going to be much bigger than this. The only reason you're even taking this class was because the professor made a request for your attendance, and gave you special permissions to attend based on your unique species allocation. And lo and behold, even so, there's a face you recognize right as you walk in the door, his piercing eyes perking up as he lifts his head at the sound of your footsteps. It's Nick. Gods you are glad to see him. He peers at you through a few loose strands of dark hair, and at the sight of you a smile flashes across his face.

"Hey," He brightens up, pulling on the back of the chair beside him to offer you a seat. "Didn't know you were in this class too." He chuckles, though your look of relief doesn't seem to entertain him enough not to notice the weight of weariness you carry in your slumped shoulders. You're quick and eager to drop your bag on the table and slide into the chair, but Nick's worry stops you in your tracks. "What's up, buttercup? You look exhausted. Why aren't you in bed?"

"Roommates kept me up," You sigh, flipping open the lip of your bag to pull out your laptop. "But I'm okay. Can't miss the first class, anyways."

"Of course you can." Nicky's grin returns as you hoped it would, but it's gentler this time. "Besides, Wellwright's a big puffball. You can pretty much do whatever you want in his classes."

"I don't wanna be rude."

"You don't have a rude bone in your body." He's not flippant about it, but he does avert his eyes as he makes his comment–although it could just be because he's scribbling the date and the course number down in his thick notebook. "Wellwright's a super sweet guy, he was my mentor in Commonspeak class. He'll love you."

"You took Commonspeak?"

"Sure did." Those pearly teeth make an appearance as he chuckles, pride swelling his chest. "Barely spoke a word when I got here. Now I'm the most voracious person you probably know."

"Voracious?" You laugh, and he joins you, though as uplifting as it is it doesn't last for very long. You're grateful for it even so, your chuckling devolving as more people filter in and drawing to a close as the door to the classroom nearly slams off the hinges.

One moment of peace turns into chaos like the flip of a light switch, a pair of huge, strong wings entering the room with a scraggly, rough-looking man stumbling in alongside them. A tornado of feathers seems to cascade over the front of the room, flying off and whipping up with the breeze as those enormous wings flap and fold in an attempt to keep their host on his feet. Both you and Nick have to grab hold of your notebook and laptop respectively just so they don't fly off the table.

"My apologies!" He squawks, arms full of books and papers that also seem to be flying everywhere as he makes his way to his desk. You spare a glance over Nick's shoulder as he checks his watch, to which he taps and mouths "late" to you to elicit another giggle.

Raven Wellwright, a harpy of considerable acclaim, is definitely a name you've heard beyond the professor hastily scribbling it up on the whiteboard. Not only is he one of very, very few male harpies known to the world, but he's also very conveniently one of a handful of experts on the field of monster and human cooperation. He's penned a library of papers, articles, and books on the subject, won awards for his aid in developmental projects and awareness campaigns, and he's even been the first monster to be welcomed into a previously human-exclusive collegiate of considerable prestige. He's a rarity in all senses of the word…a rarity that's molting his feathers all over his desk, sweat gathering at his collar as his short waves of strawberry-blond locks falling haphazardly back into place while he shuffles around.

"Right!" He bellows out to the three-quarters-empty classroom, the tak tak of his papers hitting the podium echoing off the walls like glass marbles. "What was I saying?"

"You haven't started yet, professor." Nick calls out, and although it's certainly an awkward air in the room the harpy seems somewhat relieved that he hasn't already forgotten what just came out of his mouth.

"Right, thank you Nicholas. Nicholas!" He suddenly bursts into a frenzy, a smile plastered over his glowing face and his eyes sparkling with grateful familiarity. "Nicholas will be our note-taker this term, as well as your TA! Take a bow, Nick!"

Funny enough, even confident-and-cool Nick boasts a spot of shyness and a dark flush to his ears as he's encouraged to stand, turning around to wave at your fellow students who eye him up with varying degrees of interest, all while Raven claps with an eagerness to him that lasts until your friend reclaims his seat. Whispers dominate the classroom while Raven's head is turned, though it doesn't seem like they're just regarding the scatterbrained professor and his handsome assistant–especially not when he turns back and his square glasses-framed eyes land directly on you.

"Oh," That soft puff of air could just as well be a gunshot with how loud it feels to you, Raven's lithe fingers trembling slightly as he pushes his lenses higher up on his nose. For a split second, even with Nick's comforting words in the back of your brain, a tense knot of worry tightens in your stomach as you wonder whether your presence will be met with disdain.

"H-Hello! It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," And yet that concern evaporates the instant he skirts around the podium, features bright and his wings rustling excitedly as he hustles towards your desk and thrusts his hand out to yours. You barely have to hold his at all with how violently nervous his grip is, fingers clamped down so tight you can just barely feel the itch of his filed claws for nails against your skin. "Raven Wellwright, P.H.D! I'd like to welcome you to our university–it is a joy and an honour to have you here!"

With one last tight squeeze of his unusually cool hand, he pats your arm and releases you from that iron grip to scurry back to his podium. As luck would have it, all he's got prepared for today is a review of the syllabus, which soon flies by despite being peppered with occasional comments and brief anecdotes to supplement it, courtesy of a now hyper-focused prof who clearly knows what he's talking about. It's almost a little intimidating to watch him switch so quickly from anxiety to decisiveness, the nervous shakes vanishing as he briefly divulges the core topics of the material you'll be going over. It actually helps to stir you a bit from your exhaustion, though the half-smushed granola bar in the bottom of your bag also helps once he reiterates that eating in his class isn't a faux pas.

"I'm sure you're all readily familiar with the plagiarism policy and academic conduct sections as well, yes? Any questions?"

A revolution of head-nodding round the room seems to suffice, and with a quick glance at the clock by the door Wellwright rolls out his shoulders and drops his papers against the podium with a refreshed sigh.

"Well, that's good enough for me! Take an early lunch and enjoy the rest of your day, we'll start with our introductory lecture next class–oh, and could you two come to my office for a spell?" As he passes by your joint desks he gives them a tap, making eye contact with both you and Nick with a reassuring smile as the rest of the class shuffles their bookbags and lets their chair legs squeak as they get up from their seats. Your heart kicks up with a nervous thump, thump, thump, but whether Nick can smell it or hear it or is completely oblivious to it he pats your thigh under the table and nudges your shoulder playfully.

"No worries. He probably just wants to gush over you." He whispers into your ear, and with a half-smile conjured up from your dwindling pool of strength you gather your things in kind and follow alongside the werewolf as you both make your way to Wellwright's office, the path known well enough to him that he can chat your ear off the whole way there, and still make it in time to watch the professor hustle along down the corridor with his bag in tow as the two of you wait for him to unlock the door.

"Come in, come in! Take a seat–anywhere is fine–and have a snack! I've got tea…uh, somewhere! Just give me a moment.."

It's most certainly more haphazard being around him in the cramped office than it was in the lecture hall–as Wellwright hurries in and you two follow behind, Nick has to bring his hand down firmly on your head for you both to duck, just barely missing the professor's wing as it swings around and nearly collides with both of you. And with the size and strength of those muscles and that coat of healthy tawn-coloured feathers, you don't even wanna know how hard it would hurt to get smacked with one of those things.

But, oblivious to your plight, the avian totters around his office chirping up a storm while the werewolf at your side leads you–with your heads appropriately bowed under his wing line this time–to take your seats in the two plush chairs across from his spacious corner desk. Raven busies himself by the window with what looks to be a teapot on a portable burner for a minute or two, before the spout starts to whistle a familiar tune and he expertly tips it out to pour three steaming cups of fresh tea. Ginger-flavoured by the smell of it, the scent pervading your nostrils in an oddly relaxing way as he lays out each cup in front of all three of you. Curious, you watch as he takes his own seat, and notice that the arms of his chair dip towards the back for each wing to settle comfortably in the empty slots. Monster creativity truly knows no bounds, no matter how benign the design.

"-Anyways, that's quite enough about me! I'd like to know more about you." His bangs flutter over each brow as he turns to meet your eyes, not an ounce of enthusiasm missing from his gaze as he takes a sip from his cup–and proceeds to splutter and cough with a napkin pulled up to cover his mouth, mumbling in a half-lisp about burning his tongue. When you follow his lead with a giggle you make sure to at least blow on yours, and it's actually rather sweet despite the strength of the ginger threatening to overwhelm you. "I–we–are well and truly excited to have you here! I can't tell you how integral your presence will be in the pursuit of monster-human cooperation–you are sincerely a gift to this establishment, and I cannot thank you enough for taking the plunge and attending despite the odd circumstances."

Somehow–perhaps it's an effect of the tea–the mouthful of praises the professor drops are free from his usual stutters and vocal stumbling, as if the topic of you is yet another subject he can't help but be eloquently passionate about. You, on the other hand? You're not even sure what to say to that...such high praise feels uncalled for, not that it's unpleasant in nature, but that it should be reserved for someone that's actually done something to deserve it. All you really did was go with the flow and refrain from kicking up a fuss.

"I, uh…th-thank you, professor, but I really didn't do much…" You shrug shyly, suddenly wishing you could disappear from the awkwardness and hide inside Nick's jacket for comfort. But the silent moment passes not in a hollow, nerve-wracking way, because it's filled by Raven's easy smile growing into something a little more intimate, his feathers settling to lay flat as he reaches over the desk and gently clasps both hands over yours.

"You took a risk, my dear. Unsure of what lies on the horizon, you chose a path seldom travelled yet long overdue for progress. That in itself is worth a world of praise."

You knew he could be eloquent, but that…that was poetry. And could that warmth tipping his pointed ears be a blush, coincidental with how his fingers retract from touching you? Worried his touches may come off as something more the longer they linger? Or are you simply reading into things?

"Maybe I should go," Nick teases, and that thankfully eases the tension enough for you to snap back into the reality at hand–and for Raven's feathers to ruffle in embarrassment as he leans away from you just to bump his head painfully on his overhanging lamp.

"Sweet Chaos–ah, I'm fine, I'm fine!" He waves away your worry while Nick erupts into a cheeky laugh beside you, the professor's unyielding clumsiness proving too much for him to keep it all sealed in. Especially hearing a string of curses fly from such a sweet, kind-hearted man's mouth, who wouldn't hurt a beetle even if it bit him. "Before I injure myself further, perhaps I should just get to the point." He sighs with a palm pressed to the back of his head, rubbing the soreness off the fortunately very minor bump there.

"It's the MHC thing, right?" Nick pipes up, sobered from the giggle fit but still grinning from ear to ear.

"Just so." Raven nods, those cotton candy-pink eyes shifting back to you. "My dear, I have a favour to ask of you. Would you consider being a human ambassador on my behalf?"

"...Ambassador? As in..?"

"Oh, i-it's nothing too taxing! Allow me to explain: being an ambassador simply means you would be willing to speak as an individual of your species for MHC conferences. It would really just involve me calling on your opinion and presenting it to the Monster-Human Commission–most of it will just be in writing, no more than a sentence or few."

"You mean 'sentence or two', professor." Nick cuts in, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. If you weren't mistaken, you could swear there's a glint of something fierce in the harpy's eyes as his gaze flits over to his protégé–but it's there and gone in a moment, and you try not to let the thought linger for fear of how it might make you wonder.

"Goodness! Surpassing your mentor already, eh? Maybe you should be the one teaching commonspeak, Mr. Wolf." He soon returns to the comfort of your gaze on him. "By no means is it a necessity, but it would be of brilliant use to my colleagues in the commission. Take some time to think about it, okay? There's no rush. You can start and stop whenever you please."

"I, uh…yes, thank you, professor. I'll give it some thought." Wellwright nods with a happy grin, and allows you to finish the rest of your tea with a few occasional spurts of scatterbrained conversation peppered in between. He's so courteous and well-spoken, gentle and kind…there's no wonder you've heard giggling from the harpy girls on campus when he's brought up, his dreaminess a total diamond in the rough for any self-respecting monster. An absolute gem. A-

"Hey, professor, I can't quite remember–are we reviewing interbreeding this term?"

As if burning his tongue and bumping his head wasn't enough, Wellwright balks at Nick's unforeseen question and nearly chokes on the dregs of his tea, the liquid splattering his chin with a cough that he's quick to wipe with the back of his hand. If it crossed your mind in time, and if you weren't so tired, you'd have half a mind to give Nick a pinch under the desk for torturing the poor man.

"C-Cross-species mating? Uh, ye…yes, we are.."

"Mmh. Gotcha. We've got a human this year, so maybe we can do our independent study on it? That'd be pretty helpful for your research, huh?"

What hits you right away is that he doesn't say no. Not that it's not his first reaction, but that the word doesn't even cross his lips. The slightest twinge of his brow has the harpy narrowing his eyes at the werewolf, and for a brief spell you think the professor might be humouring the exact same reaction as you were.

"Th-That would depend on the human's decision, Nick–and that is certainly not the full extent of my research, I might add!"

"Y-You, um…you study interbreeding, Dr. Wellwright?"

Your query flits out like the most timid of butterflies, curious and interested in equal measure. It must be so easy for both of them to pick up, but you can't really help it–the idea of such a sweet professor pursuing such a lewd scholarly topic is…fascinating, to say the least.

"He does. In great detail." Nick leans over to whisper into your ear, and the air in the room seems to change as Raven squirms anxiously in his seat.

"I-It's a necessary component of my research…" He mumbles, suddenly unable to meet your eyes as the heat in his face stretches to reach the tips of his pointed ears.

"So necessary." Nick adds with a shit-eating grin.

"Nicholas!” Raven finally huffs, brow furrowed and eyes dimmed of their sparkle. Oh, now he's mad. And yet, with a glance over at your companion, Nick couldn't look more enthused about the prospect. They certainly seem to be on familiar terms with how much teasing your friend knows he can get away with. Ripples start to part Wellwright's feathers like shudders, and almost under his breath, he quietly asks if you would give him a moment with his T.A–and you have never been more quick to oblige, setting down your teacup at an earnest pace before your bag is slung over your shoulder and you're soon closing the office door firmly behind you. The click of the lock echoes in the otherwise empty corridor, and though you'd like to wait for Nick out of courtesy, the hushed whispering that ensues followed by the flap of your professor's wings clues you in that perhaps it would be better to give them some…privacy.

Although, at the very least your phone buzzes before you've even left the wing, a glance down at the messages revealing that Nick's gonna be tied up for awhile, but he's alright. His words echo in your head, “Wellwright's just a big puffball”, and it loosens a pleasant sigh from your throat as you let your shoulders relax. The last thing you want is to get anyone in trouble, which you seem to do quite easily by your very nature of being human.

This class may end up being a different story though, if your professor's…enthusiasm towards the human race is anything to go by.

[piracytheorist]

Episode 32 notes!

Starting off right in the middle of action, right where we left off!

And some great animation there, too!

The thing about Anya is that her plans are so innocently silly that thanks to her young age, they actually work.

She's right there in front of Yor, acting like she doesn't recognize her, and Yor accepts that because a) it's easy and b) well Anya is a little kid, isn't she?

The fact that Anya is visibly sweating and has a very nervous expression shows that she's worried her plan won't work, and the entire family could come apart right there. She knows it's a risky plan... but because of the circumstances, it works perfectly not only to cover Yor but also to cover Anya's knowledge of Yor's secret.

I love her.

Also, a great way to take the fear of exposure away from Yor and help her focus on the fight! Worth waiting the entire week for!

I also love how excited the entire crowd was about seeing two people "play" with what seems to be lethal weapons. They'd do numbers as WWE fans.

The camera focuses on Yor as she's starting to question herself.

Yes you are! You're hesitating to get close because you fear you'll get hurt and you know that will make Anya and Loid sad! (And of course because you'll have no excuse to tell them but okay yeah)

Anyway. I just like how in comparison to the manga, we see her expression there during her inner monologue.

Yor comments about how professional the guy is with the chain, but then she has no problem using the chain's momentum to wrap it around his wrist and then his torso. Some excellent animation there showing the small details of her control of the chain!

~YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY-

YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY-

THE THOOOORN PRIIINCEEEEEEEESS~

She even used his immobilized body to make him bow. She's an absolute legend.

I've talked before that this isn't even a five-year-old roleplaying. She's actually getting involved with actual enemies of the state, helping their plans without them knowing, and having a blast. Her moral compass may be a little unhinged but by god is it steadfast XD

And then. The Grand RevealTM

WHITE ASS LEGS

I love him your honour. How did he even combine all that, I don't wanna know. The rainbow-tinted glasses is what ended me.

Anya Forger, professional heart-breaker.

Again. Talking with a guy who believes humans will never understand each other and who wants to wage another war, while Twilight has his own war trauma? No big deal. Anya calling him uncool? THE SHOCK AND DESPAIR OF HIS LIFE.

And off to the next chapter! Great transition in the anime - I can usually notice when they jump onto the next chapter, but this time I was surprised with how smoothly they took it from one to the next.

Turtleneck guy says he can't pick up Yor's scent? Even though he seems to have extraordinary smelling abilities?

Is that another reason why Yor is so good at sneaking up on people? She did sneak up on Twilight, after all...

"The bones" mentioned above... is that Loid talking about the skeleton keychain? There was, after all, a hidden bug in the store Loid and Anya were in...

Some things never change.

I can't wait for the moment he realizes how soundly she sleeps on his arms because she trusts him and he makes her feel safe, just like his mother did for him :)

Zeb! I finally get the name of the guy! I won't lie that calling him Furseal felt so weird, like, apologies if your name is Furseal but hey.

Anyway. His outburst felt so real. This man doesn't belong in crime.

And of course, Olka is way too desensitized to such violence, having grown up in the family, after all, and I kinda like how she goes like "Yo snap out of it". Endo really doesn't hold back from having women tell men off huh. I also love the baby talk she used with Gram. So cute.

This scene has the very same music used in the first episode where Twilight has his flashback and remembers what his reason to become a spy was. I feel kinda sad hearing it here because I'd thought that this melody would be used as [redacted]'s leitmotif, but its meaning seems to be connected with how people broken by war can find the hope in humanity needed for peace. Or something.

McMahon berates Yor for going near the door earlier even though she didn't hear their secret knock, but in reality it wouldn't matter - unless the assassin heard their voices from outside the door - because the assassin shot anyway. It would have been the same if she had protected Olka from the first moment and then tried to assess how to attack the guy. So maybe calm down, dude.

The moment Zeb was like "How are we supposed to sleep like that?" I was certain we'd see him sleeping and snoring deeply. I was not disappointed XD

Me when proper trigger discipline: 🥳💯👀🥳👌💯👀👌👌👀🎊👌🎊💯

First, good ol' focus on the ring on McMahon's finger. Second, I'm confused by the translation here in comparison to the manga. Here it says "as long as people continue to be people" while the manga says "as long as people are the way they are", and that can have a different meaning. The former sounds like conflict is in the nature of humans and that it's something we can never avoid, which doesn't seem to follow the story's ideal. It's what Donovan Desmond beliefs are based on, after all. The latter sounds like people are currently very focused on matters that cause conflict, and have a chance of reaching peace if taught differently.

I think, depending on the interpretation, it can tell a lot about McMahon's character. I will wait to see the rest of the arc to make up my mind.

And after he says that they're soldiers even in time of peace, the manga treats us to a panel of a pensive Yor, but the anime doesn't.

Stop robbing us, anime team!

Yor tells the others they should keep their shoes on - nice detail, btw - and Olka looks very familiar with such a concept, while it's Zeb who is a little surprised but accepts it. It's interesting what a character not reacting to something can tell about them!

As expected, Yor and Olka are vigilant, while Gram and Zeb sleep like babies. Let them rest XD

Some brand new music there! There's a lot of new music in general. And then THIS!

THIS IS THE FUTURE LIBERALS WANT ETC

The way Yor widens her eyes when she realizes what she just imagined! AAAAAAAAAHHHH!

And BOY we talk a lot about Loid's denial but the way Yor is still going like "No, no, no, priorities!" though. THE WAY SHE THINKS OF YURI BEING PROUD OF HER, THEN BEING AN INDEPENDENT MAN SHE MANAGED TO RAISE WITH A FEW ISSUES, AND THEN THE HAPPY FACES OF LOID AND ANYA EATING HER FOOD I WILL GO FERAL

Someone hug her omg she deserves the world 😭😭

Neither Twilight nor Yor are the only people neck-deep in denial though.

"The man decided to live for his job" yeah right. He sees one (1) pretty woman pay him some attention because of Bond and he's like "Well imma adopt a dog then". Bond's doubtful and rejecting reaction was priceless XD

This is so fucking funny to me for some reason aadshadfhsdgh. Look at him. Brought into despair by one (1) five-year-old.

I kinda love how he admits that he does fear the unknown, and has been simply trained to overcome it and try to deal with what he has in front of him.

And currently, his fear is for Anya's emotional state.

Having no idea that she's actually having the time of her life, even though she hasn't realized how deeply dangerous her situation is.

Anyway, I love that she brought Mr. Chimera with her on the trip <3

LOID HAVING HIS VERY OWN OH MAH GAH MOMENT I LAUGHED SO HARD

He is very seriously focusing on how he can make Anya happy. He thinks she asked to go for mini golf because she likes it, so he followed along, he saw her upset with how she lost, and believed she needed to experience winning in order to feel fulfilled, so he was determined to stay there until she won.

Anya takes him to the library and of course he's read everything. And even if he hadn't, he has photographic memory and can practically read through an entire tome in minutes.

But still, he's focused on her happiness, and he's satisfied that Anya is having fun reading comics. She goes for the puzzle (btw I love the idea of having a big puzzle available and leaving it to passersby to solve it. I once visited a school where they had one on a table in the halls and students would sit and try and solve it during recesses) and he analyzes it, thinks he can solve it quickly. Anya reacts in shock, and we hear a tiny hesitant "Oh" from him, because he noticed her sudden change in reaction.

Oh no. Twilight is rubbing off on her a little too much. You're five, darling. Enjoying yourself is your job!!

Just like with the bullet in butt date, Loid cannot understand why Anya looks so angry now after having spent an entire day having fun - and he cataloguing what she seems to be having fun with.

The way that he ends his internal monologue with his fear of the Forgers breaking apart and Operation Strix doesn't cross his mind once, tells a lot about how his priorities are starting to change enough to even silence his "For the Mission" talk. My mans falling hard.

Anya sees how worried Loid has gotten... and maybe she reads even deeper and realizes how genuine of a worry it is? That he's not worried for her as an asset of Operation Strix, but as a kid that deserves to have fun and be happy. And she steps up to reassure him.

And oh, how his face changes! T_T

And the way he alternates between "Loid voice" when he speaks and "Twilight voice" when he thinks. Have I congratulated Takuya Eguchi for this feat yet?

And by the way, he "justifies" Anya being so upset of missing her mama because she's still a "small child". Because of course only small children can miss their mothers, right? Twilight definitely doesn't miss his, right?

Forget neck-deep denial, this man is deep down the Mariana Trench of denial.

And the "Small Daily Life" track from the soundtrack plays, with the beautiful family leitmotif...

I love them. He can be so sweet with Anya, I can only imagine how he'll end up post-identity reveals and especially post-feelings realization.

The final few hours before Olka, Gram and Zeb get safely transferred! I think you can see the tension on their entire faces.

Also some intense, new soundtrack there! Interesting! The composers have done a lot of job this season, carefully mixing up tracks from the previous season with new ones to create the respective mood.

And that's it for this week! I foresee way more action on the next episode! :D

[raconteur-wanpi]

ONE PIECE 1126

Finally found the time to talk about this one. I already talked a bit about a certain character in an earlier post, but here we go into the full thing.

OK, starting off with where we left with Yamato in the cover stories -yep, it seems people in Wano are getting kidnapped and/or going missing. Last chapter we saw Minamoto the carpenter has disappeared as well. Honestly, as for who is doing the kidnappings, there's actually plenty of candidates. I think most of, if not all of the Beast Pirates were dealt with, so we might be dealing with somebody else. IIRC, the Big Mom pirates seem to have returned to Tottoland without their mother (we see Smoothie back with her siblings watching Vegapunk's message in Egghead, and she was leading the ship). It could be Perospero if he's alive somehow, but I think it'd be an interesting twist if it turned out to be something like the wild giant boar that Oden slayed back in the day, thus giving Yamato the chance to fulfill his role as a parallel to him or something. Who knows! We still don't know Kaidou and Linlin's fates, so Wano is a location to keep an eye out on for sure.

Anyway, getting in the chapter, it's so nice to see more of the classic Strawhat party celebration! Seeing them all together chilling like this is always one of the best parts. My circle has already plastered my timeline with Usopp and Sanji being inseparable again, of course. My foils meta keeps being fulfilled, let's see if Usopp ends up returning his favor and his words to him if this arc ends up mirroring Enies Lobby.

Hey what if I cried. I'm not going to sugarcoat it: I teared up like a child at this. They finally got to see the sky and the sun together, they got to sail together!!!!!!! Nobody talk to me, I think I will never recover after this page. God, if Kuma dies I'm going to be devastated. The theories around the number-named devil fruits going to the strawhats have destroyed me, and the Nikyu-Nikyu fruit being the last possible combination of numbers and the right shape for the tangerines is.... worrying me.

Bartooooo!!!! He is the GOAT of this chapter. He was already one of my absolute favorite One Piece characters, but this man's willingness to die on the spot for Luffy just cemented him even higher on the list. Thank god it was a fake-out! Everything's gonna be fine, right? Haha? Right?

Aaand there it is. Wow. OK. I cannot lie this caught me so off guard I am still reeling from it. This, is the part I made an earlier post about. Yasopp, of his own accord, after Shanks decided to spare the Barto Club and even seemed to be charmed by them, chose to shot them down. Shanks clearly didn't give the order, and it seems Yasopp might have been going for the kill, too. Perhaps he was just trying to destroy the ship, but seeing that explosion... Not to mention the narrator says after this "it is unknown if there were any survivors". This is such a merciless act from him. And for me, the reading I have of it is that it's setup by Oda for us to start feeling (even more) conflicted about his character, and this is going to be relevant going forward in Elbaf as an Usopp arc. This is a reminder of how different he is from him, he brutally shot down the Barto Club knowing well they are his son's allies and friends, with no remorse. Usopp has shown mercy and compassion most of any strawhat, I think he would be mortified by this. I wonder if this begins the setup of Usopp realizing he has put his father on a pedestal, and the idealized image of him in his head doesn't reflect reality. A lot of people didn't like Yasopp already, but this is going to put him on a looooot of fans' shitlist. Anyway, if Barto is dead I am going to jump into the ocean. Fingers crossed harder than his when he puts up his barriers.

Going back to the Blackbeard pirates; Garp's alive!!!! It seems that Kuzan couldn't take his life after all. He says "he survived", but in my eyes, he definitely chose to spare him, perhaps even unconsciously.

PUDDING CAMEO!!!!!!! MY SPECIALEST GIRLIE IN THE WORLD!!! Oh my god I'm glad she's still OK. Pudding get him. Bite him. Scratch him, do something, get his ass. Stay away from her get a joooooob. Jokes aside, I am curious about what the Big Mom pirates are planing; between their mother being Put In the Soup in Wano (status unknown), their eldest brother being well... status unknown, and Pudding getting kidnapped, they have too much going on on their plate, and I do wonder which thing they are trying to deal with first. I am not jealous of the mess poor Katakuri has to deal with right now, assuming he has been put in charge at the moment. I like to imagine he is definitely planning for ways to get Pudding back; his siblings are the most important thing in the world to him, after all.

Sigh. Caribou is still here too. For some reason. Like some sort of cockroach that just won't croak. The information he has on not one, but two ancient weapons is very concerning, and the fact he is about to deliver it to Teach of all people is definitely gonna be a big, terrifying development.

This isn't plot or anything but please look at this image of tiny Bonney holding on to Jinbe's robes. Her collection of big dads grows ever steady. That is all.

And here is our conclusion! The group of strawhats that was on the Sunny has disappeared together with it, while the rest of the crew and the giants where knocked out from the booze. They wake up looking for them and the Sunny all baffled. It seems Jinbe, Robin and Franky are the only strawhats left with the giants, although I saw some people say Brook might be with them as well. Nami, who was with those missing, wakes up in Elbaf-style garb already, inside some sort of toy-lego-house... I wonder if this means our missing strawhats have been kidnapped by another group of giants!? A toy-like dollhouse is where you'd put a tiny person in, isn't it? Dorry and Broggy and their crew said that Elbaf is still days away, even with their ship's speed, so could someone from there have somehow hijacked them in the middle of the journey? Could it be Loki himself? I guess we have to wait to find out!

[bonefall]

I have my own clan project and I need some quick advice. I calculated the feral cat population I chose to base the setting on, and I got back that the feral cat population is usually one tenth of the human population in the area. Instead of throwing that 15-30k cat estimate away ("THATS A LOT OF DAMAGE") I wanted to at least massively increase the amount of cats in each clan and let the cats in the city soak up the mass majority of that number. So, anywhere from 100-150 cats in a clan I decided, a HUGE leap from the 30 something in the normal clans.

The cats DO have access to large prey- one clan hunts goats by using gravity for example, but I'd love to know how I can wring out every calorie and nutrient to make this massive population viable eating-wise. I'm thinking that the massive size would encourage hunting larger and larger prey (no sweet fat of the hog in the area, but deer and caribou are here), but do you think the small prey population would still be able to support the large clans?

YOWZA you're going to start having some troubles there, but I do think it's doable if you start giving them some serious advances. I don't think this is sustainable if you're doing a canon-compliant Clan; but you can squeak by if you're using fire, traps, and domestication.

So, even above the technological level of BB, but you're dealing with a BIG number here. So anyway, here's how to REALLY maximize the amount of meat you have in an area;

Domestication You seem to be somewhere cold, but I could imagine this being HUGE for Clans that are set up in South America. Natural home of the guinea pig, a living, breathing sausage. Even without guinea pigs, you might be able to have them domesticate pigeons, goldfish, mealworms, mice, maybe even chickens if you're REALLY advanced with making your fencing. What you can't make up in livestock, you can supplement with hunting. Check out CGPGrey's video on domestication, and think about how to adjust the information for a species of cats which is very small.

Fire You need fire. That 20% to 50% increase is HUGE when you're cutting back on prey.

Traps, spears, other hunting tools, for catching larger prey You can use gravity to chase a goat or a sheep off the side of a cliff, but you don't want to rely on this too much if those are human-owned. A few going missing once in a while? That's expected. If they go missing with regularity? Those humans are going to check in. Another thing to be careful of; It's a LOT easier to do this trick with an entire herd than one individual. In fact, the deadliest wolf attacks are accidental, like this one time two accidentally fenton'd 143 sheep to their deaths. OOPS!!! Plus, it straightup doesn't work on boars. They will turn around and kill you to death. You're going to want some cats who can figure out how to set traps and handle weapons. Forget about killing boars if you don't have spears like BB!ThunderClan does.

Spread Out You might even benefit from having the Clans all be interconnected, honestly, regularly trading resources. You mentioned having your city Clan, so you could be having them plus one of the further-out Clans (maybe even have one be nomadic) be the ones who are known for food production, with some Clans supplementing their diets with imports.

There IS a group kind of like this in BB, actually; The Tribe. This is actually why they have those three "Wards" I mention-- the Cave Ward, which is the "canon" Tribe, doesn't actually produce a lot of its own food and has a lower population than the Mountain and River Wards. But, put together, they significantly outnumber the Clans of the Lake.

[aelinad]

Tangled Strings Of Fate

Chapter 06 - The Party Pt. 2

~~ Namjoon's POV (a couple of days ago)~~

"And that's the final track done. Everything seems ready for the listening party this Saturday. Any last-minute tweaks, or should I send it through?" Hwan-seok asked, pulling off his headphones.

We were in the production room, wrapping up Indigo for its final check before the listening party. Tonight was the deadline to submit the tracklist for production, and the albums would start printing soon. It was almost midnight; Hwan and I had been here for six hours, perfecting every detail. Somewhere along the way, Hana texted back, replying to the list of things to do in Seoul I'd sent her. Keeping track of places to visit was just something I did, so putting it together for her wasn't a big deal. What was a big deal, though, was the fact that I'd texted her at all.

After so many people had tried to exploit me for attention, part of me worried she'd do the same. Had I been arrogant, assuming she didn't know who I was? If she did, she never gave it away, and there hadn't been any hint of our encounter in the media, no matter how much I searched. Maybe that's why I texted her—to test if she was genuinely different from everyone else in my life lately. Worst case, I'd change my number again, something I'd gotten used to by now. But then she sent a sweet, inviting reply halfway through our listen of the album, and I panicked, replying back coldly to keep my distance. I regretted it immediately. I knew better than to let my insecurities mess things up.

Then, as we reached the final track, she messaged me again. Unexpected. She invited me to a gallery exhibition—something from the list I'd sent her, something I'd wanted to check out myself. Lost in thought, I barely noticed Hwan talking to me again.

"Bro, are you even listening? What's up with you tonight? Something on your mind?" Hwan looked at me with concern.

I sighed heavily. "There's this girl..."

Hwan's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward, listening as I told him about meeting Hana. I explained how, for the first time, I felt normal around someone new. How I wanted to keep talking to her, to get to know her, but ended up messing it all up by overthinking. Now, I didn't know if meeting her at the gallery was a good idea.

"Damn, man. Didn't see that coming," he smirked. "You sound kinda whipped, Dimples."

I shot him a glare, but he raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning.

"Hear me out," he said. "You're overthinking it. Yeah, you're famous, but that doesn't mean everyone's out to use you. Maybe she genuinely likes you—wants to know you for you?"

I shifted in my chair, staring down at the console. "You don't get it, Hwan. I don't have the luxury of taking that risk anymore. Every time I let someone in, it backfires. How am I supposed to know she's different?"

Hwan shook his head. "You're focused on what could go wrong. But what about what could go right? You said it felt... normal, right?"

Reluctantly, I nodded, recalling the ease of walking beside her, laughing over the simplest things. "Yeah. It was... nice. Different."

"Then what's the harm in trying?" Hwan leaned in, his tone serious. "You deserve that. I get it, you've been through a lot. But you can't hide behind walls forever."

His words began to sink in, loosening the knots I'd twisted in my mind. "And if it's just another mistake?"

"Then it's a mistake, and you deal with it," he said simply. "The company can spin it, and people will forget in no time. But at least you'll have tried. Don't let past bad experiences—okay, maybe a lot of them—keep you from meeting someone genuine."

I mulled it over, thinking about her gallery invitation. Nothing flashy, just a simple exhibit. Something I could easily arrange to go to quietly without the media or general public catching on. It was the sort of thing I'd attend with a friend anyway.

"You don't have to decide now," Hwan suggested. "Sleep on it. See how you feel tomorrow. If you're still curious, text her back about the gallery. Just see what happens."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "You think that's a good idea?"

"Honestly? Yeah, I do," he replied, shrugging. "And if it goes well, maybe invite her to the listening party. She'd be around people who already know you—no hiding, no pretence. You could just be yourself and see how she handles it."

I hesitated, picturing it. It felt almost too simple. "I don't know if I'm ready for her to meet everyone."

"Hey, it's just a thought," Hwan said, hands raised again. "But if you're that worried, having her meet you in your element could be a good test. You'd know quickly if she's the real deal."

He was right. It would be a chance to see if Hana was truly different. Even with doubts tugging at me, something about the idea felt right.

~~ Hana's POV (present) ~~

After our conversation in the kitchen, Jungkook and I made our way back to the party. I spotted Selina right where I left her initially, seated on the couch, chatting with her friend's cousin. The room buzzed with activity; people were scattered around, some sitting, some standing, while others were lost in the music, dancing to the rhythm of Namjoon's new songs.

As we walked, I noticed Taehyung talking with a group standing around the couch, while Jimin sat on the opposite side, occasionally glancing over at Selina with an expression I couldn't quite read. It made me wonder if there was more to their interactions than met the eye. I'd have to remember to ask her about it later.

"Are you gonna go and talk to Namjoon after the songs finish?" Jungkook's voice came from just behind me, a gentle reminder of the conversation waiting to happen.

"Yes," I replied with a slight nod. "I think it's only fair to finish what we started."

My eyes drifted to the back of the room, where Namjoon stood near the DJ, a quiet presence amidst the crowd. Then, as the song faded out, he took the microphone, and his deep voice filled the space.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," he began, and the room quieted. "This album, Indigo, has been a journey. A way for me to speak in silence, to express myself truthfully without causing confusion." His gaze swept over the crowd, his words carrying a depth that felt almost like a confession. "I think of Indigo as the last archive of my twenties, a blend of rock, pop, hip-hop, and funk that captures who I am, in this moment."

As he spoke, I could see how much this project meant to him, the way his emotions came through in every word. I was so captivated that I forgot I was supposed to make my way back to Selina. Just as I took a step back, my gaze accidentally met his, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though he was speaking only to me. But then, a familiar jolt as I stumbled—again, nearly tripping over who I believe was the same guy who had bumped into me earlier.

As I stumbled, expecting to hit the ground, Jungkook's arm slipped around me, his hand resting at the small of my back. He pulled me close, steadying me with an ease that felt natural, almost instinctive. His hand lingered there, warm and grounding, and for a moment, it was as if we'd stepped out of the noisy party and into our own quiet space. I looked up, and his eyes met mine with a hint of a smile, something soft and unguarded. My heart fluttered, betraying me completely, and suddenly I was all too aware of how close we were.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low, the words just between us.

"Yeah," I managed, barely above a whisper. "Thanks for... catching me.Maybe we should get back before I fall again. Have I mentioned I'm clumsy?"

"You didn't need to. I just saw it firsthand," he teased, his eyes sparkling.

"Whatever you say, Ian," I replied, throwing him a look, which only made him laugh.

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

Feigning innocence, I smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

After what felt like a small eternity, we reached the couch. Selina stood up, her eyes scanning my face as though reading every detail.

"Are you alright? I saw you almost falling back there," she asked, her tone laced with concern.

"I'm fine! Jungkook caught me before I could break anything."

"Good." She shot him a grateful smile. "So...are you two...you know, okay now?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think we're fine."

"And what about Namjoon?"

I glanced over to where Namjoon had returned to the crowd. "Haven't had the chance to talk to him yet, but I'll probably catch him when things calm down."

We sat back down, sinking into the plush cushions. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Jimin and Jungkook chatting in Korean, discussing the new album's release and what they each liked about it. I picked up bits and pieces, though my understanding of Korean was still shaky. I let my mind drift, replaying the night's events over and over.

I must have zoned out, because I didn't notice when someone seated across from me started talking until Selina nudged me lightly.

"Oh! Sorry, yes?" I stammered, snapping back to reality. Standing in front of me was none other than Jin from BTS, a warm smile lighting up his face.

"Nice to meet you," he said, his tone friendly. "Hana, right? Jungkook mentioned that you know Namjoon, too."

"That's me," I replied, glancing at Jungkook, who gave me a small, encouraging smile.

Jin turned to Jungkook, his eyebrows raised slightly. "Geu saram-eun uri-ga nugunji ara?" he asked, and I caught enough to understand: Does she know who we are?

I couldn't help but smile. "Yes, I know exactly who you all are. You're Jin from BTS. Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Worldwide Handsome." The title earned a laugh from the guys around us—I guess my quick Google search hadn't been for nothing.

Jin looked momentarily taken aback, clearly not expecting me to understand. "Do you speak Korean?" he asked, obviously impressed.

"Not fluently yet, but I'm getting there," I admitted, laughing a little.

Still grinning, he turned back to Jungkook. "Na-neun i-geos-eul jo-ahanda," he said with a nod—I like this one.

***

The other members—J-Hope and Yoongi—came over to greet me as well, their smiles as warm and welcoming as they were on screen. Each one of them had a unique vibe, but there was an undeniable kindness to all of them that put me at ease. It felt surreal standing among them, sharing laughs and small talk.

Selina, meanwhile, had settled in with Taehyung and J-Hope, who were already laughing and swapping jokes like they'd known each other for years. I watched as she let loose, leaning into her natural friendliness. She seemed right at home, giggling along with them like they were old friends.

After a moment, I let my eyes wander across the room, scanning for Namjoon. I finally spotted him toward the back, standing by the equipment table, quietly helping pack up some cables and speakers now that the main listening session had ended.

I took a deep breath. This was my moment; he was finally alone. I glanced at Jungkook as I got up, who gave me a reassuring nod, as if he already knew what I was about to do. With a small smile, I left the comfort of the group and made my way through the crowd.

As I approached, I felt a strange mix of anticipation and nerves. The night had already been full of surprises, but this conversation felt like the most important one. Namjoon was so focused he didn't notice me at first. When he finally looked up and saw me, he gave a soft smile, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"Hana," he greeted, his voice warm but cautious. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be here."

"I, um, thought I'd stay," I said, trying to sound casual but feeling the weight of the moment. "I wanted to congratulate you on Indigo. It's... it's really incredible, Namjoon. You can feel every part of you in it."

Namjoon's face softened, and he set down the equipment he was holding. "Thank you. That means a lot." He glanced away for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts. "This album... It's different from anything I've done before. It's my way of being real with myself, you know?"

I nodded, feeling the honesty in his words. "You can tell. There's a rawness to it, like you're letting everyone in on pieces of yourself you've kept hidden."

He looked at me, his gaze intense but kind. "That was the hardest part. Letting people see beyond the image, into... well, the mess that is me." He laughed softly, the sound a little self-conscious.

"It doesn't feel like a mess, though," I replied, finding the courage to meet his gaze. "It feels honest. It feels... real."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of his words settling between us. It felt like I was seeing him as he truly was, beyond the leader, beyond the idol. Just Namjoon, with all his thoughts and vulnerabilities laid bare.

"Thank you for saying that, Hana," he finally said, his voice a little quieter. "So... I guess you probably have a lot of questions," he said, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to mine. "About why I kept my identity hidden, and why I invited you tonight without telling you much about... well, any of this."

I chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. "You mean why you didn't just say, 'Hey, I'm Namjoon from BTS, want to come to an album release party?'"

A grin broke across his face, and he shook his head, a hint of embarrassment in his eyes. "Yeah, I guess that's exactly what I should've done." He paused, running a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I didn't want it to feel... different with you. It sounds strange, but it's rare to meet someone who just sees you as a regular person. That's how I felt with you, and I wanted to hold onto it a little longer."

I took a moment to let that sink in, feeling the warmth of his words settle over me. "I get it," I said softly. "It's a lot to put out there, I mean... I can't imagine what it's like for you to meet new people who already have an idea of who you are. Or think they do."

He nodded, a shadow of thought crossing his face. "Exactly. And I think that's why I didn't say much about who would be here tonight either. I figured if I told you, it might... I don't know, make you not want to come or make you feel like you have to act a certain way, or say certain things." He hesitated, then continued, "I just wanted you to come as you are. To be you, not someone reacting to 'RM' or the idea of what it means to be at this kind of party."

I could feel the honesty in his words, the vulnerability in admitting that he'd wanted something real—something uncomplicated. "Well," I said, giving him a reassuring smile, "I think you got what you wanted. Although," I added with a playful grin, "I could've used a bit of warning. You know, like, 'Hey, Hana, you might be casually bumping into some of the world's biggest idols tonight.'"

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. "I should've known. But to be honest... I didn't expect you to stay. When you first figured it out, I thought... well, I thought you'd be overwhelmed and just... leave."

I looked down for a moment, then back up, meeting his gaze. "It was overwhelming," I admitted, "and honestly, I almost did leave. But... I realised I wanted to stay. Not just because of the music or the people here, but because... well, because you invited me. I trusted that you wanted me here."

He held my gaze, a flicker of surprise, then something softer in his eyes. "I'm glad you did. Because I wanted you to see this side of me too—not just the polished, rehearsed version."

There was a moment of silence between us, charged with unspoken understanding. Here was Namjoon, stripped of the usual layers, standing in front of me not as a global superstar, but as someone who simply wanted to be known, genuinely, by someone else.

"Thank you for letting me see that," I said softly. "I know how important this night is for you, and I don't take it lightly that you wanted me to be part of it. It means... a lot."

He smiled, this time more relaxed, his shoulders easing. "It means a lot to me, too," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "More than you know."

"Hana! How's the party treating you?" It was Hwan, Namjoon's friend, grinning as he joined us, clearly picking up on the comfortable energy between us. "And what do you think of the songs? Pretty incredible, right?"

I blinked, caught a little off guard by the sudden change in conversation, but I quickly smiled back at him. "Oh, it's been amazing," I replied, glancing at Namjoon. "The music was really beautiful and I love how every song feels like its own story."

Namjoon gave me a quiet, appreciative smile, and Hwan nodded enthusiastically. "That's exactly what he was going for. I've known this guy for years, and I think Indigo's probably the most Namjoon thing he's ever put out." He chuckled, giving Namjoon a friendly pat on the back. "He was a little nervous about it, but I told him people would understand, just like you did."

Namjoon laughed, shaking his head. "Thanks, Hwan. Always the hype man." Then he looked back at me, a softness in his expression that made me feel like we'd shared something meaningful in those last few moments.

"Well, I guess I'd better make the rounds," Hwan said with a grin, giving Namjoon a knowing look before heading back into the crowd. "It was great to meet you, Hana. Take care of this one—he can be a bit much sometimes!"

I laughed, and Namjoon rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of fondness in his reaction. As Hwan wandered back into the party, I realised it was getting late and the room had thinned out; only a few small groups lingered, laughing and chatting quietly as the evening wound down.

Just then, Selina approached. "Hey, Hana," she said softly. "I think it's probably time for us to head out." She glanced at Namjoon, then back at me, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

I turned to Namjoon, feeling the weight of the night settle over me. "Thank you for tonight. For inviting us, and for... everything," I said, my voice soft but sincere.

Namjoon gave a gentle nod, his gaze warm. "Thank you for staying. It means a lot." He hesitated, as though he wanted to say something more, but then he simply offered a small, almost shy smile. "Take care, Hana. I hope this won't be the last time we see each other."

"Me too," I replied, feeling my heart flutter at his words. "Goodnight, Namjoon."

With a final, shared smile, I turned and joined Selina, who was already waving goodbye to the others. I spotted Jungkook standing a few feet away, watching us with a soft smile. He approached, hands in his pockets, looking a bit more like the "Ian" I knew in that moment.

"So, heading out?" he asked, his voice quiet, almost reluctant.

"Yeah, I think it's time," I replied, smiling back at him. "It's been... quite a night."

Jungkook chuckled, glancing down before meeting my gaze again. "I'm glad we got a chance to clear everything up, Hana. I know the whole 'Ian' thing was... a lot." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit sheepish. "I never meant for it to be that complicated."

I laughed softly. "Honestly, I think I'll always remember it as the most interesting introduction I've ever had." I reached out and gave his arm a light squeeze. "Thank you for being... well, for being you. Ian or Jungkook, I'm happy to know you."

Before either of us could say more, Taehyung and Jimin sidled up, grins plastered on their faces clearly a bit tipsy from the night as they looked between us. Taehyung leaned in, feigning a dramatic whisper to Jungkook. "Aww, our little Ian has found himself a lady friend," he teased, giving me a playful wink.

Jimin snickered, nudging Jungkook's shoulder. "Didn't you tell her you're an international heartbreaker, Jungkook? Or was that just 'Ian'?"

Jungkook rolled his eyes, though a blush crept up his cheeks. "Guys, come on. We're just saying goodbye."

But Jimin wasn't done. He turned to me, feigning seriousness. "Hana, just so you know, this guy"—he pointed at Jungkook—"is notorious for stealing hearts, so... be careful."

I laughed, playing along. "I'll keep that in mind, Jimin. Thanks for the warning." Then I looked back at Jungkook, letting the teasing slip away to something more genuine. He hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but instead he simply held my gaze, his eyes warm with sincerity.

Taehyung let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright, enough with the lingering eye contact. It's getting way too sappy here." He gave Jungkook a nudge. "Let the lady go, man, before you make her go home late."

Jungkook laughed, but he stepped back with a small, reluctant smile. "Guess they're right," he said. "But I'll see you again, Hana."

I nodded, feeling a bit of bittersweetness settle in. "Yeah."

As Selina and I finally made our way out, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin stood by the doorway, calling out playful goodbyes. Selina, still giggling at their antics, hooked her arm around mine, giving me a teasing look as we stepped into the night.

As we strolled through the quiet streets back to our place, Selina couldn't help but give me a sly grin. "So... any thoughts on who's the main lead here? Dimples or Mr. Fate Guy?" she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide a smile. "Selina, it's not like that. We're just friends... I think... you know, that's it."

"Uh-huh." She gave me a knowing look, crossing her arms with a playful smirk. "Good friends who invite you to private album parties and stare at you like you're the only person in the room?"

"Stop it," I laughed, nudging her. "It's not like that. They're idols, Selina. They're not going to be interested in something more. And honestly..." I trailed off, glancing at the night sky as if searching for words. "I'm just... happy to know them. To share moments like tonight."

Selina's smile softened as she took my hand. "I get it, Hana. But don't be so quick to put people on unreachable pedestals, okay? Who knows what could happen?" She winked, adding in a whisper, "Just know I'm kinda leaning towards team Dimples... though Ian has that whole fate-and-mystery thing going for him."

I laughed again, shaking my head as we continued on. In the silence that followed, I let her words linger, but not too deeply. For now, friendship was enough. ***

"What do you mean you went to the same party as BTS last night?!" Aera whispered, half-screaming as she nearly dropped the plate she was holding. Selina had just casually let it slip, and now Aera's eyes were wide with shock.

It was Sunday afternoon, and Nabi's family had invited all of us over for lunch at their beautiful, secluded home. According to Selina, a lot of influential people lived in this quiet neighbourhood, which made sense given how well-off Nabi's family was. The house, nestled behind high walls and lush greenery, was cosy and filled with warmth. Besides Nabi and her brother, only her parents lived here now; her sister had already moved out with her partner, who were both set to join us later.

In the kitchen, Aera, Nabi, Seon-Jae, Selina, and I were setting up plates and catching up on the latest news. Seon-Jae had started the conversation after mentioning that his cousin texted him last night, saying one of his friends had been at a work party with some "big names." One thing led to another, and Selina finally told everyone that the two guys I'd met during my trip so far turned out to be none other than two members of BTS.

"Wait," Nabi chimed in, pausing with a spoon in her hand, "are you telling us Ian and Joon were... Jungkook and Namjoon? As in the Jungkook and Namjoon?"

I bit my lip, glancing at Selina, who looked far too amused by the commotion. "Yes," I admitted, sighing. "I had no idea at first! They just introduced themselves as Ian and Joon. I only found out last night at Namjoon's album party."

Aera's jaw dropped. "So, you were hanging out with BTS this whole time, and you didn't even know?"

"Trust me, if I'd known, I would have freaked out ages ago!" I laughed, feeling the secondhand shock from her expression.

Selina shook her head, chuckling. "Oh, it was gold. You should've seen Hana when she figured it out. I think she turned every shade of red!"

Seon-Jae raised his eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. "So, now that you know...are things different? Did you say goodbye to them properly, or...?"

Before I could answer, Selina stepped in, teasing, "Well, let's just say Hana's caught between 'Mister Fate' and 'Dimples.'"

Everyone burst out laughing, and I felt my cheeks heat up again. But I couldn't help smiling at the thought of Jungkook and Namjoon. Our relations had been so genuine, so effortless, that it almost felt unreal now knowing who they really were.

"Well," I shrugged, attempting nonchalance, "we said our goodbyes. But they're just friends, you know? They have their lives, and I have mine."

Nabi nodded thoughtfully. "True, but if you could pick between the two?"

I laughed nervously, shaking my head. "No way. That's not even on my radar right now."

The doorbell chimed just then, and Nabi's mom called out to let us know the rest of the family had arrived. As we headed to the dining room, Aera whispered to me, "You know, even if they're idols, that doesn't mean you can't keep in touch. Friends are friends, no matter who they are."

I smiled, touched by her words. She wasn't wrong, and I couldn't deny that, deep down, I hoped our paths might cross again someday. I had restrained myself from contacting them after last night, a bit afraid that I'd come across as opportunistic or bothersome given their schedule. I had to leave it to them to see if they wanted me to still be around.

When we went to the table to set the last plates, Nabi's sister Yeri and her partner walked in followed by Nabi's brother who was out when we arrived. The dining room was buzzing with laughter as we settled around the table for lunch. Nabi's family had set out a spread of delicious dishes, and their warmth was infectious. Nabi's mom, a university professor, had taken a particular interest in Selina and me since the moment we'd arrived. It was like being welcomed into a family we'd known for years.

As we began to eat, Nabi's mom looked over at me with a curious, friendly smile. "So, Hana," she said, "Nabi tells me you're working on a PhD in neuroscience. That's quite impressive. Do you have plans for what you'd like to do after you finish?"

I swallowed a bite of food, feeling the weight of everyone's attention shift to me. "Thank you," I replied, smiling. "I'm still deciding, actually. I might stay in research, or maybe go into teaching. But I've always loved the idea of working in neurorehabilitation, something that would have a direct impact on patients' lives."

Her face lit up with approval. "That's wonderful, Hana. You'd make a real difference in people's lives." She took a sip of water, then added, "Though I do wonder if you have any time for yourself with such a busy schedule. You must be very focused, or perhaps...you are already seeing someone special?"

The question caught me slightly off guard. "Oh, uh, no, I'm not seeing anyone," I said, chuckling nervously. "I've just been so focused on my studies and travelling lately."

Nabi's mom nodded thoughtfully, glancing over at her older son, Sun-bin, who was quietly enjoying his meal at the far end of the table. "You remind me of my Sun-bin here," she said, almost to herself. "He's also so focused on his career...too busy to date, in fact."

Nabi cleared her throat. "Eomma, not this again..."

Her mother gave her a look, half amused, half chiding. "Oh, I'm just saying. When I see such a smart, accomplished young woman like Hana, I can't help but wonder." She smiled warmly at me, her suggestion as subtle as it was kind.

I smiled, feeling a little embarrassed but touched. "Thank you, that's really sweet."

Before she could say anything else Sun-bin interfered: "Eomma, geumanhaseyo..." Stop please.

Just then, as I reached for my glass, my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at the screen and saw it was a text from Jungkook.

Kook - Bam's new owner: Hey! I'm picking Bam up from the centre this evening. Wanna join? Bam would love the surprise!

A rush of excitement coursed through me when I received his text, but it was quickly followed by a wave of worry. We didn't have any concrete plans for the rest of the day, aside from maybe grabbing a drink later with Selina's friends. I could still go if I wanted to meet up with him, but I was quite far from home and Seon-Jae had given us a lift, so it would take some time to get back. But would it be okay to see him? What if someone saw us? I didn't want any rumours to start that could cause problems for him.

Hana - Bam's previous owner: I'd love to, but I'm actually a bit far from my place right now, so it might take me a while. Not sure I can make it in time.

His response was almost immediate.

Kook - Bam's new owner: No problem! I can pick you up, and we can go together if you're up for it. Just text me the address.

Hana - Bam's previous owner:Are you sure? It might be...um, a bit risky?

He replied with a laughing emoji.

Kook - Bam's new owner: Don't worry. I can handle everything else. Just say yes!

I looked up at Selina, who had noticed my slight distraction and was watching me with a knowing smile. I texted her under the table:

Hana: Jungkook wants to pick me up to go get Bam... should I go? I don't want to be rude to Nabi's family by just ditching either.

Selina: Yes! Go, obviously! We're meant to leave the house around 16:30 to downtown either way so maybe go then?

I nodded and typed out my response to Jungkook.

Hana - Bam's previous owner: Alright, yes. Is 16:30 a good time to pick me up though? I am currently over a friend's family for lunch and we are not meant to leave till then.

Kook - Bam's new owner: Yeah that's perfect. The care centre does not close till 8pm so no need to rush.

Hana - Bam's previous owner: I'll just wait for you outside the place I sent you then!

Kook - Bam's new owner: Deal! I'll see you then.

As lunch wrapped up, everyone began saying their goodbyes. Nabi's family insisted on sending us off with warm hugs and promises to meet again soon.

"Are you sure you don't want us to wait with you?" Selina asked as Seon-Jae went to get his car out of the parking spot.

I shook my head, smiling. "No, go ahead. Don't want you guys to be late. I'll be fine."

Aera nudged her, winking at me. "Alright, alright. But we'll expect details later!"

Nabi rolled her eyes but gave me a quick hug. "Have fun, Hana," she whispered with a grin. "Hopefully Mister Fate guy doesn't keep you waiting too long."

With that, they piled into Seon-Jae's car, and I waved as they drove off, leaving me outside the house's gate.

I watched them drive off, and did not realise when Sun-bin appeared beside me, hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced down the street. "Didn't leave with the rest of the group?" he asked, an easy smile playing on his lips.

"Oh," I replied, a little caught off guard. "No, I actually have a friend coming to pick me up soon."

"Lucky friend," he said with a soft chuckle. "My mom's subtle, isn't she?" He scratched his neck, looking a little embarrassed but mostly amused. "Sorry about that."

"Oh, it's alright!" I laughed, trying to play it off. "She's really sweet. It's nice to feel so welcomed. Plus, we all had a bit to drink, so no harm done."

Sun-bin gave a slow nod, studying me intently. "Well, if you're ever interested in the 'suggestion' she was hinting at..." he paused, his voice dipping into a more confident tone, "I'd be more than happy to give it a shot."

The statement caught me completely off guard, and my mind went blank as he took a small step closer, his hand brushing against my arm, an innocent touch that felt both casual and undeniably intentional. Was this the result of some liquid courage, or was he being genuine? I felt myself tense, unsure of how to respond, when the sudden slam of a car door jolted us both back to reality.

"Hey, Hana!" Jungkook's familiar voice rang out, a little louder and sharper than usual.

I turned, relief washing over me as I saw Jungkook walking toward us. "Oh, Jungkook, you're here!" I called out, maybe a bit too eagerly. The look on his face was serious, almost possessive, and I suddenly felt the tension rise another notch.

Sun-bin's hand dropped away from my arm as Jungkook approached, and the two of them locked eyes in a way that made the air between them feel... charged. I could almost feel the unspoken challenge radiating between them, and I cleared my throat, thinking introductions might break the tension.

"Uh, Jungkook, this is Sun-bin. Sun-bin, this is Jungkook," I said, glancing between them.

They shook hands, each holding the other's gaze a moment longer than necessary. Jungkook's grip looked firm, and Sun-bin didn't budge. Sun-bin's gaze shifted down to Jungkook's hand, his eyes lingering on the tattoos on his hand and the piercings on his face before a faint smirk tugged at his lips. A conservative at heart, he clearly wasn't a big fan of such self-expression.

"Well," Sun-bin said, his voice smooth with a slightly amused edge, "an... interesting choice for a friend, Hana." He shot Jungkook a look, his tone light but loaded with implication.

Jungkook's jaw tightened, but he returned Sun-bin's look with an easy, confident smile.

I could feel the tension brewing, and it was the kind that didn't feel like it would diffuse anytime soon. Clearing my throat, I turned to Sun-bin with a polite smile, hoping to wrap this up.

"Thanks again for lunch, Sun-bin. Please tell your mom I said thank you again for having us over," I said, adding, "but Jungkook and I really should get going."

Sun-bin didn't seem fazed, his eyes still lingering on me as he smiled. "Of course. But, Hana," he said, leaning just close enough for his voice to dip lower, "don't forget what I said. Once you're done with your... friend here, think about my suggestion. You know where to find me."

I swallowed, feeling Jungkook's gaze on us as Sun-bin held my gaze a moment longer, his expression both playful and completely serious. Then, with a slight nod toward Jungkook, he stepped back and gave me a final smile before heading toward the house.

As soon as Sun-bin was out of earshot, I could sense Jungkook's annoyance radiating off him. He frowned, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he watched Sun-bin retreat. "So, Sun-bin, huh? What was that all about?" he asked, his voice low and slightly edged.

I took a breath, trying to gather my thoughts. "I'm sorry; that was so weird and unexpected. He caught me off guard with how forward he was. His mom was hinting at us dating over lunch, but I never thought he would actually make a move."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, scepticism lining his features. "So, do you want him to make a move?" His tone was light, but I could sense an underlying seriousness in his question.

"Oh god, no!" I replied, shaking my head firmly. "Sun-bin and I couldn't be more wrong for each other."

His expression softened a fraction as he processed my words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Okay, if you say so." He paused, then added, "Just seemed like he was trying pretty hard to impress you."

I shrugged, forcing a smile. "Maybe he was, but I'm not interested. Honestly, I didn't even think he'd do something like that."

Jungkook nodded, a hint of relief now in his eyes. "Good to know." He glanced toward the car, shifting the subject. "Ready to go see Bam?"

"Definitely," I replied, feeling a wave of excitement wash over me at the thought of reuniting with the puppy.

As we walked back to the car, I couldn't resist the urge to tease him a bit. "You know, for someone labelled as an international heartbreaker, you sure were acting a little defensive back there."

Jungkook rolled his eyes, brushing off my comment as he opened the car door for me. "I wasn't being defensive. Just... observant," he shot back, his voice low, attempting to sound casual, but the slight tightening of his jaw revealed irritation simmering beneath the surface.

"Uh-huh, sure. Observant," I said, suppressing a grin as I slid into the passenger seat. "Didn't strike me as the jealous type, Kook."

"Please," he scoffed, pretending to adjust his seatbelt while pointedly avoiding my gaze. "It's just annoying when guys don't know when to back off."

"Right..." I teased, letting my voice drop to a playful whisper. The atmosphere shifted as he finally turned to me, a smirk creeping onto his lips. "So I'm Kook now, huh?"

The nickname had slipped out accidentally, but after the whole 'Ian' incident, it felt more intimate. I had even changed his contact name on my phone. Jungkook was too formal, but Kook was softer, warmer.

"Well, unless you want me to call you Ian?" I shot back, giving him an innocent questioning look, my heart racing as I met his gaze, the playful challenge hanging in the air.

"Nah, Kook is fine. Should've introduced me to Sun-bin like that, too," he replied, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Ha, funny. Although I kind of regret giving him your full name. Sun-bin isn't the type to keep up with celebrities, so I feel a bit at ease—he probably has no idea who you are."

"I don't mind if he knows. Maybe that'll teach him for being all cocky."

"Sorry about that," I said, glancing down at my hands resting on my lap, suddenly self-conscious. "Not sure if it makes a difference, but I think your tattoos and piercings really suit you. Don't mind him, he's just a bit conservative." My gaze lingered on his lip piercing, and I felt my cheeks warm as the words slipped out.

"Thanks, but I'm sure Sun-bin's opinion doesn't matter to me." Jungkook chuckled, the tension between us easing a bit, yet there was an intensity in his gaze that made my pulse quicken. He shifted into gear and pulled out onto the street, a grin breaking through as he added, "Let's go surprise Bam."

"Yeah, let's go!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ <- Previous | Series Masterlist

[recurring-polynya]

Bleach Returns 2024 - Day 5 - Black and Blue

Author's Note #1: I thought this was sort of a fun prompt that one could riff on in a number of different Bleach-appropriate ways. It made me think of the color schemes of the boys' Academy uniforms contrasted with the shihakushou, so I liked the idea of doing some sort of now-and-then type story.

Author's Note #2: In early Bleach, Renji makes several statements implying that he has seen or possibly even fought Byakuya some time in the past, before he became his vice-captain. That seemed like a fun idea, and I wanted to write a little something about it. Also, Momo is here because I think there should be more stories about Momo being down to clown.

In case it's not obvious, this takes place a few years before canon, when Renji is still at Squad 11.

Rated PG for language, implied violence.

| read on ao3 |

💙 🖤 💙

"Hinamori," said Renji, "I am not actually going to become an adjunct fighting arts teacher."

Hinamori, who had been gushing for the last ten minutes about how excited she was that Renji was going to become an adjunct fighting arts teacher, was not dissuaded. "I know it seems like a longshot," she said. "The Academy doesn't exactly like to admit that the Eleventh Division even exists. But a lot of students are really interested in going there! And you aren't just some guy from the Eleventh--you're an alumni, you were third in our class, you've been writing that column in the newspaper--"

"HInamori," Renji cut her off before her face started turning blue. "That's not what I meant. What I meant is that I asked you to get me into this thing on, uh, you know. False pretenses."

This thing was some sort of open house day, where the grounds of Shin'ou had been opened up to a select set of visitors. Mostly, it was for prospective students and their families, or at least the ones who were already residents of the Seireitei. Renji sure didn't remember getting any invitations to tour the campus. There were various other festivities designed to attract the attention of donors or higher-ups in the Gotei or the Kidou Corps who might have research dollars or internships available. And there were some networking opportunities for people who were interested in part-time teaching positions. These weren't exactly easy to sign-up for, but it helped if you had a friend with connections.

Hinamori froze mid-step. "Abarai!" she gasped. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"I didn't think it would be such a big deal," Renji grumbled. "I mean, I'll go to the interview or whatever! I don't want you to get in trouble with your boss." Hinamori was an assistant layout editor in the publishing department. There was even one of her own drawings in the latest edition of Intermediate Bakudou: Theory and Applications--a diagram of tenteikura that was so good that even he could understand it.

Hinamori huffed and crossed her arms. "Oh, don't worry about that. The issue is--" she took a deep breath through her nose. "Abarai Renji," she said, "tell me this wasn't a ploy to come see the Kuchiki Byakuya demonstration fight."

Renji rolled his face down to regard her. "Of course it was a ploy to come see the Kuchiki Byakuya demonstration fight. Do you know how rare it is for him to fight in public anymore? He hasn't done one of these in thirty-five years. This is only going to be the third time I've seen him in action and the other two were pure luck. This is a huge opportunity for me and I honestly did not think angling me an invitation would--"

"Oh, stop it," Hinamori sighed. "You could have told me. I would have gotten you in anyway. I'm just mad because Kira told me you were only coming for the Kuchiki Byakuya Demonstration Fight and he's unbearable when he's right."

"Is he coming?" Renji asked, feeling a bit hopeful about the prospect despite himself. It had only been in the last few months that he'd started talking to either Kira or Hinamori again, after the big blow-up when he transferred to the Eleventh. Even though most of the blame for that probably belonged on his own stubborn ass, now that it was over Renji couldn't believe how much he had missed the two of them.

"He said he would meet us for dinner later," Hinamori scowled. "He said that he has it on good authority that historically, Captain Kuchiki's demonstrations are impossible to follow, very boring, and also that if he was going to have to hear the detailed play-by-play from you anyway, he might as well skip the actual event."

"You know what?" said Renji, "it's fine. You'll appreciate it more than he would, anyway."

"Will I?" Hinamori replied dryly.

"You have an appreciation of elegance. Of economy of movement. Of a guy who is just really fucking good at what he does."

"He has nice hair, too."

"Not that I was trying to find out, but I know what shampoo he uses. If you act like the demo was super awesome in front of Kira, I'll tell you, even though we couldn't afford it if we pooled together all the money we got."

Hinamori squinted leerily at him for a moment, before her face split into a big, teasing grin. "It's a deal."

🗡️ 🌸 💀

"I expected to see a few more shihakushou in this crowd." Renji glanced over the crowd while Kuchiki Byakuya's lieutenant hauled yet another one of his unconscious officers out of the sparring ring, The audience was mostly the white, blue and red of Academy uniforms, with a smattering of expensive civvies. The handful of other shinigami Renji could spot all seemed to have younger versions of themselves in tow.

"Are you feeling self-conscious?" Hinamori murmured. "It's your own fault for being seventeen feet tall."

"It's not that," Renji whispered back, although he was convinced that the Academy must be taking them shorter these days. "I just think that more people would be interested in seeing the best swordfighter in the Gotei at work!"

"I think that most people who care about seeing Captain Kuchiki fight are already in Squad Six, and he seems to have brought most of them with him," Hinamori suggested. As if on cue, Lieutenant Shirogane prodded a fresh victim into the circle. Nervously, the woman dropped into a combat stance, her practice sword held out in front of her.

"Observe," intoned Kuchiki Byakuya. "This disarming technique was developed by Kuchiki Souta during the 400 Days War."

"Oh, shit, the 'Seizure of Assets,'" Renji gasped.

"The wh--wait, what just happened?"

Captain Kuchiki was now holding two shinai. The poor Squad Sixer was holding her hand and looking like she was trying not to cry.

"He wrapped his arm around her sword and levered it out of her hand. I bet it hurt like a bitch."

"You followed that?"

Renji had watched Captain Kuchiki's stance, the way he held his shoulders loose, how he started with most of his weight held on the right leg. He had noted the distance between Captain Kuchiki and his subordinate. He had seen a blur of black, felt the way Captain Kuchiki had focused his reiatsu on the left side. "Kinda," he replied.

"The caveat to all of the maneuvers I have been showing you," Captain Kuchiki Byakuya droned, "is that they will not work against an opponent who is prepared for them. Even a fighter of middling strength should be capable of maintaining a grip on their weapon. You may need to utilize a distraction or to take advantage of sloppy form. Who can tell me what Sixteenth Seat Gotou's mistake was?"

He waited.

At first, the crowd was silent. Then, as the wait wore on, the students began to murmur among themselves, but everyone seemed hesitant to call out an answer.

"Do you know?" Hinamori hissed at Renji. "I don't even know. She was too stiff? Caught flatfooted?"

"The question is for the students," Renji replied out of the side of his mouth.

"So you don't know, either."

"Of course I know. Her mistake was going up against Kuchiki Byakuya."

Hinamori huffed and rolled her eyes.

"I heard the correct answer," Captain Kuchiki's voice ran out. "Who said that?"

If a single blade of Senbonzakura had fallen to the ground at that moment, everyone would have heard it.

"You, there," Captain Kuchiki said, his eyes drilling directly into Renji. "Repeat what you just said."

If it were thirty years ago, if he were still in his blue-and-whites, if this were the first time Renji had laid eyes on Kuchiki Byakuya, he would have glanced from side-to-side, hoping the man was talking to someone else. He would have rephrased his answer, tried to make it sound less blunt, more thoughtful.

"I said, she isn't you," Renji replied loudly.

"Say more," said Kuchiki Byakuya.

Renji cleared his throat. "Your speed is so fast that almost no one can follow it. You made a quick feint to the right and you spiked your reiatsu to scare her. You outclassed her so badly that she had no chance of reacting."

Captain Kuchiki's gray eyes were as placid as the surface of a lake. "Did I do this to show off?"

Renji could feel some of the kids standing near him start to sidle away. Renji knew a few things about intimidating people, and he was pretty sure that Captain Kuchiki meant his question sincerely--exactly as sincere as Renji's answer had been.

"Not at all," Renji replied. "Everything is relative. Any graduate from Shin'ou could do that to a tough from Rukongai with no spiritual pressure. A seated officer can dispatch a Hollow before they know what's happened to them. Overwhelming your opponent swiftly is a safe and efficient strategy. A shinigami must never stop pursuing strength and they should not hesitate to use it against their opponents!"

To her credit, Hinamori was still standing next to him, back ramrod straight, staring dead ahead. Not a sound came out of her, even though Renji could practically hear her thinking how ridiculous he was. As soon as she passed that exam, she was gonna make a killer Vice Captain.

"Just so!" declared Kuchiki Byakuya. Then, he frowned and squinted. For the briefest of seconds, Renji wondered if Captain Kuchiki recognized him. "Who are you?"

"Abarai Renji, sir! Eleventh Company, Sixth Seat!"

"What are you doing here, Eleventh Company, Sixth Seat Abarai Renji? Surely you're not here to consider enrolling at Shin'ou?"

Renji felt his face go warm. "I already graduated, sir! 2066! I'm--!" He took a deep breath and squeezed his eyes closed, "I'm just to here to interview for an adjunct position!"

When he cautiously cracked one eye open again, Kuchiki Byakuya was regarding him with those flat, gray eyes. "I see. Which subject?"

Renji blinked. "Which…?"

"Which subject. Do you intend to teach?"

Renji's ears were ringing. "Fighting, sir!" he barked.

Kuchiki Byakuya gave the very slightest of nods. "Indeed. How interesting." For a moment, it seemed like that was that. He was going to go back to his lecture. But then something changed. For a million kan, Renji couldn't have told you what it was. The man's face didn't budge. There was no shift in his posture. But Kuchiki Byakuya had changed his mind, Renji knew it in his soul. "How would you have avoided being disarmed? Future Professor of Fighting Arts, Abarai Renji?"

Intellectually, he knew the answer. It was on the tip of his tongue. His tongue just refused to make the words.

"Oh just do it," Hinamori hissed out of her back teeth. "You know you want to."

"YOU WANNA FIND OUT?" Renji bellowed.

Kuchiki Byakuya's eyebrows lifted exactly three thousandths of a millimeter.

🍶 🍜 🩹

"So, did you get the teaching position or not?" Kira asked, sipping at his sake.

"It remains to be seen," Renji replied, shifting the icepack on his forehead.

"On the plus side, I think the head of the zanjutsu department was pretty impressed when Lieutenant Shirogane personally delivered him his office and said, I quote, 'my captain says someone should hire this man for something.'" Hinamori took a philosophical bite of tamagoyaki. "On the other hand, Abarai-kun insisted on going through with the interview with a severe concussion."

"I see," said Kira.

"I"m pretty sure," said Renji, examining his bandaged fingers and wondering if the pinky was also broken, "that I spent most of the thing explaining how we set up the brackets for the annual Tournament of Blood."

Kira made the face of a man who had already endured more than his fair share of Tournament of Blood discourse. "Why?"

"Well, the guy asked me to describe an improvement I had made to an existing practice and you know how un-fun the lower ranks of that tournament was before I got Ikkaku to, uh, come around on my vision. The guy seemed kinda into it. I think the whole job offer thing could still happen."

Hinamori rolled her eyes and tossed back her drink.

"Orrrr….maybe that's just the head injury talking. It doesn't matter. I don't actually want the job anyway."

"You don't think a little stint in academia might look good on your resume?" Kira asked archly. "For when you do finally get serious about making vice captain?"

Renji tried to remember the exact look on Captain Kuchiki's face the third time he had peeled himself out of the dirt and said that yes, he would be up for demonstrating the next block, thank you. "I think," he said, "I've improved my job prospects enough for one day."

[quigonswife8]

Johnny Cage x reader: depression

You may deal with depression but at least you have John to help you get through it

[gif creds: @mortal-kombat-1]

Warnings: depression.

Here for you if you ever need to talk, you're not alone❤️

---

John Carlton, better known as Johnny Cage, is your partner of four years. The two of you wed in your hometown, and have been going strong just as long. He may be famous, adored by many, but he's still the same man you married. The same man that took your heart, and has kept it ever since.

The two of you trust one-another with your lives, would do anything for one-another. The day you told him about your depression he became more protective, more loving than he already was. He had sat down with you taken your hand in his and gave you a loving speech about never leaving you; even if the thoughts would convince you otherwise.

People would be confused, however; you're married to the Johnny Cage, you have unlimited money at your expense, a lavish house and plenty of food to last a life time. Gifts and limo rides, all the best places you've visited, and everything you've ever needed, so why would there even be depression.

Well even with all of this and more that's how depression works. As hard as you try and get that same happiness from what you used to love on some, if not most days, those same things don't bring that same meaningfulness, same happiness.

------

The sun slithers in through your half-opened blinds; with a soft groan you rub your eyes. They move overt to the alarm clock crooked on your side-table, and in large easy to read the numbers 10:00 am.

John, currently at work, had left a cute handwritten note on the side-table:

Hey sweets I had to get going and continue filming the movie and all that, but I left you some money for you to order in. I'll see you at home later on.

-lots of love, your movie-star❤️

Your favourite perfume sprayed on the note brings a smile, even if it's small, to your face. You hold the note to your chest and sigh softly; he's always so considerate, so sympathetic and caring. He may have a big ego, even John admits to that, but that doesn't cloud the rest of his personality.

A quick glance at the clock 10:10. it feels so early despite it already being 10 in the morning. Though this isn't a rare occurrence and if there's anyone that knows that best, it's John; maybe that's why he left you money to order in, he had probably picked up your depressive mood recently. No words had to be exchanged, as John can read body language pretty well i.e. comes with being a movie star.

"I love you John..." the note still held to your chest.

-

For the rest of the day you lounge around; John sends the occasional message checking up on you. He leaves pictures of himself at work too.

11:01: thinking of you sweets, I love you heaps❤️

12:05: I just remembered this nice little italian joint when you're up for it i'd love to take you honey. Imagining you all dressed up is making me flustered ;) but you could wear a trashbag and still make me flustered anyway❤️

2:05: Sorry for the late reply sweets had to re-take this scene more times than I could count, but I’ll be home soon. I know that you’re not really doing well so I’m gonna finish wrapping up and I’ll be home.

All these messages and more bring a purpose to your life, that he always brings. No matter how down you feel Johnny always knows how to make you a little better, be it with compliments, cuddles, kisses, etc; he's your light in the dark, truly.

You run a hand over your face, the depression seeming to kick in bad. It's almost as if your mood did a full 180 when you already woke up feeling bad.

You doze off a few times before John returns to you, your love returns.

[3:05 pm]

A familiar door opening followed by the sweet sound of your husbands voice brings you out of the book you're ready. Placing it down on the bed your feet carry you downstairs to John, and John lights up seeing his beloved.

"Come here honey..."- his arms outstretched to hug you. You close the gap and wrap your arms around him in a kind of needy way, to which John happily obliges by tightening his arms around you.

"I'm so happy to be home..."

"And i'm happy you're home baby."

John rubs your back, and then pulls out of the hug. His right hand moving underneath your chin to tilt it up towards him; his eyes have softened, they only focus on you and nothing else. He missed giving you attention and you missed receiving it even if he was only gone for the day.

"You're so perfect, I swear I fall more in love with everytime I see you."- a soft chuckle following, though that smile he wears doesn't falter. "...look at you making this movie-star melt."

You giggle and look down, and John laughs softly.

"God you're adorable..."- and he leans down and kisses your cheek. "...now time to go lay down sweets.” without a second thought John scoops you up in his arms and carries you up to the room: he still has some movie makeup left on his face yet regardless he still looks perfect.

The thoughts make you wonder how he could even be with you, but your heart wins and you only melt more knowing he chose you.

John lays you down on the bed, adjusting the pillows and blanket. Then he crawls under the blanket and with one swift movement has wrapped you up in his arms once more, your head pressed against his chest.

He presses a soft kiss to your head and creates more room to be more comfortable while keeping you close; so close you can hear his heartbeat. It's calming.

"So...how have you been sweets? Im so sorry that you’re going through this…it’s bad, huh.” you love how well he can read you. You sigh and start:

"Yeah I haven't been great John. My...depression has been bad, i've been trying to manage it but it only gets worse. I barely left the bed today I know I should have but I...I just couldn't..."

John's heart breaks even more, and he tightens his hold but not uncomfortably. "Oh honey I'm so sorry." and he presses another kiss to your head, it's so...sweet and so calming. "...I may not be going through what you're going through but that doesn't mean you're not, and I'm so sorry you have to deal with this shitty thing."

John sighs softly and closes his eyes. "...but like I always say i'm here for you no matter what and you know what? I'm gonna take a week off work to be here with you-"

"But John-"

"No buts." he hushes you softly. "...the movie can wait, your health and wellbeing is more important. That’s why I wrapped up early to be here for you. So how about we spend the week just lounging around watching cheesy movies in our pajamas.”

Oh you love this man.

"Really?"

He squeezes your hand and smiles, those pearly whites on display.

"Really sweetheart. God if the movie has to be stopped altogether I could care less, because you're my world sweets, and you mean more than some fake movie. So I'm gonna pamper you and show you all the love and attention sweetheart." and he pulls you closer and presses yet another kiss to your head. "...because you deserve it all, and more. My angel."

Shifting your body, you smile. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek which makes him blush a little, and then you put a hand on his cheek, and keep it there. The love in both of your eyes are so evident.

"I love you, so much."

You settle back into his arms and John keeps you close to his chest, to his heart. Your breathing evens out and you find yourself drifting off in his loving embrace; before that happens he whispers an I love you, then, you're out.

John looks down at you so lovingly, and he pulls the blankets up, resting his head on the pillow being careful not to wake you.

He takes another look at you, another "I love you." falling from his lips, then like you John is out. The two of you asleep in one-another's arms, almost like you're the only two people left in this world and nothing else matters.

----

[zarathelonewolf]

GACHIAKUTA 117 aka Horikoshi take notes because Follo is being a better side character than most of class A combined*

*excluding Bakugo and Todoroki but that's because the former is a rival/deuteragonist and the latter is an honorary deuteragonist/deuteragonist/I am Hella confused about narrative roles don't talk to me-

Ok, so.

I know this is veeeery early. But STILL.

You cannot do this shit to me Urana! Wtf!

I had the intention of not getting attached to everyone in fear that you would kill most of them off JJK style, but now I am incredibly attached to Follo as well!

Fuck!

Anyway, here are my thoughts on the chapter 117 and the Pain™ it brought me... Because both Follo and Rudo misunderstood each other and now my heart hurts.

Needless of me to say, the biggest surprise I got in this chapter is... not that Enjin is a ladies-man. I mean, with him saying that he "likes a good woman" especially if they're sexy and smarter than him, yeah, I imagined that he would be.

It's nice seeing more of Semiu being serious about the Cleaners' job. She's a tough one, and she's right, Rudo needs to get back to work.

Before I get on my Follo angst situation, I will say that though the misunderstanding between Rudo and Follo and Follo's grief for the loss of his hammer is easily my number 1 surprise, seeing Noerde and the Sileia tribe mentioned again intrigues me as well.

Noerde seems to have been known by Mildretta, who was also a Sileia, it seems... Or at the very least, Mildretta had heard of Noerde from somewhere. Also Mildretta's another tough woman. I was wondering when we'd see more of her and today I got my answer.

Now, unto Follo!

I am tempted to just dump this stuff in your face, but NO.

No. I will not. I must resist my urge to curl into a ball.

We know that Follo has been wanting to become a Giver this whole time. We can see clearly from his memories here that his goal and dream has been cast aside at best and insulted at worst.

His hammer was his chance. He had taken good care of it... Until he offered it to Rudo to break the chest.

Follo himself had made the proposal, but in the moment his hammer broke, he realized that he hadn't really been ready for the possibility of the hammer breaking.

This has probably been eating him up from the inside. His chance of becoming a Giver broke in front of him, and he has been feeling guilty because it's happened due to his own will of helping Rudo.

He wants to take pride in being a supporter. He really does. He thinks that being a supporter is just as important as being a Cleaner, but hasn't being a supporter who supports the Cleaners no matter what deprived him of his treasured hammer?

And also... Rudo has just rejected his offer of an undamaged uniform. This just rubs further salt into the wound.

A "supporter"? Can he even support the Cleaners right? Should he? He wants to be a Giver after all, and what happened due to his diligence to the cause just deprived him of his treasured item that was the key to his aspirations...

What is his place? He is feeling like he cannot be the hero of the story no matter what he does.

Rudo, on the other hand?

Guys, we're talking about "if it's broken, I will still use it until it's truly disintegrated and until then it's not trash" Rudo.

Of course he wouldn't want a new uniform. It got damaged? Not a big deal for him, he can patch it up, he doesn't mind, it's not like it's trash after all.

Nothing is trash to him.

He can't throw it away just because it's damaged.

Of course he said no to Follo's insistence.

And yet Follo probably doesn't understand. Maybe it's also due to the way they seem to have been raised, which is also the reason why I think it has been much harder so far for Follo to awaken a Jinki.

Rudo has had an empty hole inside of him for as long as he can remember, which was filled by his gloves. Follo doesn't really have the same characteristics of Rudo: his body and soul don't crave an object or someone to rely onto as much as Rudo's do. Follo does WANT a Jinki, but not with the same exasperation that makes up Rudo's heart's NEED for a Jinki.

Alternatively, Rudo's been shown as being more versatile, so to speak, compared to Follo. Rudo's soul craves the awakening of pretty much ALL he touches, at least potentially. He can awaken every object that has emotional energy stored inside of it as a Jinki.

Follo cannot do that, it's pretty clear to see. And when he is given a Jinki? Remember what happens? Zodyl may look creepy at times and very intense, but he's spot on when he says that people who try to use a Jinki when they are not the user of the Jinki themselves, or when they are not "empty" enough, they go mad. They are meeting despair derived from the object being away from what they consider a suitable friend, and they are overwhelmed with the feelings of the object. At least from what we can deduce.

"Emptiness" and "trauma", in short, make it much, much easier for someone to bring a Jinki into life. They make it easier for the person's and the Jinki's energies to join in order to reach a balance.

And while Follo's life has been riddled with struggle, I can clearly see that, it WILL take some more time before he gest his own Jinki. It's not that he has no chance of getting one, it's just that he does not have the same constitution as, say, Rudo or Amo or Zodyl, so it will be more difficult.

But maybe this will be the episode, this one misunderstanding, that transforms Follo into someone that an object may feel tempted to, so to speak, complete?

EDIT: ALSO Givers are Givers for their objects. That is to say, one shouldn't become a Giver BECAUSE that way they will gain approval for doing something because they're finally "special" enough to do that thing. Givers simply BECOME. They just BECOME their role, not for a purpose but because of the way they feel and interact with objects in their surroundings.

Again, Follo was probably close to becoming one. So close! He treasured the hammer and took care of it with perseverance. But he did it because otherwise people would be skeptical about him being in the Cleaners. He did it to prove a point... And not necessarily because HE loved the hammer, but because SOMEONE ELSE WHOM HE LOVED had the hammer (see the boy with the lighter hair that says he will become a Giver while holding the hammer? on the fourth page?) and a similar goal.

Follo is not fully living for himself.